I have a vision...

OK. I know what you're thinking: WHY? Well I'll tell you in a poem titled Father Knows Best:

If Vader were president, we would have freedom.

freedom to explore different worlds 

filled with different people

and together we will share and love and be happy.

If Vader were president, we would have jobs.

by jobs I mean occupations

no empty promises

no cutting budgets

no need to work overtime

no need to work overtime because taxes are over due

no need to worry

we are storm troopers.

If Vader were president, we would have Peace

Peace of mind

because we never have to aim at the protagonists

and shoot them down 

because they were Kings

because they were Kennedys

If Vader were president, there would be no

campaign promises

awkward not-kisses

fear of situations vicious

If Vader were president, everyone would be safe

from criticism

from losses

from bombs

from deception...

from planes.

If Vader were president, it would be out of this world!

much larger actually.

If Vader were president, we would be untouchable

like a star in the sky.

If Vader were president. 

Our self-loathing.

Our self-image.

Our self-sacrifice.

Would be acknowledged

Because he has experienced it all

Mermaids, Papayas, and a Good Afternoon Cupcake.

Wouldn't that make a great book title? I would SO buy that book! It's like perfect because it makes one wonder: "How does this all tie together into one coherent organized story?" Then I would buy the book and be all like: WHAT IS THIS GARBAGE?! But it would be too late to return it because I had already fed the receipt to my chinchilla! NOW WHAT AM I GONNA DO WITH THIS STUPID BOOK?!?!?!? grrr... I have an idea! How about I try and donate it to the public library! Crud. It's banned. How come? GENERAL STUPIDITY?!?! I agree. But I'm still stuck with the book so how am I gonna resolve this huh?!?! Can I speak to the man who got this book banned?

Me: O.e SO IT'S YEEEEW.
Critic: Yes, Rtyoyo. What do you want.
Me: I want you to un-ban THIS BOOK!
Critic: What THAT?!? That's terrible. *sigh* you would support something as ridiculous as that abhorring Bag o' Richards!
Me: I hate it too
Critic: Then WHY I ask, WHY do you want me to un-ban it?! You are being completely illogical.
Me: So I can give it to the library for profit.
Critic: Why don't we just burn it.
Me: Well, that is unreasonable and I don't want to offend the auth--
Critic: SCREW THE AUTHOR! You know I should sue him. His horrendous book made my eyes bleed.
Me: But your eyes look fi--
Critic: DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO HAVE BLEEDING EYEZ!
Me: Well, no--
Critic: I DIDN'T THINK SO. Now, lets BURN it. This book needs to feel the pain I have felt for so long!
Me: But--
Critic: YOLO.
Me: Critic, YOLO isn't applicab--
Critic: Elephants are purple.
Me: O.O I am completely convinced. Let's burn the book.
Critic: Hey! I found the spot lets go!
Me: But I'm not a Baptist. AND YOU'RE JEWISH!
Critic: Elephants are purple.
Me: Good point. Let's go.

WWEEEEEEEEEEEEE FIIIIIYAAAAAAAH!!!

Some people were late to the real burning. THEY DIED. Good thing we went to the actual thing!


You know, some say book burning is horrible. Yes, it is. It is insulting to the author, and the books that have been burned were mainly timeless classics. HOWEVER! Book burning is completely OK if the book is imaginary and it is literally the worst book on the planet. As Critic said, this thing was PHYSICALLY PAINFUL to read. So it's all good in the end.

Snoop the Thundercat.

OK. So I'm currently listening to Snoop the Thundercat. You know, dropping things as if they were maximum heat capacity. What shall I discuss today? Hmmm. How about spirit week!!!!!

Nothing is ever quite as exciting as a full week of limited clothing options. Yesterday was "Pajama Day" Apparently, we all wear gym pants and converses in our sleep. If not, then we all must obviously wear fully body fluff suits with dinosaur slippers to bed. Yeah, very believable. You see, I have every right to be cynical about pajama day because I didn't even know it was spirit week until the day of!! Normally, I am aware of this but I feel I should blame the school for not being as forceful as usual. (Actually, it is totally and utterly my fault I didn't remember it was spirit week. But that can be our lil' secret.) YEAH! What an insanely irresponsible school district *wink*

I just thought of a better topic. So YESTERDAY we had REHEARSAL. When we rehearse, all goes smoothly at first. But each rehearsal lasts 3 hours. After the first hour we are all delirious. The auditorium becomes a surreal wasteland where the rabbits are all rolling in the mud, and the cheese cake. Ballon animals playing cards. Baseball bat. HOW MANY? Oh, elephants are purple it's ok. And the Jehova Witness is knitting a sweater. What you are feeling right now is only a fraction of the confusion that settles in during a rehearsal.

So we are doing the final scene and my coworker, Jub Jub got the excellent idea of jumping into my arms out of fear while Critic goes into a homicidal turtle-with-a-machine-gun tirade. I was told that when Jub-Jub finishes placing all the blame on me I should drop him. But I was told in the most DIRECT way possible. Schnorielli just looked at me with their usual commanding director eyes and said "drop him." So I did. In the most DIRECT way possible. Jub-Jub wasn't expecting it. I wasn't expecting it. Jub-Jub had to use his spidey sense in order to keep from severe (POSSIBLY LETHAL!!!) injury. Then, Schnorielli had the AUDACITY, to blame this on my ears. They claimed that they said "Kinda" drop him. Umm... no. They are "Kinda" wrong. If they said that then how come I couldn't hear it. Schnorielli is constantly going on about projection on the stage. Well, how about they set an EXAMPLE for those who have trouble projecting as opposed to giving vague orders that are open to interpretation! Fortunately, Jub-Jub is not dead. Next time Schnorielli should be more careful when giving orders.

