Days That Will Live In Lunacy

(Kansas, “Magnum Opus”. From Leftoverture. Submitted to Youtube by user panosc2.)

Hey, even a broken comedy show's funny twice a millennium.

Hey, even a broken comedy show's funny twice a millennium.

The last few days were important days for me. They were of course not important days for our country, because realistically President Barack “Saddam” Hussein Obama “Bin Laden” has been President since Sarah Palin mentioned, via Tina Fey of Saturday Night Live, that she could see Alaska from her house. At that moment, any hope, any prayers that maybe, just maybe Sarah Palin was not a complete and utter dunceface from another planet were shattered. America was afraid that the same stupid people that elected George W. Bush for two terms would actually vote for this woman to become President of the United States, pending John McCain’s untimely and totally-not-expected death by the tag-team duo of Father Time and Mister Heart Disease. Americans watched, suspiciously via binoculars, at their neighbors’ windows at night, looking for any signs that their neighbors might vote Republican, and possibly so that they might see their neighbors’ wives’ barely-legal daughters wearing frilly undergarments.

Actual back seat of a Toyota Tacoma pickup.

Actual back seat of a Toyota Tacoma pickup.

In the end, everyone voted for Barack Obama, as they were supposed to, and anybody that voted for McCain didn’t matter, because they’re just racist ignorant retarded rednecks anyway, and very few people were actually charged with voyeurism, so everything worked out OK in the end. Barack Obama took the Oath of Office, although Supreme Court Chief Justice John Roberts required an interpreter at several points and may have to secretly administer the Oath again. (Update: And then after that Oath they may have to do it again because the Christian conservative Roberts forgot his Bible.) Several singers belted out African American soul versions of various patriotic tunes. Gay people in the streets are still angry, because nobody will listen to them. And of course I still haven’t gotten the green Toyota Tacoma pickup truck I’ve wanted since I began to want one a couple years ago. As an aside, just recently I checked one out at our local Toyota dealership. Everybody agreed that it was a nice enough vehicle, but that it was “not suitable for road trips” as its back seat is approximately as comfortable as a Medieval church pew and much less attractive.

Of course, much more important things happened in the past three days or so. For example:

  • Just now, while writing the last full paragraph, my leg touched some gum somebody stuck to the bottom of the computer table I’m writing at.
  • Nekosexuality does not equal bestiality, seriously you guys.

    Nekosexuality does not equal bestiality, as SpikeRulesHell proves.

    On the TwoKinds forums, forum poster “SpikeRulesHell”, the one who I said “claimed to perform oral sex on his cats” when I wrote my review of TwoKinds, has said that he “has never actually had sexual relations with any living creature, human or otherwise”. This was not terribly shocking to anybody on the forums or in the known universe. The idea that SpikeRulesHell has actually had sex is as laughable as the idea that I’ve had sex. The idea that either of us have gotten to have sex with any other living being is so laughable, in fact, that the late comedian George Carlin often used it in his stand-up routine.

  • We, meaning “my closest family consisting of my mother and grandmother, and a dog that was never toilet-trained,” cleaned our house on Sunday and Monday this past weekend. If you know us personally, you will know that this is an event that is, by conservative estimates, as momentous as the moment Christ comes back to Earth, in that it happens on basically the same timeframe. While cleaning our house, we came across many artifacts from our dog, which she had deposited underneath her leopard-print dog bed and never informed us about. We also cleaned my city of little dead plastic people, Luigiville. We bought new tables to put it on and we’re going to install little dead plastic drawbridges and probably (if time allows) enact little dead plastic zoning regulations and building codes. We are serious about this city. It is going to be awesome when it is done. You will want to invite your family to see it, and I will charge you money to see it, to pay off all the insane bills I’ve accumulated putting it together. Just trust me, it’ll be great.

