What up, broskies? I apologize sincerely for the lack of blogs lately; there just hasn't been ANYTHING interesting to write about. Luckily for you, however, I just returned from a one week trip to the Windy City! Well, the suburbs of the Windy City (same difference, if you ask me). While the trip itself wasn't all that exciting, the six hours total I spent in RDU/O'Hare International Airports gave me plenty of time to make lists of all the things I hate about "airport people". Therefore, I will now proceed to type that list out here, for you all to enjoy.
Things I Hate About Airports:
1) Blatantly overpriced airport food.
2) People who walk on the wrong side of the terminal. Come on. Really?
3) People who don't understand that moving walkways ARE FOR WALKING.
4) Family members who insist on accompanying you to the gate, even though you've been doing this by yourself since you were eleven.
5) Family members who won't leave you alone when you're obviously very absorbed in your Game Of Thrones book.
6) Family members who still won't leave you alone after you've done nothing but grunt and give them the evil eye for the last twenty minutes.
7) Family members who STILL WON'T FUCKING LEAVE YOU ALONE after you've started ignoring them completely.
8) People who throw hissy fits when the flight attendant asks them, very politely, to check and see if their carry-on fits in the bag sizer.
9) People who buy extra tickets, just so that the seats around them will be empty.
10) Babies.
Wow, it's really convenient that this list turned out to have ten items. I didn't even plan it that way. It must be a sign, like from Jesus, or Goku.
Monday, August 8, 2011
Saturday, June 25, 2011
When I was younger, I thought that Isabella and Lizze McGuire from the Lizzie McGuire Movie were played by two different people.
Does anyone else think it's weird that the fish in Mass Effect 2 need to be fed like EVERY FUCKING HOUR, but the space hamster never needs to eat anything? Every time I ask someone this question, they just look at me weird and walk away. One of my friends even said, "Because it's a SPACE HAMSTER, Heather. It probably lives off, like... SPACE."
Okay, for one thing, that's just ridiculous. How could any living creature live off SPACE? It's just not logical. Another of my friends went so far as to say, "I dunno... they probably just eat the same thing as regular hamsters." That is also completely illogical. A space hamster has a totally different genetic makeup than a regular hamster, otherwise the distinction wouldn't be made in the first place. Chances are, regular hamster food would seriously fuck up the space hamster's digestive track. And that would be sad. No one wants to walk into their Captain's Quarters and have to dispose of a half-rotted rodent corpse. That's just nasty.
I suspect that this obsession with finding out what space hamsters eat stemmed from my rage at having to clean the dead fish out of my fish tank. Twice. I can't even remember to turn the oven off after I make a frozen pizza, and those tools over at Bioware expect me to feed my FISH every time I board the Normandy? I have more important things to worry about. Like the safety of the entire fucking GALAXY, breh.
I'm really glad that I have this blog, because I can just imagine what sort of things will go through my head when I look back at it again twenty years from now.
Okay, for one thing, that's just ridiculous. How could any living creature live off SPACE? It's just not logical. Another of my friends went so far as to say, "I dunno... they probably just eat the same thing as regular hamsters." That is also completely illogical. A space hamster has a totally different genetic makeup than a regular hamster, otherwise the distinction wouldn't be made in the first place. Chances are, regular hamster food would seriously fuck up the space hamster's digestive track. And that would be sad. No one wants to walk into their Captain's Quarters and have to dispose of a half-rotted rodent corpse. That's just nasty.
I suspect that this obsession with finding out what space hamsters eat stemmed from my rage at having to clean the dead fish out of my fish tank. Twice. I can't even remember to turn the oven off after I make a frozen pizza, and those tools over at Bioware expect me to feed my FISH every time I board the Normandy? I have more important things to worry about. Like the safety of the entire fucking GALAXY, breh.
I'm really glad that I have this blog, because I can just imagine what sort of things will go through my head when I look back at it again twenty years from now.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Mari-ja-wana Is Bad
I'm sorry, Ashley, but this is just too good not to post.
A couple of weeks ago, my good friend, Ashley, got her wisdom teeth taken out, and you all know what that means. Unlimited quantities of all those drugs that are normally illegal! And let me tell you, she hit the illicit drug jackpot. I got stuck with plain old Vicodin when I got mine out, but darling Ashley was lucky enough to score a prescription for Codeine! Exciting, no? Well, not when you're Ashley, as can be proven by the following text conversation... I should also mention that the first message was sent the night before she took the Codeine for the first time, and pertained to some RJ Berger clip that I never got around to watching. I was of course suspicious, as every other time she had sent me something resembling that, it was a link to the music video for "Buddy Holly" by Weezer. It's how she Rick Rolls me. But, anyway...
--------------------
Ashley: Check you facebook e-mail ASAP. You won't believe it. I don't believe it. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. REPEAT. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.
Me: Ashley, I swear to God, if I check my messages and you've sent me the Buddy Holly video again, I'm gonna have to shank you.
A: Is not. I sen it to Katie tu and she lovd it. guss what? im on coedine and im dizzy. now i kno why people sell it as drugss. but no budd holly. promise. hi! :)
M: Oh, wow. I'm going to save that message forever. It will bring us laughs for years to come.
A: why?
M: Never mind. Gotta get me some of that Codeine, though...
A: its werd. i hugged the incubater earlier. i gess im escited about hatchding ducks?
M: Have they hatched already? I wouldn't recommend hugging the ducks themselves. They might not like that too much.
A: theyve only been theyre for thr3 days. they wont hach for 20something more. its just egs.
M: Oh. What are you going to name them?
A: cant tellem part when treir born. or when there grown. im hoping we can get colorful bands for thems feet. then we can ientify then and names would be good. but also thers goona be lots of them cause we have 3 dosen eggs. they wont all hatch but hopefull a lot.
M: That's a good idea. Then you could take them for walks and everything!
A: i dun thinkg they would do that. plus if they try 2 flie. and when they growed. it mighkt hurt themd.
M: Good point. I think it would be cool to be a duck. Don't you?
A: id like to fly. and duckies are cuut. but i think your trying to get some funny stuff out om me being highish. cleber. but not enough.
M: Oh, it definitely IS enough, love XD
A: what IS?
M: Don't worry about it. How are you feeling?
A: my face hurts. an is swollen. an i have only eten jello. i miss meat. i really want ckicken right now. nomnom.
A: HOW ARE YOU FEELING? <---(this is part of an inside joke that will be explained once I get done typing all this)
M: XD Has Philip texted you at all since you shut him down?
A: not :) once :) since :) that :) othr :) day :). i :) cant :) say :) i :) mind :). did :) i :) put :) enough :) faces :) so :) you :) know :) im :) liking :) you :)? i :) could :) propose :) if :) you :) dint :) get :) the :) point :). <---(part of the same inside joke)
M: You haven't invited me to come see you folk/rock/pop/polka band perform yet! <---(still part of that inside joke)
A: iknow. but im sleepy.
M: Awwww. Are you gonna go to bed now?
A: maybe. i kinda am in bed. im watching a true life about homeless people. i think the medcinde is making me sleepy. thats part of what itdoes.
M: Yeah, I've heard that.
A: its a boring show.
A: uh huh. (WTF?)
M: Really? I would think you would love it, seeing how much you care about homeless people.
A: suddup.
A: there hmoleess but the girl can still aford to somke 2 cigartees at once?
M: I guess that's what homeless people do with the money we give them.
