Of the freaky fiction fun fest featuring falsity-free fables, like "Why We Were Wet When Wayne Went Whistling With His Windows Wide Open"

Actually, I won't be telling that story. I don't even know anyone named Wayne.

But I do know someone named Skype, and I was just talking to him last night. Actually, I was able to assemble the dream team of George, Autumn, and Chris for a little campfire style storytelling, and it brought up a few stories that I remember from a few years back that I never got to share with you guys. So here we go; consider this post a sort of making up for lost time.

So the first story is from my sophomore year back when my buddy Jake went to my school. One of my fondest memories of that one involves, you guessed it, penises.

I'm walking down the hallway one random ass afternoon when he comes up to me out of breath and claiming to have the secret to increasing one's dick size by a considerable few inches over the course of a week. Naturally, I was intrigued. I inquired further to receive a quote that I would use for years: "Fold that shit in half."

Yes, he was referring to actually folding one's penis in half. And no, I was not going to do it. I'm not retarded. I told him this and he admitted that he was making it up.

"But it was funny, yeh?"

"I think I know what would be funnier."

I think he was already one step ahead of me on this one, because by the time I got outside later that day, he had already assembled quite the posse of young, impressionable freshmen boys. Being the bastards that we were (and still are), we informed them of this amazing secret.

"You guys know we have the biggest cocks in the school, right?"

"No doubt about it."

"Know how we got so big?"

"Do tell."

"It's so simple. Fold that shit in half."


A full ten seconds pass. Then we hear some fat kid in the back speak up.

"...How do you get it to stay?"

I just about died. But I tried to maintain my composure for a little more, because I knew I could milk this one for all it was worth.

"Rubber band that shit, dude! God!"

That was it. The seed had been planted. And the next day, we reaped the sweet, sweet fruit. It was quite a sight. Picture this: twenty-something freshmen hobbling down the hallway, an expression of utmost suffering on their faces. A poor, wretched soul approaches with sweat dripping down his face. "Dude...how can you stand it?"

I pointed towards the lunch line. "See that curvy, sexy senior? Know what she wants? She demands a cock big enough to make her scream for mercy and leave her just destroyed. You want to give her that, don't you? All she needs from you is for you to suck it up, quit being a pussy, and put a rubber band on your dick. Got it?"

"Got it!"

"I don't care. Go away."

Of course most of them figured it out within a few hours. Only one of them, the fat kid, was enough of a trooper to go for an entire week. The devoted cock master came up to me and Jake and asked us why he wasn't any bigger, and why he had no more feeling in his dick.

"Well, have you been taking cold showers?"

"I was supposed to be taking cold showers?"

"Yeah, dumbass! Everyone knows that!"

"So, I need to keep the rubber band on my dick while I shower, too?"

"Naw, son. Don't put a rubber band on your dick. That's a dumb thing to do."

Buh-boom, TSSH.

I think the only other story you're gonna get out of me today is one that happened about a week ago in Physics class. I have that as my last class of the day, and so we were all a little on edge and ready to get out of there because it was homecoming. Behind me sits a lovely little couple that has been dating on and off and they are huge fans of public displays of affection no matter how uncomfortable it makes the people around them. Established.

Today, however, we're in for a little treat. Correction: HE'S in for a little treat. They're sitting very close to each other, him on the left and her on the right, facing the front of the classroom. Please remember that class is currently in session. That's important.

All of a sudden, her left shoulder starts moving. It starts moving pretty fast, actually. There's the occasional noise here and there, at least enough to warrant further investigation. Not from the teacher, however, he's busy doing whatever. But the boy's face is just beat red, dripping with sweat, and making this twisted face that just screamed out "I'm getting a handjob during class!"

Oh, one can only imagine the repercussions of this little display. I'll spare you the details of our anguish; needless to say the suffering was unbearable. But this goes on for a few minutes until it all comes to a stop. There's no way she finished him, we thought. There's no way she finished him. There's no way she finished him.

Lo and behold, he stands up not even ten seconds later, sporting quite the stain on the front of his pants. Imagine the shock. Imagine the disgust. Imagine the suffering. All of us who were in that classroom are now dead inside.

But not one of us suffered more than my poor friend Steve, who did not witness this act and was therefore unaware of the impending danger. For as we all stared in disbelief at the enormous stain, her hands were playing with poor Steve's hair. He had no idea that he was being used as a towel; he thought nothing of it. Alas, I have not seen that boy smile again since that fateful Friday afternoon.



Of updates, updates, and more updates

So, we meet again.

Let's just get right down to it. You know what at least one of those "updates" mean. And I mean it. Them's is some mean lookin' Macs.

In case you're dumb and didn't know, Apple recently updated their MacBooks and MacBook Pros. By recently, I mean they did so on Tuesday of this week. They're pretty smexy, if I may say so myself, although I am still mourning the loss of the Firewire port on the MacBook. They're thin, metal, and slick as hell. No more mouse button, just press down on the whole trackpad and it's a button all in itself. Cool, no?

Apparently, no. I think I'm the only one I've talked to about the new MacBooks that bloody likes the new MacBooks. Everyone else (and by everyone else, I mean blogs) can't shut up about how ugly they are, how much they hate the black border around the screen, and how much they hate the keyboards on the MBPs. Oh yeah, and we're pissed about not getting a fucking MacBook Touch, too. You already know how I feel about that.

Oh, woe is the MacBook. Really, I think this is just a symptom of Applitus: the inability to shut the fuck up. When Mac users aren't bitching out PC users about how fantastic iLife is and just how terrible Vista is, they're bitching out Apple about how much they hate the new Macs and how disappointed they are that Apple is going the way of Microsoft in that is has become a large, evil corporation bent on accumulating wealth and making children cry. Oh, and we get the occasional "u kno gize steve jobs is a jerk irl" floating around.

I love Macs. I love the new Macs. I can't see a more powerful computer with comparable software preinstalled for a better price. (Dell comes closest, if you despise Macs you could get a notebook almost as good from Dell. Almost.) I hate Mac users. Shut up. Mac users are impatient, intolerant, and noisy.

However, I think even worse than Mac fanboys are Mac haters. These are the uneducated PC gamers who are under the impression that Macs cannot play games. While not all games will run on Macs, I will be the first to point out that God gave us Xboxes and PS3s for games as well. Fuck PC games. Do something productive. Don't bitch at me for liking Macs and being productive and actually doing something useful with my time (like blogging, heh) instead of pissing it away on Starcraft or WoW or Pick Up The Phonebooth And Die or whatever the fuck it is that you nerds play nowadays. I'm gonna go spend money on a computer that I'll actually use to better myself and be productive while you spend twice as much on your souped up PCs so you can vege out to Call Of Duty when you're not jacking it to custom Window's themes or on some innane chatroom telling your buddies about how awesome your computer is.

Enough about that. I've said what I needed to say. But now that you have tasted a sample of my succulant and savory bourbon chicken, it's time to wheel that ass of yours around to get in line for the noodles, too. Get ready for a heaping helping of my unbridled rage. Aaaand...who's gonna get it this time? Fear mongerers? Okay.

So today, my school has an assembly on cyberbullying. For those of you who don't know what cyberbullying is, (all none of you, if you're reading this blog) the commonwealth of Virginia defines it as the use of electronic text, pictures, or video with the intent to threaten or embarass an individual or some shit like that. I don't feel like putting in the effort to go look it up and present it to you verbatum. But that's what it is. And it is hilarious.

