eyes and things

April 7, 2011

I just noticed that the last blog I wrote was titled “sucker punch.” This had nothing to do with the movie sucker punch.


That is all.

sucker punch

March 25, 2011

I’ve been busy! School’s getting close to being over, and I’m terminally lazy!

So I’ve not thought of any cool stories to tell you all. However, when I’m done I’ll return. For now, here’s the low down on the  Dancing Plague. It is, by all accounts something that sounds made up, but it’s evidently historical fact.

It appears to be a form of madness that primarily makes people convulse strangely, sometimes in very large groups. The dancers would also scream and shout, reportedly seeing hallucinations. It happened multiple times throughout the 14th and 15th centuries, which is positively ludicrous. The groups could number in the thousands.

Crazy world, huh?


pencil thin mustache

March 9, 2011

So I went and thought of an awesome name for a blog update, but now I have nothing interesting to write. Hmmm. This is a sordid state of affairs.

I guess you all liked hearing about one of my childhood stories? How about tales of my high school antics.

There was a teacher, a friend of mine once described him as “never teaching anything useful,” who one of my sisters and I loved to mess with (to be clear, I liked this teacher. He let me annoy him! And I did actually learn in his class). I think that makes it a family tradition, so that one fact justifies all the junk I did just to mess with the guy.

In the years that my friends and I went there, we did a lot of hilarious jokes and pranks, but perhaps the most reliable of these for me, just for the sheer sake of quick tricks that wouldn’t leave any evidence (with the proper amount of stealth and skill, respectably) has got to be the Phone of the Lost Woods.

Now the Lost Woods are another nostalgic item in my memory that is also one of the objects crammed up in my attic that other people will remember as well. The discerning among you will realize that the lost woods are an area in a game that many of my generation experienced, the ocarina of time. In this area, a song plays (this song here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y-I_Y9agnUc) that gets louder the closer you get to the objective you seek in that zone. If you, reader, know me or my personal group of friends, you may know of our exploits concerning this game, how we’ve beaten it in one night (several times now), and how we all love it like 4 year old girls love ponies.

Which brings us back to the tale I was regaling you with. This deep passion I feel for this game led me to express myself by making this song my ringtone. But,  before I tell you how to execute The Phone of the Lost Woods so you can try it at home, I have to explain a little bit more about this teacher. Mr. R, we’ll call him, was a man of about 5 feet, with a beard to be proud of and thin rimmed glasses that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a grandpa with a trucker hat. He seldom smiled, and if he did, you could tell the man was very mischievous, it was a particularly devilish smile that often showed itself when answering an especially stupid question or a ridiculous assertion from one of my classmates. The smile was never particularly ill-meaning, just jovially ridiculing.

However, like I said,  he was primarily deadpan, and didn’t often lend himself to mirth. So I took it upon myself to jazz up my situation. While sitting in his study hall, I would wait till he became unaware (reading Garfield or some tome of Mystical import(Garfield?)) and take the opportunity to place my cell phone somewhere where the sound would be clearly audible, yet out of sight. Then I would acquire an accomplice, some other like minded trouble maker, and call my cell phone. Time and time again I did this, and time and time again he would look up, slightly annoyed, and give me a gravelly look of tired irritation. This would send me into howls of laughter, I never did admit to ownership of the phone in question. He eventually would just say “turn it off,” with a hint of a smirking smile, and go watch me as I laughed heartily.

It was a pretty boring school.

I don’t even

March 5, 2011

I don’t really know what to put here for now; I’ll hatch ya’ll out another entertainment egg when I can think of one.

enjoy this link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S_NSa1mqh54

I don’t even know

February 24, 2011

Alright, so a friend of mine got this idea from somewhere, his Facebook status was “I would like my Facebook friends to comment on this status, sharing how you met me. But I want you to LIE. That’s right, just make it up. After you comment, copy this to your status, so I can do the same. I bet half won’t read the instructions right.” I liked that idea a lot, and after perusing the already funny stories people had written, I decided to enter the ring. These stories are the results of that status.
I had hair about 1/3 longer than that.

Just a few of the Grit Launcher boys.