A: Dummies..
--------------------
And so ends Ashley's Grande Ole' Codeine-Induced Adventure, Part II (Part I involved her sending Eye Vay a text message that just said "frozen rear"). We had quite a bit of fun at poor Ashley's expense that day. So much, in fact, that she refuses to read over the messages she sent me!
Now, I feel obligated to explain the "Philip Situation". In short, Philip is this guy that goes to our school who one day decided that he had the hots for Ashley. Keep in mind, they had never had a conversation before he informed Eye Vay of his infatuation, and knew absolutely nothing about each other. Zilch. Zero. Nihil. So, they texted pretty much every day (his choice, not hers), but eventually, Ashley decided she couldn't take it anymore. She had no interest in him, and plus, a girl can only spend so much time talking with a guy about nothing but physical therapy, Frank Turner, and his misguided dreams of becoming a famous folk musician. So, she cut him loose, and we spent a brief (but highly amusing) period of time making fun of him mercilessly behind his back about his lack of interesting talking points and excessive use of the smiley face.
Pax ex, breh.
A couple of weeks ago, my good friend, Ashley, got her wisdom teeth taken out, and you all know what that means. Unlimited quantities of all those drugs that are normally illegal! And let me tell you, she hit the illicit drug jackpot. I got stuck with plain old Vicodin when I got mine out, but darling Ashley was lucky enough to score a prescription for Codeine! Exciting, no? Well, not when you're Ashley, as can be proven by the following text conversation... I should also mention that the first message was sent the night before she took the Codeine for the first time, and pertained to some RJ Berger clip that I never got around to watching. I was of course suspicious, as every other time she had sent me something resembling that, it was a link to the music video for "Buddy Holly" by Weezer. It's how she Rick Rolls me. But, anyway...
--------------------
Ashley: Check you facebook e-mail ASAP. You won't believe it. I don't believe it. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. REPEAT. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.
Me: Ashley, I swear to God, if I check my messages and you've sent me the Buddy Holly video again, I'm gonna have to shank you.
A: Is not. I sen it to Katie tu and she lovd it. guss what? im on coedine and im dizzy. now i kno why people sell it as drugss. but no budd holly. promise. hi! :)
M: Oh, wow. I'm going to save that message forever. It will bring us laughs for years to come.
A: why?
M: Never mind. Gotta get me some of that Codeine, though...
A: its werd. i hugged the incubater earlier. i gess im escited about hatchding ducks?
M: Have they hatched already? I wouldn't recommend hugging the ducks themselves. They might not like that too much.
A: theyve only been theyre for thr3 days. they wont hach for 20something more. its just egs.
M: Oh. What are you going to name them?
A: cant tellem part when treir born. or when there grown. im hoping we can get colorful bands for thems feet. then we can ientify then and names would be good. but also thers goona be lots of them cause we have 3 dosen eggs. they wont all hatch but hopefull a lot.
M: That's a good idea. Then you could take them for walks and everything!
A: i dun thinkg they would do that. plus if they try 2 flie. and when they growed. it mighkt hurt themd.
M: Good point. I think it would be cool to be a duck. Don't you?
A: id like to fly. and duckies are cuut. but i think your trying to get some funny stuff out om me being highish. cleber. but not enough.
M: Oh, it definitely IS enough, love XD
A: what IS?
M: Don't worry about it. How are you feeling?
A: my face hurts. an is swollen. an i have only eten jello. i miss meat. i really want ckicken right now. nomnom.
A: HOW ARE YOU FEELING? <---(this is part of an inside joke that will be explained once I get done typing all this)
M: XD Has Philip texted you at all since you shut him down?
A: not :) once :) since :) that :) othr :) day :). i :) cant :) say :) i :) mind :). did :) i :) put :) enough :) faces :) so :) you :) know :) im :) liking :) you :)? i :) could :) propose :) if :) you :) dint :) get :) the :) point :). <---(part of the same inside joke)
M: You haven't invited me to come see you folk/rock/pop/polka band perform yet! <---(still part of that inside joke)
A: iknow. but im sleepy.
M: Awwww. Are you gonna go to bed now?
A: maybe. i kinda am in bed. im watching a true life about homeless people. i think the medcinde is making me sleepy. thats part of what itdoes.
M: Yeah, I've heard that.
A: its a boring show.
A: uh huh. (WTF?)
M: Really? I would think you would love it, seeing how much you care about homeless people.
A: suddup.
A: there hmoleess but the girl can still aford to somke 2 cigartees at once?
M: I guess that's what homeless people do with the money we give them.
A: Dummies..
--------------------
And so ends Ashley's Grande Ole' Codeine-Induced Adventure, Part II (Part I involved her sending Eye Vay a text message that just said "frozen rear"). We had quite a bit of fun at poor Ashley's expense that day. So much, in fact, that she refuses to read over the messages she sent me!
Now, I feel obligated to explain the "Philip Situation". In short, Philip is this guy that goes to our school who one day decided that he had the hots for Ashley. Keep in mind, they had never had a conversation before he informed Eye Vay of his infatuation, and knew absolutely nothing about each other. Zilch. Zero. Nihil. So, they texted pretty much every day (his choice, not hers), but eventually, Ashley decided she couldn't take it anymore. She had no interest in him, and plus, a girl can only spend so much time talking with a guy about nothing but physical therapy, Frank Turner, and his misguided dreams of becoming a famous folk musician. So, she cut him loose, and we spent a brief (but highly amusing) period of time making fun of him mercilessly behind his back about his lack of interesting talking points and excessive use of the smiley face.
Pax ex, breh.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
I'm Going To Try To Get Through This Whole Post Without Cursing, But Instead Using Ridiculous Substitutes For Curse Words. What Can I Say? I Grow Bored With My Day To Day Life.
I went to Harris Teeter today, as I always do when I get hungry and I don't feel like eating yet another of my dad's Totino's Party Pizzas. Since I have no money, however, I am limited to raiding the free sample dome things in the Deli section of the store and consuming them quickly, so as not to draw any more attention to myself than is necessary. I think the people there are onto me. I've been getting suspicious looks from Harry, the turkey guy. I'd better start being more careful. Harry's good friends with my grandparents.
Has anyone else noticed that approximately 86.75309% of the blogs on this site are written by mothers who think the rest of the world gives a flying fadoodle about their kids? News flash, mommykins: We don't! Fo' surrius, yo. If anyone else out there really, truly cares about the day to day lives of these peoples' little buckstabus, speak now, and I swear I will shut the fafsa up. Jesus Christ. People read blogs to GET AWAY from the things in their lives that suck bull bombardier, i.e. THEIR FIREFOXIN' KIDS!
I kind of like that, actually. I might start using "firefoxin'" in conversation. It's not like I could get much nerdier in my friends' eyes, anyway. Gondolagadzooks, I am pathetic...
Of course, the one blog that I found that WAS worth reading (http://www.twostarreviews.blogspot.com) I couldn't even follow. I spent twenty minutes looking for the dillardellin' "Follow" button, only to be forced to conclude that there was none. FML (Foxnews my life).
I need to stop now. My brain hurts from coming up with all those creative anti-swear words. It was somewhat amusing, though. I might start doing it more often.
