I'm a moron! Happy New Year!

Right now, I'm straddling my bathtub with one foot in water hot enough to cook a lobster. Why am I doing that? Because last night, I attempted to jump, and in doing so, landed extremely painfully on my right ankle. It's now swollen to about the size of a swollen ankle, so I'm trying the old "scald your foot with boiling water and a little bit of Epsom salt" trick. So far, all it's done is make me worry that layers of skin are just going to slide right off my foot.


Tonight is New Years Eve, my least favorite holiday. I don't understand why people celebrate the year ending, it seems like it should be more along the lines of a funeral, since December is kind of the annual sputter-and-die month for our calendar. But tonight I'm going with two of my best friends to Sacramento in an attempt to party it up and get my mind off the fact that a grapefruit is chillin' out, maxin', relaxin' all cool on my synnovial hinge. 


They say champagne dulls the pain everywhere but your head. Or maybe I say that. Either way, hopefully the light and bubbly concoction will redistribute the pain elsewhere, and I can maybe kind of stand and toast when the ball drops and Snooki plummets to her inevitable death.


Did you know that Snooki is going to be inside the ball when it drops tonight? Now you do. And I'm sure you're wondering, how low has our country sunk that a drunken, orange Chilean is worthy of invading one of the most iconic symbols in American culture, the Times Square New Years Eve Ball Thingy? The answer is very, very low.


So, Happy New Year, everyone! Take this opportunity to get drunk and potentially forget 2010 altogether. My resolution for the new year? Become the most famous person ever that's ever lived in the history of everything. I can do it. Maybe. Probably not. There's always 2012! At least until the Mayans get sick of our bullshit and kill us all.

My bite is worse than my roar.

When I was a kid, I wasn't allowed to watch that much TV, which was a good thing; it forced me to actually go outside and play, something I loved to do. Nowadays, I sit in my room with my curtains drawn, swaddled in blankets and a hoodie regardless of the weather. Not nearly as healthy as my childhood activities.


My family was also in a much different situation: we only had one television in the house, much simpler than our current three. So if I wanted to watch something, not only did I need to have "TV time" left for the day, but the TV itself needed to be free. Being the youngest member of the family, I was at the bottom of the food chain, so to speak; if my sister wanted to watch something, she had the power to take over the living room by force. We never really fought when we were younger, and we're as close as a brother and sister can be to this day, but I choose to believe that she enjoyed tormenting me as a child. The major weapon that was employed against me was tickling, but she sometimes branched out into the classic physically-move-me-to-another-room-and-lock-me-in-there-despite-my-constant-blood-curdling-screams-and-begging-for-mercy technique. I tried to fight back as best I could, but it's hard to defend yourself when you're five and a 13-year-old's tickling is bringing your bladder closer and closer to emergency release.


So my tiny, single-digit-year-old self wasn't strong enough to outright overpower her. Maybe this is how I became more of an introverted, planning-type person; my attacks needed to be covert and unexpected. After what was probably a couple days, but what felt like years, I had created some semblance of a plan in my underdeveloped mind. What I was specifically going to do, I wasn't sure; but I knew I needed to strike when she wasn't expecting it. One day, the opportunity presented itself. 


She was lying on the couch on her back, and since it was the 90s, she was wearing some form of a belly shirt; this was exacerbated by the fact that her arms were behind her head, pulling it up a little bit farther. I was off in a corner playing with my dinosaurs, silently watching, waiting for her attention to shift from how annoying my guttural growls and roars were to the new Boyz II Men video playing on MTV. I thought to myself how ironic it was that she was the one watching TV this time around, unaware of my imminent attack. Except MTV was way more boring than The Busy World of Richard Scarry, so her multiple affronts on me were worse than my simple plot for revenge. I was more than justified.


Noticing her revealed stomach, the plan that had been floating around in my mind suddenly became grounded; I knew what I had to do. With a devious smile on my face and a charging shout that would put Braveheart to shame, I ran forward and bit down on her stomach with such vigor that my attack was more effective than I ever thought it would be; almost immediately upon contact, the skin of her stomach broke open, creating a sizable wound that I was sure my dinosaurs would be proud of. Her screams of pain brought me back to reality and out of my state of euphoria, followed by a quick flurry of arms hitting me in retaliation. Minutes later, she was on the way to the hospital with my dad while my mom spent a gratuitous chunk of time explaining to me that it was not okay to bite people on the stomach, something that I did not understand or agree with, followed by cries of wondering where she had gone wrong with me.


I don't really know when or how I decided it would be fun to start biting people, but this is my best guess as to when it began. After having broken the skin of my sister's stomach and subjecting her to a very painful tetanus shot, I got the taste for blood and began to seek out any opportunity to strike again. More than convinced my razor sharp fangs were more than a match for my sister' brute strength, I spent hours stalking her, pretending I was a velociraptor hunting down my wounded prey. I pounced only when I was sure her guard was down and I had a chance to rip a generous portion of flesh from my unsuspecting victim. Much to her benefit, the same opportunity never presented itself and a short decade later, I realized that biting people was not a socially accepted behavior and decided to grow out of my "LOL I'M SO RANDOM AND WEIRD" phase, something that I have come to loathe and pretend never existed. 


