A Study in Awful: Black Prologue

So far, this blog has been mostly about me being in stupid situations that I could easily have avoided. It has included me making fun of people who can in no way defend themselves. As entertaining as I find that, I've decided to take a new turn here. I'm going to start making fun of things that can be defended. In this case, it probably won't be the original creator defending it because he is apparently an award-winning author and I'm a tiny, unnoticeable blip on the blogosphere.

Now, I am in no way an expert in anything. I don't have a college degree. I'm not especially talented in any one thing. I'm the first one to admit that. So, where do I get off on insulting people that apparently have more talent than me? What gives me the right to make horribly offensive comments about people that are published when I'm not? The simple answer is fuck you. The more complex one is no seriously, fuck you.

Today's Study in Awful is on Ted Dekker's novel Black. Now, since this is a 408 page novel, I'm going to break this up into several different parts. I would just do a one shot review of the whole book, but I can only read so much of this at a time without inflicting physical harm upon the closest living thing. As such, I'll just go over whatever I can get down in one sitting.

Carlos Missiran was his name. One of his many names.

Oh fuck. It's been a while since I've read through this trilogy of books and I've done a lot to help me forget it. However, if I recall correctly, Carlos's other names never come up again. So what's the point in telling us that he goes by many names? Padding! Yay padding! On the second fucking sentence of the book.

Immediately after, we're introduced to Valborg Svenson. You can tell Valborg is a badguy because he's foreign. Also, the next sentence tells us that he was born in hell. What.
Valborg and Carlos are sitting in a dark room, thirty feet apart and eating steak. Why are they sitting in a dark room? Because evil! Without a word, the two get up and go into Svenson's study where they watch a lab that's busy at work on creating a supervirus.

Dekker proceeds to prove how evilly evil the evil evil is by describing such evil things as smoking! Having black hair! Wearing black clothes! THAT FIEND!

Svenson stared at the lab below. The swiss wore his hair parted down the middle so that black locks flopped either way. In his black jacket he looked like a bat.

Bat + Black = Evil

QED: Batman = Evil

I should probably point out at this point, if you don't already know, that Ted Dekker is a very popular Christian author. I do not have a problem with someone being a Christian. I don't really care what you believe in. If it makes you feel better, great for you. However, there is a section of Christianity that has some pretty crazy beliefs that the rest of the Believers don't share. A lot of these typically involve unreasonable and contradictory-to-the-Bible hatred for other people. I'm pretty sure that Ted Dekker is one of those crazier people and these beliefs will come into play down the road in this book.

Like now!

He was a man married to a dark religious code that required long trips in the deepest of nights.

Two things. First: What the fuck does that even mean? Second: This, I am fairly certain, is referring to some form of "witchcraft." This form of witchcraft  shares a lot of similarities to the witchcraft that Christine O'Donnel didn't practice because it doesn't exist. (By the way, Fred Clark is a great down-to-earth theologist that I always enjoy reading. He's also done a massive project tackling the terrible theology behind the Left Behind series. You can check it out here. )
Back to the book

Carlos was certain his god dressed in a black cloak and fed on misery, and at times he questioned his own allegiance to Svensson. The man was driven by an insatiable thirst for power and the men he worked for even more so. ... Carlos didn't care to understand the depths of their madness; he only knew they were the kind of people who could get what they wanted, and in the process he would get what he wanted: the restoration of Islam.

Ah, that's nice. Carlos, being evil, is a follower of Islam. Nice, Ted Dekker. I understand that you have conflicting beliefs with Islam but I'd like to remind you of a little something. Islam and Christianity have their base roots in Judaism. All three worship the same God. The only differences are in the prophets. Also, you're an intolerant fucking prick for this.

"Maybe he's just adding depth to the character by giving him religious beliefs." Ho ho, you poor ignorant fool. We're only on the fourth page of the prologue so you don't know quite yet, but I can assure you that Carlos is about as deep as the author's understanding of other religions.

The problem here stems from an underlying belief that broke through recently with the debates about the Islamic community center a few blocks away from Ground Zero. In short, the belief is that simply by being Muslim and following the Islamic God instead of the Christian God, you are evil.
That's why those terrible, evil "Moose Limes" chose to build an Islamic community center a few blocks away from Ground Zero. They did it to spite those good, patriotic Americans that really suffered during 9/11! And hey! Did you know that there were no Muslim Victims? Oh.

