My fantasy about a French candy apple and ghetto malt liquor


This Brain.


Hate it. I hate this time change. Hate it with a passion.
It’s only one hour. But this is the modern mad world. This is the modern world and we live in increments of milliseconds.


In our day, our life. One hour is a lifetime. An infinity.


So don’t go telling me I’m overreacting because it’s only one hour.
One hour goes a long way. And I feel it. Take one hour from me and you will truly fuck up my day.
And that’s what happens every Springtime.
The shortcut for the memory-impaired, remember it?
Spring ahead, Fall behind?
So I woke up, it was 6:41. Aw shit. No, 7:41. Damnit!
It’s that familiar sense of disappointment I feel every year when Daylight Savings time kicks into effect. That sinking disappointment and sense of violation.
It’s like someone broke into my life and stole an hour. Threw everything askew.
Left me one hour closer to death and I didn’t even enjoy it. It’s like waking up from a long coma. Fifteen years, lost. One hour lost.
Never mind that in October I get it back. Not the point.
All I know is that right now it is 18:25 PDT and it feels…earlier.
Who do we complain to?
Which department controls this daylight savings crap?
Daylight Savings is one of those orphaned policies of yore when farmers woke up by the cock-a-doodle-do of the morning cockwakeup call, and it continued, unquestioned, unabated, and we continue obeying it. Following the “law” or whatever the hell it is. We don’t think of it, we don’t question it. It’s become some bizarre larger than life, Dickensian generations-old procedure that no one owns. We go along with it because ultimately society functions fine in spite of it.


Daylight Savings time is like the weather.
Everyone complains about it…


I bet if someone made it a cause, a cause celebre (love it!) and enough people rallied behind it, somehow, Daylight Savings would be relegated to the rear shed with the rest of our antiquated relics of bygone eras.
One hour. I need my hour. Need it…so…badly…


My brain is blurry.
Which means.
Pointless Ruminations.


I’m worried.
So many of my posts sinking into this category lately.
What does that say about me?
Pointless Ruminations are like cream puffs. They are great once in a while, but as soon as you make a daily habit of them it’s time to stop. Stop and self-examine. What is really going on. Why am I eating cream puffs every day? Why is my waist slowly expanding like my sex organ each time I think of Alizee?




Alizee, of course.


She’s a really hot French chick who I was introduced to by Athol Kay. OK, introduced in absentia. Athol doesn’t know her, I sure don’t know her. He turned me on to her (so to speak).
She got her musical start in 2001 while she was still blue-ball inducing jail bait. She 25 now, but…married. Still inducing blue balls.



From what I gather, she is the French equivalent of Britney Spears but a million times better for two simple reasons:


1) She’s brunette
2) She is seemingly lacking all the mental baggage which Ms. Spears assaults our good senses with


This Alizee chick is one of those women who truly leaves me breathless.


You know what I’m talking about. That person who, for whatever reason, manages to burrow right under your skin like a remorseless flea. That person who inexplicably grabs your gonads and will not let them go.


I’m sure most guys would say Alizee is hot, but I doubt very many would elevate her level of passion-inducement with the same lunatic tenacity that I would.


I’m waaaayyyyy over acting like a teenage girl in the face of marvelous physical beauty. I have way too much self-control and maturity damnit. Women don’t get to me anymore…


But this Alizee…she devours me.


I’d like to smear her body with a gallon of warm caramel syrup, from head to toe, and lick every ounce right off before proceeding to grab her ankles….


Filthy old man.
Isn’t that what I am?


Dude when am I going to grow up?


Or whatever it is society tells us we must do by the time we are 45.
Grow up!


Buy a house.
Get married.
Have a career.
Take things really seriously.
Have some weird investment portfolio.
Drive a respectable car and wear a respectable suit. Carry a respectable briefcase.


Obviously, not I.


Besides, I’ve refined and fine-tuned the equation, the secret “formula” if you will, that will allow me to lure my little French birdy and convince her to willingly surrender her loins to my debauched temptations.


From the Department of Cheesy Visual Effects (once again), I bring you:


That’s it.
Stir up those 2 ingredients in a lab beaker.


Break out the warm caramel!



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  • Mark J. Goluskin

    BTW, if you can have your pointless ruminations, I can have admittedly silly comments. Won’t take back the Alizee looking like a boy in drag. Like I say, never had a thing for French gals. And since you compare her to the trainwreck known as Britney Spears, that loses it for me. Hate Britney. What a loser!

  • Every few years Alizee makes it big in the Internet circles again. Reddit recently re-featured her on the front page.

    I’ve know about her for 5 years. Every nerd that plays a certain online game knows her dance (night elf dance). I downloaded a bunch of her videos and songs, because I liked them. She is supposed to appeal to girls, too.

    Europeans make some great music in my opinion. Almost all the best trance!

  • DST is evil. Now that’s out of the way, from my research, b/c I’m weird like that, it has nothing to do with farming. It never had anything to do with farming. If it was about farming, why wouldn’t we fall back twice a year? Farmers presumably would prefer to have light with which to work.

    Rather, it’s a bipartisan clusterfuck designed by businessmen who thought, just because, not because of any data, that extra light in the evenings would induce people to shop after work rather than going home. To round out the sales pitch, it was also touted as some sort of agrarian benefit and a way to save energy. Hey, I get it. If you aren’t using lights as soon as you get home at night, you’re not going to use them in the morning when it’s pitch black. Similarly, you won’t crank up the AC when you get home from work b/c the “extra” sunlight keeps it warmer for longer in the evening.

    Apparently it fucks up dairy farmers b/c cows want to be milked every 12 hours. All of a sudden they lose an hour, but the production schedules, shifts at the creamery, etc. are still starting at whatever time. Now they just don’t have the raw milk they need.

    DST is a controversial subject and my bias is probably confirming what I suspect are the worst traits of it, but even Wikipedia lists the detrimental affect on farming.

    If I ever attain status as a royal, or feudal lord, one of my first moves will be to abolish DST.

  • Mark J. Goluskin

    YES! FINALLY, SOMEONE ELSE WHO HATES THIS SATANIC ACT! I know since you are a Godless heathen that you do not take the Satanic approach about this. But, it is not nessecary to torture us with this time change crap! We should all move to Arizona. BTW, I don’t have a thing for Frenchie gals. I don’t know. This Alizee kind of looks like a young boy in drag. Hmm. Nah. Anyhow, you are just a degenerate. Always have been.

  • Daylight SAVING Time, check it, oddly enough, there isn’t supposed to be an s at the end of saving, did start as a farm schedule, shockingly gentleman, there are still farmers. If I have time today, I will get out and photograph some ACTUAL farmers for you. Promise. Maybe even interview a couple and upload a vlog. That would be hi-la-rious, the farmers around here never quite know how to take me.
    As for Alizee, not so strange at all, she has the right combination of a near perfect body, dressed in risque costumes but with a ‘come play with me’ attitude’. Very unique combination really and virrtually impossible to find in American artists, they always overplay one element or another.

  • Daylight savings time annoys me too – in Albany it just means more time spent staring at the perpetually overcast skies. There’s arguably a use for it in places like Canada where sunlight is scarce in the winter (Quebec City in December is a depressing place), but in southern California, what’s the fucking point?

    And I’m with you 100 percent on Alizee. It’s not just her looks – she’s got that joie de vivre that few women, ‘specially American women, have anymore. And a tight ass always helps.