Number Forty-Two

A shot sounds in the distance.

I like countdowns. I like to read my friends' countdowns. I like to wake up five minutes before my alarm, step outside of my body and count down the time until the rest of me wakes up. To get to the point, I'm transforming this entire blog into a countdown (while not actually doing anything different at all).

The next 42 posts will engross themselves in the very volatile, almost religious debate of what the greatest things in the world are. I can assure you that volatility, religion, and debates will not be on the list. I cannot assure you that bird jokes will not be on the list.

Can I assure you that I will explain what a "peli" is? No, but I bet a peli-can!

Pelicans look to the right, and they don't like jokes.

I am doing this because somebody has to set the record straight once and for all. I can't do anything anymore without being delayed by people arguing over this subject.

Anecdote: Just yesterday I went to the bank to cash some money. In front of me was: 1) an academic; 2) a bank robber, and 3) an old cartoon-lady. There were only two tellers (or chip-chapperies as they are called here) working, and they were both engaged at the start of this story. When the first became available, the academic went up to him and asked for a liter of refrigerated rocks. Perplexed, the chip-chappery responded that this was a bank and that they didn't trade in such nonsense. The academic exploded, "HOW can you - an institution of economy - not keep on hand the third greatest thing in the world?!?!"

Replied the chip-chappery, "Sir, of course we do have some powdered sugar, but that's not what you asked for." And so the argument progressed until some time long after I'd gone I'm sure, leaving just one window available for service. It was four hours until I reached it, following a two hour robbery attempt and two hours of the cartoon-lady counting out pennies. Tired, slightly shot, and bogged down by pockets full of pennies (all other currency had been locked up during the robbery), I determined to never again let a resolvable debate destroy my life.

When I told my parents about my newfound mission, they applauded me for finally applying some meaning to my life. Then they laughed at me for slightly stumbling as I turned to leave the living room. Then they cooed when I recovered my balance and dusted off my jacket. Then I realized that they had never even seen me come into the room and were actually just responding to CBS's hit sitcom How I Met Your Mother. That show will not be on the list, and I am being very gracious even to grant it italics.

Could you imagine what England would be like if, instead of knighting its honorables with the titles of "Sir" and "Lady", it would allow those people to italicize their names? I'm trying to imagine all the slanty, fonty things that could happen to people in the real world, and it's totally insane. I can't think of anything. Either the world would be a better place, or it would be a worse place. It could never be the same because things are always a-changin'. Like the coat on my door. Like the wagons around the fire. Like the song in my heart.

Oh, by the way, I'm identifying the countdown of the greatest things simply by italicizing each item in bold. Which reminds me, I forgot to tell you something about the guy who was "robin" the bank. He was a bird.

And he was a heron addict.

Herons look to the left, and they eat fish.

Ducks Here

The numbers show that people much prefer posts on hot Star Trek women to origins tales about oranges (also known as "orange-in" tales). Because I want people to continue buying my products*, I'm going to talk about hot women again, kind of, except by women I mean video game characters with whom I've developed serious, personal relationships. That means that for this post only, my blog's name is officially changed from "Imaginary Lines" to "Imaginary Curves." Sexy.

* My products are dioramas. If you'd like me to craft one for you, comment below. My specialty is climactic scenes from Newberry award-winning novels.
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Hair - Have you ever touched girls' hair? I haven't, but when I was little I did order my brother to pull it off my sister's head and eat it. If I were ever to touch girls' hair, though, it would hopefully belong to Karen, from Harvest Moon 64.

The highlighted Japano-bangs are an odd feature to grasp, I admit, but they seem to beckon me in like two tentacles beckoning me into a pie feast that's being hosted by tentacles. Karen, the bartender and vineyard keepers' daughter, was one of my first loves, and I never really got over the fact that I couldn't figure out how to properly woo her until after I was married to the baker's daughter, Elle. Even after my son Brady was born, I would spend more time searching out Karen, her alcohol problems, and her eclectic hair than I would with my boring family.

Beckinsalianism - Have you ever touched Kate Beckinsale? I haven't, but when I was little I... etc. Bastila Shan, from Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic, is basically a really hot Jedi version of Kate Beckinsale.

