It occurs to me, in this season of saving daylight time and voting, that humanity could use a dose of #@&* genius. My loyal readers
are aware that I am a #@&* Genius,
and exactly what that entails. For those of you who are NOT my loyal readers,
fix your life. Clicking
here will help.
Okay, now that we are all on the
same page, behold the second iteration of “I’m a #@&* Genius.”
Idea #1: The Pie Protractor
It has been close to twenty years,
but my mother is still taking this empty nest thing pretty badly. I have
suggested that she take up a hobby, like gardening or tequila. Instead my
parents started doing a thing that is actually
real called “kick
biking” (click here) which led to her catapulting over the handlebars and breaking her
little mommy collarbone. Very sad, poor mommy.
Point being, we visit them every
few months, and while there, I suspect my mother is attempting to inject into
my digestive tract the caloric equivalent of every meal she would have prepared
for me if I was living there in the interim.To help balance this food-debt in
her mind, she serves dessert after lunch. Just, very glibly. As if it
were a Totally Normal Healthy Practice. Don’t get me wrong. She is an excellent
cook and baker. This does not change the capacity at which my stomach
perforates and I have green bean casserole glomming round in my chest cavity.
And then, you know, sepsis, fever, coma, death. The whole rigmarole.
So, post-lunch, I’m rolling around
on the living room floor, making submarine distress calls, and my mother says,
brightly,
“I made your favorite! A cherry pie!
What size piece do you want?”
“Mother,” I say with ragged breath,
“You make the best cherry pie. I am SUPER FULL, though. So maybe a tiny piece?”
“Okay, sweetie!” she replies, and
promptly serves me a quarter of a cherry pie. I eat it, perish, no more
bloggily posts, everyone is sad. My final words are, There’s a hull breach, Captain!
BUT.
The Pie Protractor. This is a device
that fits over the top of any pie, pizza, quiche, frittata, or even those
dipshitty giant cookies. Like the protractors you used in math class, it can be
used to demarcate an angle from the center point, to a specific degree. Ergo,
you can request a MATHEMATICALLY EXACT volume of pie. In the scene above, I
could have simply said, “Mother, please may I have 20 degrees of cherry pie?”
and then no one had to go to the hospital.
Idea # 2: Automobile Message Screen
I feel like the world deserves to
know my thoughts. Hence the blog. But I can’t write a blog post while I’m
driving, nor make sure that the person that cut me off reads it.
But how? How to communicate without
sacrificing roadway safety?
Imagine a narrow screen running horizontally
around the width of a car: a digital screen that would display the text of
whatever information I wish to disseminate (NOT WHAT IT MEANS, PERVS). Inside the car, a microphone on the
dashboard with voice-to-text capability. (No naughty typing while driving!)
Then, communication is as simple as saying,
Hey
Ass-Gnome in the black Jeep! Use your turn signal! or
Stop
steering with your vas deferens! And so on.
Although you should research the
public profanity laws in your state, unless you have enough time and energy to
take your case to the US Supreme Court. Yay freedom of speech!
In addition, if you have children,
make sure the device is firmly switched off when not in use. If your car trips
are anything like mine, you don’t want to drive around with the conversations
that are happening inside of the car scrolling around on the outside. Mine
generally consist of my children passionately discoursing on their hatred of
where we are going, listing off which genitals each person in the car has, or
freestyle rapping about poop.
[I feel like this automobile idea is
slightly better than an earlier one, which involved running a catheter from the
driver’s seat to the coolant tank, to solve two long-trip problems
simultaneously! The world isn’t ready.]
I have more #@&* genius ideas
rattling around in the old brain pan, but I don’t want to break your minds.
Small doses, dear readers. Small doses.
