Just knowing that this completely unironically stolen depiction of the atheist’s invisible pink unicorn exists has restored my hope for humanity! Welcome back, goddess worship!
In other news, I’ve been playing with spray-paint in non-ventilated areas.
The Erister Egg Hunt is also known as EggGasm
The Erister Egg Hunt is an annual Golden Apple Seed Mission. The object of the game is to put crazy crap inside of plastic eggs and hide them for people to find on Easter.
When somebody finds an egg, maybe they’ll laugh. Maybe they’ll be weirded out. Maybe they’ll have a conversation about it later. Maybe they’ll hide some eggs too.
Sure, it’s not exactly a new idea, per se. People have been hiding plastic eggs on Easter since the Triassic era. But instead of candy, fnords. Put stuff inside the eggs which you think it would be cool to find. What you put inside the eggs is really up to you.
Please take photos of your antics and post them here! People have also been posting pix to flickr and tagging them “EggGASM”
More info here.
As I sit here chillin’ with my Otter Pop in an expensive hotel room that my boss is paying for and wondering what to do with myself, I can’t help but think on the lofty creative goals I set for myself time and time again… and then fail to live up to.
It used to be that a day could not go by when I did not reach for my notebook with delight as an idea came crashing down upon me. Now that I have a laptop with me wherever I go, I can’t write on a blank piece of paper… and I can’t seem to write all that much on the laptop either. The thing is, I don’t know where I lost it, and every time I think on it my brain goes fuzzy and I meander aimlessly on the web instead of writing a Passible American Short Story.
So I turn to my otters.
Louie-Bloo Raspberry smells his flower daintily and tells me that he knows what I mean. Life is tough sometimes and we have to weather storms and blah blah blah… I never liked Louie-Bloo much anyway. Blue raspberry… more about THAT later.
Alexander the Grape stares back like a genetic clone of Charles Manson gone awry. With toga slowly slipping off his shoulder and sword raised high, I fear a possible attempted rape and quickly move on.
Poncho Punch taps his foot on his drum and fingers his guitar lewdly, implying much but saying little in the way of guidance for my dismembered Creativity. Certainly, he tastes pretty good… but I’m afraid he’s no more useful then a steak burrito at a PETA rally.
Little Orphan Orange weeps quietly in the corner for me as I suck the last bits of juice out of her trembling tube and though I appreciate the sentiment, I can’t say that getting overly emotional about the whole thing will help anyone.
Sir Issac Lime is stoned out of his gourd, clutching his telescope bong as if he was jerking off the Hulk in a leather bar. His mustache only adds to the effect. Though this amuses me, I’m afraid it brings no enlightenment and, anyway, lime Otter Pops are about as tasty as… well… the Hulk’s cock.
So finally, in a desperation that can be borne only out of an innate stupidity, I turn finally to my favorite otter, Strawberry Short Kook. And lo! The ditsy bitch stands there on a box with no shirt on and covers her nubs with a deranged smile on her face and eyes open wide, staring at me with a kind of dumb acceptance that I have only seen in one place before… Catholic Mass.
Which brings us to the end of our requiem. As the last note fades into the silence, the person in the next room turns on their water with a BANG! and I drop my head in disgust – though I hoped that like a phoenix, my muse would be instilled back into my cockles through elemental otter pop administration, I know now that such things only happen in cheap movies and cheaper books.
1) On July 22, 1934 John Dillinger and friend visit the Biograph Theater in Chicago to see the film “Manhattan Melodrama” starring Clark Gable and Mirna Loy.
2) On leaving the theatre, Dillinger is promptly filled with holes by Federal Agents.
3) Due to the publicity showered on “Manhattan Melodrama” following Dillinger’s death Clark Gable and Mirna Loy are thrust into super stardom.
