Serious Matters are Serious.

I’m back! I fell off the face of the Earth a while ago, and just got back. I offer neither excuse nor explanation. Instead, I’m getting right back into blogging. With an absence that long, it’s basically starting over! This will be fun.

A new take on serious slogans.


* * *

Don’t do drugs. You’ll turn into that guy who always wants to borrow money. You say you’ll pay it back, but we all know you won’t. Because you have no teeth left.

Say no to drugs; say yes to the dress.

Stop breast cancer. We are tired of chopping off the only good things in this world.

Fight AIDS. With your fists. Fisting. It doesn’t transmit AIDS.

Not even once. Ok, maybe once, but certainly not twice. Ok ok, as long as you only do it occasionally.

Invisible children. Are hard to find. Need infrared.

Make Kony famous, and win him that record deal. He needs your votes, America.

Smoking kills. Slowly. Oh so slowly. Savoring it. Mmm.

Choose life. And while you aren’t killing yourself we’d like you not to kill anyone else either. Please?

Immigration is the sincerest form of flattery. Right after cloning.

Race for the cure. Whoever gets there first gets to live.

Don’t drink and drive. You might kill someone who doesn’t hate themselves.

It’s what’s on the inside that counts. You know, cholesterol, carbs, calories, fat, and ice cream.

It’s your own fault. No way I’m going to take responsibility. Nuh uh.

Reduce. Reuse. Recycle. Revenge.

Animals are people too. People who don’t wear clothes and taste delicious.

Depression hurts. Suicide hurts worse. Don’t do it.



I apologize.

A Day as a Cynic. Or, the internal dialogue of someone who clearly has no idea what is going on, and has only a rudimentary grasp of language.

This coma is fantastic. I have no conscious awareness of the world, I’m warm, I’m kickboxing a grizzly bear, and I’m winning. Life does not get any better than this. Aw shit what the hell is that noise? Oh dear God make it stop! The Marimba claws its way into my haven and rips me out by the throat. The sound just keeps going! I have to stop it! But where is it? I have to find it! Oh God oh God, maybe it’s in my sheets! I should look there first. What is this demon spawned sound emanating from??? Oh, it’s my phone, right where I left it last night, on my night stand. I guess it’s time to wake up. But I’m so tired! If only I could just lay here partially hallucinating for 9 minutes, I would feel refreshed and energized. Shit. Well maybe if I give it another 9 minutes. I mean the button is so easy to press, I don’t even have to open my eyes. I mean, the back of my eyelids are crazy interesting. Black. My favorite color. God, there’s that sound again. Ok, I can probably get ready in 30 seconds, sure. I’m not going to waste your time by saying that my day begins when I wake up. When the hell else would my day start?

I stumble into a tiny room with a bowl full of water, and an even smaller room that is hidden behind a curtain. Lets call this the “bathroom”. I drop my pants and start spraying bodily fluids into the bowl of water, too groggy to really see whats happening. I glance down and notice that I have soiled the nice water, and feel bad for a moment. Fortunately, the bowl of water has a lever on it that sucks the dirty water away and replaces it. If only it could do the same with all the stuff on the floor. My bad, the thought reverberates an empty aircraft hanger in my mind.

Time to take off the little clothing I’m wearing, and step behind the ubiquitous curtain. There are three knobs underneath some sort of metal protrusion. Like a seasoned expert I fiddle with the knobs in a complicated fashion, and inexplicably, hot water starts spraying out of the metal protrusion right onto my head. A normal person would react to this with shock and fury, as I was instantly very wet. Instead of leaping out from the jet of steaming water and bashing it with another, heavier piece of metal, I take it in stride, and enjoy the scalding water that’s giving me first degree burns. Contemplating the nature of toe fuzz and its implications in quantum mechanics as it relates to dolphin flight, I reach for a brightly colored tube. Without even glancing at the ridiculously long list of ingredients and warnings on the label, that say things like “Do not ingest” and “Not a suitable replacement for motor oil”, I squeeze out some liquid from inside, and start rubbing it into my hair. The magical elixir then begins to foam, making me look like a strange old man with a rockin’ bod. Of course I can’t see that, because this tiny room has no mirror. Surprisingly, my scalp does not melt off from the chemicals, and I rinse it in the water. Apparently I feel daring this morning, because I do the same with different substances for my face and body. Afterwards I decide to stare at the tile walls for 20 minutes, thinking about absolutely nothing, except for the occasional thought that wanders towards the peculiarity of pentagons. Then I fiddle with the knobs again till the water stops and rub a piece of cloth all over my naked body for awhile. All clean.

