You need a newer browser.

08/2/25   
Help for the helpless. Hap for the hapless.

The Truth About Ice Cubes

by Dr. Malcolm Zooter
bio/email
February 3, 2003
I've heard ice cubes scream
like unpleasant human beings
when I dunk them into my drink.
I'd say they're alive, don't you think?

Formed in their trays like a nursery,
living their lives brief and cursory,
but is everything quite what it seems?
What do they dream in their cold, frozen dreams?

What could they teach us,
if we were to listen,
mesmerized by the glean of their glisten?
Subtly speaking with clicks on my tumbler…
Speak up! I think this one's a mumbler.

The world's murky secrets revealed
in the cold, cubic truths they conceal…
This one knows why they shot Kennedy!
Oh shit, he melted in my grenadine!

Well this one won't look so glib
once he's floating in my warm Mr. Pibb.
I think he'll gladly spill his guts
in answer to my who's, when's and what's.

Yes, the truth now is growing far clearer
than the ice cube I nailed to my mirror.
The old, funky ones that smell like fish sticks
are clearly the wise ice cube mystics.

They tell me ice cubes form from the ether
when ideas slow down for a breather
and are trapped into cubes as they're frozen,
until for a beverage they're chosen.

They they're passed on to the drinker,
who promptly then becomes the thinker
of this now liberated idea
(about a new haircut or a pet made of chia)!

So if you see me chomping ice cubes en mass
or you notice no liquid in my glass,
don't think that my brain's gone on disconnect.
I'm just eating my way to great intellect.


Quote of the Day
“No one ever went broke underestimating the intelligence of the people; except, of course, for those people who keep giving Tony Danza a TV series.”

-H.M. Lincoln
Fortune 500 Cookie
Our deepest condolences for your loss—but cheer up, there will be another Powerball lottery before you know it. Taco Bell wasn't fucking with you about that protection money, as you'll find out this week. You were right: you should have weighted that body down better. Lucky feathers this week: Condor, goose, anything Elton John wore in the '70s.


Try again later.
Top 5 Reasons You Won't Have to Kick Around the commune For Anymore
1.It’s expensive to run state of the art website and Dippin’ Dots franchise at the same time
2.You assholes simply refused to spell our name appropriately in lowercase letters
3.All of this was for date with girl at Blockbuster; she don’t work there no more
4.Less writing and online publishing leaves more time to hang out at coffee shop writing thinly veiled autobiographic novel
5.You never loved us
Archives
Frombnabula 7
Orange crush skies crush down upon Frombnabula 7 and the space crew thereon: Phinneas Wilbur, the captain of late, and Gumfrey McDumfrey, his faithful first mate, and Rooter, and Bramble, and John-Boy Perdue and six other guys ... (1/20/03)

Tits are in the Eye of the Beholder
I think that I shall never pass a poem as lovely as an ass or a verse that weighs as heavy as a buck-naked supermodel straddling a Chevy How could course words ever capture the heaven of the classic Maxim issue #7? No match has a poet's mind... (1/6/03)

Lunch Money
Listen up, Billy Olson I'm a drink you up like Molson make you sing like a fat Al Jolson grab your tits and milk 'em both, son. 'Cause you messed with the best I confess it's no test I am the real thing you will know the hurt I bring ... (12/23/02)

more