Has anyone else noticed that approximately 86.75309% of the blogs on this site are written by mothers who think the rest of the world gives a flying fadoodle about their kids? News flash, mommykins: We don't! Fo' surrius, yo. If anyone else out there really, truly cares about the day to day lives of these peoples' little buckstabus, speak now, and I swear I will shut the fafsa up. Jesus Christ. People read blogs to GET AWAY from the things in their lives that suck bull bombardier, i.e. THEIR FIREFOXIN' KIDS!
I kind of like that, actually. I might start using "firefoxin'" in conversation. It's not like I could get much nerdier in my friends' eyes, anyway. Gondolagadzooks, I am pathetic...
Of course, the one blog that I found that WAS worth reading (http://www.twostarreviews.blogspot.com) I couldn't even follow. I spent twenty minutes looking for the dillardellin' "Follow" button, only to be forced to conclude that there was none. FML (Foxnews my life).
I need to stop now. My brain hurts from coming up with all those creative anti-swear words. It was somewhat amusing, though. I might start doing it more often.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Ivy, Don't Read This Yet. I Want To Be Able To Read It Out Loud To You Tomorrow. I'll Do Voices And Everything. It'll Be Grand.
I have decided to compose this blog post to inform you all that my attic now has a floor. Hallelujah! That's all. You can leave now.
Just kidding. Don't leave quite yet. Before we had the floor in the attic redone, we had to bring everything (and by "everything", I mean about twenty years worth of broken furniture, pre-school art projects, and dead cockroaches) into the garage and sort through it all. Initially, I was none too inclined to look through anything, as there was a four hour marathon of America's Next Top Model on Oxygen that I just HAD to watch, but once I started finding stories I had written in elementary school, things started to look up.
Let 's just say that I was a literary genius back in 2005, and to prove it to all of you, I will proceed to share one of the stories I found, entitled "The Maiden and the Midget".
--------------------
"The Maiden and the Midget"
A short story by Heather Alfano
Grade 5
Not long ago, in a not-so-faraway land, there was a beautiful maiden by the name of Claudia. Now, Claudia wasn't one of the usual "Someday my Prince will come" maidens that you usually find in those love-dovey fairy tales. No sir-ey. Claudia was more of the motorcycle-owning type. She worked for twenty hours a day at the Auto-Stop for very little money. But, let's get back to the actual story here.
Well, even though Claudia was sort-of kind-of a tomboy, she still loved a prince... Okay, maybe he wasn't a prince, but he was still important! Actually, he was the owner of the top-notch business, "Busy-Business", a company that sold almost any item in the universe, and his name was Dante. To almost every lady in the land, he had the most striking features they had ever seen. "I must think of a way to make him love me," Claudia thought every night when she jumped off her motorcycle, laid in bed, and went to sleep, and in her dreams, she thought of a plan.
Claudia's plan was quite simple, really. All she had to do was sneak into Dante's mansion, write her name at the top of his "Dante's List to Marry" list, and be on her way. And that's just what she did. Lucky for her, all of Dante's guards had mysteriously passed out, so she got in, wrote her name, and got out with no problem. Unfortunately, she didn't know that there was a catch...
"Hear ye, hear ye," bellowed Dante's assistant, James Rosson. "Dante has made a very important decision that may change his life forever!"
The people gasped. What could be so important that Dante couldn't tell them himself? It so happened that at the booming of James' voice, Claudia had rushed outside to see what the ruckus was.
"What is the announcement?" a little girl, Lauren Perkins, asked.
"Oh, right," James said. "Ahem. Dante... has chosen a wife!"
The people gasped again. Who could it be? There was silence.
"Aren't you going to tell us who it is, then?" and old man, Eli Radish, asked.
"He's not... but I am!" said a deep voice.
It was Dante! But, where was his voice coming from? The people looked around in confusion.
"Up here, you fools!" came Dante's voice again.
The all looked up. "When did we get an intercom system?" Ally Jackachetto, an old woman, asked.
"It was just installed last night," replied James.
"Hey, wait a minute," Eli said. "Why is James still in this story? I thought he left for Europe in the last paragraph!" (James leaves)
"Who is it?!" everyone yelled at the intercom system carrying Dante's voice.
By now, Claudia knew who it was. "Her name is..." he began, "Claudia Zlanskywan! Or at least, I think that's how you say it."
Claudia was so happy that she didn't even care that he said her last name wrong. She didn't bother telling him it was "Swanslykan" not "Zlanskywan".
"Why are you all so happy?" demanded Dante. "You know the catch. Before this Claudia can marry me, she must find and bring me something!"
Claudia was bamboozled. She didn't remember ever hearing that rule. "She must bring me... A MIDGET!" he bellowed.
"A midget?" exclaimed Claudia in confusion.
"Yes, a midget," Dante replied. So Claudia set off on her motorcycle in search of a midget.
Oddly enough, she did find a midget, somewhere between Alabama and California. Of course, there was a catch.
"Uh uh. No way," said the midget when Claudia asked him to go with her to Dante.
"Please, little midget! Come with me! I'm desperate!" begged Claudia.
"Tell you what," said the midget. "Ill go with you if you give me your first wedding dress." Claudia thought about it for a moment, then replied, "Deal."
When Claudia and the midget arrived at the town, everyone cheered and wedding bells began to ring.
"I knew you would come through, my dear, dear Claudia," said Dante when she presented him with the midget. So two of Dante's employees, Hannie Shruggs and Vivaniy Tigue, helped Claudia slip into her bright, lime green wedding dress. Of course, she didn't forget her promise to the midget (who was now living in the lounge of "Busy-Business") and gave him the dress.
(Several years later) Claudia and Dante were living very happily together. "My dear Claudia," Dante said one sunny day. "Surely after watching my magical weavers all these years, you have learned how to spin sausage out grass". He didn't wait for her answer. "Of course you have! Anyway, I wish for you to spin me three dozen sausage links!"
Claudia didn't want to disappoint Dante by telling him that she wasn't really paying attention to his weavers, so she agreed. And she knew just who to go to for help.
"Uh uh. No way," the midget replied when Claudia asked for help.
"Well, why not?" she demanded. "Do you even know how to spin sausage out of grass?"
"Of course I do!" the midget answered. "I've been paying attention!" But when he saw the pleading look on Claudia's face, he sighed and said, "Alright, if you can guess my name in one day on three tries, I will spin the sausage. But, you have to guess it first."
A couple minutes later, when Claudia was trying to think of a name, she heard a strange sound and saw a bright light coming from a nearby cave. It was the midget! And he was singing a funny tune!
"Marplekiltskin, Marplekiltskin, isn't that a grand old name? Marplekiltskin, Marplekiltskin, my name will always be the same!"
Claudia's heart was filled with joy! She hurried back to her home to wait for Marplekiltskin the midget to get back.
When the midget arrived back home and found out that Claudia knew his name, he was dumbfounded! But, a promise is a promise, so the midget spent the rest of the day weaving grass into sausage.
So everyone (except Marplekiltskin) lived happily ever after.
THE END
--------------------
On a totally unrelated note, I GOT DRAGON AGE II FOR MAH BIRTHDAY, BEYOTCH! And then, my Xbox died, for good this time. So, we ordered a new one, but when it came, we found out that it doesn't support the hard drive from our old one. RAAAAAAAAAAAEG!!! So now, we have to get a new hard drive AND a transfer cable if we are to have any hope of not losing everything we've worked for over the past four years. I'm not giving up on my level 28 Kajiit Bard so easily.
I'm onto you, Microsoft. I don't know what I'm onto exactly... But I'm onto you.
