Danocrates discusses people

I’m subscribed to Kayak.com for travel deals. Normally, I get emails that tell me when flights to Orlando dip down below $150 or if there are any spectacular packages to London but today I got this treat: “Night Border Crossing Experience”.

Your ‘coyote’ guide, Pancho, pulls off his black ski mask while actors gather around to scare you senseless along the way…make your way through barbed-wire fences. Survivors are blindfolded…

Wow. What a steal. Only eighteen dollars.

Read more about it here or if you dying to find out what it feels like. Here’s where you can make it happen.

Now I want to go to the ‘Two Nights in Ole Nanking‘, ‘Flight From Mount Vesuvius Adventure‘, or ‘Dachau Day Trip‘.

I probably won’t be able to do the “Dachau Day Trip” since the dollar is so weak to the euro. Hopefully, the $600 rebate in June will fix everything.

I’m guessing THE PRINCE’s “hit me back” is implying: Since he feels it’s perfectly normal to hit a women if she gets out of line then she should feel free to “hit him back” if he does the same. He’s no hypocrite (respect).

Now the Sultan comment was much harder to unravel. At first glance I assumed that “LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL” was an exaggerated form of “Laugh Out Loud” because I know LOOL is “Laughing Outrageously Out Loud”. But then I realized that the Sultan wanted to emphasize the letter “O” because it actually represents the word “oligophrenia” which means “feeble-mindedness”. And ironically pluralizing the word “day” as “day’s”…a stroke of genius.

Touché, Sultan, touché or shall we say douché, douché?

I Googled the word “LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL” and got this feeble-minded racist forum:

Here’s the link

I don’t understand how people can narrow down all the important variables in a candidate into one particular issue. The single-narrow mindedness is maddening. There are a plethora of reasons to despise a politician. i.e…perpetuating the oppression of Cubans through our ridiculous embargo, non-involvement in Sudan, not being proactive in dispensing generic drugs to fight HIV in South Africa, not focusing on alternative energy sources like geothermal, tidal, or biomass fuel technology…and a hundred thousand other problems that need to be addressed.

Most jackasses can determine whom they will vote for simply by labeling the individual, “Pro-Life” or “Pro-Choice”. I’m not dismissing abortion as an insignificant matter. Personally, I’m not a big fan of it. However, that only pertains to the one I’m involved with and myself. I couldn’t care less what other individuals do. Does that make me an apathetic dick? Who knows?

Pro-Lifers say that every life is precious, and that you could be killing the next Mozart, Einstein, or Mother Teresa.

I see it differently.

Imagine if Mr. and Mrs. Hutt † had decided Planned Parenthood would have been a better choice instead giving life to their child. If they would have done that, the citizens of the desert planet of Tatooine wouldn’t have had to live their entire lives in fear because of one bloated, slug lord named Jabba. Obviously, he terrorized others because he was projecting his own insecurities caused by feelings of abandonment from his shitty parents. In addition, his self-esteem was non-existent due to his ongoing battle with his weight problem. Four bags of frogs and a couple of Jawas for lunch can’t be healthy. Jabba the Hutt’s life is precious?! He should have been aborted.

Granted, the original scene at Mos Eisley Cantina, where Han Solo blasted the bounty hunter, Greedo ‡, who was trying to collect♠ for the Abortion-Survivor, wouldn’t have taken place. Consequently, Luke and Obi-Wan wouldn’t have escaped on the Millennium Falcon which would have triggered a Butterfly Effect and the Death Star could still be fully operational to this day. However, that conflicts with my original hypothesis of killing Jabba at birth. Perhaps, Darth Vader should have been aborted. Unfortunately, Mr. Vader was formerly known as Anakin Skywalker. Which would have deleted Luke from the equation and he wouldn’t been able to fire his Proton Torpedoes down the exhaust shafts of the aforementioned Weapon of Mass Destruction. Quite the conundrum. In conclusion, I don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about.

