Why is sweet bread so desperately amusing? The Evil Podiatrist ponders this while pointing his left index finger at crystals that only he can see. Magic markers form in the diluted silence. The Evil Podiatrist is parallel. There will be no pants.
"Yellow" is a mesmeric word. The Evil Podiatrist says it twenty-three times as he pulls strings out of picture frames. The final "Yellow" is sung, not spoken, and the Evil Podiatrist receives a vision of shrieking muffins.
There have never been pants.
Next: Domestic Authority Is This Year's Salad Spoon
The Evil Podiatrist looks deep into the eyes of eggs and asks them why leaves are stoic. The eggs' response temporarily stops time. The Evil Podiatrist plays with his own skin and bellows into a wristwatch.
One night the Evil Podiatrist woke himself up saying "The walrus is a playful animal. It does many things similar to what human children do, like sucking its flipper as though it was a thumb." The Evil Podiatrist ran over to the nearest Fotomat and grinned at the drive-thru clerk silently for two hours and eleven minutes.
Which cube can be made from this shape?
"I am returned," said the Evil Podiatrist as he walked using his feet. They were no ordinary feet. They were made of steak and mystical chalk, and they were a biohazard to your ass. "The double calcaneal osteotomy includes a combination of the posterior calcaneal displacement osteotomy (PCDO) and the Evans anterior opening wedge calcaneal osteotomy," said the Evil Podiatrist as he combed liquid hair, instantly killing twelve commercial fishermen. "The most important part of the clinical workup of an equinus deformity is differentiating an Achilles equinus from an isolated gastrocnemius equinus," the Evil Podiatrist bellowed as the universe melted slightly to his left.
If two instances of Random are created with the same seed, and the same sequence of method calls is made for each, they will generate and return identical sequences of numbers. In order to guarantee this property, particular algorithms are specified for the class Random. Java implementations must use all the algorithms shown here for the class Random, for the sake of absolute portability of Java code. However, subclasses of class Random are permitted to use other algorithms, so long as they adhere to the general contracts for all the methods.
Also, when cooked, the volume of spinach is decreased by three quarters.
The Evil Podiatrist looked into himself and sizzled.
Next: It's Like Fantasia in Your Pants
Name 5 simple pleasures that you like most, then pick 5 people to do the same. Try to be original and creative and not to use things that someone else has already used. Tag 5 people on your list.
The Evil Podiatrist enjoys:
1. Walruses made of yarn.
2. Decimating fondness.
3. Abject fierceness.
4. Muddy hair.
5. Nozzles that care.
The Evil Podiatrist does not 'tag.' He merely assumes that everyone reading this shall endeavor to emulate him in all things.
The Unbeatable Man had trained for long, horrific decades to defeat the Evil Podiatrist. When they finally met on a stormy Tuesday, the Evil Podiatrist immediately wiped all of the Unbeatable Man's memories. The Unbeatable Man sat down in a heavy, depressed heap.
'Death is the subject, I am the verb, and you are the dangling participle,' said the Evil Podiatrist as he pulled the Unbeatable Man's liver out and snorted it.
Later, over coffee, the Evil Podiatrist ruminated on his own boring superiority. He was serenely detached from life's mess. The very coffee he sipped held ennui in its molecules. He knew that when he walked out into the rain again he would not get wet.
The Evil Podiatrist maintained a clumsily photocopied zine in honor of himself. Page after page of essays detailed his many fine qualities. Everyone read it each month. Women tried to name their children after him, but he refused, saying there could be only one Evil Podiatrist.
The Evil Podiatrist's favorite television program was City Slab Horror. Tonight its main character was indicted on charges of being nubile and sentenced to six days underwater without air. The Evil Podiatrist knew this would not matter. Nothing mattered on City Slab Horror. It had been on the air for seventeen years and had yet to approach narrative consistency. The Evil Podiatrist never missed it. City Slab Horror was his favorite television program.
Next: Chew A Flashlight, You Garbled Young Bastards
The Evil Podiatrist decided to participate in a rapping contest. He showed up in his finest clothes, and picked up the mike, and this is what he said.
Hello. My name is the Evil Podiatrist.
She doesn't even know that the bone is edible.
They took everything.
One of them is an airtight closed container.
Up to the elbow. Up to the elbow. I say,
Up to the motherfucking elbow,
And keep the change.
Everyone else conceded hastily, and the Evil Podiatrist went home with a trophy.
Five years later, flowers became machines all over the place. Gardeners became mechanics. The Evil Podiatrist bought some ginger and smeared it across his cheekbones. His training was now complete. He never had a mustache and never would.
Pink forms emerged, groaning, from the ears of the dead. The Evil Podiatrist nodded, and smiled, and waited.
Next: Pouring Viscous Liquid Into Other Viscous Liquid
The Evil Podiatrist once had a girlfriend, Apathetic Masseuse. They met at an electricity seminar. Their conversations were circuitous and pointless, their coitus cold and unimaginative. Every so often, years after the affair ended, the Evil Podiatrist would think of a koala and masturbate. Cotton came out. In fifteen years the Evil Podiatrist would either be dead or making drinks for important men.
Squirrels mingled lazily with random static in the Evil Podiatrist's head. He could not function properly without counting his teeth three times with the tip of his tongue. He fought motorcycle gangs, held them in the cannibal righteousness of his grip.
He spoke of getting a paper cut across the eyeballs. He used imagistic warfare. He asked his foes to pretend a slimy giant cigarette butt was worming its way out of their stomachs up their throats. The Evil Podiatrist was prejudiced against people based on the size of their chins.
'Hear me now,' bellowed the Evil Podiatrist inside the gray rock. 'You are finely crafted but this will not save you. I don't care if your name is Allen. You are fantastically bereaved and an affront to proper science.' It was bad then. 'My spittle shines bright on the dust mites you refer to as your ideals,' he often said. The Evil Podiatrist's favorite television program was City Slab Horror. He never missed it.
Apathetic Masseuse, a flesh missile hurtling towards mediocrity, grimaced at paper bags and paid several people to ambush the Evil Podiatrist. He froze them with his mind, sneered at the cellular conspiracy of their postulates. He went home and cooked dinner for Apathetic Masseuse. 'The air around you,' he said as he served her a plate of jelly, 'is heavy with the stench of failure. I hate everyone except you; to you I am eternally indifferent. Eat your jelly.' Apathetic Masseuse ate her jelly. The Evil Podiatrist often compared trucks to baby powder.
Next: A Moment Trembles, And Falls In A Death Arc Into The Sink