Ironically I can only do this with break-ables

Guess what day it is....That's right kids! LAZY POST DAY! For you see, I feel like crap. The last two days worth of info on my weekend shall be forthcomming in tomorrow's post. Suffice to say, the potato gun is a deadly weapon and likely to put you into extremely dangerous situations. But enough foreshadowing, let's talk about today's post.

I found this quiz to be unusually insightful. While I disagree with any comment describing me as 'obsolete' and those that deride light-heartedness as inappropriate, I do find it to be uncannily accurate. Even the quiz itself had answers either in the vein of what I would say if it weren't a 'lock-in-your-answer-from-these-fachist-options-quiz' or exactly the right answer. So lo and behold the results from the 'Which Obselete Skill Are You' exam.


You are 'juggling'. Jugglers, tumblers, and other
street performers were a very popular sort of
entertainment once, before movies and talkies
and online quizzes supplanted them.

You like to put on a show for people, and they like
to watch. You are friendly and well-liked,
particularly for your sense of humor, although
you sometimes play with people's heads. You
are frequently the center of attention, and you
like it that way. However, you have to realize
that the world does not revolve around you.
Furthermore, you have to learn that your
light-hearted antics are not appropriate to all
situations. Your problem is that juggling has
been obsolete for a long time.


What obsolete skill are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

Uncle Sam wants YOU...to back the hell off

I just got back from the Ludo/Pomeroy show. Wow. That was pretty good and I have some stories to tell about it, but I'll breifly give you a smattering of the weekend's events thus far before I get to it. As I was leaving Springfield (read: evil city of my imprisionment), I remembered that I had gotten one (well actually two) of those "certified mail" tickets. You know those little pink slips of paper, the gist of which is 'You weren't here when I tried to deliver this envelope, so we took it back to the post office, you have to come and get it or we'll send it back'. Despite this vague threat of missing out on a random letter I really wasn't that inclined to go get it. Since it was from my school and certified mail I decided it was either really good or really bad. And they were sending it back the next day so I figured that I could swing by the post office on my way out of town. Good thing I did. Apparently what they were trying to mail me was my Associates Degree. Dodged an embarrassing bullet there.

Anyway, I started my weekend (on Thursday) with a call to Mr. Barry. Known to all others as Barrett Schmidt. After a breif round of cool guy greetings we got down to buissness. I wanted to go see Constantine and so did he. So we settled on the 10:00 showing in Edwardsville because he was already there visiting his girl Emily. So I picked them up and we went off to the theater. There's a hilarious story about the convesation I had with/co-opting into my plan of Emily, but I fear that if I talk about it here I might give it away. Suffice it to say, Constantine was surprisingly good. Although it seemed to be a very different take on the Roman Emperor who brought Christianity to the Empire and later took over a city and renamed it Constantinople (which was later named Istanbul, but was Constantinople, now it's Istanbul; not Constantinople. So, for example, if you have a date in Constantinople, she'll be waiting in Istanbul.)

Ah, but my friends that was yesterday. Two days ago if you consider that it's 2:46 AM as I write this. Today was a horse of a different color. Two colors actually gothic black and preppy pink. You see, those were the colors of the crowd at the Ludo show. Apparently Ludo is the rare band that attracts the hardcore crowd and the kids from Hollister. I find both to be equally annoying. Why not just tatto yourself "I'm trying to differentiate myself from others in the exact manner my friends do". It'd be a hell of a lot less hassle.

In any case, the opener was actually a pretty decent band...if you were listening to them on the radio. Other than that they looked like the biggest goons that had ever chanced being on a stage with people watching. I took one look at the lead vocals, turned to Barrett and said "Fattest. Frontman. Ever." He makes Jack Black look like someone from the 'Feed the Children' commercials. And he didn't help himself any either. When he was talking up the next song he said "I meet a lot of lesbians, that's what this song is about" to which I yelled "Yeah. THAT'S WHAT THEY TELL YOU!" Why must I heckle so? Later on their drummer was being being generally annoying (I have no idea how he annoyed me) it was after their set and he was throwing the drumsticks into the crowd. But instead of just doing it he teased us with it like a person with a bone teases a dog. So while everyone was waving their arms to get his attention I just gave him the finger. And he threw the drumstick right to me. I would have it now if this Harry Potter look-alike jerk hadn't flown out of nowhere and knocked me out of the way.

Next up was Pomeroy. They were decent. Not too much to report here. Except that they sounded NOTHING like what I would have imagined from the one Pomeroy song I know: "Roboflow." They were a lot lighter, and unexpectedly good. Although I have to say, no matter how many times I see it white people seriously rapping cracks me up. Cut to right before Ludo. I've gotten seperated from Barrett and Emily because of my love for the mosh pit. And it put me in a better position. So I was gesturing to B-Funk with my head to come up to where I was. Me and him had a whole conversation with head gestures. I thought this was pretty funny, but the little goth bitch next to me was being...well bitchy. I eventually got Barrett and Emily to fight through the gaggle of goth people (mostly girls) and get next to me.

