Sunday, March 3, 2013

There’s No Such Thing as Brussels Sprouts

There’s no such thing as Brussels sprouts.

I know what you’ve been told and it’s just not so.  

You can take a moment to process that now.

Don’t tell me, let me guess: Now that you think about it, you’ve never actually seen a Brussels sprout, but you heard about them somewhere, sometime. And you don’t remember where or when that was, but you belie-e-e-eve-

Yeah. I know. There’s no such thing, baby. Brussels sprouts don’t exist.

I learned this from people I know. From people whom I trust. From people with the inside line to inside information that you and the rest of the world never ever get to see. I’ve been looking for this kind of people all my life.

And these people I am talking about, you see, they know. These people saw the memo. Hell, these people wrote the memo and then delivered the memo, too. These people are bike messengers, and Brussels sprouts, well, that was a practical joke made up on a Thursday afternoon when business was slow and everyone was getting high.

I know this because I am a bike messenger. Part-time, is all. Just for now, and just enough to cover internet and a hefty book addiction for the time being.

Honestly, I hardly believe I’ve never thought of doing it before. I mean, I have the tats. I have the piercings. I have the no discernible talent. I even have the intimate knowledge of the hidden spaces where Houston hides itself. I am a natural for this job!

Maybe you are a natural too. I doubt it, but maybe you are.

If you are, then you can go through their secret rites, like I did. The secret rites of the bike messengers. Passed down from time immemorial, as they say.

I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, come to think of it.

But if you make it through, like I did, and if you get sworn in, like me, then they will let you down into their Bike Messenger Catacombs. That’s where the secret maps of Houston all are stored that show the ley lines and all the primeval pubs and such. That’s where you will find the Unofficial Files of the Truth about Everything, and everything you’ll need to know to get everywhere you’re going.

And if you get to be a bike messenger, like me, then you’ll have to go to a particular office first thing every morning. This office will not be marked, and it will never be in the same place twice, but it will be the same office with the same little man sitting inside, with the same window looking out on the same peculiar urban scene.

And the same little man will hand you the same enormous orange envelope, along with an address and with a little wad of cash.

And you won’t have to obey traffic laws and you’ll breeze right past even the tightest building security with hardly a nod.

Because that’s what we bike messengers do.

And in the evening, after all of the deliveries are through, if you’re anything at all like I am, then you will go back down into the Bike Messenger Catacombs. You will bring a bottle of wine and a very open mind. You will read about the Brussels sprouts, about the Allen Brothers, and about how Ladybird Johnson was actually a man.

A few more sips of wine and you will be ready for the Catacombs’ “Cryptography” section. And it is here you will find a file labeled “B.O.B.”

B.O.B. That means Body of Belloq. Mapped out and charted and graphed in all of its Rube Goldberg-meets-MC Escher glory. It’s right here.

You might be needing this.

I mean, if you were me, you might be needing this. Being you, I sort of hope you’re not.

In fact, now that I think about it, what the hell are you doing with a map of my almost-quasi-girlfriend’s body?

Wasn’t the truth I shared with you about Brussels sprouts and about Ladybird Johnson enough? I could be your inside line to inside information that the rest of the world never ever gets to see.

You can trust me on this. After all, I am a part-time bike messenger. 
****Mind-melting illustrations by Pierre Ferrero. How cool are they?****


  1. I KNEW IT! I knew there were secret bike messenger meetings more secretive than the Illuminati and Masons combined! There's just no other explanation for how they aren't all dead. There are secret bike messenger tunnels too, aren't there? No, wait, you can't tell me. I understand.

    1. I am here to enlighten... at least so long as it doesn't get me killed.

      I knew that if I just took on enough part-time jobs, I'd eventually find something with real knowledge attached.

  2. GOODSTUFF, the source of the truth!

    After many hours of searching, the truth was discovered under Obama's cabbage patch doll. Basically Brussels sprouts, Bike Messengers and Ladybird Johnson all belong to the Brassicaceae family! It's true, I read it on the internet!

    The Brassicaceae family has been proven to be the creation of Satan. Best known for their potent evil gas making capabilities and foul and disgustingly horrible taste.