With the news of Luigiville getting cleaned up, it is of course time for our nation’s college students, especially those at the University of New Mexico, to go back to school, to learn about things like the following True Facts:

  1. There are absolutely no math teachers at the University of New Mexico that can speak English without using comical accents, so that “one plus one is equal to two” sounds like “Vaughn ploos Vaughn ees squeeggle two.”
  2. Sociology teachers routinely do things like get as close to somebody at a party as they possibly can, and when that person inches away they inch closer, to see how long it takes before the victim either screams out at the sociologist in frustration or kills himself. This forms the basis of modern sociology in a nutshell.
  3. There are sociologists that study relationships between humans and aliens. They are called Astrosociologists.
  4. Rachel Whiteread, exhibiting the crazy stare of an psychopath.

    Rachel Whiteread, exhibiting the crazy stare of a psychopath.

    There is at least one woman artist (she’s English, of course) whose entire art career consists of filling rooms of houses with plaster and removing everything inside, including doorknobs, so that only the plaster remains. Her name is Rachel Whiteread, and she is certifiably insane.

These are just some of the many things I’ve learned in my first two days of this semester of college. I also learned that nose hair trimmers have the smallest motors of any type of grooming product. And, finally, that if you clean a nose hair trimmer enough it will rust and will yank the hairs inside your nose. These facts, I am certain, will be very important for me personally someday.

Today I ate at Schlotsky’s with my friend Dessabrina, the acclaimed Pagan Lesbian Transformers Slash Fanfiction Writer who has been featured in many outstanding Internet publications. We are hoping to eat lunch soon with a new friend of mine, Nikki, who apparently wants to talk with Dessie some more. Dessie, of course, has also expressed great enthusiasm at talking to Nikki. This should be great. If gay marriage is ever legalized, and Nikki turns out to be gay, and she marries Dessie, it will be an adorable wedding and a very cute couple. I, being Very Not Gay but supportive of gays’ rights, will do the decorating. I will make sure it is a fabulous wedding.

Anyway, that’s what’s going on with me this week. Tune in next time, when we find out whether Dessabrina has found a new girlfriend, through me, and watch as I try to find a friend who is both a girl and not a lesbian. It’s the Challenge of the Century! Be sure to laugh at me. I’d do the same for you.

Fighting Communism With the Taco Bandito

Recently I came to receive a beautiful thing from God, a wonderful, beautiful, kind of pretty thing that I have been searching for for many years, if not several decades. So yeah, basically I found a girlfriend.

Those I know and those who love me have reacted to this unprecedented miracle in the way only they know how: complete, outright apathy. Also a demand for pictures, actually. Considering how many people have asked to see her picture in the past two weeks alone, you’d think I’d seen an alien spacecraft, or at least Elvis Presley, possibly riding on an alien spacecraft.

The only person I know of who is not reacting to this event with apathy is my friend Frank, who, instead of not caring, has decided to kill himself. Frank has believed for many years that I am The World’s Most Virginal Virgin Who Nobody Would Date Even if Hell Froze Over and I Was The Last Living Human Being On Earth; for Frank, the fact that I have found a girlfriend, before he could, is proof that God is conspiring against him, and that soon God will also take away his Doctor Who video tapes, which for Frank is the equivalent of being deprived of vital organs.

My girlfriend comes from the Land Of Bulgaria, which for all intents and purposes had might as well have been named “New Russia” except that it was owned by rich Arabs at the time. She is very sweet and pretty and also apparently a bit of a Communist, as evidenced by the fact that she likes Michael Moore. This is fine with me. I do not mind Communism. I feel that if Communism would take over the world, it would only create more hunger and violence and oppression and racism and bigotry and death, and if more people were to die in these ways, it would reduce the line to get on the freeway in the mornings when it’s thirty five degrees outside and I want to go back to sleep. So screw democracy. Democracy can kiss my fat stupid American ass.

(Note: Ass is covered by red, white and blue striped underpants. I think. I didn’t really have time to check before I thought this sentence through.)

