Ed Helicopter Jones
03-02-2007, 11:53 AM
Greetings fellow SPAMinites:
What you are about to read is fact, not fiction. The information contained in this post contains truths and revelations about future events so enormous, so earth-shattering, that if this information were to fall into the wrong hands we could be witness to global chaos. That is why I am carefully posting these secrets on the world wide web...ummm with this disclaimer. I warn you to only read further if you want the secrets to the universe revealed to you, just as they were conveyed to me yesterday by the mighty SPAM.
The following is the SPAM pilgrimage journal for 2007:
6:00AM - I awaken, and as has become my routine these days, I greet the morning sun with a friendly “Great to see you!” and wander down to the river (the uninformed call it a drainage ditch) to bathe and catch some breakfast.
Since my last SPAM pilgrimage I have determined that the only true way to follow the SPAM is to give up all of my earthly possessions and become one with the SPAMiverse, thereby freeing my mind to focus on the Spurs and their success after March 1st unencumbered by things like a job, friends, a family, or money. I have chosen to live near a horse ranch on the outskirts of town. It’s terrific. “Paradise” I think to myself.
I’ve been marking my calendar for this day, March the 1st, since the Spurs were eliminated from the playoffs last season. Unfortunately, because I have no money I’m using a 2005 calendar which says today is Tuesday. “Happy Spam-day” I proclaim. Only a solitary homeless person is within earshot down river. He approvingly gives me the “Spurs are Number 1” hand signal that I’ve grown so accustomed to receiving. I politely return his gesture with a “Spurs Are Number 1” hand signal of my own. Poor, crazy, homeless bastard. I hope he enjoys the gift of SPAMpoo I made for him that is currently floating down the river in his direction.
6:30AM – Another daily ritual I’ve started since the end of last season’s Spurs playoffs is to walk out onto the range near my home and shoot a horse. I see a spotted mare. With my Red Ryder BB gun I get off several shots. On round eight of getting pelted in the ribs by BB’s the horse finally runs away. “Run back to Dallas you bastard!” I shout.
6:35AM – Suddenly I laugh out loud as I remember the look on the face of the last Cuban I shot with my BB gun several months ago. . .but then I bristle at the memory of the beating I took afterward and hereby renew my mental promise to stick to shooting only horses from now on.
6:50AM – I get dressed. The pants…don’t forget the pants…again.
7:45AM – I enter the post office and check my mailbox. No new restraining orders this week. Spammen. I’m so confused as to why people wouldn’t want me spreading the word about SPAM, especially the Spurs front office. I did enjoy their correspondence however. I scratch my head and tap the metal plate with a gentle rythym…tap, tap, tappity tap. So happy. So very happy.
7:49AM – I notice the post office still has my picture hanging on the wall! How great of the U.S. Postal Service to honor me and the SPAM that way! I make a mental note to be sure to get them a more recent picture. That one looks nothing like me anymore!
8:05AM – 10:20AM – Suddenly overcome by the SPAM I begin speaking in tongues on the sidewalk. Several passersby pay homage by leaving coins and dollar bills. One gentleman does his best Bruce Bowen imitation and tries to kick me in the face. Honored by the gesture of respect, I give him a knowing glance, give him the now universal “Spurs are Number 1” hand sign, gather the day’s donations, and continue on my way.
10:30AM – Using today’s meager donations I purchase a mere 6 cans of SPAM from the local Chinese market. Luckily for me, this is one store in town that doesn’t fear the SPAM and allows me to shop there. Unfortunately for me, no one in the store speaks English, but it’s forcing me to brush up on my Chinese. Today, in his native tongue, the manager told me the following proverb: “Man with hand in pocket feel cocky all day.” Words to live by. Of course he might have said that apples are two for a dollar…my Chinese is a bit rusty.
10:45AM – I note in my journal that it’s been 241 days since I learned that you only get one clear message from each can of SPAM and then the prophecy for that can is complete. As unbelievable as it sounds, anything else you hear from a can of SPAM is simply your imagination at work. This explains why my messages from a year ago were not clear and why I was misled. I’ve learned from my mistakes. Using what was left of my savings and the donations I’ve received so far I calculate that I’ve purchased approximately 61,340 cans of SPAM since making this realization. The Chinese market has dedicated extra shelf space to aid my crusade.
11:15AM – I return to my solid tin handcrafted abode, disrobe, and place the cans of SPAM upon the alter I’ve created. I lay flat in front of the cans and start my meditation.
11:35AM – An ant crawls up my butt crack and takes a hearty nibble. “SpamDamn that hurts!!”
11:36AM - I return to my meditation.
12:15PM – The cans begin to vibrate and hum.
12:17PM – The first message:
Little one does dart and dash…
Game four endeth in a flash.
Zenman done in by the Park
Staples lights again are dark.
12:45PM – Message two:
Quarters, Quarters, twenty-four
Against the Sun not one a bore
When the heat was on we needed two
But three were sent from one man you.
