The Great Dilemma

Can I write about sports?  Let's see!

Every few years, maybe even longer, a great baseball player, a must have kind of guy, becomes a free-agent in baseball.  It's signings of these players that allows for the building of great teams without having to subtract other pieces (i.e. via trade).  This is meant as a means for teams to have opportunity.  It's a way to prevent teams from monopolizing players for their entire careers.  A way for bad teams to improve with the signing of a check.  It's a way to keep things interesting, entertaining.  A way to get fans exited, and to turn them off.

It has become clear this off-season that every team cannot truly participate in the free-agent game.  Not now.  Not with this economy.  Not with these Yankees.  The same Yankees that have existed since the 1970's when George Steinbrenner took over the team.  They spend, and spend hard.  They are the team you don't want to be with at the poker table.  Ever.  Whatever amount you put up, they'll raise you.  No matter how good your hand is, theirs is always better.  They have money, and it shows.  Lord it shows.

Our country has a terrible situation at hand.  We are in the midst of a recession, people are spending less, and so are baseball teams.  Many teams have made high offers to AJ Burnett, CC Sabathia, and Mark Texiera, but all of them have been outbid by the Yankees.  But they haven't just been outbid, they've been outbid by a lot.  The Yankees have the luxury of playing in the money-machine that is New York City, and have a new ballpark opening in April.  This clearly seems like a competitive advantage.  They make more money, thus they can spend more money, while the most of the rest of baseball suffers because of the economy.

But are the Yankees taking advantage of a weak economy, or just taking advantage of a great opportunity?  Maybe both.  But even if the economy weren't so poor, the Yankees probably would still be making the same offers, probably even higher ones.  They've always spent like this, and there's no reason to believe that no matter what the state of the economy, they're going to spend.  So while it may seem like a noble thing to hold back in the name of fairness, of competitive and and economic balance, it ultimately doesn't matter.  If the economy were better, and teams could offer more money to players, the Yankees would still top them if they so desired.  It's the way they play, and have played for years.  

If the Yankees are taking advantage of anything, it's the opportunity they have.  Both Mark Texiera and CC Sabathia are considered to be at the top of their game, and Grade A players.  How could they just let them pass?  They saw an opportunity and took advantage of it.

To be entirely clear, I do not condone the Yankees gross spending, but it's really nothing new, and how can you really blame them?  Who is going to play for the Yankees for a normal salary anyway?  It doesn't happen.  It's not necessarily that they carelessly overpay for players, but it's expected that New York means more money now.  There are lots of great things that come with playing for the Yankees: pride, history, the chance to win.  But New York brings a lot of bad too.  The media is tougher than anywhere in the country (only Boston possibly equalling), the privacy level is almost zero, the pressure is infinitely higher, higher cost of living, etc.  With all these negative aspects a higher salary is almost expected in New York these days, even with the Mets.  

But I do feel bad.  I am a Yankees fan.  I feel like a greedy, rich old man who's buying up all the good cows for my farm, while all the other farmers have no good cows.  Or least a fan of that greedy, rich old man.  But, ignoring that analogy, it cannot be overlooked that there are reasons the Yankees spend like they do, and did spend like they did this off-season.  It may seem really really unfair, and on the field, it probably will be, but life isn't fair, and neither is baseball.

Just ask all the Red Sox fans who lived from 1918-2003.

(I'm sorry the Yankees are ruining baseball, but the MLB allows for it.  So blame them.  Seriously.  They should do something.  Now.)

Watch. Sleep. Repeat.

There's no denying that there's a lot of garbage on television these days.  Networks run hours upon hours of shows that no one actually desires to watch.  And I say desire because it's true, no one does desire to wacth them.  Before mindless reality shows were plaguing prime-time no one was saying, "Hey, you know what?  I really wish there was a show where people competed to marry a bachelor!"  No one was yearning for such shows to be made.  There were no cries, no protests.  And yet, we watch.

We watch because "it's on" or "it's 'entertaining" or "there's nothing better on."  No one watches because they really desire to, at least not the first time.  Of course the sensation of addiction kicks in after a viewing or two, that's the point of television.  Producers don't make shows that you'll watch once and never turn on again.  They want you to watch the first episode, then come back every succeeding episode.  That's the point.  That's how they make money.

There are shows people watch because they desire to though.  There are shows with truly interesting and intricate plots, with developed characters, and merit.  There are shows that do more than just entertain.  They make you think.  They make you laugh, they make you cry.  They get you excited, or they make you scared.  They create emotions that in totality make life just a little bit better.

There are shows that teach or inform.  There are entire channels dedicated to infusing the mind with knowledge.  The news and a broad spectrum documentary style shows fall into this category.  This kind of television sticks with you.  It's not just a series of passing frames that'll be gone once the thirty minutes or hour is up.  It lasts.  What kind of feeling do you have after watching a reality show?  A brief entertained sensation?  Maybe even some satisfaction.  But what do you feel after watching a scripted show or informative show?  Enlightenment.  Edification.  Content.  The ultimate utility of watching a scripted show or informative show is infinitely greater than that of a reality show.

Whenever you sit down and turn on a reality show just take the time to think for a second about what you're doing.  You're spending time, which you will never get back, to keep yourself mildly entertained.  What are you ultimately accomplishing?  How are you bettering your life?  You will never get that half-hour of your life back.  Ever.  And you're spending it watching crackwhores fight over a washed up rap artist.  Do something you care about instead.  Something that really makes you happy, that you really enjoy.  Something that you think about when you're not doing it.  