We are the only animals on the planet that celebrate it. It’s just an arbitrary point in space that we’ve invented. All we do is get drunk every time we go around the Sun.
Weeee! (one year lapses)
Yaaaay!! (365.25 days later)
Happy New Year!!!

We are eternally trapped in this boring cycle. Fuck that. I know that not everyone hates New Year’s like I do, and I can only encourage them to do one thing: Leave Earth and move to Mercury because they have a New Year’s party every 88 days.

Ain’t no party like a Mercury party because a Mercury party don’t stop.

A lot of sex happens on Mercury. They should rename the planet Herpes, the Greek god of STDs.

The only planet that should be able to celebrate New Year’s is Pluto (especially now that its been downgraded to an ice chunk. How humiliating?). The reason I say the citizens of Pluto deserve a party is because they have a New Year’s every 250 years. When it does happen they don’t even know what to do. They have to read it in their Plutonian bibles.

Ezhekial 3:17

And the Lord mixed margaritas.

Imagine the mayhem that would ensue as the ball dropped. Plutonians would come out of their houses and stick syringes of heroin in their eyes and have sex with parakeets screaming, “Happy New Year!” Now thats a DVD I would buy. It would make the backstage of Motely Crew concert look like the Lilith Fair.

Raised as fat, capitalistic pigs with intrinsic senses of entitlement, we forget that our problems are insignificant when compared to other citizens of this planet.

I was at LaGuardia Airport last week during the blackout and overheard a hysterical woman speaking to a reporter amongst crying babies and other stranded passengers tearfully cry out, “It’s like a Third World nation!”

Really?

A Third World nation.

Like Darfur? That kind of Third World nation?

Hmmm…funny I didn’t realize that LaGuardia was that bad off. I was under the impression that once the power came back on, everyone would be able to fly down to see Mickey Mouse in an air conditioned airplane. That doesn’t sound so horrible.

Recently, I was walking home late at night and heard a couple fighting. The man was enraged and was screaming, “I can’t believe you slept with him!”

In their world, her act of infidelity created a nuclear holocaust. I wanted to empathize with the husband but in relation to the grand scale of the universe—Who cares if she slept with another man? So her molecules interacted with another set of molecules instead of his molecules. So what.

I looked up at the sky and looked at the stars. Since I live in Queens, I couldn’t see that many because of the city lights. I reached into my head and remembered how many stars I use to see at night when I grew up in Texas. It seemed like a million holes of light seeping through but in reality a human can only view about 6,000 stars with the naked eye under perfect conditions.

We are but a speck of dust in the outer fringes of the Milky Way Galaxy that is but a grain of sand in the observable Universe.

Sagan claimed that there are billions of billions of stars in our Universe. Each star possibly sustaining several planets, one of which that may contain life. Our world has six billion human beings. So feasibly, each star could create six billion intelligent creatures.

With that said, will the Universe suffer if one individual cheats on another individual? I imagined another couple on the opposite end of the Universe.

(Sirens are screaming at ear-piercing level. People are stampeding by with no sense of direction. A digital marquee sign showing the temperature at 145 degrees.)

MAN:
I can’t believe you slept with him?

WOMAN:
Are you kidding me?

MAN:
What you mean?

WOMAN:
The Sun is about to explode and you are going to bring that up AGAIN??

MAN:
Yeah, I’m going to bring it up.I don’t give a damn if the Sun is going to blow up.

WOMAN:
You are pathetic! It was two years ago. When are you going to stop punishing me? We are going to die! He’s going to die!

MAN:
Was he bigger than me?

WOMAN:
You’re an idiot! We are going to die! He’s going to die! Who cares if he was bigger!

MAN:
HA! So he was bigger, I knew you it! You are such a slu…
(Sun explodes.)

I was in Miami once and I saw a billboard that claimed, “Everytime you see a bus, you have walked by someone with AIDS.”

I will never become a bus driver.