BOO DADADADADADADA

BOO DADADADADADADA BOO DADADA BOO DADADA BOO DA BOO DA BOO DA BO DA! I am crazier than usual today. That's REAAAAALY saying something. I've had these... these SONGS trapped in my head like little baby blue birds in a cage. They just keep chirping and chirping and chirping and chirping and chirping and chirping and chirping and chirping and chirping and chirping and chirping and chirping and chirping and chirping and chirping and chirping and chirping and chirping and chirping! (WOW. I'll get to that little tirade in the next paragraph.) I feel like Snow Flipping White!! I can totally and utterly sympathize her unconscious need to sing with those baby blue birds! SERIOUSLY!!! She'll be all like "LALALALALLALALALAALALALAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
And I'll be all like
"I don't need no Tee Veee! I don't need no news! All I need is a bumpee beat! To bump away my bloo-oo-ooooooooees!!!!"
And she'll hear my birds, and she'll be all like
"I feel you ma soul brotha!"
And then we will sing in a epic duet! Both of our birds colliding in a massive supernova of AWEESOME!!!!!!
"I don't need no Tee (LA LALA LA LAAA!!) Veee! I don't need no news!(LA LALA LA LAAA!!) (LA!)All I need is a bum(LA!)pee beat! To (LA!)bump away(LA!) my (LALALALALALALALA!!)bloo-oo-ooooooooees!!!!"
Now wouldn't that just be GRAND. A jazzy duet with Snow White. I'll put that on my bucket list.

OK! So, the chirpingchirpingchirpingchirpingchirpingchirpingchirpingchirping thing. I was doing my do, typing my blog like nobody's buisness. Then I noticed the way I typed the word chirpingchirping. IT WAS RYTHMIC. AN OPPORTUNITY!!!! This couldn't wait. I love the way I type chirpingchirpingchirping! It's SOOOO RYTHMIC. Like, rhymic to the point of pure addiction. Chirpingchirpingchirpingchirping is THE BEST RYTHMIC WORD IN THE UNIVERSE OF TYPING. You should try it. Do the chi fast then do the rping at a slower tempo. IT'S SO ADDICTIVE.

"Hey Rtyoyo, the bell rung"
"GO AWAY. I'M CHIRPINGCHIRPINGCHIRPINGCHIRPINGCHIRPINGCHIRPINGCHIRPINGCHIRPING!!!"
"Hey Rtyoyo, It's time for lunch"
"OK, but only when I'm finished CHIRPINGCHIRPINGCHIRPINGCHIRPINGCHIRPINGCHIRPINGCHIRPINGCHIRPING!"
"I'm getting worried, you haven't eaten in three days"
"I'm fine I'm fine! CHIRPINGCHIRPINGCHIRPINGCHIRPINGCHIRPING provides enough nourishment to last two and a half infinities"

The problem here is: That's an honest fact.

A request from my wife!

This post is the sequel to the Ficklefry post. Why am I making a SEQUEL?!?! Read the title. Done yet? Ok. good. Yes, my wife Broadway (What? You haven't heard? WE GOT MARRIED!! YAY!) requested that I continue the Ficklefry post. NO, not the voice cracking part, (DEAR GOD NO, NOT THE VOICE CRACKING PART!) but the choral analysis part. (Oh. ok!) So I covered the Bass and Tenor traits in Ficklefry, but (like many many men still do...) I forgot all about the females! They are just as important to the choralic effort!! So here we go! Sopranos and Altos!

So as I said before the Basses are the fried chicken and the tenors are the celery of the food-based chorus. Sopranos... Well... Sopranos represent the pineapple of the operation. How so? Well, they always get the melody which is easily EASILY recognizable. (Someone could easily mistake an apple for a tomato. But the closest vegetable that I have seen compared to a pineapple is asparagus. YEAH. NOT EVEN CLOSE.) They are also the easiest to see. (When you're walking down the fruitalishious section of Shop-Somewhat-Incorrectly, You'll know where those pineapples be at! Pineapples are to fruit what porcupines are to mammals. ToTaLlY uNiQuE!@#!) I know a pineapple-erm. I mean, SOPRANO when I see one!

The altos would be the haardstoet bread in the mixture. YES. IT EXISTS. The altos provide a great addition to the choir meal. While I am almost positive no American would even be aware of the existence of haardstoet bread AT ALL. And they probably will live their whole lifetime still unaware that haardstoet bread exists... I know that the bread is vital to the meal. Without the bread, we would all turn into cavemen, who fall off cliffs and get eaten by LIONSANDTIGERANDBEARSOHMY! And I'm sorry, but we only have room on this planet for one Garbear. Too many Garbears and the awesomeness would cause a rip in the space time continuum. So that is what altos are: they are the bread that keeps the world in balance: even when nobody pays attention. SO!! That sums up my analysis. Good day, good tidings, good banana, nevermind, that made no sense. (ACTUALLY. I think it did. BUT I'M CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAZY! SO YOU ARE PROBABLY RIGHT!!)

Ficklefry

So I sit next to this kid in chorus right... He was a bass. He's in a tenor section. But Dennyden has a gut feeling he is truly a tenor. I have to side with Dennyden here. He can hit the notes. He just needs to put his body into it more!