Just kidding. Don't leave quite yet. Before we had the floor in the attic redone, we had to bring everything (and by "everything", I mean about twenty years worth of broken furniture, pre-school art projects, and dead cockroaches) into the garage and sort through it all. Initially, I was none too inclined to look through anything, as there was a four hour marathon of America's Next Top Model on Oxygen that I just HAD to watch, but once I started finding stories I had written in elementary school, things started to look up.
Let 's just say that I was a literary genius back in 2005, and to prove it to all of you, I will proceed to share one of the stories I found, entitled "The Maiden and the Midget".
--------------------
"The Maiden and the Midget"
A short story by Heather Alfano
Grade 5
Not long ago, in a not-so-faraway land, there was a beautiful maiden by the name of Claudia. Now, Claudia wasn't one of the usual "Someday my Prince will come" maidens that you usually find in those love-dovey fairy tales. No sir-ey. Claudia was more of the motorcycle-owning type. She worked for twenty hours a day at the Auto-Stop for very little money. But, let's get back to the actual story here.
Well, even though Claudia was sort-of kind-of a tomboy, she still loved a prince... Okay, maybe he wasn't a prince, but he was still important! Actually, he was the owner of the top-notch business, "Busy-Business", a company that sold almost any item in the universe, and his name was Dante. To almost every lady in the land, he had the most striking features they had ever seen. "I must think of a way to make him love me," Claudia thought every night when she jumped off her motorcycle, laid in bed, and went to sleep, and in her dreams, she thought of a plan.
Claudia's plan was quite simple, really. All she had to do was sneak into Dante's mansion, write her name at the top of his "Dante's List to Marry" list, and be on her way. And that's just what she did. Lucky for her, all of Dante's guards had mysteriously passed out, so she got in, wrote her name, and got out with no problem. Unfortunately, she didn't know that there was a catch...
"Hear ye, hear ye," bellowed Dante's assistant, James Rosson. "Dante has made a very important decision that may change his life forever!"
The people gasped. What could be so important that Dante couldn't tell them himself? It so happened that at the booming of James' voice, Claudia had rushed outside to see what the ruckus was.
"What is the announcement?" a little girl, Lauren Perkins, asked.
"Oh, right," James said. "Ahem. Dante... has chosen a wife!"
The people gasped again. Who could it be? There was silence.
"Aren't you going to tell us who it is, then?" and old man, Eli Radish, asked.
"He's not... but I am!" said a deep voice.
It was Dante! But, where was his voice coming from? The people looked around in confusion.
"Up here, you fools!" came Dante's voice again.
The all looked up. "When did we get an intercom system?" Ally Jackachetto, an old woman, asked.
"It was just installed last night," replied James.
"Hey, wait a minute," Eli said. "Why is James still in this story? I thought he left for Europe in the last paragraph!" (James leaves)
"Who is it?!" everyone yelled at the intercom system carrying Dante's voice.
By now, Claudia knew who it was. "Her name is..." he began, "Claudia Zlanskywan! Or at least, I think that's how you say it."
Claudia was so happy that she didn't even care that he said her last name wrong. She didn't bother telling him it was "Swanslykan" not "Zlanskywan".
"Why are you all so happy?" demanded Dante. "You know the catch. Before this Claudia can marry me, she must find and bring me something!"
Claudia was bamboozled. She didn't remember ever hearing that rule. "She must bring me... A MIDGET!" he bellowed.
"A midget?" exclaimed Claudia in confusion.
"Yes, a midget," Dante replied. So Claudia set off on her motorcycle in search of a midget.
Oddly enough, she did find a midget, somewhere between Alabama and California. Of course, there was a catch.
"Uh uh. No way," said the midget when Claudia asked him to go with her to Dante.
"Please, little midget! Come with me! I'm desperate!" begged Claudia.
"Tell you what," said the midget. "Ill go with you if you give me your first wedding dress." Claudia thought about it for a moment, then replied, "Deal."
When Claudia and the midget arrived at the town, everyone cheered and wedding bells began to ring.
"I knew you would come through, my dear, dear Claudia," said Dante when she presented him with the midget. So two of Dante's employees, Hannie Shruggs and Vivaniy Tigue, helped Claudia slip into her bright, lime green wedding dress. Of course, she didn't forget her promise to the midget (who was now living in the lounge of "Busy-Business") and gave him the dress.
(Several years later) Claudia and Dante were living very happily together. "My dear Claudia," Dante said one sunny day. "Surely after watching my magical weavers all these years, you have learned how to spin sausage out grass". He didn't wait for her answer. "Of course you have! Anyway, I wish for you to spin me three dozen sausage links!"
Claudia didn't want to disappoint Dante by telling him that she wasn't really paying attention to his weavers, so she agreed. And she knew just who to go to for help.
"Uh uh. No way," the midget replied when Claudia asked for help.
"Well, why not?" she demanded. "Do you even know how to spin sausage out of grass?"
"Of course I do!" the midget answered. "I've been paying attention!" But when he saw the pleading look on Claudia's face, he sighed and said, "Alright, if you can guess my name in one day on three tries, I will spin the sausage. But, you have to guess it first."
A couple minutes later, when Claudia was trying to think of a name, she heard a strange sound and saw a bright light coming from a nearby cave. It was the midget! And he was singing a funny tune!
"Marplekiltskin, Marplekiltskin, isn't that a grand old name? Marplekiltskin, Marplekiltskin, my name will always be the same!"
Claudia's heart was filled with joy! She hurried back to her home to wait for Marplekiltskin the midget to get back.
When the midget arrived back home and found out that Claudia knew his name, he was dumbfounded! But, a promise is a promise, so the midget spent the rest of the day weaving grass into sausage.
So everyone (except Marplekiltskin) lived happily ever after.
THE END
--------------------
On a totally unrelated note, I GOT DRAGON AGE II FOR MAH BIRTHDAY, BEYOTCH! And then, my Xbox died, for good this time. So, we ordered a new one, but when it came, we found out that it doesn't support the hard drive from our old one. RAAAAAAAAAAAEG!!! So now, we have to get a new hard drive AND a transfer cable if we are to have any hope of not losing everything we've worked for over the past four years. I'm not giving up on my level 28 Kajiit Bard so easily.
I'm onto you, Microsoft. I don't know what I'm onto exactly... But I'm onto you.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
And Dr. Dre Said... Nothin' You Idiots, Dr. Dre's Dead, He's Locked In My Basement.
I am going to college in the ghetto. Well, actually, I'm going to college a few blocks away from the ghetto. Close enough, if you ask me.
I've fallen in love with Greensboro College. I want to make babies with it. No lie. I do. You think that's wrong? Well, you're right. It's very wrong. But that doesn't make it any less true. I don't know exactly what it is about this school that has me WANTING to complete my graduation project so that I can get in, but I sure as hell do. Yes, it's the first college I've visited, and I am going to visit many more, but I just know in my Heart of Order that Greensboro College is the one for me.
I'll admit, I was skeptical about it at first. I was a bit concerned that it was too "chummy", if you know what I mean. Too personal. It would require me to actually socialize myself, which is the thing I hate most in this world, other than all the other things I hate most in this world. The teachers know you. The students know you. Hell, even the janitors know you. I'm not shitting you. I saw a janitor give one of the kids a high five. It was creepy. But I liked it. Why am I writing in such short sentences? Stop it. Short sentence make Heather feel like devolved chimp. Shiiiiiiiiiit.
