Hyperion X⁹⁷⁷

Wha-the-fuh?

Or

All the things I would put in a regular potpourri column, if I only had the balls

Hyperion X was first conceived as a forum for my uncensored thoughts. I was so concerned about the content; I required several hurdles just to get on the mailing list. I also was alarmed when several people joined whom I’d rather not have getting my unfiltered mind, but they persisted. When the very first Hyperion X came out, I went so far as to run a disclaimer:

This is the 999^th issue of Hyperion X. You should only be getting this if you specifically wrote and asked my staff or me for it. This is your last chance to turn back.

Over time, I found I wasn’t as angry as I thought I’d be. Also, I found myself needing space to do movie reviews, which don’t appeal to the Chronicle reading audience as much. So, while I wasn’t too concerned about my language, Hyperion X sort of evolved into something it was never intended to be.

Well, we’re going Old School, baby.

This past weekend, has, in the words of Billy Graham, been, “one shitty fuck-up after another.” I have gotten to the point where I don’t care if I offend anyone. The following are items collected over the last few days, many of them hilarious, most of them involving very little sleep. That makes everything funnier, you know? Part of me (the small part that keeps whispering “you need these people to like you if you’re ever going to rule the world”) is nervous, arguing with the other part of myself that maybe I should tone it down, take some of this out, or perhaps even have someone read it over. But one of the promises I initially made when I started Hyperion X was that I would never second-guess: just write and send. I figure the worst that can happen is you get mad and quit reading. Don’t let the screen door slap your ass on the way out.

Some of you may be wondering if Billy Graham really said what I wrote above. The truth is Billy’s public persona is all a lie. That man is one foul-mouthed bastard.

Don’t be too hard on Billy, though. He mostly does it to impress John Paul² when we go clubbing. We’ll see some girl on the dance floor and JP will say something like, “Yeah, I’d tap that ass,” and then Billy will chime in with, “Yeah, me too!” It’s kinda pathetic, but whaddya going do?

Okay, this may not appeal to everyone, but I think we need a new word for Dictator. It’s been ruined for the rest of us by the likes of Hitler, Stalin, Mao, Mussolini, Genghis, Napoleon, Xerxes, Darius, Alexander…okay, hell, all of them. That’s why we need a new name.

Along those lines, I was in the car the other day driving by Home Depot. I momentarily thought it read “Home Despot.” I started imagining the commercials…

“After a hard day of dictatoring, do you long to lounge in the comfort of your own palace? Come to Home Despot, where we can supply all your tyrannical and botanical needs.”

One more time, just because it’s fun to read and write (and even better to say): dictatoring. C’mon, say it. It’s fun!

If MC Hammer met MC Escher, would you say, “You can’t touch this” because the stairs never meet?

I lost many things when the Magic Pygmy Rabbits struck my computer last fall. Some of them were quite important, like my address book and all my work. Some were only important to certain people. When I told my friend Koz about the purge, his response was an anguished, “Not the company porn!!!”

Let me explain: while I appreciate a finely turned ankle as well as the next man, I have never been a visual person. Thus, while I am not hating, pictures of generically beautiful naked women I don’t know have never appealed to me like they would some. However, I did keep a small but well regarded collection, not for my own edification, but for the enjoyment of others. That’s company porn. It’s much like if you were to keep whiskey or scotch you don’t personally drink on hand in case guests would like to partake. Friends would come over and immediately see what’s available. You don’t want to be rude, right? That’s all gone, now. While I do have a few scans of Britney, Vida, or Kathy-Lee, I sadly no longer have my company porn.

My friend Aslan returned from Mexico bearing strange exotic gifts. One of them was this long blue vial (he says it’s a bottle, but as I am the one writing this, it’s a vial), like a cross between a genie lamp and one of those shampoo containers you get at a fruity store like Bed, Bath, and Bitches. Inside the vial were wrapped chocolates with a tequila-liqueur center. Just to be friendly I though I’d try one. Absolutely the worst thing I’ve ever tasted. I spit it out and glared at him. “No wonder the Mexicans have never accomplished anything.” I said.

Descriptive term over the week (overheard): “Yeah, she’s hot, but is she ‘dig up her corpse’ hot?”

I wrote several months ago about strip clubs, and my (academic) curiosity as to how strip clubs functioned in a society without dollar bills (they use coins up here). Do people give fives? If coins are used, how does the girl keep them in her garter?

I discussed this with a few learned readers and discovered that coins are indeed used. What happens is the customers throw the coins up on stage, and then someone sweeps them up afterwards. (If you ask me, this cheapens what otherwise is a classy affair.)

However, a new thought occurs to me. I don’t mean to disgust anyone, but here at Hyperion X we shrink from no questions except empirical incest studies. I’ve heard that at some low-class strip clubs, the stripper can be persuaded to accept the dollar bill with a dexterity display not normally seen. (In other words, muscles you might not expect are used to pluck dollar bills from guys’ fingers.) I wonder, does this happen in Canada? If so, couldn’t there be, uh, to put it delicately, a misplacement of funds? Those coins are small, they could just disappear. And what if those funds were to show up at inopportune times?

I can see the scene now. The boyfriend is orally pleasing his stripper girl-friend. He pulls his head up and says, “Honey, you must really love it tonight, because you’re tipping me!”

Vidal Sassoon recently announced they were going with a new “truth in advertising” campaign. Thus, from now on, instead of “If you don’t look good, we don’t look good;” their new slogan is, “If you don’t look good, it’s because you’re pug-fugly.”

In case the last paragraph didn’t make any sense, there are several levels of ugly. There is ugly, pug-ugly (as ugly as a pug dog), fugly (a contraction of “fucking ugly”) and finally, pug-fugly. How ugly is pug-fugly, you ask? Imagine the love-child of Yasser Arafat and Bob Dylan.

Advice O’ the day: when dining out, never return food that is served with any sort of white sauce.

The other day I was walking out of a restaurant, and I passed these two guys talking. The one guy said to the other, “The thing about Asian whores is…” Now, I confess that up until that moment, I had spent my entire life not giving much thought to Asian whores. And yet, at that moment, I felt suddenly compelled. What was the thing about Asian whores? You know how I love knowledge. This was eating me up inside. Of course, I couldn’t stand there and listen in, so I never did learn.

This event made me want to compile a list of things you could hear one sentence about and want to know more. If you have ever heard any thing like that, send it to me.

On a related matter, I think there are certain phrases that could improve every conversation. Obviously “Asian Whores” is one of them. I think “a plague of locusts o’er the land” is another. I can’t think of any conversation that wouldn’t be improved by someone saying that. In many ways this is like my BLKF theory, adapted for speech.

For those of you fairly new to the column, I have this theory that anything, be it food, literature, movies, parliament, family reunions, or a bunch of nuns; anything can be improved by one (or more) of the following three things: bacon, lesbians, or kung fu. That’s the BLKF Theory. I’m hoping to devise a similarly stalwart Conversation Theory. So far all I have is the Asian Whores and the locusts. Please let me know if you have others.

Finally, more Advice O’ the day: Never try to break up with a schizophrenic by telling him you think you should see other people.

I have more, but this is long as it is. If I still have any readers left I’ll send out the rest soon.

That’s life in the Monkey-screwing Barn,

Hyperion

March 23, 2004

Credits

Thanks to everyone who inadvertently gave me great ideas

Thanks to all the assholes and bitches who pissed me off enough to go ahead and send this

©2003-2004 the Hyperion Chronicles ALL RIGHTS RESERVED