Greetings earthly incarnations! I am The Amazing Criswell and only I have the power to peer into a time that exists solely past right now! The proprietor of this blog, after having proved his inability to see past the nose on his face, has graciously asked that I take his place as Master of the Future. So, for the upcoming incarnation of the fourth dimension that we call two-thousand and eight anno domini, here are ten events that are not predictions at all. Because I can see into the future, they can only be the truth!
Number one!
Randal will still not get up close and very personal with Alessandra Ambrosio after she swoons to the recitations of his love sonnets! You must let go of such unattainable dreams, my young friend! And for the last time, she is not your wife, no matter how much you wish that to be so!
Number two!
Nor will he travel to France, assuming he ever does! [The Amazing Criswell does know the answer to that query, but out of respect for the unwritten ethical code of your so-called internets, I fear crushing the poor lad's soul and therefore must refrain from answering. For now.]
Number three!
The Cleveland Browns, sadly for the denizens of Northeastern Ohio and their expatriated fans scattered throughout the globe, will not come close to the Super Bowl once more!
Number four!
The Cleveland Indians, sadly for the denizens of Northeastern Ohio and their expatriated fans scattered throughout the globe, will not win the World Series once again!
Number five!
The Cleveland Cavaliers, sadly for the denizens of Northeastern Ohio and their expatriated fans scattered throughout the globe, will not win the NBA championship for yet another season!
Number six!
Iraq will still be flush with American troops many years from now! And I can say with the utmost confidence because of my supernatural and quite unique gift, that it will be much longer than you both think and hope!
Number seven!
Poetry will come back into vogue with a furious head of steam, various collections of such unkempt and improper verse pushing the likes of Tom Clancy, Danielle Steele, Stephen Colbert and Oprah®-approved authors far, far down the New York Times bestseller list!
Number eight!
The earth will be visited by extraterrestrials bent on world domination! Yet, as humanity teeters on the brink of total collapse, an unlikely vaccine against the alien infection will eliminate this potential extinction....
...and once the invaders have melted into bubbling puddles of sticky green goo after watching mere moments of this toxic television network, we will promptly resume our wars and violence and racism and homophobia and other assorted evils that no one in the universe is more skillful at!
Number nine!
The erudite and ostentatious campaign of Dr. Zaius and his delicious running mate Germaine Gregarious will bring the simian medical practitioner ever closer to the presidency as he skyrockets up the polls, shocking and awing the minions with lavish promises of a more equitable form of socioeconomic enslavement, go-go boots, lesbian robot minions and soylent green for all! Yet, with blinding, unexpected speed...
...the grand finalé, the denouement, la fin, das endischenposten, la finitoritto de la posto arrives...
There will be no Presidential election on Tuesday, November 4.
Farewell new friends, I must be leaving as I have a to-die-for party invitation that I must honor. One of my dearest associates, the witty and cutting-edge director of Plan 9 From Outer Space and other classic monuments to the theatrical is throwing, in the parlance of the young people, the swankiest shindig in Hollywood this evening. I now turn the proceedings over to the landlord of this internets site, the esteemed Mr. Randal Graves. À bientôt, mes amis !
Yeah yeah, everyone just shut up for a minute, okay?
Shut. Up.
Alright, since all you fuckers will no doubt be getting plastered during the various hot Caligula-esque internets webcam orgies while I battle for the computer with my crazy offspring and lunatic wife before falling asleep on the couch watching some stupid bowl game after having downed one too many pizza rolls - because that's the kind of thrill-a-minute motherfucker I am - I must bid everyone a possible adieu, au revoir, auf wiedersehen - man, where's my copy of Heaven Tonight? - and wish you all - 'long-time' blogging buddies, new ones, those that have disappeared, poet laureates, red weasels, fellow Francophiles in the United States and elsewhere, people I actually know in the real world, novelists, radical Christians, ornithologists, hilarious ducks, Canadians, artistes, anarchists, primates, presidential candidates, lesbian babes, angry young men, snarky young chicks, curators of large breasts, algebraic wizards, information overlords, unruly lefty mobs, packs of ranting crazies, do-gooders, pop culture maestros, Noo Yawkers, eaters of brains, bad suburban housewives, audio-visual masters, angry gay voters, Packer fans, fellow Ohioans, people who just aren't nice anymore, bakers of delicious cookies, hex-casting beerdrinkers, hellraisers, martini connoisseurs, friends, Romans, countrymen - a stupendously fantabulous and memorable in the best sense of the term 2008. Unless you have the remotest hint of Republican in even the smallest of your 206 bones. You know, the ones that are buried unseen deep in your ears. Then I wish you nothing but painful, blood-curdling torment, loss and irrelevance as the continual shunning of your obscene worldview forces you to ball up into the dankest corner of your horrific, cockroach-infested abode where endlessly repeating echoes of laughter ring in your miserable skull until you feel that, short of spontaneously combusting, only a frightfully quick jaunt to the nearest army recruiting office will do because there's still ten months left before it all ends and someone on World of Warcraft said the army was giving away cases of Cheetohs if you join before your 65th birthday.
Ah, here it is!
Auf wiedersehen!
Monday, December 31, 2007
The Future Is Here!
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23 comments:
Yay! socioeconomic enslavement, go-go boots, lesbian robot minions and soylent green for all!
Happy new year, Randal!
Oh man...I LOVED THIS POST! At first I was getting really depressed with all the predictions, but then you ended with Cheap Trick and that made me smile.
Happy New Year, motherfucker!