As I was saying, it's within ten blocks of the ghetto. Lee Street, breh! (For those of you who don't live in North Carolina, Lee Street is where the majority of violent crimes in Greensboro occur) I'm sure Nathanael Greene would be delighted to know what a name his town has made for itself. Oh well. He still has Pennsylvania, Georgia, and Alabama. Georgia... what a joke...
To put things in perspective, I should tell you that the college has its own escort service. No, not THAT kind of escort service. I mean the kind where you can actually call, and they send someone to walk you from your car to your dorm. Hyuk, hyuk, hyuk...
I'm going to get raped. There's no way I would be able to call an escort service without giggling like a lunatic.
I've fallen in love with Greensboro College. I want to make babies with it. No lie. I do. You think that's wrong? Well, you're right. It's very wrong. But that doesn't make it any less true. I don't know exactly what it is about this school that has me WANTING to complete my graduation project so that I can get in, but I sure as hell do. Yes, it's the first college I've visited, and I am going to visit many more, but I just know in my Heart of Order that Greensboro College is the one for me.
I'll admit, I was skeptical about it at first. I was a bit concerned that it was too "chummy", if you know what I mean. Too personal. It would require me to actually socialize myself, which is the thing I hate most in this world, other than all the other things I hate most in this world. The teachers know you. The students know you. Hell, even the janitors know you. I'm not shitting you. I saw a janitor give one of the kids a high five. It was creepy. But I liked it. Why am I writing in such short sentences? Stop it. Short sentence make Heather feel like devolved chimp. Shiiiiiiiiiit.
As I was saying, it's within ten blocks of the ghetto. Lee Street, breh! (For those of you who don't live in North Carolina, Lee Street is where the majority of violent crimes in Greensboro occur) I'm sure Nathanael Greene would be delighted to know what a name his town has made for itself. Oh well. He still has Pennsylvania, Georgia, and Alabama. Georgia... what a joke...
To put things in perspective, I should tell you that the college has its own escort service. No, not THAT kind of escort service. I mean the kind where you can actually call, and they send someone to walk you from your car to your dorm. Hyuk, hyuk, hyuk...
I'm going to get raped. There's no way I would be able to call an escort service without giggling like a lunatic.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
You Know What, Rivers? You Actually DO Kind Of Look Like Buddy Holly. And Here I Was, Thinking You Just Pulled That Out Of Your Ass.
I'm turning into an American History nerd. Akatosh, save me.
I think the moment of truth came when I actually turned to someone I didn't know and corrected them on Paul Revere's famous words to the patriot rebels. It went something like this:
Person: [Some shit I wasn't listening to]... The British are coming! [snortgigglegigglesnort]
Me: [Doing a complete one eighty where I stood] You know, that's not ACTUALLY what he said. Technically, he was British, too, so he wouldn't have SAID "The British are coming!". That would have been redundant. What he really said was, "The Regulars are coming out!", because that's what the patriots called the loyalists back then.
Person: ...
And then, that person turned around and walked away from me. Out the door, into the parking lot. Oh yeah, did I mention that this whole incident occurred in a movie theater? Well, I just did. I found that I was asking myself a lot of questions as I made my way back to my car, the three most prevalent being, "What the fuck did I just do?", "Why the fuck did I just do that?", and "Why the hell does Eragon get all the credit for slaying Durza?".
On a side note, does anyone else think that "The Regulars are coming out!" is hilariously hysterical? No? Just me? Alright then...
--------------------
For those of you reading this right now thinking, "You know, this blog is pretty funny, but it's just not nerdy enough for my tastes", I've got a treat for you.
I. Am. Sheogorath.
Yeah, you heard me right. I beat Shivering Isles. No big. No, really, it's no big. Jyggalag was ridiculously easy to beat. Literally, I hit him with Shadowrend twice, and he died. It was kind of disappointing, to tell the truth. However, any disappointment I felt at my complete victory over the daedric Lord of Order was snuffed out when I learned I would be able to manipulate the weather at will. I'm rather easily amused, if you hadn't already noticed. Between that and my staff that causes everything within a 75 foot radius to freeze in place, I'll probably have no reason to leave my living room for the next 3 months. Plus, I haven't played Knights of the Nine yet. So, 4 months.
I can just imagine the kind of shit I'm going to get for this. I should probably take preemptive strike.
Hey, Katie! Your prom date is shorter than you!
That should be enough to get her going.
I think the moment of truth came when I actually turned to someone I didn't know and corrected them on Paul Revere's famous words to the patriot rebels. It went something like this:
Person: [Some shit I wasn't listening to]... The British are coming! [snortgigglegigglesnort]
Me: [Doing a complete one eighty where I stood] You know, that's not ACTUALLY what he said. Technically, he was British, too, so he wouldn't have SAID "The British are coming!". That would have been redundant. What he really said was, "The Regulars are coming out!", because that's what the patriots called the loyalists back then.
Person: ...
And then, that person turned around and walked away from me. Out the door, into the parking lot. Oh yeah, did I mention that this whole incident occurred in a movie theater? Well, I just did. I found that I was asking myself a lot of questions as I made my way back to my car, the three most prevalent being, "What the fuck did I just do?", "Why the fuck did I just do that?", and "Why the hell does Eragon get all the credit for slaying Durza?".
On a side note, does anyone else think that "The Regulars are coming out!" is hilariously hysterical? No? Just me? Alright then...
--------------------
For those of you reading this right now thinking, "You know, this blog is pretty funny, but it's just not nerdy enough for my tastes", I've got a treat for you.
I. Am. Sheogorath.
Yeah, you heard me right. I beat Shivering Isles. No big. No, really, it's no big. Jyggalag was ridiculously easy to beat. Literally, I hit him with Shadowrend twice, and he died. It was kind of disappointing, to tell the truth. However, any disappointment I felt at my complete victory over the daedric Lord of Order was snuffed out when I learned I would be able to manipulate the weather at will. I'm rather easily amused, if you hadn't already noticed. Between that and my staff that causes everything within a 75 foot radius to freeze in place, I'll probably have no reason to leave my living room for the next 3 months. Plus, I haven't played Knights of the Nine yet. So, 4 months.
I can just imagine the kind of shit I'm going to get for this. I should probably take preemptive strike.
Hey, Katie! Your prom date is shorter than you!
That should be enough to get her going.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
And Now For Something Completely Different
Dearest Ivy,
Please accept my sincerest apologies for the lateness of this letter. There haven’t been many opportunities to put pen to paper and document my observations of this strange, wonderful place. You, of course, know of what I speak. It is what we discussed in the days leading up to my departure; this land of lush, verdant forests at one extreme and sparkling waters at the other, untouched by greedy, conniving human fingers. I told you I would find it, Ivy. I know that you believed me senseless when I swore to you I would seek out this world of tree-leaf curtains and sand-gazing stars. I know you were only humoring me, which is why I failed to mention exactly when I would be leaving. You would have tried to stop me.
Wouldn’t you?
Well, no man will ever stop me again, for I have passed my test. I found my paradise, and I shall never part with the sanctity it offers me. The hook-clawed creatures with crimson eyes atop dainty stalks whisper to me as I sift through crystalline sand with smooth, marble fingers. They tell me I am home. The tell me I have completed my eternal quest for peace and salvation. They tell me God has forgiven my unforgivable sins. Well, the big one, at least; the one that had your blue-gray eyes disrupting an otherwise restful sleep. I don’t quite understand, though, how I have been forgiven. I did not beg for the Almighty Creator to save me; did not think it necessary. I only did what I had to, to keep you away from him. I only did what I had to out of love,
For you.
