I am pretty sure throwing pennies into this fountain prevents your wish from coming true.

I Am Completely Out of Ideas

I have no inspiration and no clue what I am about to write. Don't say I didn't warn you, because what follows will be unedited and uncensored free-flowing stream of thought madness.

I used to spend my time coming up with proverbs like "no rooster can lay quite like a hen." I think that was a good use of my time, considering that I could have been eating things I found on the ground instead.

Last summer during our family reunion my brother and I stayed up until three in the morning laughing about how funny a Bad Dudes movie would be. The walls in the cabin were pretty thin, so my mom also stayed up until three in the morning not laughing about how funny a Bad Dudes movie would be, but I bet it warmed her heart anyway. We were right though, it would be funny. What isn't funny about two bad dudes battling thousands of color-coded ninjas as they run, walk and train hop their way to the White House so they can rescue the president?

I have an interview for covenant group leader in twenty minutes. I guess I should get pretty and head out soon.

Well, that was fun. I hope you had a good time. See you later. I'll miss you. Don't forget to write. Oh yes, and don't say I didn't warn you.

Every Part of Monday Blows Chunks

Working late on Sunday night is not the part that sucks, it's working early on Monday. Which part of early Monday you ask? It's either the right-now part, the 7:30-class-I-havn't-done-the-work-for part, or the rest-of-the-day-after-the-other-two-parts part. I choose all of the above. All of those parts suck equally. They are the perfect trifecta of suck. They suck in ways that I am not aware of because I was raised in a conservative Christian home.

Moral of the story: Life is just an extended metaphore for death.

Is my cat Jabba the Hutt?

How dope are water wings?

Kids get all the breaks. I mean, come on... fun dip? Adults aren't even allowed to eat fun dip, that's why it's called "Adult Onset Diabetes."

Six Shots or None at All

In other news... Hey, I forgot to tell you, something amazing happened on the 18th, at 12:32 p.m.

There, I remembered. Actually, I remembered a few minutes ago, before I signed in and started this post. I had to discuss it with myself first because I really should be working on homework right now, but it can wait... it always does.

So, on the 18th I was having a conversation with a buddy of mine via the latest version of MSN messenger when she was cut off from the internet. I figured she would be back on soon enough, so while I waited I began scanning the room for what I suspected to be a fly that had hit my hand earlier.

Indeed it was a fly, but this was no ordinary fly. I am pretty sure this was the fly from The Fly. This fly had the look of an insect that has been genetically bonded with a cutting-edge scientist who now spends his time being a friggin huge fly and killing people just because he can, since there are no newspapers big enough to end him.

Now, usually I am quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry, but on the 18th I was just being an idiot who really wanted to bag a fly big enough to mount above the hearth.

Hang on a sec, I am sick of typing the word "fly" so much, and it is going to come up quite a bit, so from now on I will refer to the creature by its true name: Seth Brundle.

Now, Dr. Brundle wasn't about to go down without a fight. Fortunately, his little brain is not really designed for thinking thoughts any more complex than "100110" so I knew I wasn't up against strategy or anything like that. What Seth did have were wings, courage, and perseverance. Courage and Perseverance, these are important. If I ever decide to actually pour my heart out on this blog, those words will come up again, but for now, suffice to say they will add a good eight minutes to any fly's life, which is about two years in fly years.

He seemed determined to stay on the window, which I thought was a good thing as I proceeded to swing at him with a newspaper (which, as we have already been over, has no effect on gigantic fly people).

Then came my moment of opportunity. Brundle's little mind did not foresee the danger in landing on the edge of the window sill, where the window hits when it opens. My little mind, unfortunately, did not foresee any of the things that glass can do besides not break.

With the strength of a weak and sickly baby ox I slide the window open to crush the Brundle.

Now would be a good time to tell you something about flies. They see in slow motion, and all they care about is not dying, so while I wasn't thinking at all, Seth was on top of things, and dodged my feeble attempt at strategic attack.

The window slammed against the wall and I immediately had a new problem, one I have been alluding to for far too long: a crack in my window that was not there before. Judging by the not-cracked condition of my window in the pre-slam stage, I am forced to conclude that my actions were somehow linked to the now multiple pieces of glass comprising my window.

It was at this point that my manhood was on the line. Seth Brundle, bless his heart, could not be permitted to live, lest I be expelled from my tribe.

I am still in the tribe, so needless to say, Brundle got royally f-ed up.

As Brundle lay twitchy in his shallow grave/my trash can, my friend logged back on and I informed her of the situation. Her response: "Did you get those files I was sending?"

Cool response dude.

Why I Wish I Was Disabled

Animal crackers suck

It turns out that root beer is the best kind of soda drink imaginable. Seriously, I just proved it today ontologically.

Now, on to the topic at hand. I have before me a keyboard and computer, but slightly off to my left (your west) I have a box of Nabisco brand Barnum's Animals variety Crackers. On it I see various adult male animals, with their respective young, all horribly out of proportion.

