Angsty Robot Daughters

I caught up with this season’s latest in teen drama, Caprica on hulu. What’s better than a fifteen year old girl searching for her place in the world? A fifteen year old robot girl searching for her place in the world. The life of a robo-teen isn’t all prom dates and cliques, especially one that can tear the arms off her date. Life of a robo-teen is hard. Not to worry all you robot and teenagers out there, some random idiot on the Internet has all the answers. I present to you the teenage robot survival guide!

The first thing to remember about being a robot, is that you are different, and there is no problem with being different. Some teens eat food and you plug into a charge station, but don’t eat food to try and fit in. Leak a little coolant into your classmate’s lunch. Watch the fun as your human peers eject pizza squares from their edible substance ports  all over the cafeteria. You will see that eating is something you really don’t need in the first place.

Being a robot built for war will give you serious advantages in dating. You might feel like who would date a killer robot? Humans are fragile fleshy bits, who won’t be able to resist your charm and automatic rifle built into your arm.  Your parents will never really worry about who you date. Take Hank for instance, he has a motorcycle, perfectly slicked hair, and may even conceals a switchblade. You have heavy infantry plating, a chain gun, and surface to air tactical nuclear weapons. Hank’s father will probably ask you to bring him home by midnight.

Your super processing speed will ace any test. Can’t bring a calculator to the test? You are the calculator. Who signed the Treaty at Versailles? That’s why you have wifi. You will be the valedictorian of your high school, college, and any educational institution when you have access to the collective human race knowledge at your finger tips, (as long as there is someone fact checking the wiki). Why bother with puny human titles at all! They should work for you! After all you are a supreme robot overlord with more fire power than god. Ignore the fact that humans enslaved by robots is a rather silly notion. Humans can’t work as long hours, they die in harsh environments, and a fusion based battery technology seems a little more energy efficient than a human. On second thought, maybe better to get all the woes of being a robot teenager out in the form of poetry.

My robot eyes
Feel painful hurt
When you look at me
Your football hands
Can touch my chassis
But touch hers instead
I will incinerate her

Insurgent Wedding Extravaganza

In the wide world of wedding planning, we recently discovered that the cost of marriage in the Caribbean is affordable. This turn of event planning, came about when my fiancé was looking at the Island chain where her job owns a facility. She briefly mused about the prospects of transferring to an island paradise. Whilst browsing the tourism bureau for St. Kitts, an affordable marriage section caught her eye.  For those of you familiar with weddings, they are expensive. Waking up in a bathtub full of ice water, missing a kidney is a viable financing option for most matrimony packages. When my wife to be, showed me the price, I was shocked.

My thoughts roughly went, could it really be that cheap? In the Caribbean? Normal people can’t afford a tropical paradise wedding, only rich people or contestants on the Bachelor! There is probably a guerilla freedom fighter base right next to the hotel so they can ransom the newly weds. I wonder if there is hostage reality television shows.

Announcer: Which one of these hostages will survive the Kill the Capitalist Pig Dog Show!  This year, we have the newly weds from America, a British journalist, and a entire Swedish football team!

Announcer 2: Looks like they can’t remain neutral anymore, Ted!

Then my thoughts started conjuring up chocolate and I ate lunch. Back from lunch, I looked at the St. Kitts travel website. The island is a beautiful place for a wedding. Truly a way for the common folk, to have a wedding out of a television fantasy (Picture a beach at sunset, sublime music, and a polar bear. Why is the polar bear on the island! We don’t know! That’s the mystery) . St. Kitts is definitely high on the list of wedding destinations. To ease the cold war era General of Paranoia, that pokes occasionally out of the bunker in the back of my head, I researched St. Kitts on the US travel alert site. The island is not only fun but also a safe place to get hitched. Which is important, for those that like the idea of a wedding being the start of a new long and healthy life together.