But it was all worth it. After my mom was done lecturing me about how I can't bite people and that, for the thousandth time, I'm not a dinosaur, the living room was empty; the television was mine. My sister has forgotten the lesson I taught her that day, or maybe she never understood why I thought it was a good idea to bite her stomach and send her to the hospital, but I knew. You don't get between me and something I want. And five year old me wanted to watch Sesame Street.

When it rains, it pours. Except when it's only a light drizzle or just a regular amount of rain. Or all three. Long title, long title, long title, ramble ramble ramble.

The weather in California has been capital-C-razy the last couple weeks. Living in Northern/Central California, I've managed to avoid the Noah's Ark-style flooding that people silly enough to live in Los Angeles have been experiencing. Unfortunately, our weather up here has been going through what I assume are mood swings, threatening to either dampen or enhance my plans on any given day, at any given time.


In what could have been no longer than a 15 minute period, I went through nearly every type of weather you could possibly experience in the Central Valley: blindingly sunny, rain strong enough to break through my windshield, and something that I choose to refer to as "death wind," because as a child, I had an ever-present and irrational fear of tornadoes. The slightest bit of wind would send me into life-threatening anxiety attacks, and since I've always had the tendency to be a little over dramatic, I somehow found it appropriate to refer to even the tiniest breeze as the "death wind." 


I was a troubled child.


As I drove around town today, the rapidly-changing elements thought it would be fun to frustrate me as much as possible by forcing me to constantly adapt to my surroundings, over and over.


Heavy rain. Windshield wipers on high. 


Rain stops, sun comes out. Windshield wipers and headlights off. 


Light rain, sun still shining directly into my face, obscuring my vision and pissing me off. Windshield wipers on low. 


Wind picks up, blowing leaves and sticks and shit all over, causing them to stick to the mud covering the bottom eight inches of my car like some kind of six-year-old's horrid art project. Hope I don't hydroplane on the slick and muddy roads. 


Rain goes away, sun gets covered by clouds. Windshield wipers off, headlights on.


Rain starts pouring down so hard that I start to think all the sugar I ingest has finally caught up to me, I've gotten diabetes, suffered from glaucoma, and am now going blind because I can't even see five feet in front of my car. Windshield wipers on high, desperately trying to keep up with the bastard rain, high beams on because maybe they'll stop another car from crashing into me.


Sunny skies, rain gone. Everything turned off.


Couple this ridiculousness with the fact that people can barely drive properly when there aren't any adverse weather conditions hampering their ability to pay attention to what's going on around them, and you had a very frustrated driver(me) with the power to angrily run over a random pedestrian in a vain attempt to release frustration and tension. It wasn't exactly the best day to be on the road.


Had I not made plans to meet a friend for coffee, I wouldn't have needed to go anywhere today. But when I get $50 worth of Starbucks gift cards for Christmas, I use those suckers like they're going out of style. And while increasing my blood pressure to an unhealthy level probably isn't worth braving the roads for overpriced coffee, it forced me to actually take a shower today, which is the ninth day in a row I've managed to bathe myself, truly a personal best in recent history.

Super Smash Bros Brawl, Pt.4: PTSD, Cold War tensions, and well-adjusted females. Also, the finale.

Part four! It only took me a week to write, which is a new record for procrastination on a post. But it's cool, you guys are faithful, and I know you haven't been running around on me with other bloggers.

Snake
Ex military guy that seems to have forgotten he's back home. Runs a pretty tight ship at home and is determined to teach his son how to shoot any type of firearm by the time he's ten. Far too macho to deal with what might be a serious case of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, he's building a potentially unsafe obstacle course in his back yard to hang onto that "first boot camp experience" feeling.





Sonic
White guy that's gotten pretty deep into the urban hip-hop scene. His rhymes aren't exactly what some might call "funky fresh," though his sweet kicks and bangin' ride make up for what he lacks in musicality. He doesn't understand that acting urban doesn't automatically make you a member of the rap community, and open mic night at the local pizza joint isn't helping his delusions of grandeur. When asked where he is every Friday, Sonic does his best to convince people that he's playing a gig somewhere. If only they knew that he shares the stage with drunk middle aged women and a karaoke machine.




Toon Link
The really cool little brother that all of his older sibling's friends actually like having around. He gets that it's not cool to run and tell his parents everything, and is mature enough for his age to be entertaining. Brags at school about how he hangs out with high school kids, and has all of his fellow 7th graders in awe. He'll probably end up going to college parties with his brother once he's in high school, and his overinflated ego will get really annoying to all of his peers. Good for you, Toon Link, you go to parties. No1curr.




Wario
The guy that lives in your apartment next to you, and does not understand the concept of privacy. Or hygiene. He's constantly coming over, asking to borrow stuff, and never return everything; the last time he bathed, shaved, or even washed his hands has probably been weeks, leading into months. In a way, you're actually okay with him keeping the stuff you let him borrow, because chances are anything he returned would test positive for a whole slew of diseases and alien bacteria. Also, you wish the walls between your bedrooms were thicker. Gross.