Ficklefry uses his bass muscles when he sings. So this causes a problem when he has to sing tenor. Have you ever noticed how basses carry more mass in their bellies than tenors? I'M NOT SAYING THEY ARE FAT. I'm talking internal space at the bottom of the gut? Get what I'm saying?! I don't either... ANYWAYS!! Bases are more likely to be the ones singing "FRIED-PUH CHICKEN-PUH" In a food song. I'M NOT SAYING THEY ARE FAT. I'm only saying that "Fried Chicken" is best sung by a bass. My ears are more pleased by a low, soulful bass making a soulful sound with the pit of his stomach: the spot where the words "Fried Chicken" feel most comfortable. What a powerful sound that would make! Just imagine: FRAAAAAAAAHD CHIIKEEEEEEN!

wow. Tenors, on the other hand are more in tune to using the upper half of the stomach to hit jarringly playful notes. That is what I think the real problem here is with Ficklefry. He just can't handle the playfulness of the tenor notes. In a food song, the tenors would be the celery part: straight forward most of the time, but playfully tricky other times. CELERY, CELERY, COROLLARY CELERY! I think Ficklefry needs to adjust to the occasional goofy tricks that happen in tenor notes... Being a tenor isn't as straight forward a job as being a bass. Celery isn't quite as powerpunch-filled as fried chicken. But I am proud of Ficklefry. He almost has it. At first I had my doubts. (seriously, I HAD MY DOUBTS. Sanswag and I kept dying of laughter because we kept mistaking Ficklefry for a dying pelican with all it's feather being plucked off one-by-one SIYABABOOOOONABEBEFUNUKUSIQUETA! ONE BY ONE!) Ok. when I randomly burst into Swahili song the post must be stopped...

Drama

Boy, this year's gonna be a fascinating one indeed! We are doing SHAKESPEAH. Nothing beats that. Why is that? Because I get to be a hopeless lover boy and an evil drunk in THE SAME PLAY. YES!! I WON!! Also, I get to marry Broadway! BUT WAIT! There's more! My rich drinking buddy (and favorite freshman...) Is adorable wittle Jub-Jub. I get to be drunk with my fave frosh. Come On. I know u jelly! Also something Twilight Zone-like happened today.  CRAZY DROVE ME HOME. WE BOTH LIVED. It was profound and amazing and terrifying and those words in succession make this sound like the climax of a DI! Hmmm... So I am also really anticipating this show because it won't have the cast members I'm used to... Yeah... I'm the senior now... Isn't that weird?  One second I'm in the middle of the cafeteria with a group of strange seniors of whom's names I was never told gyrating to their continual chants of "Dance, monkey DANCE!!!! The next second I'm filling out college applications! I'm still trying to figure out what happened in between it all. Just kidding! I'll never forget high school. (OH SHOOT! I'm jumping the gun! The heartfelt "I'll never forget any of this" speech doesn't come 'till! THE END OF THE YEAR.) Note taken. I still got a whole grits 'n potato filled year ahead of me! I can't get ahead of myself! There are still so many events that need to be documented!!! That's kinda cool though. If I were to keep posting like this it would become sort of a memoir. A long, long, memoir. Filled with spider genocide and elderly people and God knows what else...

Another topic of interest: SPEEEEEECH! The speech year has officially started: and the team has had quite the success so far! At the Yale tourney I quarterfinaled in the My Life As A Teenage Robot category, SanSwag quarterfinaled in the My Life Sucks category, and Critic WON in the My Life Sucks category. I am thoroughly impressed by this feat. The My Life Sucks category is especially challenging because well... There are sooooooooo many things about life that suck. Judge preference is very prevalent in the speech world. That is one unfortunate fact. No matter what piece you do: It will never be seen in the same light by EVERY judge. Anyways, Our next venue is a fun little trip to Khaki Central. I'm ready to get my groove(s) on!

Height Issues

I am tall. That is an understatement. I am VERY tall. Still an understatement. I am UNDENIABLY and ABSOLUTELY tall. And guess what? That's still an understatement. This has proved time and time again this school year to literally get in the way of things. Add the bookshelf-sized backpack and you have an accidental serial killer in the making. OK. I KNOW WHAT YOU'RE THINKING. "How could this dashingly handsome and affluent young man be a serial killer?" Well,,, I have it down to a science by now. So I'll show you how my tallness correlates with my (ACCIDENTAL!) violent tendencies.

Being tall is like being a Mormon. Never mind. That comparison would take way too much effort on my part to try to prove. Also, people would think that I somehow believe that Mormons are serial killers. (Serial Killer=Tall=Mormon? I don't think so.) So I'll stick to the KILLER comparison (Serial Killer=Tall! CORRECT!!!) So how about we prove that! OK!

Fact #1! Tall people are clumsy; clumsy to the point where it could kill someone! I have a made up story EVIDENCE too!!! So there one was this tall guy, right and he was hanging out in the bathroom. (tall people go to the bathroom just to fit in.) and some shorter guy was about to leave. They were going to high five, but the tall man MIIIIISSSSSED!!!!!!! And smacked the shorty's face! Oh No! And shorty fell through the front door onto an endless staircase! HE FALLS TO THIS DAY! In fact I even have a personal story demonstrating the accidental serial killer tendencies of the tall...

So in gym class we are playing soccer. My chances of hitting the ball is in actuality a 20:1 ratio. When I'm not hitting the ball (which is a common occurrence. NOT HITTING.) I'm either punting an imaginary kitten or breaking the shins of my peers. It's bad! It's not like I can see what my feet are doing. THEY ARE IN A TOTALLY DIFFERENT ATMOSPHERE! Serial killers tend to have repetetive tendencies... Breaking Shins... happens every other day...

Fact #2! Tall people are tall. I know what you're thinking: "NOOOOOO FREAKING DUUUUUH!!! That's like saying potatoes are like potatoes!" OK. I see your point. But being TALL is DIFFFEERRREEEENNNTT. The problem here is that I cannot see any of the wittle noobs because I am a head and a half taller than the tall ones. Than the TALL. ONES. Don't even try to compare me to the short ones. I don't want you spending money on a microscope. Have you ever tripped over a living, breathing, walking body? YOU DON'T WANT TO. IT'S UNPLEASANT.


Fact #3! I actually don't have one right now. But I need to follow the rule of three or my point won't be made adequately. "Only two facts! I don't believe you. In fact, YOUR ARGUMENT IS PREPOSTOROUS AND I MUST SEND YOU TO THE LAND OF RABBID GOATS FOR YOUR INSUFFICIENT ARGUMENT!!!!" I don't want to be sent to the land of rabbid goats. GASP! There's my fact three! Let's try this again...

