Wednesday, February 29, 2012

My Demented 1st Grade Journal and an Award!

So, I happened upon a 1st grade journal of mine. Back then, we were required to write a 2 to 3 sentence excerpt a day.

I must say, not only did I have a way with words, but I was quite the rhetorical genius. Below are a few excerpts I handpicked to analyze (edited because the words would be indecipherable to any human being but me).

Today my favorite color is blue. I am happy and it is sunny outside.

One would think that my favorite color that day was blue because the clarity of the sky on that sunny day emitted a soothing, cerulean glow. But, thorough analysis proves otherwise. Under these seemingly harmless, enlightening words lays a sinister message regarding society. Notice how I said today’s favorite color? It’s conveying the impression that my preference adjusts on the daily. Or, perhaps I was a metaphor. Is it possible that I wanted my audience to regard myself as an ingredient in our critical culture? Allow me to explain. Society’s concealed fashion jury is the deciding factor of what’s considered fashionable. It goes without question that what we regard as beautiful changes frequently. Fitness is replaced by curves which is trumped by anorexia. Meanwhile, the sun, or otherwise known as the social media, is creating a diversion that blinds us and makes us ignorant to the injustices forcing us to conform to unattainable changes in style. On the cover of a magazine, an anorexic alien lookin’ mutha fucka stares at you with its bug eyes, but turn the page and OOO LOOK AT THAT CHEESECAKE! Onto the next one…

It is raining today. Giraffes are good, cool animals.

This observation almost makes me want to cry. The rhetorical argument shines forth like a radiant unicorn atop a rainbow. So, I seem unfazed that it’s raining outside, correct? That’s because it’s raining on a daily basis in our society. Every one of us tries to be unique but constantly fall short. We try to be like giraffes in the animal kingdom. We try to break the mold and stand tall above the rest. But, it’s difficult to see the kindhearted efforts of others through the dense rain that limits our sight. This dense rain is the media continuously blinding us with frivolous news on supposed celebrities and murderous politicians. Will there ever be a headline of the man who saved an orphanage? Only if it can find an umbrella to shield itself from the constant flow of selfish, egocentric news. You see what I’m saying? …? …….? No? Ah, fuck it, on to the next one…

I wore a white shirt today. My friend’s name is Ed. We have history class today.

Do I need to spell this one out? It’s obviously a warning of the approaching war in the Middle East and gay marriage.

Bah, anyway. That’s enough for today because my stop’s coming up, and I’m like super tired and stuff. Besides, I think I’ve made my point quite clear.

But, in further news!

<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>

It's always good when a fellow blogger recognizes us for our work. That's why I was especially pleased to see that Anna Smith over at Universal Gibberish bestowed upon me this generous award. I'd like to thank Anna for the consideration and for getting my blog out and about. She's a very inspriational blogger, and I hope you all take the time to check out her blogs.

The award is for those lesser known blogs such as mine that have fewer than 200 followers. Blogs such as mine can especially appreciate this award as I suck at promoting my blog and would truly enjoy the company of others. That's why I'm incredibly appreciative that Anna, a blogger with much more experience than I, took the time to read my blog and give it a shoutout.
To accept the award you must do a few things:

1) Thank the person that nominated you on your blog and link back to them.
2) Nominate up to 5 other blogs for the award.
3) Let them know via comment on their blog
4) Post the award on your blog

1) Addman at Muppets for Justice - By far one of the funniest blogs I've ever read. I never walk away from my computer with a clean pair of underpants everytime he posts a new topic. If you're following me, then chances are you've stumbled upon him before. For those of you who have had the misfortune of not knowing about his blog until now, do yourself a favor and follow this comedic genius.

2) Elton Edgar at Elton Says Things - He probably has over 200 followers. I may be breaking the rules, but I don't know how to view how many followers he has so I'm going to include his blog anyway. If I'm not mistaken, this is the first blog I followed once joing Blogger. It's difficult to have me laughing out loud over written material, but this guy went above and beyond. I actually ended up in the hospital after reading his material. The doctor said I fractured my funny bone (bum bum tsss). But, forget my lame jokes and check Elton out (and read his blog).

3) Your Dirty Bird at Living In An Estrogenic Flux - A personal blog riddled with humor, angst, and everything in between. Dirty Bird is not afraid to speak her mind, and her blog always has something to snag your attention. Her site presents a fresh spin on blogging, and is unlike any blog I've seen before. I recommend you stop by her blog and delve into the mind of Your Dirty Bird. Plus there's sweet-ass gifs and jpegs always on display.

4) Ash-Matic at Ash-Matic Does Things - A blog that never fails to deliver. Hilarious posts teamed with equally hilarious, short comics make this hilarious blog hilarious. Very unique writing style that shows much dedication. How he doesn't have more followers is beyond me. Follow this blog if you think funny stuff is funny... and stuff.

