Elvis put it best, as usual:
"But if I've done something wrong there's no ifs and buts
'Cos I love you just as much as I hate your guts."
It's almost five months after the fact, and it still hurts like hell and pisses me off all at the same time. In spite of the faith I try to hold that at any given time things are exactly as they should be, I can't help but feel like in this case, this one time, it should just be different. I don't know if there was ever even a possibility that it could have turned out any other way. But the very thought of the potential existence of that possibility is absolutely killing me, and thus must be extinguished post-haste. I deserve more. And better. Soon.
Those of you that have the elusive "it": Congratulations. Sincerely. Don't fuck it up.
There are a few things you can count on as you go through your life. 2 + 2 will always equal 4, and the fall TV schedule will bring another slew of irresistibly stupid reality shows. But above all these, we know when we walk along our city streets, play our Xbox 360s, and eat at our favorite restaurants, we are doing so within the confines of a round planet Earth. This is what is considered "common knowledge" by those of us who have been educated beyond Kindergarten. While not everything we learned in elementary school was accurate (for instance, the world--particularly sailors--had long accepted the Earth's roundness by the time Christopher Columbus came along), I'm going to go out on a limb--just this once--and say that I believe without a shadow of doubt that the Earth is indeed spherical in nature.
There are those who would disagree.
Meet the Flat Earth Society. At first glance, the site, which consists of nothing more than a message board, seems as though it has to be the product of someone's very dry sense of humor. I read entry after entry, convinced this must be the case. My friends, after long and thoughtful pursuit of this topic, I am no longer convinced. These people--these sad, sad people--actually believe the Earth is flat. As I read through the "literature" and "arguments" presented on the site, I felt a strange mixture of head-shaking-bewilderment and nervous glee. I don't think I have to explain the former. The latter I felt because I think I may have finally come across a site that fulfills a lifelong ambition of mine: to find the dumbest people on the Internet. I thought this mission was already fulfilled after studying the individuals who post comments on Youtube, but this had to take the cake.
In case you're reading this, scratching your head, and asking "How? How could they believe such a thing?", I shall take the liberty of reproducing some select choices from their FAQ. All your answers are inside. Delightful from the very start, the author of the FAQ informs us that he created this list after the society realized that for someone coming from a "round earth" background, the Flat Earth theory would appear to have some holes. Well, you have to give them credit for at least a modicum of self awareness. Here are some of the Flat Earth's Society's most frequently asked questions:
Q: "Why do you guys believe the Earth is flat?"
A: Well, it looks that way up close. In our local frame of reference, it appears to take a flat shape, ignoring obvious hills and valleys. Also, Samuel Rowbotham et al. performed a variety of experiments over a period of several years that show it must be flat. They are all explained in his book, which is linked at the top of this article.
This is perhaps the most enlightening thing a prospective reader will take from the site. Indeed, "Well, it looks that way up close" is the primary basis for the Flat Earth Society's belief in their doctrine. The book they mentioned was published in 1881 and, while we had made some important scientific and technological discoveries by that time, let's just say that we've learned a lot since then. Well, some of us.
Q: "Why do the all the world governments say the Earth is round?"
A: There exists a conspiracy among world governments claiming to have space programs and has disseminated the lie to the other governments, the media and the general public. The conspiracy hides the Earth's true shape from us for unknown objectives.
Rii-ight.
Q: "What about NASA? Don't they have photos to prove that the Earth is round?"
A: NASA is part of the conspiracy too. The photos can be faked using simple imaging software.
Do you see how close to the satirical line they travel?
Q: "If you're not sure about the motive, why do you say there is a conspiracy?"
A: Well it's quite simple really; if the earth is in fact flat, then the governments must be lying when they say it isn't.
Folks, there's no arguing with logic like that.
Dear 7-11 Manager,
You should really post a sign reading, "Do not drink directly from the nozzle" on your Slurpee machine if that is your store policy.
