Tag Archives: Formulate

14. The Adventures of Squash Kardashian

The thing about having a mindless job is how massively mindless you become.  Many hours of work later, I have noticed my deadline is nipping me in the ass.  How did it come some fast?  And why do I feel like an empty plastic bag floating on the wind?  Well, please be kind, Generator, because I feel as burnt out as the coals at the bottom of the grill.

Start Up The Generator!

Formulating Awe.

“Dear diary.  It’s been three whole days since I have taken a dump.  I’ve been saving it up for my mothers return.  She has said there is nothing in me that is inspirational.  That I have nothing tangible to offer.  Well, diary, I have been going to Senor’s Spicy Donkey Truck three times a day to grow within me the most awe inspiring concoction the world has ever known!  I will kill all the indoor plants with the most gut wrenching flatulence to ever storm nostrils.  I will crush the porcelain with such sheer force that the broken pipes will wash me cleaner than Howie Mandle at a Purell factory.  The pains have been great, but it will be worth it.  Never again shall my dearest mother ever utter those words again!  This will make giving birth feel like I simply popped a pimple!  Look out Japan!  Here comes the Earth crusher!!!”

  How does one formulate awe?  Isn’t awe something you both fear and admire?  When I first saw these words, I thought about doing an entire piece on The Kardashians.  What the hell do they do?  And why are people so interested in them?  I have never seen one of their shows, smelt one of their farts, waxed one of their nipples, or held their hair back as they shoved their fists down their throats to expell their fatty ahi tuna salads.  I am only vaguely aware of their existance, but they have formulated a shocking amount of press that people find super bedazzling.  One of my friends said, “It’s because they don’t do anything.  And that’s what most people want to do.  Nothing at all.  People live vicariously through them because those bitches don’t have to work, or do laundry, or cook for their twelve kids, none of that.”  “Do you really think that’s true?  People don’t have any other ambition to do anything other than applying makeup, cruising in Bentley’s, eating seaweed and filming their vaginal cavities in 3d?”  “Nope.  That’s the Armenian, I mean, American dream.  Doing absolutely fuck-all!”  Hmm.  That’s sounds fucking stupid.  They might have duped a nation of teenage girls with angel spaced panties, but that’s not awe inspiring.  There is no fear involved.  If one ran across my kitchen counter tops, I wouldn’t freak out or anything.  I’d just crush that insect with an open handed bitch hammer.  Bam!  Done, son!

  I guess as you get older you find less and less that’s awe inspiring.  You become this jaded fuckhead that isn’t moved by much more than a shot of espresso.  Which is sad.  All of my moments of awe happened as a child.  I would venture that would be true for most of us with any substantial time on this planet.  We are like an old whore at a frat party.  “So, baby face, what would like for me to do to ya?  Speak up, darlin’.  You want the pogo stick?  Or maybe the London Bridge.  I am an expert in The Headspinner, The Anvil, The Backdoor Cartwheel… or how about The Backbreaker!  I haven’t done that since Tuesday!”  “Can you shoot a beer bottle from your ass?”  “Like a marine from a clock tower.  Who do you want me take out?”

  I have to search the corners of my mind for any memory that was breathtaking.  Let’s look back in the youth department, shall we?  Yep.  There they are.  This one is good!  I was thirteen years old and sporting my Sony walkman while walking through a six foot deep trench of a coming apartment building.  I had broken through the perimeter’s fence to have a look at the construction that was happening next door to the apartments where my mom and I had lived.  I had just purchased Iron Maiden’s “Number of the Beast” with the lunch money I had saved up through out the week.  I can almost feel the goose bumps now as the verse gave way to the anthemic chorus of “Run to the Hills!”  It felt like a thousand tiny fingers running up and down my spine as the walkman’s volume was thumbed up as high as she would go.  How would I ever be good enough to create this euphoric musical transition?  Is it possible I can replicate this moment for another thirsty listener?  It was simultaneously scary and wonderful.  The moon shed down the illuminating sun like a stadium spotlight on a giant stage while I fantasized it was me that had formulated this wonderful gift.  I played the best air guitar I could muster and when it was over, I opened my eyes in a ditch deep enough to realize that I was even further from the stars than I was when I pushed play on my shitty little walkman.  A powerful moment, indeed!  Thanks, Steve Harris and your curly lady hair.

  How about this one.  A small living room filled with me and around eight other ten year old kids.  All of us gathered around the television as we placed a VHS tape my friend Jose found under his parents bed into the VCR.  Jose had already seen it and had summoned all of us over for an experience we were guaranteed to never forget.  I didn’t know what to expect as I wasn’t privy to the world’s perversions.  Until I saw this woman sitting on a couch with her legs completely spread and a fully clothed guy talking to her.   The film was overdubbed into spanish so whatever they were saying didn’t sync with what their mouths were doing.  The man grabs this massive zucchini and holds up for the woman’s approval.  She laughs through closed lips and then moves her mouth in silent shapes.  What the fuck is going on?  Are we supposed to be seeing this?  I glance at the door and then go over to double check the lock.  As I look back, the man is inserting the entire zucchini into that thing where the penis should be to the point where we only see the very tip of the green squash monster.  All of us simultaneously exhale some variation of “whoa” as this woman sits calmly on her couch with the biggest smile.  And then the moment of awe.  She pulls her legs up and open and proceeds to shoot the zucchini across the room.  I was frozen with horror and captivated by this unknown.  My mind filled with anxious questions.  Am I supposed to invest in vegetables?  Do I have to learn to speak spanish?  Do all women do this?  From that point on, I saw girls in a different light.  A light attached to a camera. “Acción, señoras! This time let’s try the pumpkin!”

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