InfiniteImprobability

Sunday, March 28, 2004

InfiniteImprobability

Asked by Anonymous,

"What's with the name????"

What a fine question. You, sir, are to be commended on such a
thoughtful and concise query with regards to the origination of
a seemingly disjoined and illusory naming of this vacuous and
vagus website. I think I can explicate it thusly:

Mr. Sven Olafson, the ex-Norwegian Minster of Finance, once said
to me, "Excuse me, but you're standing on my toe." I never forgot
that, and to this day I think back fondly at that meeting and I
tear up at the memory of the majestic fjords and thrill of bicycling
across the North Sea (though I do terribly regret that unfortunate
incident with Inga and her seeing-eye Moose). What's most important
to remember though is that most of the cheese in Norway is actually
imported! It was there, at the airport (while refueling my dirigible),
that I came upon a radical splitter faction of the Zen-Buddist Cult of
Surrealist-Existentialism and I gained a remarkable sense of clarity
due to a fortuitous fall down the escalator. After my awakening from
a coma and the subsequent deportation to Uraguay, I entered the
business of exporting Monkey Parts and Monkey Part related tools,
books, videos and accessories. I fathered 3 children by 4 wives and
promptly thereafter went out for cigarettes. There was a shortage of
petrol (that's what they call gasoline there) and many entrepreneurs
were modifying Vespas to run on goat's milk. In the streets, a sense
of excitement and gunpowder was in the air, not related at all to the
many incidences of spontaneous human combustion, which have since
be attributed to bat guano in a popular brand of skin cream. Because
of my fondness for cursing in haiku, I had to flee when the indigenous
population rose up and became Amish. It was about that time that I
realized I like most Mexican food, but not the kind that is really,
really spicey. Rene DesCarte's involvement in this treachery should
not be discounted. I know this to be true because the I Ching told me
so. The clouds are dark and menacing but they bring needed rain and
clearer skies follow them; they're not only ribbed for her pleasure,
but they also give you better traction. Soon after a breakfast of
english muffins, I toured the countryside in a basket slung over the
shoulders of the local Mayan Priest, his name was Phil and he smelt
of bong water and llama feces. Our discussion of non-stoichiometry
compensated covalence bonds in titanium and iron was a welcome
distraction from the chafing of the reed basket and the incessant
flatulance (for which I apologized profusely). After our 14 day trek
to the top of the mountain, we grilled beets and creamed corn and
reveled in the fact that we're not French. It was somewhere along the
journey back that I had fallen and broken my sphincter. I stayed at
the monastery another 3 months studying the ancient art of gravel
arranging. The monks earned their living by training Barking Tree
Frogs to do menial household chores and by being struck by tourists
driving rental cars. Juan Valdez is not a real person but a composite
of not well known Columbian coffee bean pickers. But after awhile it
gets kind of annoying since they put way too much pepper on everything.
Since I was out of clean underwear, I decided it best to walk home.

So, you see, InfiniteImprobability was an obvious choice.

1 Comments:

  • At 2:55 PM, October 12, 2005, Blogger romeo said…

    Sometimes, this being one, I wonder why you live it an uninhabitable jungle with this genius mind that never reaches it's complete potential in the soft light of the full moon. Furthermore I see that I make too much sense in these days of opportuity.

     

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