Read.  Draw.  Talk.  Exercise.  Eat.  Write.  Walk.  Drive.  Play.  Laugh.  Sing.  Anything.

But for God's sake, don't watch that filth, because we all know ten years from now they'll find out it causes cancer.  Or at least stupidity.

Finals Suck Worse than a Retard on "Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader"

Finals blow.

Watch.

Things I Learned This Weekend...

This weekend I saw the The Day the Earth Stood Still and man, did I learn a lot! 

I'm just going to list everything I learned this weekend:

• In case of alien invasion, Keanu Reeves should be kept for ambassadorial purposes.  He speaks their language.  And Japanese.
• If aliens ever do invade Earth and try to wipe out the human race, and they're anything like Keanu Reeves, I think I would want to die.  I know I wanted to during the fake alien invasion witnessed in The Day the Earth Stood Still.
  
• If Earth is ever invaded by aliens, the only person who will be allowed to communicate with the aliens would be the United States Secretary of Defense.  I think the logic behind that decision is pretty obvious. 
• Klaatu is a dumb name.
• Iraqi reporters have terrible aim!
• Who throws a shoe?
• George Bush might be a Ninja.
• No matter how much alcohol you consume The Day the Earth Stood Still will not get any hotter.
• In-N-Out is a great place for religious debate.  And a Mecca for crazy Asian guys.
• Honking loudly like a male goose during mating season will not get you laid.
• Clydesdales like shenanigans. 
• It's really easy to play hide-and-go-seek with a blind guy.
• Exploit fat children for humor.
• Angus Young owns one outfit.  And may be retarded.
• In football, the penalty for a false start should be death.
• Hellen Keller would suck at board games.
• Everyday 10,000 kids die from AIDs, and Blackberry unveils a new phone.
• Someday, every phrase will have an abbreviation, and sentences will cease to exist. ROFL.

Bye Muffin.

California, Rest In Peace

Well it's almost official: California is broke.

This sucks.  This sucks for a number of reasons.  First of all, California is now going to have to go on welfare.  That's kind of embarrassing.  Utah is somewhere laughing in disapproval.  Probably in Utah actually...

And trying to convert California to Mormonism.  

But don't worry!  I have a solution!

Just think, what do you do when you really need money?  Who do you call?

VIKINGS! 

I say we send a team of highly trained Vikings to each and every home (including, but not limited to, boat-homes, troll-huts, tent-cities, cardboard constructs, and igloos) to loot everyone* in California.  Simple.  Effective.  Gummy bears.

In other news.  I found this in my fridge today.

I bought it, but I wouldn't have.  I clearly made a poor groceral decision.

Yoghurt.  It says Yoghurt.

What the fuck is Yog-hurt?! Yagh-hurt?!

How did this happen?  When I go yogurt shopping I make a selections like I'm Rainman.  Actually, more like Dustin Hoffman.

I can't believe I didn't look at the label and say, "That one has too many letters."

A feel a little raped.

The name Mountain High is a clear indicator of what this company is all about. For all we know the cows on the label own Mountain High. 

That one big cow is just staring me down.  He's like, "I'm a cow mother fuckah!  Moo-fucking-ooo."   

He's also an Italian mobster apparently.  Actually... Marlon Brando?

Question of the day: Can you break your legs in space?

Peace & Justice

*Does not include me.

The Inconvenience of Giants (Revisited)

(Note: I'm going back to my original format.  Clicking the links is necessary.  The links compliment the writing, like how Judas complimented Jesus.)

 

(Note the puffin in the corner.  Puffins are funny in name and appearance.  Double funny points.  Circle gets the square.)

I was thinking earlier, wouldn't it be cool if giants existed and were kept as pets?  They could move stuff, or crush stuff you don't like, or catch you dinner!

But then I realized that giants a.) would never be kept as pets, that idea is more ridiculous than the lyrics to "Summer Girl" by LFO, and b.) the existence of giants would be worse than Pearl Harbor.

A world with giants would be horribly inconvenient.  I think there's even a non-fiction book called The Big Fucking Guy (above) about the terribleness and inonvenienceness of the existence of factual giants.  Since we live in a world of equality everything would have to be made usable by regular people and giants as well.  Which would be cool at first because everything would just seem like novelty props, and those are cool.  

Just imagine phones!  and imagine chapstick!  In order to put chapstick on you'd have to chapstick your entire face.  If you thought magnum condoms were big, imagine Giant condoms!  They'd be body condoms, for sure.  Pleasure and suffocation guaranteed!

Driving would be a lot more fun though.  People cars would look like Matchbox cars compared to giants' Tonka-sized behemoths.  We would all know how Smart car owners feel.  This rates an 8 on the Silly Scale.   

Our freeways would go from the hellish nightmares they are now, to Monster Truck Madness.

(Why are monster truck rallies only on Sundays?  Monster truck rallies are nothing like other things that are on Sundays... like church or bad store hours.)

Imagine if all furniture, homes, and home appliances were made uni-species, for people and giants.  Everything would be inappropriately large.   People would get lost in couches.  More than they do now.  Babies would get killed by their toys.  Nerf guns would be similar to Revolutionary War-era cannons.  Homes would have cathedral ceilings at all times.  And I imagine it would take a team of highly trained Vikings to use a blender.

And in response to a question asked by Kanye West: "Does anybody make real shit anymore?"

Yes.  That elephant pooped a kid.

Stay Classy San Diego.