Wolf
A Russian immigrant in the 1960s. Everybody is freaking terrified of him, because apparently Communism is just as contagious as the common cold and attacks much more swiftly. Everybody in the neighborhood is convinced that he's either a spy trying to steal Betty Smith's tuna fish casserole recipe, or some kind of Scorched Earth suicide bomber just waiting for the right time to blow up the neighborhood and turn it into Moscow's Pennsylvanian sister city. He's kicking himself for moving to America at the height of the Cold War, and he can't return to Russia because who knows if the ghost of Stalin is just waiting to fuck with him?




Yoshi
Immature man-child. Doesn't understand the concept of growing up and functioning on your own. Yoshi's at least in his mid-30s, lives at home, and has never had a real job of any sort. His bedroom hasn't changed since he was 12 years old, and his days consist of playing World of Warcraft, working on his "martial arts," and moderating his Battlestar Galactica forum. Ingests nothing but the pizza pockets and Rockstars his mom provides for him multiple times a day.


Zelda
The "hot" gamer chick that every lonely male gamer she's ever played with has asked to be his girlfriend. In reality, she's not what most people would consider hot, but any female that isn't grotesquely hideous is considered a goddess within the video gaming world. Plays male characters a lot because she's tired of getting hit on, and actually has a normal life outside of loving video games. She doesn't let anybody know about her nerdy hobbies, though; she has a reputation to uphold, after all.




All four parts are finally completed. I must be a moron of some sort, because I somehow ended up with 34 characters, when I initially counted 35. I never said I was good at math, by the way, so don't start pointing fingers at me and agreeing that I'm a moron. It's cool when I insult myself, not when you do it. Especially when you have good reason to.


So if you guys liked this series, I might do it with other video games I've played too. They'd probably be shorter, since most games don't have 34, or 35, or 40...or however many characters. That might actually be better for my attention span.

Television has consumed my life.

Wow, I totally didn't mean to go this long without updating. I had written two new posts, both of which were AWESOME, I must have accidentally deleted them because posts don't get up and walk away on their own. In fact, posts can't walk at all.


The last few days, I've done basically two things: sleep and lay around. While laying around, I managed to write the aforementioned posts, but mostly I just watched reruns of House Hunters and ate whatever Christmas desserts weren't massacred by me on Saturday. It's been awesome, and today was no disappointment; I ordered Left 4 Dead 2  and the first two God of War games for 28 bucks. None of it was mine, thanks to the Amazon gift cards I got this year. Score. My sister and her fiance also just got Netflix, so I spent about 90% of my day sprawled out on their couch looking for any horrible-yet-awesome movies I could manage to waste some time on.


I watched G.I. Joe: Rise of the Cobra, and to be totally honest, I cannot tell you a single thing about it except Marlon Wayans was one of the main characters, and he is not Jamie Foxx. I'm sure you can see how I got them mixed up, considering they look nothing alike.


Right now, I'm watching reruns of American Dad on some random website that has ads reminding me of all the single women conveniently located in my town and how I can get a medical marijuana card. Personally, I'm not down with the ganja, but whatever floats your boat.


Tomorrow, my goal is to somehow recreate the Lost Posts that I was so proud of. And maybe stop watching so much TV. I probably won't accomplish either, because I still have a few desserts stashed away somewhere, and "coming down from a sugar high" is higher on my list than "finding a less sedentary pastime" and "attract new readers, don't scare them away."


But it's the thought that counts, and my thoughts are my gifts to you. It's probably not a gift you wanted, but you're stuck with it. Kind of like chlamydia.

Ho ho ho!

I'm in between insanity at the moment, and while I have a few minutes to do so, I figured now would be a good time to wish everybody a merry Christmas. I'm typing on my new netbook, which means I no longer have to share the world's slowest computer with my parents, and can write and update whenever I want! Be excited, because I know I am.


I hope everyone's day is filled with awesome stuff you couldn't afford to buy yourselves, food, and probably a decent amount of alcohol to cope with such close familial proximity. Have a great day, great evening, and I'll be back tomorrow with something awesome that will probably make you fall madly in love with me.

Merry Christmas!

Feast for your eyes.

I'm going to be busy the next couple days, and I might not be able to update every day like I've been doing until after Saturday. So, in an attempt to keep things entertaining around here, I took the suggestion of one of my best friends to post the video she made for me last year. Do your best to ignore my grotesque appearance. If you stab out your eyes Oedipus-style, don't say I didn't warn you.

So happy together.

Sometimes, you find things that are super cool. And then you find other things that are super cool. Then, every once in a while, you get the idea that these two super cool things should be one super cool thing. If you're me, however, then you get these ideas constantly. Here's some stuff that I think should be considered package deals.

