Day 3

I have pretty much decided not to sleep anymore.

Last night I got two hours of sleep. This is because yesterday at 7:30, I drank a tiny mocha with four shots of espresso, and I had an essay to finish (which I am still doing) and I am now vividly hallucinating that I had enough energy to actually attend Latin class today.

The very special part about Latin class is that, even when I’ve gotten 10 hours of sleep, that shit still makes me sleepy. Today I decided to see if I could fool everyone into thinking that I was wide awake. I did this by bouncing, smiling, wide-eyed, and making jokes (fuck you, this sentence makes sense).

But you and I both know that I am not going to die of sleep deprivation. What I am more likely to die is a general clumsiness and lack of common sense that is amplified by sleep deprivation. I.e., I dropped my pen cap on the way back from Latin today. I watched it fall off of my pen, and instinctively turned around and ducked to grab it.

Wait, let me back up. Moments before, I came to a sidewalk crossing. Normally, sidewalk crossings are pretty fucking boring. But sometimes, people decide to drive their golf carts and work trucks on the sidewalk, which I will never understand, because my school is small enough that they could drive the fuck around and it would take them less time because people like me wouldn’t get in the way. Anyway, today one of these golf tanks was waiting at the walk-cross, and immediately after I passed it moved into position behind me, ready to strike if I happened to drop my pen cap.

So, when I say I ducked to grab it, what I mean is I headbutted the golf machine so that it would roll off of my (now crushed) pen cap. There is now an unfortunate bump on my head, which really isn’t the worst thing that could have happened. No, the worst thing that could have happened is I could have moved to get out of the way and bowled over a poor, unsuspecting six year old girl, whose mother could have yelled at me as the golf truck driver laughed at me and I got mud on my shoes and STILL didn’t get my pen cap back, so when I put my pen in my pocket (you know, so that I didn’t drop it and accidentally get crushed by a falling piano) it made a rather noticeable and inartistic ink blot on my jeans. Oh wait, THAT IS WHAT HAPPENED FUCK MY LIFE.

Anyway, sleep deprived, gonna go play video games instead of doing my homework woo.

Day 2

I’m not going to apologize for not posting, because that is fucking boring.

I am a child. I am an old-fashioned child. My roommate explained the complexities of Super Smash Bros. Brawl to me the other day, and I responded with: “video games are fucking boring.” I get a lot more enjoyment out of climbing trees.

Trees, it turns out, did not all evolve the capacity to be climbed. These are pansy trees. However, it is sometimes difficult to differentiate between a pansy tree and a robust, climbing tree. So, the other day, at the park, I decided to climb an apparently robust climbing tree. The lowest branch was above my head, so I had to wrap my arms around it and swing my leg over. It was difficult, particularly since I was wearing flip-flops.

Climbing trees is not inherently dangerous.

When I got up to the aforementioned branch, I looked around for another branch to climb to. I am not a light person, and sometimes this is a difficult process. You have to test the branches to determine if they are really strong enough to hold your weight, because if they aren’t, you are going to fall, and the branch is going to fall on top of you.

Instead of shimmying up the sturdiest looking branch — let’s face it, nobody looks cool while they are shimmying — I decided to jump (yes, it was out of reach) to a… somewhat less sturdy looking branch. It was a test run. I figured, if the branch snapped, it was a bad one.

The branch snapped. It was a bad one. Unfortunately, it didn’t occur to me that testing the branch by leaping to it was a bad idea. I fell a total distance of about twice my height, rolled along the tree and then, unsurprisingly, had the branch fall on me.

It was a good day.

Yesterday, I drifted in my car. I was doing about 75 up a hill, and there was a somewhat sharp turn. I have taken this turn hundreds of times before, and I don’t remember ever having to brake.

I also don’t remember ever doing 75 around it (or any particularly sharp turn) so this story sort of balances itself out.