Crash, Crash, Bang, Bang!

Today in San Diego, CA a United States military owned plane crashed into someone's house.  How rude is that?  First of all, they didn't even ask, and secondly the pilot ejected!  I mean, if you're going to crash into someone's house at least have the courtesy to guide it straight in and not fuck up the lawn.

I've been listening to the same ten songs for the last week or so now.  I don't know why.  I know what each of them sounds like.  It's not like I'm learning anything new by hearing "Womanizer" for the ten-hundredth time.  The words and music are exactly the same as the first, second, and twentieth time.  It's not like the song is suddenly going to change to Bing Crosby tap dancing and singing the Sound of Music theme (Patent pending on the idea to make songs that will randomly and uncontrollably change).  It's like staring at dirt expecting a tree to grow right before your eyes, then start tap dancing and singing the Sound of Music theme.

Peace.

It's a Cruel, Cruel World Without Love

Some one should have listened to this guy.

That was 2006.

Fuck.

Oh Me, Oh My, What a Terrible Time to Fly

I've decided I'm going to detail my ridiculous job history.  It's pretty silly.  I've worked with lots of strange people, probably more than the average human.  So, enjoy!

My first job was absolutely cranially incomprehensible.  I drove a truck to strange and far places.  But the driving of the truck was not the sole purpose of the job.  On the back of the truck were large pieces of rolled plastic, which when introduced to air erected into large boxes of temporary joy and happiness otherwise known as moon-bounces.  I drove these pleasure palaces and left them with complete strangers for a few summers, mostly by myself (though I did work with him, and him for a bit).  I was essentially a mail man.  A mail man who delivered huge packages that eventually had to be taken back to the post office at the protest of crying children.

(I realize there were no people mentioned in that...)

My next job was... at Dunkin Donuts.  I worked there for a day.  That is all.

After that I went to work for a hotel restaurant.  I worked in the kitchen.  I washed dishes.  It was terrible.  There I worked with a mustache bearing, 5' nothing, nearly deaf, absolutely out of her skull insane woman.  I mean this woman would chew paint off a wall if she could wrap her mouth around it.  Together her and I washed dishes.  She taught me many things.  She taught me how to use an industrial dishwasher and that people still listen to cassette tapes.  She also enjoyed telling me every cassette that she ever purchased or considered purchasing.  She also liked telling me her sister's life story.

That job was so terrible that I considered faking my death to quit.  Instead I quit by leaving a message saying I had moved to go to school in Boston.  I hadn't. (Yet)

Next I worked at Pizzeria Uno.  I had three bosses there.  One was the owner, a woman, who did every drug under the sun, and it showed.  One manager was a young version of a human douche.  And the last one was an old version of a human douche, who somehow worked with John McCain on his campaign.  Surely, this manager was the reason for his defeat.

I'm really sick of writing this.  I hope your sick of reading it too!

So let's continue.

On second thought let's not.

Bye.

Ok, I had all this typed by the time I decided to write the above... so DGAF.

 

By my .... fourth? job I was cutting meats and cheeses a local deli.  Here I worked with a convicted arsonist, a wife beater/pedophile/psycho, and a pedophile/psycho/40 year old virgin.  The arsonist believed he could speak every language and that he knew every cheese.  He also spoke in a Southern accent even though he was from Pennsylvania.  He also enjoyed singing songs with a country twang even though most songs require nothing of the sort.  The wife beater/pedophile/psycho was best friends with a cat and covered in tattoos of cartoon characters.  The pedophile/psycho/40 year old virgin was the most normal probably.  He spent most to all of his time in a freezer in the basement of the store and enjoyed hitting on women aged 60 and above while dating an 19 year old.     

There's no TV on my TV

2008 is coming to a close, so obviously that means it's time to reflect on all the valuable things I've learned this year.  Some I've learned through experience, others I've learned via Chicago.  Like Snapple cap Facts, these will be in no order whatsoever, and likely will be numbered entirely at random:  

Valuable Lesson #238:  Ironing clothes while they're on you is a bad idea, but washing and drying clothes while they're on you is worse.  Keep in mind I use a washer and drier.

Valuable Lesson #152:  If God ever challenged Wikipedia to a match of Trivial Pursuit for the salvation of man we would be royally screwed.

Wikipedia seriously is smarter than people.  If it ever becomes self aware, we're done.

If you like music made on acoustic guitar by strange bearded Georgians then check out this guy.

Places Not to Cry

"You don't know him!  You don't know him!" I hear cried from out my window.  My attention is caught quickly by the yelling.  I listen closely.  A girl cries hysterically outside to her mother over the phone.   The first thing that comes to mind: I must take advantage of this girl's sadness.  I begin to write. 

She continues sobbing and screaming like her life is crumbling on an MTV reality show.  Her mother doesn't care.  Neither do I.  Don't cry in my earspace.

There are some places you really just shouldn't cry.  I would say that near the top of that list would be a courtyard.  Not just any courtyard though, a courtyard that is surrounded by dorm-rooms filled with spry college students' ears.  Tomorrow, half of the school will probably be saying, "Did you hear that fucking girl crying last night?!"  And surely at some-point during the day she will overhear people mocking her, and it will bring her back to that moment of sadness... and it will begin all over again...

"You're not gonna die, why would you die?" she yells.  How does sentence that fit into any conversation ever held by a human being?  She yells more...

"I hate you!... Yes I do!"  The plot thickens, and I, and everyone else on campus is confused and highly entertained.  TNT couldn't make drama like this.  