Ahem, that's more fitting for another post at another time. Back to the book. (I'm only at the top of page 4 of the prologue. This... This hurts.)

After three and a half pages of nothing happening, the only two characters we've met so far finally experience a thing!

...Carlos had interviewed fifty-seven scientists from the former Soviet bioweapons program, quite persuasively. And int he end, nothing. At least nothing they were looking for.                             

 The Telephone on a large black sandalwood desk to their right rang shrilly. 

 Neither made a move for the phone. It stopped ringing.

Wow, Ted Dekker, thank you for that. Hey, reader, aren't you so glad that you were told about that absolutely useless piece of information? The only credit I can give to Dekker here is that he didn't do this:

As an aside, hey, what the fuck does Carlos look like?

"We need you in Bangkok," Svensson said. His voice sounded like the rumble of an engine churning against a cylinder full of gravel.

"Bangkok."

"Yes, Bangkok. Raison Pharmaceutical."

"The Raison Vaccine?" Carlos said. They have been following the development of the vaccine for over a year with the help of an informant in the Raison labs. He'd always thought it would be ironic if the French company Raison--pronounced ray-ZONE, meaning "reason"--might one day produce a virus that would bring the world to its knees.

Spoilers, that exact thing happens. Here's another thing I want to point out: Carlos actually spent time thinking that Raison Pharmaceutical might produce a virus that would effectively cripple the world. I'm no expert when it comes to pharmaceutical companies, but I'm pretty sure there aren't any out there that actually work on creating viruses.

The exception that proves the rule

The two proceed to exposit details on I don't even fucking know because this is seriously awful. Then, Svensson pipes up with this:

"...Our man at the CDC received a nervous visitor today who claimed that the mutations of the Raison Vaccine held together under prolonged, specific heat. The result, the visitor claimed, would be a lethal air-borne virus with an incubation of three weeks. One that could infect the entire world's population in less than three weeks."

Oh, hey, convenient. That's exactly what our villains want! Man, it's like this is a poorly written book or something. I'm just kind of curious about how they ca--

"And how did this visitor happen to come across this information?"

Ah, yeah, thanks Carlos.

Svensson hesitated. "A dream," he said. "A very unusual dream. A very, very convincing dream of another world populated by people who think his dreams of this world are only dreams. And by bats who talk."

. . . . .







. . . . . . . . . .






Let's think about this for a few seconds. A man that can best be described as --ahem-- "nervous," walked into the CDC claiming that talking bats in his dream told him that a vaccine (a vaccine for what, by the way? Who knows? It never says) will mutate into a lethal virus even more contagious than smallpox if kept under a certain heat for a certain time. The man, as far as we know, has no credentials when it comes to science. He has no evidence other than talking bats in a crazy, very convincing dream he had. Nobody would fucking pay attention to him.

Carlos, the evil Muslim, has his hesitations. Svensson responds to his uneasiness by saying:

"We have our reasons for paying attention."

Like what? I mean, other than the fucking convenience to your world domination plot, what reason you could possibly have to believe this lunatic? Hey, book! Book! What is your reasoning for this, book?! BOOK!

Svensson had covered the CDC well, with four on the payroll, if Carlos remembered correctly.

CDC had 14,000 Employees in 2007. This book is set in 2010.  Yeah, that 0.02% of the CDC's employees is definitely great coverage! Okay, but maybe they're at the top of the ranks. That would seem like a logical explanation so I'm satis--oh ho ho, wait, Dekker doesn't say anything more than that.

 Even the most innocuous-sounding reports of infectious diseases quickly made their way to the headquarters in Atlanta. Svensson was understandably interested in any report of any new outbreak and the plans to deal with it.

Great. So, about the four employees you have under your thumb. Where do they rank? What do they do inside the CDC? Dekker isn't a stupid man. After all, he has 33 novels under his belt. I'm sure he'll explain this.

But a dream? Thoroughly out of character for the stoic, black-hearted Swiss. This alone gave the suggestion its only credence.

Or, y'know... Not. Svensson proceeds to be EVIL! and talks about the man a bit more. Carlos is still somewhat unsure about the whole thing. He isn't convinced that the crazy man with the crazy dreams should be trusted since, y'know, crazy. Svensson repeats his orders one last time with the added bonus of more EEEVIIL! to kill people after they've exhausted their use.

And thus ends the prologue of Black. We still have 402 pages until the end of the book and it only gets worse. Just wait until we get to the Other Earth.

I am going to write something!