The thing about drifting that has always scared me and prevented me from doing it is that my car, Ulysses, while fucking bad ass, is also a bit of a pussy. The window doesn’t work, the odometer doesn’t work, and it can only hold 7 gallons of gas. It’s also made of plastic. I’m always afraid that doing things that the car was SPECIFICALLY designed to do (like, say, take a sharp turn at 75 mph), that the plastic on and around my car is going to explode.

That was not my biggest fear this time. It turns out, actually, that my biggest fear was the oncoming traffic. I was sort of hoping that my car would explode so that, in case of an accident, I wouldn’t be at fault (we could blame the manufacturers). Thankfully there was a car-sized hole in the traffic, and I managed to fit in very nicely — at which point I became terrified that I was going to be pulled over and/or shot.

Next time: dietary habits. Unless I feel like posting about something else. Which I might.

Things I do that have a legitimate chance of killing me (day 1)

Upon further reflection of my life, it became very clear that I am not a very smart person. I do things on a regular basis that a normal, thinking person might avoid for fear of being fatally wounded. Things like taping wires to a battery and connecting them inside of a sock in the hopes that it will catch on fire. Or kicking a sealed bottle full of  dry ice and water. I do these things because they are awesome, and because so far, I have failed to die (or be irreparably hurt, really) by any of my antics. And I will continue to do stupid things until I do, because I do not learn very quickly.

And so, I bring to you, my act of idiocy for the day (thus far): I went out to get something from my car earlier, and I was sitting in the driver seat looking around for it for a good five minutes before I realized I’d forgotten what I was looking for. So I started playing with my car lighter. I’ve always wondered what the application of this was for a non-smoker. So, I pushed it in and started playing with it, looking at the coils and whatnot.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that me + a very hot small object = burnt fingers. I will ask for a genius, however, in figuring out how I managed to burn my face AND wind up dropping the car lighter out of the door in such a manner that it rolled under the car to the exact furthest point from every opening.

So, I had to get the car lighter out from under my car. I don’t like to waste gas, so instead of moving my car back 15 feet, getting the lighter and then rolling forward again, I decided to crawl under the car. From the driver’s side. Which face right into the street. Cars drive on the street, and I don’t know about you, but I rarely look for a pair of random legs in the middle of the road while I am driving. A car drove by and honked as they very nearly crushed the lower half of my body. As they honked, I smacked my head on the bottom of my car. Had I crawled about 4 inches further, I would have smacked my head on a very sharp looking object that probably would have done some real damage to my already underdeveloped brain.

I still don’t remember what I went to my car to get.

How to:Be Catholic

So basically, I was thinking the other day, and really, Protestants are just the pansy version of Catholics.

The Protestants are all, “We all care, let’s pray for all of these sick people, all of these people we don’t know, and all of these dead people!”
And the Catholics are like, “what? Those people can pray for themselves!”

And then the Protestants are all, “We can confess our sins to Jesus whenever/wherever we want!”
And the Catholics are like, “that doesn’t even make sense! What, you just apologize?”

And then the Protestants are all, “you don’t have to give, it’s an offering!“
And the Catholics are like, “if you don’t want to tithe, you can go to the tinker church on the corner, heathen.”

And then the Protestants are all, “Communion is the only important tradition!”
And the Catholics are like, “WHA—– you are all going to hell. All of you.” 

And then the Protestants are all, “No sex before marriage!”
And the Catholics are like, “Whatever, just repent and you’ll be fine.”

And then the Protestants are all, “Well, if you have to, use a condom!”
And the Catholics are like “What are you retarded!?!?!? That ruins the whole —- ugh, stupid itinerants…”

And then the Protestants are all, “We don’t need a Pope, we can talk to God whenever we want!”
And the Catholics are like, “You think he cares about what you have to say? Dolts.”

And then the Protestants are all, “Woooo! Rock and roll!”
And the Catholics are like, “arrrrrgh, devil noises! Where is my hymnal book!?”