4) Cashing in on his new success, Clark Gable quickly stars in “It Happened One Night” where his fast-talking character munches on carrots. In addition, a character in this same movie is named “Bugs Dooley”
5) Spoofing on Clark Gable’s “It Happened One Night” character, a fast-talking, carrot-munching cartoon rabbit, Bugs Bunny, is created.
DILLINGER AND BUGS ARE BOTH DISCORDIAN SAINTS
do you STILL believe in coincidence?
We do not adhere to any other copies of any other Discordian Manifesto either preceding, receding, or proceeding this document, especially not the one penned by Prince Mu-Chao while on an acid trip.
In fact, we do not adhere to any other document, written or otherwise. We adhere to ourselves and only ourselves, and some forms of glue. Screw the lot of you with your pernicious rules and regulations.
This is not a joke disguised as a manifesto and contrariwise, it is not a manifesto disguised as a joke. This is slam-bang guerrilla ontology disguised as a jumble of letters and spaces, but not entirely.
The secret knowledge that this undocument will impart may or may not protect you from various Lovecraftian beasties and cabbages and the insolent THEY. We make no guarantees to its veracity, quality or immorality. We are only its humble authors.
Trip Five, or the POEE Baptismal Rite, is hereby decreed to be right in some sense, etc etc. ad infinitum. Which is part of the problem.
They don’t want you to read this. We tried to get it published in the New York Times, but THEY laughed at us and refused. Who do you have to bomb to get your manifesto printed in the New York Times?
THEY try to convince you that nonsense is a waste of time. THEY try to convince you that the Snark never existed. THEY try to tell you that meaninglessness is meaningless. You know better, don’t you?
THEY cannot believe that anybody would spend time producing something and not want to make a quick buck off of it. As far as THEY are concerned, KopyLeft is a nonsensible notion that would be dangerous to the economy if it ever caught on.
THEY try to convince you that there IS an economy. THEY try to convince you that money is real. THEY try to convince you that the majority should rule, even when the majority is wrong. THEY try to convince you that you are merely cannon fodder for politicians you didn’t even vote for.
THEY say there is no greenhouse effect. THEY say there is no such thing as magic. They say there is one god and He is White. If you don’t like that idea, THEY tell you that your only other choice is Science. THEY don’t dare mention the crazy bitch that actually runs this place. But you know better, don’t you?
Our catma is the Pentabarf, our church is a bowling alley, and our Goddess is Eris.
Eris is a mean bitch you do not want to meet. She is not a metaphor for impersonal forces. She is not a metaphor for impersonal forces. She is not a metaphor for impersonal forces. She is not a metaphor for impersonal forces. She is not a metaphor for impersonal forces. She creates chaos personally and on purpose, and does so because she is loopy.
BUT, when one embraces chaos as much as one does order and realizes that either one is just as useful and necessary as the other one and stops ordering chaos every time it is encountered, that person has what is called an EPIPHANY.
Epiphanies of this kind are translated to humans through their Pineal Gland. This is also known as the Pipeline to Eris.
Like any pipeline, it can get clogged naturally or by terrorists (i.e. – people who threaten to use force to get you to do things). In order to keep this pipeline clean, it is essential that you DO NOT EAT HOT DOG BUNS!
It cannot be stressed with mere capital letters or italics just how important this is to your well-being or sanity…
I’m… I’m sorry. I can’t go on. These ludicrous rants and raves have just… just… been done too much. They are no longer amusing to me. We have not reinvented ourselves as Discordians and our humor is growing old and stale.
* Insert misery and foreboding here *
We need to decide what it is we are… because I certainly don’t know any valid answer to that except for “ourselves”, and that sounds kind of new-age cliché…
REINVENT YOURSELVES IN YOUR OWN IMAGE.
Or don’t. See if I care.
on 3177 Calendar Rough Drafts on 3177 Calendar Rough Drafts
on 3177 Calendar Rough Drafts
on 3177 Calendar Rough Drafts
on Happy, Girly, Prancy, Sparkly Pink Unicorn