Anyway, while I’ve been dating Olga apparently other things have been happening, like my math test tomorrow but I think that we can all agree that nobody cares so forget I even mentioned it. More specifically, I’m thinking about El Taco Bandito.

Riding Through The Night

Farting All the Way

The Great Taco Bandito Shall

Steal Our Tacos Today

The Taco Bandito is a man who was apparently very hungry, because he stole twenty dollars worth of tacos from a man he encountered on the street. According to SomethingAwful forum poster “JD”, who coincidentally has my initials, a local news outlet in his area (apparently someplace named “Fontana”) reported about a man who snuck up on a bicyclist. According to the article:

The victim, a 35-year-old Fontana man, had just bought about $20 in tacos from a stand at San Bernardino and Fontana avenues and was riding home when the bandit confronted him. “He approached him from behind, saying, `Give me your tacos,”‘ said police Sgt. Jeff Decker. “He grabbed the bag of tacos, punched him in the face and began to flee.”

The victim demanded his tacos back when they were taken.

“The suspect then pointed what appeared to be a black handgun at the victim,” Decker said.

Judging by the article, we clearly have a situation where the bicyclist was at fault. People riding bicycles do not have rights, if they did then they would buy a car. But the situation goes deeper. Ladies and gentlemen of America, we now have new reason to not sleep at night; one that goes much deeper than being able to feed our families or freedom and happiness. There is a man out there, stalking out helpless bicyclists, and stealing their tacos from right under their large, dirty bicyclist noses. There is only one solution. It is time for Communism.

Assuming I see you in traffic tomorrow.

It’s Time for MOAR DRAMA PLZ K THX: My Girl Relations

Hello Drama Girl Posts

Last time I attended a presentation by a speaker, I attended a “First Friday Fractals” exhibit by one Jonathan Wolfe, a man apparently obsessed with repeating patterns in geometry. On this occasion, I attended a presentation by a man obsessed with putting iron sticks into a fire, and then hitting them repeatedly with large sticks. This obsession, called “blacksmithing”, is an important concept in the history of the human race, as it has given us nails, which us humans use to put pieces of wood together. These pieces of wood form houses, and these houses form timber with which large fires can be started, often destroying all of the furniture inside, which incidentally is also made of wood and nails.

I mention this not because I am obsessed with fires, but rather, because I want to discuss girls again.

I know, I know, I hear the howling peals of laughter through my little online audience. I know that in the past, whenever I discussed girls, it invariably involved law enforcement officials beating me with sticks. I also realize, however, that my torment is an outlet of incredible enjoyment for you, my Internet audience. So I have decided once again to discuss my relationships with the womenfolk, no matter how strained they are or how embarrassed I am at my geekiness. I aim to please.

Chapter I of my Odyssey with the Womenfolk:

I am currently friends with a girl named Shari, of whom I know very little, excepting of the details with which she has divulged to me. These details are indeed quite interesting. For example:

  • She gets irritated whenever I start talking nonstop about pickup trucks and how much it pisses me off that they quit making the Subaru Baja.
  • By the time a person has drank three-fourths of a bottle of Mountain Dew, according to Shari, “85% of the liquid is backwash.”
  • She has a boyfriend.

These facts, when taken together, leave only one possible outcome, namely: that I need to spend more time talking to Shari about her interests. Unfortunately, this is not possible, because while I live in a pink double-wide mobile home on the outskirts of Albuquerque, New Mexico, Shari has a dorm in central Albuquerque, New Mexico, and I am afraid to drive my car any distance further than a mile, because it is a Ford. This means that we have had to communicate primarily in class, and because we are both afraid of getting any lower than a B-plus in any class our discussions are primarily related to the “classroom material”, which in this case amounts to Cadillacs buried in the ground by some Rich White Person.