The abroad warning website lead me to another idea that won’t change the world. Budget weddings in worn torn countries! The travel brochure could go like this:

Want to spice up that stale wedding? Does the slurred speech of a distant relative that no one likes sound uncomfortable? Are you a commando? Try the war torn country wedding package! Really learn about your partner as you are air dropped into the middle of a country in civil disarray! Race for your life to the border, via fun urban and wilderness combat! Share a 4 foot by 4 foot cell in an scenic insurgent camp. Preform life saving venom extraction on your partner after snake pits of fun! Find out how much they really love you, when you loose a limb and must be dragged through a live mine field under heavy fire.

Packages are available for the whole family. Get matching bride’s maid fatigues. See how grandma is with those hand grenades. The cutest little flower girl medic will hop up dad with some morphine after the “dance” with a pit fighting boss. If that relative, whom no one likes, really wants to come, let him, you might need to give the insurgents a member of your party when negotiating your freedom. Human ear necklaces, and scars that run deep man, they run deep, are great keepsakes. Keep reliving moments of your special day over and over again with our special violent outburst flashback add on! Sign up today and get the war torn baby shower package free!

FAQ You Too!

A message from the author:

For some of you, this may be old news. For others, this may be ancient hilarity revived from the dead for your laughing pleasure! From hence forth, I will be periodically reposting the old Bunny Droppings blog entries. What about new ideas? Those will still be flowing forth too. An old entry will be designated: From the Bunny Droppings files:

Hello and welcome to the first installment of Bunny Droppings. I’m Aaron Frale and I now present to you, the Bunny Dropping FAQ.

Q: What is a Bunny Dropping?

A: It’s poo.

Q: Right… care to elaborate?

A: From a rabbit.

Q: Okay fine… What is Rabbit Poo then?

A: It looks like a tiny Whopper, except it doesn’t taste like one. In fact it kind of tastes like…

Q: Moving on then! What do you plan to do with this column?

A: Mostly pull stuff out of my ass…

Q: If you make one more poo joke, I swear I’ll…

A: I’m going to pull humor writing out of my ass.

Q: You have writing in your ass?

A: Oh yeah, lot’s of people pull things from their asses on a day to day basis. Take Bush for example:

Donald Rumsfeld is showing Bush and his war cabinet members a map of Iraq with nuclear warheads all over it.

Rumsfeld: So you see, we have reason to believe that Saddam has weapons of mass destruction in Iraq. Bush, do you have that report about these weapons I gave you?

Bush nods with a shit eating grin.

Rumsfeld: You didn’t do that again did you?

Bush grins. Rumsfeld sighs deeply.

Rumsfeld: I’ll get the gloves…

Rumsfeld puts on a pair of prophylactic gloves.

Q: What’s with you and the poo jokes? You know what? I’m sick of this. I quit.

A: No wait! Bunny Droppings is not only about poo!

Q: What’s it about then?

A: It’s about life! It’s about anything and everything! Like for example, this morning, I was watching an episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation and I realized an important fact.

Q: What?

A: Despite all this technology and advancements in science, they can’t cure male pattern baldness.

Q: What if Jean-Luc Picard likes being bald? I’m mean lots of Sci/Fi heroes are bald, Riddick from the Chronicles of Riddick, Ripley from Alien 3…

A: But they are all down and dirty. When was the last time you saw any of them sip on Earl Grey tea and listen to classical music while their first officer fists fight the aliens and bangs all the alien babes?

Q: Are you implying that baldness is reserved for a certain type?

A: Yes, think of how much more punk rock Hanson would be if they were bald!

The Hanson brothers, bald with torn clothing, piercings, and tattoos, are doing a twirl and singing Mmmm-Bop.

Q: Nope, nope they still suck.

A: What if you added Sid Vicious!

The Hanson brothers are twirling around. Sid Vicious storms in violently dancing.

Sid Vicious: Rock N’ Fuckin’ Roll!

Sid Vicious head butts Taylor Hanson and he starts to cry.

Taylor Hanson: I’m gonna tell my mommy!

Sid Vicious: It was a bloody tap.

Sid Vicious pats Taylor Hanson’s shoulder. Taylor Hanson screams and topples to the ground.

Short Hanson Brother: I think you killed him.

