The Office Josh

Knock Knock... There's Someone at your Door...

Josh and Gordon performing at Chaunson Wedding #1

Unbridled Domepiece

My domepiece is unbridled; it is a feverish cauldron of seething hatred and visceral love making. The two fronts collide, rendering an omnipotent storm of passion. Dark clouds evolve, like the exhaled breath of a million-year-old mummy brought to life, and lighting strikes through my vasculature with vicious intent. I am a walking twistical. A walking, mystical twistical. . . who happens to like physicals. And chicken tenders.

Everyday Folks Signing Emails Like You 'n Me (and Peacil Mints/z)

-designing heating elements for coffee machines in the sunbelt,
Marion B. Ashleford

-Beegle M. Hooflarouex

-slicing skin off pig abdomens to separate bacon from pork rinds in a greasy ohio factory,
Fladdus Sen Perchery

-Speulunking my own natural mountainside garage,
Birmingham Fudgeknuckles

-Cordially, within the cavernous dwellings sequestered within my inner-being,
Chavez Vindigo

-Eat it,
The Cob

-in holy macaroni,
Juarma

-Peace,
Apollo

-Scabby Milkerton

-Virginia Roundanob

-Uranus

-dime lo que pasa!!
Luis San Chicharon!

-Hasta que los pedos me abandonen,
Josue el Gigante

-Un raton voleando,
Luis de la playa

-I will possess your heart,
Baskin Robbins

-Curious,
George

-percolating questions,
a carnal mind

-Lemmit vanSanscrit

-picklewicks

Peacil Mints/z: The Man Behind the Socially Inept Mask of Creepiness

Loobis, why does Peacil Mintz have a z instead of an s now? It sounds like he's trying to be hardcore.

Peacil Mints/z is a humble unassuming man who has come across some sexual proclivities in the privacy of his own home, that he doesn't know how to deal with. This makes him insecure and a little manic. He doesn't wear socks.

Peacil never wears socks? Like outside the confines of his home? Is he socially maladjusted because of his hypomania? Is he old? What does he think of children? And what is his natural body odor?

no never. he has old ratty slippers that he wears in his home. yes. he is middle aged but not near retirement. he is very uncomfortable around children because their oblivious jubilation makes him so aware of his own overcooked self-deprication. carrots.

poor guy. sounds like he struggles a bit. what's his love life like?

he is the only person involved in his love life.

Birthday-O's

Leslie, trying to enforce an aritificial, individual award ceremony for your birthday o clock is pointless bureaucracy. i could understand if you silently acknowledged it in your head, but when you profess it, i feel like i'm obligated to buy you a birthday o present. actually, i have no idea how i should feel. should i congratulate you? should i laugh? should i cheer and clap my hands with delight? what does it even mean? what does it mean to have a birthday o clock?

that's what i'm saying. i don't know what it means when you say "it's my birthday o clock." so if i plan to let you know when it's my birthday o clock, meaning it has intentions, does it mean the same thing as it just being a coincidence? it's like a horoscope. should i believe that i will laugh today? of course! if i were to put myself in that situation. but what does that even mean? and why should i acknowledge it?

________________________________________
From: Manboy [mailto:Xxx]
Sent: Wednesday, July 16, 2008 3:42 PM
To: Leslie Hammerwhacker
Cc: Peacil Mints
Subject: RE: batman

You’re saying that our counter to “birthday o’clock” is “pointless bureaucracy?”


Manboy
________________________________________
From: Leslie Hammerwhacker [mailto:xxx]
Sent: Wednesday, July 16, 2008 3:40 PM
To: Manboy
Cc: Peacil Mints
Subject: Re: batman

You're muddling it all up with pointless bureaucracy. What is this 'count' you're talking about? will it count for what?

On Wed, Jul 16, 2008 at 3:26 PM, Manboy wrote:

Peacil,
You make good points… I think it's more of a point of having your "birthday o'anything" aka what your numbers are, on the top of your head, and of course you will notice them.
It's like driving down the street when you're looking for the address 1004… you're looking for it, so when you see it, you recognize it.
Congrats on being the stinky kid… I'm sure it'll come with a newfound respect from your co-workers…. Or something like that…

Manboy

________________________________________
From: Peacil Mints [mailto:xxx]
Sent: Wednesday, July 16, 2008 3:24 PM

To: Manboy; Leslie Hammerwhacker
Subject: RE: batman

so does this have to be by chance or should i try to integrate my birthday o's? like what if i set my alarm tomorrow to send you an email at 9:17 am? that's an intentional birthday-o. does that count? or what if i decide to blow you away with a double whammy. . . by sending out an email at 9:17 am on 9/17? is that a double birthday-o? and have you ever taken into consideration army time? chances are, you haven't, because i've heard you profess your birthday o clock at 22:04. And technically, that's not your birthday-o. how does one account for that?
Manboy, i meant i'm the stinky kid for once because this time, i know that people know. there's no way they couldn't know. would i hold the title of stinky kid if nobody besides myself knew that i stunk? i mean, i left my cube with a trail of gas that smelled way worse than poop. . . and this woman walked up and tried to come into my cube to give me a card. i just snatched it out of her hand and bolted down the aisle. everyone proceeded to fill the aisle thereafter. busted. i am now the stinky kid.
________________________________________
From: Manboy [mailto:Xxx]
Sent: Wednesday, July 16, 2008 3:17 PM
To: Leslie Hammerwhacker; Peacil Mints
Subject: RE: batman

Hahahahahasld;k fj2r98 jd;slajkg tqg5jrz;xlc k90283 tfwedsxl;j
Manboy
________________________________________
From: Leslie Hammerwhacker [mailto:xxx]
Sent: Wednesday, July 16, 2008 3:15 PM
To: Peacil Mints
Cc: Manboy
Subject: Re: batman

Manboy, that's fate! God wants you to know your birthday-o's!!!

On Wed, Jul 16, 2008 at 3:13 PM, Leslie Hammerwhacker wrote:

that's unfortunate that you have such an awkward birthday. But through the wonders of the hexadecimal system we all have a birthday-o'clock. The Cabooze is on 917 Cedar Ave. That's a pretty cool birthday-o'address. In essence Peacil, don't be insecure about your birthday-o's, you've just got to be creative and be aware. Sometimes I wait for my birthday o'clock now because it makes me happy to see it, but most of the time, i'm just going about my day and 1004 jumps out of nowhere and delights me like a little ejaculation you didn't know was coming (literally! HA!).

On Wed, Jul 16, 2008 at 3:06 PM, Peacil Mints wrote:

how would 0917 play out in the real world, aside from time? Rarely is a baseball game ever in the 17's scorewise. That means my chances are slim to none that I will ever get to see my birthday o score. I don't live on 917 munchalunch lane either. So i don't have a birthday o address. I can't shape my area into 0917. Therefore I don't have a birthday o dong. I think this birthday o club is merely a scheme for you to form an extremely exclusive club so you can pretend you're better than the rest of the world.
Manboy, remember when I had those fart bags that would inflate and explode, leaving an eggy, sulfuric smell everywhere? i'm literally farting that stuff. it's hot and it spreads like wildfire. i just cropdusted the aisle here, and i heard some women joke about how stinky it smells in here. hahqa43yj24^@$^@!!!!! for once, i'm the stinky kid!!!

________________________________________
From: Leslie Hammerwhacker [mailto:xxx]
Sent: Wednesday, July 16, 2008 12:04 PM
To: Manboy
Cc: Peacil Mints
Subject: Re: batman

I didn't say they are essential, but they are not trivial. They are a self declamation of being. And yes, they existed before digital clocks. But birthdays can be found in almost any series of numbers. if you're at a baseball game and the score is 10-4. Well that's my birthday-o'score. do you live on 1004 munchalunch lane? that's my birthday-o'address. did you twist your genitals to shape 1004? that's my birthday-o'dong. It's about claiming an identity and being comfortable enough to declare that wherever you are. and while that is not essential for being alive, it is important for living!


________________________________________
From: Peacil Mints [mailto:xxx]
Sent: Wednesday, July 16, 2008 11:01 AM
To: Manboy; Leslie Hammerwhacker
Subject: RE: batman

that brings me to the question that has been burning in all of our minds Leslie. before digital clocks, did birthday o clocks even exist? with something of such short history, how can we say that birthday o clocks are an integral part of life? almost all things that are paramount to our lifestyles have extensive histories. and those that do not, like cell phones for example, are slightly more valuable than birthday o clocks. if a day went by where you didn't see your birthday o clock, would it honestly hamper your lifestyle?


______________________________________
From: Peacil Mints [mailto:xxx]
Sent: Wednesday, July 16, 2008 10:46 AM
To: Leslie Hammerwhacker; Manboy
Subject: RE: batman


Leslie, i think, aside from this past weekend, i have never hung out with you where you have not mentioned your birthday o clock. i'm going to think of something trivial of the sort and say it everytime around you.

A Test of Your Pleabological Righteousness

Grandpa Pleab says:
who likes chicken beaks?
-peeble deaks

Grandpa Pleab says:
who likes fried onions?
- punyons and funyons eating at runyons

Grandpa Pleab says:
why do they fry them?
-weed stem

Grandpa Pleab says:
what's that blue thing in your water?
-Harry Potter looking hotter

Grandpa Pleab says:
what's under your pillow?
-willow. that silly dwarf

Grandpa Pleab says:
who likes candy?
-randy pandy, all sandy boning mandy

Grandpa Pleab says:
why is there Pluto?
-pooh-doe

Coworker says:
why are you so weird
-chicken beard

Grandpa Pleab says:
Who likes physicals?
-mystical twisticals

Grandpa Pleab says:
Why do doctors operate?
-masterbate

Hypothesis on the Origins of Chicken Mots: An Analytical Perspective of the Corollaries of Space Bots

Chicken Mots: I picture these half-mutilated soggy Nuggets from McDonald's with the skin off, of course. And they'd be coated in Motts Applesauce in those little lunch pack containers? They'd all have little smiles and speak with chipmunk voices, but if you tread within their vicinity, they wouldn't hesitate to bite the bajeezus out of you.

