05/20/2004: "Mad World"
Having been mildly smart, I had to take the PSAT a few months back. This translated later into the letting forth of a torrent of bullshit mail from universities I'd never want to go to ever. The mail gets divided up as follows:
Religious Oriented Schools: Shyeah. Right. Forward to trash.
Schools in the Deep South: I know it's not right that I threw these away, but if I'm gonna be stuck in college for the fuck of ever, I'm sure as hell not spending it in the swealtering heat of some conservative hotbed.
Schools I Can't Afford: Harvard, Yale... blah blah blah. I'm not going to pay tons of money every year to be made to cavort about in some insultingly lame suit and tie uniform thing. I spent 12 years doing that already. Or will have. In theory.
Schools With Crappy Names: You have a god damn college, and you name it something stupid like "Red Lands" or "Kettering"... any place lacking that much creativity would piss me off.
Schools I Wouldn't Mind Going To: Mostly Liberal Arts Colleges on the coasts... but damnit do I hate seafood...
All that being said, it should also be noted I have no idea what I want to do when I get into college, and that is a little scary. It's nice to know though that if I ever got down on my luck, I could always make it as a stand-up comic, right?
On a related mail-note though, the University Missouri-Rolla will not stop sending me crap. It even has it's own pile now, the UMR pile. Just recently, I got another thing from them in the mail, but it was damaged. To notify me that this wasn't their fault at all, the United States Post Office put a little sticker on there telling me that it came jacked up.
[It Looks Like This]
I got to thinking, what if I had a ream of those stickers. I could read everyone's mail, and just check the "unsealed" box on the sticker, and they'd think nothing of it. OR you go to like... the CIA headquarters or something, and put it on important looking documents, so they think their secrets are all out now when they really aren't.
For your convenience, I've replicated the sticker for easy download. I'm sure this is some type of felony, so I don't really advocate it's use, but if you ever felt compelled, [knock yourself out].
I've also come to the realization that many of the things on this website might be incriminating to a great many people. I write about everything that happens to me, that's a simple fact. If you've ever gotten in trouble for something on account of this blog, then you should know two things:
1. I'm sorry for the inconveniance
2. But I gave you a loophole.
Scroll down to the bottom of the page, click the link labled 'Terms of Service'. If you read it carefully enough, it says in a nutshell that by reading the content on this website you agree not to use it as evidence in any way shape or form, and using it as proof is totally senseless, because all content on this website is to be regarded as scrictly fictitious.
There's also a masturbation joke in there, so you should read it for that too.
Last week Lizz and I were hellbent on doing something new for a change. A goal for a while had been to get onto the roof of a building, just for the cool feeling of being up all high and being outside or whatever. Turns out the roof to the free parking garage in crown center is really, really easy to get on top of, there's a ladder and everything.
It's about 4 or 5 stories, which is saying something, but I want more. I want to be like... 40 stories above the ground. I want to be so high up I could spit off the edge, and then jump after it, and race my own speeding bead of saliva to an all-to-abrut finish at the pavement. Yeah... that's be pretty neat.
Afterwards we hit the park as usual. However, instead of just sitting around and making fun of stupid people playing frisbee or urging small children to jump in the pond, something interesting actually happened. We were sitting on the bench doing nothing, when Lizz said she thought she saw a bird fly into the pond. And by bird we're not talking ducks and geese, but something more of a sparrow.
When we found it the poor thing was spazzing out, ramming the rock wall that made up the side of the pond just trying to keep afloat. Lizz pulled it out, and we put it on a rock in the sun so it's feathers would dry off. It was really kinda sad, cause the thing was all shivery and blinking its eyes at weird intervals and whatnot. I was pretty sure it was a gonner.
So we just sat for a while and watched the thing, coming to the conclusion that it was a baby bird, and that's why it'd fallen into the water and was probably going to die and stuff. After a bit we just walked away for a while, and then we left, but not before stopping to check on the bird one more time.
It was still all shivery and pathetic looking, but I wanted feel what it felt like one more time, because normally birds are to fast and you never get the chance. Just as I'm reaching over, and Lizz begins to scold me for pestering it, it chirps really loud and hops away. I guess it was ok then, so we left. This was my good-vibes animal-humanist moment for the year.
oh fucking hell.