Thanks,
The Fool
A first date, according to a study I read somewhere a few months ago, is one of the most stressful situations for a human being to put themselves in. Many have simply not mastered the fine art of mating. Well, I'm here to help. Follow these tips and you'll have a great first date and be on your way to the kind of relationship most people (most other people) can only dream about.
Brag
Early and often. This may go against your modest and polite nature, but you know what? Your polite and modest nature is going to leave you alone and desperate, drinking bacteria-infested water out of some creek in the middle of a Michigan forest.
Now some will complain, "But I don't have anything worth bragging about!" To this, I say "Nonsense!" Everyone can brag. Sit down and make a list of all your accomplishments, no matter how small and seemingly inconsequential. Did you graduate college? There you go. Only high school? Brag about it! Less than high school? Let's find something else to talk about!
"I can beat Super Mario Bros. in less than eight minutes."
"I was voted MVP of my T-ball team."
"My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard."
All of these make fine and decent brags, certain to impress your date and set the stage for a wonderful evening.
Tell an Uncomfortable Truth
Most people go out on a first date with the idea of "putting their best foot forward". Well, if you keep putting your best foot forward, you're going to wind up at a home for retired circus clowns, sucking down Jamaican ginger extract and slathering greasepaint on your old, wrinkled face. Not only is honesty the best policy on a first date, uncomfortably frank honesty will show your date you trust them and will engender a deeper connection. Some examples:
"I have an incurable foot fungus."
"Sometimes I poop in my cat's litter box."
"I have an unopened bottle of Crystal Pepsi I'm planning to drink when I lose my virginity."
Feel free to improvise with your own.
Forge a Bond
You might think it's impossible to forge a real bond on a first date. You might also find yourself sifting through camel dung in your later years, looking for something edible and moist as you make your way across the vast Arabian desert.
One of the easiest ways to make an instant connection is through the use of magic. Invite your date to think of a two-digit number between 1 and 50. When they have the number, do a little wave of your hand and guess, "37." Most of the time you'll be right, and your date will be utterly taken aback by the psychic connection you share. If the number was not 37, grumble, "Well, the trick only works with smart people." This will leave your date feeling ignorant and defenseless, possibly bringing them down to your league.
Specific Advice
You're probably saying, "Come on, Fool, isn't this enough? How am I going to remember all this?" You'll also probably be saying, "Hear ye, hear ye," as you accept a job as a town crier at Fort Edmonton just a few days shy of your 80th birthday, you sad, pathetic loser.
Guys/Girls: Flip a coin to see who pays for dinner. If you win, lucky you! If they win, tough break, sucker.
Girls: Take off a shoe and place it on the dinner table just before dessert. Say, "I'll be your Cinderella."
Straight Guys: Research one topic for a week straight before your date. You can then talk over your date's head for most of the meal, which will subconsciously remind them that, as a man, you are naturally smarter than her.
Everyone: Spend at least 1/3 of the meal repeating the phrase, "I could have made all of this at home for much less money." Increase percentage to 1/2 if the dinner costs more than $100.
Guys: Place a condom in your wallet. "Accidentally" let them glimpse it when you pay the bill. If they arent looking, mention it directly.
Gay Guys: Casually mention that you've had sex with so many guys this month that you're sure your AIDS test results are no longer valid. Guys like a sense of risk and adventure.
Getting a Second Date
Truthfully, I don't have a lot of experience in this area. Feel free to offer your own suggestions.
I was reading an interesting story the other day about a mom who had given her son up for adoption at the age of 7 because the kid would not listen to her or do anything she told him to do. Wash the dishes, no. Clean up your room, nuh uh. Go to bed at a decent hour, not gonna happen. What happened next was especially sad, as the boy was adopted by an unsavory religious cult somewhere north and was soon eaten by an bear as part of a bizarre ceremony. Even sadder, the bear turned out to be allergic to brat, and died subsequently. Adding to the misfortune, the bear's rotting corpse polluted a small section of the forest, causing myriad wildlife to die or relocate.
