Chickens Are Blasphemous

There are stickers posted around campus at my school of bands, businesses, people's graffiti tags, and a strange looking pickle. There are tons of these all over: in stairwells, on light-poles, on buildings, on newspaper dispensers, etc. They are vain attempts at their creators trying to be cool and hardcore, but they are really just failing miserably at preschool art. If a four-year-old came up and saw someone in the process of putting a sticker on the side of a building, that four-year-old would go, "Pfffffft, you dumb shit, stickers go on the paper, not on the school. I'm not sharing my toys with you because you're weird and I might catch that," because when you are four, you are not supposed to touch anything bad because you might get sick.

That aside, there is one of these stickers I have seen in a couple of places and it has what I think is a band name printed on it. In bright green letters it says "Birds With Teeth" and has the image of T-Rex skeleton on it. Before I had barely acknowledged it because it was just another sticker, but today I noticed it again and realized it was in fact true. Dinosaurs, at least the two-legged ones, were essentially chickens with pointy teeth. So of course then I thought, what the hell did chickens do to deserve their lot in life today? Birds must have really pissed off whoever lives upstairs. In evolutionary terms, the T-Rex got the short end of the stick, you know what with the huge head and hilariously tiny arms. I'm sure the brontosauruses (brontasauri?) made fun of them.


It is in fact a band. They're meh. You can't really hear the music over their mustaches.

"Hey Ted." "Yeah, Jim?" "Look at that poor fucker, he's got all those teeth but he can't get anything because he's got nubby arms! Hahahahaha, look at him try and eat that stegosaurus  Hey, is that Steve? Steve! Hey, Steve! Push on his head when he comes at you, he can't reach you because his arms are so friggin' small!! Hahahahaha--" and that is when the T-Rex had enough of that bull shit and swung his tail around and knocked Jim on his feet because their head was large and their arms were small, but brontosauruses were cocky and their peanut brains forgot about the huge tail.

I bet it was hilarious to watch a brontosaurus fall down.

Anyhoo, chickens and ducks and geese and the rest of the aviarians were all these vicious, bloodthirsty murderers with disproportionate body parts. Even the tiny ones. Remember in Jurassic Park when the fat guy tripped and you laughed maniacally as you watched the two-foot tall twigs with teeth massacre him? Or was that just me?  The point is that even the small bipedal dinos were just as dangerous. They were hardcore, not these low-self esteem hipsters with pieces of shiny paper that have adhesive on the back. Sure, dinosaurs all had peanut brains and yes, they probably wouldn't have lived very long anyhow, meteor or not, but if you or I were to encounter a velociraptor, we wouldn't say "Hmmm, that looks like a McChicken." We would piss ourselves and run away screaming, hoping that they might trip on rock that was in their blind spot.  But we laugh at the descendants of dinosaurs. We use birds for food, jokes, target practice. We call stupid people "bird-brained" and people who walk weirdly "pigeon-toed". We put birds in cages and teach them to say inappropriate phrases for the childish delight of our guests. What in the hell did dinosaurs do and how can I avoid it? Did they insult whatever deity was in charge for dinosaurs? Too much in-breeding? What the fuck did they do? Was it just that science deemed the awesome might of a spinosaurus was not evolutionarily feasible for a long period of time? I hope it was that one because I don't want my descendants to become the butt-end of every joke and loathe the very existence of my species.

The muted wailing you hear right now is every species of reptile crying out in shame and anger.

Biology Is An Under-Sexed, Jealous Nerd-Boy

In the transfer program at my college, depending on your degree you have to take a certain number of class hours before you can graduate, as with any college. So, for a two year program that means taking basic college classes and other classes pertinent to your degree. So far, this is an agreeable and fair situation that is common for any college or place of higher-learning. I am getting my Associates in the Fine Arts, which is your basic degree for people afraid of math. Unfortunately  in order to successfully acquire the degree and the ability to transfer,  I have to take 8 credit hours of science. Now, I did have to take one math class but it was college algebra, which may have some relevance in reality. But now I have to take two classes on a subject that I and possibly everyone else in my degree program, just don't fucking understand. I'm pretty sure that the guy who put the degree requirements together was some jealous science nerd who got tired of looking at the long-haired English major who got all the girls and decided to he was going to fuck with every future liberal arts major. Someone like Chad. You know, the creepy guy who lives in his parents' basement and I think looks like the fat serial-killer from The Sandman. This guy:

I like a good running gag. I would get used to this if I was you.