"I am going to write something!
I must write something!
I can't write nothing!

MOTIVATION DAMMIT!
BE MOTIVATED, SELF!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"
Following that, the keyboard found itself receiving a barrage of unnecessarily brutal attacks that left it mostly broken. It wondered to itself about the nature of its existence. Did the keyboard do something to deserve the hammer that now just destroyed the number pad? It didn't think so. As far as it could remember, the keyboard had always been a very helpful tool and obeyed its owner faithfully. Never had there been a more loyal computer part! So, the keyboard wondered, why did the User now unleash so much harm and pain upon it? The keyboard didn't understand. Probably because it's a fucking keyboard and doesn't have a brain to understand with.

Derp derp derp

At any rate, my keyboard was broken. (That's my story and I'm sticking with it) That's why I haven't posted anything since, uh... When was the last time I posted? Yeah. Then. I know I've said a couple of times since the new year started that a new post was coming. And then I failed to deliver. That hurt, didn't it? I understand. For that, I apologize. However! Now that a new post has come, don't you feel all warm and fuzzy? Yay warm and fuzzy!

And now, madness!

So, today is January 20, 2011. You know what that means? That means you have 701 days until the end of the world! OH NO! Unless the world decides to end before then. I've been warned that it might happen before then.

This story takes place in a movie theater. But first, some set-up. You get to see some pretty interesting people at movie theaters. Wait, did I say interesting? I meant horrifying. It's even worse when you are a worker and have to meet the demands of insane people.

"That" is back!

"Well, what's so insane about that? If you go to the movie theater and eat popcorn, you HAVE to have butter! That's a law, isn't it? Also, why is your MSpaint avatar always naked?"

I'll address the last question first: Shhhh.

As for the butter, it starts getting insane when you have a KFC-bucket sized deal of popcorn that is approximately half popcorn and half butter. We called it "Popcorn Soup" and it's as disgusting as it sounds. And, of course, if you're getting violent about the amount of butter, you should probably take a step back and think about your life.

Anyway, I had been working at the theater for about three months at the time of this story. We were right at the end of summer in the Midwest so weather was being crazy. The Management actually put up signs saying something along the lines of "If the power goes out, then you're shit out of luck and you aren't getting a refund. What were you thinking coming to see a movie when there's a tornado watch anyway, you idiot?" The power had gone out once or twice before my shift started. I walked in and was warned to be ready for a great night.

The night went on. I didn't have any of the problems that the day shift had so all was well. Up until the last shows of the night. The power started flickering. Now, I imagine you're probably a fairly intelligent person. You probably sort of have an idea of how movies are run. There's a screen and a projector, right? Yeah! Good job! Really, the only detail you need to know for this story is that the projector runs on electricity. Common sense. So, the power is flickering which therefore means...?

If the power goes out... Then.. The Movie... IS A WITCH!

Close! It means the projector shuts off and the movie stops playing. Probably because of witchcraft, though, so you only sort of missed it. Well, for the first two shows for this particular round, the power had flickered and shut off so we were warning everyone that we were having some trouble. Right around this time, this guy came in. You'll understand what I mean by this guy in just a second.

He walked up to the counter and I greeted him as a good concession stand worker should, "Hello there! Ah, just so you know, the power's been flickering because of the storm so it's kind of messed with our equipment. I'm just letting everyone know beforehand just in case something happens with the movies."

So far, everybody had been taking it pretty well. They understood, "Hey, I came here during a thunderstorm.  I understand." This guy was no exception. We actually had some pretty nice banter going on before he ordered. "Haha, good. All right, could I get a large popcorn and a large--Hm, lessee. Do you have Dr. Pepper?"

No. No we did not. We had Mr. Pibb which is the exact same damn thing. "Oh, no, that's no good at all. I'll just have a large coke instead." I shrugged off the fact that it's the SAME. DAMN. FORMULA. and went ahead to ring him up. Just then, lightning flashed and the power went out for a brief second. Luckily, the back-up generators kept the projectors running. Unluckily, all the computers reset. All of them.

"Oh, crap," I mumbled. The man gave me a curious look. "Ah, sorry. The storm just caused my computer to shut down. I have to start everything back up."

And then! It happened!

The man (or Fly, I guess?) chuckled for a second before he went into his rant. He looked me straight in the eye with a look that told me if I looked away he might just stab me. "This is the problem with having everything on computers!" I stood shocked. Um. What? "No, think about it! EVERYTHING is on computers these days. Back when I was younger, you didn't need a computer to buy some popcorn!" I tried apologizing for the inconvenience. At that point, he leaned in real close--and I mean real close--and foretold that the end of the world was only one power surge away!

