Eighteenth Post. The word eight is kinda spelt funny. Does that count as a joke?

Holla! my fellow bloggards,
So what's been gooooooing on? Its been a while since my last post, but I assure you that during in my time off I wasn't loafing around, but rather doing very important things; like saving the rain forest! To burn later. After I'm done with all the regular forest.  But in all seriousness, my lack of time as of late is because I have a buttload of exams coming up, and also I got braces yesterday and consequently have been spending 45 minutes out of every hour swearing at my goddamn, motherfucking, I-WILL-MURDER-YOU teeth. Oh solid food, how I miss you....

  My temporarily revised food pyramid. 

But I realize I'm starting to sound like one of those whiny losers who posts on their blog complaining about their life and personal problems for all the internet to see and mock. Man, ff I could meet any of these people, the one question that I'd like to ask them is "Why?" If they're looking for attention, then they might as well be shoving their posts into a bottle and throwing them out to sea; which would probably result in the same number of views as them posting their problems on some two-bit no-name page in the jaw-dropping enormity that is the internet.

 Day 12: Noone understands me. Noone knows what it's like to be a 13 year old suburban white teenager.

 Are they looking for sympathy or help? You'd get more sympathy in a klan hood otuside the Apollo theatre. The internet is not some sort of hug powered sympathy machine that dispenses hot cocoa and gently reassurances. The internet is a savage place, an unfeeling place, where the only currency accepted is hurt feelings. Where comments like "fag","photoshopped" and "no, ur mom" are scrawled on every wall, ceiling and floor. Where haggard-looking "Nigerian royalty" roam the streets, scouring the bins of personal inforation for anything usable, begging passerbys for help with banking transactions whilst giant sickly-coloured neon billboards  scream at you, promising  "MAXMUM MEAT STICK MALE ENHANCEMENT, ENGORE YOUR SELF WITH NEW PRODUUCT, OVER INFINITY INCHES GUARANTED!!!!11"

Quite frankly, this is not the place you go for psychiatric help, this is where you go when you die if you were a bad person in life.

But just for the helluvit, I decided to imagine what would happen if the Internet were actually a psychiatric professional. Well, not immediately, first I imagined what it would be like if I swapped brains with a cat (We both died during the operation). But eventually when I did get to the internet thing, here's how it went.

Dr. Internet

Gary: H-hello, Doctor. It's nice to finally meet you. I've heard great things about you and your work.

Dr. Internet: LOL n00b.

Gary:Umm, ok? You see,  I was referred to you by one of your colleagues, Dr. Jewishname. He told me that he sent you my file last week. Have you gone through my patient history?

Dr. Internet: tl;dnr

Gary: Well I suppose it can be a bit wordy (Awkward chuckle). So I'll just tell you what we were working on before Dr. Jewishname had to leave for his family vacation. He and I were working on my motorphobia after the tragic loss of my wife Susan in the car accident . If I recal-

Dr. Internet: Pics or it didn't happen.

Gary: What? But doctor, my wife, she-

Dr. Internet: Was she hot? Pics plz. FAP.FAP.FAP.FAP.

Gary: Now I say! This is highly unorthodox, Dr. Internet. I know you're probably joking around bu-

- WE INTERRUPT THIS BROADCAST FOR AN EMERGENCY MESSAGE FROM MY TEETH -

- WE RETURN TO OUR REGULARLY SCHEDULE PROGRAM, ALREADY IN PROGRESS-

Dr. Internet: -never gonna let you down, never gonna turn around and hurt you!

Gary: That's the fifth time you've sung that now. Can we please get on with the session?

Dr. Internet: Lamesauce.

Gary: Well doctor it's been over a year now since the accident and I still can't seem to get behind the wheel of a car. Whenever I try, I just see Susan's limp lifeless body trapped in that cage of twisted steel and broken glass. The last tim-Wait, what are you doing with those slides? Is this a Rorshach test? Well I'm not sure what this will accomplish, but you're the professional. That first one, it's a cat asking for what seems to be "cheezburger". The second one,uhh, it's two lesbians making out. Doctor I don't see how this could possibly be related to my motorphobia. Huh, now what this third on-OH GOD. Is that a huma- but it shouldn- how did it even get bent like that?