My chances of any meaningful relationship with Shari are strained, primarily because I have now written about her ON THE INTERNET, but also based upon my almost universal track record with women, which usually involves my untimely demise and unnecessary hatred and random death. Thus, I give this relationship a four out of five stars.

Chapter II of my odyssey with the womenfolk:

I have been conversing with a girl I know in one of my classes named Quian. I think that’s how her name is spelled. She is very nice and does not seem to hate me. I have learned the following:

  • She is an actual artist.
  • She is from China.
  • She also has a boyfriend.

These facts, when taken as a whole, suggest one possible outcome, namely, that I need to learn to speak Chinese. This would allow me a realm of possibilities, not just in this particular situation, but also when China takes over the United States for the usage of our women. My abilities would also come in handy with discussing possible takeovers of American corporations by the Chinese, particularly Chrysler, which just needs to die.

My chances of any meaningful relationship with Shari Quian are strained, primarily because I have now written about her ON THE INTERNET, but also based upon my almost universal track record with women, which usually involves my untimely demise and unnecessary hatred and random death. Thus, I give this relationship a four out of five stars.

Chapter III of my odyssey with the womenfolk:

I have also attempted to be friends with another girl I know, Brittany, who I have known since high school. I have also had little time to talk to her. I have learned the following:

  • Apparently, Kaycee’s little sister is very different from Kaycee, the Girl of Pure and Ultimate Beauty.
  • She (Brittany) works at a deli.
  • She, too, has a boyfriend.

These facts, when taken as a whole, suggest that I should probably stop talking about Kaycee. Just guessing from the amounts of hatemail I am going to get regarding this post I can honestly say that I will never forgive myself for having written this, ever, and I feel considerably saddened by the fact that I had to be told specifically that Kaycee, the Girl of Ultimate Beauty’s little sister is far different from Kaycee herself. These facts make me cry inside. I do not like Kaycee’s sister.

After all, Kaycee’s sister is too young for me.

My chances of any meaningful relationship with Kaycee Brittany are strained, primarily because I have now written about her ON THE INTERNET, but also based upon my almost universal track record with women, which usually involves my untimely demise and unnecessary hatred and random death. Thus, I give this relationship a three out of five stars, assuming that her boyfriend does not kill me.

I hope that I have enlightened you on my current situation, and I also hope that you are laughing, assuming of course that you have not whipped out your shotguns and are planning my untimely demise as I sleep peacefully. At the very least, please do not be too mean. My current relationships are bad enough.

Tell me what you think! email me:

Post By PrettyPrincess: Pranks To Play On Boys


govener depoy told me 2 say i drew this myself!!!!! no help from him!! see im a good drawer

hey everone!!!! 2day we re going 2 go over some fun little pranks u cn play on tenage boys 2 irritate them!!!!! hahaha its sooooooo fun!

are u ready? k, here they are:

  • act liek you like a guy nd then act like a bitch to him!!!!!1

hahaha this one is sooooo fun to do especilly 2 nurd-boyz. First, u go 2 a niec concert or sumthn he lieks and act all cooooooll, like u liek him and giv him ur phone number (or intarnet im address, aftr all theyre nerds) then when he calls u bck, u dont pick up or u tell him hes a stalker nd nevar call again or else youll cal the police on him!!!!!!!!1 hahahah its so cute when nerds tink there good enuf for u!!!

  • act liek an idiot al tha time so everone thins ur stoopid!!!!!

This one is good so boys think that you’re so stupid you can’t do anything even remotely productive or good for them (other than sex, but that’s usually good, unless it’s with somebody who doesn’t look exactly like you want him to down to specifically-placed body hairs). You’ll never understand how well this has worked for me. For example, I once had a class where there were several boys and a few girls like me. It was easy to get out of work. There were two major things you had to do:

  1. Do everything as badly and slowly as you can. When you accidentally do well at something, you have to gloat to the boys about how smart girls are.creep.jpg
  2. When all else fails and the males in your class are getting sick of you, you sit on the laps of the dumbest ones so they’re so horny they can’t get any work done, either.