Let's reflect upon some wicked awesome cases of cyberbullying. There was Star Wars Kid, a classic case of jerks with YouTube accounts hurting a retard's feelings. Sure, that wasn't right. But does that make it any less hilarious? My friend was also telling me about some of the antics over at the notorious /b/. Apparently, Anonymos was up to no good when they stumbled upon a "straight thuggin" white kid rant video staring M.C. Dipshittery who decided to post his address. Anonymous decided to send shit to his house, to include a half-ton of mulch, an ice sculpture, one hundred pizzas, and a limo. Hurtful and inconvenient? You be the judge. Funny? No doubt about it. Then there's the prom queen whose life was destroyed after a video got out of her blowing her boyfriend. Anonymous was the one to spread it, of course, and therefore got away with it. That's funny to think about, unless you're that particular whore.

But let's take a step back. Cyberbullying is wrong, right? I mean, there are laws against it. Teens have killed themselves becuase of hateful mothers posing as teenage boys who trick these girls into trusting them and then unleashing a barrage of hate, driving them to suicide. That's wrong. I certainly don't take this kind of thing lightly. I mean, it's a good thing that there are laws against this kind of thing.

Of course I have a problem with something in this equation. Why else would I vent about it on the internet? It's because I have to sit through B.S. assemblies, listening to some annoying screeching lesbian tell me about how my text messages and my MySpace are going to get me convicted of a felony. She went on and on about how colleges look at your MySpace and your Facebook and they're gonna see you type out a few f-bombs and take away your acceptance letter. She told us about how once something goes on the internet, it never goes away. Once you send a text message, it never goes away.

Think about all the shit you've put on the internet. Even just looking back at last week's post is enough to scare the shit out of me. What if someone sees my Apple pumpkin and decides not to hire me? What if someone decided to arrest me for playing DDR with my dick hanging out? What if someone found out that I fuck turtles and encourage my readers to do the same? Dear god, I've gotta get home and delete this stuff! Oh wait, I can't, because you can find it anyways! Oh no!

Never mind that making a MySpace page increases your chances of getting raped by 150%. That's a fact; look it up.

Us poor kids left this assembly sucessfully scared out of our minds. Tomorrow morning, we get to sit through another assembly on fire safety. I was walking down the hall in my school when I saw a poster that said "THE CHILDREN ARE SAFELY TUCKED INTO BED...WHILE THE CANDLES ARE STILL BURNING!?" I don't even have kids and I still jumped when I saw that. Then I got home and turned on the T.V. to be greeted by the host of "Crazy Impossible Video Clip Show" telling me that "EXPLOSIONS CAN HAPPEN ANYWHERE, AT ANY TIME, AND IN ANY SITUATION." Jesus. Why do we Americans love to be scared? Why do we put up with this? Our only motivation to not be dumb on the internet or with matches or with sexual predators or with each other or in our rooms with a copy of Twilight and a straight razor is to be scared of these things. Harry Potter could be teaching my kids to conjure the dead? Wait...they could be doing that now! FOR GOD'S SAKE, MY FOUR YEAR OLD DAUGHTER COULD BE ON A PORN SITE RIGHT NOW AND I WOULDN'T EVEN KNOW!

What about fear mongering itself? That shit is everywhere. It's on your T.V. Your kids are most likely being exposed to it right now. Fear mongering lurks in your home, on your computer, in your car, at work, in your child's school, it's everywhere. And the thing is, you can't do a thing about it. 1 in 1 Americans will be exposed to fear mongering at some point in their life. And they will be defenseless. Here's a testimonial from a 13-year-old skinny white girl who was exposed to fear mongering.

I thought it was just another dumb assembly that I could just sleep through. The vice principal got up and told us to be quiet. I got out my cell phone and started texting Derick. But just as I was about to hit send, the lady with the giant forehead that was giving the presentation told us that text messages could never be erased. Also, sending text messages of a sexual nature is illegal in this state for minors. I stared at my screen, at the message I was about to send. A pair of digital breasts stared back at me: "( . Y . )". Before I could erase his message of "8=====D", I was on the floor, foaming at the mouth. I couldn't do anything. I kicked, I screamed, but no one could help me. They just "shush"-ed me and told me to pay attention, this information could save my life one day. But I knew it was too late. They were coming for me, and they already knew what I had done.

You don't know what it's like until you're a victim. You feel trapped and alone. You don't want to tell anyone because you don't know if they'll understand what it's like. I've never been so scared in my life.

If you think fear mongering can't happen to you, think again. Because you're wrong. Dead wrong.



Of procrastination, hypocracy, slothfulness, distractions, and pumpkins

All will be answered in time.

This weekend, I have been unbelievably lazy. I've gone from inserting pictures of my dog's face into Super Mario 64 to finally starting work on my podcast show, which some of you closer friends may have already heard. My list of things to do this weekend, which includes working on my new song (and fixing up the other two I need to finish), finishing my art homework, finishing my English homework, playing my tuba, and maybe even making a blog post, has gone largely ignored. Instead, I carved a pumpkin.

To celebrate the Apple event on the 14th, I have carved this Apple pumpkin.

Send me one of them new MacBooks now, please.

If you happen to have any Windows pumpkins you would care to share, please send me your address and have it conveniently located on your front porch so I may stomp it and follow that up with a good iTeePee-ing of your house.

Also, I ran a Google Image Search for "Apple Icon Pumpkin" and found that my pumpkin is the best. All of the other ones suck.

But what I did find was that people are even dumber than I thought. I found several images of a Pumpkin PC, something that is grounds for removal from the digital gene pool.

I'd like to see some other pumpkins, though. I believe I remember spotting a Bomb-omb pumpkin, a Death Star pumpkin, and a Firefox pumpkin. Get clever. Send me some pumpkins. Win cash.

Oh wait, I won't give you money.

In other news I may be coming back to Uncyc in about one month's time. Told you all would be answered in time.



Of a change of pace and a changing face

Hey guys, just checking in briefly to tell you what you probably already know. This blog has moved to sysrqhumor.blogspot.com after I decided that this blog no longer has anything to do with my activities (or lack thereof) on Uncyclopedia. This does not mean that Uncyc is dead to me, it merely means that this blog is now completely separate from Uncyc and my posting habits here do not reflect my editing habits on Uncyc.

Thank you for your cooperation. I may (or may not) make another post today, one that will, most likely, be much more interesting.



Of more than a few neighbors confused about the actual time of the upcoming holiday season and other outstanding October occurrences

It's October.

Did you know: there are thirty days in the month of October that are NOT Halloween? In fact, Halloween occurs at the end of the month, after these first thirty days pass.

Today is October 5th. And yet, my neighbors are baffled by the above statement. They are absolutely convinced that it is both necessary and proper for them to put out their cotton cobwebs and funny dead witches that look like they ran into a tree as early as September. Right now, I can walk through my neighborhood and count at least thirty pumpkins, twelve skeletons, and a good two dozen "KEEP OUT" signs written in red paint on the front door. That's just dumb.

My rule is that one may start preparations for Halloween a good week before the 31st, so as to not appear like a total dork. By putting out your decorations early, you are announcing to the world that "yeah, Target dictates my life with what they put on sale and when they do it!" You people make me sick. Literally sick, I think those Jelly Bellies you gave me last year were sitting out for too long. Serves me right for trick-or-treating on New Year's.