Fact #1: CLUMSY

Fact #2: TALL

Fact #3: I DON'T WANT TO BE SENT TO THE LAND OF RABBID GOATS!

"Wow! This is a work of art! I love your edits. You my friend deserve an American Red Cross brand chocolate chip cookie!"

REALLY??? But that's like... The Medal of Honor of Sugary Sweets! The Nobel Prize of Chocolate Chips! The OSCARS, of Baking Mastery!!

"Yes, and you earned it!"

And that's why you should ALWAYS use th rule of three!!!! *Chucky Cheezy smile followed by Goofity thumbs up symbol!*

An interesting little thingy happened this morning.

I woke up this morning. The End. BRUHAHA. Just foolin'. I woke up and started getting ready for the edimacational facilitation (you know, that place that turns your brain into cheese.) and I was jolly. FOR NO REASON WHATSOEVER. So I had my JOLLY! shower. I JOLLY! brushed my teeth. I ate my JOLLY! Reese's Puffs. In fact I was so inherently JOLLY! That I began to sing and dance in the kitchen. And I had a JOLLY! Good Time until it was interrupted by Po Po's voice.
"I HEARD YOU"
"...you did?"
"You have a nice singing voice. It's only that I was trying to sleep and..."
"Well you can go back to bed now! I'll stop."
Then he up and went and got ready for school anyways. It was 6:15 in the morning and this child who attends an elementary school. Was getting ready. Now I REALLY felt the guilt. My arbitrary happiness prevented a child from getting a good night's sleep! (This reminds me of another situation that happened yesterday. Guardian caught me singing to the food in the refrigerator. It was pretty funny. But very embarrassing. I mean, how would you feel if you were in my house and I caught you singing to my sauerkraut?) I kept trying to urge him to get some sleep but NO! he was determined to be prepared for school 2 HOURS EARLY. He was putting his shoes on. HIS SHOES. I couldn't fathom it at all!!! If I had an extra two hours of beautiful rest I would take it faster than you could say "Singing Cauliflower!"

ANYWAAAAYS. Another thing happened. During eating time at the edification facility I sit with an interesting cast of characters. There is Crazy whom we all know, is utterly crazy. Then there is Panini whom we all know, is spaztic very frequently. Jenny Craig, whom we all know is usually perplexed by Crazy's actions (and gasp! Even some of my actions!) Then we have some new pseudonyms to introduce so here we gooo!!! So we have Dr. Turkey Fist. Whenever I look at him I think of a violent turkey trying to fight off the hobos who are trying to eat him for Thanksgiving and doing it successfully. Next we have Koreawoman. She claims to be Vietnamese but she is a liar. How do I know? A Vietnamese woman with a Hello Kitty lunchbox? Puh! That don't pay no bills! Now KOREANS. THEY BE ALL UP IN DAT HELLO KITTY! There is also Turtle Stew. She quietly eats her turtle stew. And finally there's an Alpaca. I don't know her.

Now that you have a cast of characters let's explain the situation here... Crazy always brings a gavel to lunch. I don't know why. She's crazy. She calls it a drinking device. How somebody could possibly drink out of a gavel I don't know. She's crazy. She never uses it either. WHY BRING A GAVEL IF YOU WON'T UUUSEEE IT?!?!?!?!? So I feel it is my duty to use it FOR her. So I take her gavel and repeatedly bang it on the table whilst screaming "ORDER IN THE COURT!!! OR. DUR. IN. DA. COUUUURT!!!!!!!" As you could probably imagine... This caused quite the ruckus... Everybody was all like "STOOOP IT'LL SPIIILL!" (Crazyness must be contagious or something)... So out of PURE AND RAW FURY! Jenny Craig SNATCHED the gavel from me! And a freaky voodoo illusion was cast on me. Probably by Dr. Turkey Fist because he thinks I'm a hobo... It was very convincing though. The gavel spilled an edible liquid across my face. This shocked EVERYONE (except Dr. Turkey Fist. He's too cunning to feel "shock"). But again. Gavels don't contain liquid as far as I'm concerned. I vow to get vengeance on Dr. Turkey Fist for his deceptive trick. Or my name isn't Carolina Joe!!! (AND IT'S NAWT!!!) 

New Newness

Well kiddies, I have officially been separated from my immediate family. I mean, It's not THAT dramatic though. I visit on holidays and stuff like that. I'm officially considered an elderly man of the education facility so that means this year will be a combination of a bunch of new creations of newly renewed NEWNESS! There will be: New Pseudonyms! (Gardenian, and her two children Pip Pip and Po Po...) New Cheezy Doritos!!! (YES! Now I have successfully enticed the audience into continually reading in order to get their chance at nabbing some AWESOME CHEEZY DORITOS!!Unfortunately for them, their efforts will inevitably futile!!!!!!) *Insert awkwardly orchestrated evil murmur of disturbing and vague laughter.* So now that I have your attention! LET US RAMBLE.