Cake and cake

Cake is awesome on its own. Moist and delicious with creamy frosting, there's almost nothing better on this earth. The only way to improve cake? More cake. "More cake" should be our national motto; everybody would be happier, and think of all the problems we could fix. The answer to war? More cake! The answer to hunger? More cake! The answer to eliminating dangerous drug cartels? More cake! The answer to unwed, teenage mothers? More cake! And condoms! Hurray!

Sleep and exercise

Since "more cake" probably isn't the answer to obesity, this is the perfect solution. If scientists or nutritionists or personal trainers or something can find some way to get our bodies to exercise while we're asleep, BAM, problem solved. I understand there might be difficulties in making this dream a reality, and I'm willing to wait for science to catch up to the inner mechanics of my mind. I'll learn to be patient, I really will. Seriously, Stephen Hawking, call me up. I'm sure this is probably outside your typical realm of interest, but maybe we can work on something together. I'm an idea guy.

Microwaves and television

Sometimes, when I'm microwaving something, I think, "You know, I hate waiting, but I don't want to walk away and have the microwave beep before I can stop it when there's one second left. I wish there was some way to entertain myself rather than pace back and forth in the kitchen, looking at food because I'm bored, then remembering that I'm waiting for food to finish cooking." One day, it dawned on me; we need a TV installed in the microwave. Then I would never have to stop staring at a screen. My life would be complete.

Zombies and dinosaurs

Two of my favorite things. There needs to be a movie or TV show or book or something about these two subjects. Think of all the zombie movies that would have been improved with the inclusion of dinosaurs: 28 Days Later, Day of the Dead, Zombieland, the list goes on. Just imagine, Mark Zuckerberg and Abigail Breslin fight off a horde of zombies, only to turn around and see a velociraptor staring them down. Lord help them if they come across zombie dinosaurs. Facebook would never be the same.

Leap somewhere else, Lords.

I love Christmas music, I really do. It sets the mood this time of year, and reminds us that it's time to see a bunch of people you may not like that much and you'll be fighting with almost all of them for at least a month straight. Having said that, by the end of the holiday season, even the best Christmas songs get a little grating; it's sweet of Mariah Carey to express how much she only wants me for Christmas, but after hearing her say it 200 times, my limit has been reached. To make matters worse, there are some that probably never should have been written, changed, or performed in the first place, yet the sheer volume at which they're played should be reserved only for torturing people convicted of war crimes.

Superions - Fruitcake

The fruit cake joke has worn out its welcome. Yes, I get it, fruitcake is disgusting. It's hard as a rock and shouldn't be considered dessert. Whatever. I don't care anymore. Stop shoving this tired farce down my throat(Am I the only person that thinks that sounds suggestive?). Superions, there's a reason why this video has less than 10,000 views on YouTube; everyone else is just as tired of the shtick as I am. NO MORE FRUITCAKE SONGS.

Eraserheads - Fruitcake

Okay, the Eraserheads didn't get the memo. At least in the Superions' song, the song focuses entirely on the contents of fruitcake, which is annoying, but appropriate. This song talks about stars and miracles falling down from heaven, something called "fruitcake heights," and "mothers giggling in sheer delight" at the taste of fruitcake. Also, there's apparently fruitcake in everyone. I don't get it.

Lou Monte - Dominick The Donkey

This song makes no sense to me. I admit, it's kind of catchy, and I find myself hee-hawing throughout the day after hearing it; but I have some fundamental issues with the lyrics. The reindeer can't climb the hills of Italy, so Santa Claus needs a donkey? Um, I'm pretty sure the reindeer can fly. I wasn't aware climbing was a necessary skill under these conditions. Second, the donkey dances when people speak in Italian. That must get tiring for a donkey that lives in Italy. Try again, Lou Monte. I'm not buying it.

Jackson 5 - Santa Claus Is Coming To Town

In reality, I only have a serious issue with one part of this song, but it bothers me enough that it makes the list. Head to around 1:45 to hear a completely unnecessary addition to the original song. For the longest time, I thought it was just nonsensical scatting, and it drove me crazy. Finally, having looked up the lyrics, I now have a better understanding of what actually peeves me when I hear the song. Really? Rooty-toot-toot and rump-a-tum-tum? Both were necessary? Also, I would love to see what "tootling" is, because I'm pretty sure that's not a word.

Any performance ever - 12 Days of Christmas

According to Wikipedia, this song was written in 1780, which is obvious because if anybody gave me these gifts now, I'd ask why they hate me and if they have the gift receipt. First of all, I hate birds, and twenty-three of them are given as gifts in this song. 23. That is a lot of birds. On top of that, you get 12 drummers, 11 pipers, 10 lords-a-leaping, 9 ladies dancing, and 8 maids-a-milking. That's fifty people. Who's paying their salary? I'm not. Don't give me people as a gift, I don't fancy myself a slave owner. The only decent gifts are the five gold rings, and I'd probably have to sell them to afford all the other crap. I don't like gifts that end up resulting in chores, thank you.

Super Smash Bros. Brawl, Pt.3: Vietnam, whores, and stop having a boring tuna, stop having a boring life.