"You're stupid!  You came from nowhere!  You give the worst advice!  I don't even know why I called you!"  By now I don't even know why she's still talking to her mom.  No real exchange of words has occurred in several minutes.  I'm brought back to days when crying and bitching and screaming were normal.  Those were days when I was ten, and I would watch my six year old sister cry because the ice cream man was out of Chaco Tacos.  The fact that an adult girl/woman can be compared to a Chaco Tacoless six year is just incredibly hilarious.

"What so I can get a 'B' because I slept?... And fail out of the class?!"  My brain is chapped by her stupidity.  "You're a horrible mom!  You are!"  The girl is furious and raging like Mel Gibson after a few drinks.  The entire dorm complex is listening.  She has no idea, and continues on her vapid (yeah, I thesaurused that word), yet epic rant.

"I can't e-mail him!  You don't know him!  If I'm not dead, I need to be there! And I wasn't dead!"  And that, folks, may be the dumbest thing I've ever heard.  Brain-aneurism dumb.

The plot finally makes sense.  She missed a class because she accidentally slept in, and since she wasn't dead she's going to get a 'B' and fail the class.  Logical.

"Mom, you just need to grow up!"  Your mom needs to grow up?  I think you need to grow up, whining bitch.  Learn how to talk to your mother too.  That woman raised you, goddamn it!  And learn not to cry out-fucking-side where hundreds of your peers can hear you clear as day, and will likely be mocking you till the hats are tossed and you wave goodbye to college.  Look forward to that day, because that is the day when you finally may be able to regain just a liiiiittle bit of your dignity, and no longer be known as "that crying bitch."  

Nah, just playin' , that shit'll follow you to your grave.

Interview with a Vampire

Twilight has arrived! Go crazy suckers! (get it... vampires suck blood).

Here are a few highlights from my recent phone interview with Lydon State College SGA President Andrew Chapin:

• Surprising black Power Ranger Rap
• 3G iRon face
• Starbucks Robot= Starbot
• The polar bears are dying
• Google Walking Directions
• Face Lambtee
• Deceiving customers = insider trading
• Nick is in Cleveland
• Good strategy
• There is only one Blockbuster in Southbury, CT
• Seven Christmas Trees
• -30 degrees/10= 3 Christmases
  
• Bone Digger
• Old men with oxygen tanks steal cars
• Artichoke
• I've smelt moth balls, but who held the wings?
• Tom Brady's leg smells like almonds
• Taking notes on top of a newspaper
• Mum mum Mumbai!
• Wearing back packs to Starbucks
• Limited Edition Blue Pencil

Pretty epic.

Black Friday

Today was Black Friday, one of the most fun days of the year.  The name Black Friday is pretty self explanatory, I think.  But for those of you who are a little slow in the chrome dome; Black Friday is a day to celebrate black heritage.  This Black Friday was celebrated passionately across the country.

In California two men celebrated Black Friday by killing each other in a bout of gang violence.  A Wal-Mart employee was trampled to death by a group of  anxious celebrators in New York.  I celebrated Black Friday by wearing face black and pretending to have magical powers, and shopping at Marshall's.

I'm glad we have this day to celebrate these peoples.  They're an intricate and stabilizing part of American society and culture.  Without them how would we have the clothes we wear?  At least the clothes made out of cotton...

Sadly, there lots of people who mock this holiday.  Many stores across the country drop prices ridiculously low in "celebration" of Black Friday.  They think they're being ironic by selling cheap stuff on a day celebrating black people.  These stores believe the only way for black people to be able to buy things is if the prices are Quadruple-Wal-Mart discounted.  Black people aren't poor!  That's such an slanderous stereotype!  And what's more, they open the stores extra early and have six hour morning sales in mockery of black people.  They know black people hate waking up early!  It's just icing on the grits-cake.  Cornbread.  Sorry.  Watermelon.  Goddamn tourettes finger.

Well, Happy Black Friday!

(P.S. I hope we have a white Christmas- I can go on for days about white people.  Fucking honkies.)

Happy Birthday Jesus Turkey!

So today is Thanksgiving.  Thank God!  I haven't ate in nearly three weeks in preparation for this day.  I've whittled down to 73 lbs, which is quite healthy by Nicole Richard standards.  I can see bones I didn't even know existed!   It's quite educational actually.  I've found an entirely new respect for anorexics.  They don't want to be thin to look good, they want to be thin to learn about the human anatomy, which is very altruistic of them.

I don't want this Thanksgiving edition of Written Noise to be too long, so I'll get back to the point.  

Thanksgiving is a day to eat like you want to be damned for all eternity.  Remember, gluttony is a sin!  Not just any sin though, it's No. 2 of the Seven Deadly Sins (height on the list is relevant)!  So for all you God-fearing Christians, make sure you keep that in mind!  The typical dinner may only get you a 10,000 year sentence of ass-reaming by Hitler, but dessert, man!  If you value the length of enternity by any means, then stay away from dessert!  Dessert will get you gang-banged by by a group of deceased Mexican Mafia members while Amy Whinehouse endlessly shits in your mouth (yes, she's in Hell already).  This is all fact. It can all be seen on the Moral Nutrition Facts labels now on all packaged foods.  This label not only shows the amount of calories, fat, sodium, carbs, etc. a food product has, but the moral ramifications of eating said product.  It was really pushed by the Society of Christian Ethics...   

Back to Thanksgiving...