Somehow, it makes sense that they exist within outer space, along with Space Bots. I picture Space Bots as being these little industrial robots that explore the vast regions of our mighty universe. Chicken Mots would be their little sidekicks, but would somehow dually serve as their antagonist. . .Kind of like a Tom and Jerry thing. Eventually the Space Bots would get so annoyed from having to sift through the plethara of chirping, gravitionless Chicken Mots, they'd just eat 'em as little snacks. Little packets of protein, carbohydrates, and animal gonads.

Somewhere, somehow, regardless of their opposing personalities, the Chicken Mots and Space Bots are attempting to accomplish that goal; what that goal is, however, we cannot say for sure, as we are merely humans. We cannot fully comprehend the true beastial nature of Chicken Mots and Space Bots. They are in a league of their own. . .kind of like those chicks who played baseball during the war and Tom Hanks was their coach?

The point is, we may think that the Chicken Mots and Space Bots are on a mission to travel to the vast ends of the universe, but we can only perceive this from our earthly location. While we become so fixated upon this seemingly fascinated observation, we fail to realize the obvious:

Perhaps there are Chicken Mots in the cardboard container on our lap. Perhaps we just ate some Chicken Mots at a company picnic. Perhaps the Chicken Mots have already be absorbed by the tissues of our bodies, and now we are, in fact, representatives of Chicken Mots ourselves. Perhaps one must ingest the nourishing qualities of Chicken Mots for him to realize that he has Chicken Mots qualities.

You, Deeny, are a Chicken Mot.

AK, you, my friend, are also a Chicken Mot.

But one cannot ignore the existence of Space Bots as well. Whatever happened to them? Well, let me tell you this: Perhaps the car you got into this morning is a remnant of that Space Bot. You would never know.

And let's say you had some Chicken Mots in your car. What would this make you? A Chicken Mot with a Space Bot.

Therefore, you must be on a universal journey yourself. Whatever that journey may be, whether it be to find the ends of the universe, or simply to enjoy a full half hour of Family Matters, you are on a journey. And that makes you a Chicken Mot with a Space Bot.

QED.

As in Quod Erat Demonstrandum

The Ramifications of Chicken Plantations

Whenceforth kind Chickabun dost proclaim,
Thy Chicken Plantation is not a game
Sir Edmond Pleabus the III, Esquire
Braved through water, wind and fire
Volleyed thunder, ferried fjord
All hailed him in the year of our Lord
Broke through fences, burned down peasants
Slaughtered dragons, pissed on pheasants
To save the Chickens from plantations
Whilst crippling their masters' evil nations
And carried kind Chickabun far and wide
Across the seas, to her bride
A Tupperware bowl in Newport Beach
For which a Deen Bean mouth dost beseech
And such is the mouth of a hungry man
Which grew so tired of Raisin Bran
Tomatoes, beans, all treasures included
Not one cupboard left unlooted
A happy meal of Chickadeal and joyful song,
Chickabun won approval of Ding Dong
No more plantations, No more travesty
Just deals for our meals, such glorious majesty

Chicken Basketry
(The art of making Baskets from Chicken Raquets) Jackets.
Whackits.

Hot Bacon Love

There was a lil guy named Bun. The irony was that Bun thought he was a Bun. You see, his parents were cruel, worthless fatsacks that decided to trick Bun into thinking he was a Bun by naming him Bun. In actuality, he was Bacon.

You can imagine his surprise when his parents threw him into a hot, oily pan on the stove. Slapjacks and cookie racks! That’s a hot bitch!

But how do you differentiate hotness from literal hotness? Bun thought his life had culminated into nothing more than an ill-named slice of pork, sizzling in a million degree pan, splitting apart his fatty lipid bilayers.

To the human eyes, however, Bun was hot – not physically hot. Well I suppose physically hot, but more along the lines of hot love. Who doesn’t lick their lips when they smell the aroma of Bun on a pan? That, my friends, is hot bacon love.

Can we get some hot bacon love up in here?

Bundt Kake (A story about a whale)

Whistling Children,

Ahhh. . . well to you. A whale is a cold well youth hitting on a will drugged house of day. A whale is unloading a massive whitehead on your right middle.

Papa C, to see about; I will be the wrath of Turtle Man at tithe drugged house of congress when I attempt to be honored to cancel the drugged house, only to timberwolf into my diary complete hot bacon love. Wily C, glad to loudly you're as crazy as. . . annihilate knees with haste.

To rest who haven't laughed harmoniously, you would be honored from crack.

while at work, I was pondering the morose idiosyncrasies that wait for manflesh our kind; reassuring glances from a dairy man who dies above a urinal, purposely urinating into the cup of youth. Are reassuring glances common? Do many of you a whale?

I figure, to a whale's height, crusty bean to completely normal against the wall but three. . .urinal. all but, to a whale doesn't create much noise, A knee high prevents. thing I dream about at tithe drugged house of congress draining is my arm. goes into my diary into my diary, that's what I say. (Unless you happen to be Grylls. . . you in while bellowing wrap around your head. . .all but three while but enjoying a tasty). . .

Do this. If you had to bathe in urine, would you have a cold or warm? Reassuring glances do the drugged house. but, bunny’s don't require much thought. . . are well cold, and will, drugged house of will. But not too old to drool. . . .I guess if I had to decide, I'd probably prefer warm cheese the drugged house of than cold. . . though tipping my arm a cold makes man in at deli.

Well, that's how to prepare lunch for musings. If many you Chaunson’s would care to write drugged house of, I would greatly appreciate a whale. . .it's not you have to do. . .I the drugged house of, you would be honored to us you do, but we all but three while pooping you're as pretty hot and tempting as next piece garbage next to you. How about into my diary I foot in your anal cavity?

pa C

Deny these children unto me and it wold be better to have a limestone hung around your neck and thrown into the sea

I was pretty shocked to read this story today. And then I started thinking about how the Chaunson family would fare through a 2hr catholic mass.

The story is about a church that issued a restraining order against a family who was bringing their autistic child to Sunday mass.


http://www.startribune.com/lifestyle/faith/19059069.html?location_refer=$sectionName



The comments are pretty interesting too. I guess I'm disappointed in the Church. It seems like an institution that claims to be founded on the principles of Jesus would be able to tackle this problem. Admittedly, both parties seem a little crazy.

I've always loved it when babies cry in church. It kinda reminds me of what church is really supposed to be about. And I look at all the people making faces, being annoyed that a baby is inconveniencing their service, and it makes me feel better than them.

So what do you think? Is the church just exercising their private property rights? or are they heretics in the Christian faith?

Snif-a-whif

The Office: Digital Short

Out From the Depths

Hello. My name is Winston. I was born in Bulgaria, son of Freita and Long John. Many thought I was a baby lamb, others thought I was just a hairy, homosapein fetus. This is because nobody knew the species of my parents, much less who they were. I was found in a field of truffles, surrounded by piglets; how I got there, to this day, remains a mystery. Freita and Long John abandoned me in my early infancy. Eventually I made my way to the western shores of what is now known as Portugal, where I was captured by a traveling band of gypsies that snorted dandelion pollen and drank alcohol-infused medicative products. Seeing as I was a small furry beast, they decided they had no use for me. I had no fingers and I was too small for an adequate-sized meat shank. The band of gypsies decided to cash in and sell me to a ship that was setting sail for the Western World. As you can imagine, I did not 'fit in' on this ship. I was small and furry; the crew was large and rugged. The only trait they shared with me their odiferous nature, which resembled SlimJims and Easy-Cheese.

One moonlit night, the deafening silence of the autumn air was pierced by an enormous booming sound. I opened my eyes to see our ship exploding into splinters and fire engulfing the mast. That's about the time when I must have blacked out, because the next thing I remember, I was waking up on a ship of what I deemed to be inhabited by pirates. In my hazy, half-awaken state, I remember them telling me of their quest to sail for the 'new land,' in hopes of seeking out a long lost boy by the name of Lewis. Apparently this Lewis character was seen, and even revered by some, in our homeland. Since then, it has been said he left for the Western World via the Mediterranean Sea, on a dolphin, and has never been seen since. Our quest was to find this man. . . because our forefathers who had sailed to this distant land sent back letters mentioning a crazed, old hermit who had apparently constructed a transport mechanism that looked fit for a clown. Our goal was to find this man and discover the secrets of his transport. . .as well as his reported ability to mix potions and adhere gold to small particles. (Plus, it has been said he smells of bananas and Old Dutch bagged popcorn, both of which are delicacies in Bulgaria).

Somewhere along the trip, on what must have been the 5th day of our voyage, we encountered a terrible storm. Fortunately, land was in sight when the outskirts of the storm fell upon us, thus rendering us able to escape the cliché of the the storm-induced shipwreck. This land, which we originally believed to be the Western World, was later discovered to be a strange, enchanted island. . . If you could call it an island. It was a massive region of land, surrounding a body of some strange black matter, somewhat resembling a very thin donut with a true void in the middle. This thought alone made me extremely hungry for donuts. As we landed our ship upon the sandy shores, we climbed our way out onto the halo-shaped land chunk. Immediately, we were confronted by the true elevation of this land mass; apparently, it was much higher than we envisioned from our ship. I began scaling the sides of these mountainesque slopes, thinking this may be a perfect opportunity to escape the enprisonment of those rectal smelling pirates.