5) Anne at Anne's Attic - A multi-talented blogger who is humorous and artistic. I'm lucky enough to include her in this post because she is just under 200 followers (which won't be for long). She has a style of writing that is uniquely her own, and she has quite the wide-range of imagination. Follower her blog in order to witness all the colorful awesomeness of her site.

I wish I could put more blogs, but unfortunately I can't. Also, if you have over 200 followers you're obviously not on here.

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

1000 Blog Views!

I actually checked my blog when it was at exactly 1000 views.

So I finally reached my goal; so, I can give up on this blog! Thank you to my followers and any of you who have visited my website. I sincerely appreciate all the support. It's been fun!

Ohhh, I'm just kidding you silly billies. In fact, since reaching this benchmark/milestone/benchstone/milemark, I am going to aim to boost the layout of my blog. Make it seem more professional fashionably sexy.

Therefore, if any of you know someone who would like to create a unique banner or background for my website then please let me know (credit will be given and whoever does it can put their John Hancock on it and website and whatever as well). Otherwise, I'm going to consult that sweet-ass site known as Fiverr.com and find someone willing to do it for $5. I can use photoshop and all those fun gadgets; I just don't have 40 billion dollars to spent on the program.

Anyway, thank you everyone, and I don't plan on going anywhere anytime soon.
I'm not wearing any pants.

Monday, February 27, 2012

Annoying Things That Children Draw


It’s no surprise to those of you who follow my blog that I get worked up over trivial things, and this post is no exception.

Today’s rant: Children’s annoying, drawing habits.

Why does this irk me so? Because I have nothing else to complain about in my life so I actually have to go out of my way to piss myself off. If I ever pursue my dream of becoming a preschool art teacher, I will do everything in my power to abolish these errors in perception. Anyway, without further ado, here is a list of the top annoying, drawing habits committed by children.

Drawing a mouth underneath the beak of a bird.
Are children’s perception of reality so tragically skewed that they can’t recognize that the beak is in fact the mouth of a bird? Maybe this is why so many of my pet parakeets died when I was longer. I must’ve tried to force feed them food through their neck. Any picture noticeably flaunting this obvious mistake would immediately be deemed an F in my grade book.

Animals with all legs drawn on one side of the body.
I’m beginning to see the frightening portrayal of the world that these children are cursed with. Mutated dogs with evil grins. What kind of sick individual would draw such an unsightly beast? Obviously some disturbed entity who takes pleasure in the dismay of other living beings. Any picture displaying such horrors would earn my student and F along with a free ride to a psychiatrist. Poor lost soul.

Drawing smoke as a grey, spiral line.
Now, come on kids! I think you guys are just screwing with me now. Instead of a pluming, billowy cloud of smoke you see a scribble mark in the sky? You guys better start getting your act together. There is no room in the real world for such ignorance. Perhaps children are on drugs and maybe actually do perceive an alternate reality…. F.

Hands drawn like circles with spikes.
Horrifying. Maybe it’s a message to us adults. We’re all monsters who use our grotesque raptor hands as instruments of evil. Are we the ones at fault for our children’s disturbing view on reality? They are trying to let us know something. I know they are. Maybe I am the one who is looking at life through a foggy lens. Anyway, I’m still giving it an F because I don’t like when people subliminally force their opinions on me.

Ah, I can’t go on. I’m beginning to see the world for what it truly is. Anyway, what needs to be done is that we must reincarnate Bob Ross. We need his talent and flawless “happy little trees” to conquer the airwaves once more. Bob Zombie must assert his dominance over the art world and right these children’s imaginative minds. They are too creative for their own good. 

The only reason I truly wrote this post was to draw like a child.

Friday, February 24, 2012

The IT Guy and Me


So, this week has been hell since I’ve been trying to figure out some issues with transferring data from a client company’s virtual computer over to our end. Now, let me start by confessing that I have very basic knowledge of computers. I can get rid of a virus like it was a bacterial infection and I was a foam-at-the-mouth penicillin, but I am not completely updated on the latest technological jargon. So, needless to say, when I was assigned to take care of the situation, the IT guy at the receiving end of my call was none too happy. Three days later, I accomplished receiving the data I set out to, but the problem still remains. But, that’s an issue I’ll deal with next week so whatever. Anyway, onto my point.

Here’s how the IT guy wished the conversation played out:

IT Guy: Alright, so the problem is that you need to access the quadroflange processor.
Me: The what?
IT Guy: The quadroflange processor!
Me: Oh! Okay, sorry. I didn’t hear you the first time. Why didn’t I think of that? Alright, I’ll just carry over the datacreeper and cross analyze it with the processor. Then, I’ll carry the linkblaster and subdivide it by enwkndocx.exe dragging it into the Nex folder annnnd… There! Thanks for all your help, guy!
IT Guy: No, problem. Call me if you need any further assistance which I’m sure you won’t because I explained everything so perfectly.
Me: Okay, thanks super slick computer guy.
IT Guy: Oh, just doing my job.
End with audible wink.

