Smurfy Meat Monkies

Well I’m finally getting this pile of shit off the road. A friend of mine named Bill told me a should do rants on a blog, so now I am. I still haven’t completely figured out how all of it works but it’s coming along. I’m slowly going thru and posting old ones. You can check it out at http://rantsfromag.blogspot.com. If you’re interested in writing your own rant on there or replying to mine or someone else’s, feel free to. If it doesn’t work let me know and I’ll add you as a member. If anyone has copies of my old ones feel free to send them to me. I have everything after July 27, 2002. Apparently, yahoo eats your saved messages after so long. This includes two of my favorites, shitting at big boy and the fromunda cheese rant. I have found everything but the punch line for big boy (titled “snap into a slim jim”) so I may just end up faking it in. And now for something completely different.

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I was driving to work today and I happened to pass a truck that said “Smurfit-MBI” on the side. Of course this got me wondering what the little blue guys had been up to lately as they had apparently decided to join the big bad world of capitalism and leave the quiet and peacefulness of Smurfville behind. After a little web surfing it appears they’ve gone the way of cardboard packaging. I guess with all the little guys laboring away in a cardboard plant they probably do pretty well for themselves. I doubt the cost of upkeep for a mushroom is all that much.

After thinking about it for the entire ride home from work and most of the time that I was there I finally figured out the key to the smurf language. (Yes my life really is that sad.) You see the smurfs used the word “smurf” as a noun, vowel, adjective, and adverb. It wasn’t uncommon to hear things like “Have a smurfy day.” Or “Let’s go smurfing for smurf berries, it’ll be smurfy.” In the English language there is only one word that can be used as easily as “smurf” to fulfill any and all parts of speech. And that word is “fuck.” It occurred to me when I realized that the smurfs say “smurf” almost as much as I say “fuck” in my day to day language. Friendly sayings like “Awwww, smurf you, you smurfy smurf.” could easily be reversed and made less friendly by using fuck instead. “Fuck you, you fucking fuck!” This would imply that the word “smurf” is the exact and utter opposite of the word “fuck.”

This actually explains a great deal of things. For one, why the smurfs are always so happy and cheery. They are always telling people not to fuck off or not to go fuck themselves. For two, why they never have sex, or at least not to breed. They don’t fuck, plain and simple. Gargamel once tried to get them to start fucking by creating Smurfette but Papa Smurf’s happy magic made everyone see her as an equal and no longer as a slab of meat. How the little girl smurf came into being is still a mystery to me but I’m sure with a little help from Jimbob and this new insight into the world of smurfs, we’ll be able to supply an answer soon. (for those of you who don’t know, Jimbob knows as much about the smurfs as I do about Scooby-doo, that and a bunch of other stupid 80’s shows.)

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Today’s something awful rant is about Indiana and how stupid it is. Unfortunately it makes no mention of how the phrase “cooked to order” really means “to go” when your in Indiana. You can even explain what you mean by it by saying something to the affect of “If I want my burger cooked blue rare, you know, so that its heart is still pumping blood thru it, will I be able to get it cooked that way?” They will of course say “yes” and then proceed to bring you a very well done piece of shoe leather strapped between two pieces of bread along with a carry out bag. The only place we found to be an exception to this rule was the Ram in Indianapolis. But I think the waitress was from Michigan so that’s probably the real reason behind that.

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My son started his first day of preschool today. It thru some sort of Presbyterian church near Yale. He sang old mcdonald had a farm and a song about a sandwich. He even painted a picture of a Picasso basketball. I asked him if he saw any monkeys there and he said there were, so I asked him if he spanked any of them. He said that spanking the monkeys would make them cry. I told him the whole point of spanking your monkey was to make it cry…