• Nosefrida USA: Nasal Aspirator (via Boing Boing)

The Nosefrida.

For removal of snot from kids’ noses.

One end of tube — kid’s nostril. Other end — your mouth.

For real.

I’m mean, SERIOUSLY?? Does that kid not look like having her nose hoovered is, like, the most totally awesomest thing EVER?

[Begin imaginary scene in Jason's over-caffeinated brain.]

[Mother driving minivan. Kid in back seat, kicking driver's seat.]

Kid: MooOOoooom… JUICE BOX!

Mom: You can’t have a juice box.

Kid: But MooooOOoom… [Kick kick kick.] MooOOoooOOoom… COOKIE!

Mom: [Deep breath.] You can’t have a cookie.

Kid: MooOOOOooooOOOOOoooom… [Kick kick kick.] MoooOOOooooOOOOOooooooooo– [Runs out of air. Takes deep breath.] –oOOOooooOOOOoooOOMMMM! [Kick kick kick.] NOSEFRIDA!

Mom: SO HELP ME GOD IF YOU DON’T SHUT UP I WILL LEAVE YOU ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD AND YOU CAN BE RAISED BY HOBOS OR RACCOONS I DON’T CARE ANY MORE YOU WILL HAVE YOUR NOSE SUCKED WHEN YOU GET HOME AND NOT A MOMENT SOONER.

[Silence. Kick kick kick.]

Kid: Hobos! [Pause.] HOBOS! Hobos hobos hobos hobos hobos hobos hobos hobos hobos hobos hobos hobos hobos hobos hobos hobos hobos hobos hobos hobos hobos hobos hobos hobos hobos hobos hobos hobos…

[End imaginary scene in Jason's over-caffeinated brain.]

That’s it. I’m naming my first kid “Nosefrida”¹.

…

¹ Subject to Lovely Wife approval².

² Which means never³.

³ Damn. I never get to name anything.

I’m back. With many a tale to tell. And several impressive scabs.

No, I’m not picking at them.

(That’s a lie.)

It may take me an indeterminate amount of time to awaken my atrophied blogging muscles, so please be patient. Cookies may help.

(That’s a hint.)

But, in the meantime…

Is this true?

1. “more fun than a damp paper bag of monkeys”
2. “more fun than a courier bag of monkeys”
3. “more fun than a CD jewel case of monkeys”
4. “more fun than the trunk of a 1972 Dodge Dart of monkeys”
5. “more fun than a walk-in freezer of monkeys”
6. “more fun than a slurry of monkeys”
7. “more fun than a distributed peer-to-peer network of monkeys”
8. “more fun than a battalion of super-intelligent cybernetic soldier monkeys”
9. “more fun than an apocalyptic rain of monkeys”
10. “more fun than a dystopian future history of damn dirty apes”
11. “more fun than a barrel containing a single monkey”
12. “more fun than a barrel containing a succession of ever-smaller barrels”
13. “more fun than a barrel of monks”
14. “more fun than a barrel of monkfish”
15. “more fun than Benjamin Disraeli”

Well.

That… was odd.

I feel sort of squirmy inside having posted that.

I must share this squirmy feeling. It’s like the videotape in The Ring — I must share it or die a horrible yet off-screen death.

We wouldn’t want that now, would we?

(No, we all want my death to be horrible and on-screen.)

So, this is a shout out to my faithful readers — go and write your own stream ‘o’ consciousness! Just start typing. No backspacing. No fixin’ yir spellin. Just start to type.

Then we can compare!

And then laugh!

And laugh and laugh and laugh!

And then stare at each other uncomfortably.

And then laugh and laugh and laugh!

And then stare.

One of the things that people suggest to encourage creativity is to turn off your brain’s editing filter and just let the ideas flow. You know — stream ‘o’ consciousness.

Yeah. Right.

I decided to try that and just start typing.

This is what I got.

blugittyblah my brain be a weirtd stuffhole filled with cheese and crakers and I have no filter on what I’m saying right now so if you read this post you are probably wondering hmmm jason seems to have stepped off the curb onto a fast running street of viscosity and burgers would be really good right about now hotdogs ok but burgers would be fantastic and I think my arteries can handle it right about now so its burger time oh yeah its burger time sing along oh fuck yeah let’s all eat burgers and jump in the creek you like the creek but the creek don’t like you no not since that time that you dissed it at the clubb that was a preetty shitty thing to do but what can you do the creek was all ooh no you didn’t and you were oh yes i did and then creek went off and slept with that skanky chick from two floors down and even though you knew she was skanky the chick was still kinda hot admit it you wanted sto sleep with her but noooooo you never stepped up did you and now creek got there first and what creek wants creek gets so there you are stiitting in the club drinking a redbull and vodka and thats just what you need drunkenness and insomnia no way you are getting out of this alive but you order another and the barkeep takes a look at you and slips a little jelly pop in the drink and it fizzes up and that’s it i am not going to typ th ltttr ” any mor wow thats rally hard and pointlss that xprimnt is OVEeeeEEeeR and this post is going nowhere fast but what can you do when you start on the road to nowhere and your maps are upto date and you have a state of the art gps system you should expect that you will hit nowhere pretty fucking soon but your still like ah shit why am i in nowhere forgetting that that is where you where planning to go all along and thats your own fault but that ok because they have good games there and a sweet ice cream shoppe and you can have two scoops withpeanuts and the peaunts aare prety good but than you spill the ice cream on a kid an the kids mother shrieks o no shes allergic and then everyone is oh no ambulance lets all sing the ambulance song and everyone breaks into dancing and singing and your stuck wuth a shitty chorus part understudying for a crappy second stringer that never gets sick but what can you because its a part and so you sing

And then I realised: my filter is my friend.

Also: insomnia is a social disease.

And lastly: the creek is a jerk.