There I stood with this man right in my face, predicting that society as we knew it was about to collapse back to the rock ages with a single lightning strike. I thought about arguing against it by saying something along the lines of there is a lot of space and how unlikely a single lightning strike would cause the fall of society. Realizing that the man was likely crazy, however, I decided to respond with, "You're absolutely right! We need to stop being so dependent on these machines! A man is just as capable as doing the jobs that computers do!" That being said, I proceeded to write down what the man bought, handed him his change back and prayed that he would quickly depart with his concessions without spitting digestive juices on me.

I SAID I WANTED COKE, NOT PIBB

Looking satisfied that he'd saved one poor youth from the evils of technology, the man scuttled off to his movie. (which, if I'm remembering correctly, was 2012.)

This is something that's been bugging me lately. There are lots of people talking about the end of the world and other such conspiracies. Let's think about this a bit, eh? Let's think about 2012 specifically. The whole basis which people use for the world ending is that the oddly specific Mayan calender just suddenly ends around then. They skip over the fact that it's a calender. In fact, some argue that the whole 2012 craze is just people exaggerating a bunch of bullshit and trying to scare people's money into their own pockets. Actual  experts on the Maya, despite their rather crappy websites, say that the Mayans never said a thing about the end of the world at the end of their calender. I'm pretty sure that guy knows what he's talking about because he's looked at more than a fucking calender.

So, in conclusion: The world probably won't end in the foreseeable future. Stop telling me about it. By reading  this, you have now entered into a contract with me that should you bring up 2012 in all seriousness I get to punch you in the balls. Hard. And if you're a woman, I'll... Uh. Scratch your baby? I dunno. I'll figure something out.

Mr. "I broke my New Year's Resolution on the first day!" Sandwichman

You're too unique for me

I'm starting to notice that this blog as a running theme of "You're not as special as you think you are." Here's another post detailing that.

Remember high school? Of course you do! It was high school when that one thing happened. The one that scarred you for the rest of your life and made talking to girls damn near impossible for me. You. Impossible for you. Fuck you! Anyway, high school has this retarded tendency to make people stupid. "Shit, really?" Yeah! I know, right? But I mean really stupid. It's only getting worse.

Quick history lesson in Counterculture.
In the 60's and 70's we had these guys:

The 80's gave us those problematic punkers

The 90's is when things started getting really retarded. Now, I know that there could potentially (not very likely, but y'know.. Potentially) be some older readers who would argue "No, the hippies are the worst damn thing to ever happen ever." I would normally agree with that if it wasn't for the fact that my generation is the worst thing to happen. You want proof? Here's fucking proof.

I'm fighting the man by buying all my clothes at the mall!

"Counter"culture has only gotten worse since the new millennium. We now have more counterculture than we know what to do with in America. Hell, our entire culture is based on being counterculture. It's a mass madness so awful that not even the Dark Lord Cthulhu could have come up with it. In the year 2010 we have

Hey, it's okay. Don't cry, guy... Girl? Um.

And then we have the even worse hipster problem to worry about. Counter culture is a dumb idea. I've never had a decent encounter with someone from ANY of these "rebels." What does that mean? It means that we need to reset society. Humanity has become too stupid that not even Natural Selection can help us now. Here's a story.

I stood in line minding my own damn business. The night had been interesting so far and I was looking forward to the show I was about to see. Then I heard them. No! I thought. Not right now! Tonight could have been so good! Teenagers. Not just any ordinary teenagers, though. Of course not. By going to a certain musical I placed myself in a situation I should have been prepared for. Super rebellious goffik-emo-teenagers. Ever the optimist, I hoped that maybe they wouldn't be as bad as I expected.

"So yeah, I totally lied to my mom about where I was going to be tonight," said one.

Fuck.

"That's so cool, Raven," said another.

Fuck. Really?

"Yeah, I totally told my dad off tonight. He was all 'You need to watch your sister' and I was like 'Fuck you, Dad! I'm going to go no matter what you say!'" the third commented.

This is why abortion should be legal.

I can't remember for sure if I actually said it as loud as that or if I said it just loud enough for my brother to hear. I'm pretty sure I said it loud enough for everyone to hear. That would explain what these little shits said next.