Dr. Internet: Lol, pwned.

Gary: Goddamn it Dr. Internet, I am sick of this. How are you treat me this way! How is anything of this supposed to help me work through my phobia? I came to you, a healthcare professional, in a time of great need and this what "help" you offer me? Have you no shame, sir? Have you no empathy?

Dr. Internet: Cool story, bro.

It was at this time I grew tired of this ,by now pointless, exercise and imagined myself a gun. Which I used to shoot the good doctor several times in the face.Then I imagined him back to life, and shot him several more times. I proceeded to do this for hours on end until my imaginary hand began cramping up.

Well there you are, my readers, a haunting recollection of my brief time with the Internet. Brrr, I still get the chills just thinking about it. Well until next time, don't forget. While the internet may be a scary and foreboding thing, it's even scarier to imagine living without it.

Com-post # 17. Earth day puns are Earth day fun!

Happy Earth Day, my fellow bloguls,

For the epically unaware,  today is Earth Day and tonight at approximately 8:30 Pacific time, over a billion people on this big blue marble will shut off their lights in recognition of society's need to take action against climate change. I for one will be participating in this event fully. Partly because I'm the actually the one who's been melting the glaciers.

 Look you can see me in this one. Hi me!

But also because I've always been intrigued by events where people gather under a common cause, one specifically that isn't killing other people because they don't share their beliefs down to the theological molecule or smoking up a fattie infront of some jam band because "good vibrations" will make the world go round.

Or both.

It's exactly this kind of public outcry turned action that shows me that we aren't all the apathetic feelings-hurters the internet has led me to believe; and while the idea that shutting off our lighting fixtures for a single hour will do a lick of a difference against global warming is laughable, like everytime we're told whenever we recieve a birthday "gift" from great aunt Mabel. "It's the thought that counts"

Wow, another cat sweater, Aunt Mabel. I love it. I'll wear it everyday.

Well as of this post it roughly T-minus 1 hour to the big black out. So I guess I'll start turning off all the lights in my home. Better now then when the government death squads start patrolling the streets. That's how they're enforcing this thing, right? As for what I'll be doing for this hour? I'm not quite sure yet. All I know is I found my collection of antique rifles and my safari hat in the attic this afternoon, and it's going to be plenty dark out. Plenty dark.

PS: For anyone whose subscribed to this blog via a RSS feed, sorry for the all the faulty updates. This post was having some terrible formatting problems. So I had to keep republishing to see if my attempts to fix it were working. 

Something something sixteen something blog! Hooray! (Shut up good titles are hard to come up with)

Terrible news! my computer blogrammers,

Let me start in the beginning. So I was in the lab trying to finish my latest invention (It's a machine that turns cats into dogs), when I heard a knocking sound at the front door. But when I went to answer it, lo and behold, there was no one there. This happens again, twice even. So at this point like any sane, rational person who's been taking all his pills like a good patient so there's no need to check Dr. Mandelbaum, I made an immediate dash towards my panic room whilst screaming about the return of the invisible woodpeckers.

There they are, outside my window, waiting for me.

That was 46 hours ago. After much contemplation I surmise it may not have been the invisible woodpeckers after all and all in a likelihood was just some punk kid. It also seems that when building this panic room, I may have miscalculated the necessity of a doorknob.

 God, it was staring me right in the face.

So now I'm stuck in here, at least until I can figure a way out. Fortunately I have enough supplies to last several months, provided I don't require food, water or air.  I have however thought far enough ahead to bring my laptop. So I figure I may as well update my blog, it's not like I could use it call for help or anything. I mean it's not like it's a telephone.

  Also not a telephone.

Well dear readers, it looks like it may be the end for me. So I've decided to leave you with detailed instructions as to what to do in case of my untimely demise.


Step 1: Check to make sure I really am dead and not just asleep.Some people sleep better when the window open. Some sleep better with the window closed. I sleep best ontop of a pool of red food colouring while wearing my zany prop knife hat. Which may have been the reason I was never invited to sleepovers when I was a kid. Sigh.