Okay, I'm not sure if I really read that story somewhere or I dreamed it, but the point remains the same. Many parents are unable to get their kids to listen, and the results can be horrifying. I thought it would be nice to once again give freely of my wise advice. Here, for struggling parents everywhere, are my top ten punishments to dole out to misbehaving children, so that they may avoid causing a minor ecological disaster in the future.
#10: Refuse to allow the child to wear his or her seatbelt for a three week period.
#9: Take away Playstation 3. Replace with Atari 2600. 
#8: For teenagers: Drop child off in front of school each day for a week. Make big production out of kissing and hugging them before letting them go inside.
#7: For small child: Read them the classic children's book, The Invisible Bees Who Are Everywhere. Do not alert them to its fictional nature.
#6: Gently remind them that they are the reason Dad left.
#5: Threaten to pull car over.
#4: Friend them on Facebook. Immediately post brutally honest 25 Things About Me meme.
#3: Continue regimen of haphazard, rage-driven corporal punishment.
#2: Write a starkly inappropriate love note to his teacher, signed with his name. Instruct child to give to teacher.
#1: Pay neighborhood bully $5 to teach em a lesson.
I was reading an article some time ago that was addressing some of the variations on one of the most common questions people have--namely, "When is it okay...?" The questions and answers were so common and generic, however, I found myself losing interest rather quickly. "When is it okay to lie?" "When is it okay to wear white?" "When is it okay to...to...zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz"
I looked through the article, but I couldn't find any answers to the questions I found most pressing in my life. Knowing that the article was likely to be popular and recurring, I penned a list of ten questions in the same format and submitted them to the magazine. Well, it's been roughly a year and none of my questions have made it into the magazine. However, I still need answers! Therefore, I'm turning to you...the Internet...to help me find the answers I'm seeking.
Question #1: When is it okay to eat one of those dishwasher detergent cakes?
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Question #2: When is it okay to tell a department store clerk that you'd like to feel the inside of their pocket?
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Question #3: When is it okay to don a rainbow colored vest and skip through a public park?
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Question #4: When is it okay to use your finger to sample the salsa, rather than a chip?
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Question #5: When is it okay to tell people you saw a dinosaur in their laundry hamper?
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Question #6: When is it okay to poop in the shower?
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Question #7: When is it okay to show co-workers your nude drawings of Abraham Lincoln?
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Question #8: When is it okay to ask your father to change his name to Forrest Whitaker?
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Question #9: When is it okay to admit to a (possible) homicide (legally speaking)?
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Question #10: When is it okay to punch an otter?
It’s time once again to take a look at what people were searching for when they came across my blog. To be honest, I think I get more enjoyment out of this than anyone else, but here goes…
Jack the necrophiliac: The part of the nursery rhyme you hadn’t heard. I guess climbing up a hill to fetch a pail of water wasn’t’ Jack’s only passion.
Olympic boinking icon: Who knew that this was an Olympic event, let alone what the icon for it is. Gold medal, bronze medal, who the hell cares…just tell me where the tryouts are being held.
Cyanide pie: I’d bet my last dollar that it was Martha Stewart who typed those words. The judge who sentenced her to prison might want to avoid baked goods for a while…I’m telling you this woman never forgets.
Average life span of sumo wrestler: Well, lets’ put it this way, I’m pretty sure that unlike baseball, there’s no “Old Timer’s Day” in sumo wrestling.
World record largest bowel movement: I don’t have any exact numbers on this, but I wouldn’t be at all surprised if it involved one of the aforementioned sumo wrestlers.
Alternate uses for a motorcycle helmet: Lets see…a hot tub for hamsters, an ashtray, a some what leaky Jell-O mold…oh, the possibilities are endless.
Naked druid priestess: Probably someone from the “Dungeons & Dragons” crowd surfing for porn.
Cat Stevens half eaten sandwich: I couldn't figure out if this was a search for a Cat Stevens song called “Half eaten sandwich” or if someone was looking to buy an actual sandwich that Cat Stevens didn’t get to finish. This may haunt me forever.
The howler monkey’s enemy: Anyone who has ever heard the song “Daydream Believer”, no wait…wrong group of monkey’s.