"Y'know it'd be really cool if we each had psychic powers so we could hear what other people were thinking. But, y'know, like, limited so we can only hear each others' thoughts and not share them with anybody else."

Actual quote. Actual fucking quote because it's too damn retarded to make up. I don't remember much of what happened next. The next thing that I clearly remember is speeding down a dirt road with my brother going on and on about the gore that I seemed to be drenched in. I may or may not have killed three people that night. So, theoretically I should be on the run from the cops. But I'm not!

Wanna know why?

"Because you didn't actually do anything, you stupid fuck"

Wow. Killed all momentum. I had a really good joke running in my head about how if I actually had killed them it wouldn't have mattered because seriously everybody was getting sick of their stupid shit. But no. That joke is gone because you killed the momentum. Man, I wish I had psychic powers so that only certain people could hear my hilarious thoughts and nobody that I didn't want could get in because that'd be totally awesome right? Yeah, totally awesome. Totally! Cool. Hurhur.

Back to the story. After that little comment, I stood in complete shock. Had I seriously just heard that? Did somebody ACTUALLY say those words in that fucking order? After confirming that I had indeed heard the single most retarded sentence ever spoken by a human being, I figured that the madness would stop there. The hole went no further. Nobody on this plane of existence could go beyond that monument of stupid, right? The only way would be to take a retarded gothic-ized version of Alice's trip to Wonderland. And come on, nobody's stupid enough to do anything like th

FUCK!

"I can't wait to get inside. I saw on the website that they have these contact lenses like vampire and werewolf eyes. I'm totally gonna use my mom's debit card to get me a pair." Figures that I would stop carrying my knife the day that I needed it most. I'm not interested in taking another human's life or anything. I just wanted it to end my misery. I thought about snarking at them some more. My only defense when it comes to people like this is what passes for wit with me. I feared, though, that these people were far too dense for such tools to be effective. I sighed and took a step forward in line.

Once upon a time, I would swear to you that people like this didn't exist. All those stereotypes you heard about were just gross exaggerations. Caricatures, if you will. Then I met these people. I lost my will to live that day. Unfortunately, the Powers to Be has (have?) a cruel sense of humor and I didn't drop dead on the spot. If they wouldn't help, then I'd have to resort to gathering up enough will power that what I desired would manifest itself physically. My head didn't explode like I so desired. All right, thought I to myself. Maybe I can't destroy the thing that I'm using to create my will-power. I'll just destroy their heads with my psychic powers. Then I remembered psychic powers don't exist.

Pbbbbth!

At this point the average blogger would likely make fun of these kids for wanting to be vampires and/or werewolves. They would probably proceed to make a reference to Twilight and start making fun of that as well. Since I am not your average blogger, however, I will instead say, "Nnyeh, I am far too sophisticated and above such petty, obvious insults. Mm. Yes."

But seriously, guys. Fuck teenagers.

Another shitty post by

Mr. "Oh God, Why Do I Do This to Myself? Fuuuuuuu--" Sandwichman

HAHA! Rape! 2: Rape Harder, the Electric Boogaloo. Of rape.

I'm a pretty attentive person. I'm usually well aware of all my surroundings at all times. You never know when an insane woman from your past will decide to come bursting through the window with a flamethrower, ready to scorch you for scorning her.

It's typically why I avoid phonebooths

I try to defend myself by keeping my back to the wall. That way, I know nobody can come at me from behind. It's the first rule of being an Auror, after all. CONSTANT VIGILANCE. The strange looks I get whenever I'm in Target are better than having my stolen belt tied in a noose thrown around my neck. You just can't keep your hand at the level of your eyes all the time.

Well, the other night I was hanging out with my friend Mike. Mike is a good guy. Like any other filthy, no good, worthless Scotch-Irish nicotine-addicted drunk, he needed to get some cigarettes and I decided to accompany him. I'm just that good of a friend. We pulled up to the gas station and are sitting in his car for a few moments because he "wants to hear the end of this song, dammit!" I just shrugged it off and decided to stare at the people already inside the gas station. Man, I think, Those people are ugly. I'm glad I'm not so ugly. I don't even know what I would DO if I were so ugly! Hoho.

Beautiful.

Mike finally finished whatever the hell it was that he was doing and we went in. I paid no mind to the uggos sitting on the other side of the building. My good friend spent a few minutes discussing the intricacies of smoking cigarettes, the flavors and whatnot while I stared off into space. I'm much too sophisticated and attractive for such disgusting habits. And honestly, while I'm at it, I'm too smart to do something that damaging to my body. I would never do something like that. Ever.

