March 18, 2006

  • My mind is sex and I’m becoming more intelligent.  It’s true.  It’s the most sex thing within my grasp.  And I’m finding a renewed and revamped capacity to learn, (a capacity of the order that I’ve not commanded since my teenage years), entirely fascinating, involving, engaging, engorging.


    Carrot.  I just closed my eyes and saw a carrot floating in the darkness.  ha!


    On the agenda: Relearn the names of all the stars I’ve forgotten and their place in the sky.  Then learn of more I’ve not heard of before and would never know if my mind weren’t sex.


    On the agenda: Learn to speak Chinese in the shower once again.  Learn to say in fluent Mandarin – “Are there any delicate French misses wandering through Tianamen Square harboring carrots?”                                           


    On the agenda: Explore the controversy, from both the botanical and culinary perspective, of what is a real nut, and what, often referred to as a nut, just isn’t.  (Hint: the key distinction has to do with a fused ovary wall – more sex.)        


    On the agenda: Fathom all the possible scenarios that could ensue in the Iran nuclear eventuality and embrace the least Dr. Strangeloveliest.   Don’t be misled by the cries of political opportunism and self-aggrandizement. Insist.  Insist.  Insist.


    On the agenda: Invent a rollercoaster with a multiplicity of randomized switches to alternate track paths during the ride so that the chance of ever riding the exact same ride is about 1 in 1000.


    On the agenda:  Finish my ghost-written prophetic memoirs featuring the totally timeless Rumya and myself as an intellectual protagonist.  Get past the sex scene.  Or maybe end with the sex scene.


    On the agenda: Write a best-seller called “The World Without Chicken”.  Destined to be a hit after the bird flu pandemic sweeps.


    On the agenda: Find a cure for bird flu.  Stop the pandemic before it starts.  Suffer tremendous financial loss as a result of the book “The World Without Chicken” being an unsold laughingstock.  Laugh all the way to the bank since a huge investment was made in KFC just before releasing the cure when the future of poultry was just abysmally b(l)eak .


    Off the agenda:  Any more preoccupations with getting sex.  Damn, my mind is a wonderful thing.                           


     A compliment to just1moreReason for guiding me to properly deserving uses of the trans-expressionistic descriptor – sex.       

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