Strudel sayings: When you start to believe baked goods have the ability to speak, you’ve probably “over medicated” yourself.
If ever I were. And now may have to stop this silly thing-whatever-it-is.
Those waiting for any elaboration upon the subject of the dreadful ‘Jeremy’ may have to wait FOREVER!
Today.
I am At Work.
As I take my job very seriously, I am reading a online newspaper. As are several of my colleagues. There is a news item regarding a very pleasant – by all accounts, and there are lots of them – local man who had tried to prevent some youths from being a terrible nuisance on his street and who had been killed to death for his trouble.
I read it, and can only think that the sub-editors have let themselves down.
The page headline on the subject reads ‘Death of Mr. Nice Guy’.
It could have been better, I think.
How, ask my colleagues. What would be the more effective headline?
Me: ‘No More Mr. Nice Guy’.
Absolutely nobody laughs.
Many look horrified.
I quit.
I just read that Jon and Kate are getting a divorce, and now I’m wondering how this affects their math equation?
"Jon minus Kate, plus eight, minus four, three out of seven days?"
In other news, who the hell cares? If I could punch both of them in the vaginas, I would.
Michael Bay is a Transformer. Consider: In the 2007 Transformers movie and in this unwieldily titled sequel, robots from space try to defeat human adversaries by attacking from all directions with inexorable force, making resistance to their onslaught futile. Can it be mere coincidence that this also describes Bay's method of movie-making? If he ever wins an Oscar (and he's clearly trying with this bloated, two-and-a-half-hour monsterpiece) I expect to see him morph from man to Steadicam on the podium.
Not that there's much steadiness in Revenge of the Fallen. In spite of the putative defeat of the bad guys and the destruction of a dangerous doohickey called the Allspark in the last movie, there are now about twice as many robots, good and evil, wandering the Earth. Most of them fall into the category of annoying-and-slightly-racist-comic-relief, like the mini-bot Frenzy, who sounds like a speeded-up recording of Joe Pesci, or the jive-talkin' Skids and Mudflap, who don't do any favours to General Motors' public image.
The story finds Sam Witwicky (Shia LaBeouf) fully recovered from the events of the last movie, and heading off to college. He leaves behind girlfriend Mikaela (Megan Fox), though he'll call on her later. You don't put Fox in a movie and not give adequate screen time to her curves, just as you don't cast the U. S. Army and not have them blow up most of Egypt, significant portions of Shanghai and strategic bits of Paris and Washington. (It's easy to gloss over Fox's character, however, since Bay coats her in lip gloss, hair gloss, skin gloss and tooth gloss before placing her before the cameras.)
While packing for college, Sam stumbles on an overlooked splinter from the Allspark, which gives him seizures and makes him see strange symbols. (The underlying moral: Clean up your room!) This causes every Decepticon (bad robot) to give chase, while every Autobot (good robot) tries to protect him, and a few fence-sitters wait for the dust to clear. Which takes a while, since most of the action happens in the desert outside Cairo, with a giant robot vacuum blowing sand in everyone's eyes. (Notice, I didn't say the movie sucks.)
Many of these Cairo scenes feature images, locations and events eerily similar to those from the Indiana Jones series of films. LaBeouf, you'll recall, had a major role in the last of those; some actors get to keep their costumes, but he seems to have been allowed to plunder the scripts.
Speaking of scripts, let's assume for the sake of argument that writers Roberto Orci and Alex Kurtzman (Star Trek, Transformers) and Ehren Kruger (The Brothers Grimm) have penned one that makes sense. You still might find that a prolonged, mid-movie trip to the snack bar helps you understand it, if only by giving you time to clear your head.
Of course, you risk missing one of the 17 utterances of "the fallen shall rise!" that make the movie sound like an angry advertisement for a seniors' help line. On the other hand, you may walk out during a sequence that sounds like this -- BLAM! "Oh no!" POWIE! "runrunrun!" KER-PLOW! "Go!" BLAM! -- only to find it still going on when you come back 15 minutes later. That's if you choose to come back; the nice thing about summer movies is there's no coat on your seat to retrieve.