You should also keep in mind that there are millions of people starving in Africa, so when you go for that fifth serving of Mom's cranberry and walnut stuffing, feel guilty.  Feel really guilty, fucker.  Nobody needs that much fucking stuffing.  Jesus.   And for all you ladies out there, this is the one day of the year you get to eat like one of the boys.  You can stuff your maw till it overflows with grease and meat liquids, and no one will say a word.  Cherish this day, because tomorrow you have to go back to starving yourselves so that men will find you attractive.

Oh yeah, and for all the Indians, remember all your ancestors that were slaughtered to make America and Thanksgiving possible.  If we hadn't taken over all their land we never would have been able to invent corn and potato chips.  We also wouldn't have been able to teach them how to build casinos and make all natural tobacco products.  We really made Indians the success story they are today.  Indians now have more respect than Jews even.  Indians have sports teams, and car companies, and SUVs named after them, do you see GMC (laughing should ensue at the mention of GMC) rolling out the "Jeep Grand Judah?"  No!  Fuck no!  Indians are just that much more respected and loved.  You Indians really owe us.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Live Every Week Like it's Shark Week

Hey, hi, sorry, okay.

I recently came to a very shocking, very important realization: I haven't written on my blog in nearly a fortnight!  Seriously! A fortnight!

I would like to lay the blame on a broken "P" key on my computer keyboard, which has plagued my life, socially, academically, and ethically. (I was actually forced to use a different computer, with a working "P" key, in order to write this blog.)  For the last month I have been substituting the letter "P" with it's brother: lowercase "Q".  You may think, "Where's the logic in that?"  Honestly, I'm not sure, and, shut the fuck up!  Don't fucking ask questions.  The only letter that looks like a "p" is "q".  Yeah, "R" does look like "P" with an extra "leg" or whatever you call it.  Stanza?  And "B" is a "P" with a baby on board.  "F" is a "P" without a face, "D" is a "P" with down syndrome, but none of these options work quite as well.  They just aren't as similar looking.  If you ever see a sentence with what looks like a misplaced lowercase "Q" try putting a mirror up to the text.  If the word makes more sense as a "P" then you know the author has a broken "P" key, and has employed my tyqing strategy.  See that was supposed to be a "P", did you catch that?

Being without the "P" key for the last month really made typing interesting.  The simple sentence, "Paul pleasured platypuses pornographically pretending politely to pork Pakistani Pilgrams," would look more like, "qual qleasured qlatyquses qornograqhically qretending qolitely to qork qakistani qilgrams."  Kind of goofy looking, huh?  The most ridiculous part of this whole ordeal though, is the fact that I've been doing this for a MONTH!  The worst part is that now I  think "Q" and "P" are interchangeable.  I asked an English professor at my school, he's says that they definitely aren't, and asked if I attended school here.  When I responded "Yes," he handed me a mop and told me to drop out.

I'm just bound to fuck up this P&Q thing.  "Every man has the right to trial by jury of queers."  This sentence is just waiting to happen.  Waiting like a fat chick for dinner. 

I don't think it's a coincidence that there's that old saying, "Mind your P's and Q's!"  It must have something to do with the similarity of the lowercase versions of the two letters.  Or fruits?  Mind your pears and quats?  

There's more though!  Not only is my "P" not working, but my semicolon, question mark, and colon aren't working.  I mean, my colon is working, but not my colon key.  And by key I mean the small square that lays in the insert below the "P" that allows for the colon to function.  You can imagine how frustrating, and even inhibiting, this is.  Whenever I've had to ask people questions on iChat or e-mail etc, I've had to type out the word "question mark."  This is embarrassing.  A lot of questions aren't recognized as questions unless a "?" is included.  If meant as a question, but without a question mark, the sentence, "You want to go to a movie," is just an awkward thing to say.  I am not Yoda, I cannot will people to do things.  Imagine if someone said that to you in statement, not question, form.  Imagine it with an exclamation point, "You want to go to a movie!"  That's just a fucking stupid thing to say.  Of course, you can add the simple preposition "Do" to make it unmistakably a question, but pfft, who has time to type a word like "do"?  

Anyway, my version of the question would usually look like: "You want to go to a movie question mark."  This makes no fucking sense in any sense of the sense.  Even if you say, "You want to go to a movie (question mark)," it still looks dumb as fuck, and your friends will think you're either, a.) illiterate, b.) dumb as fuck, c.) gay, or d.) all of the above, which is the triple entante, in which case, in Japanese culture, you are required by law to kill yourself to avoid the embarrassment of being French.  This is not something I want to do, so I Apple+C'd a "?" and my Apple+V keys have been getting a good workout whenever I ask questions, or make confused statements; "Huh?", "Whaa?", "Gunt?".

So now I sit, with my glass of non-fat milk and shitty Ralph's brand peanut butter- which has found its way allover my hands and keyboard-and I'm about to finish my first blog in a hwhile.  This may be the longest blog ever in the history of ever, so I don't expect anyone to read this far.  And if you have, STOP!  You're wasting your life.  Actually, you should probably just finish out, it's pretty much over.  It's like walking out of a movie with only one scene left just so you can beat the traffic.  Yeah, sure, you'll get out of the theater and get home before everyone else does, but you won't know how the fucking thing ended!  What the fuck is the point in that?!  You spent 27 fucking dollars to see "Beverly Hills Chihuahua", so stay the last 3 fucking minutes to see if the dog lives or dies!  It dies, but Jesus, come on!

Good to be back.

Bye.