Now, here’s how the conversation really played out:

IT Guy: Alright, so the problem is that you need to access the quadroflange processor.
Me: The what?
IT Guy: The quadroflange processor!
Me: Oh… I… hmm… tss tss tss… Nah… Yeah, I don’t know what that is.
IT Guy: *sigh* Are you on a browser right now?
Me: Yeah.
IT Guy: Do you see the search bar?
Me: No.
IT Guy: *sigh* Then you’re not on a browser. What does it say at the top of the window?
Me: Proximity Blage exlelell.exe mylifesucks.exe Flournge.
IT Guy: Okay, back out of that, open up a web browser and enter NICE, and copy that link and paste it onto a browser on your hard drive.
Me: Ooooh kaaaay… hmm… pff pff tss… mmm…….. bababa……….. (47 minutes later)……. Yeah, it’s not loading.
IT Guy: *long exaggerated sigh* I’m going to have to call you back *immediate click*
End with the audible spinning of a revolver.

The great thing is that at the end of this arduous process, the answer to the problem of collecting the data is him finally saying: “Okay, I’ll just have to email the files to you.” Arreee youuuu fuggggin’ kidding muuuhhhh. RAGE! I couldn’t believe that this was the conclusion. No epic finale for me. Nooo. He’s just going to email me the files. Why this couldn’t have been the initial solution is far, far beyond me located in some distant land ruled by orcs and fairies.
I love IT, don’t get me wrong. They've gotten me through difficult times. After days of not being able to watch porn, they’ve come and lifted me from the ashes of despair. But, was it truly necessary that this guy be so stubborn that he avoided this inevitable outcome to try and figure out a more complex and flashy way to deliver the goods? At one point in the call I even offered to have him speak to a member of our IT, but he refused to let me go on my way. Maybe he was truly feeding me bullshit and he didn't want a fellow IT member to pick up on it. I don’t know.

Basically, this is how I wished the conversation would play out:

IT Guy: Alright, so the problem is that you need to access the quadroflange processor.
Me: The what?
IT Guy: Oh, sorry. The flashing blue icon that kind of looks like two dodo birds having sex.
Me: Oh, okay.
IT Guy: Okay, once you click that you should see a message saying: “The processor can’t be accessed blah blah blah.”
Me: Uhh, nothing’s showing up.
IT Guy: Oh. Well I’ll just email you the files while I figure this thing out for future access.
Me: Aww yeah! You’re the best.
IT Guy: Baww. TAYNKS!
End with audible thumbs up plus wink.

P.S. These are all real technological terms. No fabrications.

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

Pearson Report, A to Z Co-Host - TAG

All text below is copied from Pearson Report courtesy of Jenny Pearson. My text is highlighted in RED.

Have you ever wondered what would happen if we played TAG out here in Bloggerville?
TAG is my acronym for The Answer Game.
I ask you the following questions and you answer them on your blog! (a simple copy and paste event - no biggie) 
Then you pose the same questions to your Followers and so on, and so on…
If you play the game...I’ll add your blog to my TAGGED BY PEARSON REPORT Blog List - where everyone will know you are a team player who's kickin' it with me and the A to Z team. Our goal is to see 1,000 participants, on the sign-up list, by March 1st...so here’s your chance to pitch in and show your support by playing TAG.
HERE ARE THE QUESTIONS:
Are you signed up for the A to Z Challenge? 

It is written in the tomes of my tribe that every that in order for one to mature into adulthood, one must complete a challenge in the fourth month of the year. It requires psychological, physical, and tactical preparations. I marked down the days on a stone tablet based at the foot of my bed; an aide memoire of the forthcoming dare. In other words, yes I’ve signed up for the challenge.
What is your sign-up number? 

My tribe’s oracle prophesized that my number would be 1. However, I got drunk and overshot the deadline, therefore ending up the 73rd member to sign up.
Are you ready? If yes...explain yourself. 

I trained atop Mount Bitacora. The conditions were harsh: frigid temperatures mixed with icy winds, territorial beasts, Wal-Marts, everyday was a Black Friday. Armed with a chisel and tablet, I tirelessly pounded frivolous words into existence. However, one day a tragic accident resulted in my chisel slipping from my hand and killing my sensei therefore cutting my training short. So, no, I’m not exactly ready.
If you’re not ready...what’s your excuse? 
Well, it goes without saying that I'm fairly lazy, but besides that, I'm going to basically go with my traditional "what irks me today" method to complete the challenge. I'm already begun with 'A'; only 25.5 letters to go!
Just copy and paste these questions in your post and have at ‘er! Let’s see what makes you a Blogging from A to Z participant!
Tell me, in the comments below, if you’re playing along.
Let me know when you post your answers and I’ll add you to my TAGGED BY PEARSON REPORT Blog List which is on the side...over there to the right, just under the A to Z Co-Hosts. 
The spotlight’s on you…all you have to do is play The Answer Game (TAG).
So what are you waiting for...you’ve just been TAGGED!

