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!

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.

'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.