So I guess I will go further into detail about my current living arrangements. Gardenian is my official guardian so that means I'm living with her and her two sons (Pip Pip and Po Po) this year. Po Po, the older one, is a jolly little cauliflower who has an INSANE sense of humor. IN. SANE. Occasionally he will hit a funny bone and get me to laugh for a good twenty minutes. (That is actually very impressive. Usually when I laugh it's the fakest sound on the planet. Yes. Even more fake than Disney Channel. This is because getting me to laugh is like trying to tame your oxen to play dead when the health inspector comes around: IT AIN'T HAPPENING.) While Po Po's comedic talents are strong, he has a tendency to go into looooooooooooooooooong tangents that test the patience of even the most powerful minds at their worst. I'm currently teaching him how to spot a cheater when playing cards. Here is how it goes: I cheat. I tell him what he didn't notice after the fact. HE GOES CRAZY. It's quite a fascinating series of events...
"SEEE? I was actually holding THREE extra cards!"
"WHAAAAAAAAAT?!?!? YOU CHEATER MCCHEATY CHEATER!!!"
"Hey. Name-calling isn't nice! Besides. It's not cheating if I tell you I'm cheating."
"WHAT KIND OF DUMB RULE IS THAT!!!!"
"The rule of THUMB! (steals card using thumb) My good man!"
"GEEEEEZ LOUEEEEZEE!!!!! Stop it already!"

The younger one. Pip Pip, is an interesting little fellow. Oxygen is like steroids to him. It gives him all sorts of extra energy that would drive GRAVITY up the wall. He is kinda like Elphaba's flying monkeys... Not the genetically challenged bit: but the follower bit. He is too young to quite understand the humor of Po Po. And he usually attempts to copy Po Po's jokes WORD FOR WORD. (Normally I would say that's a bad thing but hey, HE'S COPYING FROM THE BEST.) He struggles with delivery though. He is not quite old enough to understand the timing of delivery. But once he matures, understands how to work a room, and gets his own jokes, he will surely be a riot!

OH YES! I HAVE TO INCLUDE HIM! OKAY. So there is this kid. I only experienced his presence for one day BUT STILL. hmmmmm... let's call him... RANDY RADCLIFFE. Pip Pip, Po Po and I visited his house one day. He is the most adorably enchanting little British Boy on the planet. This is the part where I use italics because they enrich the page just as this single boy has enriched my faith in humanity.
ENRICHED POINT #1: He knows magic up the wazoo! And he has made quite the dainty dollar amazing audiences everywhere.
ENRICHED POINT #2: HE'S BRITISH. I know the italics already establish this point but you don't understand so let me reiterate... HE'S BRITISH.
ENRICHED POINT #3: HE MAKES HOMEMADE ICE CREAM. NOTHING BEATS THAT. NOTHING!!

So yeah and finally there is Mr. Cool. A negro gentleman who's multiple coolnessess don't really need explaination. And that concludes my post. From the newly renewed world of newness this is Rtyoyo, signing out.

Whoooo boy. Parents.

I'm gonna talk about how my day went yesterday. So I got to hang out with my cousin Gambler yesterday at this excellent excellent place called GAAAAAMEWOORKS! They had everythin' there. They had my favorite type of game: the-beat-the-living-crap-out-of-your-opponents games. AND THEY HAD LIKE 10 DIFFERENT MACHINES FOR THIS TYPE OF GAME!!!!!! YEEEEEEES!!!!! They also had FOUR count'em FOUR DDR machines. I got to play Red Zone! RED. ZONE. possibly the MOST POPULAR AND MOST WIDESPREAD DDR SONG IN EXISTENCE!!! Yes. Gambler ended up losing all of her points within the first five minutes. The gambling ticket games cost like 1/4 of a 300 point card. ITS RIDICULOUS. The games I played costed like 1/89th of a 300 point card. So she ran out and I still had like 230 points or something like that. So out of the kindness of my heart I allowed her to use MY card for gambling. SHE REALLY WANTED THAT T-SHIRT. It turns out my card was lucky. SHE WON. 1000 Tickets. ONE THOUSAND. That was more than enough for her t-shirt. And I benefited as well. (It was MY card she used anyway...) So I got some candyyyyyyyyy. Weeeee! And I got a greasy burger. Weeeee! And I got frozen yogurt. Weeeee! And I got left at the house with the children all day. Weeeee! ALL DAY. Weeeee? See, Motherbot and Fatherbot got bitten by the jealousy bug and decided to go away while Gambler and I babysit the kids. It's understandable. It's only fair that they get a day off too. But still my hands are feeling full Gambler is being useless and leaving me to do all the work. Whiney started playing this imaginary game where she is a monster. This freaked the living kabuki out of Bean. But I turned on the penguin show and now they're farily calm. For now... To be truthful my parents aren't REALLY taking a break. It's parent teacher night at Whiney's new school. So they need to be there. Geez. To the parents ever get any breaks? They probably do. But it doesn't seem that way. I really don't plan on getting anybody pregnant anytime soon if children require this much maintenance. I had to cook and serve dinner. Change a diaper. Scream NO! Whenever Bean tries to climb on top of the television. (I don't really know if I'm supposed to scream NO! To save her or save the TV... I think it's both... Probably...)

DOODOOcacaaa

I don't know what to type right now... but it'll come to me... Like a groundhog coming out to take a gander at its shadow... O.O I got my toooopic!!! Groundhog Day. It's summertime, so that's why I feel we need to break out some ice cold groundhog to cure those heated boredom-bruises of the brain. (BADABADABIIIIING!! ALLITERATION-ING!!! JUST LIKE YAO MING! TOGETHER WE SING THE DING DING -ING SONG!!!!) I should be on a children's show! I got the spunk! I got the edocational caknowledges! GASP. I'LL START NOW!!!! Quick all you parents out there BRING ME YOUR CHILDREN! (Look, I know it's hard to trust an absolute stranger with the product of your loins, but TRUST ME. I'll make sure your kids are safe... I mean... I may not have any official PAPERS gauranteeing the safety of your child PER SAY... BUT YOU HAVE MY SCOUTS HONOR! Yes. I was never a scout. But by no means does that mean I am not equally entitled to their HONOR. We have a Constitution for a reason you know.)

OKAAAY! Children! CHILDREN!!! CHILDREN! Please stop complaining about the rattlesnakes under the floorboa-HEY! DON'T EAT THAT!!! *Sigh* poor Tom just ate snake sheddings. That won't digest easily... BAH! He'll survive. ALRIGHT CHILDREN! Let me tell you the epic tale of Groundhog Day...