Well as soon as they up to me that same goth girl starts giving Barrett all kinds of hell. She's making a scene as only a pissed off woman (goth or not) can. I could see the goths with her (two of them big guys) were kind of siding with her. So I did what comes naturally to me; work the situation to my advantage. I exploded back at her "Hey, why don't you lay the fuck off. This guy just got back from Iraq, he's a fucking hero. So don't give him shit about where he stands, he protects your fucking freedom." She INSTANTLY blushed severely, and turned away from us ashamed. All the people nearby turned and looked at us so I went on "He's a great guy, and I don't care who knows it!" I really had the support of the crowd at this point and they gave us plenty of room. You gotta do what you gotta do.

- Scott

The Costanza Shuffle

My school is just weird. There's no other way to explain it. The next time my crew (in white people talk: people I know and count as friends), are in Springfield we're all going to the school and I'll give you a tour of the madness. But that same madness plays into today's story.

Let me describe for you my school, it consists of one and a half buildings. "Half a building? The hell you say? " Well, at first we were just one building, then we started renting/purchasing parts of an adjacent building. We now own almost the entire second floor, two classrooms sandwich the remaining office on the level. For some reason (old folks would say I have a bit of the devil in me, psychologists call it complete and utter disreguard for the concequences of my actions), I decided to do the doorbell ditch on this particular office. You see we're pretty well warned off messing with it.

Despite that, I figured it'd be pretty funny to knock really hard on the door repeatedly and run away. Step One of the plan involved forming my hand into a fist and knocking like I'm on fire trying to get into the pool. This was the only part of the plan that went smoothly. Part Two was running away. I begin to bolt down the hallway when who should come around the corner but the Dean of my campus. I paused for a beat and wondered at my own bad luck. So I had to turn around and run back past the very same door I knocked. I did this just as I heard a hand on the handle.

Fortunately my cubicle (I'm the editor of the school Pap') was just through the next set of doors to my left. So I dodged inside, and not wanting to be seen I went the extra mile and dove under my desk and pulled the chair in. I spent a good 2-3 minutes in there waiting for the heat to die down and telling my stomach to quit rumbling so loudly. When I finally decided it was a good time to come out who should come by but the lady who runs our bookstore who was showing what looked to be some parents of prospective students (or at any rate, adults on a tour of the school) the office. They had paused right at my cubicle and saw me uncurling myself and crawling out from under the desk. Once again I paused and contemplated the ludicrous nature of the entire string of events. I then mumbled something to the effect of: "Ah, finally fixed that computer."

They just looked at me like I had asked them if their mothers breast fed or not. Awkwardly the bookstore lady either said or implied "Aaaaaanyway, let's move on with the tour." I could see both as having happened. I eventually just went back to class. Today was special, because I think I've learned something that I can use the rest of my life: It usually pays to set a lookout.

Now I'm off to see Keanu Reeves play Neo as a Goth kid. I'll be sure to let you all know if Constantine sucks as bad as Autumn In New York.

- Scott

Oops.

I often think that I would be pretty good at a life in crime. I'm suave, I'm quick witted, and most of all I can lie as convincingly as I tell the truth. I often don't even know if I believe what I'm saying, let alone whether or not there's truth to it. But for all these good characteristics, I might have one fatal flaw...I tend to gloss over the details sometimes.

For instance, I remember in my childhood me and my close friend Stephen decided to set a trap (don't ask me why) for his little brother Jon. Or maybe Tim, the point is we wanted to set a trap for them. Surprisingly, our trap, which consisted of two pieces of cardboard over a gaping hole in the floor of the attic, was quickly forgotten. I'm not really sure why we thought the attic was such a high traffic area for Tim and Jon. In hindsight not the best plan. Weeks and months passed and I was at their house one day when Steve and I hear the sound of wood breaking and a scream. As we ran toward the bathroom we saw a horrifying sight: a disembodied leg that had crashed through the ceiling. There were bits of wood and plaster everywhere and the leg was swinging wildly around. So naturally, I ran away. A pretty fool proof plan I thought. There's nothing linking me to this, I should just get the hell out of here. But there was one detail I forgot, the interrogation techniques of Stevo's family. So eventually, I was implicated. Although I don't think I ever got into any kind of trouble because of it.

Sadly later in life, the trend tends to pop up now and again. Last semester I was in macroeconomics, when I finished the semester I wrote obscenities in my book and sold it for the hansome sum of $23 dollars. Which was a bit of a shame because the damn thing cost me $80. They plan to sell them to another school for a hefty mark up I'm sure. Here's the kicker though: today was the first day of microeconomics and the first words out of the teachers mouth "Good news, we're using the same book from last semester" Shit.

But to cheer myself up I've gone out and found a guy whose plight makes my minor blunders look even better.

