What Punk Rockers Think About All Day

What do punk rockers think about all day?

Mostly maggots, they think of maggots. And barbed wire, razor blades, electric fences, and pain. They think about thrashing about, hitting their heads against each other and other hard surfaces.

To them, it's nothing to dwell among the dregs, to make every experience as bitter as possible, to excite themselves with a quick gouge to the eye or to poke a knife in their leg.

They might get drunk and get a tattoo of something feral on their face. Tattoo artists see them coming and know they either give in or get their trailer trashed. They'll start their tirades if they're denied.

Everything to them is negative, a chance to laugh at normality, which, strangely, they appear to recognize.

The rest of us, if we looked at a policeman cross-eyed, they'd have us in chains and big tight cuffs. But these punk rockers can drive by at 100 mph, fingering everything in their wake, living it up, and railing to high heaven, making garbage out of everything in their path, and no one lays a hand on them.

It's all nihilism and hedonism, self-inflicted pain and suffering, and inflicting it on others. A quick knife to the gut, to them that's their idea of glory.

Laughing Uproariously

We were out to eat today and had one of most moments where something was funny -- so outrageously funny that we both were laughing uproariously, with tears in our eyes.

Except I have some control over this, so I was trying to tamp it down, so that she wouldn't create too much of a scene. It's fairly easy to keep someone laughing uncontrollably once they've embarked on it. But I wasn't taking those opportunities, because the ones around might've thought she was crying and in pain. And there I would be sitting, the mad abuser or something.

What was so funny doesn't sound funny when you tell it to someone else outside the context, of course. But I was still laughing about it an hour later when we left the restaurant.

Here's what it was. There's a display there of two turtles in succession. One's in front, one's in back. And I said, "What's the second turtle saying?" She said, "Don't fart." And I said, "Right, that's the answer." Then I added, in a turtle voice, "Keep a shell on it."

It still seems funny to me ... but I'm not quaking with tears in my eyes at this point.

Balloon Boy's Balloon To Smithsonian

By a 13-12 vote, the directors of the Smithsonian Institute voted to induct the Balloon Boy's historic craft into their museum.

It will join, up in the rafters somewhere, the Apollo 11 capsule, the Wright Brothers' Kitty Hawk Eagle, other great planes, as well as James Stewart's Spirit of St. Louis.

Scholars will be studying it for years, looking for clues as to how such an inexperienced pilot, six year old What's-his-name was able to take it up and bring it back down so successfully.

Don't falme me pleas

That's funny, a pathetic little nothing of a diary, by Joan Evan.

But this part makes it worthwhile, a true LOL moment:

"Don't falme me pleas"