All About Edwin Longwickle (Part 3)

Stop: If you have not already read All About Edwin Longwickle (Part 2), you should do so before reading the present instalment. Failure to comply with these instructions may give rise to confusion, dizziness, vomiting and impotence.

Longwickle is perhaps best known for his attempt to use Hubble’s theory of an expanding universe to explain why it is so difficult to locate one’s car in a supermarket parking lot. But what really put Longwickle on the scientific map was his two hundred page opus in which he argued that strange quarks were not so much strange as they were misunderstood.

Unfortunately, these views rendered Longwickle persona non grata in the eyes of a myopic scientific community that had little tolerance for novel ideas. Estranged from the British scholarly establishment, Longwickle relocated across the pond, where he became an active member of American intellectual and political life. Quickly distinguishing himself as part of the Manhattan intelligencia, Longwickle contributed several articles to a high-brow cerebral quarterly dedicated to the post-modern neo-Marxist interpretation of the gestation of Chinese poodles.

During this time, even Longwickle’s social life began to experience something of a renascence. After more than ten years living in sin with his own right hand, he decided it was finally time to do something decisive in his love-life…and so, on February 16th, 1963, he and his right hand were married. Unfortunately, their union proved to be anything but happy and just six months after the honeymoon, Longwickle’s right hand filed for divorce, citing emotional neglect and self-abuse.

Brokenhearted, Longwickle turned to drinking; regularly imbibing copious amounts of bottled spring water and unsweetened grapefruit juice. This apparently took quite a toll on his immune system; for shortly thereafter, he contracted a debilitating disease that left him unable to say the word ‘lobster’ without giggling. The end clearly in sight, Longwickle sought reconciliation with his estranged right hand; and though it had already remarried, the two eventually became close friends and remained such until Longwickle’s death five years later. At his funeral, Longwickle’s right hand is reported to have declared through bitter sobs, “he was the best body a hand could ever ask for!”

But it is not the many intrigues of Longwickle’s personal life that calls him to the forefront of our collective consciousness today. Rather, it is his lifelong insistence that, as far as he was concerned, there were only eight planets in our solar system (a pronouncement that would prove to be prophetic). In a 1967 interview with the Herald Press Longwickle was asked why he did not consider Pluto a real planet. Years ahead of his time, he is reported to have replied enigmatically: “because it’s fucking gay!”

Fucking gay indeed, Longwickle. Fucking gay indeed.

How I’m Not Bringing Sexy Back

My doctor asked me if I engaged in sexual intercourse in the last seven days. I explained to him that it wasn’t my birthday for another month. My girlfriend, Diane, doesn’t really have a problem sleeping with me; it’s just the sex she can’t stand. Apart from our love-life, Diane is perfectly content to be with me. She said that her only regret, as far as our relationship is concerned, is that she wasn’t dating someone else. Things were much better when I was dating that Chinese girl from across the hall; the only problem was that every time I went down on her I would need to go down on her again like an hour later.

All About Edwin Longwickle (Part 1)

Little is known about the early life of the noted astronomer and scientific maverick, Edwin Longwickle. But this much is certain: Longwickle was a person who came from a long line of people. Originally named Benjamin Rupert Longwickle, after his grandmother, he eventually changed his first name to Edwin, in honour of his chief scientific inspiration, Edwin Hubble. When he was only four, Longwickle’s father died under mysterious circumstances shortly after being run over by a lorry. A two-year investigation was conducted by local law-enforcement, but the exact cause of his father’s death remains unknown.

Widowed at the tender age of twenty three, Longwickle’s mother, Elizabeth Longwickle, was forced to raise young Edwin and his twelve siblings on her own (a task that remained quite difficult even after she donated six of the children to scientific research). However, from entries in her private diary it is now clear that Elizabeth Longwickle later came to regret her decision to give away four of her beloved children. On September 15th, 1948 she wrote: “Why did I give away six of my dear wee ones when I could have sold them all for a handsome profit?” Elizabeth Longwickle’s words were a harbinger of things to come, for only two months later she sold her remaining seven children (including Edwin) to the Circus Royale, which happened to be touring near their home in Manchester. Always the shrewd business woman, Longwickle’s mother then invested her entire life savings in a brand new pair of breasts, lost fifteen pounds, and married a wealthy banker from South Kensington.