This semester I am taking Biology. I don't really mind science all that much. Psychology is great. Once I understood physics, it was mind-blowing. If they let us use more combustible liquids, chemistry could have been fun. Einstein and Tesla were sexy bastards.Unfortunately me and Biology have had a tumultuous relationship since my freshman year of high school, I get the simple stuff. Stuff like basic human anatomy, evolution, we need oxygen, photosynthesis, cells are tiny, and other stuff like that. Ask me about that stuff, I can give an intelligent answer. Ask me what the equation is for cellular respiration and I will tell you to go fuck yourself sideways and then I will call on my army of attack bears and they will maul the crap out of you. That's biology.

The one on the left is Boris, Ivan is in front, and Gregor is behind Boris. 
Gregor's a bit touched in the head.

I'm probably not going to need to know what cellular respiration is. It won't be necessary in an emergency situation and no one is going to want to read about a process that makes ATP. Someone tell me what use it is of for me. I understand that without it we would probably die, as with all of the other stuff I am learning about. But after this class I am going to forget the minute details and go back to thinking it happens because magic.

It's not all bad. For instance, we are currently learning about human genetics and crap like that. It's interesting, sure, especially when you learn about traits and how they are formed and what happens when the process doesn't go as expected. That's cool and I understand that stuff. It's when we do stuff like figuring out how to make a karyotype from a jumble of unorganized chromosomes. Oh, you don't know what a karyotype is? You must not be a geneticist.

Karyotype. It looks kind of like a bunch of tiny knee-socks..

A karyotype is an arrangement of all your chromosomes so they can be seen and analyzed and it's also how scientists determine if you have certain abnormalities. That's cool, and congrats to geneticists because they are much smarter than me. But if all those squiggles were jumbled together, I wouldn't be able to tell which is which, let alone put them in the proper pairs.


Then again, that's pretty much the same story for my socks.

I like scientists. I adore The Big Bang Theory, I think Nikola Tesla is the bomb and Einstein has go to be one of my favorite people. Darwin is responsible for how I think of a lot of things in the world. Marie Curie was in my mind one of the foremost people in the Women's Right Movement because she is responsible for a lot of the first research in radiation and thank goodness for Ignaz Semmelweis telling doctors to wash their hands. Bill Nye is a cornerstone of my childhood. Oh and Harold Crick was tripping hard on acid when he came up with the double-helix design for DNA. I think scientists are some of the coolest and occasionally sexiest people. They figure out how shit works. They know the whys and the whats of the world and it amazes me to no end. A lot of them are my personal heroes and I love them to death. I just know that the person in charge of my degree program had low self-esteem and was jealous because he wasn't getting any and decided to use his limited power to mess with my day. Chad, I swear to God if it was you, Boris and Ivan are going to kick your ass. And Gregor is probably going to sit there and.... lick his balls or maybe drool.  I don't what he's going to do, but it's going to be friggin' terrifying and you are going to shit your basement-dwelling breeches!

I Would've Hated To Have Been The First Platypus

Beavers suck. As an animal, they have got to be the biggest jerks, killer whales aside (those guys are assholes). Think about it. You never see beavers, you only see evidence of them. That in itself is not a bad thing, that is just a shy bachelor, like our friend Chad.

                               Hi Chad!

 No, that's not what I'm talking about. These jerks, beavers, are truly terrible. You never actually see beavers. You see pictures of beavers in books and on the internet (and Playboy, wink-wink), but if you are walking through the woods you never see a beaver, just the chewed on stump of a tree that used to be there. That is incredibly morbid.   And these stumps aren't from really big trees, because if they were then we would have really big beavers, which is both funny and frightening. No, the trees they cut down and drag away are smaller, more like children, if you will. Beavers gnaw at these trees and then drag them away to use for their homes. They build their HOMES with CHILDREN. The bastards! Not only that, beavers build their homes (called lodges) in the midst of dams they build with even more tree-children that cut off water to where it was going and keep it all for their beaver-selves. They are the rich real-estate moguls (that happen to be child-murdering serial killers) of the forest. And sure, killer whales play around with their food before they eat it, but so do I. Killer whales don't go around, pick up a seal, baby or otherwise, and say, "Hmmm, I like seal but I always feel like it is gone too soon. I wish there was a way to keep it around longer so it served a purpose other than just food. I know! A roof!" The only other animal I can think of that is just as creepy is the spider that lays it's eggs in the dead bug it killed so the baby spiders have food when they are born, but spiders are already icky so that isn't too surprising. Beavers are fuzzy and have fat, cherub cheeks and buck teeth and a ridiculous looking tail. If anything, they are supposed to be the adorable chunky kids that look a little funny. But no, instead they decided to be creepers and demented beings that even make Satan wet his pants.