I have always found myself a prodigious climber. Were I not such a climber my predicament would be quite different now. Upon my abandonment by my mysterious parents I was left on the steps of the swedish milkers church of Joseph, the largest swedish milkers church in all of Bulgaria. A friar opened the door and made to scoop me up and carry me towards an inescapable life of milking, but I quickly somersaulted out of the orange crate my parents had left me in and lept, with the ferocity of a lion and the sticky appendages of a gecko, on to the poorly constructed, stucco outer walls of the church. The poor craftmanship of the swedish milking friars provided many edges of wood and bone to grapple up the wall and out of reach of the yelling friar. I stayed atop the church until night, eating passing locus, and then escaped to whatever life may bring. All through my travels to Portugal I never encountered a better climber man, babe, or beast. And so was my thinking upon the start of my nearest escape from the pirates thus far.


My would-be captors soon noticed my intentions but instead of laying pursuit about half of their numbers ran back to the moored ship. Though I had only climbed several furlongs I began to sense that the dirt and rock on which I was climbing was beginning to moisten. The rest of the pirates had returned carrying armfuls of what appeared to be wood, steel and flesh. Above me there appeared to be an out cropping which would hopefully allow me to hide and loose them forever. The pirates below were constructing some contraption out of the supplies from the ship. As I climbed higher I felt my furry little hands becoming sticky and saw that I was slowly being covere in a black filmy substance much like that surrounding the island. The mountain was oozing a increasingly thick, black mess out of every crack and cranny. As I was trying to wipe off the vexatious substance I felt a hard thwack! and sharp pain in my right shoulder like a pair of pliers twisting into my furry hide. The pirates had constructed a catapult and were fling hairless shriveled creatures up at me. The one that dug into my shoulder was now latched on firmly and smiling at me with the kind of smile that a hairless shriveled creature handing out gideon bible's at the mall would give. Between the naked beast and the sticky goo I couldn't help but fall back into the clutches of the pirates. They locked me up and I quickly became friends with the creature embedded in my back.



The creature, who's name I was told was Scrublet, informed me of his history and how he eventually fell victim to the fecal-ridden hands of those dirty pirates. Apparently his birth was initially a project; an experimentation if you will. That hot Sun Maid Raisin chick, who can be found on the box of those delectable, purple morsels, had apparently 'given up' on the simple life of raisin production. She wanted to set the record for World's Largest Raisin, in effort to turn the public eye her way and earn her much-deserved spotlight in American commercials for flavored water drinks and extra-absorptive tampons.



So Sun Maid Chick began growing a vine within her vineyard, and periodically injected it with steroid derivatives and liquified Sloppy Joe mix. Eventually, she was able to grow grapes the size of baseballs. One grape, however, would grow to be the size of a basketball. A basketball! This grape she gave the name "Scrublet." (she thought that adding "-let" as a suffix would suggest a certain type of humor because "-let" would describe something small. The Sun Maid Chick, unbeknownst to most people had a very humorous side to her. She also drank heavily and got high off stamp-licking at an early age, but these taboo facts were never publicly displayed.



In an unforunate series of events during an early April midnight, and the maturation of Scrublet's grape-growth cycle, Sun Maid Chick's vineyard was violoently plundered by a band of dirty priates who called themselves the Dirty Holes. It was not determined as to what happened to Sun Maid Chick, but you can imagine what probably took place. For two months straight, the pirates resided in her vineyard, drinking her alcohol and licking the remainder of her stamps. By this point, Scrublet had withered in the hot Spanish sun, rendering his size to that of a softball. A pirate by the name of Burt found Scrublet in the corner of the vineyard. Without hesitation, Burt swallowed Scrublet, seeds and all.



The next evening, Burt painfully pooped out Scrublet. Apparently, Scrublet, because of his pre-birth steroid/sloppy-joe injections, had a mutated DNA sequence that made him resistant to hydrochloride and enzymatic digestions. Unfortunately, Burt had mutated his own sequence so he was able to radiate his food, much like a microwave. The result? Scrublet's innards became a sloppy, gooey mess and his outsides appeared even more charred and wrinkly than his pre-digestive state. When Burt noticed Scrublet had relatively maintained his structure (although he was even smaller in size now. . .about the size of a tennis ball), Burt locked up Scrublet and the Band of Dirty Holes began asexually producing his kind, for eventual use as catapault ammo. The problem is, Scrublet and his gooey, sticky friends were never malevolent creatures to begin with. And the fusion of Scrublet's sticky, wrinkly skin with my furry scapula region was the beginning of our friendship and mutual desire to overturn and escape the Band of Dirty Holes. Scrublet also smelled like cheddar potatoes; I liked that about him.



Night fell upon the halo-like island, which Scrublet and I collectively referred to as DonutWorld. After a raging party that included Carribean Rum, hookah gatherings, and karaoke, the Band of Dirty Holes, one by one, drank themselves into what appeared to be an unconcious state. Silence fell upon the grove at the base of the mountain, and while Scrublet and I were discussing plans to escape from our cage, when we heard a noice from the dense foliage behind us. Out from the darkness came a short, chubby silhouette. When light befell his face, we discovered it was the friar from the Swedish Milkers Church of Jospeph. In an effort to clarify himself, the friar, whose name was Skip, revealed to me he was mendicant follower. His attempt was actually not to get me to join a life of milking; First and foremost, he was looking for milk, and my nipples were the perfect source. (I assure you I have none, but Skip seemed oblivious to this fact). After reaping the charitable, calcium-enriched donations of my non-existent nips, his plan was to whisk me away to enjoy the Dervish lifestyle with him, in which we could live off the earth and eat our own scabs, should we ever become hungry. He assured me he would help me escape from this cursed cage I was currently locked in, but also stated he might have to eat Scrublet if his appetite got the better of him. Scrublet, of course, despised this notion and began screaming and making quite a racket as Skip desperately tried to unlock our cage.


Friar Skip had the swift and strong hands of a milker and made short work of our locked cage door. The three of us fled on two pairs of feet past the unconscious guard and up onto the top deck. There we found at least 13 Dirty Holes asleep on the deck. We knew if we stayed hidden on the ship the Dirty Holes would assume we'd escaped to the island and we would likely move on towards their destination. Otherwise we could take our chances on DonutWorld. Skip thought it would be best to hide in a spittoon until we had reached more familiar land, but I knew that I had unfinished business in DonutWorld. We began to argue quite loudly but no one on deck stirred.
"No alms can come from a place like this! We will surely starve with nothing to milk!", Skip pleaded.
"We cannot stay on board this ship. I must go ashore."
"You are as mad as you were when I found you!"
"Mmmareff asrrfgel mmmprrasmm", was all Scrublet could say through my copious and sweaty back fur that was now beginning to grow into his nostrils.
"This land is cursed! We cann-----aaackk!"
Suddenly Skip froze stiff as a board. His eyes were screaming with the pain and terror of a bobcat having its face beat in with a 2x4. A stir of motion caught my eye on the ground and I saw a dark shape entering up the friar's smock. As I pounced for it, it slipped through my hands and I immediately recognized it as the conscious black goo from the escarpment on DonutWorld. The goo was splitting apart on the ground and the other half was moving back towards the motionless Dirty Hole from which it had apparently came. Presently Skip began to convulse and sputter while remaining on his feet. He stopped with a jerk and focused his eyes on Scrublet and I.



What Scrublet and I witnessed next was absolutely horrifying, and will forever be engrained in my mind. Skips eyes, after being fixated on my strikingly sculpted features, rolled in the back of his head and he began sputtering Agglutinative language while convulsing. "Teeny-Weeny!" "Speedometer!" "Transverse!" Scrublet and I were completely confused, when all of a sudden, Skips's orifices violently projectile-vomited black goo. The flow rate drastically began increasing until his epithelia could no longer withstand such distension, and that's when his body pretty much exploded in a pile of flesh and black goo. As we stood there, astonished and coated in this mess, our ears were filled with the diabolical laughs of the Dirty Hole behind us. We turned around, and discovered that the remaining black goo had engulfed the evil pirate, rendering him a self-made weapon of tar baby goop. Our previously indecisive minds were suddenly given confirmation about leaving the ship and returning to the island. Luckily, the pirate's weak human legs were no match for my canine composition; We lost him as soon as we hit the grove of trees in the island. However, we realized we were suddenly a wanted target for the entire band of Dirty Holes, and somehow we would either need to find a way to destroy them, or we must escape to the black void of DonutWorld. I must admit I was a bit apprehensive of this blackness because of what the black goo (which we assumed came from the Donut Center) had just done to Skip. It was about this time when we stumbled upon an entrance of what appeared to be a cave; it was engulfed in Ficus branches. We heard chirping inside and decided to check it out.