My room has an alcove in it that contains a bunch of different fabrics of various colors and patterns. Stranger still, they are all hanging from this horizontal rod, by means of “hangers”, i.e. twisty wire things. I spend almost 15 seconds considering the plethora before yanking a couple items out and draping them over my body, being sure to cover up my genitals and torso. Fortunately the fabric has thread holding it in a certain shape that is convenient for draping on a body. I’m not sure why I need this fabric, because I would be perfectly warm without it. It’s socially acceptable, I guess. I pass the mirror. Is that me? Yes… I believe it must be, the reflection moves as I do… good Lord he is hideous. That fabric pattern is completely unbecoming. Why is fabric so difficult!? I pick out new bits of cloth to wear, and exit my room, glad to finally leave this den of indecision.

I place my bottom on a piece of wood which is placed in front of a higher piece of wood  on which a piece of ceramic is resting. It’s really a beautiful image. However, it is still early in the morning and my brain has decided that in the mornings it likes to give itself a hangover after a long night of carpet bombing with meth. Sometimes I can pull a thought out of the carnage, but usually I just find a stray cat with rabies. My head feels heavy, so I stare downwards towards the piece of wood until I’m afraid it’s about to light on fire. That’s when I notice the piece of ceramic containing a viciously hot brown liquid. Eyes lighting up, I gulp down the liquid, disregarding the burn blisters forming in my mouth in my haste. THAT STUFF IS SO GOOD. I get a refill and drink that too. Renovations are beginning in my brain, soon it will be back to it’s normal dystopian self. Suddenly I have the energy to start shoving hot pieces of animal flesh, warm bits of plants, and unborn chickens into my mouth. Animal flesh tastes so amazing! My arteries love it too, they just want to keep it forever! My pulse quickens as my heart goes into death throes, but I ignore the warning signs of a major cardiac embolism and instead drink more brown liquid. Being a drug addict is so much fun! Now I am prepared to grudgingly conquer the world with a smile and dry wit.

I spend most of the day traveling from room to room, like a lost salamander. In these rooms I listen to people make sounds at me using their mouths, lungs, and vocal cords. To the layman these sounds might simply be annoying, but I find meaning in them. I carry lots of paper with me, and at various times I take out a group of papers, and draw symbols and patterns on them. I like to call these “notes”. They aren’t very helpful. What I usually do is draw pictures that are a hint towards my impending schizophrenic episode. In between these periods of listening to noises, I enjoy being near other organisms wearing cloth draped about them, and listening to the noises they make. Their noises I find vastly more interesting than the ones from those I call “professors”. However, nothing is more enjoyable than listening to my own noises. I especially enjoy saying things that I don’t mean, just to make the point that I don’t mean them, and that other people are stupid. Because they are, and I’m awesome. On the inside, my self-esteem is still nil. Oh well. I’ll always have sarcasm.