Jenny (I’ll be answering these questions in my next post)
And a little perk for my Followers of Note - if you participate I will enter your sign-up number into a draw basket for an original artistic creation from my daughter, Courtney, a designer in Animation. The piece I have selected is called Life and is a series of four prints - they can be seen HERE.

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Trials of A Recovering Hoarder


With all these reality shows centered on hoarding, I began to evaluate my life styles only to regrettably discover that I belong to this growing collection of psychologically disturbed.

According to About.com the definition of hoarding is as follows: “Acquiring and failing to throw out a large number of items that would appear to have little or no value to others.” In reading this I have identified several objects in my possession that fall under this category. So, here is a list of my supposed “spring cleaning.”

Dog
Although I love my dog, Pogo, I have found him to be quite useless and time consuming. He also takes up an area on the couch disproportional to his size. In addition, he leaves an abnormal amount of hair looming in every square inch of the house. Every once in a while he will leave a hot piece of shit in a corner of the house if his stomach is too full to eat it. And, it is without question that he is of “little or no value to others.” Therefore, it is unfortunate that I must include him in the dumpster with the rest of my worthless items.

Toilet
With the absence of my dog’s feces occupying the house, it is without question that my own excrement can replace it therefore nullifying the need for a toilet. My toilet inhabits about 3 square feet whereas my bowel movements require but a measly foot at most. The maggots will most likely consume my leftovers by the time is takes up a troubling amount of space. Therefore, it is permissible, if not vital, that I rid myself of this useless contraption for the benefit of my recovery.

Stove/Oven
The microwave is perfectly capable of performing all actions executed by this useless appliance. You want a turkey? Don’t be lazy and toss it in the oven with seasonings, salts, and other useless spices; get it done quickly by zapping it in the microwave for 30 minutes. It’ll come out with all juices intact and may even have the zest of hot pockets and popcorn. Cook an entire Thanksgiving feast for the family in less than an hour! If anyone complains about the taste, throw them in the dumpster because their input is useless and detrimental to your recovery.

Shower
Hygiene is just a characteristic glorified by the media fat cats. The man only wants you to think cleanliness is next to godliness when in fact it is far below entertainment and waking up at a reasonable hour. In fact, the dirt and oils on your skin protect you from harmful UV rays and airborne farts. Besides, you’re only going to smell like shit at the end of the day anyway; so what’s the point? Do yourself a favor; skip on the shower and your recover you’ll empower! Toss that rubbage in the garbage.

Jeans
Since you can wear a pair of jeans a month straight without anyone noticing, there’s no need to have multiple pairs. They never smell and it’s considered fashionable when they become tattered and filthy. When waste space with 3 pairs of jeans in your closet when you can easily clear up at least 40 feet by removing 2 of them. Toss them in the garbage!

Overall, a small list, but if I keep working at it I think I can make my way down to the bare essentials of living: xBox, television, and food. I do feel somewhat relieved that I can move that much more freely through my house, and I’m inching closer and closer to a full recover. 

Friday, February 17, 2012

My Day at the Dentist

So, I was in a lesbian chat room the other day when the topic of gas prices came into play. But, since I didn’t want to talk about that boring stuff, I changed the topic to stuff about me and my problems with babies and how fuckin’ lazy they are. Get a fuckin’ job! Bah, I’m gonna get riled up again. I should change the subject. Hmmm…

Oh, yeah! I had a dentist appointment yesterday.

Anyway, so I had known about the dentist appointment was looming, mostly due to the fact that I kept canceling the appointment, but I knew it was coming nonetheless. However, this time I aimed to mentally and physically prepare myself for the insidious engagement.

Every time I go to the dentist, I get peppered with the same questions: Have you been flossing? Have you been brushing after every meal? Have you been eating poop? And, time after time I am forced to admit defeat as I repeatedly answer “no”… then “yes.”

This time I wanted it to be different. Months in advance of the appointment, I began violently brushing multiple times a day. Veins protruded from my forearm due to the force of my rapid brush strokes. I even started flossing… every night. Prepping my gums so that they would not hemorrhage when the dentist sadistically attacked them with that razor wire they call “floss.” When they got to that point where not a speck of blood would show, I moved onward to more aggressive techniques. This dentist wasn’t going to best me this time. I began bringing a bottle of toothpaste to work every day to snack on. Every night before I went to bed, I would floss my teeth with a machete. I would have to alternate toothbrushes after every use. It was brutal but necessary.

Finally, 3 postponements later the day had final arrived. I confidently loosened my tie and strutted into the dentist’s office, shattering the glass door as I slammed it behind me. 1… 2… 3   rings on the desk bell later, I heard her footsteps growing louder as she approached. Come at me bro! I screamed in my head. You can’t hurt me anymore!