Once upon at timeeeee... there was a hog. Now this wasn't any old salmonella poisoning beefcake HOG. No... This Hog was a HIPSTER. Now I'm not talking your average, everyday, "I think I'll where the blue hat" hipster. NO... I'm talking like "Lightbulbs on the CEILING?!?! That's too mainstream." Yes. This hog was HOG-CORR (Wow. That was painful.) He didn't roll in the mud. He stood in the shower. He didn't bend down his head to eat that ugly looking stuff hogs eat. In fact he raised his head up to drink blended vegetarian dishes. (Another added bonus: NO GLUTEN! Yaay!) Yet this hog hated the most mainstream thing of all. LIVING ON THE GROUND. So how did he try to solve this problem? Well he-TOM'S DEAD?! Ummm... Ok kids! Carefully make space in the closet behind me... WIDER! I don't want his vomit on my new fluffy coat! Ok lift him carefully... Good. GOOD! Now, somebody get a Clorox wipe and clean this vomit on the floor and YOU! yeah you! THE GIRL WITH THE NAPPY HAIR!!! Get some Fuhbreeze from the cupboard. The vomit is starting to stink up the room... Ok. While they work on that I will continue. So Mr. Hipster Hog wanted to live amongst the stars. He called his friend Muddlfungus. An Alien who could be found at coordinates 37 14'36.52"N, 115 48'41.16"W. (I told you this hog was a hipster. He hung out with a rather ABNORMAL crew) Anyways, Mr. Muddlfungus had built a HOUSE-CRAFT. A completely sustainable air-house that a whole family could live in for generations at a time. So this hog took a LIMO (heh. Hipster Swag.) to the coordinates. He was almost brutally made into bacon by the staff of Area 51, but they saw that he was THE hipster hog and treated him with the utmost care. The two hipters had a fun day together. They played with some toy aircrafts and they played with some minecrafts (not the explosive kind.) and they got the hog into the housecraft and UP HE WENT! Unfortunately, the housecraft was only meant for human use. Somebody didn't read the label! Silly Muddlfungus! And the hog immediately plummeted down along with the housecraft about an hour and a half into the flight. The house was buried in the ground. This means the Hipster Hog was buried in the ground. But he survived. He adapted! And this hipster was the very first GROUNDHOG. And Groundhog Day commemerates the day of his fateful fall as the epic transformation into the cute wittle fuzzy creature we know and love.

Look, don't put the blame on me! YOU didn't raise him right... He ATE. SNAKE SHEDDINGS. AND NOW HE'S DEAD... No he wasn't. I TOLD YOU: there are no specific papers stating him as MY responsibility!... I WAS NEVER A SCOUT!!!!... erm... loose interpretation?

Escape! DAY 2.

I told you it was coming soon! So yeah. Speeeeeeech will be Speeeeeeech. So what happened on day 2 of my epic escape from Illinois wasteland began in the morning. Which is strange. NOTHING happens in the morning. But yah. Garbear had a small mission to go on. He was to ELIMINATE all Kommunisto artwork in the Hipster Museum. And he couldn't do it alone. So he gathered members of THE SELLER'S GUILD! This included Broadway, Sanswag, Bucky, and myself. (Critic unfortunately could not attnd because he was gathering firewood for his mother for the honorary ALL-AMERICAN-SHRIMP-POTATO-BARBEQUE! A legitimate reason indeed.)I know what you're thinking: WHY WOULD THOSE KOMMIES EVEN DARE TO SNEAK THEIR POISON ARTWORKS INTO THE HIPSTER MUSEUM?! Well, it's obvious. THE MUSEUM IS RUN BY HIPSTERS. They might misinterpret evil for art. So we successfully infiltrated and annihilated any and all Kommunisto artworks. BUT WE WEREN'T DONE THERE. We got intel from Horribear that there was a kommie kongregation in the nearby park. We searched it thoroughly as if we were using Google's advanced toolbar... Yet we found not one kommie. This was relieving because there was no conflict whatsoever. But this was worrisome. WAS HORRIBEAR ATTEMPTING TO INTERRUPT OUR MISSION?!?! That would have infinitely slowed us down had we not finished the job. Not to my surprise when we entered the Bear Cave THERE SHE WAS. She released this gas in my sleeping area the night before that made people go crazy. It took effect that night. And I was rampaging around like a rabid wild boar. She did this specifically to antagonize Garbear. AND SHE WILL NEVER BE FORGIVEN! That Kommie used me as a WMD! I wasn't expecting to be turned into a hyperactive-kommie-zombie. But I was for a hot sec. It's a good thing I paid a visit to the ALL-AMERICAN doctor known as THE LORAX; or else I would have never been cured! And thus concludes my epic stay with the Bears.

Escape! DAY 1.