Oh sure, a few hard-working nerds will get irritated by your idiotic behavior, but that’s just because they’re on to you, and nobody cares what they think anyway.

  • post half-nekkid picturs of urself on tha intarnet 2 teese boyz!!!

this 1 is a litle bit dangurus if ur not carful. be sure nevar 2 show off 2 much of urself, try to maek ur face diffcult 2 see then when soem oldar man (prefarbly admin on site) teels u how prety u r u thank him and atack nebody (thats anybody) else who sez that ur prety nd say there perverts its relly fun!!!!!!!1

best site 2 teese boyz on is myspase or flickr try not 2 go 2 anime or videogame sites or else theyll see u as a nurd and wont liek u!

  • be as vindicktive, arogant and mean as possible.

disgusting_woman.jpgboyz liek mean girls, they see them as unaprochable and therfore apealing. u wnt 2 act liek theyre dirt evan if u liek them. if they try 2 get ur atention by touch u on tha shoulder u give them a dirty look nd if they try 2 talk 2 u try to get out of the conversation 2 tha point that it turns them off.

act liek a lesbian, evan if u arnt one.

boyz like lesbos, this is very good way 2 get boyz 2 liek u nd its very funy to see tha looks on theyre faces when tehy hear ur stories of hooking up with ur girlfriends. nevarmind tehy might expect u 2 do taht in real lief when u hook up wit them! u might not evan live that long (u know u nevar know)!!!!

so remembar these. if u do tehm right theyre very funny nd fun!

Gaddy’s Election

Official News Bulletin

In spite of the Luigiian Republic’s name, I’ve been Governor (or President as the new title is to be after my high school graduation) for ten years (check the banner on the side of this site). My rule has been virtually unchallenged for those years, except for the brief period of time in which Luigi took over, because he’s a Republican fascist Nazi and he hates me, and I hate him. Insult my linguini, will you, Luigi? The President’s linguini? I think not!

“My linguini”And yet, a new challenger, one who has dared challenge my omnipotent role as ruler of the fair Republic, has come to the fore. Her/his name is Gaddy, and he/she says that he/she can do a better job than me, assuming of course that he/she is in fact of a gender. I don’t know if this person is from my school or not; I frankly could not tell if she was from my school if s/he were standing right in front of me and kissed me on the lips. Although if she happens to be female, I will not stop her from doing just that. Please, Gaddy? I don’t care what you look like! As long as you have a face!

Ahem. Maybe not. Anyway, so s/he says that I’m becoming a crusty old geezer, and s/he could do a better job as Governor because s/he happens to be a newcomer and therefore could have new ideas instead of my tired, Prehistoric old concepts of what a governor should be (i.e. an ass-kissing political slimebag). I gently informed her that I would execute her if she tried to become Governor, but she just wouldn’t listen. And of course, the lawyers bitched at me too.

So now, as it turns out, if I don’t let her run against me in 2008 like Luigiian Constitutional law dictates, Senate Majority Leader Yoshima Yoshoi will lead a posse of angry machete-wielding Lego figures to my house. And so, I must announce that elections will be held November 4, 2008 and that the first 100 people who register to try for the Luigiian Presidency will receive a free T-shirt, or something. Oh yes, and they’ll be eligible for the Luigiian Presidency. And then I will summarily execute all of them. And their families, except their first born who I will sell into slavery.

Ha ha! That was a joke! None of that will happen! You’ll just get to be President of the Luigiian Republic! Oh, yes: And I call dibs on Head Architect. You just get to be President. You’ll probably get a T-shirt, and maybe a little plaque or something, I don’t know. All I know is, how it’ll probably work is, I’ll get out my little Excel spreadsheet, and I’ll arrange all the names, and then I’ll assign each one a number, and then whoever’s number comes up the most when I randomly give each minifigure a number gets the prize.