Money Scheme

Tomorrow I am going to go to Sears and find the smallest, most frightened looking child without a parent within ear-shout, tie them up and try to return them at the nearest orphanage.  Hopefully they don't ask for a receipt.  

Money!

Wish me luck.

Oh Satire, You Slay Me

Only in America I say.  Only in America can a man like Barack Obama be elected President.  President!  They would never have this kind of thing in other nations.  Communist Russia? No.  Nazi Germany?  Hell no!  Spain?  Pfft!  It's true, it's 100% true!  There is no other country, past, present, past imperfect, subjunctive, or future that would ever elect a man like Barack Obama; America is the only country that would ever tolerate such a ridiculous name.

Barack Hussien Obama.

What was his mother thinking when she named him?  Barack Hussien Obama is a name that was just destined to be mocked, rhymed with, and joked upon.  And didn't she know that someday in the distant future that two out of three of his names would turn out to also be the names two enemies of the United States; Sadam Hussien and Osama Bin Laden (it's close, okay?)?  It seems to me that Barack's mom, Sadam's mother, and Osama's mama were all in cahoots!  I imagine that somewhere out there there's a fourth party.  Another terrorist leader perhaps?  Maybe a radical neo-Nazi?  Josef Barack?  Barack van Damme?  Is Cher's full name perhaps "Cher Barack"?  Horrifying.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not implying Barack Obama is a terrorist, or even foreign.  I'm just saying his name is quite ridiculous.  If this guy saw his name, he'd get a boner and then probably ask for his number.

But Barack is right!  It's time for a change!  It's about damn time that silly-named people have a chance to do something!  For years they've been oppressed by normal-named people, and it's just not fair!  All the Melvin Moras, Mike Hunts, Jack Mihoffs, and George Nipples of the world can now rejoice!  The world now views you, yes you Wendy Bottom, as real people.  All those who fought during the Silly-Name Rights Movement of the 1950s haven't had a prouder moment.  I saw many of them weeping gently last night on my television screen.  Not so much  literally crying on my television, but within the bounds of the screens projection.  When once these people were our inferiors and our slaves, one of them is now our president.  When once they were judged on the pronunciation of their name, not by the content of their character, we now look beyond the cover, but to the pages.  When once they had their own restrooms, water fountains, and schools, they now live with and among us.  This is change.  This is the America I want to be a part of.

Congratulations Barack Hussien Obama.  You are a true hero and a pioneer for silly-named people everywhere.

Peace & Love Homedawgs!

Being a Robot

I've been at a loss for good blog ideas lately.  Some call it writers block, but I don't know how blocks relate to writing, so I'll refrain from using that phrase.

Anywho, I was just immediately inspired by a comment I read about myself on a friends Facebook page: "I found it hilarious at the time cuz andrew (that's me) was so gone (drunk) that he thought he was a robot."

This is possibly the coolest fact I've read about myself in a while.  It has inspired me to consider what life as a robot might be like.  I spent most of my time as a robot dancing.  I suppose that is what most robots spend their time doing: dancing.

If I were permanently a robot though I would probably spend less time dancing and more time getting a job.  Too many robots are stereotyped as being lazy, vengeful, and violent machines.  I would most likely apply to a position at NASA.  After being appointed the position of astronaut I would proceed to conquer space.  

After I returned to Earth I would invent the clock and continue to dispel robot stereotypes.  Then, once I have read every Wikipedia web-page ever constructed, and know every fact about everything ever, I will battle Ken Jennings at Jeopardy and defeat him before an audience of the 7 most intelligent and powerful people to ever live; Alex Trebec, Albert Einstein, Socrates, Harry Potter, God, Robin Williams as the Genie from Aladdin, and the voice of James Earl Jones.

If you're thinking right now, "Hey! Robots don't exist!"  That is false.  They absolutely do.  Stay out of Wyoming and Stanley Kubrick films, that's how they'll get you.

Some people say the future of robots is bright.  I tend to agree.  Every time I see a robot I'll think back to my time as a robot and recall the joy of being robotic.  So next time you see a robot, don't turn away in disgust or fear.  Don't grab for your purse, act as if they aren't there, or throw a hurtful slur their way.  Smile and say, "Hello robot, I respect you and what you stand for."  As the great Dr. King once said:

 "And when this happens, when we allow freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Robots, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual:

                Free at last! Free at last!  Thank God almighty we are free at last!"

Peace & Love homies

Real Humans Vote Democrat!

Here are ten, 100% true, completely reasonable, absurdly unbiased reasons why not to vote Republican in this upcoming election:

1. John McCain's medical record is longer than the King James edition of the Bible.
2. While in the Navy and during his time as a prisoner of war at the Hanoi Hilton, John McCain had numerous gay encounters and performed many abortions for the North Vietnamese, whom he was very friendly with.  Conservatives be warned!
3. 1 out of every 12 children will be eaten by John McCain.
   
4. If you vote Republican, you will go to Hell.  Even if you don't believe in it.
   
5. Cashews are the best looking, and most delicious nut.
6. White men can't jump.  John McCain is white.
7. John McCain says the word "maverick" too much.  Imagine if he learns a new word.
8. Sarah Palin: Alaska has been a state less than the amount of time John McCain has been alive.  She has tourettes. We might as well impeach her now for an imminent sexual scandal, Russian invasion, or bridge fiasco.  Alaskans have the same needs and wants as penguins, polar bears, and violins.  Maybe she should run for  President of the Animal Kingdom.
9. His slogan: "Country first ?" As opposed to what?  Pirates and Happy Meal toys?!
10. John McCain doesn't care about the little people. He hates midgets (see Stream of Idiocy).