1:16PM – Message three:
Spurprisingly the opponent be
the Red Glare in the round that’s 3
Six to play, still marching on
Dunkin’s going very strong
1:22PM - Hungry, I tear into a can of SPAM and devour the meaty loaf in three bites, letting the grease and oil run down my chin. Unfortunately I opened a can that had not yet revealed its message thereby eliminating a prophecy. Oh well. Delicious, nonetheless.
2:00PM – Message four:
Beware of the Germans tall
And of Cajun roaches, errr, coaches small
Cuban’s laughing on the street
Likely means your team’s defeat
2:01PM Confused and frightened I pick up the obviously possessed can and reach back to throw it into the river. Wait! What’s that printed on the bottom?! Use before June 2006??!! Expired!! “Fvcking Chinamen and their market” I think to myself. Then I bellow a hearty, satisfied laugh starting from deep inside my SPAM filled belly.
2:20PM – Message five arrives
What’s this? The Heat? Talk about your starting slow…
Wade is back so here we go
Finley saves his best for Shack
Shoulda hung more posters, Jack!
SPAMMEN!!! Another Championship is guaranteed!!! I guess I’ll need to get my ring finger sized again. What with all the steroids and SPAM I’ve ingested the last few years SPAM only knows how much my ring size has changed!
3:00PM – I celebrate the Championship with some homemade SPAM wine I’ve been fermenting for several months.
3:45PM – Drunk off my azz I get a knock on my blue tin door. Who in the name of Hormel could that be? Some bald black dude in a long overcoat is standing outside the threshold. He speaks to me: “Chopper, we’ve finally found you. You have uncovered truths to the universe previously unseen by most mortals in this world.”
“I’m offering you a chance to escape this reality and see the SPAM as it truly exists. You have sensed it. You have felt it. You know it is out there.”
He then extends his hand revealing two pills, a red one and a blue one.
“I’m offering you the truth, nothing more” he says to me.
I ponder his offer.
3:48PMI’ve made my decision. I pull out my trusty Red Ryder and shoot him in the face. Looks like a SPAMdamn Cuban to me!
4:05PM After getting summarily pummeled I fall into a deep slumber, dream of the SPAM, the next championship ring and what effect that red pill I found dropped on the floor during the scuffle is going to have on me. “Sweet slumber…sweet sweet SPAM slumber. SPURS are number 1 SPAMMIT!!”
11:59PMI’m suddenly awakened by a voice: “Welcome to the REAL world, Chopper. . .”
What you are about to read is fact, not fiction. The information contained in this post contains truths and revelations about future events so enormous, so earth-shattering, that if this information were to fall into the wrong hands we could be witness to global chaos. That is why I am carefully posting these secrets on the world wide web...ummm with this disclaimer. I warn you to only read further if you want the secrets to the universe revealed to you, just as they were conveyed to me yesterday by the mighty SPAM.
The following is the SPAM pilgrimage journal for 2007:
6:00AM - I awaken, and as has become my routine these days, I greet the morning sun with a friendly “Great to see you!” and wander down to the river (the uninformed call it a drainage ditch) to bathe and catch some breakfast.
Since my last SPAM pilgrimage I have determined that the only true way to follow the SPAM is to give up all of my earthly possessions and become one with the SPAMiverse, thereby freeing my mind to focus on the Spurs and their success after March 1st unencumbered by things like a job, friends, a family, or money. I have chosen to live near a horse ranch on the outskirts of town. It’s terrific. “Paradise” I think to myself.
I’ve been marking my calendar for this day, March the 1st, since the Spurs were eliminated from the playoffs last season. Unfortunately, because I have no money I’m using a 2005 calendar which says today is Tuesday. “Happy Spam-day” I proclaim. Only a solitary homeless person is within earshot down river. He approvingly gives me the “Spurs are Number 1” hand signal that I’ve grown so accustomed to receiving. I politely return his gesture with a “Spurs Are Number 1” hand signal of my own. Poor, crazy, homeless bastard. I hope he enjoys the gift of SPAMpoo I made for him that is currently floating down the river in his direction.
6:30AM – Another daily ritual I’ve started since the end of last season’s Spurs playoffs is to walk out onto the range near my home and shoot a horse. I see a spotted mare. With my Red Ryder BB gun I get off several shots. On round eight of getting pelted in the ribs by BB’s the horse finally runs away. “Run back to Dallas you bastard!” I shout.
6:35AM – Suddenly I laugh out loud as I remember the look on the face of the last Cuban I shot with my BB gun several months ago. . .but then I bristle at the memory of the beating I took afterward and hereby renew my mental promise to stick to shooting only horses from now on.
6:50AM – I get dressed. The pants…don’t forget the pants…again.
7:45AM – I enter the post office and check my mailbox. No new restraining orders this week. Spammen. I’m so confused as to why people wouldn’t want me spreading the word about SPAM, especially the Spurs front office. I did enjoy their correspondence however. I scratch my head and tap the metal plate with a gentle rythym…tap, tap, tappity tap. So happy. So very happy.