But, I digress. The gentle lapping of melted glass ocean at my feet and steady rhythm of whooshing wind cause me to lose myself, sometimes, and forget my sense of self. No matter. I no longer have cause to worry about the evil, seeping smog and chasing storms of my old home. I am safe here, the creatures say. The emerald dagger leaves and powder blue smoke clouds will keep out the snow-coated men with their bespeckled sneers and grime-seeking lights. They will find no grime here. For them, the trail ended at the tip of your viper’s tongue. If only they had learned to listen to your silent clues. But, I suppose the masters with their upturned noses never considered teaching them that two clicks on a right nostril means that the grandfather clock holds the mangled remains of a passionate ending.
Again, I digress! You must forgive me, dear Ivy, for I never aspired to sound so bleak. I am quite happy here, really. Surely, I miss the steady monotony of your ticking heart, but I do not lament, for I still have it here with me, and occasionally unveil it so that it may enjoy the velvet blanket of sand and metallic taste of pure sea air. It does not relish in the balmy climate as I do, however, so more often than not, I keep it in its caged-in cavity, and hope that it feels safe and loved. An occasional tremor would be comforting, yes, but I try not to ask for much, and be satisfied that I at least have this small bit of you here to keep me company when I’m feeling dull or dissatisfied.
Yours,
Xavier Leonard Covington, champion of the beaten and the damned
--------------------
I thought it was time for (all three of) my faithful readers to get a taste of the sort of stuff I write when I'm not failing at being humorous and clever. I actually wrote this for Eye Vay for Valentines Day (I guess the cat's out of the bag as to her real name) because she made me a flippin' sweet card, and I was so moved, I decided to write her a totally fucked up love story.
In case you didn't pick up on it, our dear Xavier murdered darling Eye Vay and hid half of her remains/a clue to his whereabouts in a grandfather clock. Heart-warming, no? THIS is the kind of thing I want to see on the ELOVE channel, not some shit about a sinking ship or Rachael McAdams cheating on her doting fiance with some drunken wastrel who is this close to being a registered sex offender. At least they both die in the end, that's all I have to say.
Just in case anyone decides that they give a flying fuck about my more serious poetry/prose, I will provide the URL to my totally bitchin' deviantART here: http://www.vagabond-arcadia.deviantart.com
L8er, 6!+ch3s.
Friday, February 18, 2011
You're Mother's A Whore. Yeah, I Just Said That. What, You Wanna Go? Let's Go. Yes, Right Now! Oh, Seriously? Whoa, I Was Just Kidding, Man. Take It Easy.
Well, happy goddamn Valentine's Day to you, too. Nice to know SOMEONE cares about me.
If there's one thing I hate (besides rich people, rednecks, politics, cottage cheese, mayonnaise, National Treasure, the sun, mouthwash commercials, and stinging insects of any type), it's Valentine's Day. Besides the fact the the anniversary of my mother's death is the day after (rest in peace, Momma A, and how does it feel to be 16 years dead?), it also encourages the buying and selling of affections. I don't understand why the hell some creepy guy giving me expensive jewelry is supposed to make me love him forever and ever and marry him and have babies with him and live happily ever after with him even though one of our kids is actually his best friend's and I'm cheating on him with my yoga instructor.
Eh, who am I kidding? My yoga instructor is a woman, and I can't say honestly that I possess a fondness for children. Silly me.
End rant. I know, it was one of my shorter ones, but what can I say; I lack a long enough attention span to keep a rant going for more than a paragraph or so.
--------------------
Since I know you all care SO much about me, and I greatly enjoy talking about myself, I have decided to compose a post within a post, entitled "Things Heather Loves/Things Heather Hates".
Things Heather Loves/Things Heather Hates:
We'll start with the things Heather loves, because she wants it that way, dammit.
Books: Harry Potter (of course), Eragon, As I Lay Dying, Me Talk Pretty One Day/When You Are Engulfed In Flames/Dress Your Family In Corduroy And Denim/Anything else by David Sedaris that I've forgotten, Sphere/Prey/The Terminal Man/State Of Fear/Anything else by Michael Crichton that I've forgotten, The Silence Of The Lambs, Hannibal Rising (I didn't care for Hannibal, sue me), The Great Gatsby (I know, it's cliched), The Aeneid, dot dot dot et cetera et certera
Movies: Monty Python & the Holy Grail, The Matrix, Better Off Dead, Moulin Rouge!, Mulan (the ONLY Disney movie I will EVER admit to liking), Airplane!, Mallrats, The Wedding Singer, Wayne's World, Back To The Future
Television: It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia, House, South Park, Monty Python's Flying Circus, The Colbert Report (it's the only reason I know ANYTHING about current events/politics), Tosh.0, SNL
VIDEO GAMES HELL YEAH: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, Fallout: New Vegas, Dragon Age, Fable II & III, Mass Effect (I debated putting Two Worlds, just for the "it's so bad it's good" factor, but ultimately decided against it)
It's just occurred to me that I've basically already given a complete list of the things I hate, as those are what I complain about on a daily basis. It would therefore be repetitive and redundant to list them again.
Now, see, don't you feel better knowing all this pointless shit about me? No? Well then, why the hell are you still reading this? Idiot...
If there's one thing I hate (besides rich people, rednecks, politics, cottage cheese, mayonnaise, National Treasure, the sun, mouthwash commercials, and stinging insects of any type), it's Valentine's Day. Besides the fact the the anniversary of my mother's death is the day after (rest in peace, Momma A, and how does it feel to be 16 years dead?), it also encourages the buying and selling of affections. I don't understand why the hell some creepy guy giving me expensive jewelry is supposed to make me love him forever and ever and marry him and have babies with him and live happily ever after with him even though one of our kids is actually his best friend's and I'm cheating on him with my yoga instructor.
Eh, who am I kidding? My yoga instructor is a woman, and I can't say honestly that I possess a fondness for children. Silly me.
End rant. I know, it was one of my shorter ones, but what can I say; I lack a long enough attention span to keep a rant going for more than a paragraph or so.
--------------------
Since I know you all care SO much about me, and I greatly enjoy talking about myself, I have decided to compose a post within a post, entitled "Things Heather Loves/Things Heather Hates".
Things Heather Loves/Things Heather Hates:
We'll start with the things Heather loves, because she wants it that way, dammit.
Books: Harry Potter (of course), Eragon, As I Lay Dying, Me Talk Pretty One Day/When You Are Engulfed In Flames/Dress Your Family In Corduroy And Denim/Anything else by David Sedaris that I've forgotten, Sphere/Prey/The Terminal Man/State Of Fear/Anything else by Michael Crichton that I've forgotten, The Silence Of The Lambs, Hannibal Rising (I didn't care for Hannibal, sue me), The Great Gatsby (I know, it's cliched), The Aeneid, dot dot dot et cetera et certera
Movies: Monty Python & the Holy Grail, The Matrix, Better Off Dead, Moulin Rouge!, Mulan (the ONLY Disney movie I will EVER admit to liking), Airplane!, Mallrats, The Wedding Singer, Wayne's World, Back To The Future
Television: It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia, House, South Park, Monty Python's Flying Circus, The Colbert Report (it's the only reason I know ANYTHING about current events/politics), Tosh.0, SNL
VIDEO GAMES HELL YEAH: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, Fallout: New Vegas, Dragon Age, Fable II & III, Mass Effect (I debated putting Two Worlds, just for the "it's so bad it's good" factor, but ultimately decided against it)
It's just occurred to me that I've basically already given a complete list of the things I hate, as those are what I complain about on a daily basis. It would therefore be repetitive and redundant to list them again.
