Happy Thanksgiving-ish, folks!

Apologies for not posting more frequently. That CFA exam is coming up next Saturday, and I'm starting to lose my mind. But this is okay, because I am heartily proficient at finding lost minds, especially my own. And I know that if I keep typing whatever comes first to my mind-I-am-losing, that stream-of-consciousness will only prove to provide further evidence of the mind that I've lost.

(What the hell did I just say.)

To whit- and I've yet to learn the difference between whit and wit- I've the wherewithal to post here a link which should make up for all the aforementioned craziness. As some of you may know, I'm a big fan of Lord of the Rings. I'm also a big fan of Engrish. So why not combine my two loves into a single Great Love:

http://public.www.planetmirror.com/pub/engrish/ttt_captions/00-20.htm

Buahahhah! It's gold, Jerry, comedy gold!

Will is out.

(The return to sanity will commence after December 4th.)

That damned test is coming up...

Dear Loyal and Semi-Rabid Fans,


So the first Chartered Financial Analyst examination is coming up on December 4th, and time is running out for this ol' codger. I'm starting to get really nervous, because this is a lot of material to absorb, and I don't feel particular confident in my mastery of it. In fact, I'm starting to freak out a little bit:





Yeah, just like that. Startingly enough, this expression is similar to the one I expressed when my little god-sister/cousin-thrice-removed Ariel decided to kick me hard in the shin and take a picture at the same time. (And in fact, it is.)


Ah, and in case you were wondering, this is her. Ariel, that is:




If she looks like she's high as a kite, it's because she is, and that's the spoon we use to bake the coke, coppers.

It's okay though, because drug use runs in our family. Witness exhibit B:





That's my brother Hubert after three vials of the crack-baby crack, baby. And now we come to the mastermind of the operation, the raison d'etre of this street operation:



Good God. It's alive.

Okay, in all seriousness (and obviousness, if that's a real word), there's no crazy coke binge. If you're worried because this is the second straight drug-high related post, it's because drug jokes are funny, and pictures of Asian people looking high are funnier. By the way, that last picture is a snapshot of my best friend Ian, and we were all just messing around at the Majestic Buffet last weekend. Great buffet, and that actually brings me to a specific rant:


I want to touch on the concept of "buffet names" for a moment. (This is your daily dose of banality here, folks.) In other words, what gets me about buffets nowadays is the utter lack of imagination that goes into the naming process. Once you've heard of one buffet name, you've heard them all, right?

I mean, for Christ's sake, we have the East China Buffet, Great Wall Buffet, Great Eastern Buffet, China Wok Buffet, Great Wall of China Buffet, Emperors Buffet, Heavenly Buffet, Shanghai Buffet, Golden Dragon Buffet, Great Emperor's Shanghai Wall of Eastern China Buffetarggghhhhhhhh!!! Yes, we get it, you're an Asian-themed buffet, and you all serve the same bloody food!

You got that? It's simple marketing logic here, restaurant owners. If you all are producing the same basic product, you need to differentiate yourself through your brand name. Otherwise, it would be like taking all the supermarkets around the country and rebranding them with names like "Food Supermarket", "New Jersey Supermarket", "Local Supermarket", "Supermarket of East Bumblefuck", and etc. Ever heard of Minado? Exactly. Follow their lead, please.

If you're going for the Asian theme, you might as well go all out and start throwing together words that shouldn't belong together. "Golden Wok Monkey Buffet", "Godzilla Sushi Stir-Fry Buffet", or even better, "The Frying Dragon Buffet" (which nets you that double-your-pleasure dose of humor, because it works even with a Chinese accent)!

Then again, I kind of like the name "Majestic Buffet". It's like they decided,"Hey, screw all the conservative names, we're better than that! We live on a higher plane of consciousness, we are the descendants of the Heavenly Bounty, we are friggin' Majestic." And then they swathed the entire building in fake marble and threw up a bunch of Ionian columns. Awesome.

In conclusion, I would like to note that everytime I say "Golden Wok Monkey", it sounds kinda dirty, and consequently, I start giggling like a 3rd grader. In fact, from now on, anyone that makes a good dirty joke in my presence will be called a Golden Wok Monkey.

Now that I've added to your burdgeoning wisdom, I think I'll go get a snack.

Will is out.

Toodles,

Willer

Whoa, wait, Wilson.......

I have a confession to make.


This is what I do when I really need something to take me away from this cynical, cynical world. I just take a pinch, like this, with just one sniff, like so......

.....the white man's powder allows Wilson-Fleet-As-Donkey to journey into the spirit world and confer with the spirits of his ancestors. It is certain, they say. The buffalo hunt will be good this year. And the harvest of maize will bountiful and plenty. It is time for the young hunter to take up his spear and tomahawk, don his cap of white-man-scalp, and search the plains for his spirit animal.

"Wilson-Fleet-As-Donkey," intoned the ancestors.

