Post the Twenty-Fifth

I'm sorry today's post is so late (I'm not). But today is Wednesday, or as I like to refer to it, Comic/Image Day! (Oh, good old C/ID...) Anyway, today on Life of a Pastry, I explain why I'm grateful for color film.


--Pastry

Post the Twenty-Fourth

Let's avoid the pleasantries and just cut to the chase: today on Life of a Pastry, I discuss living vicariously through others.

Living Vicariously

As I stepped inside my house
and walked into the family room,
I noticed that my Mom was reading People magazine.

"How could you live with yourself," I said,
"knowing that all that interests you
are the achievements and failures of others?
Have you really done so little with your life
that you have to live vicariously
through a bunch of total strangers
who could not care less about your well-being?"

I sat down and turned the TV to ESPN,
just in time to watch the Ravens game.
I wonder how my fantasy team's doing, I thought,
praying that Ray Rice could rack up some yards against the Steelers,

even though I had heard he had a minor left ankle injury.

--Pastry

Post the Twenty-Third

Welcome back. I insincerely hope everybody had a nice weekend. I'm back in Williamstown after a flight from D.C. Short story short, there was an annoying baby on my flight that wouldn't stop crying, and so today on Life of a Pastry, I discuss the annoying baby on my flight that wouldn't stop crying.

Ode To The God-Damn Baby That Won't Stop Crying

Your screams and cries sound, to me, like the most beautiful music
that could possibly be misplayed on an out-of-tune accordion
forged by Satan himself in the bowels of Hell.

Your head looks so fragile, your face so innocent and pure,
and your tiny lips rest between puffy cheeks,
a perfect place for my duct tape to nestle.

I know it's not your fault that you feel such a need to cry
and scream like a God-damn chimpanzee, since it's only your nature.
But, just like you, it's not my fault that I hate you
with every bone of my miserable, sleep-deprived body.
It's only my nature.

--Pastry

Post the Twenty-Second

Hey everyone. Hope you all had a great Thanksgiving. I have decided to belatedly celebrate this uniquely American holiday by being lazy and posting a comic rather than a poem. Because what's more American than doing something that is both lazy and prevents you from reading? (Nothing.) Anyway, today on Life of a Pastry: trenchcoats.



--Pastry

Post the Twenty-First

Today is the first post with a hyphenated number! Maybe that's significant? Anyway, it's Thursday, a.k.a. Haiku Day. Also Thanksgiving. But today on Life of a Pastry, I discuss weird porn.

Oh, Thomas

There's no stranger porn
than the one by Thomas Hobbes:
The Labiathan.

--Pastry

P.S.: Other ideas I had were J.S. Mill's Poontilitarianism and Plato's The Repubelic.

Post the Twentieth

Hey everyone. Wednesday's Life of a Pastry post is coming at you a little early, since I'm going to be traveling pretty much all day tomorrow. Also, new feature: Wednesday is now image/comic day! Yay!

Anyway, today on Life of a Pastry, I teach a valuable lesson about lines:


--Pastry

Post the Nineteenth

Hey, everybody. Sorry for the late post; I was going to post this last night, but after a few drinks I became borderline-incapable of using a computer. Anyway, today on Life of a Pastry: the Isley Brothers.


Things I Think About, Part II

Have you ever heard that Isley Brothers song "It's Your Thing?"
You know, the one they play in every movie
that has some scene involving female empowerment?

"It's your thing, do what you wanna do,
I can't tell you who to sock it to."
So essentially, this song
is Ronnie Isley telling some random woman
that she has his permission to fuck whoever she wants
because her vagina is, in fact, her own.

That's nice and all, but I guess my point is,
it must be a pretty stupid movie director
who thinks that the ideal song to play
while you're empowering your female characters
is one whose fundamental message is that, given the opportunity,
Ronald Isley will not rape you.

--Pastry

Post the Eighteenth

Welcome back to Life of a Pastry. I may still have relatively few readers, but enough of you guys seem to like it that I'm bringing it back. That, plus I've had a couple days to actually come up with more stuff to write about. Anyway, today's Life of a Pastry is part one of an I-Don't-Know-How-Many-Parts series on things I tend to think about while writing papers.

Things I Think About, Part I

So I was working on a paper the other night
when my thought process was completely derailed
by a simple question that has plagued my mind ever since:

What smells worse,
a skunk or a skunk's shit?

I could truly see it going either way.
I have never smelled a skunk turd
(and I hope never to reach the point in my life
where I find myself voluntarily doing so).

So for all I know,
skunk crap just might smell finer than the finest perfume.
It might smell so good, I could bottle it up
and sell it as "Poo de Skunk."
I mean, I'd bet it still smells like shit, but ya never know.

I'm sure I could just Google this
and get my answer in five minutes,
but to be honest I'd rather not know.
That way, this can remain
another of life's little mysteries.

--Pastry

P.S.: Feel free to use the comments section of this post to debate this extremely important question.

Fuck It

Life of a Pastry returns on Monday. I hope you all are grateful.

--Pastry

Post the Seventeenth (and last for a little while...)

Hey everyone. So I've been kind of disappointed at the small (and declining) readership of Life of a Pastry, and have decided that I'm going to put this on hold for a little while. If enough people show sufficient interest, I'll start updating again, so if you want more posts and poems, please let me know in the comments section.

Along those lines, please direct your friends to Life of a Pastry, because while I love all ten or so of you that actually read this, it's not really enough for me to want to keep updating on a daily basis. If people want to read this crap then I'll write it, but otherwise there's not really much point in me putting in all that effort.

So, moral of the story: drum up interest in Life of a Pastry, and it'll come back. Because written stuff needs to be read. (Even if it sucks.)

--Pastry