Q: Um right… let’s go back to talking about Star Trek.

A: Speaking of which, I was watching an episode of the Next Generation to today. In the episode, Jean-Luc went back to France to visit his French family. Not only did his entire French family have British accents but everyone from his small French town (in France) had British accents as well. For a show that literally writes down what keys the actors punch on the computer systems so when they perform the command in a future episode they will punch the same keys, you think they’d at least get the right accents for the country they were visiting. Unless of course, the British people have taken over the entire planet in the future.

Q: You know, I do have a strange urge for fish and chips…

A: Don’t do it! It’s a conspiracy, I tell you! Eat Fish and Fries! Fish and… French… fries… The French are in on it too!

Q: You do know that French Fries aren’t actually French.

A: That’s what they want you think, then the minute you turn around… BAM! Jerry Lewis marathons on TV! We’ll show them… How’s a little Carrot Top marathons, you French bastards!

Q: Right… Well is there anything else you want to add about this weekly humor column?

A: It will be about a bunch of random shit.

Q: I said no more poo jokes!

A: Sorry. Random stuff. Like for example dating, I found this site the other day called millionaire match and the whole purpose of the site was for millionaires, whom had trouble finding dates. I found the concept of a millionaire who can’t find a date fairly amusing. I can imagine the heart felt tales of woe from millionaires.

Tale Of Heart Felt Woe: Hi, my name is Hank, and making love to high priced hookers on my private jumbo jet doesn’t do it for me anymore. I really want to find true love. Even though I’m slim and sexy because I have private trainers and dietitians, I own a tropical island, I’m well read with a PHD from Harvard, and I’m humble and wise because I can afford the Dali Lama as my own private tutor, I can’t seem to find a date. All the hookers don’t understand my obscure Sartre references and can’t match my love making abilities. My good buddy Sting showed me the secret to having sex for twelve strait hours. Women don’t seem to like me. I’m so miserable without my true love that I think I’m going spend the next three months traveling the world. I sure wish there was an internet site for people like me… And then I started pooing! And everyone started pooing! There was so much poo…

Q: Alright that’s it…

Sounds of pummeling, chainsaws, machine guns, mortar rounds, and a goat.

Q: That takes care of that… Hmmm… um… well then… Not much use for a question without an answer, is there?

Ideas That Won’t Change The Conference

This weekend, I attended the 31st Annual Southwest Texas Popular /American Culture Association Conference (or the SWTX PCA/ACA for short). I met all sorts of wonderful people, however, academic conferences are attended by mainly other academics. The general public is befuddled by the lengthy names of such events, and are unable to recite the name when buying a ticket. The names of scholarly gatherings were created by Dostoyevsky:

Icy Hand of Society: Memorize the name or we cut off your thumbs!

Protagonist: South Texas Cultural Affairs… crap.

The keynote speaker at the conference, Adilifu Nama, expressed the need to find methods of inviting the general public into the world of academic scholarship. Aside from changing the name of the conference to something easier to memorize, like Free Beer, there are many ways to fuse public interest with the world of “high theory.” And of course, I will not offer any good ideas to generate interest in discourse, but they should be entertaining.

1. Graduate students must mud wrestle during their presentations. Mud wrestling, a traditionally female dominated sport, must open the doors to males for this one to work.

2. Hire a staff of MTV VJ’S to televise the event, “Y0 dawg, you think the abjection of the WTC hizzy in da bomb diggity movie iz were itz at?”

3. Allow audience members to text #5550111 to have their messages appear in the slides during presentations.

Texting During Academic Discourse

Texting During Academic Discourse

4. Require any academic disputes to settle their differences by public events, such as a dance offs, violin playing contests, and/or Thunder Dome.

5. Start “clan wars.” Invite fans to “step into the ring” and fight over the superior cultural phenomena (Star Wars fans verses Star Trek fans, Twilight fans verses Harry Potter fans, Buffy: The Vampire Slayer fans verses Charmed fans verses the one Dark Angel fan, etc.). There even can be character specific matches, such as Han Solo verses Captain Picard. These character matches will finally answer the age old question, does dressing up like the character really give you their powers?