TO BE CONTINUED...

All About Edwin Longwickle (Part 2)

Stop: If you have not already read All About Edwin Longwickle (Part 1), you should do so before reading the present instalment. Failure to comply with these instructions may give rise to confusion, dizziness, vomiting and impotence.

Longwickle always dreamed of becoming an astronomer, but lacked the financial means necessary to pay for his education. However, in an unexpected stroke of luck, Longwickle won a full tuition scholarship to Cambridge for his uncanny ability to chew gum, juggle three bowling balls, and dance the Macarena, all at once.

While at Cambridge, he befriended an Austrian by the name of Hans Landsteiner, who like Longwickle had a childhood full of the kind of hard knocks that gangsta rap lyrics are made of. One day, after his father left for work, young Hans walked in on his mother having sex with a head of broccoli. It was then that his mother divulged the awful truth that Mr. Landsteiner wasn’t his real father. Hans, who already had to deal with being half Jewish in an era plagued by anti-Semitism, was now forced to come to terms with being half vegetable as well.

Perhaps it was Hans Landsteiner’s own intimate acquaintance with being an outsider that initially drew him to the equally reviled Edwin Longwickle. Even after Longwickle was denied entrance into the Royal Society for his outlandish scientific views and his uncompromising stance against bathing and personal hygiene, Landsteiner remained the Robin to his Batman.

TO BE CONTINUED...

What's Up With the Comment Moderation?

Unfortunately the comment moderation is a necessary measure given all the women that try to post nude pics of themselves on my blog in a desperate attempt to win my affection (and quite frankly, pork will become the other white meat in Iraq before I stand for that kind of thing on my blog!).

Hey, stop snickering…it could happen! (sigh)

The Truth About Werewolves

Larry:
We have on our show tonight, Kevin P. Howard. Kevin is the grandson of the famous werewolf, Scott Howard, on whose life the movie Teen Wolf was loosely based. Kevin is an outspoken preternatural rights activist and founder of People Against the Defamation of Lycans. Welcome Kevin.

Werewolf:
Thanks Larry, I’m glad to be here.

Larry:
Now, unless I’m mistaken, you’re just one of the thousands of werewolves now living in the United States. Is that correct?

Werewolf:
Yes. But we prefer to be called Lycan-Americans.

Larry:
Oh, my apologies. So, you insist that werewol…Lycan-Americans are greatly misunderstood.

Werewolf:
That’s right Larry. Thanks to the negative portrayals of lycans by the media and news outlets, Hollywood horror-films, and the smear campaign led by vampire supremacists, we lycans have been receiving a bad rap for centuries! However, the stereotype of lycans as bloodthirsty beasts that engage in deviant criminal behaviours, such as howling at the full moon, going from town to town devouring people and overturning the neighbour’s trashcans late at night, is simply not accurate. The truth is, Lycan-Americans are no different from anyone else. [begins to scratch behind his ear with his toes]

Larry:
You mentioned vampire supremacists. Who are they?

Werewolf:
Well first let me be clear that most vampires are decent people. Sure they may enjoy the coppery taste of warm pig’s blood every now and then…but who doesn’t? However, there are a few vampires—underscore a few—that believe that the undead are the only preternatural creatures deserving of respect. We suspect that these so-called vampire supremacist have played a fundamental role in the negative press that lycans have received over the years.

Larry:
What about the sexual harassment lawsuit that was brought against you three months ago? I know the charges were eventually dropped…but I’m sure it must have been a very difficult time for you.

Werewolf:
[becoming visibly upset, almost to the point of tears] I have to be honest with you Larry, those allegations were more painful than a silver bullet through the heart! I mean, I have a wife and three cubs…you have no idea how much suffering that fiasco caused my family and I. Those charges were just another example of the type of ignorance I was referring to earlier.

Larry:
How so?

Werewolf:
You see, we lycans lack sweat glands…panting is the only way we can keep cool, and there is no need for me to remind you just how hot it has been this summer. My co-worker, Mrs. Stevenson, mistook my panting for a lewd gesture. But I have nothing but the utmost respect for women and I would never deliberately engage in behaviour that would make a female co-worker uncomfortable or that could be interpreted as misogynistic.

Larry:
Well, having met you face to face it is hard for me to believe you would. [Pats the werewolf on the shoulder] I must express how sorry I am that you and your family had to undergo such an awful experience…and all due to a simple misunderstanding!

