Baronger's Scribblings

Thursday, July 28, 2005

The Whiskey Tango Foxtrot of the Big Hominid

Oh Beauty who dost betwixt thy fever'd buttocks my beleagur'd skull embrace ...

The website known as BigHominid's Hairy Chasms will always leave the first timer scratcing their head going WTF. It is an enigma, wrapped in a riddle, wrapped in course vulgarity. It is also highly philosophical and introspective and has a zen like quality. It is in fact all about the fuck. But it is philosophical about it. Best of all it is illustrated by the author, who is a professor who teaches english at a Korean university.

Recently RazorNylon tried to describe our lovable Hominid. In doing so he made a monkey of himself, which is just short of being a hominid. The Hominid responded with his own rejoinder. He takes the person to task for not completely reading the blog first. It takes time and effort but you will reach a moment of zen if you complete this journey of the mind. Well you will if you don't die laughing, or if your spleen doesn't reach up and kill you first. Really Volgon poetry has to be better then some of this stuff, though not as funny.

In order to understand the full Hominid you really do need to do an in depth reading, as his range of subject matter is as great and his perversity is deep. He is crude, lude and makes a mean dinner. Really it is a must read just for the cooking posts. If you ever want to know about Korean cooking in the, "I'm hungry what do I have in the fridge to throw in the pot" method, this is the site to read.

As the Hominid himself puts it:
The moral of the story is: Judging a two-year-old blog after superficially reading a handful of posts is a bit like judging all women after watching one take a shit for twenty seconds.

It makes a lot more sensce when read in context. Which is the whole point. On it's own that quote gives you a WTF moment. But once read in it's entirety you get a zen like moment of ..... Aaaaaaaahhhhhh!!!! which is swiftly followed by the feeling that an alien has just eaten your brains.

Consider this, my linguistically meticulous friend: you're "barely now getting involved," which means you haven't had the chance to read through my archives-- or anyone else's. A bit too soon to be passing judgement, don't you think?

Let's use a sci-fi analogy to understand this properly.

Imagine you're a freshly-made human clone-- a male, and you've spent time in the lab being rapid-educated, without ever once meeting an adult woman. A year passes. The doc says, "Dude, this is your big day. You've seen the pictures of them, you've read the poetry about them, and now, at long last, you're gonna meet your first woman." So you're like, "Fuckin' A, Doc." Your dick grins and drools in agreement.

The doc takes you outside the cloning building and points vaguely to another building across the grounds.

"She's in there, man," he says. "Knock yerself out."

So you walk across the lawn, go into the other building, and start looking around for this lady. Doors are marked with all sorts of letters and symbols you can't read too well (you're only a year old, remember; accelerated education isn't perfect), and you finally barge into one promising-looking room.

The room, you immediately discover, smells like shit. Of course, that's not about to stop a curious clone like you. You see a bunch of stalls in the room, notice a pair of petite feet peeking out from under the door of one of the stalls, and bash the door open.

There's a woman in there, all right, and she was in mid-crap when you burst in. She screams, the muscles of her body reflexively tightening in terror, which serves only to squeeze out more dung and produce a massive, wet fart as well.

You find yourself thoroughly disgusted by the sight and smell of this screaming creature and you stumble out of the restroom, barely able to comprehend how such a thing might be the other half of humanity.

"What the fuck?" you muse, as your dick frowns in sincere, analytical puzzlement. "Women aren't all they're cracked up to be." You decide from then on to stay away from all women, since they're obviously irrational, unsanitary, and smell like shit.

The moral of the story is: Judging a two-year-old blog after superficially reading a handful of posts is a bit like judging all women after watching one take a shit for twenty seconds.

And no extra IQ points for misspelling my handle. BigHomid. Who's the bigger homid, I wonder?

The way of the Hominid is a long and winding trail. His various messages require great meditation, and great sensce of humour. Remember if you think you know the Hominid you will eventually be proven wrong. If you think you don't know the Hominid you will be proven correct. Just don't ask him what the sound of "one hand clapping is."



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