Step 2: So you're sure, I'm dead. Now what? First things first, while I congratulate you on making this far into the house alive, if you wish to stay that way, don't touch anything on your way out. I don't trust conventional security systems, so I build my own. Note: If you enjoy having all of your skin, I wouldn't open the silverware drawer. Just sayin'.

There's also a cobra in the toaster.

 Step 3:  Surprise, you'll be planning my funeral! Now you see the hundreds of names I've scrawled in what looks like blood throughout the walls of my home? That's my enemies list. Err, more likely than not, your name will also be on this list. But since you're doing me this favour feel free to cross it off.  Now you'll need to get these people to attend my funeral. But it won't be easy. You won't able to tell any of them what they're going to, since I've burnt down more than my share of bridges with these people (and the occasional orphanage). Instead tell them they're attending the premiere of one of those stupid vampire movies. 

[No, I'm not going to do a Twilight MS Paint mock-up. Every possible joke that can be made about the series has been already made. So I'm not going to waste my time]

 Step 4: Now I know you won't be able to get all of them. Some of them will be already dead, others fictional characters or inanimate objects. Some will just be just described as "that one guy who sat too close to me on the bus". But do try your best. Now that you've assembled my greatest enemies together, lure them onto the ship that will be waiting in the harbour. Once you are far enough out at sea inform them to their predicament, more than a few will jump ship and attempt to swim the hundreds of miles to shore. Don't be shy about using the harpoon gun to retrieve them. That's what it's there for.

I couldn't possibly let you leave before trying one of my famous devilled eggs.

Step 5: Inform the guests they may leave in an inflatable life raft, after paying their respects. After their angry, bitter and  profanity laden speeches, hold up your end of the bargain and let them leave. Then, release the nawhals.
 

Step 6: Rather than a messy burial, I'd much rather be cremated. Then I'd like my ashes to be thrown somewhere of unparalleled majestic like the Ayer's Rock in Australia or Robert Downey Jr. face.

Step 7: Divvying up the goods. In my lifetime I have collected many rare and and valuable items (holographic pogs, purple M&Ms and Amelia Earhart just to name a few). For helping me out in my time of need, you and anyone else who helped you in fulfilling my last wishes may have any item from my collection. Careful though, most of my antiquities are also booby-trapped. Wear kevlar. As for the rest of my things? I highly doubt anyone need such trinkets as my end-world-hunger ray or cure-for-cancer beam. So just burn the rest of it to the ground.


Oh wait, my experiments, I almost forgot about them. I don't think PETA would approve of my burning them alive, so just release them at PETA's headquarters in Norfolk, Virgina. They'll do the humane thing.

This is Mr. Scruffaduff. He likes walkies after dinner and to be scratched behind his brood pouch.

So, there you go, a detailed of that things I'll need done when I'm gone. Heh, to think the panic room that I built to protect me is going to be the end of me. Wait. The panic room that I built? That probably means it's a piece of crap. Yep. Just punched a hole in the wall. I'm guessing drywall and drywall alone wasn't the best thing to build a panic room out of. Well good news readers! It looks like I'll be living a long long time. At the very least until tomorrow. Well I'm going back to work on that machine, its only half done. Right now it's just turning cats into foxes. So until next time, don't forget: Mr. Scruffaduff is always watching you. Always.

Fifteen against green.

Yo! How's its hangin' my synablogues?

Now I don't want to get all sentimental on you guys, but it seems like with each passing day, I'll look out my window and I'll be able to see a little more of Spring. Maybe it'll be the scenery getting greener , or the return of the cheerful songs of chickadees from their winter migration. My point being they need to cut that shit out, right now. Now before I go into my tirade, I should say I have no problem with Spring, I like Spring; it's a nice season. But Spring, much like whatever band happens to be opening for Nickelback, may be all nice and good, it also heralds the coming something darker, something entirely more evil. Allergy Season.

This graph took entirely too long to make.

As you can plainly see, I loathe allergy season. It and it alone has the power to turn me into a red-eyed snot-dripping mass of used tissues. Truly it is a formidable opponent.  Sure, I could just take the occasional allergy pill, but in essence that'd just be me surrendering to the plants and it's a slippery slope from there, my friend. Sure today we're taking our allergy pills before you we leave for work. But tomorrow (literally tomorrow) ,we'll be taking our euthanasia pills before we are forced to toil in the mines under the oppression of our leafy overlords!