Should you stay, you'll find no end of action. (That's how it feels, literally: Action. Without. End.) Bay opens his movie in "17,000 BC" and an early meeting between humans and Transformers, back when all they could transform into was the wheel. From this vague, prehistoric beginning we move to a more precise and timely location: "Shanghai, 22:14 today." But regardless of when or where the robots do battle, their tactics differ little from their cousins, the Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robots. They crash into each other and hurl heavy objects and insults. Optimus Prime, the head honcho, prefers vintage taunts like "punk-ass Decepticon!" as though channelling early Eastwood.
The humans -- by which I mean the audience as well as the characters in the movie -- are best advised to stay out of the way as Bay destroys things big-- the pyramids take a beating -- and small (really, a car/fruit stand collision in a US$200-million movie? Really?). Every so often, one of the flesh-and-blood types reveals a little wisdom. John Turturro, reprising his role as an agitated government agent, quotes from Screenwriting 101 when he tells another character: "Beginning. Middle. End. Facts. Details. Plot. Tell it." If only someone, human or otherwise, had been listening.
So i had lunch with jackie, and I have a public service anouncement......
Dear white guys:
I would like to point out that unless you're Eminem, it's pretty fucking difficult to pull off the ginormous pants, Fila sneakers, fake gold rolex, and huge jersey. What's twice as hard to pull off is the sideways hat a la Will Smith circa 1993.
If you are to look at the example of a guy dressed like this who sat next to me at lunch, you'll note that it's four times as hard to pull off this look if you happen to also be Jewish. So, please, for your own sake, stop. Actually, no, for my sake, please stop because I think I have bruised ribs from trying to control my internal giggle fit.
Now that we've discussed clothes, let's discuss the language. Here's a list of words/phrases that should never come out of your mouth unless you're joking:
Yo, bitch, you wanna take a ride in my hoopdee?
That shit is tight, yo
we crunkin up in hee-yuh
You get the idea. Do I need to bother with the token disclaimer that states I am not a racist? blah, blah, blah, I heart everyone. Fuckyouverymuch.
It's been so long since I worked in the day that I must have forgotten how disgusting people are.
Edmonton is ripe, literally, with BO, body hair, and just plain old grossness. Is it so fucking difficult to take a shower, put on deoderant, or God forbid, pick up a razor now and again?
Good Lord, I was helping a woman with her luggage the other day. She was wearing a tank top and she appeared to have Pauly Shore in a headlock. When you see that much hair under a girl's arm, it sorta takes you off guard for a minute. I was in mid-sentence when she lifted her arm and I find myself saying "uh....uh...yeah, no problem". Gah! It's disgusting.
Then a whole bunch of hippie-alterna-punk kids came in and asked how much for a night. You know, because they can afford a hotel (bullshit) Anyway, they all stunk. Horribly. Terrible BO. I had to hold my breath.
These people can't all live alone. What are their significant others or parents doing about this? If Mr. T stunk like that, I'd be like, "Get your ass in the shower and just when you think you're really clean, take another fucking shower". We don't need no stinky here, thanks. I know he would do the same for me and I love him for it. And if you're worried about wasting water, then conserve it by showering with a friend. It's the least you can do for the environment.
Do I owe you $19.95? I feel this must be the going rate for amateur pornos...
Also, Can I request that if, in the future, you feel the need to have 1 1/2 hour long bouts of REALLY REALLY LOUD sex, complete w/ wall banging, POSSIBLE megaphone usage, and every cliche thing that you can think of to say during said REALLY REALLY LOUD and FRIGHTENINGLY LONG sexual romp, that you PLEASE do it at home.... not when their is a single mom and a 5 year old in the room below you?
Really...i'm not sure what to say to her when she asks me what the noises are that are coming from ABOVE HER ROOM! (and good lord...was that for real?? You should be taping that shit...you could make some serious money.)
That is all.