Read all about it.

The best part of the story is that he was a runner posing as a woman, but when they caught him he tried to run away and got caught! That's even more embarrassing than getting caught playing hide the sausage in your track pants. To think he's the best "female" runner in the country, nice work Zimbabwe. And who is this guy who can go either way on the gender portion of government forms? I'm sure it started with Manties...then just snowballed from there. I also like that Witchdoctor's spells work like a tank of gas, if you don't spend enough money they won't quite get you there. Apparently he wanted the boobs, AND vagina package. He got stuck with some Avril Lavigne A-cups and a mangina. The moral here is to pay your witchdoctor whatever the agreed upon fee was, or go to a real doctor. Your call.

- Scott

Get your broom; I'm calling shenanigan.

This might be one of the more callous posts I've had (so far...) but I have a serious (as serious as you've ever known me to be) question. What's the deal with the Tsunami Aid commercials I see to this day. The tsunami hit December, 26 2004. That's nearly two months ago by most calendars. And STILL the charitable money grubbing goes on. Apparently the aid figures are close to $2 Billion.

Don't get me wrong, I'm all for helping the needy. Especially when the needy is me and the aid is some action... But honestly, how much does it cost to rebuild some mud shanties? Come on, the dirt's already wet. I mean, if we can manufacture soccer balls there for 1/2 cents an hour. I think we can rebuild the area for a bit cheaper. What are they doing building back the natural appeal of the area? Last I checked it not only was free, but occasionally destroyed everything on the coast. Sure you lost some trees, but have Jafar Palm-tree-seed with his falafel pan on his head skip along the beach and replant them. He's both folksy and free.

And I know, I know, there's been some lives lost. But there's not even burial fees. They were more or less burried at sea...except now the sea delivers. It more or less begs for a tip, but if you play dumb it'll kind of slink back out to sea after muddying-up the place. So it's not like there's a huge sum going to grave digging. I suppose the living have some medical bills to pay, but if didn't get killed outright by the tsunami you have some pretty weak injuries. Seriously, a supermodel managed to hang on to a tree. A supermodel not only outsmarted this wave, but had the strength to hold on to tree to save herself. She was in India because it's the only place in the world she might see someone that would make her look fat and she managed to hold on to a tree. You have to understand, the grip of a supermodel (largely because of the joint forces of their diet and their heroin addictions) is somewhere between the stregnth of a newborn and that of a nerf sucction cup. So really, if you let a wave sneak up and injure you, you really ought to be ashamed of yourself.

Costs aside, I don't think $2 Billion dollars is really justified. Because really, have 2 billion anything even come out of that area? And no, taxi cab drivers are not considered. So I really have to ask, what the hell are we spending the cash on?

Quite Possibly the Most Dangerous Thing Ever

I was about to comment on Tim's blog about how when I read the titles of previous posts instead of saying "This is huge" and "The chick and the rhino..." I read it as "this chick is huge" and laughed as I pictured a fat chick. But that seemed too immature, and I didn't want anyone to know about that little transgression, so I decided to regale you all with some of my activities of late.

Sorry, about the lack of posting but this parasite known as the 'real world' has been draining my time like Ruben Studdard drains a triple thick milkshake keg. (Two fat people jokes and I'm only two paragraphs in...this is lookin' up). Well after my finals ended I was in a daze. I wasn't quite sure what to do with myself. Sure I could play EverQuest, but I felt something else in my masculine makeup (that's the makeup of my psyche, not the Mabeline I'm wearing) pulling me toward some vague, shadowy goal. I felt like Roy Neary building the Devil's Tower out of mashed potato's, he didn't know what it was....but he knew it was important.

Well, mashed potato's are (as it turns out) exactly what I was after. I wanted to build a potato gun. They're great toys, but have the potential to seriously injure someone. What's that called? That's right, bonus points! Man has long had a love affair with potato guns going back to the mid 1800's. Archaeologists recently discovered that the period from 1845-50 (affectionately known as the 'potato famine') was simply a group of raccous, drunken Irishmen running around with their proto-potato guns. Instead of hairspray, which hadn't been invented yet, one of them would just burp into the chamber and the volatile fumes were more than enough to shoot a spud.

However, this is all well and good. But I'm living in the 21st century...isn't there something more I could do? As it turns out, yes. A pneumatic potato gun. It'll be a great test of my pskills. Besides, a similar design to the one I'm using (though on a slightly larger scale) has propeled a potato past the sound barrier. So yeah, it's a good gun. The best part though? I'm suppposedly house sitting for my parents right now. So I'm all alone working on explosive ordinance. I truly love my shenanigans.

That's all for now, I'm out like the Pringles cans at Kristy Alley's house.
(THREE fat jokes!)

