(Don't) Kill Humans

Today was too hot for me. When it gets too hot, my brain shuts down. Unfortunately, my mouth doesn't. What results is a variety of ridiculous (more ridiculous than average, I should say) musings, most of which I can't remember. I know that my friend Mickey Bobicky was trying to decide whether to be concerned that someone would steal her bike seat after she locked it up, and I said, "You know what would be a good idea to deter someone from stealing a bike seat? Fake skid marks." This seemed reasonable and not gross at all at the time, because of my poor heat addled brain. There was actually a whole conversation that followed that I won't go into now. It was pretty riveting.

We also had a debate about whether walking on the grass might be cooler than the sidewalk, because you only hear about it being so hot that you could fry an egg on the sidewalk/road, not the grass. But, I also realized if you try to fry an egg on grass, it's going to be full of grass, which might be the main deterrent, not the heat factor. Mickey thought that she would prefer a grass egg. She was right, I realized, because of the added fiber. This is what happens to my conversations when it's too hot. It's not pretty.

Before the heat broke my brain today, I was scheming a scheme, as I am apt to do. I realized that my life has been relatively dreamless lately. Well, I've had dreams, I always have dreams, but most of them are either unrealistic or actually take work. As soon as I have to do work, it takes all the fun out of the dream. Okay, that's probably untrue, but I think what I'm trying to say is that I like levels to my dreams. There's my A number one dream, for example, graduating school and not living in a box, that my day to day life is devoted to. I don't give it much thought on a daily basis, because I'm just doing it, it's natural, like breathing and such. Breathing, although important and missed when gone, is not something I find particularly fun. That's what A dreams are, the breathing of dreams. Then there might be some B dreams, which are usually somewhat more flighty and not likely to happen anytime soon, like, I hope someone gives me a bag of money just for being me, or I'd like to go swimming in a giant pool of lime jello. My C dreams though, those are the ones I've been lacking lately. They're the ones that are short lived, and potentially achievable, but still have the risk of failure. For awhile, I filled my C dream void with guitar hero, until I got carpal tunnel syndrome (since healed, but do I really want to risk it?). Today, I filled it with the dream of forcing Bark Montes to read this very blog.

I know, in my original introduction of my robotic friend Bark Montes, I indicated that I would rather he not read it so that he didn't know that we were all planning on chasing him out of town with pitchforks. This was true at the time. Since then, I've realized that people are less inclined to form unruly mobs as I had previously hoped, one of the many reasons you should teach your children early on that humans will only disappoint them. As a parent, I'm going to plant the dream of becoming dolphins in their heads early on, in hopes of steering them into an educational direction where they will perfect technology to turn people into dolphins, at which point I will use my motherly guilt to force them to make me the first dolphin human. Then, as the first human brain introduced to dolphin society, I will be able to manipulate their minds, which though intelligent are not quite evil enough to understand human tricks of logic. Among the dolphins, I will rule as their Queen.

Back to Bark Montes. Since realizing that I will not be able to rid the city of his creepy robot ways (the layers, the horrible horrible layers), I am concocting a new plan. That plan is to convince him to read this blog. Why? Well, I'm not completely sure of how his robot mind works, but I think that it might have issues comprehending my many tangents. Then, while it searches for the proper algorithm to understand grass-eggs, I'll hog-tie him. Then I'll put him on some sort of cart, and to the cart, I will tie a bunch of chihuahuas. Then I'll leave for a bit while I find a gardening store that sells pitchforks. When I return with my pitchfork, I will chase the chihuahuas with it, which will lead to Bark Montes being wheeled out of town forever. It's ingenious in its simplicity.

He knows something's up though, because every day I tell him to read it, sometimes multiple times, and he always says he will, but he hasn't. I'll know once he does, because he'll probably say, "Bark Montes?!", then furrow his robot brow and shake his robot fist. I'll know that I'm in no danger from his threats though, because it's well known that most well constructed robots are programmed so that they can't hurt their human masters.

Back to my scheme. I've begun to ensure that every time my dear friend Bark Montes wanders into my vicinity, either in reality or in the world of the interweb, I will remind him to read my blog. "Read my blog, Bark Montes!" I will say, except I will use his real name instead of Bark Montes because if he knows his name is Bark Montes already, I will lose my ability to tell if he's read my blog. I had thought that Facebook chat messages would be enough to scramble his programming into believing that reading my blog is his paramount quest in robot life. So far, I have been wrong. But, today I realized, I'm just one person. But what if everyone who knew Bark Montes was sending him messages. I know, I know, you already said no when I asked you about the pitchfork thing. But seriously, this way you don't need to purchase a brand new pitchfork you'll probably only use once, but you can still be protected from the chaos that will ensue when he starts breaking down and his "don't kill humans" programming somehow loses the "don't". Think about it. Yeah, I already knew I was right, but it's nice to hear you say it anyways.

So, what do you do now? Well, whenever you encounter Bark Montes, say or type this "Have you read Sharon's blog yet? downtothefilter.blogspot.com" How simple was that? It just saved your life in the future.

Happy song of the day: I was in the store and heard the song Landslide by Fleetwood Mac, which is not really happy, but I've realized I've been encountering it a lot lately, so on this hot day it's the only one I can think of. It can be uplifting though, with a few small lyric additions on your part. Whenever it asks a question, the answer is "yes". And the part where it says a landslide brought me down, just imagine that it did, but that what it means is that a landslide was coming and you rode it like a water slide of snow and it was friggin' awesome until it delivered you right onto a heated patio where they had a delicious hot chocolate waiting for you. Actually, I've heard that song is about drugs, but I've heard that about most songs. I don't know much about drugs, but when I was 9, some cops came into school and taught us how to recognize a crack bottle. It was useful, because I found 2 or 3 on my street after that, and otherwise I probably would have been inclined to play with the creepy burnt garbage, which would have lead to a lifetime of drug addiction and crime. Thank you public education. The point is, I can spot a crack bottle from a pretty fair distance, and that song doesn't have anything resembling a crack bottle in it. That is what I know.

Wow, I really shouldn't blog on hot days.