In Awe,
The Night Manager
So I’ve been sitting at my chair for, um, who knows. All I know is that I came to work sometime today. The rest since then is a blur, I’ve been working nonstop on a project for two days now, yuck.
To salute other hardworking individuals out there, I’d like to mention a few special people who also worked tirelessly towards their goals:
MacGyver – this sonofabitch never rested, all he ever did was like build coke bottle fusion reactors and fire-alarm-setting-off smoke bombs out of dry ice all day and all night until he scored some big haired 80’s B-actress and wiped the smirk off that bald-headed prick boss of his with his “smell my fingers” gloating shenanigans after a successful mission.
Bob Newhart – when did Bob Newhart ever throw up his hands and give up? Okay, maybe in every single episode of Newhart. So take him off this list, I guess.
Those guys whose plane crashed in the Andes and they ate each other - remember them? Yeah, the story Alive, you had to read it in high school didn’t you? I did, and I actually LIKED the story despite being forced to read it. They never gave up, they climbed the mountain up and down and chewed through dead people’s asses in order to survive. Back in the day, that’s how shit was done – copious ass-chewings. Nowadays kids couldn’t chew through an ass to save their life.
Bon Jovi - here’s a dick that never gave up. Did you know he’s STILL making music? True! Someone hasn’t killed him yet! I think he went country or something though, or maybe he got a sex change and is singing with the Pussycat Dolls these days. Who the hell knows. All I know is that he hasn’t yet produced a grave for me to spit on.
Newt Gingrich – hey, after 170 years in politics with the pussiest name known to humankind, you have to admire this guy’s tenacity. Didn’t he even survive some sort of sex scandal where he was caught sucking someone’s toes? Oh, wait, that was the Marv Albert scandal, which was a pretty tame scandal compared to today’s standards.
Madonna – I swear this twat of a human being will keep dancing till she’s 150. She’ll also keep opening her vaginal flower to accommodate wayward basketball players for just as long, I suspect. God, can you imagine what her snootch looks like after the endless stream of man-meat that has thrust into it after all these years? I’m disgusted and turned on at the same time by the thought of it. Maybe a bit more on the disgusted side, not sure.
Santa – how does he keep doing it? Last year I didn’t get anything from him at ALL, which I kind of expected since I had masturbated into a big mayonnaise jar over the whole year and dumped it in the apartment building’s water supply facility, hoping to impregnate someone who lingered in their bath water a little too long. It was a stupid idea really, how would I know if I were ever successful? And why did I do it to begin with? Who knows, it sounded like a good idea at the time. Whatever, anyways, even though he caught me being a bad boy and stiffed me at Christmas, I still admire him for being able to hang in there for about 16000 years or however long he’s been at it.
Well, I’m going to get some coffee. Think of me when you’re having your next bath!
Its time I actually wrote something about myself. I’ve thought long and hard about what I can say. Everyone has their own opinion and view on who they are, and most of the time its different from what others see. So ill just write a couple things I've learnt about myself and let you judge:
Ill start off by saying I keep my emotions and opinions close to the surface. I’m the type of person who will tell you your being an ass, get mad at you, maybe yell at you a bit, and then after I’ve vented ill be fine. I don’t hold grudges or keep feelings on the inside. To me it seems unhealthy.
Online I seem harsh, even jaded. While these two things are a part of my personality by no means are they 100% of it. Chances are you’ll see the fun dopey side of me a lot more if I see eye to eye with you. I do have buttons that don’t like to be pushed, and personally don’t think of this as unusual, almost everyone has issues that they feel strongly about, the difference is most people are driven by fear to hid them, ignore them, or suppress them. I tend to be blunt and honest about mine. Yes it gives me an "assholish" quality. But if you sit back and think; wouldn’t it be better for someone to inform you that you’re pissing them off? Or would you rather have them hide it and let those feelings of disgust and anger multiply, until they cause a much larger fight later on.
I hate the gay community. No im not talking about the bars, the drag queens, or guys holding hands in public. In fact I remain neutral to almost everything along those lines. I’m talking about the people in the community itself. To me it seems like most of you are following 1 of 3 basic stereotypes. Clones if you will. And to put it bluntly they aren’t very good stereotypes to emulate.