It was my younger days, when I still greased my hair back and columbia’s streets hadn’t been whitewashed to be how you yokels see them now. I was a demon then; my life was a whirlwind of violence and fast living. Back then it was just every day, but now, now I wonder how I even made it out alive.
I definitely wondered if i’d get out alive on the day I met Black Samson, the guy you all know as Paul. We were rivals, my boys called themselves the “Skittering Craigs” and I think his gang was the “Grit Launchers.” It was another pointless fight, I think the turf  in contention was an ice cream parlor shaped like a giant soft serve cone.
I had just used my trusty battle rake to take down a couple launchers when I saw the big Blacky. His hair was dripping with rattlesnake fat and his eyes looked meaner than a koala bear without his eucalyptus. Naturally he charged me.
The fight that day was remembered by many, and it was never finished. About the time that my boys had been beaten pretty soundly, bout 5, maybe 6 of us, left, the flashing lights showed up. 

Me and Black Samson were the only ones standing, the riot police had gassed the crowd and were advancing with shields and such. We didn’t win that battle, but we took plenty down with us.

We forged a bond in that police car that was much more unbreakable than the cuffs which I tore apart with my vice grips. I freed Samson first, who naturally jacked the car from the backseat. Not a mean feat, that. After we went for a joyride in that paddy wagon, we burned the car underneath a freeway bridge.
We’ve been pals ever since.

That was the first one, which was all fine and good. However, another person decided to post an excellent tale of how my friend lived in the arctic and was a yeti like creature. I couldn’t resist the siren call of the status, and had to post again.

Oh! You were asking about how I met Paul ! That guy’s shrouded in so much mystery, I forgot exactly who I was talking about. The story I told you was just about how I met Paul’s dog, Marmalade.

Well this story goes hand in hand with another story, how I lost my right eye. But before I tell you either of those stories, I have to explain how elephant glomping works. The truth is, the name isn’t very relevant, elephant glomping involves neither elephants nor glomping, but it does involve running through one of those huge barns that they use to collect eggs by the thousand, covering yourself in birdseed, personally insulting the farmer and his wife, and attempting to release as many chickens as possible.

Well, one day, I was driving on my way to steam flight rigging practice, because using a device to fly, screaming through the air like a terrified lizard taped to a bottle rocket, that became obsolete in the victorian era is really more of an art than a science. Naturally I was wearing my cowboy boots, about 35 wind up pocket watches, a top hat and enough mustache grease to fry a hamburger. It was in this attire that I became acutely aware of what appeared to be an explosion of chickens coming from a large barn to my right. Concerned, amused, and somewhat alarmed I decided to investigate.

As I got out of my car I noticed a figure running towards me, and immediately after that I noticed the contents of a grape shot shell careening towards me and doing wonders for my paint job. I didn’t honestly have time to worry about this though, because before I had even begun regretting being halfway out of my car, a birdseed covered madman had dived into my open window, and was currently wrestling with my car keys. I shoved my way back in to the car, pushing birdseedman aside and doing a very specific sort of dance to get my flying contraption’s wings back into my VW beetle, and started my car, mainly to stop the flailing gyrations of this mad, avian freeing, figure which seemed to be focused on my ignition. This seemed to excite the person further ( I was soundly terrified at this point) but luckily his crazed flailing was no longer centered around the area I was occupying, at least not intentionally.

It’s at this point that I have to fill you all in on some information that I didn’t find out till later, there are such things as superheroes that focus specifically on one animal. For alligators there’s The Tooth, for penguins there’s Tuxedo Royale, and for chickens there’s the Flightless Eagle. Just so you know, the Flightless Eagle doesn’t enjoy being laughed at, and also doesn’t enjoy using non lethal weapons. He’s sort of like batman, except his parents are fine and he uses a twin barrel tommy gun named “The Peckerhead.”

I became aware of most of those facts when, after I peeled out of the dirt parking area, another lunatic became personally invested in the state of my well being. I wasn’t going overly fast, maybe 15 miles an hour, when I felt something “plink” into the back of my car, and a subsequent drop in my speed. My rear view mirror revealed none other than the Flightless Eagle himself, attached to me by one of his grapple hook talon guns. The Eagle was being true to his name, dragging along the ground and looking rather displeased with his current situation. He communicated this to me by word of double barrel machine gun fire.