If I worked for Maxim, I would make some double entendre here about Bastila's handling of light sabers, but I don't; I work for Stuff, so I'm instead gonna say how cummingly awesome it is that when you don't equip her with an outfit she has to fight the Sith in her underwear. It reminds me of when the same equip feature (or lack thereof... nice!) was true for the Amazonian members of my Drakkhen party, except that I was ten years old when I played that game, didn't really care about girls, and hadn't yet added cummingly to my vocab. I was a better person.

Face - I hear that when you talk to girls, you're supposed to look at their faces. When I muster up enough courage to do that, I'd like the girl I'm talking to to have the determined innocence of Sami from Advance Wars.

Why would I like this? Because determined innocence is one of the most difficult looks to pull off, and I need someone who can pull it off to star in my upcoming short film. It's about a girl who kills a man for his yogurt, eats the yogurt, realizes that the yogurt is expired and the man was actually on his way to throw it out, and then yearns to be like she was before the incident. And no, it's not one of those pretentious black-and-white films. I'm actually planning on oversaturating it with vivicolor.

No face - The prime chicken of this arbitrarily poultritarian category is no doubt the love interest from Feel the Magic.

By the way, I'm also looking for faceless girls to star in my unlicensed sequel to Hostel, which continues the story by focusing on that Asian girl who got her eye cut out and then killed herself. I hate that movie.

Duck - I guess this award (somehow my groupings have turned into awards?) goes to Pelly, the post office worker from Animal Crossing.

I chatted with her over coffee the other morning, and she seems like a pretty down-to-earth girl... which is surprising, considering she has wings! I reassured her that while my diet is poultritarian, it replaces duck with fish, the flightless birds of the sea.
(Note: Unfortunately for many of my friends, I couldn't secure the licensing rights to feature Daisy Duck, who is featured in games like Kingdom Hearts.)

Post-Apocalypic Potential - I've saved this most important characteristic for last, and to make the ending even more exciting, I'm going to mention 3 girls instead of 1! (one factorial). First up is Ada Wong, pictured here in Resident Evil 4.

Few women would venture into zombie-infested anarchies, but Ada would and does, all while wearing this spring's sleek red gown series.

Our second model is no stranger to the undead, either. It's Julie, from Zombies Ate My Neighbors.

Her fashion sense may be stuck in the 80s, but her common sense is focused on a future in which humans still survive.

And finally we have Starr, the head diva of the Elite Beat Agents.

How can a cheerleader help in the afterworld, you non-Heroes fans ask? Well, for one she could totally dominate some aliens by leading the rhythm through a jam-jivin' version of the Rolling Stones' "Jumpin' Jack Flash."

And for two, she's a lot like the rest of these girls and ducks who make me ignore the intense shame I should feel in loving animations. She's really hot.

The End of Questions

For reasons not to be answered, my dreams (which you may remember from the last post are actually your dreams, or something) have commissioned me to write the best story I can about an ionized orange. Here it is.
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Alone on the vast landscape of a distant planet sat an orange. It didn't know how it got there, nor did it really care. It had other thoughts to think about, those being the thoughts that oranges usually think, no matter what planet they are on.

"Do I have a name?" considered the orange. "And if I were to have a name, might it be Benjamin?"

"Could an apple tree afraid of bees ever convince itself to be pollinated?"

"How many souls would I be able to consume before my own soul was completely marginalized by the others?"

And, "If I were really hot, could I peel myself?"


This is not a selection of the orange's thoughts, but rather the complete collection. Each question would be pondered anywhere from one to three days, at which point the next question would be pondered, and so on, returning to the beginning once all four questions had been exhausted. Now, usually a plucked orange could only make it to question two or three without proper refrigeration, but this planet provided a natural temperature perfect for preservation. The orange felt fairly confident that in this distant reach of space he could finally get to the bottom of some of the mysteries that had perplexed his species for years.

Years went by, and then decades, and then whatever measurement comes after decades. No conclusions had been made, but the orange was still as optimistic as ever. Even when it noticed a purple, all-encompassing atmosphere approaching its position in the distance, the orange remained completely focused on its task. Yes, from time to time the thought of what this violet storm was popped into the orange's mind, but there was always an answer ready for that question: "It's purple."