And then the Protestants are all, “We have all have our own interpretations of the Good Book, and that’s OK!”
And the Catholics are too shocked by the Protestants idiocy to speak.

 Now at this point, you probably disagree with what I am saying. You might be asking how I got this information, considering that I teach Sunday School at a Protestant Church. I have two answers to that quandary: one, you are retarded, stop asking questions. Two: I read a lot of books about Catholicism, and I have watched a lot of movies with Catholic people in them, so really I’m practically an expert on this subject.

Away we go…

CATHOLIC GUILT

What is more important to a Catholic than his over-stimulated conscience? Basically, you have to feel bad about freaking everything, especially things Protestants would think you were stupid for feeling bad about, list ensuing:

- Birth Control: Catholics hate birth control. It is evil. Sex is for procreation. No matter what I may have said on this subject in the past.
- Porn: Even if you see something on accident, you have to scrub your eyes.
- Being happy: This is a cardinal sin in Catholicism. That doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to do it (see: Pennance), it just means you have to feel bad about it afterward.
- Destroying good things: Sometimes you have to do something bad for the greater good. Stop and do a Hail Mary as you kill all of those  indiginous people; they aren’t important, but God still loves them. Right?
- Swearing: You have to say things like “gosh” and “darn”, but if you do it too often you have to get Catholic Guilt on that, too, and have to start using even more ridiculous words like “garsh”, “fusk”, and “durn”. Eventually people will get so annoyed with your smarminess that they will murder you. 

SEVEN DEADLY SINS

 Even Catholics fail at life once in a while. You just have to know how to avoid failing in the afterlife.

Lust: Stop it. You’re going to hell.
Gluttony: This one is a little vague. Just try not to eat too much in front of poor people, or if you do, share.
Greed: Sort of the same concept… you just have to give some to the Church?
Wrath: Uh… just don’t kill anybody out of anger, OK?
 Envy: Alright, I don’t even know about this one. You have to be an ascetic!
 Pride: These are just getting ridiculous.
 Sloth: Wait, when are we supposed to sleep???

Steven Greco: “So… laziness is a sin, but patience: that’s a virtue.”

PENANCE

Finally, you’re thinking. The real reason I wanna be Catholic! They get to do whatever they want, as long as they do that confession thing.

Wrong.

You also have to put some money in the bucket in front of my house.

See, the government decided that the church was taking too much money from people to pay for the ridiculous number of sins they did. The government thought that the Catholic Church just made all of the fun things in life (sex, food, money, happiness, fun) against the rules so that they could capitalize on all of them.

…

… actually that makes a little bit of sense.

Damn.

How to:Make Your Resolutions Last

It’s New Year’s time, and I bet you all did it. Even if you didn’t have anything to be resolute about, you still came up with something stupid like “I resolve to be nicer to my friends”. That’s bullshit, and you know that’s bullshit. Don’t come around my house, giving me your dumb as hell resolutions and then bitching to me because they never make it past January 27th. Maybe you should resolve to make better resolutions, huh?

Oh, I guess that’s why you’re here. I know, I get that your resolutions already suck, and New Year’s was almost a week ago, but it’s not too late to salvage this. Since I’m obviously the ultimate authority on this (why else would I be writing a blog? what do you expect, Senatorial committees dedicated to when/how resolutions must be created and maintained?) I hereby grant you impunity (not sure if that word means what I think it means but let’s roll with it)  for making a shitty resolution and therefor needing to make your resolution late.