I got up to get the cordless phone for the next segment about the battery in the phone, and I somehow got disoriented and slammed my bare foot into the banister... there was definatly a sickening crunch as I straightened out my mangled foot-digits. Ow...
I still, however, refuse to wear shoes.
Hence the gaint calouses on my feet.
My goal is to get the entire foot so worn down that I no longer need shoes any more. That'd be pretty damn convenient.
I was hanging out with Lizz and some of her friends last weekend, and they decided we had to go see the end of this band's set at some coffee house. "Whatever," I say. I'm always open to a good session of rocking out. However, this was not to be...
As we approached the coffee place, I instinctively had a bad feeling. "What's the name of this band again?" I ask. They're called 'The Raging Hormones'. This does not bode well... Neither does the vision of a small coffee place, maybe 40 sq. feet of floorspace, crampacked with people skanking. I can't even hear the music at this point, but I know it's going to be bad.
We pull up, and go in. At this moment, the book "Stranger in a Strange Land" came to mind, because that's what I was. So many snooty rich kansas kids... all getting to excited over a medeocre ska band. It was like a scene from a crime drama, except without the proceeding pipebomb explosion from the bathroom.
I would have taken the pipebomb to what came next. "Gee Tom," you might ask, "What could be worse than getting the shit blown out of yourself by a pipebomb?" I'll tell you in one word: Schupener. He's this little fucker from one of the Shawnee Mission schools that thinks he's friends with some people on the Miege squad. Believe me, he isn't.
This isn't like school-debate-rivalry-bullshit, Schupener is just an asshole. So seeing him at the place full of people I probably wouldn't get along with, listening to music I really don't care for, was an unfortunate sequence of events.
At least the pipebomb would have stopped the music.
Anyway... back to my battery story that was so rudely interrupted by the crippling of my left foot: I was examining the cordless phone last night and I noted one of the stupidest warning lables of all time:
"DO NOT BURN OR PUNCTURE
BATTERY. LIKE OTHER BATTERIES
OF THIS TYPE, IF IT IS BURNED OR
PUNCTURED, IT OCULD RELEASE
TOXIC MATERIAL, WHICH MAY
The image that this evokes is some stupid redneck community burning their garbage back in the 1960s and they throw in some old batteries and an explosion follows. That's reason number one why we shouldn't have warning lables: because trash-burning-explosions are awesome. Reason number two being that anyone stupid enough to puncture/burn a battery deserves, on the grounds of natural selection, the ensuing chemical burn; at that point, they've fucking earned it.
I also like how the warning-writers were so cautious with their wording. "COULD RELEASE TOXIC MATERIAL, WHICH MAY CAUSE INJURY." With odds like that, I think I'll take my chances. Hell, I could shoot a hole in the thing, and according to the warning it could possibly not release anything at all, and even if it did, that stuff might not even cause injury! According to that, the odds are one in three that you'll get hurt. Look at the possibilities, from best to worst:
Toxic material not released, therein no injury is possible.
Toxic material is released, but it does not cause injury.
Toxic material is released, and you get the shit burnt out of you. Bummer.
Hell I might even write the bastards...
Sanyo Energy (U.S.A.) Corporation
2055 Sanyo Ave.
San Diego, CA 92173
Dear Sanyo Energy Corp. of America,
A better warning lable would be:
"TOXIC SHIT WITHIN.
OPEN AT OWN RISK.
EXCEEDING 456 DEGREES."
Almost as good as that lable is the one on the battery cover of the phone, which reads "IMPORTANT: The handset battery MUST be installed and charged prior to use." Thanks for the heads up guys... BECAUSE THERE ARE SO MANY CORDLESS PHONES THAT RUN WITHOUT ELEC-FUCKING-TRICITY. Geez...
That's all for this week. The next blog you read will be the first official blog of the summer, and we're kicking it off with my very own presidential campaign... because god knows there isn't anyone else qualified enough for the job.
Were I to ever get in a duel
-which cowboys frequently do-
I'd want to duel on top of a building