While these animal crackers may be a good source of calcium, they are unfortunately also a good source of the taste of old man's butt marinated in clover honey.

Seriously, I bought the box because I remembered liking them, but it turns out that they are freaking gross, so I could never have liked them for their taste. I must have been fooled into wanting them because of the cool box they came in. Little kids are stupid by definition, so it stands to reason that in my child form I was drawn to eat disgusting crackers.

I mean, it used to be a special event in my yet unformed mind when we went out to a grownups' restaurant, because on the way we stopped at McDonald's and I got a cardboard house-shaped box with molded pieces of fried particleboard chicken, French fries, and a "toy" that was not fun to play with and that could not, or would not, interact with any of my actual toys that I already had plenty of back at home.

I was going to save the box, but now I'm getting rid of it, and I'm not even going to recycle it because I don't want to live in fear that my next grocery bag will be made from 75% post consumer marinated butt.

The end.

This is my button, hanging out on my desk with some paper clips, staples, and my friend's In-N-Out nametag. I liked it better with my shorts.

Ode to my button

I have no memories of you,
Only memories with you.
But now that you are gone,
My memories are few.

A belt without a button:
Pat Sajack without a clue.

the Moment for you've all been waiting about

Furthermore, my finals pretty much were unto me as baby wipes are unto a thoughtful mother with a recently poop-ed baby: they have no say regarding the manner in which they are to be used.

"I believe it was Saint Augustine who put it best." - Two Guns

"He who quotes himself often is often himself quoted." - anonymous

"That wasn't funny." - Loser24

Well, basically, as you can by now well see, I have nothing to say at the moment, but hopefully this entry will stop the steady stream of emails I have been deleteing [which were] demanding another one of these things that I am doing right now. (let me know how that last one goes over, I think I might be trying too hard, that is, not trying hard enough)

And in conclusion, however, I am done for now.

Finals Rule

Don't get me wrong, I love final exams just as much as the next guy. The thing you have to remember is that the "next guy" would condemn finals to hell if he could. In fact, I think I heard him doing just that last night, but obviously to no avail, considering that I just took a 185 question ScanTron (2.0) test today. WTF is Scantron anyway? Whatever happened to filling in the bubble? Those stupid little "rect-angles" are making my ganglion cyst flair up. And another thing... no, they don't.

This doesn't include cows and it isn't a lie, so I think it is good to go. Mostly don't read this, and actually read the sign in the picture.

Um... I do to still blog, so "euh" on you

I don't know what you're talking about, I blog all the time. I blog three (3) times a week, sometimes twice (2ice?) in a (one) day.

Lark News is ha-freaking-larious, especially to a youth group nerd, er... stud, like myself.

So, ima go at this point of our story.

Oh, and don't worry, if Stella could do it, I'll be just fine.

I think that this is the best drawing ever, except, if you look carefully, Shre der's left arm is a little bit longer than his right (your left). If you don't look too carefully they are the same length, as my previous sentence's structure implies.

Rocky and/or Bullwinkle

Something that has been weighing heavily on my mind these last couple of weeks: not this:

Everyone knows that there honestly really actually is such a thing as the existence of truly real flying squirrels. But what the heck is a Bullwinkle? There is no such thing as a Bullwinkle, except in that stupid cartoon, "Rocky and Bullwinkle, or... Why the Heck Am I Watching TV on Saturday When I Could be Asleep and/or Outside." And don't start sentences with and, or tell me that Bullwinkle is a Moose, because moose is not a proper name. I mean, IF Bullwinkle is a moose, and that is a pretty big if, unlike the last if or the one after that, then riddle me this: where is the dewlap?

Rule number one in claiming that something is and/or be a moose: Always account for the dewlap.

The above story is my story and I'm sticking to the aforementioned story.

I wonder if the artist had any sense of satisfaction with this work when it was finally complete. Further analysis to come.

Other than the part labeled "soup," I think I beat all of these guys in a Final Fantasy game once.
P.S. I am not racist, nor am I ethnocentric, so get out of my kitchen all you angry college freshmen! And get off of my earth dang Chinese!

The Question Mark Deserves Its Own Key

so i was totally readin this grrls blog and she wuz like wut RU doin and i wuz all like o nothin just readin ur blog and she wuz like kk ttyl :)
(and) That was when I decided that I hate grrls in general. Girls are cool, but grrls have just got to go. Also, hate is a strong word.

k luv ya!
dc with the tg in the nn

Have you ever laughed so hard that milk came out of your nose?

That happened to me the other day. It kind of sucks because it stings and because I can think of a thousand better uses for milk than shooting it through your nasal cavity and all over your new dress. Dress shoes that is. I am a guy so I don't wear dresses. Not that there is anything wrong with a guy wearing dresses, but that's messed up.

The weird part is that I wasn't drinking milk at the time.