I know, I know, this is a lot to handle, but I have just one thing to say: Give me my dignity, at least. Thanks.

The High School Graduation Speech I Wish I Could Give

Update (June 19, 2009): I originally wrote this article as a humorous piece to poke fun at an obsessive crush I had on a girl I knew at the time. She still does not like me. I doubt she even remembers who I am. Regardless, I keep this up, as I find it to be funny, and always did. I see no reason to take down what is and always was a sincere attempt at self-deprecation.

The New Face of My Graduation

Hello, ladies and gentlemen. Tonight we are watching a beautiful thing–the passing of many children, many of whom have the exact same Ford Mustang car I wish I could have had five years ago, SAMANTHA, not to name names or anything–into adulthood, a time in which you are always expected to stay at work every day, with no hope of a spring or summer break unless you’re a teacher, in which case you are forced to deal with children, so it seems as if the hassle isn’t worth it. Tonight we also watch me kiss Kaycee, who is sitting behind me and who is just asking for it, seeing as how she is so cute and…No! I mean, ahem, we are here with many beautiful women, including Kaycee, behind me, Kaycee, also behind me, Kaycee, behind me as well, Kaycee, who is also behind me, and of course, Kelly, Caroline, Allie, and many others, none of whom would date me, no matter how much I begged or pleaded. But it is, by far, Kaycee whom I think deserves this ceremony the most; who worked the hardest; who was always the smartest; who was beautiful in every way except that she wouldn’t date me. And then there’s Kelly, but I’ve gotten over her. I know she’ll never date me.

There have been many sad times in my life. One of the saddest was waiting for my cap-and-gown outside school in one-hundred degree heat, getting the sunburn that makes wearing this damned costume unbearable, and watching everybody else cut in line in front of me. Another was beginning to write a blog that nobody read no matter how much I actually wrote. And then there was finding out that I was too late to get a ten-thousand-dollar scholarship, thereby making less money in scholarships (I only get a measly $5000 a year for a $4000 a year college) than Kaycee did. What girl would date a guy that couldn’t get the top scholarship in college, I ask you? Not Kaycee.

Oh hell with it, the rest of this speech is going to be me talking about how much I like Kaycee. I wish I could say I love her, to the bottom of my heart, from her face to her sandaled feet, but I cannot, such as she has never actually said anything more to me than “hi”, and that’s only if I pester her, so I can’t really tell. But I have a longing, deep in my heart, deeper even than the cockles, but not quite down to the loinal regions, for Kaycee. She is beauty incarnate. She is everything that makes life worth living. Seeing her face–even when, no, especially when–she is telling me to give her her space–is why I went to school all these days, and why I wanted to become class valedictorian.

Now, Kaycee is not valedictorian of this class, or however the hell you spell that word, but you have to understand, in order for a peon like myself to ever have a chance of loving the nymph that is Kaycee–even at a court-mandated distance–I must be even smarter than she is. Otherwise, I am not worthy to even kiss her feet, even though that is exactly what I am going to do as soon as I am finished with this speech. She is everything to me, she is beauty, she is wisdom, she is love, she is kindness, she is law, she is the universe and every planet, every star, every meteor that makes orbit around the infinite expanse of the universe. She is the ultimate reason of every law of physics that was ever written by the feeble mind of Man, and all the creations of Universe were put into place so that she could exist–the reason God created the Universe itself. Just for her.

Now, I’m sure you realize most of this speech is hyperbole, and that my obsession with Kaycee is most likely little more than a high-school crush, an insignificant speck in the vast wasteland of my life, littered with sadness and darkness, tinged here and there with the slightest specks of lights, of which much of Kaycee is; but for this moment, she is here, and I am here, and at this very moment my very existence hinges upon Kaycee’s sitting right behind me, within the closest reach, a beautiful butterfly which I will allow to exit my life as abruptly and as haltingly as it had entered it. It is only this moment that matters; and this moment is not merely a speck in many ways; it is a highlight, it is a footing. It is something which gives me stability, and thus life; it would be without the stability of my obsessions that I would collapse in a vortex of my own making, like that of a star which, being too large for the laws of the Universe, collapses into a supernova and black hole, which sucks up all the light around it and loses all light which it once had.