When we entered the cave there was no need to adjust our eyes for there was a shimmering luminescence coming up from the ground. Moving forward I soon learned that the ground was well below watery layer that floated on top of the ground, also known as a pond. We had entered a grotto lit from below by some strange source. Ficus trees grew upside down from the ceiling, thick and stolid. The chirping had subsided as soon as we arrived in the main space of the grotto but began again as I waded into the "pond". I could see light yellow and brunette figures flashing around my feet and I could feel Scrublet focusing on them too. Nerves had penetrated through his canine dentine and enamel and were beginning to form synaptic bridges with my own nervous system synchronizing our emotions and bowel movements.
One of the yellow streaks in the water stopped infront of us and I could hear it chriping. It allowed me to pick it up in a bowl of water formed by my hands and as I drew it close I could see that it was a beautiful naked woman in miniature. I suddenly had a very strong pelvic urge to be that tiny myself and I knew Scrublet was having the same urge though he did not posses reproductive organs. The woman dipped below the water in my hands and swirled in my tiny bowl, swimming like a seal. Breaching the surface again, she chirped at me but her mouth did not move. Then she lept out of my grasp and back into the grotto. And I leapt after her, unconsciously, bidden by my loins I had to follow. Below the water the light source was brighter but no more distinguishable. I had lost track of my diminutive desire, but more naked women were darting across my view every second. Soon I was caught in tortured ecstasy as a disorienting blur of raw, bare flesh swept me up and I lost all sense of my surroundings.



As I was trying to make sense of what was happening, I found myself to be the disproportionately large cargo of these group of chirping, naked women. I couldn't help but think of them as ants; carrying their precious treasure back to a hole of sand and dirt; only, these were very agile mini-women who were able to swim and dive gracefully through an aquatic habitat - one that promoted Ficus growth overhead. Before I knew it, Scrublet and I were being carried through a narrow opening in the rock formation, and eventually through what must have been a 500 foot tunnel. There were rollers and brushes staggered overhead and peripherally, much like a carwash. . .only these brushes were composed of millions of tiny, naked women all linked together like sausage casings. They tunnel resounded with an enormously booming, reverberating chirping sound from the MiniWomen as they unanimously worked to furiously scrub the black goo and innards off my fur and Scrublet's. . .err. . . .skin. We eventually reached the end of the tunnel and were shot out into a much larger room that seemed to have a heavenly glow. The water was beaming much brighter than before, and the Ficus trees were no longer on the ceiling, revealing a mirror-like cavernous ceiling. Millions of MiniWomen were swimming around our feet, and the chirping was now louder than ever. As I looked on the walls, I noticed hieroglyphics etched all over its surface. In front of me was a massive etching of Sun Tzu, followed by pictures representing each of the 13 chapters of the Art of War along the rest of the wall. Each concept was illustrated with naked women as warriors. . .and PIRATES as the enemies!!!! As I slowly began to make the link between these facts in my head, while also considering the fact that it was weird for me to be attracted to diminuitive homosapiens because I am a dog, my attention was suddenly diverted at the sight in front of me. The MiniWomen were all coagulating in a dense structure, but what it was, I was still not sure. As they began taking on a more definitive shape, my jaw dropped in front of me. . .



The figure taking shape was more and more clear. Millions of tiny women were coagulating into a large figure, which loomed about 9 feet off the ground. It was a massive, pregnant, naked woman. . .with a beak. As the last few MiniWomen attached themselves to her ogreish figure, she began chirping; only her chirping was extremely low in pitch, and it's bass-like frequency rattled the floor and walls. Suddenly, from her womb came a slimy figure. . .she was giving birth!!! The obscurity of this fact was masked by the fact that the fetal human was delivering itself. . .and it was Ron Paul. With a giant thud, Ron Paul hit the ground in a gooey mess, followed by the placenta. As he scrambled to his feet, he introduced himself: "Hi. Ron Paul, Certified Obstrecian." Before I could make sense of any of this, The giant woman, turned around, bent over, and with a giant explosion, her High Alitude Flatus Expulsion got the better of her. In a cloud of methane and fecal nuggets, Ron Paul and I were propelled out of the cave, screaming and flailing. We hit the ground at the entrance, lying motionless in pain. Slowly, Ron turned his head to me and said "I hear you've got a pirate problem. I think I can help. But it will cost you. I'm looking for a boy named Lewis John, son of Lewis John, seeker of my political stance and my earnest loins." I smiled. "You've got a deal," I said.



Ron Paul then informed me that he was not only a certified obstetrician (as well as a political guru and revered god among bearded graduate students looking for a bold, alternative view on political delegation), but he was also an experienced astrophysicist in both observation and theory. He conceded that Donut World may not have necessarily been what I thought it was; he suggested it was quite possible we may have stumbled upon a Laurentzian Transversable Wormhole. The black matter within the center of Donut World may have been a white hole existing within this negative universe, and we resided outside of its event horizon. (this would explain why I constantly felt pulled. It also explains how the pirate on the ship exploded when coated in this dense material. . .essentially his matter was receding from the event horizon, located on his body, once covered in blackness). The problem with our wormhole was that, much like the Schwarzschild wormhole, it would pinch itself off as soon as it formed. We would somehow need to open it up with a form of exotic matter, thus creating an open passage for us to travel through.

I asked Ron Paul why this was necessary. He stated "This boy I am looking for. . .Lewis John; he resided in a previous life of mine. At least, I assumed it was a previous life. After some thinking and mathematical exploration, I determined that it was possible to reach a parallel world in which he existed. I believe it was in this parallel world that Lewis John only became aware of my existence in his mid-twenties. If I could go back and somehow reach him at an earlier age, I could receive the much needed press and propaganda I need during my run for presidency. Lewis John has the potential to spread my name among young twenty-somethings around the U.S.!!!"

Reluctantly, I shook my head in agreement with Ron Paul's twisted statements and his high-pitched voice. We began searching for exotic matter to create a Morris-Thorne Wormhole, when I heard Scrublet's muffled voice coming from my scapula.

Chaunsons Fail Post

A lesson in blogometry

Here are some useful definitions for the Chaunson family.

Blog- a web log. a website where one or more authors can post essays on different subjects.

Post- a single entry in a blog. Posts are usually restricted to one subject or the contents of one day.

Comments- this is a section found under each post where others can comment on the post. Comments are used to keep discussions coherent and to keep multiple people from posting multiple posts on the same topic over and over.

I know you don't get to create a clever title for your response but if you use the comments it will clean up the webspace and make it much easier to tell when you've been responded to.

The caveat here is that you have to actually check the comments section when you go to the blog.

So what do you say friends? Let's clean up this place!

Remember. . .

If you've just read a post,
and you need to lament;
don't boast a repost,
just leave a comment

Love, Glove, Dove

AK47 Pleabs,

I don’t argue with you about “The Greatest Love Story Ever Told.” In fact, I concur wholeheartedly my Heeby Pleeby friend.

When you started talking about Eros, however, that’s where I began disagreeing. Do you know where the concept of Eros stemmed from? It was a Greek mythological god. The god of love. Plato worked on its definition for sometime, and many philosophers used it later on. . .much like the definition you took from FREUD’S definition of sexual love.

What I’m saying is that these are still human-composed concepts, and if we believe in the same God, and God is Love, then those human-composed concepts are merely shots in the dark as to what human love is.

The Bible says God is Love, so if you claim to know Love, you claim to know God. You don’t know God. You have a glimpse as to what He is, but you don’t fully understand. Thee same goes for love, or unconditional love I should say.

So I guess, yes, we both agree that there is a duality in love, at least from our perspective. . . There is suffering and sadness. But we often see, in hindsight bias, that these are required for love to exist, whether we agree with it or not.

But my issue with Boyd is that he renounces any pain and suffering in this world as being Love or God-related. He says God plays no hand in those instances. And if you want to know why I have such a huge problem with this, read my entry right below this one “Who knows? (Nobody! Nobody!)”

As far as loving your neighbor as you love God, I think we need to constantly be reevaluating ourselves and where we stand. The big question is “How? How do I love?” It’s easy to say “just love.” But people who aren’t even Christians exhibit what seems to be love, so how do as Christians better represent it?

It’s easy to care for your wife, your girlfriend, your family and friends dude. But think about people you can’t stand. Think about people you despise. You are instructed to love them. How on earth do you even do that? I think we caught a piece of a snapshot of what love is in the crucifixion. It sent a message. . . deny yourself for God and for others. Sacrifice yourself. Give up your time, your money, your energy, all of you. And not just for the people close to you. Now how often do we do that? And how often do we even RECOGNIZE it? And yet, we have the audacity and the arrogance to go around preaching about love.

The truth is, like Lewis said below, people would rather not hear about it; they’d rather see it in action. It bothers me beyond all belief when Christians think that non-Christians will someday find a faith if they just hear more Bible verses about love thrown at them. Or if they hear that Jesus loves them. If they don’t believe in Jesus, then this has no relevance.

If you are instructed to be a part of the living body of Christ, your time would be better spent not talking about the love of Christ, aside from the fact that you don’t even know what that means, but rather living it out the best way you know how. This goes for me too.

Grandpa C

Who knows? (Nobody! Nobody!)

Sniffles,

When I say Buddhism is a “feel good” faith, I say it in terms of “what can I do to achieve inner peace.” In truth, there are a lot of everyday methodologies one can use to achieve inner peace – yoga, meditation, what have you. But if you don’t believe my Buddhism comment, look it up and read about it. Sure, it’s a religion that practices moderation, but the ultimate goal, at least from what I understand, is achieving nirvana. This is sort of like a heavenly state in which conflict no longer exists and one finds peacefulness.


Secondly, I don’t know why the hell it is so difficult letting the concept of God be God.

If we ignore the concept of Christianity momentarily, just think for a moment what it means for “a god” to exist. I guess I could ask you something like this: When asked what “a god” is, how would you define it? Would you bind this god to certain limitations? If so, I have a few words for you:

That isn’t a god. . .or maybe it could be by your definition. But that really seems more like a superhuman. It can do some things beyond human standards, but is limited in other areas.
If I believe in this god, I essentially am taking stake in something you just made up. That’s like you taking some crayons and a piece of construction paper and drawing “a god,” and me subsequently devoting my whole life to it.

