I have a new list appearing on McSweeney’s. It’s a list of unlikely parenthetical statements. I don’t really know what the point of it is.

Also, I should warn you that I have a special idea entitled Brandnewary. This means that there will be a new update every day during the month of January. I’ve never attempted to update eKarjala with such regularity, and for good reason. This site might be taken to weird, uncomfortable places by as early as January 5th. So stay tuned for Brandnewary! 2008? More like 2000 and great!

I have written by far my stupidest article ever, “How Many Sequels to ‘The Land Before Time’ Do We Need, Exactly?” Whenever I entered a video store as an adolescent I used to always check which number “The Land Before Time” series was up to, and then I’d share a good chuckle with myself. I thought that chuckle would translate into a winning look at corporate excess, but the resulting article is nothing more than me swearing at a bunch of cartoon DVD covers. If you want to save yourself the trouble of reading this, the answer is 12. There are currently 12 sequels to The Land Before Time.

Just because Babar prances around with a crown doesn’t mean he’s a real king. His cartoon was the most nauseating thing I ever saw. Every episode consisted of Babar telling his children made up stories about his past accomplishments. The moral to these stories was always the same: “Nobody compares to me because I am Babar, courageous King of the Elephants.” No you’re not, Babar, you’re just an asshole in a hot air balloon.

I think if I were a blind man, instead of those little poles blind people usually putter about with I would just use a metal detector. I’d still be able to navigate OK, and plus I might find treasure—just the thing to brighten my day.

The other day I was loitering in a café when a woman entered with a St. Bernard that was literally the size of Clifford the Big Red Dog. Nobody could stop it from coming in, either, because it was some type of service dog, and plus it could have easily eaten a person. When they walked through the doorway, the dog actually had to duck its head down, so you can imagine how fast I ran the hell out of there. It might not have been hungry, but I still didn’t want a situation where I’d have to say, “Excuse me, ma’am, your dog’s tongue just knocked over my table.” What kind of service did this beast perform, exactly? Transportation?

Also, I have a review of Yogurt With Fruit and Granola up at McSweeney’s Internet Tendency (it’s the third one down).