Now, I suppose I’m supposed to get back on track here, to something about this graduation. I will say this: There is little to be said that has not already been said. Awards have been given, most of the fluff has passed away, tests are finished, the year is over, with only a long, long time of passing between this year and the next. What is left is to tie the loose ends, end that which must be ended, and close this year. And thus it is over. If someone else wants to add to that which has already been finished, I ask you to come now and make your peace. To all else, I say: The year is over; thus it is finished.

The Prom, All Five Retarded Cylinders Of It

Today is a bad sort of day to be writing, because I have a cold. You may know what I am referring to if you have ever had a cold, because you don’t want to write, or get up, or do anything, inasmuch as your entire body aches and you are thrust hard into the fact that life is brutal and little microscopic organisms hate you. Nevertheless, I am about to do something that is downright dangerous in this condition: Attempt to write something funny. If I die, please leave my possessions to my mother, which she can burn as she sees fit. Thank you.

All right, so today’s (FUNNY) topic is: The Prom. The prom is a rite of passage, one which signals the passing of a person from his days in high school, wherein girls treat him as if he is slime, to college, wherein girls treat him as if he were slime but also have sex with him. That is why it is so important to go to the prom. If you don’t, you can never get laid, ever, throughout your entire life. I believe that that is stated explicitly in many sorority constitutions, or whatever sororities use to decide when they can have pillow fights.

Unfortunately, I did not go to the prom, which was yesterday, Saturday for those of you paying attention. I was just lazy and wanted to go to Bennigan’s with my mother instead. Also, I wasn’t in school on Friday, “Senior Ditch Day II”, because it had snowed, it was Friday the 13th, and my mother was afraid for me. The day before, I could have signed up, but was lazy and felt depressed because a very cute girl, who I will henceforth refer to as The Girl With The Foxy Name, acted surly to me as I was trying to ask her to the Prom. Also I hadn’t planned on it and was only aware of it three days beforehand. Also I didn’t want to wear a tuxedo.

The Prom’s theme was that of a Japanese tea garden. Bennigan’s has a semi-Irish theme, which means that every item on the menu contains beer in one way or another. After eating, my mother and I went to a Japanese-themed car dealership (it sold both Isuzus and Subarus) to look at pickup trucks with my mother, because I want one badly, since I drive a little Mercury Mystique LS car which runs fine but is very short, which means that whenever I drive up next to one of those gigantic trucks people use to tow pontoon boats with, I have to drive five feet into the intersection to be able to look around him, and he retaliates by driving up five more feet, and we both keep up this little fight until we are safely across the intersection. The truck I looked at had five retarded cylinders in it (that’s what the brochure said, I think) and was very small, as far as trucks go, but I thought it was great. I could tow a dinghy with that truck, at least.Truck Towing Something

(Look, the above image above is basically an Isuzu i370. It has a boat behind it. I’m lazy.)

I think that yesterday’s events, plus the fact that I watched Snakes on a Plane last night and screamed in my dog’s ear whenever a snake came onscreen, make up for the fact that I missed out on one of the most important events in a person’s life, at least until he graduates and starts paying income taxes and drinking legally. My only problem now is how I’m going to make up for not asking the Girl with the Foxy Name to the Prom, especially since she went with somebody else. I’ve already come up with a solution: I’ll tell her how much I love her and want to be with her, and she will become overwhelmed by emotion and begin crying, and we will embrace, while the rest of my class is watching, including the boy she went with. I don’t know how that will go, but I know one thing: There will be no sex involved. After all, I’ve violated her future sorority’s Pillow Fight Constitution already.