Tag Archives | not getting eaten

Doug the neurotic invents a corollary on his daily commute

Revenge of the chickenOkay, I’ll admit it. I’m freaking out.

I ate at Wendy’s last night, and then I’m reading the paper today — yeah, like I do everyday on the bus — and so I’m reading the paper, and what do I see? Bird Flu! There was another breakout of bird flu in a freakin’ chicken farm in Canada!

Yeah, I know you can’t catch bird flu from a Spicy Chicken Sandwich, but still. I’m just saying that it’s a sign. It’s just a matter of time. That or the polar bears. Where the hell are they going to go when the last of the polar icecaps melt? The motherfuckers are either going to drown or head south and look for a little protein in Doug form. Spicy Doug Sandwich. Did you know the polar bear is the biggest land predator in the world? Yeah, and they aren’t going to catch bird flu. Not to mention the terrorists. If they don’t get me than for sure some crypto-Nazi is going to rendition me to somewhere where water-boarding is like foreplay.

Holy shit! It says here that some of the people working with the chickens caught Bird Flu. Oh God, I don’t want to catch BIRD FLU.

Why the hell is everyone looking so calm? Look at that dude. He’s just listening to his iPod, pretending that we’re not all about to die from an anthrax attack. It says we will right here on page three.

The bus is awfully slow today. I wonder if that’s because the driver is working with the terrorists, or maybe he has the beginnings of BIRD FLU and it’s slowing him down? All these stories keep saying it’s only a matter of time until the virus leaps from poultry to humans. Just like the terrorists. They’re going to do another big attack.

Wait.

They haven’t, have they? Maybe if the media is really covering a story like this, that reduces the chances of the thing actually happening. What if there is some sort of inverse relationship to disaster and the amount of fear churned up by the media: the more ink and airtime devoted, the less likely there will be a disaster?

Oh shit. What if there was some kind of OTHER relationship, like a corollary to Murphy’s Law? What is that? Anything that can go, will go wrong. No, that’s Microsoft’s motto. Anything that can go wrong, will.

Like, my bus is late. It can be late, so it is late. I’m going to have to run to catch my transfer. Bastards.

What if there’s some kind of corollary to Murphy’s Law? Anything that can go wrong, will, unless the media gives it saturation coverage … in which case, something else will go even more horribly wrong. Not bad. Call it Doug’s Corollary.

Finally, the bus is at my stop. Come on lady, move. I got to run.

Wait! If that is true, what is worse than BIRD FLU?

Dashing now. I’m still fast. Not young enough to fight off BIRD FLU, but still quick.

Oh my God. Ohmygodohmygod, EBOLA is worse than BIRD FLU!

Oh God, I’m going to catch some new strain of EBOLA and bleed out from they eye sockets and shit! It’s going to wipe me out like a —

[bus]

The End

Alltop is a busload of fun. Photo by Mark Lorch. Originally published in 2007, so you can see how it’s the specific fears that change, not the general tone of the media.

The Giganto-Schism

giant woman in fountain

The Giganto-Schism occurred sometime just after the establishment of the Trans-Vatican and the first RoboPope, Clagnor The Irrefutably Lethal. (This was during the first years of the Genetic Fruit-Topping Wars).

While the people of St. Tropezia were somewhat bemused by the dire calamities promised by the Trans-Catholic Church, they found themselves drawn irresistibly to the gigantic women of the saucy little planet, and formed the Giganto Creed.

In particular, they loved Our Lady of the Massive Legs and Leopard Skin Camisole (particularly when she was bathing).

The Giganto-Schism further widened when the Victoria Secret Galaxy joined the Corporate Imperium, and they unleashed their first catalog of “Euretro-Genita Coverings for the Monumental Goddess” collection upon the unsuspecting Trans-Vatican.

And when the RoboPope discovered that several of his Death Cardinals of Extreme Planetary Retribution kept copies of the catalog under their mattresses, the church never recovered.

Alltop also has big dreams. Originally published in 2007. Photo by Odegaard

A romance for the ages

A romance for the agesIt began simply.

He was out on his morning rampage when he crashed through the front gates of SeaWorld.

She was doing the 10 am show, trying to keep her spirits up while simultaneously pleasing her human masters and keeping the male dolphins from gang raping her.

It was love at first sight; she was drawn to his chiseled good looks and stylish shoes, and he instinctively knew that she would not like fire.

As the crowd fled in abject terror, she knew he would free her from this horrific prison. She jumped into his arms as he approached the tank, and he smiled as he felt the coolness of her scales on his hands, the warmth of her hand on his face.

It all went so well until lunch.

Alltop loves fish too! Thanks to Foxtongue for the pic. Originally published March, 2009.

Ask General Kang: Um, is it time to panic?

Ask General KangYou humans still have primitive brains, so I will try to be understanding about this need of yours to panic.

One of your wisest humans wrote a book, upon the cover of which was the phrase “DON’T PANIC”. This is excellent advice, and the first thing you must learn if you ever hope to:

  • evolve
  • dabble in intergalactic travel
  • keep your portfolio intact in times of irrational exuberance and abject, lower-primate, the-leopard-is-going-to-eat-me moments of dread.

In this period of your insignificant planet’s history, you have given a large part of your economic well being to an institution which (and let’s not gild the lily on this one) runs on the base emotions of greed and fear. So, on occasion, you will have to face the fear. But those of you who rise above it, who listen to the wisdom of your great prophet, shall evolve.

But I suspect that not enough of you will get there before my armada arrives with its legions of über-chimps, armed with hyper-kazoos and tutus.

Then what?

Then it’s time for you to panic.

Next time: What does it mean when your cat beats you at chess? And should he be able to levitate like that?

More reasons not to panic here. Originally published in (you guessed it) January, 2008. It’s worth keeping in mind, though.