"In Dick Morris' Defense, He Is a Lying Sack of Shit."

Can a brotha propagate fo' a quick second?

Click this, this, and this.  Most importantly: this (scroll to the bottom that one).

McCain '08!

Anyway, now on to the important stuff.

This little bit is entirely 100% inspired by comedic genius Michael Ian Black.

Some Things that Could/Couldn't Fit in My Car:

Could: A sandwhich.

Couldn't: The entire London Symphony Orchestra.

Could: A small tank of lobsters.

Couldn't: Pi.

Could: A basket of warm colored fruit.

Couldn't: Saturn.

Could: James.

Couldn't: James and the Giant Peach

Could: Matchbox 20.

Couldn't: A Ford Focus.

Could: An unassembled grill.

Couldn't: Three tyrannosaurus rex.

Could: The complete George A. Romero Zombie Movie Collection on DVD.

Couldn't: The implication of "etc."

Could: Air.

Couldn't: Half a whale.

Could: Matthew Broderick.

Couldn't: Oz.

Notes:

• Vampires!  If you're planning a trip to the Congo stock up on garlic, silver bullets, and sun.
  
• Congratulations to this woman!  You're famous!
  
• Remember!

Words that Start with "!"

It's official, India is going to the moon!  I guess they haven't heard the news; space race is over, and we won bitches!  I have a few theories why India may be launching this mission, and what they may do once they reach the moon

• Construct the moon's first convenience store 
• Own and operate a gas station
• Pollute it
• Eat it with lots of curry

I also have some ideas for what they should do, because I know Indian President Pratibha Patil is an avid fan of Written Noise

• Take the world's supply of curry to the moon, burry it, and never look back
• Leave an elephant there
• Project the movie Lage Raho Munna Bhai onto the sky using the Hubble Space Telescope
• Reinvent dancing
• Find Osama Bin Laden

That's all I've got.

Payce.

Stream of Idiocy

John McCain is ready to shake a midget!

Does anyone know who's in charge of Canada?  I really don't think there's anyone running shit up there.  This is a colossal epiphany!  It's kind of like Home Alone ("Oh my God! Where's Kevin?!"),  except with an entire nation.  And instead of a menacing 10 year old being missing, there's an entire leader missing.

I think I might go up to Canada and act dissatisfied with the whole general state of the country, then demand to see who's in charge.  It works at P.F. Changs, so why wouldn't it work in Canada?  If you don't see any connection between P.F. Changs and Canada that would allow me to compare the two, then the movie Santa Claus Conquers the Martians should clarify any questions.

In other news:

They just invented caffeinated potato chips, and I only have one thing to say: finally! 

They also just released caffeinated soap, and there's only one thing to do: CLICK!

Also!

I think Michael Jackson should be cloned and replace all current mannequins for both comedic and safety purposes.

This website should not exist: http://www.mannequindisplay.com/

I think Sesame Street advertising should become more widely acceptable.

"Sunday Night Football is brought to you by the alphabet; making words possible!" 

God knows that the alphabet could use some promotion here and there.  You hardly see it anywhere anymore!

Here's a useful link just incase you should encounter aliens.

A Brief Note

Everybody, check out this: Yesterday's Bake.

That's basically my sister blog written by neighbor, friend, and bearded man, Nick.  It is awesome.

I have a preposition for everyone.  Yes, grammar jokes are game.  When you're reading Written Noise imagine a character from the cast of Superbad, Anchorman, Family Guy, South Park, the Office, whatever you fancy, speaking the text from post.  I think it makes for a pretty entertaining read.

My dad called me today, I was at work so I didn't pick up.  Later I looked at my phone and saw I had a voicemail.  I listened to it.  My dad left me a long, elaborate pizza order that he said was from a guy named "Jose".  It was to be delivered to 75 Boulevard (not Watkins Blvd, or Old Spice Blvd.,  JUST Boulevard).  Jose also left an 8-digit phone number to reach him at.  Phone numbers are either 7-digits (without area code) or 9 (with area code), so this number was one number short or one number too long of being any kind of real phone number.  During the message he made no indication that he was my father, and indeed could have actually thought his name was Jose and that he was actually ordering a pizza.  I've made a note to call home to make sure he hasn't gotten into hardcore drugs, or become a landscaper...again.

Thanks Dad.

Ciao.

-Andrea

Punk'd Meets Milton Bradley

Today while in class, instead of learning I came up with a new game.  It's best played with 2-20 people (although more are possible), and can make any party, dance, or dinner date that much more exciting!

The object of the game is confuse the shit out of one person; a vulernable target works best.  Try blondes, children, mentally handicapped, and Alzheimer's patients for starters.  And there is only one rule for this game; don't allow the target near a mirror or any type of reflective surface.  So, with that, let's get to the game.

First, you need to pick your target.  Once that is done, you can either approach them solo if your in an empty room, or space, or you can get a whole group of people to help with the attack.  The more people you have, the greater potential you have for an epic game!