Then she rounded the corner, and I froze. It was a different dentist, one that I had not had before. A bead of sweat trickled down my forehead, but then I quickly wiped it away. What are you so afraid of, Chiz? You prepared yourself for this. This bitch ain’t got nothing on you. And my ghetto subconscious was right. I should be glad that this frail looking lady was about to clean my teeth. I was disappointed that my physical training would go to waste, but looked forward to a peaceful cleaning.

She ushered me into the dentist chair. I think it may have been the first time I was calm in the office. Then suddenly, as if someone flipped a ‘fuck you’ switch, the chair flung back and violently clanged into its reclined state. The dentist dug her nails into my chin fat and pried my mouth open. “Open your whore mouth!” she cackled, and all I could do was helplessly obey. She reached back and grabbed a crooked shank and stabbed it into my gums. Come on, Chiz! This is what you’ve been training for! But it was no use, the shank sawed into my gums and blood began spouting out. She repeatedly sheered away at my teeth with both hands as I gripped the chair trying to relieve the pain. Prodding at a molar, “You’ve got a cavity,” the harpy screeched.

“But, I feel nothing,” I replied. Upon hearing that she pulled out a mallet and forced the shank into my tooth as I let out a scream.

“You do now,” she maniacally laughed. Then, she threw the tools over her shoulder. I sighed in relief. It’s finally over, I thought to myself. That was before I noticed the barbed wire in her hand. She wedged the wire between my teeth and began sawing. I could feel the blood trickling down my chin. This went on for about 20 minutes.

After what seemed like an eternity, she finally let me up from the chair. Battered and bruise I made my way over to the front desk where she proceeded to arrange another appoint for the following month. She handed the card to me with a taunting smile. “Have a good night,” the witch said as she hovered back into the office.

I was bested that day.

Thursday, February 16, 2012

Secrets to A Billion Dollar Blockbuster


I know for a fact that about 89.7% of the Earth’s population is made up of aspiring film directors. Well, since I’m so caring and bored and, frankly, really fuckin’ tired, I’ve decided to compile this list of helpful suggestions to help you rake in at least a billion dollars in cash from your final product.

Denzel Washington

In order to guarantee a blockbuster, you're going to need this guy. Denzel Washington, the epitome of badassery, may not play the most versatile of roles, but in all honesty, who gives a fuck? You can have Denzel launching baby pandas out of a t-shirt cannon into a herd of pitbulls and, as long as he looks like a badass while doing it, I'll love the shit out of that film. Even if you can't afford to hire him, be sure to at least have a cardboard cutout and place it in the background of every scene. He will still have the same effect over the audience. That anticipation that he may spring into action at any moment will glue the audience to their seats.

If you can’t afford decent CGI, go with the shaky camera method.

I always hear people crying that the shaky camera gives them a headache. But, the lazily thrown together CGI masked by the shaky camera technique would give the audience a whole lot more than a minor headache (I’m talking about diarrhea). Plus, it gives the illusion that there is a lot more action occurring on screen than there actually is. It’s pretty much like hiring an army of stunt doubles. Yep, pretty much.


The fastest route to flawless character development is violence.

Skip the opening family man and “pet the dog” routines; go straight for the initial fight scene. As the opening credits are rolling, have the main character busting some evildoer’s chin and punching in the butthole or something. If the actor is talented enough, the expression on his/her face while defacing the other guy will reveal to the audience the good/bad intentions of the main character. If the main character is fighting tears back he’s good. If he’s smiling, he’s evil. If he’s laughing, he’s maniacal. If he pulls the other’s guys pants down and assumes the position, he’s a silly billy.

Corny but memorable punch lines.

It’s fairly simple really. Here are a few examples:
-“You’ve got some pasta sauce on your lip. Oh, wait. Nevermind.”
-“He’s deader than a cat that’s dead.”
-“You’ve got a pimple on your chin. Let me pop it for you.”
-“This gives a whole new meaning to [insert anything].”
I never said they had to be good. Just as long as it makes the audience do a double take. Something they’ll be repeating for minutes, hours, days, decades after the movie.

An epic, and I mean EPIC, final fight scene.

Based on a nationwide survey, 147.7% of moviegoers admit that the only reason they go to the cinema is for the epic boss fight at the end. I’m tired of these badasses who kill an entire army to get to the one man they’ve sought to destroy from the beginning and basically just pop a cap in their dome, the end. I want to see that evil mutha fucka fight back, chew on his earlobe, rile the main character up a bit. Give him the same sword/gun/bow staff/lawn flamingo skills as the do-gooder. Make it worth the audiences’ while.

Blood and violence always, ALWAYS, comes before plot.

What’s a plot without action. I’ll tell you what it is: it’s nothing! Now, let me ask you what action is without plot: it’s entertainment! See what I did there?

Explosions.

Boom.

You’re welcome.

Monday, February 13, 2012

True Origin of a Hobo

Hobos. Creepy, scary, smelly. Human?