Oh my god, it's already happening!

What truly astonishes me however is how many people are simple fine with this. Every day when you step out of your hyperbaric oxygen chambers (you live in one of those too right?), you're bombarded with with waves upon waves of nearly invisible invaders, which then proceed to lodge themselves all up on your grill.But hey it's only pollen right? Sure, but do you know what that pollen really is? Plant jizz. The pollen grain plays the same role fertilization mechanism for flower bearing plants as sperm does in animal reproduction.Yep that's right, when ever you step outside on a windy day and take a second to marvel at the trees waving back and forth, you are becoming the unwilling participant in a giant cross-species bukkake.

She had it coming, waggling her thorax like that. Whore! 

But still they're only plants right? I mean we use their wood to build our crappy swedish furniture, we spin their fibres to make our clothing, hell, we even eat them. Why should we be afraid of something we use literally everyday of our lives.You fool! That was their plan all along! They lulled us into a false sense of security while they builtup their stockpile weapons for the future war. Poison ivy, stinging nettles, bramble thorns, these are just the tip of the iceberg. Sure these "weapons" may pale in comparison to our high-tech death machines. But don't forget they still outnumber us at least 1000 to 1 and let's definitely not forget that without our technology we're pretty much useless in fighting,  have you ever tried beating up a Redwood in hand-to-hand combat? 

 

We're gonna need a bigger axe.

But now what? What are we do about the green menace? Are we doomed to witness the extinction of the human race? Fortunately there are things you can do to aid in the war effort.

- Instead of  recycling, try decycling. It's where you light your recyclables on fire and throw them in heavily wooded areas.

- Become a vegetarian, and inflict horrifying psychological trauma, by eating their dead in front of them.

- Water all the gardens on your block with a 30/70 mixture of bleach and more bleach.

- Bitchslap a ficus plant. 

- Plants grow better when you talk to them, give your houseplants the silent treatment.Followed by the pouring bleach on them treatment.

-Fact: Plants need to be planted in the earth to survive. Solution: Blow up the Earth.

So there comrades, ways that even you can help out against the green menace.Well until next time, keep up the good fight against against those photosynthesizing freaks, comrades. As for me? I'm going out to pick up more tissues.

Episode 14: Obama-rama Drama or The case of the Tarded Tweet

Wassup, my fellow polliblogs?

So have I ever got a topic for you today. That's right, I've actually prepared something in advance. I'll give you a moment to recover from your individual heart attacks. Good? Ok, then. So Digg, the website not the incorrectly spelled verb has been a buzz as of the late (read:yesterday) about some guy who posted a tweet calling for the assassination of the President of the US.

Now while it may be like common sense to you or I, it seemed that at no point did it cross our would-be assassin's mind, that it may not be such a great idea to post death threats against the most powerful man on the face of the earth. On the internet no less, a media platform where ANYONE and EVERYONE could see.I mean, tt wasn't even the case that he was posting his rhetoric under some pseudonym on some no-name website. Nope, he opted to use his Twitter account, which he signed up for using his real e-mail address making it all the easier to have him tracked down. He later posted a half-hearted, please-don't-send-me-to-prison redact of the tweet. Although it seems that all tweets pertaining to this matter have since been removed from his feed as of this post.

Wow really? I mean seriously if I were to even use the words "Obama" and "shoot" in the same sentence, even in something as non-threatening as "I'd love to shoot the breeze with Obama he seems like a cool guy." I'd have the CIA breathing down my neck faster tha- wait I just did didn't I? Crapcrapcrapcrap.....err...ummm.....I believe Barack Obama's health care policies to be the best thing for the American public right now. You would be hardpressed to find a better leader for this nation. He is an inspirational speaker/leader and very handsome man. Please! I have a wife and three kids!

 Biden is ok too.

But its not really the whole "presidential death threat" thing  that bothers me. What really bugs me is the amount of media exposure this guy is getting. I read through the article on Digg, and in the first paragraph  they list the guy's blog's URL. Now I clicked it half-expecting some some 90's reject Geocities site, complete with a tiled U.S. flag background, looping MIDI of "Proud to be an American" and 20 laggy GIFs of Barack Obama morphing into Adolf Hitler. But instead when I clicked the link to the conservi-tard's blog, you know what came up? A generic crappy blogspot blog. Hmmm, you know who else has one of those? That's right me, I have a  generic crappy blogspot blog.