Once your target is picked, and your group assembled, approach them and say something along the lines of, "Hey, what happened to your ear?"  Now, obviously they cannot see their own ear, so they will immediately think, "Uh oh, there's something wrong with my ear!"  But here's the trick; there's nothing wrong with their ear at all!  Now is the time for you and all of your accomplices to stare confused, or even disgusted by the target's ear.  If you know anyone who can throw up on cue, use them.  Anyone who can make themselves cry, sign 'em up!  Fainter?  Yup.  Make it as ridiculously dramatic as humanly possible.  Have some one run around the room screaming in a language no one understands.  Someone reciting passages from the Bible while showering in Holy water.  Maybe even have someone gauge their eyes out.  The more chaotic the better.  Your subject won't only be confused by the orgy of panic that they've induced, but they'll really think there's something wrong with them!  Hilarious!

Just make sure your subject doesn't get anywhere near a mirror, because then they will in fact know that there is nothing horrifyingly wrong with their ear (or other body part).  In the event of this happening, yell "Code Red!" and run away making loud police siren noises while waving your hands in the air frantically.  That alone may put the subject into a confusion induced coma.

Well, that's basically the game, so drop by your local elementary school, homeless shelter, or training school and get started!  Once you've mastered those places you can try to play the game with real people.  Good luck!

Warning:  Attempts to play this game with elderly people may cause stroke, heart-attack, urination, naseau, and vomiting.  Consult their doctor before trying.

October: Oranges Time to Shine!

Warning: This post is surprisingly and unnecessarily offensive.

Offensive:  Elmo eating an Asian kid.

Eleven out of twelve months of the year the color orange is completely neglected and looked down upon as an outcast.  It's like the Jew of colors.  Nobody wants to be associated with it, live in it's neighborhood, or most importantly, have it for a mother.  But come October it's like pre-Holocaust Europe, orange is everywhere! 

Not only is October the most open-minded month of the year for accepting the color orange, but it's also one of the most exciting months!  No, not because of Halloween, Columbus Day, or Canadian Thanksgiving, but because it's Polish American Heritage Month (PAHM)!  You know what that means!  Everyone gets to dress up silly, eat meatballs, and have their yard conquered by their neighbor!  This may also include Blitzkrieg (specifically #3).  Yay Polish people!

Another reason October is awesome is because it is the only month that pumpkins exist.  We call this the Punxsutawny Phil effect.  The only true difference between the two is that pumpkins do not have the innate ability to primitively predict the fate of an entire season.

The best part of having pumpkins for one month are all the delicious foods that are derived from pumpkins; pies, cheesecakes, quiche etc.  And if you really want to go crazy, you can mix two October celebrations (the celebration of Polish American Heritage, and the celebration of pumpkins), and you can make pumpkin pierogi!  Delish.  But make sure you eat as much pumpkin product as possible by October 31, because by November 1 they'll all turn back into carriages (Happy PAHM!).

So, orange, enjoy your time in the spotlight now, because November is coming, and then no one will give a fuck about you for another eleven months.

Catch ya'll later.

  -Andrew

Steven Hawking Ain't Got Shit On Me!

So this is the big bang of my blogging career.  Exciting?  No.  Historic?  Yes!  I've been thinking about doing this for a while, but I keep putting it off,  like I do everything in my life.  Which can be problematic when I put off such things as eating, or breathing for example.

I'm not sure the direction of this "blog" yet.  I think it'll be half fun, half serious, all amazing!  I hope to post entertaining, if not bewildering!, text not quite as frequently as the New York Times, but more frequently than the Brockhaus Encyclopedia.

I guess the hot topic at the moment is fresh-out-of-the-closet emo-boy Kanye West.  Kanye has gone from being a badass who calls out the President on national television to a guy who cries on stage.  How emo!  His earlier songs have titles like, "We Don't Care", "Get Em High", and "Crack Music."  How thug!  Now his songs have titles like, "Love Lockdown", and "Heartless!" (If you thought the original "Love Lockdown" sucked, then check out this mashup!)  

The lyrics in Kanye's new songs prove his emo-transformation, "So you walk around like you don't know me/ You got a new friend, well I got homies/ But in the end it's still so lonely."  So emo!  But, Kanye gets gangsta points for the use of "homies."  The use of homies prevents white, non-gangsta emo-bands such as Death Cab for Cutie or I Would Set Myself on Fire for You, from covering Kanye's shizz (tight-panted emo-boys everywhere are creaming themselves over that bands name alone!).

Not to go off on a tangent, but what the fuck?!  What kind of a band name, or even statement is, "I would set myself on fire for you?!"  Where does setting yourself on fire get you exactly?  The hospital, maybe?  But it sure as hell won't get you a girl (or man if you are of the inferior gender... or gay.  Just kidding! Love ya fags and hos!)! There is nothing that turns a girl off more than being on fire.  Nothing.  Anyway... 

Besides going totally gay for emo, Kanye West has also gone insane.  Check out his blog.  It's more or less a Toys R Us catalog for Kanye.  Half of his blog looks like Ikea in the year 2038 (we never used to say "in the year" in the '90s, what happened?!).  He shows us some weird lamp he either wants, owns, or invented in his free time. 

He also posts pictures of spaceships, ear pencil sharpeners (probably the most disturbing thing ever), and Ellen Degeneres.  What do those three things have in common?  Kanye owns all of them!  As well as Fonzworth Bentley!  Yes, the umbrella guy from the Outkast video.  Kanye West owns him!  Unbelievable!

Well, I'm tired of typing and hyperlinking... so here's a few closing things I think are funny and/or incredible!:

• Death by stereotype.
• This guy's general appearance. 
• Stuff White People Like.
• Stuff Black People Hate.
• Barack Obama.

Peace & Love Homies!

Andrew