Every once in awhile I will see a particular type of organism. I have a special name for them, which is “girls”. They are only minutely different from the type of organism that I am, which I have fondly dubbed, “superior being of masculinity”. For the most part girls are the same as superior beings of masculinity. They have two legs (normally) two arms (normally), two eyes (normally), a tongue (normally), fingernails (normally) etc. I could care less about those things, although I guess they are important. No, it’s the differences that fascinate me, for absolutely no reason. Yet these differences tend to excite a weird part of my mind that I generally try to avoid, and send erotic chemicals coursing throughout my veins. Girls give that part of my mind a power that it should not have, yet when I see them it dominates my entire consciousness, subconscious, and any consciousness in the near vicinity, due to it’s sheer awesome force. Mostly, it’s the bone structure, the face is more slender and feminine, their bodies taper in at the middle, and something about their legs just strikes me as fantastic. The strangest part though are these blobs of fat that  hang off the front of their chests. Sometimes they excrete milk, so they are not entirely useless, but mostly, they are just there. For. No. Reason. These blobs of fat come in many sizes and shapes, none different from the other in any meaningful way. And yet… I have a chart of the types of fat blobs in my mind. These odd objects tend to excite me for no reason I can comprehend and that is what’s disturbing. Girls generally have a disturbing effect on me. When I see certain ones I’m pretty sure I suffer a combination seizure and stroke, which makes me move awkwardly and my normally charming noises come out all garbled, mostly because i have lost control over the right half of my body. Then they just look at me weird as I lay twitching on the ground, drooling. Ah love.

Eventually I go back home. I ingest bits of plants and animals again, and turn on this plastic box that glows in specific patterns. I stare at this box for a few hours, feeling my body atrophy and turn into beef jerky. Once I’m done with that box I go lay down on a big piece of foam covered in fabric sheets, and stare at another box that also has lights in changing patterns. Except this box has buttons. Buttons are awesome. Using those buttons in tandem with the lights I can get into arguments with people who aren’t even in the same room as I am. Once I’m infuriated enough to chuck my light-box with buttons at the wall, I flip a switch which makes my room dark. I lay down and wonder why the beginning of my days are so much more interesting than the rest. It just doesn’t make any sense. I end up rationalizing it with the fact that the start of the day has very specific steps, but the rest of the day is extremely repetitive. With this comforting thought I drift back in to my coma, ready to hallucinate vividly for around 6 hours. This time, its a girl bear. And I am in a spaceship.


A rose is a rose is a rose, except when it’s an awkward present from someone you are just friends with. Or so you thought.

The Exorcism of a Blogger

Awkward happens. In strange, often mysterious ways. Usually the lights are out. Or they are on, which is even worse. The potential for accidentally stumbling into a room full of awkward jello rises exponentially when one is living with another person. If you have never co-habited with another human being, look at one of your cats. He is probably licking himself while sitting on a pile of your clothes. Now imagine that is person. Keep in mind cats don’t wear clothes. If you still can’t understand the social implications of this situation, and also your entire face is numb, that’s good. It means your pills are working. Try typing with your forehead. No no, you have to smack the keyboard as hard as you can if you want the words to make sense.

The reason that you are so much more likely to encounter a wild awkward probably nude moment when you are living with someone else is because you have access to their “private time”. So when they are dancing to the aTeens in their underpants and swinging around a kettle, you have the ability to just unlock that door and walk in. It’s even worse when you share a room. Then, if you want to do something, say sleep, you have to try to ignore their fashion show set to Metallica, which strangely doesn’t involve any clothing. I guess it’s imaginary. I just so happen to live in the same room as another person. We like to call it this cool word we made up, “dormroom”. What a funny, yet subtly evil word we have created.

Dormroom, means a tiny little box in which you are supposed to live for eight months. It contains your bed, your desk, television, food, bathroom, and ceiling. Everything you have or would ever need is in this square niche. What already sounds like some depraved psychological experiment, about how quickly one can go insane, is complicated by the addition of another organism into your dormroom. Not just any organism, but another human being. Now instead of unethical, yet still scientific, psychologists performing the experiment, it’s two six year olds who want to see which will kill the other first. I sleep with a knife in my pants. A least, that what I have to tell him, otherwise the mornings would be really uncomfortable for the both of us. It is quite odd living with a stranger. I rarely speak to him, mostly I just observe him from my corner of the room, taking notes on his mannerisms in case I detect a change in behavior, so I can finish him off before he turns zombie. He comes and goes like the wind, and makes a point to move anything I left out. To anyone else it would be unnoticeable, but I KNOW HE TOUCHED MY THINGS!  Regardless, I barely know this person, although I am pretty sure that he is part ghost. Not all ghost of course. That would be ridiculous. My point is:

I was exorcised by my roommate.

