Brain Farts Brain Fart brain farts brain fart brain-fart brain-farts brainfart brainfarts LEO Louisville Eccentric Observer parody lampoon satire Louisville Kentucky Kevin Gibson kgramone@aol.com kgramone humor
Brain Farts was a weekly humor column that ran in the Louisville Eccentric Observer (LEO) from mid-2000 until the summer of 2002. It was, well, eccentric. And occasionally satirical. And sardonic. Some liked it, some hated it; some just didn't get it, and that's OK. There were times when I didn't get it either. I've compiled here some of the archives from Brain Farts for the enjoyment of friends, family and anyone else who happens by. I also have written some new Brain Farts, and added some links and other trivialities that you shouldn't be too concerned with.
Unless you're as bored as I am.
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Brain Farts: Zzzzzzz |
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By Kevin Gibson |
The
alarm went off this morning at 6:31 a.m. I looked at the blurry red numbers and
then touched my old friend, the snooze bar. (The only way the snooze bar could
be better is if it served beer.) Then I wondered what the purpose was behind
making the industry-standard snooze time nine minutes. Why nine and not 10? What
is the significance?
Is it because there are nine innings in a baseball game? Nine months in a human
gestation period? Is it a mock tribute to “Revolution 9” (one of the worst
Beatles songs ever)? Is it the ancient Chinese belief that the number nine is
the ultimate symbol of masculinity? Or is it merely to see if they can make anal
retentives like me set their alarm clocks for 6:31 instead of 6:30 just so we
can plan on getting out of bed on an even number to facilitate some illusion of
relative rhythm and order in our otherwise cluttered lives?
That thought bored me, so I fell back asleep and slipped into a dream. I was at
John E’s restaurant, having dinner with Denny Crum. He sent back the soup
because, he said, “It tastes like a pulled hamstring.” Then Rick Pitino walked
in, and Pat Forde, who happened to be our waiter, asked us to please excuse
ourselves, as Mr. Pitino wasn’t comfortable with our presence. Denny mumbled
something about hair gel and munchkins and rose to leave. Then the strangest
thing happened: I realized I wasn’t wearing any pants.
The alarm went off at exactly 6:40. I was still not ready to start the day, so I
reset the alarm for 6:41. It sounded again before I fell back asleep, then I hit
the snooze bar one more time.
I fell back asleep and slipped into a dream. Some guy who called himself the
Rev. Jerald X Muhammad stood on the steps of a church, with a small crowd
gathered around him. As he motioned wildly with his right hand and spoke in a
strong, deep voice, I listened to his strange words: “Function: noun; Etymology:
Middle English ypocrite, from Old French, from Late Latin hypocrita, from Greek
hypocrites actor, hypocrite, from shypokrinesthai; Date: 13th century: a person
who puts on a false appearance of virtue or religion. Synonyms: lip server,
pharisee, whited sepulcher.”
At that point, I said to the good reverend, “Hey, aren’t you that guy who beat
me up when we were in high school?” He did not look happy. I searched for my
pants.
The alarm went off at exactly 6:50. I wanted to sleep some more, but my stomach
hurt. I vowed never again to eat a full jar of olives before bedtime. Pizza is
much better.
Contact the writer at kgramone@aol.com.
Number nine. Number nine.