I was at my Jamaican friend’s house and his five year old daughter Cheyenne asked me bluntly, “Why are you so white?”

At first it seemed like an easy question but I quickly realized that I didn’t have an answer and said, “I don’t know.”

To which she replied, “Do you lotion?”

I then said, “No.”

She rolled her eyes knowingly and said, “You should. Mommy puts lotion on me when my elbows get white.”

I nodded and said, “Thanks. Looks like I got a big job ahead of me.”

So I’ve been seeing this girl in Hoboken (which I have stated before feels like Germany since I live in Queens). When I say “seeing”, I don’t mean dating. We have agreed to introduce each other as, “this is the person who I see on a repetitive basis.” One night last week, I thought it would be a nice change to drive both of us to her house rather than take the PATH train. Unfortunately, my act of chivalry turned into an apocalyptic nightmare.

Since I live in NYC, I realize having a car is a luxury and I refuse to buy a nice one. Why? Because if you have ever parallel parked a car with a stick shift on ice, you would understand the impending doom that awaits your car. With a brand, new car, you would become nauseous every morning as you assess the depreciating damage that had occurred overnight. The downfall to my practical approach to transportation is that I have no A/C and my 90’ Honda Accord becomes a mobile, compartmentalized hell. There are three words that best describe how it feels to creep along in gridlock traffic through the Holland Tunnel while it’s ten thousand degrees and humid: Taint of Satan. On the plus side, I was able to bake some pottery pieces I made in the West Village in my trunk (or kiln).

So once we made it through the forty-five minute traffic (so much more convenient than the fifteen minute ride on the air conditioned train…very smart), I had to park. My car stuck out like a sore thumb in Hoboken. If you’ve never been to Hoboken, know that even I (a slightly tanned six foot six guy with blonde hair and green eyes from Texas) feel ethnic in Hoboken. It’s gentrified to the nth power where “n” stands for “no colored people”. So not only did my ratty car stick out with my NY plates but I also didn’t have a Hoboken city decal. Every sign clearly warned “All Vehicles Without a Hoboken Decal Will Be Towed.” I spoke to a local and he said I’d be alright until the morning, but I’d have to leave by 7:45AM. He kept saying it over and over, “Man, you have to get the hell out of here before 7:45. Believe me, they will tow you. They will tow you.” He delivered the advice to me as if we were in 1942 Germany and I had a yellow star sewn into my shirt.

Even though we had to endure the trek across the Hudson and the parking situation was dismal, it was well worth the trouble. Fortunately, “the person who I have been seeing on a repetitive basis” is very accepting and wasn’t at all bothered by the amount of time it took or the lack of amenities my car had to offer. The morning came quick and I reluctantly awoke and briskly walked to my car. I looked at my watch and was sickened to see that it was 7:52AM. I envisioned a tow truck with a swastika emblazoned on its side ripping my car away and towing it to the Auschtwitz Tow Facility. Miraculously, my car was unscathed and ticket free.

I hopped in my car and drove toward the Lincoln Tunnel. It was snarled with a cluster fuck of cars, buses and trucks. A nonsensical symphony of blaring car horns mixed with intoxicating exhaust fumes. I felt like a lone sperm cell flapping my flagella through the fallopian tubes of Lady Liberty. Every sperm was out for itself, each one with its own agenda and destination. The end of the tunnel finally became visible, an angelic beacon of blessed brightness. Lady Liberty’s egg was glowing and I wanted to reach it. Once I escaped from the tunnel, I had to begin my eight avenue battle to the Queensboro Bridge on the east side.