Also some of his friends. At least, I’m pretty sure that’s what happened. However, before I can explain that, I need to cover some history.

I was born in the winter of ’93, it was a cold one, and I remember it well. While the snow gusted about in drifts outside my home, I was exploring this new world full of lights and sounds with these cool organs I didn’t even know I had before. I’ll call them eyes. The view got pretty boring quick though, because I wasn’t able to move my head. What a drag. I had to wait for the giants to come and move me so that I could look at something interesting again. Then I would scream, because colors are fucking scary. I mean seriously, there I was, enjoy a nice beige wall when BAM! A deluge of primary colors is spinning in front of my face and they look like they are going to HIT me, which will HURT. When I’m done screaming, I realize colors are awesome, and giggle while I poop myself. Those were the days. Unbeknownst to me; however, a demon had snuck it’s way into my soul, taking advantage of my blissful days of complex interactions with colors.

The demon stayed in my soul for years, lasting through elementary school, explaining middle school, and making me popular in high school. I never knew it existed, probably because I didn’t want to know. Losing it would be like losing a part of myself, not matter how horribly evil. I found out about its existence because of my dear old roommate. I would like to say it was from my roomie, but sadly he did not tell me himself. Probably because he got all choked up every time he tried. Or not. What he did do was tell all of his friends about my possession. I think they were all jealous. Needless to say, I eventually discovered his findings through the wiretap that I had, like all good roommates, placed on his phone. The news hit me like an empty pillowcase, and I promptly forgot about. Possibly due to massive head trauma. While the rumor kept coming back to me through my spy network, I never paid it much heed, that is, until the other night.

I needed to get into my room. Clothes lay in my drawer that I need to wear, because the clothes currently worn by my body, while the fit in a flattering fashion, did not meet the dress requirements of the even I wanted to attend. A pajama/star wars costume party. For some people, it’s the same thing. When I arrived at my door, I had to take pause. Incredibly loud Christian music thudded through the door of my dormroom, astoundingly drowning out the rumbling bassline of the incessant rap next door. As I pressed my ear to the door I heard my roommate, preaching loudly and with conviction, yelling to whom I could only assume were the members of his bible study. I considered entering when I heard him announce that he was going to speak in tongues, and that God should be so kind as to provide an interpreter. I hesitated to enter, lest they decide that I happened to be that interpreter. Not even having taken beginning tongues, I wisely waited in the hallway, watching the time tick away.

Twenty minutes later I got bored. So I decided to go into my room anyway, regardless of the odd, hoarse chanting emanating from it’s depths. Nothing could have prepared me for what I found. No, it wasn’t a pentagram with a hideous pelican monster inside, just a bunch of football players lying prostrate while my roommate touched all of them. Now I understand all the confusion with those Catholic priests. Come on kids, he only touched you there because he was praying. The sight of this froze me in my tracks. I decided to curl up in a ball, and hope that in the darkness they would fail to notice me.

Unsurprisingly, this plan worked. I bided my time in the fetal position until I saw one of the huge men stand up, and exit the room. I saw an opening in the ensuing confusion and made a dash for my clothes. I never made it. Before I could so much as snag a pair of Jar Jar underpants, the bible study surrounded me, my roommate at the head. He asked if he could pray for me. Being the polite gentleman I am, I agreed, dumbfounded, as I considered my predicament, cowering in the middle of a ring of people much larger than me. I peed a little. Or a lot. I can’t remember. They put their hands on me, and started to chant.