Remember when you were little and Halloween was just the greatest thing in the world? And then, when you were like 9 years old, those bastards told you there were razor blades in the candy. Congratulations, Safety Pete. You just took away one more holiday from me. Maybe that's why I get so bitter around this time of year. Or it could just be them Sour Skittles. I have a love/hate relationship with those things.

I guess I'm being hypocritical when it comes to this whole "Halloween isn't until the 31st" thing by talking about it so much on the 5th. So let's talk about a different day that is not today, for that is the theme of this post: days that are not this day. Work with me here.

October 14th should instantly mean two things to you if you are me. The first of those two things is that I get to go take my permit test again after failing it a total of one (1) times. Goddamn road signs. I feel like running 'em all over now. Can't wait to get my permit so I can go do that. Oh wait...damn you irony!

The second thing that may or may not occur on the 14th is that the new MacBooks and MBPs are supposed to be released. At long last, a date has been determined by the rumor mill, images have been faked and their creators ostracized by the online community, stories have been fabricated, reputations and credibility have been destroyed, and the four horsemen of the apocalypse have come and gone with their order from Chipotle. All of the signs of new MacBooks have passed; now we must simply surf the internet obsessively to feast our eyes on fake "leaked" images of aluminum shells that really mean nothing.

The idea of an aluminum MacBook certainly gets me hot and bothered as it is. But what's all this business about a MacBook Touch? People have been telling me for a while that, for some reason, I want a tablet Mac. Am I the only one who thinks this is dumb? I don't want to be sitting in class, dragging my filthy, Cheetoh-stained fingers all over my screen when I could be performing the same actions with just a few keystrokes. I like my keyboard. It's cool. I'm used to it. Command C? Command W? Command Q? Command Tab? F9? All good stuff. I don't feel like tapping around a lot to do the exact same things. I don't use my mouse a whole lot, even on my desktop. I find it to be a luxury. The multi-touch interface works great on the iPhone, which is small and ultra-portable. But I can't see multi-touch increasing productivity on a laptop. Sorry guys, I think Apple is smarter than that.

Or not. Whatever. I'm not buying one, I don't care. I'll just end up getting my hands on one of the new MacBooks or MBPs.

So, what's the moral of this story, kids?

Always remember what day it is. And if you put out Christmas decorations any time before Thanksgiving, I'll egg your house.



Of a day of silence and a day of misery

So I wake up yesterday and discover that fall has officially arrived in my lovely little Marine Corps base that is my current place of residence without even having to look outside or do anything. How do I know this?

I'm sick.

Yesterday, September 23rd, is the Fall Equinox. On that day, the daylight began growing shorter and the nights began getting longer. My body can sense this key location in the Earth's orbit and has, for as long as I can remember, decided that the only way to let me know is by getting sick.

I've been getting sick on the first day of fall all my life. Amazing, I know. Of course, I got over it a long time ago. But this time, fall hit me like a ton of bricks. I spent all of yesterday as a mute. My throat was so jacked up that I couldn't get recognizable tones to crawl up and out of it. Just try it. Take a day off from talking. Believe it or not, (to quote Early Cuyler) it's funner than hell.

Having an excuse to be silent for a day is great. I have a reason to point at people. Restraining myself from all of my smart-ass remarks worked out for the better as well. People actually found me tolerable to be around, now that I wasn't constantly making dumb comments about the pictures in the textbook or telling them how they have no right to parade around in those shorts when their legs have the same color and texture as ricotta cheese. I didn't answer questions in class, I didn't make dumb small talk with random adult figures, and I didn't say the word "boner" right as everyone else stopped talking. "Who said that?" I sure didn't. Others did that for me. Passing notes was now perfectly acceptable. Conversations that otherwise would have certainly started fights now stayed safely locked up in my conscious; I discovered that these urges to call people out for being douchebags (even if they are, in fact, walking sacks full of douches) quietly fizzle out within about thirty seconds if they are not acted upon. Yes, life was great.

Today, life sucks. I'm typing this with a rolled up square of toilet paper in my nose. I've got nosebleeds, headaches, snot just pouring out of my face, just the works. My mommy is on her way to get me more TheraFlu and DayQuill right now, actually. I skipped out on XC practice today and just sat in a chair and stared at a blank TV screen for a few hours before I decided to actually turn it on and get some food.

Whatever, I know this wasn't a very funny one. I'm in no mood for jokes. I'm not that funny when I'm sick.

Stay well!

Cheers *grumble*,


Of fond memories and a closer look at who you regulars actually are

So I was recently lying on the floor in my room playing with a dirty sock and contemplating the various attempts by the establishment to save my young soul from the scary world lurking outside my front door. Apparently said scariness can be accessed via the internet, meaning that a portal to this world has been sitting in my living room all this time. How dreadful.

I attended an internet safety assembly at school a few years ago. I'm sure you've had to sit through one of these at some point. (Gasp, I just busted the SHIT out of that fourth wall! Edgy!) I think it was called something like "Date Rape: Pros and Cons". The lady told us about how easy it is to find people over the internet. She pulled up some Myspace page and we watched as she took things like a first and last name and turned it into a phone number, an address, a class schedule, a pantie size, and a list of fears. The girls in the audience were successfully scared out of their wits; the boys all took notes.

She also went over the dangers of chat rooms. She showed us some video where the kids all talk about how they were just in some AOL chat room and next thing they know they had been raped. That's right, they don't have to be present to rape you. They can just upload a picture of their penis or something and you've been raped right proper. Once again, all of the boys scribbled furiously in their notebooks in unison.

At the end of the presentation, she asked for questions. No one dared raise their hand. No one, that is, except for me.

"Yes, you in the back in the shirt that says 'I got lucky on Myspace'?"



Ultimately, that's all I got out of it: how to become a pedophile. I thought about it, to be honest. Maybe I have a future in stalking. I mean, let's face it. Consensual sex is waaay underrated when you take into account all the B.S. you have to put up with to get it. (Or so I'm told, I'm a virgin for just this reason.) Perhaps hateful, violent rape after weeks of trickery and lies would make my sexual frustration that much easier to manage.

Probably not. But I don't really care.

As long as we're on the topic, I think I'd better turn the camera right around at you, Mr. Blog Reader. I've just had the most interesting little chat with my blog statistics and came up with a rather disturbing bit of information. Apparently, 33% of you who got to this blog via Google search were looking up, and I quote, "how to get turtles to fuck you".

I can only imagine that this has something to do with a bastardization of my blog on turtles (which had nothing to do with scoring with them) and...well, let's face it, just about any of my other posts.

No, I shouldn't blame you and your reptile fetishes entirely. I need to find a new direction. This is a message. I need to retool, rebuild, re...fuck turtles? No wait, that's what attracted all you pervs in the first place. (Not that you shouldn't continue to read, I'll take anyone I can. Also, if you ever do learn how to get a turtle to fuck you, I want footage.) I should probably start blogging about things other than fucking and animals and fucking animals. What do you guys want to read about? Comments this blog with any topic and I will blog about it in a future post.

Suck on that, turtle.

And yes, I'm talking about my dick.

Wait, come back!



Of certain questions pertaining to the American penal system and other frankly unpleassnt observations

Today was a great day. Any day I get to be home before 6pm is a good day in my book.

Allow me to explain.

So Tuesday I had a cross country meet. Yesterday, which was Wednesday, my coach decided to send us out over this god awful trail known by the terribly inappropriate name of Montezuma's Revenge. It pretty much killed what was left of my shins, being sprinkled heavily with roots and rocks and assorted fairy tale creatures with tiny hammers. Needless to say, I felt like shit by the end of it. Coach gives us all the day off today, whoopee.