- Scott

Bastard Wants to Hit Me

I just about got ran off the road by a soccer mom in a busted up Ford Windstar. I thought she just wanted to race, so I gunned it off the line. Surprisingly she did too, so we raced almost to the next light and then she honked her horn and gave me the finger because she had to get behind me in the line waiting on the light. All the while I pretended I couldn't hear her, put my hand to my ear and said "what's that". Oh, man was she pissed. I enjoy instagating road rage more than anything when I'm driving. There's a really classic story about the first time I did it, but I think I'll save it for when I can tell it in person.

In other news, I've just finished another semester at the illustrious RMC. Did I say illustrious? I meant festering-bureaucratic-crap hole relpete with the decay of individuality and humanity crushed under the mind numbing weight of farcical policies. Strange how easy it is to mistake one for one the other. The end of sememster crunch was bogging me down, so sorry for the lack of posts. Let me catch you up with some observations I made from my period of intense scholarly persuits:

Apparently the best way to watch assloads of TV is to need to study. I seriously believed that there was no way I could learn without commercials playing in the background. And while we're on the topic, as far as people I know in commercials, I'd say Angeline kicked Laural's ass if there was some kind of Jerseyville People Commercial Contest (JPCC).

Has anyone else seen the new Diet Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper commercial? First of all, why do we need a paragraph to describe a soda? Remeber the days when you could just say "cola" or "root beer" now it 's 'I'll take a Diet Carbonated Grape Taffy Hotpants-Wearing Mr. Pibb". And I really think it's weak of Mr. Pibb to try to copy off Dr. Pepper, I mean, he didn't spend seven years in soda-college to have some upstart knock him off the market. But I will say this for the new, constitution-length named Dr. Pepper; they have a great ad campaign. It might just be the best use of a Muppets song in an advertisement I've ever seen.

In other commercial news, the new fragrance by Britney Spears surprises me, because I didn't think there was that much of a demand to smell like a cheap hooker. And even if there was, I thought Liz Taylor pretty much cornered the market years ago. But her perfumes aren't on the cutting edge, distilled from the removed carpeting and sheets of motel rooms. Ah, progress thy name is Spears.

That's it for today, I just wanted to get something out there. I promise that tomorrow will be a more substantial post. I'm out

- Scott

Mood killer

I just got back from seeing Sideways. I thought it was PFG. Pretty Freaking Good. What might possibly be burned into my mind forever however, is the image of Paul Giamatti stealing a wallet out of the bedroom of a chubby couple having sex. The naked man chasing him as he ran away terrified with wallet in hand had me laughing hard enough that I couldn't breathe. Which is quite a thing if you've ever paid attention to how often I actually laugh, especially like that. I can only speculate that Paul Giamatti busting in on me having sex would similar effect on me. (You're welcome for the mental picture. The first one's free then I jack up the price; so savor the flavor, punk.)

But before the movie there are the inevitable previews and commercials. I have to say, commercials before movies are some of the most rediculous things I've ever seen in my life. Apparently the new thing is to try to hire film school students to make them so you get an ad for delicous, refreshing Coca-Cola (WARNING, BLOG PRODUCT PLACEMENT) that looks like something the Mad Hatter would watch then turn to his teapot-mouse friend and incredulously ask "What the f*ck was that?"

Worse than that is when you get movies being previewed that don't even make sense for what movie it preceeds. I have to ask what the crap demographic are they trying to hit that would go and see Sideways, then immeadiately say "I really need to find out what the deal with this Heffalump in the 100-Acre Woods is, screw live action." The big preview that I think is really annoying (and too late considering no one heard about it until it hit theaters anyway) is the one for "Because of Winn-Dixie". First of all, don't make a movie that sounds like it's about how a college athlete smuggled some clean piss to his drug screening. Secondly, they tag the movie at the end "Only in theaters". As if there was a toss-up between straight to video and 'aw, hell let's put it in theaters.' Who does it surprise that the preview they just saw, IN A THEATER, is for a movie that is going to be IN THEATERS.

Finally, from now on supposedly liberal Hollywood, instead of saying "with Cedric the Entertainer" to get black people to come to movies, why not say "Now with free reparations popcorn for blacks". I think that would be a better promotion. You could have a bunch of white upper middle class kids behind a one-way mirror actually picking the corn by hand and shucking it. Then picking kernels off the corn when its ready. Even a little song "Masa' got me workin', Daddy lost the trust fund, now me'sa gonna pick corn". I think the NAACP would get a real kick out of it.

- Scott

P.S. Has anyone else been seeing Angeline Holmes on TV every five seconds in that dammed Kay Jewelers commercial?

In his singing debut...

OK, so technically it debuted last year on Valentines Day. But it's a classic. If you know me you'll notice it's a bit out there, but I was feeling slap happy and made this little piece of wonderment. For those of you bummed about V-Day and the boy/girl relations that come about because of it, take a look at this and laugh (and realize that someone else is getting less ass than you...)





