brother_can_you_spare_a_spleen baby satan the simulated caffeine thrust is a sad thing to behold. all twitching and twirling and muttering to itself. "woulda done that different, i woulda, if i was you. but i isn't." and what is it about ineffective salesmen that causes us to fall in lust with them? it can't be the omnipotent comb-over. that's only good for a roll in the hay and a half. that doesn't even qualify. that's a 2.3 on the lust scale, which is barely a reading at all, unless the scale is broken and registering the shifting of tectonic plates unrelated to murmurs of the groin. that's been known to happen now and zen. if i push off before you're ready, we can make a childish sound in tandem. domino suplex to the nth degree of decrepitude. the trembling of your hands will be a lesson not learned until it's far past its best-by date. desire is a funny thing. well, wait for something good to show up and invite itself into you, then. the internal organ you're missing didn't really run away from home anyway. 130126 ... baby satan more to the point — the spleen has been misunderstood for as long as minds have had fingers with which to fail in their grasping efforts. dr. klaus von butter sausage, one of the first and most notable specialists to study the spleen and its functions, has this to say in his seminal work "learning to understand your innards": "what at first glance appears to be a boxing glove with liver spots is in fact an important sexual aid. the spleen receives blood from an artery that branches off of the aorta. after passing through an intricate meshwork of tiny blood vessels and summer sausage, the blood continues to the liver. the blood vessels of the spleen are surrounded by nests of b lymphocytes — mainly of the memory type. as the blood slowly moves through the spleen, it is monitored by t-cells for any non-self invaders." non-self! yes! more! "if some suspicious cell or molecule is detected, it is presented to the resident b-cells for a match to an appropriate memory b-cell. once a matching b-cell is activated, the cell divides rapidly and begins producing antibodies directed against the invading antigen. the spleen blood vessels are also lined with macrophages, which swallow and digest debris in the blood such as worn out red blood cells, platelets, and stale girl scout cookies. in a disease such as mononucleosis, the macrophages in the spleen become overactive and trap a higher number of white blood cells. in the process, the spleen becomes swollen and may even rupture, or take flight like a helium balloon of malice." lenny kravitz, also a noted medical specialist, had this to say in an unpublished interview with "brain curdle magazine": "secretion is cool." for more information about the spleen and its many often overlooked applications, one need only wait for the forthcoming martin scorsese film "my spleen is a lovable asshole", starring val kilmer, mark ruffalo, and zooey deschanel. in a performance that has been described as "very meta, and partially nude", val kilmer plays a slightly exaggerated version of his real-life self. after belatedly realizing what a middling movie "at first sight" was, he plunges into a crippling depression. mark ruffalo has the role of his life as the personification of val kilmer's spleen, whom val discovers while snorting crushed aspirin. the two engage in several soul-searching conversations while consuming copious amounts of drugs. zooey deschanel is the obligatory love interest, with a twist; she's more interested in val's spleen than val himself. the ensuing tension culminates in a vicious fistfight, giving us the memorable image of val kilmer punching himself repeatedly in the torso. it should hit theaters sometime in the fall. early critical response from those who have seen a rough assembly of the completed footage indicates that this may be marty's most vital work in many years, and possible stirring of a creative rebirth for mr. kilmer. 130127 ... baby satan i missed a "the" and one line got a little screwed up in there, but you get the idea. 130127 what's it to you? who go blather from