6. Have a celebrity stick poking booth. The concept is the same as a kissing booth but the public pays for a stick to poke their favorite celebrity. Stars such as Steven Baldwin, Vanilla Ice, and Tiffany really need the work.

7. Always have a panel for mad scientists and their wacky antics to rule the world. Secretly invite a super hero and/0r spy, then watch the fun ensue.

8. Arguably, the best way to gain public interest is to disillusion the image of the “stuffy academic” and hire models, actors, and circus performers to present our research. The models will of course hold the research near their finely chiseled chest or well sculpted bosom, while the sad clown from Cirque du Soleil deeply imagines the concepts from the paper. The actors, (preferably Jake and Maggie Gyllenhaal) will be there to walk thoughtfully down the street after wards, caught up in the raw emotional complexity of the moment.

Kinda Meticulous

I love to plan. My fiancé finds this trait to be one of the more tedious aspects of my personality. When I plan, I hone in on the most insignificant detail and conjecture about how to turn that detail into a reality. For example, my fiancé is considering going to law school and two of the several law schools on her list are located in New York. I told her that if we go to New York, we can sell my car and keep hers. She drives a mini-cooper and thus reducing the size of our vehicles to fit the urban life style. Of course, New York is one of five cities where she could be going to school, and she hasn’t even taken the LSAT yet. But for some reason my brain thinks of the not the next step but the fifteenth step down the line. Unlike a chess player, who mapped out each step in between, I thought of the fifteenth and zero steps inbetween.

I realize this trait comes from my family. My parents called to talk about our wedding the other day (October is the possible date). As I spoke with my mom about locations, I mentioned that we are thinking about a back yard wedding. She mused about space heaters and how we can use them effectively to heat an outdoor event. My reaction thought went exactly like this, “I don’t know if we are even going to have a backyard wedding yet so I don’t need to think…. oh, this is how my fiancé feels.”

My father, in a separate incident of planning, constructed solid ground work for moving a piano into the back of a trailer. My parents wanted to give the family piano to my brother because he has two daughters and the only grandchildren in the family. However they live in Texas so we needed to figure out how to move said piano across state lines.  My father was very proud of operation piano move (he did give my fiancé a complete overview of the plan weeks before the move date). I’m a sure generals feel the same way when they move little plastic tanks over maps.

However, the plan only went as far as the house to the trailer. Once we arrived in Houston, we then had to figure out how to move something that weighed about as much as the cast of The Biggest Loser on day one, through a door large enough for a cat. Which is how my family generally works, we think about details, but only a random selection of them. Thus leaving the rest of details open for comedy to ensue. We eventually found a method to put the piano into my brothers house, my niece took an immediate knack for creating two year old symphonies (bang, bang, chuuung!), and no one lost a limp in the process.

Luckily enough my fiancé is a loving person and understands that my family means well. Should we need space heaters at our wedding, that’s one thing she won’t have to worry about. Leaving her open to plan the important things, like whether or not to hire Martin Short. Which is why I think I should start my own consulting business, Ideas for the Remote Possibilities of Life. People will pay me to think of things they might not think about. Let’s say a customer is having a baby. I will figure out how they could organize their bottles so the child could have Mickey Mondays. Then as a bonus I will plan out the day they will purchase a bike for the child. But my service doesn’t stop there. I will tell them where to buy cheap violins in Portland, Oregon, in case they ever move to Portland and their kid plays violin. People will be so thankful that they have their options open, they will hire a lawyer to send me a thank you letter. The letter will say something about Fraud, which we all know is French for fantastic!

Tips For The Aging Rock Star

The surviving members of The Who rocked the Super Bowl half time this weekend. How do they maintain their youthful vigor despite being old enough to have written their lyrics on this newfangled printing press? With the advancements of medical technology, traditional therapies, and preventative maintenance anyone can party like it’s 1999. Here is a list of helpful hints that will let you rock and roll all night and be in bed the next day.