It is a thing of beauty beyond the ability of mere words to describe. Click the picture, and enjoy. Just make sure the speakers are cranked...I wish it could have been louder.

- Scott

Ah, sweet marriage

Since my blog brothers have been so enraptured by the happening, I feel that I too must share with the world and the internet how Josh's engagement has affected my life. It's funny how life is, one day you wake up and it's like 'here go to school, there's no more day long marathons of Seasame Street and Garfield' and at first you're confused. Why, why does this utopian existance I've known thus far have to end?! But then you find out college isn't so bad and you get over it.

The next thing you know, your friends of friends aren't 'hooking up' anymore, but getting married. Marriage? Like in the movies and tabloids?! And as long as I've known Josh I've never pictured him married. This is all new to me. And so difficult to take all at once. I'm just a little disapointed I had to hear about it from Rob. I mean, aren't we close Josh? I remember those days we spent together at Agape, breaking into houses for showers and...well that's about all I remember from that particular expierence. But it was GOOD! And now you're getting married. I'll have to think of it as not losing a brother/friend of a friend, but gaining...the story of Tim's toast?

Come to think of it, that's a pretty even trade. I officially give this marriage my blessing and as such include a list ofvarious advice to make your marriage last from my observations into the subject:

1. When rebelling against England, make sure to hide your bride so some English snob can't tie her to a post and slit her throat. Because after that you're liable to go crazy and get your intestines ripped out of your still living body.
   
2. If at anytime your bride wears sneakers with her wedding dress, sedate her and prevent her from getting collagen injections for her lips.
   
3. Any interaction between your hippie wife and conservative parents will be painful to watch but for some reason laughter will come from off screen. Don't question this or you'll be written off.
   
4. Apparently it's more romantic if you set it up as her marrying someone else, then you have to burst in tell her you lover her, and marry her on the spot. If there's someway you could set that up, I'd reccomend it.
   
5. Corollary: When you start to marry her bar the doors when the priest asks "if anyone has an objection to this union please speak now...yadda yadda yadda." Because why risk it?
   
6. Finally, on the honeymoon, don't let Harrison Ford pilot you anywhere. Just trust me on this one. The man has never been on a plane in a movie where something didn't go wrong.
   

I just hope this helps.

- Scott

P.S. Feel free, nay, encouraged to add to this list. I mean, we want the best for this kid right?

It's that time again....

'To make the CBS censors angry?' 'To make fun of the Disney Channel' Perhaps in another post...no it's time for the 2005 Bloggies. The most prestigous award sho...cerem...thing on the internet. And sadly we here at Bufford the Wonder Blog were snubbed again this year for the first year in a row, but one of the blogs the entire staff of BTWB supports is Teaching The Indie Kids To Dance Again. What catagory you ask? No not the abso-fucking-lutely longest URL on the interweb. Their catagory is "Best Kept Secret" which I think they've effictively destroied with this nomination.

They should have been up for best music blog, but the got rid of that after last year. Apparently the RIAA was shitting cows made of bricks over it, so it got the boot. A shame I'd say. But if you're a member of the Blogcademy and you're voting this year I'd seriously reccomend TTIKTDA, and while you're there check out some kick ass indie tracks.

- Scott

P.S. I'd also like to welcome Rob to the nerdery, he's officially joined my EverQuest Frat.

Harry Scotter and the Renegade Bellboy

Ok, so today in English for no reason at all I just got up and left. I decided that I didn't need to listen to this crap anymore because I obviously know more than the teacher. (Particularly when I need to explain an allusion in my paper, I mean isn't she supposed to be on top of that?) I was amazed at the freedom I had found, I could do ANYTHING.

And the first thing I decided I wanted to do was to go and peak in the plate glass windows they have in the front of class rooms. Great situation for the students seeing me, but not the teacher. So I did the classic going down the stairs, the canoe, just looking in the room and making eyes at certain ladies. But I quickly tired of my 'people zoo' as I had come to call it in my mind and wandered elsewhere.

As I got to the basement of the first building of the school I noticed for the first time that there was a high ceiling overhead (like went up two stories in a shaft between stairs). So I wondered if I could climb it. Since the walls were so close together I decided that I could. I think I got about 20 feet up before I decided that if I got caught there would be no easy way out of it. Plus the cheap ass drywall was making cracking sounds. At least I got my foot prints 20 feet up on the wall. Proud of that one.

Finally the master stroke of my renegade day. I snuck back into the class I had left and stole a chair. The teacher didn't ever look up from what the hell ever she was doing, so I came off completely James Bond about the whole thing. Step Two of my master piece was getting a bunch of food from the student lounge. And the final part: The Elevator Picnic. I sat on my chair riding the 'Elevator of Love' pressing buttons for people, eating my snacks, and generally being hilarious. Best part was when people who were touring the school come into the elevator to see me with my feet up on the handrail, drinking a soda and reclining in my chair. The expression was priceless. What a kick ass day.