7:49AM – I notice the post office still has my picture hanging on the wall! How great of the U.S. Postal Service to honor me and the SPAM that way! I make a mental note to be sure to get them a more recent picture. That one looks nothing like me anymore!
8:05AM – 10:20AM – Suddenly overcome by the SPAM I begin speaking in tongues on the sidewalk. Several passersby pay homage by leaving coins and dollar bills. One gentleman does his best Bruce Bowen imitation and tries to kick me in the face. Honored by the gesture of respect, I give him a knowing glance, give him the now universal “Spurs are Number 1” hand sign, gather the day’s donations, and continue on my way.
10:30AM – Using today’s meager donations I purchase a mere 6 cans of SPAM from the local Chinese market. Luckily for me, this is one store in town that doesn’t fear the SPAM and allows me to shop there. Unfortunately for me, no one in the store speaks English, but it’s forcing me to brush up on my Chinese. Today, in his native tongue, the manager told me the following proverb: “Man with hand in pocket feel cocky all day.” Words to live by. Of course he might have said that apples are two for a dollar…my Chinese is a bit rusty.
10:45AM – I note in my journal that it’s been 241 days since I learned that you only get one clear message from each can of SPAM and then the prophecy for that can is complete. As unbelievable as it sounds, anything else you hear from a can of SPAM is simply your imagination at work. This explains why my messages from a year ago were not clear and why I was misled. I’ve learned from my mistakes. Using what was left of my savings and the donations I’ve received so far I calculate that I’ve purchased approximately 61,340 cans of SPAM since making this realization. The Chinese market has dedicated extra shelf space to aid my crusade.
11:15AM – I return to my solid tin handcrafted abode, disrobe, and place the cans of SPAM upon the alter I’ve created. I lay flat in front of the cans and start my meditation.
11:35AM – An ant crawls up my butt crack and takes a hearty nibble. “SpamDamn that hurts!!”
11:36AM - I return to my meditation.
12:15PM – The cans begin to vibrate and hum.
12:17PM – The first message:
Little one does dart and dash…
Game four endeth in a flash.
Zenman done in by the Park
Staples lights again are dark.
12:45PM – Message two:
Quarters, Quarters, twenty-four
Against the Sun not one a bore
When the heat was on we needed two
But three were sent from one man you.
1:16PM – Message three:
Spurprisingly the opponent be
the Red Glare in the round that’s 3
Six to play, still marching on
Dunkin’s going very strong
1:22PM - Hungry, I tear into a can of SPAM and devour the meaty loaf in three bites, letting the grease and oil run down my chin. Unfortunately I opened a can that had not yet revealed its message thereby eliminating a prophecy. Oh well. Delicious, nonetheless.
2:00PM – Message four:
Beware of the Germans tall
And of Cajun roaches, errr, coaches small
Cuban’s laughing on the street
Likely means your team’s defeat
2:01PM Confused and frightened I pick up the obviously possessed can and reach back to throw it into the river. Wait! What’s that printed on the bottom?! Use before June 2006??!! Expired!! “Fvcking Chinamen and their market” I think to myself. Then I bellow a hearty, satisfied laugh starting from deep inside my SPAM filled belly.
2:20PM – Message five arrives
What’s this? The Heat? Talk about your starting slow…
Wade is back so here we go
Finley saves his best for Shack
Shoulda hung more posters, Jack!
SPAMMEN!!! Another Championship is guaranteed!!! I guess I’ll need to get my ring finger sized again. What with all the steroids and SPAM I’ve ingested the last few years SPAM only knows how much my ring size has changed!
3:00PM – I celebrate the Championship with some homemade SPAM wine I’ve been fermenting for several months.
3:45PM – Drunk off my azz I get a knock on my blue tin door. Who in the name of Hormel could that be? Some bald black dude in a long overcoat is standing outside the threshold. He speaks to me: “Chopper, we’ve finally found you. You have uncovered truths to the universe previously unseen by most mortals in this world.”
“I’m offering you a chance to escape this reality and see the SPAM as it truly exists. You have sensed it. You have felt it. You know it is out there.”
He then extends his hand revealing two pills, a red one and a blue one.
“I’m offering you the truth, nothing more” he says to me.
I ponder his offer.
3:48PMI’ve made my decision. I pull out my trusty Red Ryder and shoot him in the face. Looks like a SPAMdamn Cuban to me!
4:05PM After getting summarily pummeled I fall into a deep slumber, dream of the SPAM, the next championship ring and what effect that red pill I found dropped on the floor during the scuffle is going to have on me. “Sweet slumber…sweet sweet SPAM slumber. SPURS are number 1 SPAMMIT!!”
11:59PMI’m suddenly awakened by a voice: “Welcome to the REAL world, Chopper. . .”