When you visit the city, where do most hobos resides? Sure, they live on sidewalks and back alleys. They nestle together in dumpsters and nudge themselves between small gapes. But, the most common place that one will encounter a hobo is in the subway. 'Tis so unorthodox ineth that articulation, Sen. Chiz? I'll tell you what's so strange, Shakespearean dude. In order to gain access to the subway system, one needs to pay an entry fee. Yet, hobos don't have the financial stability to sacrifice such funds. So, how do the hobos gain access to the city's underground transportation?

I've come up with a strong-standing hypothesis. It's quite obvious if you truly give thought to it: Hobos... are plants. How else could they be found in subways? The only reasonable explanation is that they grow within the tunnels themselves.

If that logic doesn't convince you somehow, then why do hobos smell like fertilizer? It's quite simple really. Most synthetic fertilizers consist of nitrogen, phosphorus, and potassium. Nitrogen is present in essentially all meat and poultry products as well as milk. Phosphorus, also present in poultry, can be found in wheat and bran products. And, anything made from chocolate to beans contains potassium. Trash cans in subway systems harbor every one of these products, continuously emitting a natural fertilizer to which hobos are born.

Still not convinced? I'm not done yet. Copper is a fundamental nutrient of plants. Why do you think hobos are always asking for change? They can perfectly thrive off the natural fuming fertilizer from the subway; so, they obviously don't need it to purchase further nourishment. It's so they can stimulate their growth with the copper that can be found in coins. They are not necessarily approaching you to beg for the change; they are more so attracted to you much in the same that a plant is attracted towards the nearest light source.

Wow, you guys are still unconvinced? What the fuck? Ah, anyway. Here's another fact. Subway passengers breath oxygen, no? Well, when you're at least 50 feet underground, where do you think the oxygen comes from? All the trees lying around? Get real. The oxygen is emitted from the hobos that consume our carbon dioxide as nourishment. That's why you will never see a hobo in an area void of humans; it's because they must absorb our emissions. That is why we are able to breath so far underground.

So, if that's not enough to convince you ignorant people; then, I don't know what to say. I'm just pointing out the facts that lay before you. Do with them what you will, but I'm sticking to my theory.
Perfect growth conditions.

Friday, February 10, 2012

The Holy War 2012

Before you read this shitty post, answer the question to the right, please. Please. Please, and thank you.

Synopsis: These mutha fuckin’ nuns are tryin’a get these mutha fuckin’ strippers off their mutha fuckin’ street.

We've been long overdue for a holy war: nunnery versus nunnery. A strip club has slithered onto a holy land, and its primary goal is to cast its sinful shadow over the once god-fearing town.

Interested, I took a trip to Stone Park to find out the truth of the chronicle because NBC is full of retarded peepeedicks that can’t cover a story right. Yes, the nuns are playing it cool with the public media: keeping the strip club in their prayers, peacefully casting disapproval upon the joint, sending gift baskets full of Vagisil and subscription antibiotics to the future employees. But, behind the walls of the convent, I knew something bigger was in the works. Something… sinister.

Armed with nothing but a pencil and WWJD yoga pants, the nuns granted me access to their holy domain, keeping me under excessive surveillance. At first, the convent appeared just as I had envisioned it: marble statues, an echoing organ, sports bras. I was becoming increasingly disappointed. Maybe this $1265.99 trips wasn’t worth it. But, I continued my tour.

Before I knew it, night had fallen. The nuns were filing to their living quarters, and I couldn’t help but let disillusion take over as I lay facing the cross in the first row of pews. Hours passed as the dusty convent air filled my lungs. I lay awake, my eyes not wavering from the easily 10 foot cross. My thoughts ran rampant. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe the nuns truly are ones to withdraw without a fight.

The whole night I didn’t allow myself a hint of shuteye. The sun began to shine through the stain glass windows of the church. I could tell it was time to pack it in. I gathered my pile of belongings I lazily tossed in a heap on the hardwood floors and stood up. I turned for the double doors and started for the exit. That’s when I noticed it. I thought it may be my lack of sleep causing my eyes playing tricks on me. Yet, after repeatedly splashing holy water on my face, the spectacle still lay before me. As the sun shone through the stained windows, the reflections converged into a pattern of stable on the floor. I made my way over to the reflection. I could make out the mule, Mother Mary, the three wisenheimers. It was the nativity scene. But, it was baby Jesus that really caught my attention as he was holding some unidentifiable object in his hand which emitted a red glow. Curious, I ran my finger over the supposed object. Suddenly, the wall behind me, the one bearing the cross, revealed a passageway that had been impossible to recognize before. I pushed myself up from the ground and headed towards the secret entrance.

I traveled down an unlit corridor for quite some time, feeling my way across the wall as to ensure that I would not run astray from the path. I saw a light at the end of the tunnel, and I went on into a full sprint. I didn’t care what lay before me, I just needed to find out what was ahead. Closer and closer the light got until I burst through the distinguishable barrier of light.

