Friday, July 27, 2012

Battering Ram Babies


Using babies as a weapon is an epidemic that is whittling away at the stilts of humanity. What I’m specifically referencing is the act of a mother or father using their baby or toddler as a blunt weapon to clear shortcuts through a large gathering of people in order to arrive at their desired destination in a speedy manner. There are varying types of ways to wield a baby as a weapon, a few of which I will describe in detail below.

The Steam-Stroller

You’re waiting to board your train amongst a throng of edgy opponents. We have the ticking time bomb, ready to unleash his months of pent up rage. We have the inconsiderate college student; his headphones dangling around his neck, only fueling the rage with his angry music. But, none is more dangerous than an impatient mother and her Steam-Stroller.

The crowd starts moving and soon everyone is approaching the platform at a steady pace. Everything is going better than anticipated… until you feel a tread tug on the heel of your shoe. You glance back just in time to catch a glimpse of a tiny tire burning rubber down the cement. “S’cuse me!’ cries the mother, drowning out the wails of her child as it’s unwillingly forced into a round of bumper cars. You hardly have time to dodge the unrelenting force of the stroller but not without losing your balance and teeter on the edge of the platform. A friendly gentleman tugs on your sleeve so that you may regain your footing. As the mother plows down the innocent, you thank God that today was not your day to fall victim to The Steam-Stroller.

The Wrecking Ball Baby

This is particular method is more efficient than the previous wielding technique as this is an all-terrain weapon. What this method entails is a leash with a toddler attached to the end of it. The mother has full control of the child. If she needs to cover her flank, she just yanks the child backward. An aerial assault? Nothing an over hand whip can’t handle. This Wrecking Ball Baby has the ability to cover all fronts.
To further accentuate its versatility, the Wrecking Ball Baby can also be used as a trip wire. Say a man is trying to walk along the outside of a crowded area. Wait for something to catch the child’s attention and secure the leash along the only clear walkway. When the man trips over the footing, you’ve just earned yourself and easy $1 million dollars and an excuse to unleash your boiling rage on an innocent man.





The Baby Breast Plate

You're standing in line for a movie. The line's getting longer and people are becoming restless, but there is still order. Well, that's what you are led to believe until you begin to feel something pressing against your spine. The unidentifiable object begins to squirm, so you move forward. Then, you feel it again. You finally gain the courage to turn toward the attacker, when you see a mother donning a baby chest carrier. Perhaps it was a mistake, you think to yourself. You turn back to the front of the line, and you feel the baby being squished against your spine. You decide to hold your ground, but the tension becomes stronger as you feel the baby being crushed between the two forces. It is at that point that you jump out of line in order to spare the poor child's life as you allow the mother to pass and eventually gain ground on the next unsuspecting victim.
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Although beneficial, these techniques have the capacity to seriously injure a child. Therefore, only experienced mothers and fathers are permitted to use their children as battering rams.

This is not a testament to the use of such methods; I am merely shedding light on a seriously annoying issue that I am constantly the victim of. Aside from a swinging mace baby, these accounts are somewhat realistic. I do not condone the act of using young children as medieval weapons.

If you can't tell, I proofread none of this. So spare me.


This is a submission to Dude Write 7. Pop on over, and be sure
to check up on all the other brilliant bloggers.

Friday, July 20, 2012

The Bunker


Hello my beautiful readers,
This post is a submission to the Dude Write: Flashier Than You contest. Below is a piece of flash fiction that I made... in a flash. The word count adds up to exactly 500. Count it if you desire. If you are expecting a silly post, I would probably skip over this as it isn't exactly a feel-good story. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it and be sure to stop by Dude Write to check in on all the other submissions which are undoubtedly better than mine.
Not an actual member.
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If you told me two weeks ago that I’d be cramped inside a cardboard house in my backyard, I wouldn’t find that unusual in the least bit. My two young boys were constructive like that. If they weren’t hanging around the kitchen waiting for supper to be served, they were out back building forts and bunkers from anything they could salvage. After a day’s construction, they would seek my approval.  I was their building inspector. So, no, I would not find anything odd about that.