Naturally, this made it rather difficult to continue steering, and I found myself crashing through a community shopping mall’s main entrance. I remember it was easter, because fake grass, fake fences, and a man in a bunny costume all became immediately related to the state of my well being. I don’t exactly recall how it came about, maybe the easter bunny himself did it, but an inextricably hard egg managed to puncture my car’s defensive glass shielding and embed itself into my eye hole. This is when I lost my right eye. Now, at this moment, I discovered my companion’s lack of ability to tolerate the presence of blood. He promptly passed out, and his inert form impeded my ability to steer. My car couldn’t move anymore after I wrecked it into the Yankee Candle.

I did manage to extricate myself from the wreckage, and was in the process of crawling away when a betaloned foot placed itself directly into my path. Looking up I saw only the stern visage of God’s cruelest creature, the rooster. The Flightless Eagle hoisted his gun, and said to me “Looks like your goose is cooked.” The two barrels of his gun stared at me like the eyes of some sort of bird of prey, or maybe black eggs. It was at this point that I activated my flying gear’s discharge, and I managed to gain altitude enough to escape out the gaping hole which had been the entrance to the mall. As I shot out of the maw, shots rang out and whizzed all around me.

I didn’t learn the identity of the Flightless Eagle until much later, but I did realize eventually that was the first time I ever met that man, Paul.

Hope you enjoyed them!


Just so I remember, i’ll write it here. I saw, for a moment, in my mind’s eye, a burning pattern. Later, I decided from either inward or outward thoughts discerned that it was a maze of fire. What could it mean?

effing little imp penguins

It's like pop rocks for your brain!

WARNING: I had a bad day and this is a post about me whining. Probably not entertaining.

I’ve realized that whenever I get stressed out, excited, worried, or nervous songs from kid’s movies (or just songs from my childhood) play in my head.

For instance, whenever I would be  working at Video Game Store and a horrible torrent of children would come swarming in, blotting out the sound of my thoughts with their rampant screams and noise, and begin doing everything in their power to destroy any semblance of order to the obscenely tedious to categorize wall o’ games, this song would play in my head: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rVFaSbU72GM.

That song basically makes me extra frantic, because of its significance to my childhood. That song means a mini game is happening! and you’re timed and you are going to lose oh sweet muffins why did you drop the chicken now you’re out of time there goes the kingdom the bad guy wins.

In any case, that song plays, or Pink elephants on parade (the song where Dumbo has a horrible acid trip), It’s a small world after all,or, in today’s case, “A spoon full of sugar.”

Have you ever wondered how an ATM works? how when you insert a check, it doesn’t get stuck? Me too! And guess I what? I have no idea how it works, I just know that it actually can get messed up! Also, if you’re in the mood to have a check disappear into the abyss of the ATM’s bowels, you’re in luck! The default action for a check not being able to be returned is, evidently, it returns your debit card!

Yea, so 3 hours of unsuccessful customer service (really, I have witnesses that it was 3 hours) and here we are. The only reason I’m still not on the line with that music which I could recite in my sleep now is that the call center for the bank I go is now closed. I guess my money will have to wait till tomorrow!

But back to Disney songs, after having my poor roommate (who waited while I got my car, by himself, the champ) and his mom (who graciously brought me food while I wait) get on home, after the second phone I was using die, (it was my roommate’s) I begin to drive home as my mind tortured me with Julie Andrews anecdote on the methodology of consuming Medicine (it’s easier with sugar, a spoonful to be exact). Then I drove behind a drunk person who proceeded to swerve around for approximately 2 minutes. I honked at them every time they swerved off of the road.

I’ll delete this post later if it’s too not funny/ not good.


:EDIT: evidently the situation’s been rectified.  After returning from church today (the next day if you’re reading this post from the beginning) I called, once again. I received credit to my account in full.  Hopefully it’s over now.


February 16, 2011

movement is something I love, I think it’s in my blood. My father loves motorcycling, and owned one for several years of my life. He’s always wanted me to try them, something I still haven’t done. He’s not disappointed or anything, it’s just something he wants me to do. This post, however, is most definitely not about Dad and his bikes.

Just recently I got a longboard, another device that is used to move without much effort that can be used to move very quickly. Other notable machines I’ve learned to ride are the Evans’ old really fast go kart that got sunk in a swamp (maybe Nate will tell you that story), the standard skateboard, a ripstick (which isn’t really all that X TREME), and a car. I like all of these things, and the sensation of moving very quickly is one that can’t really be duplicated by much else; it assaults you with the force of wind pressure being on every part of you, the sound of either a rumbling engine or more likely the roar of wind consuming your mind, and the astonishing speed at which the world around you rushes.