STEP ONE: Keep it simple. Since you lack the mental capacity to do anything really complex, why don’t you put down the philosophy books and pick up your skiis or something manageable. If you try going to deep with your resolution, you’re bound to failure. Thus, I suggest you do something tangible, something you can measure, something you can quantify, enumerate and count. I have made a brief list of resolutions I have made that you can model your’s after:

-Do 10,000 push-ups. (that’s 27.397 push-ups a day. So far I’m… 540 push-ups behind. So far I have done 30. But I can make it up.)
-Catch a fish using my bare hands. (too cold to get into the water so far)
-Get my favorite song up to 300 plays in iTunes without cheating (moving the slider over, not actually listening to the song, etc.)
 -Watch five movies that make me cry (tearing up is actually enough, since I don’t really cry)
-COMPLETED: Get knocked out and get a concussion at a party I was supposed to get a Christmas present at, have all of my friends laugh at me, and drive home two hours later without a gift. (thanks Esther and Brian for helping me out!)
-Stay up for  8 days straight (a day longer than last year’s record)
 
 That’s just a few of them, you know, to help you out. Notice how there are no pansy resolutions like “enjoy my friends more” or “appreciate my family more”. That’s because I didn’t resolve any of those because those are pansy resolutions.

Anyway, the next thing is to make something you can build upon. Instead of just making it a one shot deal, make it something you can do even better in 2010. If your resolution is to run 10 miles, make next year’s resolution 15… even if you don’t make it. For as Les Brown said: “Shoot for the moon, because even if you miss you’re just going to float around space for millions of years until you land in a sun and burn to death”. Or something.

Okay, so you’ve made your (probably still retarded, but whatever) resolution. How are we gonna keep this? You got nothing, do you? Well alright, I’ll help you out I guess since I don’t have anything better to do (it’s not like I have two essays plus calculus homework to finish). Get a henna thingy (or, if you wanna go really hardcore, get a real tattoo), and list out your goals in a checklist form on your forearm. This way you can see it all the time, and you’ll never forget. As long as you aren’t attempting your resolution, you will feel terribly inadequate and will then stop whatever you are doing to pursue your goals. Work should always take a backseat to what I’m telling you to do anyway, so while you’re at it you could probably get this whole post tattoo’d on your chest in reverse (so you can read it in the mirror) and carry a mirror around everywhere (so you can read the backwards text when someone asks you what the hell is written on your chest, and have an adequate answer to the question “where the hell is your shirt??”)

Alright well. I’m done. Happy New Year’s and stuff.

How to: Care more than I do

Done.

How to: Be incredible

POST POST POST.

After a two month hiatus, I’m back, bitches, with 8% more cruise control and a lot less sense than ever.

Your life is full of failure, and you’re tired of it. So it’s time to COVER UP all of that fail, put some make-up (what’s that stuff called? platform? structure? dammit) over that bruise life’s brutalization left you, get on up off the carpet of desperation, and head out the door of abject humilation and degradation, down the front steps of your classmate’s/co-worker’s constant torment, and down the street of shattered hopes and lost dreams; it’s time to move on with your tattered life and learn to be INCREDIBLE.

Incredibility has many perks. First of all, when you’re not incredible and when awesome things don’t happen to you but you tell  other people that they did anyway, people say something like, “What? That didn’t happen. You’re stupid.” But if you’re INCREDIBLE, like me, people get a bewildered look on their face and say “WHAAAAAAAAAAAAT, REALLLLLLY????” and you can either choose to let them believe it or to openly laugh at their idiocy for a while.

Now, I don’t think “INCREDIBLE” means what you think it means. Let’s break this word apart for you, the “average” (meaning you were dropped into a can of paint-thinner while you were high on your third birthday) reader. The root “credible” means “Worthy of confidence; reliable.” You are EXACTLY that. I can always rely on you to be a little more miserable of a failure than I am. Thank you. However. IT’S TIME TO STOP.

INcredible means to be “not credible”. Which means you have to be UNreliable and UNworthy of confidence. Now, you do the latter to yourself pretty well, what with the horrifically low self-esteem and all, but your reliability (aka: predictability) is pitifully high. Time to take down a few notches with these quick and easy steps:

- stop wearing clothes. Nobody will trust a naked man. (Not applicable if you are a woman. Men find naked women entirely credible, no matter what they are selling.)
- choke a penguin. It’s nearly unbelievable, even if you DO see it with your own eyes!
- pretend to be genuienly ungenuine. No one will be able to tell if you’re lying or lying about lying, or lying about lying about not lying about whether you might have or might not have been in a situation in which there was a possiblity that you weren’t involved in anything at all!