I was blinded for a bit, but when my eyes adjusted, that’s when I saw them. A squadron of about 30 nuns was frozen in place glaring at me. Each nun bearing a weapon in hand: swords, bows, staffs. Straw dummies and nuns poised in defensive stances. I finally pieced together where I was; it was a training room.

After the nuns realized I was harmless, they informed me of the situation. They were secretly honing their skills in the art of violence. I knew that nuns must’ve had a hobby other then excessively praying all day, but I never believed I’d be this extreme. The training room they donned the name Nativity, probably in reference to the reflection I saw earlier, smelled of sweat and blood. They had all sorts of medieval, lethal weaponry; apparently, arms passed down since the crusades. Some the blood still dried to the blades from all those years past. They also had some modernized equipment such as gas masks incase the strippers resorted to chemical warfare such as airborne gonorrhea. It was clear they weren’t overlooking the strip club’s actions. If the owner of the “den of sin” was looking for a fight, he sure as hell got one.

Will these nuns sit idly by while their convent is overcome by the darkness, or will they turn to that same darkness the fuels their enemy to unleash the power they need to make a stand? Will they use sin to fight sin? Stayed tuned for the epic conclusion to The Whorey War.

The Serial Sister
In case you didn't like the post, here's some new trailers to movies I want to see!

Thursday, February 9, 2012

Sorry, Busy Week

Sorry I haven't been keeping to my blogging schedule. It's been a busy week what with all the video games collecting dust and food waiting in the fridge to be eaten. Nah, I really have been busy. Though, I have a blog post in mind set for tomorrow seeing as I don't think I'll have time to throw it on the wall today.

So, don't worry. I haven't gone anywhere, and I'll be back soon enough. I just have to loosen my belt enough to remove my hand from my pants.

Also, I will unfortunately just leave you with this for now as I'm writing this at work, and I don't have much time to search for a funny video that usually accompanies most my posts that contain no content. Also, I've been depressed all day because I already new the "Real Fact" under the lid of my Snapple. I wasted all that money to find out a fun fact, and they provided me with nothing but a boner-kill. Now what silly fact will I lay upon some unsuspecting loon on the train?

Bah, anyway. Sorry, I'll have a post up tomorrow.

Monday, February 6, 2012

The Rise of a BIMBO


I would watch the clan from afar. Was it because I was jealous that I hated them or was it the fact that I could not wrap my mind around their beliefs? To this day I still don’t know. Though, I do know this; I yearned for that smug feeling of self entitlement that was shared amongst the members of the organization. The haughty camaraderie of the clansmen was awe-inspiring.  However, the numbers of the clan have dwindled through the past couple of decades. Their influence lost its voice.  Keeping at this pace, I wouldn’t be surprised if the clan is all but extinct by the end of the century.

The Book is Much Better Organization (BIMBO) has regained much of its ranks with the release of the money-grubbing Harry Potter films. I can still hear the cries of the BIMBO as they tried so hard to enlighten everyone to their superior knowledge of the Harry Potter franchise. If you read the books you would’ve known that! They left out key moments in the books transition onto the big screen!

… The books were so much better…

However, their cries fell upon the deaf ears of the bandwagoners. Yet, I still admired the heart of the BIMBO. But, there was no chance for me to become a BIMBO as there was no foreseeable movie that was based off a popular novel. Was I forever going to belong to the mass of ordinary moviegoers? Stuck in this commonplace of obscurity? No, I would not rob myself of that arrogant attitude I so longed for.

Over the next couple of months, I scoured the vast landscapes of the interwebs. From IMDB.com to Apple Trailers; I was determined to find the next movie based off a book. Armed with Mountain Dew and Smart Food, I weathered the harsh conditions that accompany surfing the internet.  

Then, one day I happened upon it. The Hunger Games? I’ve heard it in passing before, but never thought to pick it up. This was it. This was my chance to become one of the ranks. I could finally become… a BIMBO.

So, I picked up the books and read. Oh, did I read. I remember finishing the first book. The scraggily homeless dude next to me on the train was spitting teeth at me in order to gain my attention, but I was so determined to finish the book than the teeth felt like mere raindrops as the bounced off my temple. After that point, I finished the next two books with ease as nothing else mattered. I found myself easily ignoring the severe smells of the Boston Commuter Rail system, the ear-splitting cackle of the attention-seeking office worker, and all other trials that tried to slow my progression. I finished the trilogy and all of a sudden felt like a scholar. A glimpse of what it must feel like to be a BIMBO.

I had finally finished the books. Now, the only thing left for me to do it await March 23rd, when The Hunger Games hits the big screen. Upon seeing the movie I aim to unleash a flurry of reasons why the book was better than the movie, and I will earn my right to be hailed as a BIMBO!


Sorry If this post wasn't spectacular. You can't expect much from a Patriot's fan after yesterday's atrocities. The bright side is that the Patriot's will gain more fans in third-world countries. 