You've either loved the last two installments, or you're wondering why the hell you're still reading my blog because you don't like video games or zombies and there's nothing here for you. I'm slightly more than halfway done, 18 out of 35, so bear with me, and then bare with me, because things are about to get fun.


In case you haven't read the others, this is a series of posts on the characters of Super Smash Bros. Brawl, and what I imagine their personalities and back stories would be if they happened to be people.




Mr. Game & Watch

Your grandfather that has some pretty severe Vietnam flashbacks. You're in the middle of eating dinner with your family when your mom pulls out the broccoli, and he starts screaming something about jungles and the Vietcong. You can't throw out things like orange peels and moldy food because his parents went through the Depression, and they used damn near everything, and damn it, we're gonna use damn near everything too.

Ness

The Asian kid that's good at everything, so he's stereotypical. He's incredibly smart and will probably graduate college by the time he's 12. It's too bad he has absolutely no social skills and nobody will want to work with a 14-year-old with a very severe superiority complex. All he wanted to do was play baseball with the other kids, but no. He's not C-sian or B-sian, he's Asian.

Olimar
Burnout from the 70s that's still addicted to hallucinogens. Lives his life thinking he's crash landed on a strange, alien planet with a bunch of little creatures that come in a variety of vivid colors. He runs around with tin foil wrapped around his body and a glass bowl on his head telling people he's an astronaut.

Peach
Peach is a whore. Don't believe me? Let me Google that for you. Everybody I've ever spoken to that knows of Peach inexplicably shares this opinion with me. There's not much else to elaborate on; the game pretty much confirms my fantastical accusations, since she fights by throwing her ass at people and if you're familiar with something called the "ping pong ball trick," then you know where she pulls those turnips from.

Pikachu
Insanely annoying and hyperactive little kid. Whether they're a neighbor, cousin, or sibling, they've somehow picked you as their favorite person in the world and do everything in their power to track you down and irritate the hell out of you. Everything they touch becomes broken, and they always seem to want to play with your most valuable possessions. They're like an irreplaceable-object-seeking-missile, and keeping them out of your room and away from your stuff is priority number one, no matter what the other consequences might be.

Pit
Really, really dumb male model. He's the person that has done nothing to deserve all the attention he gets, aside from being born. Some people have all the luck, don't they? Always being flown around from one exotic photo shoot to another, he's completely out of touch with the real world and once asked if somebody could explain who Katrina was and why so many people in New Orleans seem to hate her. 

Pokemon Trainer
Pokemon Trainer is a coach that never succeeded at his own aspirations, so he lives vicariously through he people he trains. Exceptionally harsh in his methods, he channels all of his self hatred into coaching, which ranges from track(Squirtle) to shotput(Ivysaur) to weight lifting(Charizard). The problem with being hated by people in better shape than you is how easy it will be for them to kick your ass when they get tired of your bullshit.

R.O.B.
Techie. His main hobby is building computers, and because he puts so much of his free time into it, has let all of this relationships wither and die. Due to self-inflicted loneliness, he's turned into a complete and total internet porn addict. His hygiene is also questionable, since on more than one occasion, people have noticed that he smells like raw chicken.

Samus
Self-made millionaire that's totally addicted to plastic surgery. She made her money by inventing the SlapChop, and is now blowing it all on so many procedures that she'll be almost entirely plastic and silicone by the time either God or the government steps in to stop her from continuing to gradually take herself farther and farther away from being considered human.




Are you ready for part four? Because it's going to do one of two things: blow your mind, or completely obliterate your mind, body, and soul. Pick your poison, buckle up, and wait for me to get around to writing it.

Get involved. Or die.

Just kidding, you won't die. Well, eventually you will, but not by blog-related causes. Unless your name is Julian Assange.


Anyway.


I installed a new application to my blog called OneTrueFan. It's pretty awesome; you guys, my readers, are now in competition with each other to make me the most popular person alive. Every time you read my blog, share something, or even glance at me with that seductive look in your eye, you get points(though the points you earn from that last thing are tallied separately, wink wink). The person that does these things the most is considered my "one true fan," hence the name of the gadget. 


So...get sharing! Make everybody you know love me more than they love you! Be the readers I know you can be. I promise you won't regret it, because I'm like Tinkerbell; the more applause I get, the stronger I am, and I can write and draw more hilarious stuff for you. And we all want that, don't we? 


The answer is yes. Yes, we do.

'Tis the season to feel guilty and cheap.

Anyone that dares to venture into the retail world has, at some point, encountered somebody asking for donations. Year 'round, though especially during this time of year, stores have trained their cashiers to champion a relief fund for some kind of evil: hunger, cancer, poverty, etc. Carefully and masterfully trained, they know how to execute the question in a way that makes you feel like you just ran over some kid's puppy if you dare to say no. And I do not have the ability to say no.


Guilt-inciting cashier: "Would you care to donate a dollar to the Starving Children Living With Leukemia fund? It's only a dollar."


Me: "Uh...the...SC...LWL? Only a dollar?"


Guilt-inciting cashier: "That's right! The SCLWL! It's only a dollar, sir."


Me: "...Only a dollar...um...sure, go ahead."