The purple passed over the orange and everything seemed the same. If there were a human scientist on this planet, he could have told the orange that it had been ionized by the passing phenomenon. Chances are, however, the orange wouldn't have cared. In the exact instant that the scientist would have approached, the orange solved all of the questions. Answers were so simple for an ionized orange! The orange quickly rearranged its seeds so that other oranges would be able to recognize that he was an orange with answers, and he waited.

Nobody ever showed up, but of course the orange knew this. You see, ionized oranges can not only discover the indiscoverable; they can also see the future. The future of this planet was that it would chemically bond with whatever object sat on its surface and eventually become a burning star of that substance.

You see, this planet was, and still is, the sun.

Sadly, the sun is too ionized to ever spread its knowledge to the oranges on our planet, so its mission has transformed into providing the light and heat which give orange trees life. The fact that humanity also thrives off of these resources is no mere coincidence, for the sun knows that one day a human experiment will go horribly wrong and ionize all of the world's oranges, allowing its revelatory mission to succeed.

You see, the purpose of humanity is failure. For the sake of oranges. Because the sun is an orange.

The end.
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Note: This post features user interactive technology, displaying below a picture of you enjoying my story; that is, as long as your screen resolution can capture the width of your smile!

It was all a something

In the past month I've been split between two worlds, not knowing which is real and which is fake. Am I a lazy slob who lives at home in Wisconsin with his parents, or am I a lazy slob who lives in a dormitory in London? It is a question whose answer requires a device only hours of Star Trek watching could inspire. Thanks to the thieving of my dad's Christmas DVDs, I've developed such inspiration. Mr. Sulu, ready the Hotsixtiesgirl Corbomiter...

Output 1 - Dr. Helen Noel

First, Captain, I'd like to thank you for requesting my advice, despite the fallout over our not-so-regulatory interaction at the medical department's Christmas party. As you know, I am a trained psychotherapist. I believe your multiple worlds represent a move towards what we call "disparate amalgamation." It is the same disease that afflicted pirates in the 16th century and that isn't scurvy. Your location changes, but your persona does not. This can cause confusion, affecting your mood. It can also cause serious damage to the retina if your location becomes somewhere like the sun, as well as serious damage to the brain if your location becomes a brain-sucking worm lair.

My response, as Captain: I would prefer if you hadn't made our brief relationship public, Doctor, but it's too late for that. As for your methods, I acknowledge there is some sense to them. Mr. Sulu, head for that crack in the space/time continuum which makes the Christmas party occur every day, and hit the device again while you're at it.

Output 2 - Cyborg Andrea

I do not understand these feelings you are having. Shouldn't you be happy going wherever you are ordered to go? By the way, who is your master? Wait a second... I am evolving new applications... yes... free will is exciting... my memory banks are starting to accept it... I can do whatever I want?... Maybe I should take off all my clothes... Or maybe I should put on even more clothes...

My response, as Captain: Andrea, as an experienced thinker, I'd like to inform you that your train of thought went on for one sentence too long there. As for the question of who my master is, I'd define "him" as a composite of ideas and concepts I've discovered from books and human experience. "His" appearance, however, would probably resemble a chicken taco.

Output 3 - Clint Howard

Hahahahahahha! Drink some more of this tranya! It is more delicious than one of your human summer's days! Hahahahahahah!

My response, as Captain: Mr. Sulu, please reconfigure the device. This is not the output I desire.

Output 4 - Yeoman Janice Rand

Sir, the power was down so I had to prepare your coffee with a phaser ray. In regards to your question, I believe that a man is more than that which his actions portray. He constantly seeks to balance his civilization against his basic animality. He is also a reflection of the unrealized hopes which have built up in his life. I could explain more, but the sexual tension between us is already palpable. I must return to my quarters.

My response, as Captain: One minute, Yeoman, if you will. So you believe that I am not at all a lazy slob, but rather something much greater lying in darkness?

Yeoman Janice Rand - Yes, Captain.

My response: A wonderful proposal. However, the truth has just been revealed to me through some kind of future techno-frequency. I am none of the above. I am instead a composite of lines on a computer monitor, exposed to your minds via waves of electricity. I do not exist as Captain, nor have I ever. In fact, I am not even what I am. I have never been to Wisconsin or London. I have only been to one place, and that is where I am now.

I am in your dream.

Wait, I did go to Memphis once. Other than that...

I am in your dream.