So I'm already psyched about not having to go to practice. Then I have a doctor's appointment this morning, which allowed me to miss my first class. Cool. This day is already looking good, but can we go for the trifecta? What else could I do...say, get out of gym for today? Of course I did. I rock.

As I'm sitting there enjoying the very act of sitting, I decide to do a bit of soul searching. I wanted to share some of those with you today.

For starters, do sex offenders get conjugal visits? If they do, who's visiting them? "Mommy, I miss that man who lived next door and gave me popsicles whenever I brought him my poop in a plastic bag. Can I go see him in jail?"

Hm. Weird. Thought provoking. And at the same time, oddly arousing to think about. Okay, what else have we got?

"If I had a nickel for ever time I did that..."

Who's out there giving out nickels for every time someone does something stupid? Hell, for all I know, these people that do these stupid things probably just made that guy up. Or perhaps they're too dumb to find him. I'm smart, I should be able to find him. Hang on, let's say I do. He won't have any nickels for me, because I don't do dumb stuff. So why am I trying to find him? Plus, why am I out looking for someone a dumbass told me to go find? And why did I just eat those pancakes without syrup without noticing? Why am I eating pancakes so late at night? Who decided that I couldn't get lunch food before 10am at McDonald's? Why am I out at McDonald's in the first place when it's right next to Chipotle? How does that McDonald's stay open? Am I regressing into a creative slump of only using questions over and over again? Would YOU like to play the question game? Could you tell that I'm rather good at it?

Democracy sucks. I can just look at how my gym class tries to solve problems and I can explain in great detail why they should not be allowed to vote. I've got one kid who actually thinks Obama is a muslim. He also thinks that would be bad if he were. I've got other kids who believe that Osama bin Laden is from Iraq. There are even people in my school who say that the reason they like Palin more than Biden is because Palin has had executive experience. I'm looking forward to moving to Texas. Perhaps there I will find voters who aren't retarded.

I can't wait to go donate blood for the first time tomorrow. Why? It's true that my aunt's husband is in the hospital facing a life threatening blood disease. But I didn't even think about him when I signed up. All I could think about was "hey, free soda!"

I know they're gonna ask me if I have sex with men. They have to. And if I say yes, I don't get to donate blood. What if I tell them "no, but my gym teacher watches me change in the locker room if that counts." Or that I draw pictures of dicks a lot, does that count?

I was texting this one friend of mine, telling her that I got out of gym for the day. She told me she gets out of gym every day by telling the teacher that she can't run because her boobs are too big. I thought about filling up some water balloons and trying that one myself. Instead, I decided to whip it out in front of my gym teacher and telling him I can't run because my dick is too big.

The Department of the Interior is in bed with big oil. Literally. I just about came my pants when I heard that. I bet sex with an oil giant would be insane. Say, guys, have any advice for these juicy delicious young future federal employees I have here with me? "Just remember, once you go black, you get exposed by the media for 40 gut-wrenching seconds only to realize that nobody cares because they're distracted by that one dumb-but-hot chick from Alaska that looks a lot like Tina Fey."

Did you get that last one? Oil is black? Get it? And I was talking about Palin in that last part.

You don't care. You're only reading this because I asked you to on Skype.


Just please don't vote.



Of the family Cervidae and my vision of their future (or lack thereof)

Deer are stupid.

My cross country coach had to miss practice the other day because he was hanging out at the rental car place after he was hit by one of these retards. He was driving down by the golf course when he saw a six point buck. The buck saw him and was like "this is as good a time as any" and decided to charge across the street. Bam. Completely crumples the side of the car. Knocks the thing out of alignment and everything. I don't think he said it was totaled, but I do know he's driving this rental for a week or so.

But here's the kicker: the deer survived. It stumbled around for a minute and ran back into the woods.

What the fuck?

I don't understand how we even have any deer left on the face of the earth anymore. They're just...so goddamn stupid. I've never seen a deer that seemed really sure of his surroundings at all. And yet, I still see them. I would think that they would have all died out shortly after the invention of roads.

I'll give 'em credit on that one, though. I mean, those roads are pretty goddamn irresistible. Every time I'm walking through the woods and I come across a busy highway, I have to really fight the urge to just go for it. I mean, if it's that dangerous to get across, it must be pretty friggin awesome over there. I'm gonna do it. Good luck, drivers!

Here's the thing. They kill people. Deer kill people. It happens all the time. So riddle me this: why haven't we taken care of the problem yet? Deer serve no purpose in this world, you know. I'm sure we can find some other animal to eat our gardens and be dumb and run around with no sense of purpose or direction. I just hate the fact that we let a big animal like a deer do this. Deer, pass the torch to the bunnies or something. They're just as tasty as you, and they won't destroy my car.

That's really all I care about. Those deer can continue to do whatever it is that they do so long as it's away from my car. I don't really hate deer just for the sake of hating deer, I just don't wanna die. But, they insist on carrying on with their dumbass antics, dancing around the interstate with that blank expression on their stupid faces.

Kill 'em all? Seems a bit harsh. But so does spending a week in a rental car while they dig antlers out of the side of your vehicle. Do your car a favor. Vote McCain.



Of being seventeen and the anatomy of an improv blog post

So, today's my birthday...or so I'm told.

People have been making a bigger deal about my birthday than I'd like them to. I hate getting the question "so do you feel seventeen?" No, I don't. I don't feel age. I didn't know that one did. Secondly, who are you, how do you know my birthday, and how did you know I'd be in the locker room at this time of day? Either you read my Myspace profile, or you're a creep.

I'm going to be graduating high school at seventeen. That's not that weird considering that most people at my school are young for their grade.

Alright, let's cut the bullshit. This post is going nowhere. You know that, and I know that. Nobody, not even me, cares about my birthday. How about we make this about something interesting, liiiiiiike...?

There's this fat kid at my school.

That didn't get me anywhere. Let's try some funny, totally true stories.

There's this fat kid at my school. He totally dropped his books today.

Haha, that fat kid. He's so outrageous. Let's add some more to this epic tale.

There's this fat kid at my school. He totally dropped his books today. I was gonna help him pick them up, but there were girls watching.

Okay, we got some conflict brewing here. Now I'm faced with a decision. Whatever will I do?

There's this fat kid at my school. He totally dropped his books today.
I was gonna help him pick them up, but there were girls watching. So I called him fat and kicked one of his books.

Nah, I don't like that. It needs to be more...shocking. Yes, shock laughs are always delicious. And we all know I could pull that off easily. Every humor writer has one secret weapon that no reader can withstand.

There's this fat kid at my school. He totally dropped his books today.
I was gonna help him pick them up, but there were girls watching. So I started sucking his dick and he started fisting me.

Ooh, juicy. Now we gotta make these characters a little more real, let's get some emotion in there to make them pop out, make them all 3-D and stuff. Go!

There's this fat kid at my school. He totally dropped his books today.
I was gonna help him pick them up, but there were girls watching. So I started sucking his dick and he started fisting me. I liked it.

Wow, I'm getting emotionally attached to this already. Now I'm just waiting for a conclusion. I'm already on the edge of mine seat, how is this all gonna end?

There's this fat kid at my school. He totally dropped his books today.
I was gonna help him pick them up, but there were girls watching. So I
started sucking his dick and he started fisting me. I liked it. Then the bell rang and I went to class.