Now, see, don't you feel better knowing all this pointless shit about me? No? Well then, why the hell are you still reading this? Idiot...
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Heather Sucks Because She Can't Write Anything Worth Reading Without First Handwriting A Draft, Then Transferring It To The Computation Device
I am officially nerdier than my father was in high school. I never thought I'd see the day.
So, who watched the Super Bowl yesterday? Just kidding; I don't really care. I, for one, did not. I was far too busy playing Magic: The Gathering with my wizard mates: Eye Vay, Tanner "The Pants" Hyde, and Alexander the Mediocre (Partial pseudonyms have been used). It was pretty flippin' sweet, if I do say so myself. Such topics as how much being a mage in Dragon Age sucks, the merits of Fable II vs. Fable III, and our shared excitment about the release of the Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim (FUCKYEAHNOVEMBER11THBEYOTCH) were discussed, and the night concluded with an obligatory viewing of Donnie Darko. Sure, Eye Vay and myself have seen it about fifteen times already, but Mr. Pants revealed that he had never seen it, and we decided that just wouldn't do (Side note: I like your boobs).
And there was much rejoicing.
I won't go into any more detail, except to say that Eye Vay apparently has some major incest issues in her family.
Well, now I HAVE to go into more detail, don't I? I can't just leave that last statement without any explanation...
The scene: Eye Vay's living room. Tanner is lounging on the sofa, I am standing, trying to get Tanner to quit his lounging so I can sit down, and Eye Vay is sitting on the edge of the coffee table (Alexander has already gone home for the night).
The story: I don't remember exactly what we were talking about, but basically, Eye Vay was telling Tanner and me a story about how her brother once rubbed his feet all over her head, and she's been scarred ever since. That in and of itself is not so noteworthy. What is noteworthy is how Eye Vay described her thoughts at the time of the foot-rubbing. It went something like this...
"And I wanted to scream, but I just kept telling myself, 'Big girls don't scream!'"
The rest of the story doesn't really matter much. In fact, I don't even think we heard it, as both Tanner and I were practically falling over each other, we were laughing so hard. We generally have a lot of fun at Eye Vay's expense, but that doesn't mean we don't love her!
So concludes my epic Magic: The Gathering adventure. It was oodles of fun, and I hope to do it again soon (as long as Eye Vay tells us more stories about her brother molesting her with his feet, because she doesn't, I'm out).
Eye Vay's blog: http://www.donniedarkospants.blogspot.com
So, who watched the Super Bowl yesterday? Just kidding; I don't really care. I, for one, did not. I was far too busy playing Magic: The Gathering with my wizard mates: Eye Vay, Tanner "The Pants" Hyde, and Alexander the Mediocre (Partial pseudonyms have been used). It was pretty flippin' sweet, if I do say so myself. Such topics as how much being a mage in Dragon Age sucks, the merits of Fable II vs. Fable III, and our shared excitment about the release of the Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim (FUCKYEAHNOVEMBER11THBEYOTCH) were discussed, and the night concluded with an obligatory viewing of Donnie Darko. Sure, Eye Vay and myself have seen it about fifteen times already, but Mr. Pants revealed that he had never seen it, and we decided that just wouldn't do (Side note: I like your boobs).
And there was much rejoicing.
I won't go into any more detail, except to say that Eye Vay apparently has some major incest issues in her family.
Well, now I HAVE to go into more detail, don't I? I can't just leave that last statement without any explanation...
The scene: Eye Vay's living room. Tanner is lounging on the sofa, I am standing, trying to get Tanner to quit his lounging so I can sit down, and Eye Vay is sitting on the edge of the coffee table (Alexander has already gone home for the night).
The story: I don't remember exactly what we were talking about, but basically, Eye Vay was telling Tanner and me a story about how her brother once rubbed his feet all over her head, and she's been scarred ever since. That in and of itself is not so noteworthy. What is noteworthy is how Eye Vay described her thoughts at the time of the foot-rubbing. It went something like this...
"And I wanted to scream, but I just kept telling myself, 'Big girls don't scream!'"
The rest of the story doesn't really matter much. In fact, I don't even think we heard it, as both Tanner and I were practically falling over each other, we were laughing so hard. We generally have a lot of fun at Eye Vay's expense, but that doesn't mean we don't love her!
So concludes my epic Magic: The Gathering adventure. It was oodles of fun, and I hope to do it again soon (as long as Eye Vay tells us more stories about her brother molesting her with his feet, because she doesn't, I'm out).
Eye Vay's blog: http://www.donniedarkospants.blogspot.com
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Want To Hear A Funny Joke? Women's Rights.
I failed my very first Discrete Math test today. I'm not to be blamed. How can I be expected to study when I spend all of my time thinking of smart-ass answers to the test questions?
I've found that I get some sort of sick satisfaction out of failing math tests. I enjoy making it very clear to my math teacher that I do not give a shitting shit about his class. For example:
Q. What is the multiplication principle of probabilities?
A. When an event is likely to occur, said event may occur.
Technically, that answer is not incorrect. It is, indeed, true that an event may occur when an event may occur. Redundant, yes, but still true. If I say that a rocket ship carrying Anthony Hopkins (wearing his Hannibal Lechter mask, of course) may come crashing through the roof at some unspecified time of day, I can not be considered wrong. It is possible that this may happen. Not plausible, perhaps, but still possible. I mean, hell, anything is possible these days, what with the gene splicing and the test tube babies and the frogs with the glow-in-the dark eyes (Side note: CREEPY). I'm sure that some "scientist" somewhere has considered observing what would happen if he were to strap A. Hops to a rocket and launch it into outer space. Why wouldn't he? That would be friggin' awesome (assuming he doesn't die).
And yes, I do default to the pronoun "he" when referring to a situation in which the gender of the subject is unknown. I'm sexist against my own people.
Hey, what do you tell a woman with two black eyes?
Nothing; she's already been told twice.
Gasp.
Oh my God, Heather, you can't just say stuff like that. Domestic abuse is a serious problem in the world today.
You know what else is a serious problem in the world today? Leg hair thicker than Will Smith's afro in "Fresh Prince". Go learn to use a razor, Liza Minelli.
Wow, I wasn't expecting to go off and start ranting in this post. Sorry, it's just that "feminists" make me really, really angry. Notice the quotations. They are to show that I'm referring to Facebook feminists. You know who you are.
I understand the whole "womens' suffrage" thing; that's all find and good with me. I like that I'll be able to vote in the next election and make a name for myself in a profession other than nursing or homemaking (as I would be completely useless in either). What really gets my goat are the self-righteous, hypocritical "pseudo-feminists" who are omnipresent in the "Discussions" page on many Facebook groups. Really? You're just making yourself look like even more of an idiot, if that's even possible. Do some research, learn the difference between "their" and "there", turn off Hannah Montana, and come back when you're able to form a cohesive argument. Also, learn the meaning of "sense of humor". You obviously know your way around the Facebook and the Twitter. It's time to become acquainted with another marvelous website, known to most moderately intelligent people as Dictionary.com.
