An open letter to today’s Google Doodle:

Um, hi.

What the hell are you supposed to be? Usually when I run my arrow cursor-thingy over a Google Doodle, it tells me what it represents. However, every time I try to move my arrow-thing close to you, you disperse and run off, as though my arrow had cooties.  Which it might.  Still.  I’d like to know for sure.

Sincerely,

Monkey Kurt.

  So I was going for a jog this morning in my co-op apartment complex, when I happened to pass our friendly neighborhood newspaper vending machine.

 Note the classy rusting mailbox.  Very posh.

 The vending machine caught my eye, because plastered on the front page of the paper inside was the following headline:

 Which I thought was interesting & sort of cool, as the wedding took place this past Saturday.  Apparently, this wedding was so big that buzz is still  building for it.  You know you’ve got something amazing going on when people are still anticipating it and it’s already happened.

 Then I noticed that the date on the paper was July 11th.  Today is August 2nd.

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(It’s a little blurry, but this is the actual paper in the newspaper machine this morning.   Behind my actual iPod touch.  Which is giving us the actual date.)

 I got a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach – had the world ended three weeks ago, but I was so preoccupied with my sweet, sweet iPod that I hadn’t noticed?  But I soon dismissed that idea as completely retarded because Chelsea had actually had her wedding.  Also, that weird feeling in the pit of my stomach?  Just gas.

 Speaking about Chelsea’s wedding, I totally crashed it.  And by “totally crashed it”, I mean that I completely avoided it and totally drove in the opposite direction.  Why?  Because I’m ALL ABOUT big-ass celebrity weddings.

 As far as the newspaper machine is concerned – it’s very comforting to know that, right outside our front door, we can get the absolute latest in three-week-old news.  Also comforting: knowing that the newspaper machine is updated so frequently.

 I’m gonna sleep like a goddamn angel tonight.

 I saw this old cereal box cover on the web the other day.  Apparently, the idea behind this was: make a tasty, sugar-coated cereal aimed squarely at kids, and then wrap it in a box with a freaky-ass mascot on it to scare them the hell away.

What the…?  What was the cereal manufacturer thinking?  Did they figure that the Creepy Apple-Head Guy looked cute, or adorable?  I think I would’ve screamed like a crazy woman if my mom had put this box in front of me in the morning.

Mom: “Here Kurt, I got you and your sisters a new cereal.”

Me: “AAAUUUGGGHHH!!!”  

Kudos to you, Kellogg’s, for giving little kids everywhere yet another reason to poop in their pants.

 The cereal above is probably not preferred by people who live near the San Andreas Fault.

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And what the hell is this?  “Kaboom”?  Does this cereal come with a free grenade or something?

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What does a clown have to do with the word “Kaboom”, anyway?  That’s like coming up with a cereal called “Funhouse” and putting a machine gun on the cover.  (Which would be awesome, actually.)

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You can see more wacky-ass old cereal boxes at www.theimaginaryworld.com.

  You know what’s kooky?  Going to the bathroom in public.  I don’t mean pooping out in the open in front of everybody, because that’s just gay.  No, I’m talking about using those elegant single-person bathrooms like you find in most gas stations.  I find that using one is kooky because, when I use one and lock the door so I can do my business in privacy, there’s always some other person trying to get in the bathroom.  And I don’t mean just trying to twist the handle once and stopping immediately because the door is obviously locked.  I’m talking about those crackheads that continue to try to play with the handle a while past when it should be apparent to all that the room is in use. 

  I usually make loud, throat-clearing noises in such cases, but the geniuses on the other side invariably start knocking on the door and ask, “is somebody in there?”  To which I usually reply, “No, it’s just me, the toilet.  I’ve got some phlegm, and that’s why I’m clearing my throat.  Also, there’s some guy who’s pooping in my mouth.”

  Not sure why, but saying that usually drives them away.