Though, the circumstance by which we ended up in this playhouse may have come as a bit of a shock.
The television awoke me from my afternoon nap. It was emitting a tremendously aggravating noise. I stretched for the remote to lower the volume, but my actions were cut short by the heavy words resonating from the speakers. This is an urgent national broadcast...

 I sat back and listened. I sat through the entire announcement, too shaken to move from my seat.

1 hour to evacuate…

The transmission cut out and the screen went permanently black. I could hear my neighbors starting up their cars and burning rubber down the street. I moved toward the window and saw the neighborhood erupt in chaos. A woman was crying for help as she attempted to drag her disabled husband into their van. A dog helplessly attempted to keep pace with his master’s car. Didn’t anyone realize how futile their efforts were? An hour leaves barely enough time to reach the town’s limits.

“What’s happening?” I heard as the back door violently flung open. I turned to find a look of terror on my boys’ faces. “Where is everyone going?”

I alternated glances between the two, but I knew nothing I would say could offer any relief. They continued firing panicked inquiries at me, but I still found no response. That’s when I noticed the cardboard fort out back.

“We’re saved!” I gleefully shouted as I ran out back. My boys followed me without hesitation.

“Quickly! We’ve got to reinforce the bunker!” The two of them stared at me wide eyed. “The bunker!” I shouted again, pointing toward the cardboard house.  Yet, they maintained the puzzled look on their faces.

I looked toward the garage. “Wait here!” I yelled as I ran in to grab more cardboard. “We’ve got to reinforce it!” I began leaning cardboard strategically against the fort.

It wasn’t long before they caught on, placing cardboard gently on the roof and concealing any gaps. It was a wonder to behold. I was convinced that the world’s greatest architectures couldn’t manufacture a cardboard fort as sturdy as this.

“Well, go on. Get in the bunker. We’ll be safe in there.” I was speaking in a hushed tone, now. The screams and blaring car horns echoed from the distance.

We waited in the bunker in silence, but I sensed no more fear in my boys.

Even upon the bomb’s impact, not even a flinch.

We felt nothing.


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I would like to extend a thanks to Youngman Brown over at Dude Write for bestowing upon me the Chairman's Choice Man Card for my post, Stupid Things Kids Do To Get High/Drunk in Dude Write V.

Tuesday, July 17, 2012

An Unlikely Superpower


If you could have any superpower, what would it be?

I’ve answered this question with a vast assortment of run-of-the-mill answers throughout my years. Invisibility. Flight. Teleportation. Time control. But, I think I’ve finally established the superpower that would bring me the most joy. I wish I could wield the power to enliven inanimate objects with senses, emotions, and diction.

I bet you’re scratching your taint right now wondering why on Earth I would want such a ridiculous power. Well, it’s quite simple, really.

The office copy machine is on the fritz, again. It has a paper jam, the toner is low, and there is a strange, putrid, thick, red liquid leaking from the base. You’ve done everything within your capacity to repair the machine, but it has all come to no avail. So, what do you do? You turn into a Neanderthal and begin pounding the plastic outer shell with your clenched fists while shouting what you believe to be English but, in actuality, sounds like some sort of intergalactic transmission broadcasting through your face.
Staple image for office-machine violence.
Now you’re left with a wrecked copy machine littered with craters and bite marks. Did that make you feel better? No. It only enhanced the problem.

But what if you could instill that copy machine with life? Picture the machine as a living, breathing entity. Your words now hold authority. The hushed obscenities oozing from your mouth now have weight. You can infuse the helpless machine with fear by laying on distasteful threats and heavy glares. Furthermore, punching, kicking, and scratching the machine will evoke a sensory response.
When I say don't update Windows. DON'T UPDATE WINDOWS!
Though, through further analysis, I’ve found ways this power could prove detrimental. First of all, by no means will I ever use this power on my laptop. No matter how enraged I become with my obsolete laptop, I will not implant it with the ability to feel. With emotions, diction, and other senses comes the ability to reason. Who’s to say that after slapping my laptop around a few times won’t backfire in the form of blackmail? With a simple search through my history, my laptop can make my secret Brazilian fart fetish publicly known.