It started quietly, and then slowly built. At first it was all gibberish, because they never had found that interpreter. Luckily for me, they switched to English about ten minutes in. If my pants were not yet soiled, they sure as hell were now. There were praying to REMOVE A DEMON FROM MY SOUL. My thoughts flashed immediately back to all those rumors I had heard. Why hadn’t I taken them seriously?!? THERE WERE EVIL THINGS INSIDE ME. I freaked out for a good half an hour. My eyes might have rolled back into my head. But I know for a fact I only spun my head around one time. So not even a big deal. At the end there was this horrendous ripping noise, the power went out on the block, and a huge red velociraptor crawled out of my throat. Rather anticlimactic really.



No, no, this is my OLD roommate! I would never write about someone I am currently living with on the internet! Talk about unprofessional.

A Single Guide To Couples

Some people think that all couples are the same, or that there are stages to a relationship. Those people are wrong. You shouldn’t talk to those people. You’re better than that. In reality, couples vary in vast amounts that never, ever change. Please. As a single person, it is important to understand the differences between couples so that one can safely navigate the treacherous waters of interacting with people who are “romantically involved”. Do not confuse this with romantically entangled, if you are talking to those people, you have larger problems. Seriously, just watch. Or not, that’s creepy. Anyway, for our collective single (ALONE) benefit I have compiled this list of the types of couples along with advice for how to interact with them. This way we can stay smugly superior as we are secretly burning with an intense jealousy that we relieve late at night by listening to Linkin Park, tearing up our pillows, and cursing our lack of basic social skills. Then our roommates ask us what’s going on and all we can do is yell “It doesn’t really matter!” as we cry while trying to bathe in the sink. Wait, what was I talking about? Hmm….


The Plutonium Couple


Just like plutonium this couple is highly unstable, also radioactive. Spending too much time around them will give you cancer, as well as incinerate you when they inevitably spark the chain reaction of complaints and accusations that becomes an all-consuming fireball of hatelove. Or lovehate. Or just plain awful. This kind of couple is constantly fighting, breaking up, and then getting back together. No one is sure why they keep doing it, but it’s probably due to their paralyzing fear of dying alone. That or really awesome sex. Whatever. Most often found in grocery stores, as they argue about whether or not “It’s embarrassing to buy high fiber cereal”.


What to do: This type of couple will almost certainly try to pull you into their various arguments, getting you inextricably involved in their pointless drama. While you might be tempted to simply avoid being sucked in, that is not the best option. What you should do is play each person off of the other, escalating the disagreement until they never want speak to each other, or you, again. This strategy has the added satisfaction of creating two people more miserable than you are. Asshole.


The Team


Are these people even dating? According to Facebook, but it’s hard to imagine these people getting intimate. Do they even look at each other? All I know is that one is doing the history homework while the other is doing the science. I’m pretty sure they don’t know what each other’s voice sounds like. This type of couple makes one super efficient team, they get shit done. In fact they are so well-oiled, conversation is no longer necessary. Touching? Please. There’s work to be done. Most often seen with children, a dog, or in the same profession. Like door to door salespeople.


What to do: First, try not to get intimidated by how much better they are at everything, they are awesome, deal with it. Whatever you do, don’t mention the fact that they are in a relationship. They’ve probably forgotten, and the shock might kill them. These are not the type of people who cope well with anything that wasn’t on their calendar. The best thing to do is pretend they are just co-workers that always have the same assignment, and avoid the weirdness in seeing them in social situations. Ha, like they do anything social together. Then they’d almost be like a couple.


The Departed


This couple has left. On a journey to a place called “getting some constantly”. They are sitting right in front of you, but they aren’t there. Actually, they happen to be drowning in a whirlpool of infatuation. That’s why they have to keep giving each other mouth to mouth. This type of couple is so overtaken with their feelings that they are completely oblivious to their surroundings. Most often seen in the middle of intersections, getting hit by buses. Bus drivers have the best aim.


What to do: Whatever you want. You might be uncomfortable at first watching them, but once you realize it’s just like real life porn you’ll settle into your normal habits, and be fine. As long as your normal habits include watching porn in public. If not, it’s still weird. You’ll get strange looks. Because this couple has no idea what is going on around them, feel free to throw rocks at their heads, steal their wallets, and use them as human shields in your paintball tournament.


