Tuesday, May 29, 2007

About TB and Th.'s Joint Blog

Really, guys, what would you call it? Well, what's the most important thing you two have in common? Me, of course. You would want the title to proclaim to the world that you are Friends of Ben, and this is your blog. What better title, then, than The Foblog?

Honestly, if anyone should be bothered that no one besides you two posts here, it should be me. Posting on the Foblog, after all, is your way of declaring your friendship and love for me; am I to conclude that I have only two friends? If so, then at least they are two of the finest friends a guy could ask for. Post on, brothers.

Monday, May 28, 2007

Things Theric and Tolkien Boy Said To Me In October of 2002 and March of 2005, Respectively (Because They Whine)




Persons A, B, C and D. Person A is married to person B; person C is married to person D. Person B does not figure in to this. Person A knows both persons C and D (so does person B, incidentally), and is in regular contact with Person C. However, although he knows both person D and person D's name, the spelling is something of a mystery. Knowing that apostacy [sic] has occurred over similar confusion in the past, he avoids mentioning this lack of knowledge. However, in the course of regular exchange of information in conversational settings, person A acquires the needed knowledge without asking through the virtue of patience and clever misdirection. Genius!

Message Proper:

Saturday at six it is, then. And you're right--I hadn't thought of it as a factor, but of course your having been here previously will ease your finding it this time. Of course! As for bringing stuff, I don't want to tell you how to live your life, but we, at least, will be wearing clothes. Besides that, you're absolutely off the hook. If you ahve [sic] some brilliant diversion you've been dying to share with someone, however, please--bring it along.

Tolkien Boy

Provo, UT. A local Provo man has found himself embroiled in what is certain to be a ground-breaking legal proceeding. The case, Pillow vs. Boy, the first in which an inanimate object is the plaintiff, will be heard before the Utah Supreme later this month.
Pillow is suing Boy under charges of abuse and maltreatment. The incident involved in the case arose from a domestic dispute that Tolkien Boy of Ogden, Utah, had with his pillow while living in BYU-approved housing. According to Boy's roommate, Mr. Roommate, on the night in question Boy repeatedly beat his pillow while screaming .
"There were feathers everywhere," quipped Roommate. "I didn't think anyone still had pillows with feathers in them. Dude."
Pillow was admitted to the local hospital and is expected to recover. A spokesman for the family said that they were "shocked, but forgiving."
"Tolkers and his pillow have a long relationship," said the spokesman. "No one wants them to break up over a little thing like this."

Boy himself was unavailable for comment. A press statement issued by his lawyers indicate that an insanity plea will play an important role in their defense to the judge. Meanwhile, pillows across the state have risen up in support of their beleagured sister.
"It's a terrible sadness," said a pillow owned by Master Fob of Orem. "It could have been any one of us. I'm so glad I'm in a stable relationship."

Friday, May 25, 2007

Things Tolkien Boy said to me in May 2006

(the pervert.....)


. . . let me wriggle my way over there . . . mine requires a bend and a reach . . . I'll be in my own room for a little while at least . . . or naked . . . at least we don't have to make professions of love . . . she's lovely, eh? . . . did you ever hear [name removed for privacy] talk about the twinkie of her carnal treasure ? . . . I just seem nice . . . enjoy your night . . . .

Tuesday, May 22, 2007

In The Vain Hope That People Still Read The Foblog

Thing said to me in the month of May, 2006:


Feck it up!

.........twinkie smasher...........

Couldn’t be fecker, if you know what I mean.

That book, however, deserved to be rejected. The rejection of yours is stunning. They obviously do not want us to take them into the new world of publishing success....


My biographers will no doubt want pin down the precise historic/al moment when for the first and last time, a boy's parent liked me.

Okay, where is your bedroom?

Yo. See you then. (I'll be the one with the big nose.)

From now on, when you think of pesticides, think of Melyngoch.

If you're down with that, I'll let you know when I see you at Poetasters what I'm down with or what is down with me or what downed my mom last night in the back of Peter's car.

Happily Married Straight Friend of Gay Boyfriend Chick

I can sympathize, nay, empathize, with that sense of not-knowing.

Mr. Fob

The finger-crossing has commenced.

And Tolkien Boy, who loves me, will sadly not be joining us because he's in Ogden taking advantage of his parents' poor, defenseless insurance provider.

So, how do we guilt Edgy into writing the next chapter? I have all sorts of fun ideas...


Shall I bring you some yarn as a present? Would you act like a kitten if I brought yarn?

Tolkien Boy, honey, you can tell when someone's masturbating

You're still going to die of skin cancer at age 40.


And now that I have my nightly dose of blasphemy, I'm off to bed. (Okay, really off to grade, but same thing.)

I have to work for a few minutes, but in the meantime, can you zip me a pic of you? Or else I'll have to use the Easter blue-lip pic.

The Marchioness

When we meet again are we going to meet at Master Fob's feet? It just seemed a little uncomfortable to me.

Thank you for teaching me the past tense of swearwords. This knowledge I know will prove invaluable in the future.

I'm just trouncy, not sexy!


I'm partial to letting him cry. Besides, it upsets his mom when I do that, and we all know I derive pleasure out of making others upset.

Kinda short. Kinda round. Kinda bald.


Sounds good to me, chaps.

Tuesday, May 8, 2007

The Law and the Prophets

Now, a cat, she may look at a kingdom,
a bird in the bush is worth two,
the prophet is jangling his keychain
and making up morals for you.

For all that is gold is not bitter,
and violets so rarely are blue,
the queens and the muses will prattle
to stitch up his stories for you.

For a purse is an ear in a sow's eye,
under skies where her late children flew,
in this world the elves only wear orange,
and he metes out his morals to you.

To yourself do, as you do to others,
free your soul from the tyrant of "true,"
aristocracy bounded by rhombus
is the gift of his verses to you.

The penny that's spared is still burning,
the frying pan damns up the flue.
The cipher, the psalmist, the husband,
are the cast of his fable to you.

For the rabbits are chaste—in their households,
walls of glass need a rock to pass through,
and Jove and the weeds on the hillock
is the scope of his story to you.

Oh, a cat still may look on a kingdom,
and the song of the caged bird is grim.
And someday, if ever he falters,
you'll sing back your stories to him.

Thursday, May 3, 2007

Who is the monkey?


According to James Meffleton over at Cambridge, in any group of five or more, the individuals can be split into animal types:
I've had little difficulty assigning parts to most of us, but no matter how hard I try, I can't fit anyone into the role of monkey. Is it possible we lack a monkey?