Guilt-inciting cashier: "Wonderful! Also, would you like to donate ten dollars to the Battered Women And Lonely Abandoned Toy shelter?"


Me: "I don't know, I'm kind of broke. I don't have a job. Ten dollars might be too much."


Guilt-inciting cashier: "Oh. I see, sir. I guess the women whose husbands abused them could probably go without food another night. And the toys will continue to look sad and lonely and make you want to cry. I'll just ring up your video games that you obviously need to survive and finish your transaction."


Me: "Ugh, fine. I'll donate the ten dollars."


Guilt-inciting cashier: "WONDERFUL! You're doing a great thing. Also, the man behind you needs a kidney and it seems you're a match, would you care to donate one of your vital organs today?"


They're tricky. A few days ago, I went with a good friend of mine to the pet store because my hamsters needed a couple things. As the guy was ringing up my purchase, he casually pointed to the piece of paper taped to the front of the register and asked if I'd like to donate money to help find homes for rescued animals. As I glanced at the paper, I saw the donation amounts they were accepting.


$50: I was feeling pretty good. Fifty bucks is a lot of money, I could have easily said no to that.


$30: Alright, thirty is still too much to donate, I don't think he'd judge me too much if I declined.


$10: Panic set in. These amounts are getting a whole lot smaller the farther I go down the list. I need to hurry and answer without looking like I'm having some kind of serious inner struggle.


$5: At this point, I saw through their game. Five dollars is too small for me to say no to without seeming like a total dick.


$1: Damn it. Fuck you, Petsmart.


I donated the dollar. I couldn't say no. That was their plan all along. I don't want to seem so cheap that I can't part with a dollar; the problem is that it turns into $10-$15 a week, and since my bank account is hovering right above the double digits, that's a pretty sizable portion of my savings. 


Christmas makes it even worse. The bell ringers outside almost every store look so jolly, and the fact that they insist on saying hello forces me to make eye contact with them.To make matters worse, the looks on their faces when they realize I won't be donating anything is nothing short of disappointment and disgust. I end up hurriedly emptying the contents of my pocket into the bucket, in hopes that somebody, somewhere, might find use for fifty cents and my shopping list.


The bottom line behind my inability to say no in these kinds of situations is the result of how much I hate being disliked. Donating is my replacement for explaining why I'm unable to donate; parting with one of my last dollars is easier than telling the cashier, or bell ringer, that I'm unable to part with it. What if they don't believe me? What if, as I walk away, a homeless family walks by and I hear their child say, "Why does the mean man want us to starve, Papa?"


Papa wouldn't have an answer. Papa wouldn't know why the mean man wants them to starve. He'd just shake his head and try to reassure his son that they'll find a way to eat, and that everything will be okay. And then my black heart will burst forth from my chest and return to its rightful place in the 9th circle of Hell.


And that's why I donate.

I always did like Yahoo.

So I logged into my Yahoo! Mail account a few moments ago, and when it took me to the front page, what did I see?

Marriage, music failed. YES. YES, THEY DID. Four for you, Yahoo, you go, Yahoo.

Seriously, read the article. It's hilariously awesome.

On a side note, Pat Monahan from Train looks like a combination of Dane Cook and Keith Richards in that picture.

Beyonce doesn't know what she's talking about.

If you're familiar with pop music, then you probably know the song "Irreplaceable," by Beyonce Knowles. In reality, she's singing the song to a guy; probably not Jay-Z. To make the song more fun, in my mind, I like to think she's singing it to her vacation weave. While the two are truly inseparable, it's fun to imagine that their relationship might be tumultuous at times and Bey has enough money that the occasional warning about buying a new lacefront is no idle threat.


I, on the other hand, would never threaten my most prized and valued possessions with potential replacement; in fact, there's a handful that I can't get through a normal day without.

My phone

When I wake up, I check it. When I eat breakfast, I check it. When I breathe, I check it. It's my main lifeline to the outside world, and even more so now that my laptop decided to abandon me. It's beautiful and makes seagull noises, a service that nothing else in my life can provide, barring an actual seagull becoming part of my everyday life.

My wii

I love my wii; I play it nearly every day. The sheer number of hours this thing has consumed of my life should probably be embarrassing, but my complete lack of shame has thankfully stopped that from happening. While Brawl has been my consistent obsession since I bought the console, Just Dance 2 has taken up a lot of my time in recent weeks. Sure, I can dance to Ke$ha and Donna Summer in my room whenever I want, but the game makes it slightly less weird; I'm doing it for points.

My tablet

Probably one of the best Christmas gifts I've ever gotten, I try to draw and write nearly every single day. It's a good creative outlet, and I never get tired of drawing myself riding on dinosaurs.  Viacom, if you're looking for an endorsement, look no further; I'm ready to whore myself out for whatever you're willing to pay me. On a slightly unrelated note, so far, everything I care about most is white. I wonder what that says about me.