Furthermore, I write like I’m a violent lunatic on my blog, but I’m actually an extremely nonviolent person. But, that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like the power. Maybe I could buy the animated objects some flowers in exchange for a quick fix. Though, that could result in some unwanted attraction. Inevitably, it’d probably get to the point where I’d have to marry the copy machine to repair a paper jam. God forbid it evolves into desires for sexual favors in exchange for shaking the ink cartridge a little. 
Copier: "Let me eat your pussy."
Bah, on second thought, this superpower sucks. Back to the drawing board.

This is a submission to Dude Write VI. Head on over to Dude Write to
discover a multitude of fantastic writers.

Wednesday, July 11, 2012

Stupid Things Kids Do To Get High/Drunk


With authorities cracking down on the distribution of drugs and alcohol to minors, teens have found alternative ways to obtain the high they desire. Unfortunately, the methods of generating these highs are not only more dangerous than the drugs themselves but are hilariously stupid, as well. Below are just a few of the entertaining techniques these teens use:

The Choking Game

The title explains it all. This high is gained by cutting off the blood flow to one’s brain. Actually, the high comes from the simultaneous death of thousands of brain cells due to lack of oxygen. You know, those little, irreplaceable things in your head? Though, I suppose it doesn’t matter all that much considering you’ve got to have a pretty low brain cell count in order to try this in the first place. Unfortunately, a surplus of even more dumb people is not what this country needs right now.
 Pictures of teens choking each other seemed too graphic.
So, here's a puppy.

Hand Sanitizer

No, you’re not supposed to sterilize your hands with it; you’re supposed to drink it, you Silly Billy. Apparently, all you have to do it just add salt and the alcohol separates itself from the other components. A few swigs of this from the safety of a bathroom stall is enough to give you enough liquid courage to ask out your crush, invite your teacher to dinner, and expose your private parts to the janitor while promptly falling short of each of your expectations.
Not hand sanitizer. But, not smart either.

Purple Drank

Chugging a bottle of Robitussen will probably be the smartest thing you do all day. You’ll have hours of fun hanging out with your close friends in your car while you engage in a polite debate about whether the death of Mufasa lies more in the hands of Simba or Scar. Side effects may include: 1) Over-exaggerating the amount of hate in the world to the point where you weep in each other’s arms, 2) hugging a tree until a colony of fire ants becomes threatened enough to wage war with your entire body, or 3) reminiscing about the previous 40 times you’ve “robo-tripped” as if the other friend had not been there to experience it.
Sweet! I don't need a caption for this one.

Vodka Eyeballing

Pshh, what do you mean you’ve never poured vodka in your eye socket? The blood vessels in your eyes allow for quick passage to your blood stream, obviously. So what if it causes scarring and severe burning to your cornea? You’ll be supah hammah’d, dude. You have to be wary of complete and permanent blindness; though, what will you care when you’re mucho drunk-o, eh?
Not sure if she missed her mouth or if she's actually 
that intelligent.

Jenkem

This is a hallucinogen inhalant. It’s kind of like huffing paint or snorting bath salts, except you have to take long, exaggerated whiffs of fermented human shit. Well Chiz, what’s the difference between this and walking into a port-a-potty? I don’t know; I’m not a scientist. But, who would pass up the chance sniff a little bit of their sunbathed shit in ordered to see packs of wolves dancing amongst the stars?
Yeah, well, my dog eats his own shit, and he's
mellow as fuck.

So, Chiz, what do you propose we do?

In order to protect these children from their own stupidity, I propose we laced their cafeteria food with intense amount of hallucinogenic drugs to the point where they suffer an extremely horrific trip and never want to do drugs again. Who’s with me? Lace the cafeteria food with acid!

P.S. Don’t actually poison the cafeteria food with acid or any other hallucinogenic drug. And, most certainly DO NOT try any of these methods to get high/drunk. I feel like I need to include this because there are people who are that dumb. Fortunately, people like that don't read my garbage blog, anyway.