I wish I had some way of knowing how many people actually typed "sense of humor" into the Dictionary.com search bar.
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Okay, that's the end of my rant for the time being. To lighten the mood, I will share with you an acrostic poem of epic proportions. It is entitled, "My Life Is Meaningless And I'm Going To Take This Knife And Slit My Wrists Because I Like It, Part II" or as it is more commonly (un)known, "DEATH":
Damn all the phonies who try to make me "see the light". The only light I need is the one at the end of the tunnel, and even then I don't want it, because all I want to do is descend into darkness.
Every single time I see a happy family, I set up a tripwire and watch them break their necks, one by one. Except for the children; there's still hope for them. I at least owe them to the chance to see just how meaningless their existence is.
At the meeting place of depression and anxiety lies a knife engraved with my initials. I bring it up to my wrists, then forget what I was doing in the first place and use it to make myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
Ten times a day AT LEAST, I like to think about my sickness and how much better it makes me than everyone else, because how else would I write beautiful, provocative poems such as this one? That's right. I wouldn't. And then all the other phonies with their crappy, angsty poetry would never see how much better I am than them, and they would never know to bow to me, and make me their leader.
How on God's green earth have I managed to write this Pulitzer Prize-worthy poem in under five minutes? The world may never know. It can't be because I'm just using cliches I found in 20,000 other poems in my life and sticking them together like a grade school research paper. No. It can't be that...
----------------------------
You're welcome.
I've found that I get some sort of sick satisfaction out of failing math tests. I enjoy making it very clear to my math teacher that I do not give a shitting shit about his class. For example:
Q. What is the multiplication principle of probabilities?
A. When an event is likely to occur, said event may occur.
Technically, that answer is not incorrect. It is, indeed, true that an event may occur when an event may occur. Redundant, yes, but still true. If I say that a rocket ship carrying Anthony Hopkins (wearing his Hannibal Lechter mask, of course) may come crashing through the roof at some unspecified time of day, I can not be considered wrong. It is possible that this may happen. Not plausible, perhaps, but still possible. I mean, hell, anything is possible these days, what with the gene splicing and the test tube babies and the frogs with the glow-in-the dark eyes (Side note: CREEPY). I'm sure that some "scientist" somewhere has considered observing what would happen if he were to strap A. Hops to a rocket and launch it into outer space. Why wouldn't he? That would be friggin' awesome (assuming he doesn't die).
And yes, I do default to the pronoun "he" when referring to a situation in which the gender of the subject is unknown. I'm sexist against my own people.
Hey, what do you tell a woman with two black eyes?
Nothing; she's already been told twice.
Gasp.
Oh my God, Heather, you can't just say stuff like that. Domestic abuse is a serious problem in the world today.
You know what else is a serious problem in the world today? Leg hair thicker than Will Smith's afro in "Fresh Prince". Go learn to use a razor, Liza Minelli.
Wow, I wasn't expecting to go off and start ranting in this post. Sorry, it's just that "feminists" make me really, really angry. Notice the quotations. They are to show that I'm referring to Facebook feminists. You know who you are.
I understand the whole "womens' suffrage" thing; that's all find and good with me. I like that I'll be able to vote in the next election and make a name for myself in a profession other than nursing or homemaking (as I would be completely useless in either). What really gets my goat are the self-righteous, hypocritical "pseudo-feminists" who are omnipresent in the "Discussions" page on many Facebook groups. Really? You're just making yourself look like even more of an idiot, if that's even possible. Do some research, learn the difference between "their" and "there", turn off Hannah Montana, and come back when you're able to form a cohesive argument. Also, learn the meaning of "sense of humor". You obviously know your way around the Facebook and the Twitter. It's time to become acquainted with another marvelous website, known to most moderately intelligent people as Dictionary.com.
I wish I had some way of knowing how many people actually typed "sense of humor" into the Dictionary.com search bar.
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Okay, that's the end of my rant for the time being. To lighten the mood, I will share with you an acrostic poem of epic proportions. It is entitled, "My Life Is Meaningless And I'm Going To Take This Knife And Slit My Wrists Because I Like It, Part II" or as it is more commonly (un)known, "DEATH":
Damn all the phonies who try to make me "see the light". The only light I need is the one at the end of the tunnel, and even then I don't want it, because all I want to do is descend into darkness.
Every single time I see a happy family, I set up a tripwire and watch them break their necks, one by one. Except for the children; there's still hope for them. I at least owe them to the chance to see just how meaningless their existence is.
At the meeting place of depression and anxiety lies a knife engraved with my initials. I bring it up to my wrists, then forget what I was doing in the first place and use it to make myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
Ten times a day AT LEAST, I like to think about my sickness and how much better it makes me than everyone else, because how else would I write beautiful, provocative poems such as this one? That's right. I wouldn't. And then all the other phonies with their crappy, angsty poetry would never see how much better I am than them, and they would never know to bow to me, and make me their leader.
How on God's green earth have I managed to write this Pulitzer Prize-worthy poem in under five minutes? The world may never know. It can't be because I'm just using cliches I found in 20,000 other poems in my life and sticking them together like a grade school research paper. No. It can't be that...
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You're welcome.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
The Pontification of Curly G/Existentialism and Its Significance in Modern Society/A Study of Those Fluffy Collar Things the British Elite Used to Wear
As you have probably already noticed, the name of this blog is misleading. Highly misleading, in fact. If you came looking to bang some hoes and smoke some weed, you may as well just leave now, because you will find none of that here.
Also misleading is the title of this blog post itself. I will not much be lingering on Curly G's pontification, nor will I be exploring the wide and generally disrespected world of modern existentialism. As for the collars, I think we all know what their purpose was. Obviously, they were meant to ward off Daedra. Duh.
For those of you who don't know what a Daedra is, a description can be found here: http://www.uesp.net/wiki/Lore:Daedra
I won't lie to you; I have no idea what sort of rumpus I'm going to be causing on this here blog of mine. Will I seek to usurp the power of the evil demon, Michael Savage? Attempt to save Darfur (Even though I have no idea where Darfur is, much less how I would go about saving it)? Set up a Nigerian scamming business? Post suicidal poetry about how hard it is to be a teenager? Likely, it will be a combination of all these things, and much, much more. Minus the suicidal poetry. I grew out of that a long time ago, thank you very much.
Look forward to more wholly directionless and politically incorrect statements/blog posts/music videos/ideas for my best-selling novel. Believe me, there will be plenty.
Also misleading is the title of this blog post itself. I will not much be lingering on Curly G's pontification, nor will I be exploring the wide and generally disrespected world of modern existentialism. As for the collars, I think we all know what their purpose was. Obviously, they were meant to ward off Daedra. Duh.
For those of you who don't know what a Daedra is, a description can be found here: http://www.uesp.net/wiki/Lore:Daedra
I won't lie to you; I have no idea what sort of rumpus I'm going to be causing on this here blog of mine. Will I seek to usurp the power of the evil demon, Michael Savage? Attempt to save Darfur (Even though I have no idea where Darfur is, much less how I would go about saving it)? Set up a Nigerian scamming business? Post suicidal poetry about how hard it is to be a teenager? Likely, it will be a combination of all these things, and much, much more. Minus the suicidal poetry. I grew out of that a long time ago, thank you very much.
Look forward to more wholly directionless and politically incorrect statements/blog posts/music videos/ideas for my best-selling novel. Believe me, there will be plenty.
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