1. The gym/tanning JL guy.
I have nothing against looking good, and I respect people who look after their bodies. But since when did this "mentality" suppress all other aspects of your personality? If all you do is work, gym "it", tan, and then club with friends is there any time left to better yourself intellectually, and not worry about how others view you?
These guys also tend to fall into two sub categories, your ether "out" and stuck up; looking down on those of us who still think a shirt is a shirt as long as it looks ok, and don’t feel the need to be a poster boy for "JL’s gay trash of the week" magazine. Or. Your a closet case who is afraid of who you are, and tries way to hard to be as "masc." as you can be, while only really enjoying the sex, never anything more.
2. The cultural Rebel.
The type of guy who always starts out by saying he’s not into the “scene” at all, a guy who always has music and reading in there profile. True this is interesting at times, but just like with the aforementioned “meat-heads” their need to appear more cultured and intelligent then the rest of “normal gay guys” seems to assimilate any other shred of personality they had. Leaving them looking boring and giving them a rude ego few can match. All are to busy trying to be “different” that they cannot see they are all coming out the same.
This brings me to the third stereotype. The one I despise most.
3. The spoiled brat.
Guys in this category usually seem to be in their late teens or early 20s, and out of everyone they annoy me the most. Sometimes I would rather hear Rosie O’Donnell inserting a watermelon in her vagina without any lubrication than these “twinks” speak.
These are the types who think everything should be done for them, in a relationship or in real life. I almost want to compare them to the “society women” of New York. All have over inflated egos of themselves and have never really had any life experience at all, leaving them with a shallow shell of tanning lotion and hair gel.
Disclaimer: Yes im grouping a lot of you into categories, and I may be wrong for doing so. Maybe meat heads have more to them, but the problem is all of you are so obsessed about keeping up these “shells” and emulating each other that you forget not everyone can see the real you.
I have much more to say, so read my blog, or just speak to me, ask me anything and ill answer
The last night I had off as I lay in bed sleeping, drooling and likely dreaming of hunting arachnid people with a bow and arrow, I was awakened by the loudest, most horrible sound possible. No dummy, not Rosie O’Donnell inserting a watermelon in her vagina without any lubrication, it was the apartment complex’s fire alarm.
Of course it was a false alarm, it always is (until the day I figure out how to sleep through them, that’ll be the first time that there will actually be a fire). I got out of bed, not knowing where I was or what was going on, nearly walking out the door in my undies.Whoops, that’s for internal use only!
I threw on some respectable sweatpants and ventured out into the hallway to see what was going on, only to be greeted by a gaggle of people who looked just as angry and as tired as I did. The very old man across the hallway looked as if he’d just been interrupted having sex, giving me a WTF-this-shit-again-? look. I didn’t know whether or not to high-five him for what might have been one of his final sexual performances (if that’s indeed what he was up to) and I wasn’t going to give him my cursory crotch-sniff greeting to determine whether or not I should, wayyy too early for that kind of determination.
I wondered, who the hell pulls the fire alarm anyways? Aren’t they also inconvenienced by the 7000 decibel noise? They need to start fingerprinting the alarms that have been pulled or DNA dusting or whatever the hell those CSI type people do. Then when they find the person, they should notify everyone in the building and haul the jackass down to the lobby where we can stone them, sodomize them, photoshop them into compromising situations, or maybe just lob psychologically harmful insults their way. That way there’d be no false alarms, unless of course the person is like me and they’re into being stoned, sodomized, photoshopped, or insulted.
Likely the fire alarm was caused by an elderly person freaking out and imagining the smell of smoke. It’s easiest to blame old people for the world’s problems, they’re the guys that voted for all previous governments and make it so that I can’t egress from a drug store in a timely fashion due to their slowness at the cashiers, so fuck ‘em. I’m pinning this incident on them. After all, they blame me for today’s music and lack of moral fibre, so they can all just go to Suckmyballsistan.