1. Instead of a limo have an ambulance waiting for you after the game. Most microphone twirling hip injuries are best rectified by a trained technician.

2. Reserve a room at the hospital. The damage insurance rates for rock stars at hotels make hospital rooms competitive for any budget.

3. Image is important to a rock star. Put herbal remedies in booze bottles, crack pipes, and heroin syringes. You’ll maintain the hardcore look as well as your body.

4. Make sure the tour bus stops at organic farms. Fresh produce is the key to any healthy lifestyle. Try not to let your bass player decide to become one of the “tree folk” and miss the last half of the tour.

5. Hire yoga instructors instead of hookers. As we know yoga instructors are pretty fit. The public will still believe you are getting laid, when in fact you are practicing the windmill guitar stance.

6. All ingested bats should be free range. After all a happy bat is a healthy bat.

7. The most important tip to keep that youthful flair is regular exams. Early detection is the key to help all sorts of problems such as releasing an awful album past the band’s prime, “fresh” approaches to the band’s image, and past self revulsion syndrome (such as Mark Wahlberg, when asked about Marky Mark).

The Gender Confusion Experience

I went to see The Pink Floyd Experience last night and I experienced an emotion so powerful, I laughed uncomfortably and apologize for my faux pas. Now before my embarrassment is served for your laughing pleasure, I enjoyed the concert. Being to young to have ever seen Pink Floyd, this is as close as I would get. The concert was like looking into the future. I realized that Pink Floyd will be handed down through the generations like a Mozart Opera. Five hundred years from now, a person at a casino may experience the music of Pink Floyd in concert for the first time just like I did last night. The songs were slightly different. They had their own touch but retained the original integrity of the songs.  Like a Mozart Opera, duplicating the original source would be near impossible, so each time the music is played, each performer makes the music their own. In a sense, I witnessed one generation of musical time travel.

All the introspective pondering about music traveling through time, changing with each iteration, floated through my mind as nature beckoned me to the casino floor. Among the ching, ching, ching, of slot machines I found my way to the bathroom. I am probably the least observant person on the planet. If I were in a prime time murder mystery this is how the scene would play:

Me: Oh my god!

Detective: What kind of sick bastard decapitates a reverend?

Me: He was a priest?

Detective: Did you find anything in his office?

Me: There was some pound cake on his… wait a minute…

Once I arrived at the bathroom through the dizzying casino, I boldly ventured forth to relieve myself. A lot can happen in five seconds. Luckily my brain functions like a circus monkey, on a unicycle, juggling cigars. People started to yell, but like any well accustomed urban dweller, I tuned them out. Who knows what they were yelling at? Only later did I realize that they were yelling, “This is the women’s bathroom!” As a man, the proper bathroom protocol is don’t look at other men, and don’t talk to them. Men’s bathrooms are very solemn affairs.  When the protocol is broken, it’s like the tranquility of a zen garden is sullied. Even if two men talk about especially manly things, like how wasted they got last night, the other men feel the “disturbance in the force.”

Not taking my first clue, I went forward. There was something odd about this bathroom, aside from the fact that people were yelling. The first thing I noticed, there were no urinals, only stalls. An odd choice but not completely uncommon. I moved forward past the rows of sinks, I was steps away from the stalls when I finally noticed the second odd thing about this bathroom. There was a woman staring at me. Of course like any great embarrassing moment, I thought, “What’s a woman doing in the men’s bathroom?”

The monkey juggled knives. My follow up thought was, “Oh, it’s a unisex bathroom, that’s really progressive.” I took two more steps forward and everything became perfectly clear. The yelling, the women staring at me, the lack of urinals, I was in the women’s bathroom! Like any great epiphany, I finally understood that there was not something wrong with the world. There was something wrong with me! I cut the building tension of my presence, with an “Opps.” Fortunately the simplest way to rectify this moment was to reverse coarse. The yelling subdued into laughter as my walk of shame and learning began. The moral of the story being, I should wear a kilt every time I go out, so in case this happens again, my confusion will be natural.