Nippon Weeps, while Godzilla Celebrates (Re)Ascension to Title of World's Greatest Devourer

I am not sure how to feel about his injury. On the one hand, I am overjoyed that the greatest threat to America's supremacy and/or democracy is now thrawted; however, I am disappointed Kobayashi was felled about his own mouth and not one of our own hot dog swallowing champions– like her or her or her.

Although it is fitting for the world's greatest competitive eater to lose not to another man or pile of processed meat but rather to jaw arthritis – which will now forever be known as Kobayashi Disease.

God speed you diminuitive human garbage disposal; rest well knowing your gluttunous accomplishments well never be forgotten, but most likely will be eclipsed by a morbidly obese bus driver or divorced soccer mom using food to compensate for her sense of lonliness and self loathing.

I haven't even read Ulysses.

I am a pretentious asshole, albeit a clever one. The myspace email exchange below exemplifies both qualities. Incidentally, she never replied to the last message.


----------------- Original Message ----------------- From: Kristy Date: May 15, 200710:43AM
I like your page... you seem like a pretty interesting guy :)
----------------- Original Message ----------------- From: Bob Date: May 15, 2007 11:37 AM Interesting, huh? I have been called much worse. I am glad you like the page - it does a man good to have a attractive fans.
----------------- Original Message ----------------- From: Kristy Date: May 16, 2007 8:42 AM
So Bob, if you don't like palindromes, why don't you just go by Robert?
----------------- Original Message -----------------
From: Bob Date: May 16, 2007 1:37 PM
Terbor is definitely not a palindromic name, so you are right. But really, why not go by Bobby, Roberto or even Big Sexy? Each name would work and be correct to one degree or another, yet not a one captures all that is me, my essence if you will.

Birth certificate aside, I was born to be a Bob. A mountain is a mountain; a river is a river; and a Bob is me. Unless, of course, you are Buddhist then a mountain is a river; a river is a mountain; and a Bob is you. And my disgust with the palindrome has less to do with my name then with James Joyce's Ulysses - tattarrattat my ass.

A Suggestion for Tom

I want to make more friends, myspace friends that is. My social calendar is already much too full playing video games and watching Adult Swim to allow for interaction in the here and now, although I do have time for the click, clack and enter.

It would really help if myspace had a search function called "people I have alienated by deed, word or bodily function." It would significantly expedite locating buddies who have long since written me off and the girls whose hair I still treasure pressed between the pages of my journal.

As Good a Start as Any

I am not a big fan of myspace. Blame it on my last vestiges of self respect or Chris Hansen, either way I am here under duress.

I am searching for a writing venue that will actually be read by someone not eleven-years-old and directly related to me. You would be surprised at how a harsh a literary taskmaster a 4'6" pre-pubescent little brother can be - if it doesn't incorporate an A B rhyme scheme or eerily prescient talking animals, Issy isn't happy.

I spent the last hour catching up on myspace: I am glad to see it is still the place for vapid, self masturbatory thought and chubby white chicks making gang signs. Of course, I am all for stroking ones ego and contorting in positions that are as absurd as they are inappropriate - anyone who witnessed my synchronized swimming routine while clad only in a thong can readily attest to that.

While browsing on myspace I came upon a former high school classmate. She appears to be have a happy and successful life - she is also married. I did not particularly know her well, in fact I never spoke to her beyond exchanging polite pleasantries; however, I am sure she stunk.

What I mean, in the most olfactory of senses, she had a fetid, fishy aroma. At the time, I never really gave it much thought, but when I happened upon her profile, the stench's source came to me: poor gynecological hygiene. As I have discovered from many an ex-girlfriend*, a stinky Gleaming mound of Venus is common. What does a smelly ninja slipper have to do with me? Not as much as I would like, but it did make me think: how does a woman who decidedly had sworn off feminine products in high school manage to get married?

I can only imagine the herculean effort required to cleanse her Augean stable, assuming that it is even possible. Her husband appears to be a handsome, clean cut professional sort. Perhaps he has some sort of stinky pajama fetish, but what if he doesn't even know of his wife's odorous past?

My ten year reunion is rapidly approaching and I wonder, will she be there? If so, should I approach her and take a whiff? Is her past a secret best left unsaid? Or, would it be better to satisfy my curiosity, approach her husband and offer a congratulatory hand containing a pair of nose plugs.