Snail SeXXX

I know I have turned into super geeky fish tank lover, but - have you ever seen snails having sex?  Me neither, not until tonight.

I had been worried that the eggs would turn out to be duds.  I never saw my snails having any sort of sex. 

The eggs keep coming and coming.

And the snails?  Check it out - he's the black one, she is yellow.  Their children will be beautiful - all eight hundred of them.  Supplies are limited, so put your request in this week.

He's even looking at us in this picture.  His eye is red.

I promise I will stop fixating on the nitrogen cycle of my fish tank, and on my snails and their sex lives.  Before I do, here's the snail sex from the other angle:

She's looking too.  They're pretty comfortable with their sexuality.  Or, they live in a fish tank and they have no choice.  Whichever.

I hope you've gained something by seeing snail sex.

If you know what you're looking for, there's an x-rated portion of snail anatomy in this picture.  Like the "How Many Eggs?" contest, I'll give you some snail babies if you can spot it.

Soon, the babies will be coming out.  Tomorrow is the first due date.

I'm, like, very busy with other things, non-tank related activities.

 

If you're looking for more hot hot hot snail pics, let me know.  Maybe we can work something out.

Seven

I have nothing to say.

Should I do a contest like the jellybeans in the jar?  How many eggs are in this clutch?  The winner will get...sixty baby snails.  Or, if the winner prefers, three baby snails.  Or, no baby snails.  The only thing is, is how will we ever know how many eggs are in this clutch?  We will never know, unless we massacre them.

Do you think the jellybean people really count those things out, or do they just look for the cutest entry, the entry that implies the cutest child?

I once won an easter basket in a contest at the drugstore, but I hadn't guessed on any beans.  Also, I was too old for it - I was eleven, so I felt pretty humiliated about the whole thing, and guilty for taking the basket away from some child.

I once won a coloring contest at Harris Bank in Oak Forest.  I was five.

I won an art contest in third grade.  The theme was America.  I made a collage featuring a very prominent cut-out of the statue of liberty.  I also submitted two poems.  One poem was about snow.  I had just tossed it off one day, months before, playing on a typewriter.  I thought the other poem would blow them away.  It was went on and on about a magical water world, and all of the creatures that lived in there.  I think the last line was something like, "I can see the waterworld/when I close my eyes.  You can see the waterworld/maybe if you try."  The snow poem won.  It freaked me out 'cause I hadn't tried to do anything with the snow poem.

That's what I'm learning - things are much better if I don't try.  Try trying to stop trying.  That's where I am these days.  My mantra is: lobotomylobotomy

or sometimes:  what'sthatovertherelookatthewallcrack

or: don'tthinkdon'tthink, or: settlesettlesettle.

Don'ttouchitleaveitalone.

The winner of the clutch question (I'll count up the number of baby snails that actually hatch) will receive two poems and a collage created by me.

Eggs are coming for you.

One.

 

Two.

Three.

Four. 

Five.

Six.

Six clutches of eggs are coming for you.

Bad, bad, bad

I am a bad daughter.

I took off the picture of my dad.  I replaced it with the same picture, except much smaller, and filtered through photoshop's fresco thingie.  It makes me feel a lot less guilty.

I apologize, world.

Am I this way because of Catholic?

Zombie's Day

I dislike Father's Day.  A lot.

Don't tell my dad how I feel.  I don't think we're in danger of him finding this webpage.  I'm usually astounded when he remembers that I exist, even if he can't get my name straight.  The thing is, he doesn't really exist anymore.  I'd love to get my hands on an MRI of his brain.  Or, maybe I wouldn't.

Anyway, I hate Father's Day, this year more than any other year.

I think it's 'cause of dead people.  Yes, dead people, and the people who are dead in the brain but still able to make telephone calls late at night.

Maybe if my dad ate brains, maybe I'd think he was cooler.

He probably does eat brains.  Just not human ones.  His dog is missing.  Maybe he ate his dog's brain, and then forgot about it because something is eating his brain.

I'll be off the brain kick soon.  Promise.  Stick a needle and everything.

Did you know that your eyes are really an extension of your brain?  They are, they are.  Be careful with those things.