The young hunter blinked. "Lok'tar, honored ancestors. Lok'tar Ogar!"

Their chilly reply slid through his brain and sent a shiver down his spine. "Wilson-Fleet-As-Donkey...."

"Aye?"

"....This is not World of Warcraft, you are not a Tauren, and we are not Orcs."

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence.

"Oh." He could feel the sting of their disappoinment, as if someone had slapped him in the face with a fish.

A fish?

Wilson-Fleet-As-Donkey looked down. A red-painted herring lay flopping on the ground, its tail cutting little holes in the ethereal fog.

"Okay, I know I'm a little high right now, but you really didn't have to...."

The ancestors quickly interjected before he could get finish his retort. "It is a symbol, Wilson-Fleet-As-Donkey. Pick it up, and we shall inform you of your spirit task."

Wilson blinked. There was something fishy about all of this. He opened his mouth to reply, then stopped. He closed his eyes and peered at the part of his mind that regulated the use of descriptive puns.

It somehow managed to look guilty.

Wilson sighed, and slowly opened his right eye. "Allright," he mumbled morosely,"what is it?" He bent down to snatch at the gasping fish.

"Wilson-Fleet-As-Donkey, you must take our spirit gift, raise it high in the air, and search the plains for your spirit animal. It is kin to the spirit gift, but akin to humans as well. It wanders in schools, it is long-nosed, and breathes through hole-in-head."

There was another moment of uncomfortable silence.

"I'm sorry, come again?"

The air began to pulse in anger, and there was the distinctive clicking sound of grinding teeth. Wilson looked impressed in spite of his sudden fear. He couldn't imagine how many laws of physics were just tossed out the window in order for an intangible Being of Power to create that kind of sound effect. It made him feel special. He decided to take another stab.

"Okay, wait. This spirit animal, it wanders in schools, it has a long nose, it's kinda like a fish but not really, and it breathes through a blowhole, right? Have I got that right?"

The ancestor to his right nodded imperceptibly.

Wilson jolted as a sudden flash of insight shook through his jumbled brain, as if someone had picked up a gumball machine and was shaking it for all it was worth. In the silence that followed, his thoughts ricocheted around in the glass jar until one managed to slide into the dispenser tubing and pop out of the slot.

"It's a dolphin, isn't it. You want me to look for a dolphin." His voice was laden with heavy portions of disbelief.

"Bingo."

Wilson-Fleet-As-Donkey, scion of the non-existent Tribe of White-Man's Powder, wanderer of the Great Plains of Neurological Ecstasy, and currently the Bearer of the Decomposing Spirit Gift, looked dumfounded. He bit back his initial retort and carefully formed his reply.

"Let me get this straight," he said slowly. "You want me to take this symbol, a red herring, mind you...."

"Yes."

"....hold it up in my hand...."

"Aye."

".....wave it proudly....."

"Affirmative."

".....and scour the Great Plains for my spirit animal..."

"Roger that."

"......which is a dolphin. You want me to look for a dolphin, mind you, in a place where dolphins technically cannot exist."

"Zug zug."

Wilson looked ready to burst. "You have got to be kidding me. Do you realize what you're saying?"

The spirits managed to look slightly miffed. "Welcome to the Real World, where life isn't easy."

"But you're asking me to look for a bloody fish, in the middle of a flippin' continent!"

"You are holding one right now, are you not?"

Wilson pretended not to hear that. "And besides, I just sniffed a massive amount of dietary supplements in order to talk with a bunch of cuckoo spirits in my head. Don't lecture me about the Real World."

"Hey now, that wasn't nice."

"Do you realize what you're requesting?! This is like throwing me into a crowded city street in Syria, holding up a giant blippin' cross, and having me yell out,"HEY! HAS ANYONE HERE SEEN THE BLOODY POPE? HELLO? ANYONE?""

The air began to pulse again in anger. "The ancestors think you are engaging in unnecessary hyperbole, and it is time for you to go."

"Now wait just a second here, I'm not quite done with you yet, and - "

Before Wilson-Fleet-As-Donkey could finish, he felt himself launched forward at great speed as something insubstantially substantial kicked him hard in the ass, and he tumbled forward, screaming for help, both irate and flummoxed as he pinwheeled across the whirling nether.......



......see what I mean? This stuff kicks ass. You can have experiences like this all the time!



Okay. In all seriousness, I'm not really sniffing the stuff in the picture. We're just using it in the lab for some experiments in adding dietary supplements to proprietary cosmetic products. But my dad and I get a kick out of the fact that it looks like I'm playing at being a Columbian drug lord. Do you want some of the coca, esse? Haha!

Bonus points to anyone who can guess which particular cosmetic product I'm talking about. In fact, for my next post, I think I'll do one of those close-up "Guess what this is?" picture games, a la Cranium.

Enjoy the retardedly long post. I'm out.

- Will