This is the face of pure evil.

I had a dream with beavers in it once. It was a zombie dream. It was about me and my family and some of my friends all on the run from the zombies that, for some reason, were all centered around a bayou in Louisiana. That's a cool dream, but the scary part was how people became zombies. It wasn't a disease or anything remotely reasonable.  You could only become a zombie if a beaver bit you and TOOK AWAY YOUR SOUL.

I remember the cartoon Angry Beavers. I don't remember much other than there was a cartoon with beavers who lived in a cool house and they weren't too many redeeming qualities about them. I also remember the episode where one of the two decided he wasn't going to chop down any more trees and the other one said he had to chop down trees or his teeth would keep growing. And the teeth did. Have you ever seen a picture of someone with nails they decided not to cut? It looked like that. (This, by the way, was on around the same time as Rocko's Modern Life and AAAH! Real Monsters so you can imagine the kind of kid I was.)

Little known fact: Whatever drug it was the artists at Nickelodeon and Cartoon Network took in the late 90s and early 2000s no longer exists. They smoked all of it. Adventure Time and Spongebob is just straight up acid and weed, respectively.





The point her being that not even the makers of a child's cartoon could find enough reason to make the characters in their show nice because they too knew what you and I know now. Also, if the thing about beavers' teeth is true, then trees are beavers' food, building supplies, and their fucking dental hygenist.

The natural habitat for beavers is around water. The same is true for ducks. As any sitcom is bound to point out, if you live next to someone long enough, it becomes a situation full of sexual tension and "will they/ won't they?" Not for beavers. Not at all. Have you ever wondered what the hell is up with the platypus?


Ornithorhynchus anatinus

That is a face only a mother could love. You just can't help but look at that thing and think that it's the result of a drunken one-night stand between a beaver and a duck. Evolution had some play there, I'm sure, but before evolution came in, I'm thinking that one night a beaver and a duck got really drunk and did the nasty and the beaver vamoosed. By the way, the duck has to be the mother in this situation because that sad sack of confusion up there lays eggs. Now not only are beavers serial killers, they are also absent fathers. Good job guys! And the poor abomination that is the result of this union is forced to move out of the country to Australia. You know, the country that's a continent and is known for kangaroos, koalas, and more deadly or dangerous animals of every variety than you can shake a stick at. That, I imagine, is where evolution came in. Australia is chock full of poisonous animals, which makes it a place one does not want to live without being properly armed. You know what that means don't you? Evolution took pity on this horribly disfigured child and blessed it with a poisonous spike. And yet the beaver still thrives, killing trees and not taking responsibility for the child it abandoned or the weird childhood I had. Jerks.

This one is a little indecent...

First,  I think I figured it out why I was so hesitant to make a blog. I think it is because they seem like a vanity project or some way to hog the spot light all on your own in a way that facebook and twitter won't allow because everybody else is always posting their own crap. I like facebook and I suppose this writing and what not is fun, but I figured out why it bothers me. I am afraid to tell my friends because then I think they will not want to read because it looks like a blatant attempt to be an attention whore. And I don't want this to be that kind of a place. This is going to be an oasis of awesome and superdy-duper-ness. This is my plea unto you, fair reader, that wherever it seems like I am being needy or like I am looking for attention, please don't hesitate to call me on my bullshit. I promise that this will be nothing less than cool.

I recently learned that if you break a pinkie-promise, it means the breaker of the promise must cut off their pinkie. I like my pinkie. It suits me quite well and I don't wish to part from it any time soon.