(that was my last obscenity for the year, so I had to make it a good one) ;-)
I won't be going out...memom duty calls like it does every New Year's Eve. My granddaughter will be spending the night at my house. Hey, don't for get to watch the Outback Bowl in Florida tomorrow. Well..you don't have to watch the game, but if they have the half time show on instead of some dolt blathering away about inconsequential things like game stats, my son will be out on the field. He'll be easy to spot, he's the really good looking guy who is the best musician in the group.
DEMOCRATS IN 2008! WOOOO HOOOOO!!!!
Happy New Year, Randal!
Enjoy the football. I'm waiting for the Auburn game to start right now and hoping I can stay awake till it's over. Such are the ravages of age...
Here's to a very Democratic 2008, with, you know, democracy and constitutional rights and that kind of stuff.
Randal, That Cheap Trick video is the kind of chipper way I needed to bring in the New Year. That's what I count you for, you know, your chipperness. I predict that in 2008, RG will actually smile, get himself a hot babe in slinky lingerie, and... yes... be given a case of Cheetohs without joining the army. It will be a year of crucified Santa miracles, I tell ya.
Crap, I shoulda done a poem 'cause of that PL thang.
Ok, a haiku.
cheap trick suicide
george bush and dick cheney die
this blog will be watched
dr. zaius, man, I can't wait for some of that soylent green. a slice of that on a cracker with some government cheese...yum! that's why I'm voting for you! that and Sandra Lou, bien sûr. Happy New Year, sir!
ME, it's depressing that people will be reading poetry again? Shit, there goes my get-rich-quick scheme. And getting called a motherfucker by a hot nun makes me all tingly inside. ;-)
Don't worry, I'll be watching the bowl game, but since I have bad eyesight, you better call him and tell him to play really loud!
kathy, hey, your Tigers won! Which I'm sure you already know. But this "democracy" thing? You think that'll actually fly here in the US?
Freida Bee, if there's one thing I'm known for, it's my sweet, sweet chipperness, with a dash of saccharine-y sugar on top, with sprinkles and crumbled-up cookie things.
So when do I get the hot lingerie babe and slinky Cheetohs box? I have to prepare my facial muscles to smile. And that haiku is genius, but I'm not sure I want DHS keeping an eye on me, ya know?
"To all acquaintance get all high, and let the smores flow."
I don't remember the rest of the words.
Randal,
Sorry I didn't get to this until this morning. You may have heard about our bad internet connection. But I feel for you on #1 and #4. Those broads and world series wins are elusive.
fairlane, I'm glad you don't because, yikes, I hate that fucking song.
mathman, oh they certainly are. But I'm prepared for neither ever happening. Cynicism isn't as bad as they say!
Let this be the year we get to see more of your writing!
Don't hold your breath! Although I can be bribed with the writing of others. And cash.
That's it... I am smuggling you to Paris in my suitcase just to prove you wrong here! :)
b, how can I say no to that? :)
Hey Criswell, Go Fuck Yourself.
Yeah, that's right. I'm running for Vice President. That's the President of Vice, in case you care.
But what I reeeeally want to know is, what's up with Alessandra? I mean, is that scoliosis, or is she getting ready to let a massive one rip?
And too bad about her arm. She was kind of pretty before the accident.
And Randal, if you read this, Happy Fucking New Year!
Wait. It's Tuesday?
Happy New Year to one of my new faves.
Happy new year! I can't wait for those lesbian robot minions...
Kudos on getting the word erudite into a post!
Here's hoping 2008 will bring you everything you hope for and maybe a little Alessandra Ambrosio.
Randal, I am trying to cast a "dreams come true" hex in your direction. However, sometimes, after meistering the beer, it turns into a "true come dream." Sorry if that happens.
SWB, a small victory is better than no victory. Your thoughtfulness is most appreciated, mon amie.
I read "My Stroke of Insight" in one sitting - I couldn't put it down. I laughed. I cried. It was a fantastic book (I heard it's a NYTimes Bestseller and I can see why!), but I also think it will be the start of a new, transformative Movement! No one wants to have a stroke as Jill Bolte Taylor did, but her experience can teach us all how to live better lives. Her TED.com speech was one of the most incredibly moving, stimulating, wonderful videos I've ever seen. Her Oprah Soul Series interviews were fascinating. They should make a movie of her life so everyone sees it. This is the Real Deal and gives me hope for humanity.
Hes no danger to anyone. The lights and the flowers. He did not mention it. I mean, by what standard? There are other issues involved, besides questions of fact. Questions of truth do not enter into social issues. I wouldnt think youd find them hard to deduce. He stood at the window of his office.
Grateful, he wrapped his arms around his friend and buried his face in his neck. It is akin to the spell that has protected him for the last two decades. Why worry him? She recognized that particular position from prior matches and knew it wasnt one easily broken. She would not cause that fear tonight. Hyle sat forward with a similar expression, Gala hovering at his side. Eyrhaen peeped up to see her blow a kiss at her truemate. Her fingers slid in, unhindered. Her tears mingled with the oils that slowly dried from Hyles skin. You need to understand that I wont stand in the way anymore. Big fingers cupped her chin, tilted her face up. She sneered, twisting in his hold. Gritting her teeth, she glared up at Lanthan, who was watching her with obvious amusement. While enjoyable, shed yet to have sex and feel the bare, physical beauty of it. Tykir shook and shattered, eyes closing on a heartshattering moan. She let him lead, reveling in his strength. For you, came his hidden thought, I would make time. He murdered all of my babies after they were born. She was so close Its so much more convenient.
Four downward sloping lines above either hip, then a thicker arch just over his navel. Not so strange to be fucking Hyle, but where had the compulsion come from? And entirely unwarranted. But the vetriese… Irin paused. Someone said her name, actual sounds for her ears to hear.
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