This is a submission for Dude Write 5! Head on over to discover blogs that are far better than mine, and vote for your favorite!

Friday, July 6, 2012

One-Floor Elevator Riders

30 floors up, a man dispels leaky farts upon his irritating, encrusted cubicle chair. That poor sap is me, Chiz. I take a peek at the bottom of my moniter and see the time hasn't changed a minute since the last 40 glances. However, the hallucinogenic chemicals secreted from my anal glands have begun to take a toll. It looks like it's time for an early lunch.

You don't want to know what else showed up when I searched
"guy farting in cubicle."

I make my way to the elevators and press the arrow pointing down. Then, I press it again. Then, one more time. Then, I jab the button with my boney  knuckle. Finally, I ball my hand into a fist and punch the button as it decides to grace me with its warm glow.


After 5 minutes of murmuring obscenities to myself, the pleasant ding of the elevator chimed and the metallic doors creaked open. I motioned toward the elevator as the door quickly closed and jabbed my hipbone as it always so jokingly does. After wrestling the probing doors off my shattered body, I pressed the button labeled ‘G’ which stands for… “G’all the way down.”

The rickety grinding sound of the rusted gears was reassuring seeing as I was 30 stories above the very hard ground. Down the elevator went, until I heard another ding at floor 27. The doors slid open and two big-haired, bulbous women boarded. The elevator sunk a few inches and a few snapping noises emanated from the shaft.

Kind of like this, but substitute the 40-year-old with me.

The big-haired, bulbous women were talking; though, it was a conversation so mind-numbingly uninteresting that my brain almost killed itself. I had a strange sensation that something horrendous was about to occur. It wasn’t the fear of the elevator collapsing and plummeting 27 floors, ending all our lives; no, it was something far more sinister. And, as soon as the thought crossed my mind, the women took action. Both of them simultaneously reached for the rows of buttons and pressed their processed cheese-stained fingers upon the button marked ‘26’. They were actually getting on the elevator… to go down one floor.

Knowing that floors 23-27 have their own staircase conveniently running down the middle of everyone of their five floors, my mind immediately took control of my reflexes. My right arm cocked back and unleashed a fiery Falcon Punch to the soft cushiony back of the woman before me, flinging her through the closing doors and crashing through the wall of the foyer. The second woman, looking back, didn’t have time to react as I dropkicked her through the doors to join her friend embedded in the drywall. Before the doors completely shut, I threw a hot plate of macaroni all over them.

I shook off the hallucinogenic trip and snapped back to reality where the two women still stood before me, smelling of sardines and Cheetos.

I looked them up and down. They didn’t seem to have any noticeable medical conditions. I mean, if they didn’t have either of their legs I could understand them taking the elevator down one floor. Oh, wait. According to this article, that is no longer a viable excuse.

So, what could it be that prompted these women to take the elevator one floor rather than traversing the paltry 10 steps?

“Lucy, Bahaha, we’re so lazy aren’t we?” The woman’s nasally voice broke my concentration. Lazy aren’t we… Wait, surely she couldn’t mean—

“So true, Bridget-Anne! Look at us take the elevator down on floor. No wonder we’re so out of shape, Clahahblah!

So, there was absolutely nothing wrong with them? They were just lazy? Better yet, they recognized the downfall of their physical condition, but still chose to perform the action most detrimental to their health.
Upon realizing the details of their lethargic decision, it was impossible to hold it back. I dragged my hands over my face and began to weep.

The women stopped their conversation and looked at me hesitantly, Ding! The doors slid open and the women shrugged as they left the elevator. I managed to regain my composure and straightened out my noose and dress shirt.

At least I survived the traumatic experience. I didn’t know if I would be able to go through that situation again, but I can’t say I wasn’t relieved it was over. Ding! The elevator stopped on floor 25. The doors opened to a group of young, spiky haired businessmen.