Now that we’ve gotten past the general concept of “a god,” let’s consider God, as written in the Bible (the same God Boyd and I supposedly believe in, along with all other Christians).

Revelation 11:17 - Exclaiming, To You we give thanks, Lord God Omnipotent, [the One] Who is and [ever] was, for assuming the high sovereignty and the great power that are Yours and for beginning to reign.

Omnipotence – look it up.

Sniffles,

If God is omnipotent, he has infinite power. Infinite. Meaning unending. He always was, is and will be. He defies “time.” And why shouldn’t he? He created it.

If God created time Sniffles, and he subsequently became a victim of it, of his own created concept, he exists in the time frame as do we. He cannot know what will be, what will happen. He is no longer all-knowing. He merely moves through a timeline with us, completely oblivious to anything in the future. And if He cannot foresee the future, how could He have prophesied like He did?

That is what I mean by drawing lines. If Christianity is supposedly the only way and this is the one true God, He should reign above all. . .and according to Revelation, He does. What does this mean? HE HOLDS EVERYTHING. Take that kid’s song. . . “He’s got the whole world in his hands” and alter the words a bit: “He’s got the whole universe and all of its concepts in his hands.”

And if you’re going to try to argue that, because Jesus was human, he walked the earth and was subject to time just like the rest of us, I will agree with you. . .PHYSICALLY. But if Jesus is God, He abided by the same concepts as God (read above). He still had infinite knowledge and power. What was the Greek word that explained this concept? Ah yes. . . Kenosis.

In short, Sniffles, I have a difficult time when people start throwing God-Limitations at me, because it contradicts the concept of "god" itself! If these people understand God so well, meaning they can define what He would and wouldn’t do, they are really stating that they are gods over God. If God has limitations made up by some arrogant philosopher, then I’d much rather not adhere to that heresy.

Consider it this way: A limited mind can only produce a limited answer.

The rest follows suit.

Grandpa C

The greatest love story ever told..

= the passion.  dehydration. 40 lashes. crown of thorns. mocking. carrying the cross. 9 inch nails. crucifixion.

that sounds like a lot of suffering to me.  

Josh, the problem is that you take a very 'post modern' view on love.  Maybe you should listen to Boyd's series on what 'love' is.  Love really has 3 separate branches.  One of them is Eros, which is what we think of a lot today - the emotion, cupids arrow, hearts, touch, sex, overall - erotic.  But there is A LOT more to love.  Love really has to do with death to self, and put others over you.

1 Corinthians 13 has a lot to say about it.  or try colossions 3.

The fact is - the God you, Josh, believe in demands you not to understand him, not to understand his creation and omnipotence, but to 'do'

love God and love your neighbors above yourself.  All God asks us to do (meaning he empowers us to do it) is wrapped up in this one verse in Matthew.  It's simple and it's beautiful. 

And that DOES NOT mean put on your birkenstocks, your favorite Grateful Dead tie-dye, hand out flowers, eat some Ben and Jerry's, rock out to Phish, and only eat granola.

sometimes it does mean suffering - as the greatest example of love this world will ever know was, in fact, SUFFERING.

love you Grandpa, 

I can't wait to see you tonight, take a flight, i just might, a shining light, brilo-bright, fly a kite, nasty bite, pillow fight, out of sight, lots of height, yes I might, chaunson fight, chicka chight..

Who knows? (I do! I do!)

Grampa C,

It seems to me that both you and Boyd are just creating whatever kind of God you need to enable yourself to believe in God. For you to believe in God, you need him to be omnipotent. Why? What if God is inside and subject to time, but he still reigns over heaven and judges our souls and created us and insprired the bible and fathered Jesus Christ? What if (somehow) you came to know all this but that God can't see our choices before we think them? Would you seriously choose to not believe in this God?

I guess by this point in the narrative you'd at least have to believe he exists.

How do you KNOW that God IS omnipotent? regardless of which scenario is more likely neither possibility is extinguished. so why decide now without the proof?

Ultimately I think it's good to pick sides and beliefs if only for a little while to see if you really believe them. But if your always open to change and reinterpretation do you really ever believe anything? Does it matter? If your goal is to land in heaven then yeah it matters. what if you had no goals? I don't think that's possible. Maybe if you could really eliminate all goals from your mind, you'd just leave your body and move on.

Buddhism isn't about "feeling good" and solving personal problems.

The best thing you can do to save our environment is die.

Sniffles

RE: joy-fantasy land excerpt

"don't judge. . .just love" is a good system. What this friend of yours is arguing against is the "don't judge. . .just tell everyone to love" system.

Loving people is not simply telling them about love. Loving people takes actions and sacrifices. Yes suffering people want reasons and explanations but NOT FROM YOU! Sometimes loving people is shutting up, keeping your advice to yourself and just being nice. Help them out with the mundane challenges so they can spend time finding explanations and enjoying your love quietly.

Here's two easy steps to live a good life.
1. don't judge. . .just love
2. take a vow of silence

The most persuasive thing any Christian can do to convert others is to inspire them by being loving all the time. People know where you stand you don't need to tell them all the time.

I say don't get down on the love only all the time people cause they are pretty great people.

Sniffles

You're Right Pleabus. Who Knows??

AK47 Pleabus in my Adidas,

I appreciate your insights, and I must say, for the most part, I agree with you; God IS love, and He is much greater than we can ever understand. But that’s exactly my point.

I’m not claiming to understand God. I’m not claiming to establish a concrete set of beliefs on some seemingly obscure topic that doesn’t have anything to do with the concept of Christianity.

What I am ultimately saying is that I DON’T understand it all. By relinquishing all of my knowledge and intuition and acknowledging that God has all the power, I essentially say that I know nothing. I know nothing of anything, except for the fact that God is everything; he is far beyond my understanding. So for anyone to say that they determine their own future and decide their own destiny is a bold, and quite honestly, arrogant statement to me. They are saying “God. . .You know everything. . .except when I decide.” Then I say. . .What’s the point of there ever being a God if you are controlling your own future?!?!?!?!?

I don’t want this to sound like an intellectual competition, really. I could care less about Boyd’s credentials and his intellectual hierarchy. I could care less about my formal thinking abilities. That’s not my agenda.

The reason I make such a big deal about this is because it IS a big deal. I think everyone who says that my argument with Boyd is senseless is really missing the main point of Christianity. If it wasn’t so important, I wouldn’t be making such a fuss about it.

My problem is that Boyd DRAWS LINES. He takes a supernatural, omnipotent presence, and he boxes it up. He says, “God does this, but He doesn’t do that.” Well Boyd, how would you know? That’s no longer a God then. It’s a man-made concept. And why would I want to believe in Greg Boyd’s concepts??? They’re his own, synthetic products . . .much of which are covered with holes and don’t make the slightest bit of sense anyways!

What I’m saying is. . .If we start at square one, in that God is the Divine Creator, we mutually agree that He is everything. He has power over everything. He made everything. He prevails over all, even the devil. That’s all that needs to be said. Everything else is explained by God, not us. That is an incredible weight off my shoulders, but I can see why it’s such a shock for the power-hungry folks like Boyd.

Deny yourself. That’s what Christ did. And He’s our God.

Deny what you think you know.

Stop philosophizing and creating concepts.

God knows.
That’s all that needs to be said.

~Grandpa


I will end by quoting a few excerpts from a couple emails sent from a friend of mine when she read a piece by Greg Boyd.

“On 'Repenting of religion: turning to judgment to the love of God' - by greg boyd

Dietrich Bonhoeffer inspired the book- who says love and judgment oppose each other

'The knowledge of good and evil seems to be the aim of all ethical reflection. The first task of christian ethics is to invalidate this knowledge.' ~bonhoeffer

So here is boyd... using his (ahem) JUDGMENT to pick and choose what he agrees with, what he doesn't, and what he changes about bonhoeffer's ideas. That is the introduction to the book.

The first chapter begins of Boyd telling of a time where he was people-watching at a mall and realized how he was sitting there judging everyone that walked by. So he decided to change his mindset and start looking at everyone in a more kind light. He discovered, AMAZINGLY, that when he told his mind to start thinking nice thoughts about others, that he found nice things about them and seemed to feel more love toward them. When he looked for good things in other people, he found some. Amazing.

So...'Don't judge...just love'.

I feel like I should stop showering, get out my rainbow sunglasses and my pot smoking conversion van with wall to wall shag.... and walk around with a confused look saying 'just love man.... peace is the answer'. 'Mmm I love brownies. And... hey lets go get something to eat.'

Noble idea... 'love'... but not exactly a theme the bible does much to support when it’s completely removed from its context, repainted, and thrown around like confetti....like 'love' truly ever has been FREE. I would have to say that the bible does a lot more speaking of the hardships and suffering and dying and COST than it does of just LOVE love love.... like anybody actually has a clue about what that means anyway. The pure fact that english has one word and other languages have several to define the different 'loves' should be a flippin clue.
Sheesh.


If you don't put a name on the suffering... you do a much greater disservice to non-believers than not saying anything at all. Speaking from experience...if you can do nothing to explain the hurt of this life, you won't resonate with those who are most open and ripe to hear the gospel of a God who traded himself in order to make it right for us
all in a million different ways. Is all you do is speak of purest
happiness and nothing more... and only instruct the world that 'love is the answer'... you will merely alienate those who needed you most.
Anyone who has loved and lost knows the kind of hopelessness in such empty advice.

That is where the exclusion of christianity truly seems to me... where the 'chosen' ignore the unchosen and look either down on them or simply away.... in their 'joy' fantasyland.”

who knows?

I woke up this morning with further thoughts and pleabusness on my yesterdays post...