- The Renegade Bellboy

I'm 20, and I feel grrrreat

I've got some people that are younger than me at my college, and I'm enjoying the hell out of being older than them. I'm finally twenty. That sounds so mature. Which makes it even more ironic and enjoyable to be completely immature. Although words can't express how nice it is to be able to say that I'm not -----teen. That teen on the end, it just bothered me/made me think of 1950's teenagers, and I'm not quite sure why. "I'm a teen, I sip milkshakes with my main gal and go to sock-hops on the weekend."

Fortunately, I no longer have to put up with this indignity. Now I'm 20. Despite my age I feel great. (Give that one a chance, it's how I picture the office environment.) This year was a pretty good birthday. The folks and I went out to The Old Spaghetti Factory and after a one way street fiasco in which some ass almost needed prompt kicking we were there and comfortably seated...well almost. You see in a large room like the one we were seated in at the OSF, you need to regulate the temperature and usually it needs to cool off. And that's where our problem comes in, they had the air conditioner on 55 degrees and we got seated under it.

Or I should say I did. So I did what any mature, 20 year old adult would do; took a key from my keychain, broke through the protective case and set the thermostat to 70. We left just as it was getting warm. So it was a good birthday.

Another breakthrough for me was getting over my lightning fast pleasantry response of "You too". Because it really led me down some rediculous avenues of social discourse. Here's an example:

• Random Birthday Wisher: "Happy Birthday"

• Me: "Thanks, you too" (Internal Monologue: Shit, that doesn't work here...Quick! Make up a lie)
  
• Me: "Oh sorry, me and a guy at school have the same birthday...I'm just used to saying that...because..."
• Me: *Wave hand* You did not hear me say "you too" you heard the response you were hoping for"

So it's good I got over that. Too much Jedi mind trick isn't good for anyone.

- Scott

Perhaps my last teen-aged post

It is with a great sense of reflection and accomplishment that I write this final post from my teenaged decade. That's right, this Saturday, January the 29th I turn 20. Look out adulthood, you've got a loose cannon on your hands, which I have to imagine would be pretty painful because cannons are notoriously heavy.

I've been living up my last week of teenagedness, reflecting back on all the crap that's happened over the last few years and trying to figure out what I should write for this signoff from my adolescent years. I thought of a list of things I've learned (which turned out to be pretty short), a photo blog essay, funny quotes from the years...but nothings seemed quite right. Then I was looking over past essay's that I've written over the years and one stood out. It defined my work in High School and I think you'll enjoy it with a little set up.

The following essay was assigned to me by Mrs. (devil bitch) Morgan for making fun of a gay character in the novel Fallen Angels by saying: "He really should have joined the Navy. You know what they say about submarines...80 men go down, 40 couples come up." She responded with an icy 5 minutes of silence as the laughter died out and a 1000 word essay due the next day. It might help to note I wrote this with the voice of Mo Rocca narrating in my head. So without further ado here is my teenaged rebuttle:

" What I said about the Navy Submarine Men was totally uncalled for and somewhat random. I had no basis for saying that completely uncalled for thing. What I said was the completely off topic. The thing I said was disruptive to the class.

I had no basis to make that comment. I have no hard proof that Submarine Navy Men are gay or homosexual. I cannot prove that. There is very little hard evidence to suggest to one that just because men are on a submarine for months at a time without any women that that means they are gay or will become gay. That situation presents itself in prison and they are not all gay in prison. Just because there is an ambiguously gay or presumed gay character due to his effeminate characteristics is no reason to suggest he join the Navy because they are also presumed gay as afore mentioned. In keeping with that there is little evidence that the character from the story was, in fact, gay. There is no existing evidence in favor of his being homosexual or gay, in that I mean he was never seen with men in a sexual or flirtatious manner. He never openly or otherwise admitted to being homosexual. He may have been just a bit different and was henceforth persecuted for that difference. Just because he had no girlfriend and seemed more interested in movies than the movie starlets that he knew. Or fact that he had to try to survive in a hostile foreign country. One might question as to whether that is enough substantial evidence to come to the conclusion that he is homosexual. No I think not. Even with this Grand Canyon size hole, which is unignoreable by all who are so informed as to notice it, in the opinion of the fictitious soldiers still they believe that through all the talk of movies and starlets that he is most likely a person of homosexual orientation.

I had no reason to make the off topic comment about Submarine Navy Men. Saying that was wrong. Saying such a thing can only be bad. The comment is not even completely true. The comment was totally off topic for the discussion. What I said had nothing to do with Nam. The comment was more about the Navy, and more specifically the submarine part of the Navy, than the book we are reading, which is about the Army not the Navy. The comment was so very not on topic that one could say that it was very off topic. One could imagine how very not on topic the off topic thing that was said was. A statement like that was off topic in such a way as to make it so that it is not on topic. This of course means that it is unrelated or not related to the conversation if that makes the meaning more clearly iterated.