Thursday, February 2, 2012

Happy Groundhog Day


I was but just a cub when they came. I remember hearing the talons penetrating my mother's flesh as they hauled her flailing body into the sky, under the cover of the sun. I was helpless; they were already so far out of reach. Blinded by the cloudless sky, I recall looking to the ground where I witnessed the shadow of my mother… Her body being ripped to shreds. The rising tension between our realms was torn. We were finally at war with the hawks.

Since that day, shadows only served as a reminder of that gruesome day. I would walk around from then on with my eyes to the sky. Shadows, once frivolous, mimicking patterns on the ground, now were seen as a curse that I could not circumvent.

My father, sovereign of our realm, recognized our inevitable demise. The hawks were quicker, stronger, more evasive than us. But, the one thing that truly gave them the upper hand… was their flight. Our scientists were burrowed far beneath the soil, devising a plan to clear the skies, forcing the fight to the ground.

I was dining with my father on our rationed meals for we could not venture far from the burrow. The hawks already conquered most of our land. I took the last bite of my meal when the scientists burst into the room. “We’ve done it!” they scream. They were hauling a strange metallic box. There were flashing buttons and antennas protruding every which way. It turns out this box held the capacity to send a condensed sound wave through the skies. Apparently, the sound wave would disrupt the hawks’ cochlea causing them to lose control of their flight. I was speechless. For the first time, I believed we could actually win this war.

We set up the box which was donned the name Screech in the public square. The crowd that gathered around would have been much larger if the hawks hadn’t massacred a majority of our brothers and sisters. Everyone looked on anxiously. I could see the glimmer of hope in everyone around me. My father looked down at me, “No one has endured more hardships than you since the beginning of this war.” Tears began to well in my eyes. He stepped forward and addressed the crowd. “My son will be the one to trigger the weapon!” There were no objections from the masses. For once, I didn’t need to force a smile.

As I walked toward the machine, scientists gave me nods of approval and admiration. I finally reach the weapon. Screech is carved across the top. A scientist approaches me and shows me how to trigger the sound wave. He then hands me the key that will surely be the destruction of our enemies. It’s a heavy key although it’s not much bigger than my paw. With both hands I inserted the key into the launch lock. I give one last glance to the crowd and quickly jerked the key to the right.

Screech began to vibrate and emit an eerie hum. The hawks must’ve caught wind of our plan because I can see them swarming in from the south. I took no more than a step back before an electric current opens up a vacuuming vortex around Screech. I turn to my father and attempt to grab his hand as the vortex drags me into its midst. Yet, it was no use. The images of my world fade as I’m sent into the abyss.

I come to not long after. Where am I? I give my head a few shakes and look around. I’m fucking falling! I look to the ground for the first time in ages, yet there’s no shadow as I’m quickly approaching the ground from miles in the sky. I come to terms with my situation. I don’t know how I ended up here. Possibly a malfunctioning with Screech? Whatever. It didn’t matter now since I was freefalling at mach speeds toward the ground. The ground approached closer and closer, I observe the land during my fall. The features of the land closely resemble my home, yet there’s something that tells me this is not my realm. That’s when I collide with the ground.

That hurtWait a minute. I’m still alive? Somehow, I’m still alive! I look around and brush the gravel from my face. I theorize that the gravity of this realm is thinker than that of mine. Maybe that’s why the fall took so long. I finally look around and catch site of these strange structures. No doubt they were meant to house animals of some sort.

That's when I notice them, these strange animals approaching me. They are towering creatures that stand upright, but I can help noticing how ridiculous they look in their outrageously tall top hats. Hideous creatures. I want to flee, but my legs are paralyzed. I accept my fate. I must be in hell. The creatures then place me in a bag and the sky disappears.

They keep me in a cage for months, feeding me crushed chips which they force through the bars. The only source of water I have comes from a slender metal tube that I have to slave over to drink. Finally, they open my cell door and drag me out by the neck. They carry me through a maze of tunnels and out into the open. Finally, I get to see the sky for the first time since they captured me all those months ago. However, when I look straight ahead, I see a mass of the hideous creatures screaming and shouting at me. Holding up signs I cannot read. The sight of them makes me look down in disgust where I catch a glimpse of my shadow. No! The images of my shadow bring back the memories of my mother and the war. It frightens me; I feel suffocated. The people seem to despise my reaction, but before I can assess the situation, the men drag me back inside and throw me back in prison where surely I’ll rot for another year.

All that keeps me going now is the hope that I will someday escape, that I will someday make it back to my realm. Will the war be over? Did Screech work despite my setback, or are the hawks nipping at my lifeless comrades.

Either way, I believe I will be granted my revenge in this life or the next. For in this strange realm they call Earth, I am hailed as Groundhog.

Happy Groundhog Day...

I need a life.

P.S. Answer the question on the right side of my blog please! It would be greatly appreciated.