“I wonder if illiterate people get the full effect of alphabet soup.” Jerry Seinfeld.
I will never grasp evolution. The idea that mankind is simply a single-celled organism that decided to evolve into something else and so on sounds bizarre to me. I don’t believe that I have any amoebas in my family tree…although some of us do appear to function on a single brain cell. Now, don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against amoebas. I just don’t see how one can sprout arms and legs and a beard, no matter how many billions of years you give them.
I do admit that apes do have human-like qualities. Some apes are smarter than some humans, in fact. And some humans are hairier. But if man evolved from apes, why are there still apes? Were those ones too stupid to evolve?
Darwin and his cohorts would have me believe that there was a huge explosion in the blackness that is space. This explosion supposedly came from nothing. From that, the universe was created and life appeared on earth–simple life like plankton. And over millions of years, this plankton turned into all the different species we have today–kangaroos, lizards, elephants, and man. This sounds awfully random. And, again, why is there still plankton?
I think it is much easier to believe that we were designed and created by someone who has an endless imagination, masterful artistry skills, and a much firmer grasp on “science” than any human could ever imagine. I did not “evolve.” I was created by God.
Of course, I’d love to hear your comments on my little early morning rant. lol.
1) The banana is a neat fruit–it comes with it’s own easy-to-peel packaging, eating one before bed is supposed to help you sleep, and they are just plain funny looking. And they taste good.
Plus, they come with a built-in practical joke maker…a sticker. I love affixing it to someone’s forehead and then, distracting them until they forget it’s there. If you’re really good, your victim will go out in public with the banana sticker smack dab between the eyes.
The best stickers were the face stickers put out by Chiquita a few years ago. My hubby and I collected them–yes, we selected our bananas based on what faces they wore. Sometimes, we would take faces off other bunches and come away with a sticker on each yellow fruit. Those were the days. I know…it doesn’t take much to make me happy. lol.
If you are a banana fanatic, you may want to visit Mecca, California–home to The International Banana Club Museum, the world’s largest museum dedicated to bananas. Since it’s creation in 1976, it has collected over 17,000 banana “artifacts” including a banana couch, a Michael Jackson banana, musical bananas, and more. What the heck is a banana warmer? The museum also claims that no lewd or crude bananas are allowed–except they spelled lewd “lude.” This spelling mistake drove me bananas.
2) A little while ago, we learned that the most common names in 1912 were John and Mary. So, I wonder what Americans were naming their babies in the 1950s. Fonzie or Richie? Laverne or Shirley?
Nope. According the to U.S. Social Security Administration, the favourite boy’s name of the decade was James, with Michael being the runner-up. The winning girl’s name was Mary (which was also the leading name in 1912), with Linda coming in second.
3) I recently encountered a fact that is funny, but a little sadistic. Lots of people have phobias–some of them are understandable like the fear of snakes or heights. I like snakes, but I can see how some people would find them unnerving. I’m not a fan of heights. It’s a good thing I’m short. I stood on a stool once to see what it felt like to be my husband’s height and I got nauseated.
Some phobias, however, are a wee bit on the strange side. For example, arachibutyrophobia is the fear of peanut butter becoming stuck to the roof of one’s mouth. I could see this being problematic for people without hands or tongues, but why would they put peanut butter on the roof of their mouths, anyway. Euphobia is the fear of good news. My head just exploded. Seriously, you hate “good” news? This is not someone that I want to spend a lot of time with–talk about a downer.
This brings me to the sadistic. Imagine that your phobia is a fear of long words. Now imagine that someone has asked you what your phobia is called and rather than answering the question you have run out of the room screaming. Why? Because some sadistic bastard with a sick sense of humour named your phobia “hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia.” Nice, eh?