The thing I said was disruptive to the class and class environment. The comment was so disruptive that almost two minutes of time passed out of the forty seven allotted to that class. That amount of time could have accomplished a lot given the proper usage. There have been wars set off in less than two minutes. Many sporting competitions have been won or lost in less than two minutes. The death penalty by electric chair, which is considered one of the fasted methods of execution of prisoners in prisons today, is lethal in less than two minutes as is a bite from a Black Mamba, which is the deadliest poisonous snake in the wild continent of Africa discovered thus far. What the point is, is that two minutes are a lot in the course of events. The time taken out of the discussion could have been put to use doing something productive. The whole idea of wasting time in a class of only forty seven minutes is very wasteful. One must ask do people come to school to be entertained or to learn or is it a bit of both in a tasteful blend combining rich flavor and nutty goodness. In retrospect the comment that was so disruptive as to waste the time of the class that could have been used for something else.

In closing the comment that had no basis and wasted the time of the people in the class was bad. By this I mean really bad like the bombing of Hiroshima or the creation of the lethal chemical Anthrax. In short what was said had little basis. The afore mentioned said things were off the established topic. This meant that it brought up a new topic other than the one before it that was but not limited to being unrelated to the original topic. The rogue topic was also disruptive. By being disruptive it is meant that it brought disorder and chaos to an otherwise at least quasi-orderly environment. Bringing disorder and chaos is very related to the disruptive statement in that it was not in general considered good or bad if summarization is helpful. In short the comment was off topic. A topic that was about the book the new rogue topic, if one may be so bold, was totally away from the subject of the book which was Vietnam not Submarine Men. Saying the comment also caused disorder, which leads to anarchy, which is generally considered negative. The comment also was not associated with basis. In that what is meant is that the comment was not completely accurate. That in itself can be bad. The comment was indeed not on topic or with basis. The comment was disruptive and bad. In closing the comment was not good or, to put it more simply so as to make it more understandable, and put it the way it is more often said in this great country of free speech, where the buffalo roam and the sky is not cloudy all day, where you are free to voice opinions based on what you believe, bad."

Admittedly I've become a much more proficient writer, but this makes me laugh out loud every time I read it. Even more so when I think about the fact that this was supposed to be my sincere apology to my teacher for a politically incorrect joke. Ah, the days of my youth!

- Scott

Hello, My Name is Your Blog

When's the last time you found a band that really spoke to you? I've always had friends with a big range of musical tastes, but always had one bad that they seem to associate with. Like Nick back in high school with Red Hot Chilli Peppers, or Tim and his Five Iron Frenzy love, or Jake and his Goldfinger, or Rob and his Zebrahead. You know the band that I mean, the band that is your band, despite your not being in it.

I think for me that band is Ludo. If I had a band (well, if I still had a band. One that didn't do covers, no offense to Walkie Walkie and the Kamehameha's, I mean we were hilarious, but not all that musically creative) this is the kind of music I'd make. With songs about ninjas, wookies, that fantasy where you have to rescue the girl from the pirates then she loves you, a really hilarious break up song, and generally great, random references you can't go wrong. You can listen to their whole album if you go to their website and click on the Listen tab at the top. I reccomend 'Hum Along' 'Hello my Name is Your TV' 'Good Will Hunting By Myself' and 'Laundry Girl'.

Scott Out

One last note, they have a blog here. Bonus points for that.

Yes, yes you will.

I have an issue with those damn anti-marijuana commercials. It's indirectly related to my rant about wars on abstract concepts. The ones I mean are the "Regret, my anti-drug" series of annoyances. Specifically the couple of them that end with the statement "You'll never forget the people you hurt when you were high."

To this I reply: "Bull shittery" How many people even remember what they did when they were high? So who's going to remember who they hurt when they were high? I can't even remember how I hurt myself when I'm drunk. Here's a fun example, I woke up the day after I got put in the Roodhouse jail at my house and didn't remember how I got home. Then when that came back I had to seriously ask myself why my hand hurt so bad. After talking to some people I found out that I was punching a giant wash pot at Steve's cabin and telling people they just lost on the Gong Show. I also apparently called Mary Karen Desherlia a bitch.

In short, no you don't remember the people you hurt (self included) when you're drunk (or high).

-Scott

What a friggin mess....

You know, people have called me animated. I thought they meant I'm a bit expressive and bouncy. Like Robbin Williams, on Ritalin. Because nobody is that bouncy. But it turns out they meant that my life is more or less a cartoon. One of those cartoons where a long string of unlikely events conspire to somehow screw over the main character. Confused? Well let me explain...

--------------------FIVE MINUTES AGO--------------------

So I'm in my kitchen, hanging out. Seriously, who hangs out in a kitchen? Seinfield did sometimes, but technically that was an extension of his living room. Anyway, a more accurate explanation of my actions was that I was staring blank faced into my refridgerator looking for food, closing the door, then looking again. As if food would magically appear that hadn't been there before.