One thing that seems to permeate this experience is the enjoyment one enjoys at moving that fast, yet just barely repressing the fear which grips you since most of your body is just cringing, expecting you to crash violently, which, inexorably, we all do. Today I fell on my longboard for the first time, rather I fell on that particular board for the first time. I scraped my hand, and suffered little to no damage, but it got me thinking. The best way to describe what I learned has to be a few words Elijah and I interchanged. (roughly paraphrased):

“It’s not that bad,” I said, “it’s already stopped bleeding,” I said as I picked grains of asphalt out of my hand. The wind and general noise of longboarding punctuated our words, we had started riding again, and speaking on them is an art. One has to coordinate their direction with the road, their friends, and any obstacles that they might run into while looking at their subject, an accident that is surprisingly easy. Elijah hopped off his board and pushed it, a move that increases your speed but forces you to run to catch up with it. It looks quite slick when pulled off correctly. As he jumped back on he missed slightly and had to correct mid air, coming to an awkward standing stop. He hadn’t been moving all that fast, so he was fine, and he didn’t fall. I stopped and looked back at him, we both messed up at times. “Yea, I’ve been learning to bail and not completely eat it,” he said as I nodded and walked back towards him, agreeing with his statement.

As we began moving again I thought about his words, and I thought about the interchange, and my recent life. I’ve been lazy at school and it’s costed me, lazy in my life which also came with a cost. The week prior to the events which transpired in the story above I spent praying and requesting God to let me enter once again into a deep loving relationship with him, which sounds rather more self righteous than I mean it. I’d fallen out because of my constant lazy descent into wrongs, such as various sins or just being boredly content with  what I shouldn’t have been. My desperate plea to God wasn’t something I did to show off to all ya’ll, I needed it due to how screwed up I’ll let myself get given the slightest chance. One thing I have learned, though, is that when you fail you should do it  a certain way. Like anyone learning about longboarding, they’ll fall. Your body learns to fall, and likewise, while I’m living I’ve got to learn to fail. So I guess to sum it all up:
tl;dr here: You’re gonna screw up sometime. Learning to fail is something that can be done, too, and the it helps getting back up. Maybe sometime all your learning will allow you to stand up straight sometime.


February 15, 2011

look at the way it threatens.

Get thee back!

If you’re wondering, a crawdad is another name for a crayfish, which is essentially a small lobster. They eat “shrimp pellets or various vegetables, but will also eat tropical fish food, regular fish food, algae wafers, and even small fish that can be captured by their claws, such as goldfish or minnows.”-wikipedia. So they’ll really eat anything. \

Just so you know, this is a story about a crawdad eating a fish in detail, so, you know, it’s gross.

I had one as a pet once, and since I didn’t know what to feed it, so I had my parents buy goldfish which I had hoped it would eat. I assumed it ate leftover food or something, because it survived for an overly long time for something I didn’t directly feed. But that’s besides the point, the story i’m trying to tell is about my crawdad, who was named “crawdad.” He lived in a small structure which my dad put together, it was just three flat rocks, two vertically jutting up from the floor of the aquarium and one placed as a crossbeam on top, and would pretty much stay in there all day. I mentioned the subject of food because he would always try to hunt the fish in the tank, which almost always ended badly. He was a very handsome crawdad though, with his claws raised, perfectly stationary, as the fish wandered eventually close enough for him to attempt to snatch. Most of the time they got away, but he caught a fair few. One he caught, proceeded to begin eating, then lost. After removing much of the poor beast’s mouth, the fish escaped to swim in what I assume was a very confused manner around the tank. It was a ghastly sight for me, I don’t know how old I was but I found it rather ghastly. I remember hoping that crawdad would catch him again and finish him off, so that he wouldn’t be in pain anymore.  He did. Whenever he did that kind of thing, the fish’s guts would always seem to be moved when I looked in the tank. I do remember seeing one interesting thing, the fish’s swim bladder, the organ that affects a fish’s vertical location in the water, looked just like a white, opaque balloon.

So yea, that’s the word crawdad means to me, emotionally in my mind, i’d say his indian name would’ve been “Crawdad who hunts and eats fish and lets their remains float in the water.”

Good afternoon

February 15, 2011

Hello internet.

In the occasion that this blog becomes well known or something along those lines, people will come to the beginning seeking answers as to what this blog is about.


There aren’t any here. Good luck.