My first skirmish began with a difficult left turn that was not kind to courteous driver. The only way one can achieve this left turn is to temporarily put your kind-hearted soul into the glove compartment, become an apathetic asshole, and get ready to break some laws. “Take no prisoners”, “Kill em’ all and let God sort em’ out”, “Don’t shoot until you see the whites of their eyes”, etc…I managed to wedge my self in the far right lane, although, half of my car was in the bus lane. The driver behind me started to honk his horn at me and not in the polite tapping fashion that comes off as, “Hey pal, just wanted let you know I’m here. I’d hate for something bad to happen” but in the psychotic-relentless-way-that made Michael Douglas go crazy in Falling Down fashion. At one point, I thought someone had hooked an electrical device to the driver’s testicles and was maliciously activating it every two seconds by remote control but then I figured out why the guy was freaking out. He was trying make a ‘right on red’ and squeeze down the bus lane, both of which are illegal. He only needed me to move up about a foot but I wasn’t going to go out of my way for anyone with that kind of horn etiquette. If I were a billionaire, I would have loved to have turned off my ignition, stepped out my vehicle, abandoned it, and completely block this law-breaking psycho for hours.

It became clear what I was doing once I had a half a car length in front of me, the driver went ballistic. I grudgingly inched forward. He peeled his tires as he exploded into the bus lane. Instead of zooming down the empty lane, he slammed on his brakes and came to jolting stop. He aligned himself strategically with my car, door to door. I felt like Danny Zuco in staring at the evil dude (the guy whose face looked like it was on fire and put out with an ice pick) right before the race. I was shocked to discover that the asshole who was going postal on me was a ninety year old man with a tube in his nose in a Mercedes. The reason he stopped was because he wanted to look me in the eyes and mouth the words, “Fuck you!” as he gave the bird with his pre-Great Depression, pre-Lusitania arthritic middle finger. Although, I was brought up Christian and now I’m agnostic, I still try to live by sound moral values. So I asked my self, “What would Jesus do?” The answer: He would have pivoted to the right by ninety degrees and give the old man two middle fingers and would have yelled, “Fuck you old man!” Not a lot of people know this but Jesus had an anger management issue. I actually contemplated throwing my empty Poland Springs water bottle at his window. Am I proud of myself for my behavior? No but it felt wonderfully cathartic.

The worse part of the situation was a young attractive woman was walking in the cross walk while we exchanged this bombastic banter. Had she witnessed the entire episode, she wouldn’t have judged me. But she hadn’t. Since he was in an air conditioned Mercedes, his windows were up and no one could hear him. My windows were down and everyone on the street could hear me. She had her back to his vehicle and was facing me. In life, it’s all about perspective. Similar to Einstein’s Theory of Relativity, her observation became the reality. Her eyes opened wide and she gasped as I yelled at an aging octogerian hooked up to an oxygen tank. She gave me the universal tsk-tsk glare and shook her head from side to side. I’m curious if Christianity would have ever taken off if Jesus would have drove around in traffic to spread the word. I highly doubt it.

I feel doctors should rename CFS

chronic fatigue syndrome

n. (Abbr. CFS)

A syndrome characterized by debilitating fatigue and a combination of flulike symptoms such as sore throat, swollen lymph glands, low-grade fever, headaches, and muscle pain or weakness. Also called chronic fatigue immune dysfunction syndrome.

They should call it CCFS or Convenient Chronic Fatigue Syndrome because they only get tired when its convenient for them…like a job. Or perhaps they should just call it LAZY which doesn’t stand for any thing they’re just lazy.

I’m so glad it’s hot again. Not because I especially like sweating, I like when it gets warmer because people who claim to be “suffering” from SAD aren’t whining as much.

seasonal affective disorder
n. (Abbr. SAD)
A form of depression occurring at certain seasons of the year, especially when the individual has less exposure to sunlight.

“It’s sooo cold and I’m sooo sad…blah, blah, blah (boo hoo)”

If they’re so sad because they need sunshine, why don’t they move down south or buy a fucking heat lamp. Of course they’re sad, their doctor tells them, “You have SAD.” They tell all their friends, “I have SAD.” They’re going to be fucking sad. The logical solution to the problem is to rename the “disorder” HAPPY which would be the acronym for Hypochondriacs are Perpetually Pathetic, Yes?