Tag Archives: Scott Birdseye

Fifty Reasons to Leave H.R. Giger Alone

Posted on by
Reply

1. He asked you politely to do so.
2. The long-bore rifle in his closet.
3. You want to sleep with his daughter.
4. Remember what happened last time?
5. You are not “the same way” he is.
6. There can be only one. You make two.
7. H.R. Giger reengineered death to be more efficient.
8. He’s a figment of your imagination.
9. Like the signs say, “Just don’t screw with H.R. Giger.”
10. H.R. Giger’s made of anti-matter.
11. Ron Popeil and H.R. Giger are bosom-buddies.
12. It’s not a nervous tick. It’s a highly-contagious disease.
13. His business card doubles as a sushi knife. That’s just geeky.
14. Dude brings you coffee in the morning. Why ruin it?
15. That one time H.R. Giger made you a drawing of bunnies and rainbows.
16. That biohazard tattoo on his arm isn’t referring to the band.
17. Your handlers would get suspicious if they knew.
18. He caused an earthquake and no one knows how.
19. H.R. Giger’s the only H.R. Giger you actually know.
20. Only he knows where to get that amazing tequila.
21. 25% of people named H.R. Giger are likely to give you money randomly.
22. He paid me to write this.
23. His birth name was Wilhelmina Hitler.
24. Poll numbers for H.R. Giger are through the roof.
25. If the government says so, you should do it like the good sheep you are.
26. There was the time he lent you his hat when it was cold.
27. He’s not the guy who signs your checks, but he’s the guy who gives your checks to the guy who signs your checks.
28. Remember that sealed court file in Fort Lauderdale?
29. His righteous window herb garden.
30. Remember what happened to Polyphemus?
31. H.R. Giger defeated the I.R.S., image what he could do to you.
32. He’s a vampire.
33. On his time off, he attends furry conventions dressed as a sexy Snoopy.
34. In his house he has forty three hammers and no pillows.
35. Fred already gave you eight dollars to leave H.R. Giger alone.
36. You already stole all his atlases, isn’t enough enough already?
37. Do you really want to get stabbed with a barbeque fork again?
38. The restraining order kind of mandates it.
39. The guards really don’t like it when you tap morse code on the walls with your spoons.
40. Leaving H.R. Giger alone got three stars in the Michelin Guide and two thumbs up from Roger Ebert.
41. Every time you bother H.R. Giger, Zeus throws more lightning bolts.
42. Thom Yorke said Radiohead would play a special concert for you in your bedroom if only you would leave H.R. Giger alone.
43. H.R. Giger’s wife is tired of cleaning up after you.
44. Because Grover sang “Be is for you can bemoan, L is for leave H.R. Giger alone.”
45. The Cray supercomputer has computed that leaving H.R. Giger alone would be advisable to eight hundred and nine decimal places.
46. Leaving H.R. Giger alone will help you avoid that pesky Gypsy curse.
47. What would Jesus do? Yep, Jesus would leave H.R. Giger alone.
48. Leaving H.R. Giger alone would get you two free stamps on your Subway Club card.
49. H.R. Giger is just so, so tired.
50. Leaving H.R. Giger alone would give you more time to pester Andrew Cotton.

Katie Stalin in New Hamphire

Posted on by
Reply

stalin

Rascard, NH– Set in the darkest and deepest hollows of New Hampshire’s forested hinterland bordering Sinonipponesia, Rascard, a sleepy little New England town right out of a picture postcard, nestles within a large meadow. But, I wasn’t coming here to look at the local scenery, nope. Trees I’ve seen. Wildflowers are old hat. I came here to see the local color, specifically Hermie Luger, who the townsfolk affectionately call “The Measuring Man.”

Mrs. Gina Wilkins, The Measuring Man’s long-ago high school sweetheart spoke to me for a bit on her rooster-decorated verandah. The closed-in porch was filled to the brim with rooster paraphernalia and the diminutive, middle-aged Mrs. Wilkins made no bones about her continued visits with Hermie. Visits some townsfolk consider scandalous.

“Why, Hermie comes on by any old time he likes to measure the cocks. He’s brought his own over sometimes,” Mrs. Wilkins told me. I wondered how a man could measure so many things throughout the course of his life, but then I met The Measuring Man himself at the local diner comparing stacks of flapjacks.

Armed with his trusty and ever-present tape measures, rulers, yardstick, calipers and a smile, the former landscape architect spends his every waking hour measuring. From dawn till dusk he wanders throughout the town measuring everything he can get his hands on. The guy can’t even walk by a picket fence without stopping to measure every single picket in all three dimensions.

His cargo pants and measurer-laden halter are both made by hand by his mother Mamie Luger, whose measuring cup and measuring spoon-filled kitchen may have something to do with The Measuring Man’s proclivities. Mamie has the state’s largest collection of such objects, with over 3000 1/4 teaspoons alone. She also gave Hermie his first laser calipers, which he now uses almost constantly.

“Four point one eight inches,” Hermie triumphantly declares, holding out a pine cone for me to examine. It seems he knows the width, breadth, height and circumference of every single object in this little rustic town. From the campus bell tower to the shoe size of every man on Lenton Street, The Measuring Man has a notation in his workbook. Neighbors say he’s friendly, helpful, and always ready to measure anything be it a lead pipe or a robin egg.

Of course, I say The Measuring Man is a creepy weirdo. For one thing, he offered to measure my vaginal depth and then even tried to measure the circumference of my left areola. So, I kicked him in the balls and then smacked him in the face with his own meter stick. Pretty ironic, huh? And then I told him to measure how far I’d shove my boot up in his ass. Stupid Measuring Man.

Hopefully these laser calipers will come in handy at some point. See ya next month!