The Awkwardness Alliance


Sometimes people have one-night stands then feel bad about “using” someone, and actually call them later. Terrible. Mistake. They end up dating because they think they have to, but they quickly realize that people just aren’t as hilarious when you aren’t on ecstasy. Go figure. This couple can be found running into each other in public and pretending that they didn’t see. Talking is uncomfortable.


What to do: This couple will constantly try to bring you along on their dates so that they have someone they don’t secretly resent to talk to. Don’t put yourself in the position of filling the awkward gap of silence and potential pregnancy. Instead, tell them about all the action you are getting by being single, and pester them with biting sarcasm. Eventually they will start to hate you so much that one of them will sleep with you. That’s how it works, right?


The Best Friends


This is almost incest. I mean my God, who knew people could be so close in every way? You have to tell yourself that they are not intimate, otherwise you become uncomfortable to the point of seizure every time you run into them. This couple hangs out all the time, laughs together, and seen related. They’re not though, right? RIGHT? People are often caught checking if cops are around in the presence of these two.


What to do: Nothing. They don’t need you, they have each other. Any attempt to interact with this couple will be immediately halted by a fortress of obscure inside jokes. There is no penetration. (Please God no.) Comments about their potentially deformed babies will only garner strange looks. Do not be fooled by their apparent sociability with the outside world, they don’t want to speak to you. Spending any amount of time with this couple will third wheel you so hard you will have scarring.


The Conjoined


Not to be confused with the best friends, for this couple is far beyond that. They don’t do anything together anymore, because they have become one organism. You can tell because their hands will have fused together and turned gray from lack of circulation. It’s the mark of true love.


What to do: Any attempt to address either individual will only result in confusion. It is best to treat this couple as one person, perhaps with a funny name. Basically, you have a new pet. Feel free to hang out with this couple as much as you want, because there is no danger you being a third wheel, I mean, who talks to themselves?


The Corner People


Who are those people? And what are they doing there? Did they walk there without their clothes or did they stash them somewhere I can’t see? They are always right there. Actually, they might live there. I’m not even sure anymore. Is that a sweat stain on the wall? I think it is. This couple is like a plant, not mobile, and you aren’t even sure how it got there in the first place. Probably magic.


What to do: Study them. Those intertwined limbs might not even be people, rather a cloning experiment gone wrong that has taken root in the corner. Perform a thorough scientific examination. Find out what they are made of. My guess is lead.


The Matchmakers


They are so happy. SO HAPPY. Why can’t everyone be as happy as they are? Let’s make them happy. This couple always knows exactly who would be perfect for you, and they have a heroine like addiction to double dates. This couple is like a free, extremely misguided version of eHarmony. As in, they are just pairing people up at random. They just want every one to have what they have.


What to do: This kind of couple calls for a bit conspiring. You see, the real reason that they keep going on double dates is that they have run out of things to talk about. To be honest, their relationship is rather stale. Like a pimple. Spending time with awkward blind dates allows them to rationalize staying together because it’s “safer”. I mean who want’s to go through all that trouble again? I just don’t want to be alone… What you should do is get one of your friends to go on a double date with you, and pretend to have an amazing time. I mean really hit it off. This will likely infuriate the couple, and cause a scene that you can later post on YouTube. Get like a bazillion hits. Then you might as well just sleep together.


The Boasters


Oh, dear God. I do not care which sex position you just tried. Or how awesome it felt. Or that a video of it accidentally leaked on to YouTube. Yes, I do realize that your relationship basically consists of you guys having weird sex. No, I am not jealous. Ok, maybe a little bit. Shut Up.


What to do: Challenge to a sex off. Their insecurities will not let them turn down a challenge. Then you can prove your own prowess as a lover. Or not. Either way, you get laid, even if it is in a competition.  I mean come on, you’re single, what else are you going to do? Get a relationship? Please.



My eyes are like burning tea kettles.