So now that whole shebang is cleared up, I had a thought on the way home from my class today. There was some guy walking across the street. I had never seen him before and I figured he probably lived in the house that never has any lights on. Sort of like a house that Chad's unassuming parents would live in. Anyhoo this guy was walking across the street and I like to be rude and shout at people when I am driving by myself and all the windows are up and no one is around to judge me or hear me so I had to slow down, quite a significant bit, and wait for this guy to hustle across the street. It's not a very large street and it was quite obvious there was a car waiting for this gent to pass. I can understand being old and not being able to move as quick as one used to, but a little quick-step in that shuffle would have been nice. In the end I guess it doesn't matter and honestly I had no issue waiting for this guy to pass, I just like to be impertinent. So, there I am, waiting as he passed in front of me and there he was probably waiting for his feet to catch up when I had the urge to pretend to be a cab driver and shout some insult in the safety of my car. I got as far as "Move it, old--" and then I got stuck. This is the transcript of my mental conversation, as follows:

Old......what? Guy? No, that won't work, how about cracker? No, that won't do, I use that too often. Wait, there's something trying to work it's way forward, it begins with an....F? Yes, F. I'm trying to say old....fucker? No no no, that's too mean and quite frankly too easy. It's F...O...Fo...Fogey! That's it! Old Fogey! Move it, Old Fogey!!



This is Josiah Fogey, patron saint of old crabby dudes 
and crotchety outbursts at the youth of today.

By that time I had made it back to my driveway and the fellow down the street had crossed it successfully. The thought I mentioned was that I quite enjoy the term "old fogey" and wish that it was applicable to more everyday situations.

I apologize of course if anyone found that to be offensive, but let's be honest, we all are indecent asshats when we are alone. It's that damn societal nonsense that tells us we can't shout "Old Fogey" and gentlemen, who quite frankly could be genuinely kind people and are just innocently crossing the street. Like I have stated before, I am not what one might call active so the shouting at people in the car is my form of catharsis. I like shouting at people. Especially when they are stupid (unlike the old guy from the previous story), because let's face it, if we don't shout at them in the security of our cars then they may never be called out on their bullshit.

No, I will not put a picture of Ryan Gosling. Instead I will put this:

Mary Approved

I am doing my second post. I know, this is scary and probably moving a bit fast, but if we stick together it will all be okay. I sent the fair and wonderful Mary the link to this little thinga-mah-jig and she gave her approval, which is a rare gift indeed.

This is Mary:



A good picture, but in order to truly know Mary we must look deeper inside. If we zoom in a bit, say to here

We are now zoomed in on her eye which appears to be a lovely color of pixelated dark color, and yet we are still so far from our goal. We need to zoom in a bit more:


There you go!
This is of course not an exact replica because if one were to recreate such an awesome power, one might create a hole in the space-time continuum, and we all know what a drag that is.

I suppose I will grow to like this blog, but only when I figure out a cooler word because I think of those dead squishy logs you find in the woods after it has rained and the termites have had their way with it. It's not an attractive thought.

Again, I apologize for the downer and also for any male friends who were alienated by yesterday's picture. This should mend all wounds:

Paint is a lovely program.

In the Beginning...

Ladies and Gentlemen, Madames and Monsieurs, Welcome and Congratulations! You have found the Holy Grail that is my blog. And yes, that was sarcasm. This is a mediocre work at best and not at all holy. In all honesty, this is being made on a whim and at the behest of my mother and a few friends. I don't succumb to peer pressure easily, but this is an activity that doesn't require much movement, so I don't need much persuading. Although, I couldn't keep a diary as a child so that kind of hints at what level of commitment we are looking at here. By the way, my name is Lucy. Thought you ought to know.

So, what does one write on a blog? Also, where does the word blog come from? I get the"log" part of the word, but the "b" throws me off. I really don't know what I'm doing here. This probably won't be read by anyone but my friends and relatives and some creeper named Chad who lives in the basement of his mother's house with 16 cats and re-enacts the battles of Lord of the Rings in full battle armor and his assortment of live-sized Pokemon character cut-outs as stand-in friends. To be terribly honest, I'm picturing a guy that looks like the fat serial killer in Neil Gaiman's Sandman series. 

And now, this is how you too may visualize Chad. Don't worry, Chad, the reader ends up feeling sorry for him in the end. By the way, I just read that a couple of days ago so I apologize for any other references to it. 

To wrap up, I suppose, this is my blog. Don't worry, you don't have to feel like you have made a commitment to it by reading this introduction. It may be my only post. 

What a dreary way to end something. I'm sorry about that, that's incredibly rude. Here, for your troubles:

All better. Toodle-loo!