“18 beers? That’s nothing, Frank. Grows some balls,” one scoffed as he punched the button labeled ‘24’. It was then that I lost all consciousness.

P.S. If you haven't done so already, check out my guest post on Muppets for Justice.


Furthermore, this is a submission for Dude Write #4.

Tuesday, July 3, 2012

Guest Post - Muppets for Justice


The following is a guest post from the insanely hilarious Addman from Muppets for Justice. If you are following me and, for some frighteningly odd reason, you are not following him, I urge you demand you to visit his site. I guarantee the first thought in your mind will be, "Why on Earth am I reading the incessant, poorly written ramblings of a drugged out nerd who refers to himself as Chiz, when their are bloggers of this caliber out there?" In case none of that made sense, go to his blog now... well, after you read the following.
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Have you ever heard of rap music before?  Probably not.  It seems to be a very low key genre of music that record companies haven’t discovered the potential of yet. 

I hadn’t even heard of a Hip Hop until last week when I stumbled across some rappers delights on the Internet.  My ears immediately grew to twice their usual size to accommodate this sonic experience.  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.  People were talking over music.  Amazing!  It’s like poetry, except a rapper would rather insist on a blowjob than sit around comparing thee to a summer’s day.  It’s this direct communication that first caught my attention.

Despite enjoying the music, I find it difficult to understand the language behind it.  I must admit, I’m not all that streetwise and I’ve never owned a “ghetto” to the best of my knowledge, so I struggled to comprehend the lyrics.  Why did rappers often try to extort money from garden tools?  Is a “shawty” a midget?  After devising a rudimentary Rap Dictionary, I set about decoding these works and putting them in a readable format.  As a little game, see if you can identify these famous rap songs from my very straightforward translations:

1. My mother has suggested that I render you unconscious.

2. Two impoverished young ladies dance suggestively around the perimeter, around the perimeter, around the perimeter.

3. The general populace has witnessed my casual driving style, many people profess to hate me for it, the police force hope to pay witness to my dirty riding.

4. In these modern times many members of the public attempt verbal communication, although they have nothing of interest to convey, so little of substance is put forward, excluding mentally deficient sentence structures, the reason behind this phenomenon is that they fail to recognise Dre.

5. I'm mentally inadequate in my cerebral mucus, mentally inadequate in my cerebral cortex.

6. I enjoy the company of ladies with rotund posteriors, and I must confess that this is the truth, I challenge other members of my gender to prove that this claim is not representative of a demographic trend.

7. Oh, my darling I enjoy our intercourse without any frills attached, I enjoy it without frills attaaaaached!

8. I require currency, currency, currency is what I require

9. The temperature of this room has dramatically increased, lest you perish in this inferno, I implore you to remove your garments.

10. If you are not a fan of my musical endeavours I invite you to perform fellatio on me, because I was under the influence of narcotics when I attempted this, so how about that fellatio?

11. Go vertically challenged lady, today is the anniversary of your birth, we're going to celebrate as if it is the anniversary of your birth.

12. My buttermilk drinks summon all those of male gender to an openly paved area, and they declare my produce to be of superior quality, damn right it’s of superior quality, I could educate you in exchange for currency.

13. I am the pinnacle of my social class, I have risen to a well respected status amongst my peers, I do not partake in the consumption of swine as that is slang for a police officer.

14. Sometimes people mistake me for being mentally retarded, but I just don't conform to standard social cues.


Answers:
1)  LL Cool J – Mama Said Knock You Out
2)  Eminem – Without Me
3)  Chamillionaire – Ridin Dirty
4)  Dr Dre + Eminem – Forgot About Dre
5)  Cypress Hill – Insane In The Brain
6)  Sir Mix-A-Lot – I Like Big Butts
7)  Ol’ Dirty Bastard – Shimmy Shimmy Ya
8)  Aloe Blacc – I Need A Dollar
9)  Nelly – Hot In Here
10)  D12 – Suck My Dick
11)  50 Cent – In Da Club
12)  Kelis – My Milkshake
13)  House of Pain – Jump Around
14)  Dizzee Rascal - Bonkers