SOOOO. Muuuuuch. Happened. I haven't blogged. WAGAGAGAGZGAGAGAHAGAG. Well. I guess it's time to catch you up in one SUPER EPIC POST. I'll try not to let it happen again. Mmmmmmmkay? So. I finally got a chance to leave the wasteland of suburban Illinois to visit my beefcakes in NY. There was a SPEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH pool party. Whoop whoop WHOOP! But there was a teeeeeny tiiiiiny teeeeeeeeeeeeeeny tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiny teeeeeeeeeeeeeee(WE GET IT!) ok. Teeeeeeeeny liiiiiiiiiiitle problaemo. Who was I going to stay with during this escapade? *finger snap!* I KNOW... THE BEARS. Yep. You know who I'm talking about. The family of secret agents! But you didn't hear it from me! So yeah. I feld quite safe under the keen eye of James Bondbear. I spent most of my time chilling with Garbear. (you see he has this top secret mission investigating a meth lab run by Colonel Sanders in the basement of the Burlington Coat Factory. So I had to make sure to see him off safely. I also assisted in helping him study for his mission. We watched a movie about this chocolate maker with daddy issues who plans the assassination of five children in order to protect his product. He let the fifth one live because that kid solved his daddy issues. But still. This choco-MOB-BOSS was willing to KILL. CHILDREN. And chocolate is legal. I can't imagine what lengths a drug dealer would go... Or. Maybe I can. We also studied by watching a television show exactly matching the description of Garbear's special assignment. But we didn't do that until after the SPEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH PAAAAAAAARTYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! OMG. I is excited! It was a pool party!!! But then the sky got a booboo and started crying. And nobody likes sky-tears. Grrr. That sky is such a sissy! Well even if the pool was soiled by the sky tears, we still had a dandelion fun time! Speech is gonna be eeeeepiiic! We have these little foot soldiers who are going to DECLARE some new territory. (so many pseudonyms for the future! Yay!) Broadway is going to BLIND the competition with her pieces. My piece is gonna BURN. The Critic will be SWINGING away like usual. And Sanswag is gonna KICK. BUTT!!! It kinda feels like being in an army-I GOT IT! "THE SELLER'S GUILD!" That has a nice ring to it. Garbear's mission will have him very tied down. He won't be around the lead THE SELLER'S GUILD! So I guess I have to be a substitute for a while. I shall attempt to lead THE SELLER'S GUILD! with proper gusto to brighter speechified sunsets. I will also have guidance from the Almighty Seller herself. So it should be a promising year. DAY 2. coming soon. To blogs near you.

IKEA.

Guess where I went today... Crap. It's the title. So much for the "big reveal". The thing is... This "IKEA" place. WAS. ABSOLUTELY. ASTONISHINGLY. BIG. Now I'm not talking Batman big. I'm not talking Godzilla big. No. I'm talking Lassie's My Fair Lady Loves Lucy Extravaganza big. I was dazed the whole time. Like an elderly person who is running low on prune juices. There were SO MANY PEOPLE. You don't understand. It was like the density of the sun combined with the density of Charlie Sheen's ego. Every time I turned around I saw some new face speaking some different language. I heard French, Chinese, Korean, Russian, and Spanish AT THE SAME TIME. This gave me a headache. (Insert vivid adjective here. My headache gets worst when I think about it...) It also had a food court. LET ME REPEAT THAT. It also. Had. A FOOD. COURT. Oh, all this desk shopping has got my stomach really going! Honey, we should take a break and have lunch. WHAT?!?! It needs a food court?! Really?! Shopping for desks should take as little time as possible!!! They are desks. And cabinets. It shouldn't require a sacrifice of your mullah to the IKEA cafeteria. Sigh. American consumerism. Gotta see it to believe it. But I guess it doesn't matter all that much. The sheer population density of the IKEA facility I went to is most indefinitely going to destroy the building. I could swear the ground was shaking on the upper levels. My mom felt it shaking too. Good thing we got out of there before its indefinite collapse in the near future.

A boring adventure.

Whooooowheee. Boy have I got something to tell you! So currently I'm in Illinois as most of you know. Apparently, my mother had been illegally driving for WEEKS while being lucky enough to not get pulled over. You see, her license is invalidated in Illinois and she would have been jailed had she gotten pulled over. But she didn't. Yet, today is the day she decides she ought to go to the DMV and get a legit license. HOWEVER. She needs a lackey to be present so it looks like she didn't drive there with an illegal liscense. Guess who that jive turkey happens to be. YEP! ME. GOOD OL RTYOYO HERE TO SIT IDLY IN A ROOM FULL OF STRANGERS. I mean I guess it's kinda cool. I get to embody a blatant lie physically. But still. This is more a test of endurance than an awesome espionage mission. So that's where I am right now. Sitting. In the DMV. Doing nothing... Please have me in your prayers.

This is the paragraph where I document the utter insanity that is happening currently (hey I'm in the DMV for no legitimate reason. I need some form of entertainment!)

So there is this annoying voice that announces every person's number and what counter they are going to for assistance. It is very robustly rhythmic and redonkulously robotic. (If there are that many words beginning with the letter "r": you KNOW the sound gets annoying after the first 3 people.) The robot woman stars with an arbitrary "NOW SERVING" then the code (with adequate pauses after EVERY BURGER-FLIPPING SYLLABLE.) "EFF. SIX. ONE. TWO." then it tells you the counter number. For some reason the voice turns all seductive. You don't notice it at first but after the 33rd time the robot lady tends to sound much more excited when announcing the counter number. "at counter number fiiiiiiiive." Now imagine this same sequence of happening at about 5-15 second intervals. My eye twitches at the thought of it. I am helplessly wincing in my mind I I'm thinking "MAKEITSTOPMAKEITSTOPMAKEITSTOP." but unfortunately, wishes never come true at the DMV. 

This is the paragraph where I describe the cast of characters at the DMV. Let's start with the people behind the counters that the random robot loves so dearly. Eighty percent of them are elderly. The other twenty percent look like pencil pushers. Almost all of them are wearing glasses. Maybe they are special glasses so when the revived Ghengis Khan comes rampaging in they can use their laser-shooting standardized glasses to restrain him. I wonder if these elderly people are aware that Ghengis Khan is dead... I mean... They were certainly around when he was alive... I guess they weren't invited to the funeral. What a bummer! I heard there was a peacock there that sang the greatest hits of their day. Like "Wade in the Water" or "Ring Around the Rosie" or "Wonderwall" (Trust me. After what I've been through, "Wonderwall" is far beyond dated.) That's what's sad about the DMV. It's so dated. Everything is made of wood. The walls are all painted white. No. Not even white. More like dog poop on the sidewalk. No. Even that's too rich a color. It's more like spilled yogurt that never got cleaned up that's been sitting in the same spot for over twenty years. Yeah. And there are those weird old dusty posters with the squiggly lines that say "It's up to you." WHAT THE HELL DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?! I don't understand the DMV's obsession with melodrama in its promotional posters. Especially when in actuality it's all a major borefest. Maybe it's because the most current premotional sign in the DMV was made in 1977.