Just waking up in the morning I try to thank God.  I don't know but today seems kinda odd.  No barking from the dog, and no smog, and momma cooked the breakfast with no hog.  I got my grub on, but didn't pig out, finally got a call from a girl I wanna dig out.  Hooked it up on the later as I hit the do, thinking while a live, another twenty-fo....

just kidding, that's just ice cube.

food for thought..

question:  Is water - a) a liquid  b) a solid  c) a vapor

answer:  D - all of the above

question:  is light a wave or a particle?

answer: both - it travels as wave and interacts as a particle

question:  is God - a) the Father  b) the Son  c) the Holy Spirit

answer:  D -  all of the above!

Holy macaroni in my pony!!  The bottom line is this - our homeboy is humungoulsy, jinourmously, and universally gigantic, omnipresent, and above all - mysterious.  

The good thing is we were never called to understand his HUUUUUUGE creation.  phew!  

the stupid thing is - we try.  Believe me - I am the most guilty of trying above most anyone.  oh well, I am a stupid human.  But when I am most in tune with my boy, the more I know I don't know - but the more I know.  what?  

humans greatest wisdom is not knowing.  Socrates said this a VERY long time ago, and it remains true today.

so is Josh, Greg Boyd or any other scholor correct? who knows?  sometimes points can help those questioning.  it is too bad when it turns into debate against each other.  it is just noise.

what if time, and the future is set - but it is also manipulated.  both?  it's possible.  what if it is two in one?  there is no way shape or form for us to try and understand this.  so stop trying.  we won't know until we are dead.  don't waste precious breath attempting to figure out what you cannot.

Josh, you seem to be SO hung on the fact that you once confronted Boyd.  who cares?  maybe he wasn't ready to handle such a debate in that setting.  maybe he didn't know how serious you were and how much you thought about it.  maybe you stumped him.  does it matter?  you probably really are smarter than Boyd - or at least as intellectually challenged.

I love you more than any pleabus could love a chaun!!  or is it chaun to another pleabus? or is it chaun to a chaun? or pleabus to pleabus..................................  WHO KNOWS!?!

bottom line - I LOVE you bro.  I love the rest of you chauns as well.

AK-47

ps - today I didn't have to use my AK - I gotta say it was a GOOD DAY.

The man in the mirror?

Josh - my sweet pleabus (cousin word to chaunson) - you radiate so much chaunson that you have actually been able to take a ficticious word, "chauson," and make it real.  You truly ARE, indeed, a chaunson. and you make me so proud.....

with Love from the sandy beaches of Newport Beach, CA.........

Josh, you are an amazing mind.  Your intellect in incredible.  Your wit and deep thoughts are FAR above the norm.  You are extremely talented in constructing well, thought-out ideas and explaining them.  you are a very gifted lyricist and it has been a great pleasure to be apart of your gifts - poop forecasts and all - and I love you for it.

I think you and Greg Boyd to go need sit down with a pitcher and be really smart together.

Do you know what a fundamentalist is?  It is someone you has stopped listening.  

You have decided to take your brilliant mind and construct a belief system, that has caused you to unwilling accept ANY other alternative.  you have become very, very stubborn in your deep rooted beliefs, and you have stopped listening.

If you were able to hold a mirror up to a lot of the things you preach against, you would actually see yourself.  Your great mind has established this very rigid, certain set of beliefs and you have become your own god.

How are you able to make such strong, certain decisions about EVERYTHING and "know" them to be true?  who are you to decide the definition of what God is or what gods are??

If you ever really let Christ into your life ('let' as in CHOOSING to accept HIM), you soon realize that your faith is not understood (understood in your mind).  It is a 'peace' that passes ALL understanding.  It comes from within, from your soul, where Christ's holy spirit literally resides. "God's love has poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us." (Romans 5:5) "And if the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead is living in you, he who raised Christ from the dead will also give life to your mortal bodies because of his Spirit who lives in you." (Romans 8:11)  And there are countless times throughout the new testament that claim 'those who believe' 'those who choose.'  There are also many, many, many commands to not live by sinful nature, live by the world.  

God has simply empowered us and it's beautiful.

There is SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO much we don't understand.  but we don't need to.  "trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding." (Proverbs 3:5).  It starts with surrender - surrender of your mind, of your own understanding, and then you will understand what you DON'T understand - get it??  

"If any of you think you are wise by the standards of this age, you should become 'fools' so that you may become wise." (1 corinthians 3:18)

Here we go:  faith is not understood with the mind.  it is not a cognitive thought.  it is not debated.  it is an EXPERIENCE you get to have when you allow Christ to give you LIFE and life to the FULL.  it is amazing.  AMAZING LOVE.

So, surrender your life - your mind - your everything - and PROTECT it.  keep giving it back to Christ.  

"Be alert and of sober mind.  Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour.  Resist him, standing firm in the faith, because you know that your fellow believers throughout the world are undergoing the same kind of sufferings." (1 Peter 5:8-9).

There IS a real evil presence in the world.  and I have seen it.  if you want REAL eye witness of stuff you thought was only in movies - I can tell you.  WHO CARES?  the devil is a coward.  the name CHRIST causes him to tremble in fear.  but, he is a witty little bastard and all he can do is lie.  I will tell you this Josh, the guilt you feel from decisions or choices you make does NOT come from our boy upstairs....

fellas, this it is.  LOVE.  simple.  that's it.  it is seriously it.  love.  just love. it is beautiful. 

"Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.  This is the first and greatest commandment.  And the second is like it: Love your neighbor as yourself.'  ALL (ALL!!!!!!) the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments." (Matt 22:37-40)

BOOM!

all debate is just babble - a GONG.  there is no need.  lets stop it.  it gets us nowhere.  i tried to debate faith once and it ate me.  i've learned from it. Christ has shown me SO much.

"The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy;  I have come that they may have LIFE, and life to the FULL." (John 10:10)  

everything else is just existing.

May Christ's love shine on all of you Chaunsonas and you may have LIFE!

in the name of the giver of LIFE, my homeboy....

Chaunson #47 - AK

 

Greg Boyd is a Heretic

Greg Boyd is a heretic.

Does this make me sound like a heretic? Before you answer this question, have you ever considered the possibility that the information one man is shooting at you might simply be mythical and overly-contrived? Where and when was it determined that one man could make such discreet statements about concepts that are both improvable AND spiritually incomprehensible to the mere human?

I think Greg Boyd is scared. I think many who follow this “theology” and “philosophy” are simply scared. They understand the fragility of human life, and they look short of God to their own ‘answers’ to define the concepts they either don’t understand or don’t agree with.

A very frustrating question to me is:

If Greg Boyd and I believe in the same Book, why do we have such completely different views?

Boyd has an impressive track record, graduating from Yale and Princeton in theological studies. He also studied theology for 16 years at Bethel University and founded Woodland Hills Church. But when talking about God, what the heck does that even mean to me? Nothing.

Regardless of whether or not Greg Boyd went to Yale or was a complete bum on the street - if he and I believed in the same God, we should believe in the same God. But we don’t.

1. Boyd paints a “spiritual” setting in which God intervenes from time to time. Humans make their own decisions, and it is the result of these many decisions, combined with unseen demonic activity and spiritual warfare, that ultimately creates the “butterfly effect.”

My response to this? If Boyd and I agree that God created everything, then we should agree He created the concept of time. Time is relative; this is scientifically proven. Therefore, time is not some concrete linear movement in one direction. From our perspective, it is. From Boyd’s perspective, it is.

If God created time, it simply exists. It doesn’t develop as a series of progressions. It just is. It exists. And God knows all of it. Some people say “Well yeah. God knows everything that is happening, but he doesn’t control all of it.” This doesn’t make any sense.

I hate to quote a movie, but I will, simply because it has some surprisingly keen intellect:

Donnie: Could these wormholes appear in nature?

Dr. Monnitoff: That...is highly unlikely. You're talking about an act of God.

Donnie: If God controls time...then all time is pre-decided. Then every living thing travels along a set path.

Dr. Monnitoff: I'm not following you.

Donnie: If you could see your path or channel growing out of your stomach you could see into the future. And that's a form of time travel, right?

Dr. Monnitoff: Well, you're contradicting yourself, Donnie. If we could see our destinies manifest themselves visually...then we would be given the choice to betray our chosen destinies. The mere fact that this choice would exist...would make all preformed destiny come to an end.

Donnie: Not if you chose to stay within God's channel...


And while this is a little off from my point, it still parallels what I’m trying to say. In essence, if we determine much of our outcomes in life, we are, in essence, gods ourselves. We do not control time; in other words, we do not control events existing in time. It may appear to us that we do, but God has created those “channels” that create life’s events.

A common response to this is: So we are no longer responsible for our actions? We can just blame God then? I respond with: Well, do you feel prompted to go commit a horrible act? We don’t justify our actions by saying “God mad me do it,” because humans inherently believe we have the ability to make our own decisions, both good and bad. I live each and every day with the feeling of freedom in that I am able to make decisions. I also feel guilt and remorse when these decisions don’t always fall in line with God. But this is what it means to be human. This is how God designed me. In a much bigger picture, however, zoomed way out, something has already been planned. I only have a limited mind and I only really see the here and now.

2. Boyd also states, if God is love, then why do so many evil things happen in the world? Surely they aren’t acts of God.

My response is: How do you know? How do you, Greg Boyd, truly know what unconditional love is? For all the evil and horrible things that happen in the world, how are you so sure they aren’t part of a much greater plan? How do you know that a short, abused life here on earth isn’t part of a plan for reincarnation and eternal life in heaven?