Blankets

More specifically, the leopard print blanket I carry everywhere. It's warm, it makes me look like a pimp, and my cat likes me a whole lot more when I'm draped in what appears to be her cousin. I've answered the door on more than one occasion while it's wrapped around me like a cocoon, and the looks I've gotten from total strangers are truly Kodak moments.

Cereal

Aside from nacho cheese, cereal is my favorite food group. It is truly everything anybody needs to survive. When I get to the cereal aisle in the grocery store, I immediately transform into a five year old; buying a box of cereal I want is like waking up on Christmas morning and finding out every day for the rest of your life is going to be your birthday, and everybody will give you anything your tiny heart has ever desired. There is no better feeling on this planet.

Chloe

My cat. She both loves and despises me more than any other living thing on this planet. When she chooses to be awake, she follows me everywhere, and can never seem to get enough attention; when I choose for her to be awake, I feel she wants nothing more than for me to be dead. She's a total badass, and has killed probably thousands of animals, including snakes and jackrabbits.

What is something you can't get through the day without?

How to Make People Think You're Absolutely Insane.

I like to think I have a lot of expertise when it comes to convincing people that there's something wrong with me. It amuses me to get the "How the hell did you escape your padded cell?" look from people; on the outside, I chuckle. On the inside, I'm shouting to myself, YOU GOT A REACTION! YES! OH MY GOD, THIS IS F***ING HILARIOUS! YOU ARE THE FUNNIEST PERSON THAT HAS EVER LIVED!


If you want a taste of this possibly self-deprecating source of humor, read on. I'll tell you the ways to obtain it. Many of them also involve driving others crazy, which makes the results twice as funny.


1. Deny everything
Say something, anything. It can be totally mundane and normal. Say it loud enough to make sure at least one person hears you, but quiet enough so that you can easily deny saying it.


About four years ago, I was hanging out with some of my friends, and I muttered something about tennis. My friend Andrea asked a few seconds later if somebody had said something about tennis; everybody vehemently denied it, especially me. Up until a few months ago, she tried on a nearly regular basis to prove that somebody said something about tennis. I had her thinking she was crazy for over three years, truly a personal best.


There are other things you can deny, as well. If someone points out a fact, like, "The sky sure is blue today!" or "People are human beings! They're typically born with opposable thumbs!", outright deny it. Bring up something contrary that makes no sense. "Uh, no? The sky is forest green. Are you freaking blind?" would be a good example. And it's not just enough to deny something once and let it go, your friend or boss or midwife will just think that you're weird. You have to deny things on multiple occasions, make it a habit. Do your very best to convince them. Pretty soon, you'll be dying from laughter every time you're around them.


2. Eat things that shouldn't be eaten
This one might take some planning to consistently have something on hand to eat that you shouldn't be eating. There are two ways you can go about this: stick with one snack and constantly proclaim how much you love it, or always be eating something different and make people think you can't control your urge to eat.


Some ideas include paper(sheets of paper, plates, whatever you have on hand. Eating a paper plate after having a meal on it would add another level of crazy, you can talk angrily about hating to waste anything!), plastic straws, toothpicks, or what could potentially be the easiest thing to eat, food scraps that people typically throw away. The last one could range from the easy-but-gross, things like citrus rinds, to the vomit-inducingly-disgusting eggshell. It all depends on your level of commitment and how much you care about your digestive tract. It could be worth it, though; imagine the look on your coworker's face as they round the corner into your cubicle and see you innocently peering up at them, munching away on a piece of printer paper. Bonus points if it's someone you don't like and they decide to walk away without saying a word to you.


3. Walk backward
Do this everywhere you go. If you live in a big city, the only people that will bat an eye at you will probably be tourists, and let's face it, they're amused by everything anyway. So unfortunately, you might not get the full comedic effect out of this tactic. However, if you're like me and live in a normal-sized city, or even a small town, you'll probably end up on the news or something. 


Also, don't quote me on this, but there might be a good chance that walking backward will work new muscles and maybe you'll get into shape! I mean, why would ellipticals have a setting to do it if it wasn't good exercise?


Having said that, I need to impose a rule on this tip: never tell people you're doing it as a new form of exercise. That's a potentially rational explanation. No, if someone asks, your answer should be some variation of, "I like it better this way," 'it' being walking.


4. Invent a language
I'm not saying to make incoherent noises 100% of the time, that requires way too much work, and you'd probably give up after maybe an hour. No, you need to throw in your own words into normal sentences every now and then, and don't even explain it. If somebody asks you what it means, change the subject as fast as possible, it will confuse them even more. For example:


Girl 1: Wow, I really love this (dress/skirt/top/cheese sculpture)!
Girl 2: Yeah! It's super vrogtiphia!
Girl 1: Wait, what? What did you say?
Girl 2: ...OMG, let's go get Chipotle!
Girl 1: Okay? You're just going to ignore my question?
Girl 2: I know, I love burritos too.


Try it, at least once. If you can, try to remember the context of at least a few words you've used, and reuse them any chance you get. It's something that you can continue for years, and you're bound to encounter the above scenario nearly every single time.