My dad's gone all country this past decade or so.  Do you think there's any connection between that and the whole brain disintegration thing?

Bubblegum

There is a new clutch.  It is bubblegum pink.  I can maybe see something going on inside the eggs.

That is all for now.  I won't give you any pictures.  I will keep you in suspense.

You know you want to see it.

Visitor Q and the Dead Black Moor

I must tell you to watch the movie called Visitor Q.  It is the uplifting tale of a stranger who helps a family to heal itself.  If you are sensitive as far as body fluids are concerned, you might want to take a xanax, or maybe half a klonopin first.  Just don't mix it with heroin, 'cause then you might die.

Anyway - check out this movie by acclaimed Japanese director Takashi Miike.

ps - I don't think you should do any heroin, even if you're not going to take klonopin or xanex.  I don't think Takashi Miike thinks you should do heroin either, at least not if you're someone's mom.  If you're stuck inside a dead person though, then maybe it's okay with him.  Literally stuck inside a dead person, of course, not figuratively.  Aren't we all a little stuck inside of a dead person, in the figurative sense?

I have no picture for you today.  I apologize.

Well, okay, I woke up the fishes.  I hope you enjoy this tiny picture.

Oh, and did you ever see the dead black moor?  In case you haven't, here's an oldie but goodie, unless you're the dead black moor.

Are you the dead black moor?  If so, I'm sorry you caught Ick.  The fish store did that to you, not me.  Maybe someone will come and hit you on the head with a rock, and your world will get better.  That's what happens in Visitor Q.

I must get out more, dead black moor.  You, though, you should stay put wherever you are.  Don't, like, come back or anything.  You're in a far better place.  Did you feel the earthquake?  Can you feel anything anymore, sweet dead black moor?

Clutch

The happy day has come, much sooner than I ever dreamed - the snails have created a clutch of eggs.  They are hot pink and oh-so-cute.

In a few days, hopefully, I'll be able to tell whether the eggs have been fertilized.  It's possible they're just for show.  I'd like to think that the cutest snail ever is smarter than that, that it's got better things to do with its time.

I will mist them.  I will inspect them for embryos and, should I find some, I will take pictures of the baby snails for you, blog.

Don't they look like caviar?

I think the cutest snail ever is considering making some more.

Please prepare at least a ten gallon aquarium, so that you may adopt a baby snail.  If you would like, you can even have two.

Do baby snails dream?  Should I play music for them, so that they come out more intelligent?

Dear pregnant ladies - my snails are gonna beat you to the punch, probably, unless you're, like, totally ready to go.

The Man in my Brain

I forgot to tell you.  I found a man in my brain.  I think it might be Billy Idol with a mohawk, or maybe Johnny Rotten.  Take a look:

 

Can you see him?  He's got his arms spread out over my corpus callosum.  Here is a close-up:

To quote Grease 2:

"Who's that guy?  Where did he come from?"

 

Is he a punk rock angel?  Is he my pineal gland?

The internet tells me that, in older animals, the pineal gland contains calcium deposits, and that these calcium deposits are known as brain sand.

Mr. Punk-rock brain-angel sandman, bring me a dream.  I mean, you are right on my pineal gland, which creates and regulates melatonin.  It's the least you could do.  O, and make him the cutest that I've ever seen, while you're in there regulating my circadian rhythms and reproductive cycles and all.  Thanks.

Ze Brain looks smart as the skeleton considers

Ze brain, she is tired, from her long day of being photographed.  Still, she wanted to say hello.

Here is the portrait of ze brain that is titled Plate:

In white, it is called Insectivore.  Wouldn't Insectivore be a good name for a band?  If I had a band called Insectivore, I would release locusts at the start of the show.

The final brain portrait of the evening is ze skull looking tough.  The skeleton, here, considers pouncing.  The skeleton, here, considers turning itself around to face you.  Don't you think?

My skeleton could totally eat you.    

Do you have a skeleton?  Do you have pictures of it?

We're so lucky to be able to see our skeletons and brains and intestines without dying first, aren't we?

It's good to be a migraineur, at least at picture-time, and as long as those pictures use magnets and have no flash.

I must go eat cake now.  In case you were wondering, this is my brain on drugs.  Feel free to e-mail me if you have any questions.