When your mother took you to get your shot at the doctor, assuming you didn’t like shots, I’m sure you looked at her with the same confusion.

Sometimes, pain and suffering are required. It IS an evil-filled world. And while some of us, including Greg Boyd, have the benefit of actually living in a blessed country and can indulge in some of life’s beauty, others aren’t so lucky.

The book of Job is a perfect example that displays God’s sovereignty over all. The devil requests permission to strip from Job everything he owns and God grants permission. Now why would God do this??? My guess is that He wants to show Job that he is all-powerful, and it is He that should be considered over all; even before Job’s children and wife. Did this seem evil? Yes. But it was from God. And it was all in the name of goodness.

Ironically enough, Boyd renounces the book of Job as nothing more than an “epic poem.”

Boyd, I would challenge your mode of thought with perhaps the most atrocious event in the history of the world: the death of Christ.

The birth of Christ was part of a plan by God to bring salvation to everyone on earth. Did we deserve it? No. Do we really deserve anything? No. But God did it anyways. And it was prophesied time and time again that Christ’s death was imminent. All events occurred as part of a plan leading to the crucifixion: Peter’s denial of Jesus, Judas betraying Jesus, Pontius Pilate giving into the pleas of the people.

Imagine if you were in that crowd of people. You’d be wondering how such a horrible act could happen to such a holy being. From your perspective, it would without a doubt be the most evil thing you had ever seen. But behind the curtains, behind the entire scene, God had a plan. He was in control of it. From Peter’s denial to Judas’ betrayal, God controlled. And He prevailed. And why shouldn’t He? If God isn’t in control of everything, the term “god” is stripped of its meaning. He isn’t a God anymore. He isn’t omnipotent. He is simply a man-made concept with limitations. And why would I want to believe some fictitious figure conceptualized by some scholared, whimsical man who includes the Fibonacci sequence on his website as a sign of some supposed intellectual depth? Give me a break.

3. When I had this brief discussion with Boyd, he also said “What’s the point of glorifying God if He determines when and how it will be done? Doesn’t that make us robots?”

Robots or not, read my statement above regarding decision making. And I hate to break it to you Boyd, but God doesn’t necessarily need us. And he certainly doesn’t need us to “glorify” him.

I would also challenge you to think about terms like ‘love’ and ‘glory’ and ‘praise.’ Do you really know what these mean? When you say that there is no point of bringing God glory if he’s already determined it, how do you know that this isn’t a part of what glory really is??? How would you ever know that Boyd??!? You wouldn’t!! And you won’t until you get to heaven. You won’t understand “unconditional love” until you get to heaven. If you say you know what it means now, you are a heretic. Because God is Love, and we all know that you don’t fully know God.

Again, I think Boyd is scared – scared that God is really in control of his entire life. It isn’t easy for a human to relent his or her own self-power or sense of control. (Keep in mind that I use this statement from a worldly view. From a much larger perspective, any perceived power we feel we have has ultimately been determined).

Boyd, you may think this concept completely eradicates all joy from the concept of faith, but I truthfully think it brings about a completely refreshing outlook. I trust that God controls all, and even when bad things happen, I know God is at work behind everything and there is a purpose for it all. . .even if I don’t see it on earth.

Also, I don’t feel justification in giving up my own self-perceived responsibilities because I am still a Christ follower, and I feel prompted to take action. Likewise, I feel blessed that God has planted this “freedom of thinking and acting” within me, but I also understand that it’s because He created my mind that I feel such freedom.

4. There is also mention of God changing His mind in the Bible, something Boyd emphatically uses as evidence to support his free-will claim.

But even if this information is relayed from God Himself, it’s only in the concept of relative time. In our timeline, it is said that God changed His mind. Perhaps this was said because it’s a concept we understand: God didn’t like outcome, changed His mind, changed outcome. But how do you know that God didn’t have the altered outcome already determined when he laid out all of “existence?” From His perspective, He knew His “mind change” would happen all along. From our perspective, He changed his mind.


What disturbs me about Boyd and his arrogance and “deep theological insight” is that he picks and chooses text to believe. When was Christianity EVER about theology and philosophy? Why do you have to analyze these things and discern which is believable to you and which isn’t? To me, it’s a cop out. Christianity is no longer demanding of you; you can make it out to be whatever you want it to be.

And to the rest of you who think Christianity is some “feel good” faith meant to help you solve your personal problems and achieve inner peace, maybe you should take up Buddhism instead. THE UNDERLYING THEME IN ALL OF CHRISTIANITY IS HUMILITY: THE DENIAL OF “SELF.” Rare is a man or woman who lives this idea to its fullest, including myself. The only one who ever completely did this was Jesus.

I realize that, after so many years of preaching and philosophizing about a certain view, it may be extremely difficult for Boyd to relinquish his theology. . .even if he knows it’s wrong. When I had a brief discussion with him some 3 or 4 years ago, he rudely and abruptly ended the conversation when he discovered I hadn’t read one of his books. Oh please Boyd. Please forgive me. I know where you stand. You stood up as a volunteer speaker at CPC and preached your heresy, then proceeded to retreat to a pew and sing words, along with the congregation, that completely opposed everything you just spoke about.

And then you pushed me aside.

Thank you.


Grandpa C

Peripheral Vision

It is becoming apparent to me that this “blogspot,” as you younger folks call it, will inevitably become a vent for much of my ranting; a tube for my complaints if you will. I’ve found, throughout my years, that it does no good to complain to people; they’d prefer you keep your mouth shut, and you ultimately realize that it does nothing to promote progress and resolution on your behalf. Thus, I figure writing out my problems will somehow assuage the tension running through my veins.

I’ve recently noticed a trend among many people, in which there is a general disregard for self-reflection and analysis. Perhaps it is due to the modernization of society; maybe we are all so engrossed in the words and chaos around us, that we somehow completely surpass a “realization of self.” Maybe you’ve realized it: A stranger blabbing too loud on their cell phone in public venues, a car putzing along the left lane with a parade behind it, or a smoker blowing his or her cancerous exhaust right into your vicinity.

Now I will be the first to admit that I am a perpetrator from time to time. We all are! Sometimes, we become so distracted, that we fail to see the effects of our behavior on others. After all, we are human.

But that isn’t what I’m referring to. I’ve noticed more and more that there are some individuals who seem to lack a general understanding of what it means to be considerate. Maybe they are, in fact, considerate in some areas, but downright ignorant in others. I call this “Lacking Peripheral Vision.”

Those who look straight down or only at the road ahead, fail to see the world around them. We live in a world populated by over 7 billion people! What does that mean? It means there will be times when you come in contact with people. There will be times when you will need to look to your side and realize that there is SOMEONE ELSE next to you. There will be times when you need to refrain from your stupidity.

When you lack peripheral vision, you are a nuisance to society. You interrupt social gatherings to answer your unimportant phone calls and have ostentaciously loud conversations, you vulgarly speak with a complete disregard for anyone around you, and you unapologetically spew out your retarded, pigheaded opinions, none of which matter to anyone. . .MOSTLY BECAUSE THEY SUCK.

Now you will probably say “Grandpa C. . .this whole blog is an opinion.” First, I will respond with “No. It’s a fact.” Second I will say “You took the time to read this; I didn’t interrupt you.” And lastly I will say “Shut your fat face.”

The most audacious violation I’ve noticed is in the workplace. People will literally interrupt your work and time so you can solve their stupid problems . . .simply because they DIDN’T PAY ATTENTION in the first place and/or they NEGLECTED TO ACTUALLY DO THEIR OWN WORK. Instead, they take the lazy route, disregard any important details, and make assumptions without collecting factual data and evidence to support their claim. The result? A complete waste of time. And prompting for me to literally smack the snot out of their ugly, zitty face.

These are generally the people who will pipe up about topics for which they don’t even know. Perhaps they know something similar to the topic, so they’ll carry it over into the current topic, and it makes absolutely no sense. Perhaps they THINK they know about the subject, so they’ll just throw an answer at you. Or perhaps they know they know ABSOLUTELY NOTHING about the topic, and they feel the need to talk anyways.

My response? SHUT UP.

SHUT YOUR MOUTH.

Standing in the exhaust is a group of people, including myself, choking on a bunch of crap you just spewed at us. Every day, we’re bombarded with your incompetency, your ignorance for those around you, and your loud freaking mouth.

Now you may also be asking “Grandpa, what can I do to keep from being an obnoxious perp?”

I will tell you:

Before you ask a question, make sure you’ve done the work yourself.
Before you make a “factual” statement, make sure you know it’s factual.
Restating other people’s opinions is not factual, nor is it intelligent.
Consider who is around you. Ie GAIN PERIPHERAL VISION
If you’re ever in doubt, shut up.
Stop trying to be different. You aren’t setting a trend. There are plenty who have “tried to be different” before you.
Eat Werther’s. They’re creamy and they’re good for you.


Look to your sides kids. Otherwise you may find yourself the subject of a beating by some ruthless suburban gang in a WalMart parking lot.

(WalMart sucks by the way. I will explain this at a later date).

Applying Extra Strength Gold Bond,

Grandpa C

Bon Jovi Sucks

Chances are, if you’re one of the millions of people who enjoy Bon Jovi’s excrutiatingly boring melodies and their exhaustive, trite lyrics, you suck too. The question really comes down to “When was Bon Jovi ever good?” If your answer is “Living on a Prayer,” you’re wrong. It isn’t a trick question folks. They’ve sucked since the dawn of civilization.