OHHHHH SNAP SON! Who could have seen that coming? You always gotta use a twist ending like that one to keep the reader interested all the way to the end.

Alright, class dismissed. Next week, we'll discuss commas and why they're not to be trusted. Also, I'll show you that apostrophes have more of a place in modern society than one might think. Now scurry on outa here, ya little buggers. Me and Cindy have to go over some key concepts for extra credit...right after she's finished blowing me.



Of digital rebirth and a little September silliness

Wow, four posts in August? I suck.

Anyways, I'm finally back online after a dangerous and sexy tangle with a nasty lil' virus. My computer pretty much got sodomized a few days ago; he was wearing a Trojan. *buh-doom, BSHHH!*

Actually, those are the only sex related virus jokes I'm going to do. I had one planned about digital chlamydia after some really cheap porn sites, but I decided that I needed to go a bit of a different direction with my first September post.

Instead, I plan to use more jokes like this gem:

So this virus on my computer changed my system clock to say "VIRUS TIME" instead of the actual time. This sucked, because every time I saw it, I thought "oh shit, I'm late!"

Another bulls eye.

Back to the story itself: I spent a good amount of time trying to combat this virus using what little administrative power the virus left me. I spent some time on the phone on hold for Trend Micro, which oddly did nothing. I also asked around IRC channels such as ##windows, the only non-Ubutnu related IRC channel in existence. Finally, I did what any easily frustrated, ADHD computer user would do: I reset the damn thing. I could hear the virus writhing in pain as I did it; it felt good. Don't worry, I backed up a ton of shit on mine and my brother's iPods. All should be good.

But alas, despite my computer's blazing speed and virgin hard drive, I cannot be completely happy. The computer gods of Microsoft would never allow this; they need my tears to quench the thirst of the developers so that they can make another shitty OS to enforce on the public. No, for whatever reason, some files just refuse to be copied. I'm sure some computer geek can and will tell me why certain files refuse to be deleted (I don't care if it's unreadable, that's why I want it GONE!) but I really do not care. I just want my music back and I want my Reason project files back. Thank god the latter are safe.

I guess I should just learn to see the forest for the trees. This was a great opportunity for me to experience the joys of a new computer without spending money. So the moral of this story is that if your computer is running a little pokey, go download a virus. Do it. Then you will be forced to reset your computer and you will experience true digital rebirth. Amen.



Of the breakfast blues and petty pastry politics

Gahh. Monday. School doesn't start until tomorrow and I'm already feeling the sluggish, sloshing, sandy feeling of Monday. I have senior portraits today, what fun. Later, I think I'll take a history exam or two. Summer classes are a bitch, by the way.

What could possibly help me survive this god awful day? All of my cartoon pals on the television tell me to have a good breakfast every day to help me concentrate and perform better in school and aim better and shoot better and be more intimidating during interrogations. Sounds like something I can definitely dig. I've always wanted to learn how to fly; to think it's as simple as a bowl of Apple Jacks. Time for this sports fan to wrassle 'imself up some breakfast.

I've come to learn that when you're a smartass, simple things like breakfast suddenly become much more eventful. Allow me to demonstrate.

  • "Jeez, is anyone buying the REGULAR sized Frosted Shreded Wheat?"
  • "I don't even know what the word 'skim' is supposed to mean."
  • "Where do they find these kids to take the photos for these cereal boxes? Nobody his age spikes his hair, that's for damn sure."
  • "Mom, we're out of Sunny D and I need you to finish filling this pitcher with urine so that I can make more. I'll be right back with the toothpaste."
That not doing it for you? How about a nice old people rant?

There was a time in my family when a mother would get out the goddamn waffle iron and make waffles for her family instead of strutting around all day wearing jeans and being a whore. Thank GOD we have those damned Ego waffles now so that Mommy can push her bastard children out the door and get back to turning tricks on her front porch. I find it hard to eat breakfast in the morning; my mind says I'm hungry, but my stomach won't wake up. I've never been able to eat eggs at all without getting gas. That's not a problem anymore, considering my daughter in law happens to smell much worse than that. I think the government has Tony the Tiger locked up somewhere. When I was in the service, we had no tolerance for sugar cereal. It was either plain Cheerios, or you went hungry until one of your buddies got his foot blown off by a land mine. Goddammit woman, hurry up with my eggs over there! You goddamn Jew-whore!

Poor grandpa. Anyways, while I was gone, I scrounged around and finally found me some Toaster Strudel. Yippee. Now THAT'S a good breakfast. That is, if you're a professional gamer. As for us fans of physical activity every once in a few months, those things really mess with your stomach. I'm already regretting this decision.

Toaster Strudel kinda bothers me, though, and not just physically. I'm talking about the stupid advertising war they've decided to declare on poor ol' Pop Tarts. Ever notice this? They constantly compare themselves to Pop Tarts. Toaster Strudel and Pop Tarts are two separate entities in my book. They're not even in the same food group. Toaster Strudel are for a home breakfast in front of the computer; Pop Tarts are something you eat on a bus. And yet, those arrogant bastards over at Pillsbury have decided they want to take the low road and use smear tactics in their commercials.

What did Pop Tarts ever do to anyone? Ol' Grumpy Gramps was telling me about how when he was a kid, they had to walk for twelve miles a day, barefoot, for no reason. What do you think he brought as a snack? Toaster Strudel would have been too messy. Only Pop Tarts come in that nice little silvery pouch. If it weren't for Pop Tarts, I may not even be here today. Who does Pillsbury think they are?

I think I'll send them a letter with a picture of my grandpa, asking them to look him in the eye and tell him Pop Tarts are no good. We'll see if these guys have a heart or not. Until then, I'm going to finish my breakfast.



Of frequently found fallacies following fellatio

Okay, so here's something that's been bugging me for a while.

Maybe this is just American society being dumb again, but I've noticed something about relationships and the way other people that are not in them view members of said relationship after certain events occur.


Case 1: Matt and Stacy have been dating for as long as anyone can remember. Now high school seniors, they first met on the first day of junior high and have been inseparable ever since. Nobody doubted that they were madly in love. Their friends and family were all supportive of their relationship, having never seen a more perfect couple. Even after all this time, they still call each other often, go out on dates every Friday night, and have always respected each others' boundaries.

Until one night, they decided they were both ready for Stacy to give Matt a blowjob. They've never had sex before, or done anything really close to it until now, and have decided that they are both ready. Other than that, it's just another normal date.

By Monday, the whole school knows and is calling Stacy a slut behind her back. Some are calling her a slut to her face. They talk about it on the phone later that night, decide it's best for them to not be seen together, and they break up.


Case 2: Guy and Jennifer have been dating for about three weeks now. They don't go to the same school, but met at a basketball game and Guy got Jennifer's number through a friend. They too are happy together, still enjoying the fruits of a new relationship by staying up all night on the phone, getting to know each other, and talking about whatever they want. It's been a week since Guy last saw Jennifer, but they've finally got a date. Guy's parents are gone for the weekend and Jennifer's parents both work late. Guy planned on picking up Jennifer and taking her back to his place. She said that was cool.

They ended up fucking that night, which was no big deal. Neither of them were virgins. But Jennifer was a classy girl and refused to give Guy a blowjob. Being a gentleman, he didn't push it.

By Monday, the school was already sick of talking about them. Some still didn't know they were going out. Most didn't care. It was no big deal. People have sex all the time, why make a big deal about it?