Anyways. The rant is over. My mom got the liscense. Barely. She barely passed. It's because the signs on the test had no words. You had to guess the words on the signs when in umm... REAL LIFE you don't have to guess. Signs are meant to be read. So really, its the test's fault. If you are driving at a speed in which you can only guess what the signs say, you need your liscense taken away IMMEDIATLY.

The New Basement

Oh. My. Goodness. Ever since I entered my parents new Illinois home I have been paranoid. Like paranoid and BEYOND. The spider count has hit 28 I FOUND ALMOST THIRTY SPIDERS. And the worst part is that I'm not using hyperbole. I found 18 in the basement and 10 throughout the house. Two were hanging upside down from the ceiling and I almost walked into them. One was in the sink of the bathroom. Three were scurrying across the floor. I found four on the window panes. As for the terrors in the basement: 6 made their homes on the ceiling. And I found TWELVE in the corners of the floor. Let me tell you a personal encounter with one of these eight-legged ninjas...

So my mother and I were folding linens. The children were playing with a curtain on the floor. All was peaceful. All was well... Then suddenly my mother releases a quick and jarring whisper "TURN AROUND" and I did. But very soon after I really REALLY wished I hadn't. It was a creature. Long legged and hanging quietly from the ceiling: legs twisting and turning like a demonic acrobat. I was paralyzed. But no. It didn't end there. Laying below it were the children, their innocent playing completely contrasting the air of emminent disaster above as the killer slowly descended. "get it" stated my mother but we both knew there was no way in hell I would touch that thing. "Should I get it then" "YES." "Fine, get some tissue from the bathroom." I didn't find any tissue. There was only toilet paper. Also I was slowed down because I didn't know how much toilet paper would be needed. "HURRY. IT WILL GET THE KIDS." I knew it was now or never, I needed tissue NOW. I had to get it for the children. So I quickly collected the toilet paper and handed it to my mother: who proceeded to crush the little booger in between the manufactured buttock wiping paper with masterful precision. She then handed me the result and told me to "flush it." I ran like the wind. I was moving as quickly as possible and yet I still felt a struggling leg scratching the side of my thumb. When it was all over. I was shaking, my heart was racing, and my spirit was breaking. I struggled folding the linens because my mind was constantly playing tricks on me. Every time I pick something up, I expected the worst. It took me a full hour to get over this predicament. 

Spiders are like spiders: the terror they bring doesn't compare to any other abomination. 

Bean is a baby female Tyrannosaurus Rex

Little Bean has become a violent little thing. IT'S SCARY.  She still has that hyper-adorability-super-drive in her. But SHE tells YOU whether being cute is in the question or not. (I don't know what the "question" is. WAIT. YES I DO. "To be cute, or not to be cute" that is the question. OH YEAH. Bonus points for me!)  Now if she wants something she will let you know by hitting you. Cold Heartedly and Mercilessly. Does she have no shame? None at all. SHE'S A BABY. So one night, Bean was with a cousin (let's call him Racecar) and while in his presence, Bean would randomly attack him for no reason whatsoever. Racecar would be walking around minding his own buisness then WHAM! One big shmakaroony TO THE FACE!!!! It's a good thing Racecar is resistant to pain. (no really he his. It's like a super power or something. He could be thrown our of a window of a La Quinta in hotel, fall several stories, GET UP. And keep running. And he doesn't need REM behavior disorder to do it! He must have diamond skin or something!) But Bean had a blast Kung-Fu kicking, gut-punching, and curb-stomping poor little Racecar. (again he can survive anything so it wasn't much of an issue.) IT TURNS INTO AN ISSUE WHEN SHE STARTS BEATING UP WHINEY. (Whiny is a tyrant as well, but it's more passive agressive and Whiney is more fragile and vulnerable than Pinnochio at a bonfire...) So she attacks Whiney and Whiney does what she does best and this causes a huge ruckus in the household. Bean also throws temper tantrums now. (they are not Whiney's "I'm gonna lay on the floor and pretend like there is a beehive inbetween my buttocks" tantrums they are more like "I'm gonna SCREAM A SONIC BOOM and STOMP AN EARTHQUAKE and SCRATCH LIKE A WOLVERINE!) A word of advice when taking care of Bean would be: Tyrannosaurus Rex. Tyranno-tyrant; THIS IS AN UNDERSTATEMENT. Saurus-lizard; SHE'S COLD BLOODED. Rex-King; well more like queen in this case-it doesn't matter what YOU want. Bean's word is LAW in this monarchy! Even if she can't speak yet.

I'M BACK BABY!!!!!!

Yeah. That's right. I kicking into gear again! I am gonna serve you a freshly cooked batch of bloggylicuiousness! So LET'S BEGIN. Hmm... Topics Topics Topics... OH YEAH! DUH! Ok so I'm currently in suburban Illinois (in other words, stranded.) And it's not quite as isolated as Wisconsin in the LITERAL aspect... Buuuuuut. There is no cable and the only internet connection I have is my iPhone. THIS SUCKS. A. LOT. I need to watch the news ON THE TV. Not on my phone! News is meant to be watched on a good ol amurikan televiser! But noooooooo. Cable wants to wait a week. I feel like a character on Lost or something! I'm going insane!!!!! Wait. I'm already insane. Nevermind. This is the perfect environment! I get to work on speeeeeeeech! And again, I still got my iPhone so It's not like I'm completely cut off from the rest of the world... yeah... Tea Parties!!!