So as I'm standing there I realize that I haven't done the dishes since...uh oh I can't remember when. Crap. Naturally it took me about 2 and a half hours to do. And created a lot of trash. Anything that was disposable I just threw out. The kicker is this, the last three things I threw away were (in order): a Propel bottle, a plastic knife, some mail, and the batter from when I cooked fish.

Seeing how full the trash was I pulled out the can to take it out when I noticed an orange behind it. I decided it would be fun to try to smash down the trash by throwing the orange into the can really hard. What I didn't realize is that the knife, bottle, paper, and crumbly batter crap had combined to become a catapult. As soon as the orange hit the knife resting across the bottle (which was hidden by the paper) the batter went everywhere. I looked like Caroline Holmes, THAT white. The rest of my kitchen looked like a deleted scene from Scarface.

Now I get to clean it up.

- Scott

Le Grand Deception

Ok. Here's the thing, I worked myself into quite a jam and I could really use the advice of my dearest friends. The first issue is a paper about a psycology experiment. I was supposed to pick a person and try to condition their behavior to have some conditioned response. Like Pavlov's dog, he simultaneously rang a bell and fed the dog, so eventually the dog would associate the ringing of the bell with food. And when he heard the bell he'd drool.

That's what I was supposed to do. Instead I played excessive amounts of video games and made smart alec comments to people, both present and on the internet. Now I have an interesting opportunity that people are talking about... Because I didn't really do the research/work I can just make it all up. You see how I spun that into an advantage? I should really work for the White House, just not this one because I friggin hate it.

So here's where you come in I need advice in three areas:

1. What behavior should I aim to change?
2. Who should I claim I did it to?
3. Are there any unexpected side effects?

I have some ideas, but I am taking suggestions. The more rediculous and hilarious the better because she isn't going to check on these. Be creative people. I know you can. Let the shennanigans begin.

Yick, coughing sound, vomit

The more I watch the news the more I'm totally convinced that it's only trying to gross me out. For instance, today I saw a story about the new oldest woman to give birth. She was 66 years old, and lives in Romania. She delivered the baby by caesarean section, and was artificially inseminated.

And that's when the jokes started:

• "Yeah she delivered by C-Section and the afterbirth was dust."
  
• "I'm sorry but she had a face like an old catcher's mitt. It wasn't like she was artifically inseminated because it was safer, it was pretty much her only option."
• "No kidding, I remember the last story about her"
• "What was that"
• "The time she walked by the sex shop and all the dildo's shrivled up"

I'm sorry, but that's just hilarious. Congratulations for bringing another person into a third world nation. Because there's a real shortage, I'm sure doctors will spread the word "Good news, we can knock up the hags and repopulate these industrious, profiting nations" "Huzzah!" "Next order of buissness: raising the 'middle aged' status to 15 years old."

Beware the Supervillian

I think all the people here in my blog paradise have seen movies with Supervillians in them. From Bond, to Superman, to Howard the Duck, all of our heroes have had to deal with some kind of terrifying superbadass. For Bond it was Dr. No, for Superman it was Lex Luthor, for Howard the Duck it was wondering why a movie staring him got made. In any case all these supervillians had one thing in common, they were evil, they had the potential to reap mass destruction, and they were scary.

What's interesting is that we actually have some supervillians kicking around the planet today, in real life. Dick Cheney for one, ok so maybe he isn't exactly supervillian material. They're very selective. But definately a fine henchman. Oh, and let's not forget the mother of all current villians: Osama bin Laden.

Anyone know what he's been up to lately? Well one man, no doubt an expert in his field does. Apparently Osama caused the recent tsunami disaster. That's right, somebody finally put two and two together and got five. Reading this string of logic will most likely cause a brain aneurysm, so be careful out there.

Here's my real problem with that crapstorm of a theory. We're accrediting a comic book/blockbuster movie scale plot to a guy who threatens us with crappy homemovies he makes of himself talking into a Mr. Microphone infront of that rock? I mean come on people, this guy can't even find a nice suit to wear as he slings threats at the infidels, he wears those God awful rags of his. Come on Osama, clean up! Throw some drywall up in your cave, hire a production crew, buy some boom mics, maybe a lapel mic or two (you look like you're hosting an Al-Jazeera game show with that microphone in your hand), a best boy, a few gaffers, and some decent lighting. Because if you want to threaten the western world you have to understand what we're all about: Production Value. Except in the case of celebrity sex tapes, in which case anything will do.

Although I will point out that the Paris Hilton tape was a lot more low key than the Pamela Anderson debacle, and do you know why? Hmm, I'll call on you in the rags. That's right little Osama, Pam had better PV. Get with the program, or we'll start calling you Osama "bargain bin" Laden. And I think that would probably hurt your feelings. I'm doing it all for you here. Hear me out, it's time for change

- Scott