Once you have obtained a certain level of incredibility, you’ll go into a state of “QUANTUM RELIABILITY”. That means some of the crazy ass bullsnap you spew out of your filthy lying mouth will be TRUE crazy ass bullsnap. Quantum reliability is the most effective state in the Union. No one will be able to tell when you are telling the truth or lying, and if you think that’s a bad thing, you’re probably the one out of five doctors who didn’t realize “Colgate” was not a toothpaste scandal and therefore are not receiving royalty checks for endorsing it.

See, in quantum reliability, each individual is equally likely to trust and not trust you on everything you say; they are also equally likely to ALWAYS beleive you as they are to believe you 50% of the time; therefore, 50% of people will believe everything you say, and the other 50% will believe 50% of what you say. That’s a total of 150%, if you can’t count. That means that 150% of people are believeing what you say 50% of the time, which means 75% of the time, what you are saying is going to be believed. 3/4 lies you tell will be taken as strict fact! Most politicians have reached a level of quantum reliability that I don’t even know about, but I’ve heard that it has to do with vibrating superthreads of honesty and justice.

So there you have it. The scientific method to becoming incredible.

Damn, that was tiring.

Shaw

“A man of great common sense and good taste – meaning thereby a man without originality or moral courage.“

(Yes, Michael, this means I will be exercising 50% less common sense than ever before)

One vote doesn’t matter… that’s why I voted twice

OH-BAH-MAH

OH-BAH-MAH

This is probably the best thing that has happened to me in a while. Extemp topics are going to rock when the Democrats screw the country into the ground.

Not that I would be saying anything different with McCain. I guess since I don’t harbor any opinions of my own I pick and choose the ones that are going to make me most unhappy at any given time. Oh well.

I hope you all went out and voted like I told you to on like day 5 of this blog.

Anyway, I hate politics and that isn’t what this blog is about.

Holy crap, I am almost 18 years old. Do you understand what that means???

I can buy pornography and cigarettes. Do you have any idea how long I have been waiting for this? I do. 18 years!

Anti-vice laws encourage addiction to vices. I mean, come on. I’ve smoked before, and as of right now I have no inclination to try it again. But when I turn 18, I can. I’m gonna wanna light up a cigar and kick back and smoke that shit. And I’m probably going to like it, too. And then what? Then I will become a chain smoker.

Seriously. Here’s my how to:, after a, what, two month hiatus? How to: not get addicted to bad things.

DON’T DO THEM YOU EFFING RETARD WHAT ARE YOU MISSING A CHROMOSOME??? WHEN DID INJECTING A FOREIGN FLUID INTO YOUR BODY START LOOKING LIKE A GOOD ALTERNATIVE TO…

You want to go get really high, in a fashion that is really good for you? Go get laid. Seriously. Endorphins.

Woah now, buddy! Put down the ropynol! Not cool. Do I have to write a how to: get laid?

Wait, didn’t I already write that? I keep forgetting. Maybe I should give you some pointers here just in case:

STEP 1: Take sex-ed course. Make sure you are familar with the opposite gender’s sexual organs before attempting to use them.
STEP 2: Find an attractive/non-repulsive mate.
STEP THREE: Convince mate to have intercourse (concensually).
STEP IV: MISSIONARY POSITION.

Also, remember your protection. We don’t need a lot of mini-you’s running around. Our next generation is going to be retarded enough as it is.

Because I have the most amazing girlfriend in the world

who gave me the best gift I have ever received for our anniversary.

A jar, which I will cherish entirely for as long as I live.