With lyrics like “I was a gypsy lost in the twilight zone, I hijacked a rainbow and crashed into a pot of gold” it’s no wonder I want to projectile vomit into the faces of the mindless parrots who violently shake their bodies and recite the lyrics word for word with pure satisfaction. With lines like “It's alright, it's alright, it's alright, it's alright, its alright” incessantly power-drilled into my head without invitation, it’s no wonder I want to punch all those fluffy 40 year olds for writing such a demonic song. 4 chords of repetitive nonsense.

But then again, if you’re among the group of bandwagon sellouts who actually admit to liking Bon Jovi, you probably watch American Idol on a regular basis, and you most likely believe that Bono is next in line to God. I have a few retorts to this. And yes. . . I said retorts.

American Idol sucks. You know what really sucks? The three judges and the rest of the cast who somehow unanimously decide what a “rockstar” and “rockstar image” should be. By adding some lipstick and mousse to these supposed hard-knock, “grungy” contestants, American Idol has somehow watered down the original version of a naturally dirty, drug munching, guitar freak into some sort of pretty boy singer, who happens to have an inclination for flavored energy drinks and wears “retro grunge” clothes from Express. Give me a break. You were never a rockstar and you still aren’t. In fact, I’d say you’ve moved in the opposite direction, and I still think you’re a pumpbag.

So now you’ve checked off Bon Jovi and American Idol. What next? Ah yes. U2. Who could forget? With their fair share of albums and hits over the years, U2 has managed to grasp its listeners by the neck and permanently retain them in a hypnotic-induced chokehold. Have you ever noticed how a U2 listener will go to any extent just shy of murdering you to convince you that U2 is “the best band ever!!!”??

It isn’t that U2 isn’t good. I own the Joshua Tree album, and I enjoy it from time to time. But it doesn’t mean I lick the CD every night before bed. And it certainly doesn’t mean I have to enjoy their most recent albums, simply because I enjoyed the first one. The truth is, I don’t. Their image to me NOW. . .is nothing more than black silhouettes having seizures against a neon background.

And Bono isn’t God folks. I know that might be a surprise to Christians. I heard there is a church out there that only plays U2 songs. You have got to be kidding me.

Grow a brain. Enlighten yourself. Realize that you’re a moron.

Perhaps it is my senility that accompanies my old age; granpappys were never known for “having it all together.” So yes, maybe I’m a little over-critical. But I can tell you this: Someday, you will be an old man or woman (assuming you live that long). And when you do, you will hopefully gain some degree of wisdom. And if that happens, you will look back on your life and realize that listening to a band sing about hijacking rainbows and slapping leprechauns never really was cool. Ok. Maybe the slapping leprechauns part is cool.

Maybe then you will realize that Bono is just a human like you. And maybe you will realize that all that time spent worshipping U2 because of their epic 4 chord songs and delayed guitar, could have been better spent worshipping something you actually originally claimed you believed in.

That’s all from the rickety desk in my mothball-smelling den,

Grandpa C

The 4 Laws of Hobodynamics

During an intense Easter Egg Hunt with LibertariaChaun, we forumulated an elaborate set of laws which accurately describe the dynamics of hobos. The complex mathematical equations involved within these laws construct the intricate framework that serves as a foundation for these rules; ultimately, they quantize into general laws, thus rendering the broad definitions below.

There are 4 basic definitions within the Laws of Hobodynamics:

1st Law of Hobodynamics:

"Hobos like candy."

Essentially, this means that hobos will often sacrifice other indulgences, simply for some sweet satisfaction.

2nd Law of Hobodynamics:

"Hobos love scavenger hunts."

If you construct a scavenger hunt, a hobo will more than likely partake in it. Why? Because the hobo likes scavenger hunts.

3rd Law of Hobodynamics:

"Hobos love scavenger hunts involving candy."

This is ultimately an "or" statement, meaning that the candy itself or the scavenger hunt itself needn't necessarily include the other, as the hobo will indulge in either the candy OR the scavenger hunt. However, if the scavenger hunt involves candy, you will increase the chances of a hobo's participation.


4th Law of Hobodynamics:

"If the scavenger hunt involves a means to an end, and the end is candy, the hobo would rather skip the means and have the end."

At first, this may seem contradictory to the 3rd law, but in actuality it is quite different. Some scavenger hunts simply involve one hidden object, which is actually the end (or candy if you will). In this case, it is the hobo's general goal to find that object, the end, to result in complete satisfaction.

However, if the scavenger hunt involves a means to an end rather than just a 1 step process, the hobo would prefer to skip the protocol and head straight to the end. For example, some scavenger hunts involve hidden clues that, when found, instruct the scavenger to locate more clues. This series/chain of events is a prolonged process one must endure in order to reach the prize at the end. If a hobo is presented with this type of scavenger hunt, the hobo will often scrap the clues and look for the candy instead.

Fudge, Pudge, Smudge, Dog

Slurpies of herpes make gross tasting treats
Pockets of rockets make human legs meats
Flies in your pies give poop its black dots
Corn in your horn makes tuba buckshots
Trees in your knees makes a bloody patella
Whips in green blips are known as flagella
Knives in beehives makes red, bumpy skin
Dreidels in cradles makes a baby's eyes spin
Superfluous Nerf-Lewis buys more foam darts
For rectum injection, concealing his farts
A shoddy, soft body is something Joe likes
But bar-style argyles are for boys who ride trikes
Pork roast is forked most by chubby old men
Suits with snow boots is a hot, sexy trend
Carrots and ferrets, Trent puts in his pitas
With beans and cat spleens, for tasty fajitas
Meatloaf would beat both the black and white keys
Crooning and spooning men in his undies
Mr. Miyagi drinks saki till dawn
While Daniel-san hand sands and learns to wax on
Emo likes Scream-o in Brownie, so soft
His brown town goes downtown, that’s why he’s the prof
Chowder and powder piles in the white bowl
Will Papa please stoppa consuming the Skoal?
A refill at Green Mill in beer mugs to go,
Serves Wily, all smiley, cause he runs the show
The outlandish Spanish of monorail doors
Warns Disney fans “watch your hands!” with much “Por favors”
The Cali crew’s ballyhoos win customers
Absurd names and word games to sell their Hummers
Scurvy makes curvy bumps all over gums
Flute playing, toot spraying band geeks need Tums
In ship-shape, we lift weights with Peter Dante
Then Great Mex to make pecs all nice and grande
A slappity-clappity sound does it make
When biscuits from triscuits doth try to escape
Hippos will rip those oblivious men
Who retreat with raw meat and cluck like a hen
A Nebula medulla oblongata
Is dusty and crusty like old ricotta
The end, to amend this weird twist of rhymes
Pacifico, if cold, is best with some limes

-Grandpa

Microsoft Office

Around 2003, Microsoft released an updated version of it's office package, MS Office Pro 2003. Here's a quick Microsoft statement on the update.

Microsoft Office Professional Edition 2003 can help you and your organization communicate information with immediacy and impact. New and familiar programs and improved functionality help you build powerful connections between people, information, and business processes.

What they didn't say is this.

Despite our best efforts, we at Microsoft will be the first to tell you that although these programs are over a decade old, are built to be easy to use, and are in essentially every household in this country with a computer, your coworkers will not be able to run them effectively, if at all. What will drive you the most crazy, however, is that your coworkers will never understand that they can actually try and fail a few times to figure things out instead of endlessly bothering the crap out of you to remove a border from a text box. What they simply won't get is that moving their mouse over the top menu bar actually allows them to see different menu items that can perform different functions within the program... what they'll probably do is come to you and ask you how to do it... even how to change a font color, or how to change the size of an image... and you'll Love it!!! In fact, you'll quite often spend half your day helping people do mundane tasks within Microsoft office that a freaking trained monkey could do blindfolded.

powqiejf lkjas e;flkjwaef w4j; lgi3e4b;laker; bglkzjdbf

The Chaunsons Love the Office

Quote of the day, Chaunsons Style.

Also, The Chaunsons would like to say a very special Happy Birthday to Karen today. Hope the Bahamas are great!

The Dunce Cakes of our Family

Dear Diary,

I read the entry below a few days ago, and I wasn't sure what to think. Initially, its severely retarded approach to grammar and extremely bizarre content left me feeling violated; it was as if a hacker had somehow found their way into our blogspot. Surely, this could not be one of my children, as they are all well educated and versed in their use of the English language. . . .Right? And don't call me Shirley.

Lo and behold, "the BUNT cakes of our family" was written by the infamous Bike Seat Sniffer.

I capitalized BUNT because this BUNT represents BUNTing in baseball. Yes that's right. Baseball. You BUNT in baseball.

A BUNDT cake is a completely different concept, and spelling. Why do I know that? I'm not sure. Think it makes me sound fruity? Well, don't confront me. Confront the individual who had the audacity to use a baking term, AND spell it wrong.

Perhaps I'm being too harsh about this misspelling. However, after thinking about it, Bike Seat Sniffer Chaun thought he was so clever by finding and replacing words in an entry that originally took some thought and care to compose; he merely altered it and thought he had accomplished some sneaky, grand feat! That's like someone with 4 legs who decides to run the HALF marathon rather than the full marathon. . .congrats buddy. . .You beat everyone in an abbreviated race with 4 LEGS.

To top it off, the grammar was horrendous, rendering this entry, for the most part, nothing more than a part plagarized, part piece of garbage.

Hey Bike Seat Sniffer. . .here's a suggestion. Why don't you actually write an entry on your own? Why not write about things you actually know? Instead of writing about BUNDT cakes, why don't you write an entry describing how you go about sniffing bike seats in public venues, despite the scrutiny of the hidden cameras? Why don't you describe to us how you perform your perverted, disgusting acts in public locations, including fast food bathrooms?