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.

Dumbass.

Just please don't vote.

Cheers,
~SysRq

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.

Cheers,
~SysRq

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.

Cheers,
~SysRq

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.

Cheers,
~SysRq

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.

Cheers,
~SysRq

Of frequently found fallacies following fellatio

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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.

Cheers,
~SysRq