 

This picture is so meta, it could evolve into a butterfree at any moment.

 The point I'm trying to make is "Why won't people come and visit my crappy blog?" I mean halfs of dozens of people have already left hurtful comments on his blog, and just think of the number of people who aren't saying anything, just visiting his site to spit on their screens. He doesn't even have pictures for god's sake! I mean who do you have to kill to get that kind of publici-Oh, right. Maybe the key for publicity is finding the right balance between controversy and treason. That's walkin' a mighty fine line, son.Hmmmmmmmm.  I hope that first lady, Michelle Obama doesn't enjoy her dinner, because she had too big of a lunch. Ha! I can smell the controversy a comin'. Take that White House! Yep, the hits should be rolling in....any....second....now.......

Blog Post #13, wait a minute today's Friday... so that means.... OH SHI-

Whats the haps? my blogged shower drains,

So today whilst I was minding my own business, training a swarm of bees to both carry and operate a 9mm handgun, when I spot in the local news paper that the 6/49, the Canadian lottery; not the number 0.12244898, has reached a whopping 41 million ducats. That's a lot of goddamn money. It's almost enough to make me buy a ticket. Almost. So why won't I buy one? Is it the immeasurably small odds that I'll actually win? No, it isn't. If I believed in numbers and facts and all that baloney-craft, then I certainly wouldn't head down to the race track every Sunday and lose a bundle betting on the dog that one three-legged dog because he's got the the biggest heart or as the medical professionals call it "enlarged".

                 If you laugh at this, you're going to hell.             

                        

Do I think the money will change who I am? Well first of all I know it will change me, preferably into some sort of robotic killing machine,  if I can find the right surgeon. Personally I don't buy the whole money changes people excuse, chances are if you're dick after becoming super rich you were and always will be a dick. Money is like a pair of eyeglasses, it doesn't change anything, it just makes it easier to see what's what.The reason I choose not to play the lottery is because of the stupid sheet you have to fill in to pick your numbers. For god's sake it looks like the inbred retarded baby of a SCANTRON sheet.  If I should ever find out the person who designed that chaotic hodgepodge of boxes and numbers, well, let's just say they'd find the body the next morning with a bullet wound in the head, covered in several thousand bee stings.

Sure I could probably figure it out with some first-grade reading, but who am I, famous British author Sir Kingsley Amis? No, I am not. But maybe just this once I will navigate the labyrinthine passages of the lotto 6/49 ballot for a chance at the jackpot. I mean my coffers have been dwindling the last few months, I've even had to switch from hunchbacked lab assistants to camels in lab coats. It's a sad thing when a man can't even take care of his mail-order laboratory slaves -sigh-.Well, I'm off to the dog track, I hear they've brought in a two-legged dog with a speech impediment, and I'm going to get all over that. So until next time, don't forget: The ocean is deep enough to hide even the darkest of your sins :)

               

Leper cons and Leprechauns: this year I'll know the difference

What's going on, my frozen blogurts,
From the get-go I'm telling you that this post is going to be surprisingly lean, just wanted to say I've done a complete proofread and edit of my past 10 posts and finally finished the "Organ Donation" one. Otherwise not much to report. Oh, wait Happy St. Patrick's Day to everyone. I figure I'd do Paddy's day MS Paint mashup on the subject, but I'm updating today from a very outdated laptop and I freaking despise laptops for their general lack of a mouse. You hear that computer developers? I don't care how many goddamn track packs and keyboard mouse nipple-things you put on a laptop I won't use it if it doesn't come with a mouse. So yeah my point no pictures today. Though I will change the background to the original festive green it once was. I'll also be telling ye how I usually celebrate my St. Patrick's Day.

1. Watch entire "Leprechauns" movie series
2. Wash away memories of horrible movies in metric litre of gin
3. Find a stack of DVDs on coffee table;discover they are the "Leprechauns" movie series
4. Drunkenly slur,"I ffuking lov thosse moviess -hic-"
5. GOTO 1