Anybody else see the problem here? I've noticed that, according to the modern teen, fucking is okay, but oral sex is not. If two people fuck, they're obviously in love. None of our business, let's talk about that slut who gave her boyfriend a blowjob.

That's just dumb. First of all, I hate listening to gossip in the first place. I don't care who fucked who, who's dating who, who killed who with who's car, I don't care. But I'll be honest, this kinda bugs me. To know that my generation places these sorts of backwards priorities on sex is very disturbing. I'm all for two people doing whatever they want as long as they're actually in love and not just being whores. But why is one sex act any different from another? Why does that even matter?

Then, of course, there's gay sex. ANY time you have gays getting together, you hear about it. At least, this is how it is around here. There are plenty of gays around here to make me not really care what they do. It's just like two straight people: I just don't care. But some people still think this is some new and exciting thing, guys dating guys and girls dating girls. I'm sick of hearing it. If they're my friends, I'll hear it from them. If they're not my friends, I don't give a fuck.

To get back to my main point, I'm just sick of hearing about any of this shit. But the fact that people my age are saying that there's nothing wrong with a girl who fucks around every weekend but a girl who gives her boyfriend a blowjob is a slut. It's stupid. High school is stupid.



Of adventures in baking

Behold! for I am a man in the kitchen!

What is it about baking that is so feminine? We always assume that, if someone is female, they are baking. Or, if someone is baking, they are female. Or, if something has been baked, they are either Cheech & Chong or they are cookies baked by the womenfolk. And yet, here I am, a card-carrying man, and I am baking cookies and posting about it on the internet.

Perhaps I am simply looking for something edgy to write about, seeing as how my summer has drawn to a close and now refuses to offer such sweet story ideas as I have been able to write about in prior months. (Er, month, seeing as how this blog hasn't been around for very long.) They told me to stick to easy jokes. Nutshots, poop jokes, and a lethargic cartoon cat with an obsession with Italian food were all safe; I was to never touch baking jokes. Call this my way of sticking it to those Ivy leaguers with their nice jackets and their unpronouncable wines and their tiny breads and their fancy soaps and their disgusting cheeses and their shiny money and their fast cars and their over-achieving sons and their...stuff. I will be edgy and daring. I will talk about a subject so taboo that neither Obama nor McCain nor Jesus Christ (who is running as an independant this year) dare to mention it: men baking.

Ignore those queers on the Food Network for a second. Those are just puppets who found a good way to make money. I'm talking about real, live men who bake. (Gays aside as well, they do whatever they want without consequence) Men like me. Us male bakers have lived either in fear of being discovered, or have been living in ridicule for their lifestyle choice. I say, no more! For too long have we been forced to give up credit for delicious, delicious brownies for fear of being labeled fudge packers; too long have we hid our eggs and sticks of butter from sight, lest we be thought of as "butter dumpsters". Such injustices are not to be tolerated any longer.

Men! Bakers! Rise up against your female counterparts! Rise up against your dumbass friends who mock your secret life! Rise up against the society that has rejected you! RISE UP!

Looking back, this is pretty stupid. There are plenty of male bakers out there. What the hell was I thinking?

Must have been the salvia in those cookies.



Of missing you (the reader) and missed opportunities

Alas, I am blogging again.

I took a good month off to collect my thoughts, finish up some summer classes (which are still not done) and do other things besides blogging, like picking my nose and having fun with friends. But, now that both of those things are gone, I am back to doing what I dread having to do even though it's not my job and no one appreciates.

As punishment for not missing me enough, I'll tell you the most boring story I can think of.

Okay, so yesterday was commissary day at my house. Commissary day is pretty much Christmas around here; we're usually just dying of starvation and cursing the name of God by then. Personally, I was in need of shower soap. Thankfully, we got two bottles of it. While I was out on my run this morning, I was thinking about how nice my shower was going to be now that I actually had soap and didn't have to scrub my ass with laundry detergent. I get home and see the two bottles still on the kitchen counter. I grab one and head upstairs to take my glorious shower. It was pleasant and yet uneventful, just how I like them. The rest of my morning goes rather well, dining on last night's pizza, scanning the major cable news networks on the off chance that I may get mentioned, beating the shit out of my aging dog.

But later today, my mom asks me why I only took one bottle upstairs and left the other one on the counter.

"Jeez, mom, are you saying I'm really that dirty?"

That's what I should have said. It would have been clever. Probably would have scored a chuckle; entertaining my mother in the slightest is my aim every day. But what did I actually say?


How gay! I didn't think of the better line until, like, 12 minutes ago.

I've been sulking for the rest of the day, shoving cake down my throat and playing old N64 games ever since. I hate missing opportunities like that. Seems to happen all the time. I like blogging because I get to fine tune my jokes before hitting "Publish". Why, this very sentence that I am typing right now is the result of four rough drafts and sixteen revisions, along with two peer reviews. But all of the effort is nice, because, being a perfectionist, I get to make every word perfect before I post it.

So I guess I'm glad I'm back to the blogging scene. This particular post didn't go as poorly as I thought it would.

ON A SERIOUS NOTE: I'm currently awaiting an inline phantom power source for my new mic that I just bought. Once I get it, I think I may start some kind of audio version of this blog. Uncyclopedians, I'd love to feature you guys on the show via Skype if you'd like. Start Special:Emailuser'ing me before I start doing it to you to request interviews.



Of turtles and the assholes that somehow get marketing jobs

Okay, so for those of you who don't know, I live in northern Virginia, about an hour away from DC. And for those of you who have never been, the housing market is nothing short of ridiculous.

There's this sign that's on my way home that says "If You Lived Here, You'd Be Home!"

What the fuck?

I'm not such a dumbass that I don't understand the concept of my own location. I drive by that sign every day. Thing is, I don't live there. I'm not home. I'm sitting in traffic, staring at your fucking sign, wishing I had the balls to shoot myself right there. It's bad enough that the housing market is fucking ridiculous with their planned suburban neighborhoods that just never seem to stop growing or stop being effing expensive as shit. But now I have to stare at this ridiculous marketing ploy, telling me the most obvious thing in the world, making me feel dumb and making my very existence that much more dull and useless.

I'd love to sit in on one of these marketing meetings. Poor bastards. Apparently, by the time you work up a decent reputation in advertising, you're already completely out of touch with real life. You sink into a fantasy world where people become children who are easily amused by flashing lights and silly words like "poop" and "fart". (Haha, I totally just said "fart.") They treat everyone like they have ADHD. Yes, we need to be spoonfed the stupidest slogans on a regular basis to make us move in to your shitty little suburbia. "If You Lived Here, You'd Be Home!"

There's only one place that you can use that phrase: on a shell. Turtles, snails, and nautilises have the rare privelage of calling anywhere in the world their home. All they have to do is declare it. Predators afoot? Bam. Suddenly, our turtle friend is safe in his home. Fuck you, bird! I made it home just in time!

Can turtles run away from home? I know that some hermit crabs do it. But there's no real point. I mean, if you live by yourself in your own little bachelor pad, who are you trying to stick it to by running away? Come on, hermit crab. Don't be gay. Your father doesn't even know you. Quit being a pussy.

Anyways, the moral of this story is that anyone who uses this phrase should be gutted and have their organs put back in their bodies in alphabetical order. Furthermore, if you see a sign that says "If You Lived Here, You'd Be Home!", do your part. Get out of your car. Hop the fence. Change the sign so that it reads "If You Were A Turtle, You'd Be Home!"



