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."

Silence.

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.

Cheers,
~SysRq

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.

Cheers,
~SysRq

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.

Cheers,
~SysRq

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.

Cheers,
~SysRq

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.

Cheers,
~SysRq

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*,
~SysRq

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'?"

"...Asl?"

*gunshot*

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!

Cheers,
~SysRq