5. Dress in a completely normal way, except for one article of clothing
Pretty self explanatory. For example, wear a suit and then put a pair of underwear on the outside. Unfortunately, with the rise of the hipster population, it's become harder and harder to pair pieces of clothing together that will make people think you should be wearing a helmet, rather than impressing someone named Sebastien while he listens to Neutral Milk Hotel.


Be creative. Make a dress out of bedsheets and pair it with high heels, wear a blanket like a cape, use your dog's toys as jewelry. The possibilities are endless.




Those are all the ideas I could currently think of. If you have your own, leave them in the comments, I'm always looking for new ways to make those closest to me concerned about my mental health.

Super Smash Bros Brawl, Pt.2: Childhood obesity, furries, and Napoleon.

Hi, readers! This is part two of my Super Smash Bros character opinion series. I hope you liked the first one, because you're going to keep reading them. This is where I would attempt to control you with my eyes.

Jigglypuff
In many ways, just a typical annoying five year old girl. She loves to sing. All. The. Time. She gets especially frustrated when you don't pay enough attention to her, and when she's mad enough, becomes a psychotic demon child that relieves her frustrations by hitting you. Thankfully, her tiny fists don't do a whole lot of damage, but she, like all children, has the ability to hit you right in the spot that should never be hit. Jigglypuff will grow up to be the crazy girlfriend that most guys drink to forget.

King Dedede
The ultimate bachelor. He played football in high school, but really let himself go after graduation. Attended a local junior college for a couple years, but found that waking up before 2 PM was becoming problematic, and dropped out of Auto Mechanics 101 to give himself more time for things like not working and clogging his arteries. His kitchen is now more of a storage shed, and why buy a safe for all of your irreplaceable belongings when you can just store them in the oven? Trashcans are irrelevant, which is evident by the three inches of fast food wrappers on the floor in nearly every room.

Kirby
Kirby's the sole fat kid in your first grade class. It's not really his fault, it's not like he's inactive or anything, his parents just don't understand how to teach good eating habits to their children. Oh, you'll make fun of him. Everybody else does! But just wait until he's a linebacker for the NFL and marries what you thought was your wife. He'll deliver the divorce papers himself, right as he charges over you with all 300 pounds of pent-up elementary school aggression.

Link
Poor Link. He's the computer addict that dates the first girl he finds on the internet willing to put up with his overuse of emoticons and ridiculously obnoxious proclamations of love. His constant talk of meeting up in real life and doing everything in his power to find her will eventually result in being single again, because no girl looking for a boyfriend on the internet is interested in commitment. Or stalkers.

Lucario
Lucario seems like a pretty normal guy; friendly and polite enough to not be suspicious to others. Too bad he's a furry. Yep, he gets off on anthropomorphic animal pornography. In fact, he even has his very own "fur suit,"and if you don't know what that is, then I wish I could live a day in your life so that I can have some peace from my own mind.

Lucas
Lucas is the kid that comes from an insanely Christian family, and isn't allowed to do any of the things the other kids are doing. His parents don't even let him play with Pokemon cards, because they believes Pokemon is an instrument of the devil. Always pious, he's quick to tell you when your actions are immoral and openly judges the other children. When he gets older, kids will probably refer to him as Hitler because of his totalitarian behavior and Aryan appearance.

Luigi
We all have one. That friend, relative, acquaintance, etc., that takes offense to everything you say and always walks off upset. Everyone has to walk on eggshells around Luigi, and frankly, they're tired of putting up with it. If nothing else, the mustache is an indicator that he's a grown man, and he needs to start acting like it, or he's not going to get invited to the Christmas party and I'm not gonna be the one that has to explain to him why nobody asked him to come. It's always me that has to deal with this situation, and I'm not doing it anymore.

Mario
The guy that takes charge in every situation. In school? He did all the projects himself, because he knew he would do them correctly, and everyone else would just screw it up. At work? If it was up to him, he would work alone, and he could probably run an entire business a whole lot more efficiently if he didn't have to deal with coworkers getting in his way. And why shouldn't he think that way? Isn't he better than all the others? Maybe it's a Napoleon complex, he's trying to dominate everything because he feels physically inferior to those around him.

Marth
Marth is a really, really effeminate gay guy. He doesn't realize that he's an insult to the gay community, because he purposefully tries to adhere to all the typical gay stereotypes in a failed attempt to be accepted. He wears a headband and full make up, and makes jokes all the time about "sword fighting." Seriously, Marth, stop trying so hard. It's embarrassing.

Meta Knight
Meta Knight's parents spoil him like crazy. His favorite holiday is Halloween, and his parents buy him the best, most expensive costume every single year. And he loves it so much, he refuses to take it off for weeks. At least he's grateful. Meanwhile, you're stuck wearing an orange garbage bag and trying to convince people you're a pumpkin, even though you just look like a homeless person wearing a makeshift poncho. The fact that you haven't bathed in a few days and smell pretty bad doesn't help your case. One family even called Child Protective Services. Maybe next year, you should just stay home.




And that was part two. Seriously, give me some feedback! I want to know you're enjoying these. And that's ALL I want to know.