    You see, back in the day, Bike Messengers and Ladybird Johnson were conducting evil GM experiments that created the evil vitamin K gas from the odoriferous evil balls of doom. The vitamin K gas is so evil Bike Messengers carry the evil gas around in their tires. When they release just a small dose, they are able to breeze right past even the tightest building security with hardly a nod.

    BTW - I like this Pierre Ferrero piece.. of pie

    BTWW - when I woke up this morning, I had no clue that I would comment about Brussels sprouts, Bike Messengers and Ladybird Johnson

    1. When I went to the pinterest link, I remembered that I did the Weekly World News blog post just a few weeks back.

      I obviously have an obsession with fake news and secret societies that I have never consciously acknowledged.

  3. This whole time I've been calling them Brussel sprouts. Then I Google them just to confirm, and they're actually Brussels sprouts? With an "s" at the end? My whole life is a lie!

    Also, I'm surprised less people know about the Ladybird Johnson thing. Ladybird is just such a perfect drag queen name. "Coming up to the stage to lipsync Britney Spears' "Hit Me Baby One More Time", please welcome the faaaabulous Ladybird!"

    1. My twin brother does a helluva Nancy Reagan drag thing. Maybe I've said too much...

      I type up my blogs in Word, and I was initially confused by the red line under "Brussel" for the same reason as you. For a moment, I thought maybe Brussels sprouts really didn't exist.

  4. The cruciferous vegetable lobby is pushing legislation to rename Brussels Sprouts to Chocolate Cake. This might be part of the confusion. This effort has been complicated by the moonshiner lobby wanting to rename corn squeezings to corn fritters to avoid the tax on alcohol. So far the bill has not made it out of committee.

    1. My blog posts have become so convoluted that I'm not even sure I know what they mean anymore.

      I might do a couple simple and straightforward ones.

      Or I can take a tip from the vegetable lobby and rename my site "LESBIAN PORN!"

    2. Changing the name to Lesbian Porn would really up the number of page views. Of course all the hits would be from men.

      If rhe bike messenger gig is made obsolete by technology there are a bunch of restaurants in downtown Fort Worth that use bike messengers to deliver. Surely they do the same in Houston. You would be safe job wise until such a time they figure out a way to fax Pad Thai.

    3. I actually don't know whether the incoming traffic onto the site would change very much.

      These are the keywords that led people to my site this week (seriously):

      faces of men
      porn high socks lesbians tube
      are you tired of paying high copier repair
      dolphin fucking naked girl
      double helix

    4. a friend posted this on Facebook today - SFW - see comments

    5. Double helix always gets my attention!

      Porn high socks leabian tube.. this is the inventory description for soft ball uniform socks. The only missing items are color and quantity. Not very exciting

    6. I was curious as to why someone ran "cvfgfv" and why my site turned up when they did.

      But hey, any attention is good attention.

  5. Is Brussels sprouts some kind of cruel joke. What next? Corn on the cob is actually corn on the "knob"? Though, that sounds like some sort of sexually transmitted disease.

    Also, I assume a secret bike messenger society is all that it would take to topple the largest banks in the nation. But you didn't hear that from me. Unless they tell you to cite your sources.

    1. You do NOT want me explaining corn on the cob!

      Everybody does an awful lot of their stuff electronically today. The messenger crowd says court e-filings have really cut into their business.

      If we're going to topple anybody via courier, it's going to have to be soon!

  6. You are a self-centered arrogant bitch who can't write.

    I wonder how long this shit takes you every week and for what?


    1. You seem angry. I hope you find something to read that doesn't make you so angry.

    2. Hey. You.

      Yeah; you. The guy (you write like an angry fellow in his twenties full of too much testosterone, so, yeah, I made an assumption) with all the attitude.

      Pickin' on one of my friends is a bad idea today.

      Tomorrow doesn't look good, either.

    3. Hey. You.

      Yeah; you. The guy (you write like an angry fellow in his twenties full of too much testosterone, so, yeah, I made an assumption) with all the attitude.

      Pickin' on one of my friends is a bad idea today.

      Tomorrow doesn't look good, either.

  7. I enjoy your use of this apparent Brussels Sprouts conspiracy as a plot device. And a character development device. At least I THINK that's what happened...

    Can you get a side car for your bike and take me along?

    1. I'm not sure what happened with this one. Your guess is as good as mine.

      Judging by the reactions, nobody else could figure it out, either.

      Which is good, because I'd hate to have been the only one.


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