Werewolf:
[sighs] Well, what can I say? It was just snakes on a plane Larry… snakes on a plane.

That's Mr Big Stuff to You!

I’ve been posting on this blog for almost a year now and no one pays any attention. But I make a single reference to the enormity of my phallus and suddenly everyone thinks I’m a comedic genius on loan from God! But did it occur to anyone that that was not supposed to be a joke? One of the few positives of being a black male today is the luxury of having one’s genitalia likened to that of certain members of the equine family…so please don’t take that away from me!

(And now that I’ve pushed the struggle against racial stereotyping back 40 years I can return to working on my college-level math problemset....Damn, where’s an Asian when you need one?).

Guns Don't Kill People, Liquids Do!

Despite the combined efforts of Jesus (See: Jesus's Match.com Profile) and our beloved president, the terror alert level has once again been raised to orange. About two dozen terrorists, with alleged ties to al-Qaeda, were stopped in Heathrow carrying enough gatorade to bring down a Boeing 747! Now the Department of Homeland Security has issued a list of items not allowed in airline carry-on:

1. All sports drinks and containers with liquids (with the exception of baby bottles and lactating women)
2. Hairsprays, hair gels and flammable hair extensions
3. Electric toothbrushes and other battery operated vibrating instruments (sorry ladies, but you have to leave the rabbit at home)
4. Toiletry items including toothpaste, mouthwash, concentrated hydrochloric acid and French percussion grenades.
5. Muthafuckin snakes!

My First REAL Blog Post

A number of individuals have been demanding that I post more frequently (okay, so maybe it was more like one person…but who’s counting?) and what can be a greater affirmation of one’s self-worth than to learn that someone actually wants to hear more about your day-to-day life (apart from being told what a freakishly large penis you have)? However, I never intended for this blog to feature daily confessional postings because that would only make it start sounding like its some sort of…blog! The truth is that I secretly detest the burgeoning new blog culture (yes, I’m a self-hating blogger) and I would like to think I have much more fun sophisticated things to do besides rattling on about the banality that is my life. Is that a contradiction? No. (Don’t argue with me, I’m a philosopher.)

And now, here's something we hope you'll really like.

Jesus's Match.com Profile

Tagline:
Hey Ladies, I’m the answer to your prayers…literally!

I am: Man Son of God
Seeking: Woman
Between ages: 19-23

About Me:
First name:
Jesus

Last name:
Christ

Middle initial:
H.

Ethnicity:
Middle Eastern

Languages:
Aramaic, Hebrew, Spanglish

Body type:
A few extra pounds (after the resurrection, it was pretty much down hill)

Height:
5'5" (165.1cms)

Religion:
Formerly Jewish (recent convert to Scientology)

Body art:
Piercings

Exercise Exorcise habits:
3-4 demons per week (usually into a nearby herd of pigs)

Daily diet:
Loaves and fish

Drink:
Social drinker, mostly at weddings

Smoke:
The chronic baby (how do you think I came up with all those awesome parables)!

Interests:
Dining out, Walking on water, Movies and art exhibits, Looking fabulous, Being thanked by gangsta-rappers at award shows.

Favourite TV Shows:
Rescue Me, Smallville, House (I guess you could say I have a bit of a saviour complex)

Occupation:
Carpenter, the Alpha and Omega, part-time White-house advisor

Living Situation:
With roommates (St Peter, Moses, and my pet lama Mr. Diddles)

Something you don’t know about me:
The ‘H’ in my name stands for ‘Henry’.

What I’m Looking For:
After my short stint in rehab, I’m finally off the painkillers and ready to settle down with that special someone. What am I looking for? Well, the last woman I dated turned out to be a prostitute (that's rigth lil' miss Magdalene, I know all about your little late night "prayer sessions"), so I wouldn’t say the bar is exactly high. I just want a woman who is confident, mature, independent, and open-minded sexually. Between answering thousands of prayers, managing my dad’s furniture store, and working alongside President Bush to make the world a full colour-value safer, I’m really quite busy. But I also know that all work and no play makes JC a dull deity. Consequently, I’m looking for someone fun and adventurous who could add a little spice to my life. And to Gabriel and the other playa-hating angels who said JC has no game, all I have to say is: yes, my milkshake is better than yours!