Of Wikibreaks, geriatric dogs, and two non-joke blogs in a row

Time for a break.

No one has noticed yet, seeing as how I only just made this decision, but I'm going on hiatus for a bit. Why? Because I can, and because I am an attention whore bent on building up emotions in order to receive a hero's welcome every time I "return."

In all seriousness, I just kinda need a break. I've got major writer's block, nothing really seems to be happening on the site right now, and I've just got a lot of other stuff going on. As much as I love you guys, I feel I must reconsider my priorities and go with my gut on this one. My gut tells me that it's time for a break, and I'll listen to my gut.

I love you guys. I love Uncyclopedia. Of course I'm coming back, probably within a few weeks. But for now, I'm just not really up to the task of editing every day and putting out funny articles and all. Right now, I'm more focused on my musical endeavors. For those of you who don't already know, music is my true passion, more than writing. And I've just got so much to do with that right now that I feel it should come first.

I'll still update this blog about as often as I usually do, just in case anyone is interested in what I do outside of Uncyc. (That means you, Optimuschris.) For example, my dog got to come home from the vet today. He got really sick the other day and passed out in the woods and started shitting himself and all. But the vet said he may have some problems with his liver and whatnot so he had to stay there for a few days. But now he's home. I guess I never realized that the dude's like 10 years old and that makes him a senior citizen in dog years. Right now we're being careful about what we give him and stuff. I think he'll be okay for now, though.

I'll be okay, too. I'll be back on Uncyc before you even notice that I left.


Of old friends

Alright, so I finally got Thunderbird to work for me. I had been fighting with my Gmail account and how to make it work with Thunderbird, but then I discovered a tutorial in Gmail specifically for Thunderbird, and so now it works great.

As I was importing some odd 800 old emails into Thunderbird, I recognized one of the first emails in my inbox to be from an old friend of mine from another website that will not be named. But it was from back in 2006, and I hadn't spoken to the fellah in forever. I had been trying to reconnect with some of my old internet buddies for a little while now, and I finally had somewhat of a lead.

I drop him an email, only half-expecting a response. Sho nuff, he replies, and we end up exchanging a couple messages before exchanging Skype names and talking there. Apparently, him and a couple of my other friends from that group still hang out in some Skype chatroom, three years after all of us had left our site of origin. No one else was online, but I talked to him for a bit. It was really cool catching up and all. I'm pretty glad that now I know where most of my old friends are.

Still looking for one other, apparently he plays a lot of WoW and is busy being a loser. I don't care, I'd still like to find him.

Anyways, nothing else really funny or interesting has happened to me as of late. Uncyc is slow right now. I didn't have to work today, which is cool. I think I'll go play my tuba.



Of upgrades and an utter lack of respect for nature

To start, I'd like to say that Firefox 3 is the SHIT. I didn't think Firefox could get any better. But it did. If you yourself haven't upgraded yet, I recommend you do.

I've been cruising the internet today to get some crazy images out of my head. When I was in the mental hospital over Christmas, I met this kid who had seen some pretty messed up shit. He grew up in Sierra Leone. For those of you who don't obsessively listen to BBC on XM radio, there's kind of been some sort of rebellion-gone-awry going on over there. Apparently, these rebels have gotten out of control and have been doing all kinds of crazy stuff all over Sierra Leone. For one, some of these bastards shot the kid's grandpa right in front of him when he was three or something. He told us all about the terrible things he had seen. Now I don't want to try to downplay what this guy experienced. It was awful. It turned him into a sociopath. But I have recently come across something so scarring, so vile, so fucking twisted that even the guy who came up with Goatse would have lost his lunch at the sight of this abomination of nature.

I saw two bats fucking in my shoe.

I was out hanging out with some friends on base. We were gonna walk to the pool, but it was really crowded and we decided to go down to the swimmin' hole. Every town south of the Mason-Dixie line has some form of "swimmin' hole" for people too poor to pay the two bucks to get into the pool. So we're stripping down, comparing dick sizes, and swimming and shit.

Oh, by the way, we ran into this kid. Said his name was Jack Hoffman. I seriously think it's made up. Go on. Say Jack Hoffman out loud. Say it fast. His dad owns an Applebees.

But so I come back out to put on my shoes, and I see something moving inside of them. I started to freak out a little bit, thinking it may be a snake or something. But then I heard a little shriek. It was so quiet, and so tiny, but I sure heard it alright. I went to look inside and I find them. Two bats. Goin' at it. In my shoe.

All I could think of to say at the time was just "...Goddammit."

I didn't really know what to do. My friends asked me what was the matter, and I didn't know what to say. I guess I was in a sort of shock. Then, I decided that proper etiquette was to just...let them finish, I guess. I didn't want to watch. I didn't want anything to do with it. But I didn't want to disturb them or anything. I'm not gonna cock block a bat. I just can't rightly do that, you know?

So by now, my buddies have caught on to what's going on. They see the bats in my shoe and decide the best thing to do is to kick my shoe into the bushes. I felt bad for them. I felt bad for the male bat. I mean, wouldn't that suck if that were me? I proceeded to lecture them on respect and manners and nature and shit. But they would have none of it. They were too busy laughing it up.

But then, as we were walking back, as I felt my shoe slushing as I stepped, the horror of what I had just seen began to set in. I really let it get to me. I was really freaking out. I didn't speak for days. I didn't blog, I didn't call anyone, I didn't text, I didn't do anything. It was awful. Only just now have I mustered up the strength to share my tale of horror with my non-existent reader base. Beware, my friends. For the love of God, watch your shoes.



Of dancing and freedom

Today was the first day of the rest of my life. Why did I spend it at the arcade?

I show up at the arcade in Fredericksberg. I hate that one because the pads on the DDR machine suck. But, I'm up here anyways so I might as well play. One of the things you may not know about me is that I'm a DDR fanatic. I've been playing for two years now and I play at the arcade a lot. It's just another one of my nerdy passions that I'd rather no one knew about.

So today, I went over to the machine and I started playing for a little bit. There are still a lot of people who aren't used to seeing DDR being played beyond Beginner mode, so I tend to attract some crowds. That was fine, I don't mind showing off for people. I was doing pretty well, despite the shitty pads I had to play on.

And then I decided to play The legend of MAX...probably the stupidest decision I could have made.

You see, for those of you who don't speak DDR, The legend of MAX is one of the hardest songs in the game. It's pretty fast, and it's pretty intense. I'd only passed it once before. And now, I was feeling so good, I felt like I could stand a chance of doing it again. But with all these people watching, I wasn't sure if I could.

It wasn't so much that I was tired. I was feeling great. But I have a strange way of passing that song.

Flashback to August 2007. I'm at the mall, really late at night, the place is almost empty. It's just Man against Machine. I was on fire. I decided to go for it. But I was wearing these shorts...it was the end of the summer and I was so hot from playing that I guess I was really sweaty. Halfway through the song, the unthinkable happens. My dick comes flying out of my fly. At first, I freaked out. But no one was watching, and I was so close to the end. I kept playing; I kept dancing. It turned out that, with my dick able to breathe the fresh air, I was cool enough to finish the song. Don't ask me how, but being that free and comfortable while playing made all the difference.

Back to the present day, I'm about to do this song, see. And all I have going through my mind is "how can I pass this in these pants?" And then, a thought. No, that's ridiculous. Everyone's watching, I couldn't! But at the same time, everyone was expecting me to do it. I had the song selected. It was set. I was going to play this song. Whether or not I passed depended on one little factor that swung between my sweaty thighs.

I took it out right there.

Children screamed as their parents covered their eyes. Gasps and shouts of "Is that...his...?" and "Put that thing away! What are you doing?" Pandemonium ensued. Panic and anarchy, shouts and cries, fear and death! Well, no one died. But there it was. My dick. In my hands.

And that was the second time I passed The legend of MAX.



Of mixing business with pleasure

So a couple weeks ago, I met this girl. She was a little older than me, but she was absolutely gorgeous, not to mention a medical practitioner. That was all I knew about her, but it was all I needed to know to ask her for her number. She seemed nice when we met, we were both at this party and she made a comment about my shoes or something. I can't remember. All I do remember about the party was that I had this girl's number and that I had to attend a funeral that weekend for something totally unrelated. (or so I was supposed to say)

But after that, I decided to call her up last weekend. She said she would really like to get together that Saturday to go out for lunch or something. I asked her if there was somewhere in particular she wanted to go, and she said she wanted to go get some sushi somewhere. I just happened to know this great little sushi place right on base, just down the hill from where I live so I told her it was on.

I showed up a few minutes early, but she was already inside waiting. I pulled up a chair next to the bar and the two of us started talking. She asked me about what I do, and I told her I was a Space Marine from space. (I'm not actually a Space Marine from space.) She thought that was cool, and I told her some war stories about how we were the ones who actually took out the Kingons or the Jedi or some shit, I dunno what I said, I was already hitting the wasabi pretty hard. So I asked her about her job. She said it was interesting work, and that she really enjoyed it.

Turns out she's a gynecologist. And I had taken her to a sushi bar.

I was trying to hide my minor case of the freakouts. I mean, I have no problem with her being a gynecologist. Whatever, I'd love to be a gynecologist. Seems like a fun gig. But is that why she suggested that we go out for sushi? What the hell was going on here? The whole time I was trying to sort all of this new information out in my head to determine whether or not I should actually be put off by this, she was still talking to me about her cat or her bird or her monkey or something. I just kept nodding and thinking "Oh God, let's just order some food and get out of here. If I take her somewhere else, I'll be fine."

So I asked her if she was ready to order.

She says to me "Yeah, you can order for me. Just get me something with crabs in it."

I ran out of the room and never called her again.


Of laziness and California rolls

This morning was the first time I've slept in since January. What a great day to be a bum.

I sauntered down the stairs at Wheneverifeellikeit:15 AM after scrounging up some clothes that I deemed fitting for a bum such as myself to lounge in. I hadn't really worn comfortable clothes in a while, either. I got on the compy, did my usual morning routine on the internet and such, and then decided I was going to get some lunch. I searched the fridge: nothing. I'm always convinced that there is nothing to eat in the house when I know that my mom is going to be making a commissary run soon. After searching my pantry for something that wasn't a month-old bag of Doritos, I discovered some California rolls in my fridge. How had I overlooked them? Of course, the better question would have been "How long have these been here?"

I sat down in front of the TV, almost proud of the fact that I was about to delve into a monotonous world of Seinfeld reruns and episodes of The Dog Whisperer. God, I love Cesar Milan. I was also about to delve in what had suddenly become a rather exciting lunch idea.

Like I said, I had no idea how long those California rolls had been in the fridge. Thinking back now, they may have been there for a good two weeks. I ate one and tried not to gag. I ended up spitting it up into the trash, where the rest of the California rolls found their final resting place. I rinsed my mouth out and tried not to vomit any further. Luckily, I kept whatever I did accidentally swallow down and I didn't throw up. God, that was nasty.



Of joy and shame

Today marks a very special achievement for me.

Yes, I've done it.

Three features in one week.

I gotta say thanks to all the Uncyclopedians who helped me out by reviewing the articles promptly and being so supportive of my writing. I still find it amazing that I got an article featured with 200% health. That's another first for me. But three features in one week? That's a big deal to me, I'm pretty happy with that. Perhaps I really am a good writer after all. Heh, after almost two years on this site, I seem to be just now figuring things out.

But such victories are short lived. Why? Because I am a dick. Just today, I saw a nooby little article on VFH (since I really only cruise VFH when I have something nommed, making me even more of a bitch) and felt the need to shoot it down, and shoot it down harshly. I feel bad about it, and I know that there are some other users who told me straight up that I was out of line. And they're right; I was. Of course I decide to do this just a few days after writing up a big long rant on some forum topic about how we're too mean to new users. I suck. Here I go, letting myself get all swept up in my own success, and totally forgetting that these are real people and not just blue usernames on a screen. I was out of line. I only hope I can use this as an opportunity to get better about the way I treat my fellow users.


Of tests, chili, and MacBooks

So today I took my SAT up in Chantilly. Of course I feel like I did pretty well, considering I wrote a kickass essay and did awesome on the first few sections up until the fire alarm went off. Scared the fuck out of me, even though it wasn't that loud. But the proctor didn't know what to do, so he just said we should continue taking the test. When the PA came on and told us there was actually a real fire, however, we had to leave. I wasn't thinking "wow I hope we get out of the building safely" or anything. Oh no. I was thinking "wow I hope my fantastic essay doesn't burn because I would hate to have to do another one." Such is my devotion to having an impressive enough score to get money from universities. Yeah, ultimately, it's about money.

On the way home, I was telling my dad about the one time that I had shown up to work (I work at a music store) and found both Sean (who no longer works there) and Elias (the manager) completely immobile and useless for the rest of the day. I asked Elias why he was being such a bum, and he told me that he and Sean had eaten lunch at the Hard Times Cafe right across from us. He said that burger made him move slower for the rest of the day. I figured I had to try it. I didn't get a burger; the waiter sold me on the chili. I tried the chili and it was fantastic. Probably the best chili I've ever had. I ordered another bowl and was barely able to walk out of there. That was some damn good chili.

Also, while we were in Woodbridge, we took the opportunity to stop into Best Buy and check out some MacBooks. I'm in the process of shopping for a laptop for school, and I've already pretty much decided on getting a Mac. The computer I'm on is running XP, which is a fine operating system, but I know that any PC laptop that I buy will be running Vista, the use of which is a fate worse than death. Mac OS X it is.

And then I got home and decided to make a blog or some shit. =D


Blogs are teh ghey.

So, I guess I better do a little explaining as to what this blog is gonna be about. Obviously, I have a connection to Uncyclopedia, a humor wiki that I like to edit every once in a while. If you didn't know what Uncyclopedia is, then you probably don't need to be reading this, because this is pretty much my life as it relates to Uncyclopedia. I'll rant here about what I find annoying about Uncyc, explain my often irrational actions, and just talk about other stuff going on in my life that some of you more concerned Uncyclopedians may care to know about. But if you just have an interest in me, for whatever reason, this may give you insight into a side of me which you may not have previously been aware of. Namely, a nerdy side.

I may do a real blog about personal stuff and whatnot, but I'll see how this goes.

Expect to see a lot of humor writing here as well. Some of it may do better on Uncyc, but most of it will be here for no reason other than it has no place on Uncyc. So for those of you Uncyclopedians who enjoy my stuff, you're in luck. Consider this to be the "SysRq Premium Edition" that you downloaded for free on BitTorrent.

I guess that's all that I have to say about what to expect from this. Hopefully some of you will take interest in this little side project and enjoy it.