I came back to reality to find Mike having completed his mission and was walking for the door. At that very moment, I got a better look at the people I had been staring at earlier. For some reason, something in my mind went "SHIT!" My conscious mind caught up with my unconscious and I also went "SHIT!"

Apparently she developed a hump back? What.

You know how when somebody's staring at you, you sort of feel it and then you look their way? And you know when you see something that really scares you that you freeze up and don't think straight? Well...

At this point, I actually did say, "SHIT! SHIT, MIKE, WE NEED TO GO! SHIT!"

Mike immediately got ready to fight, thinking that one of the guys Madame was with wanted to brawl or something. His adrenaline was pumping and he got red in the face, looking for the fight. He asked why, where was it at, what was going on. I simply said, "FORGET IT, I'LL TELL YOU AFTER WE'RE GONE!"

So we left. And by "we left" I mean "I sprinted out the door, drawing even more attention to myself and hoped that nobody noticed while my friend took his sweet fucking time getting to the car" By the time we were moving, I was in a frenzied state of screaming profanities and hoping that our car wouldn't be thrown over by an absolutely furious woman. I can't remember for sure, but I believe I told my friend something along the lines of 

 

SPLGHAFK! is "That-inese" for "SHITSHITSHITGETMOVINGSHITSHITSHIT"

Cool story, huh?

Mr. "Details So Heavily Altered for the Sake of Drama That This is Legally Fiction" Sandwichman

OH MY GOODNESS GRACIOUS! (an update)

I have returned, my fellow man! I come bearing news and a story that will blow your mind! It's so unbelievable that you may not be able to grasp it! It may just be too much for you to take in all at once!

Those of you with weak stomachs, I must ask you to turn away.

I have been gone for three weeks. For that, I must apologize. However, you may appreciate why I've been gone. And you damn well better appreciate it or I will beat you into appreciation! Beat it. Got it?

Picture Unrelated

Okay, so three weeks ago I went on a date. It ended terribly. Not so terribly that it would be interesting to write about, but terribly enough that I had to kill her so she couldn't spread lies about me. And I swear. They were all lies. Every. Single. One of them.

As I parted ways with the girl, a dimensional vortex opened up and out stepped the most hideous creature I've ever laid eyes upon. He stood at seven feet tall, easily, and had a frame even more skeletal than my own. Skin hung off of his bones as if every bit of meat had been drained from his body. His eye sockets sat empty, replaced by black holes that seemed capable of staring into your very soul. The monster didn't have lips. His teeth were clearly visible, even in the dark of the night. You see, his dental care was so poor that his teeth had actually become irradiated enough to glow. Also, he was a hideous monster from another dimension so that partially helped.

An ordinary response would be to immediately transform my hand into an arm cannon and blast away the monstrosity. However, I actually knew this particular Demon and held off. The bastard's lucky I recognized him. "Dammit, Jorge. What did I tell you about sneaking up on me like that?"

Jorge the Hell Demon shrugged his thin shoulders in response. He opened his hideous jaw to speak and paused. He tried to make a facial expression, but the lack of muscles in his face made that difficult. From what I could tell, he looked somewhat exasperated. We've had this discussion before. "Maname redacted, sorry to interrupt at such a time. I know you're trying to procreate with a feminine member of your species often referred to as the fairer sex by those of her type, but my people are in great dire need of your assistance." Jorge didn't speak English as a first language. Those damn aliens. Who do they think they are? Coming into America and not knowing how to speak American. Fuckers.

"Jorge," I said. I said, "Jorge, really. If you're going to come into my house unannounced, please at least try to speak intelligibly. You'll make my story less believable."

Jorge the Hell Demon from Mars sighed. Those idiots think they're so much more intelligent than me, but I sure are smarter. "This one does extend forth deepest apologies of sorriness toward the squishy savior. This one must inquire as to the potential possibilities probablating toward the squishy's assistance toward this one's fellow creatures of similar design and culture?" I slapped my foreign friend upside the ribcage. They bones holding his skin there snapped into his body. He coughed. "Should this one take that as the squishy's response to be no?"

"Negative, amigo. It's adventure time."

Don't think of this as theft. Think of it as free advertising.

We arrived in Frederick's homeland a few hours later. Unfortunately, Frederick had been horrifically maimed by a pack of Rodents of Unusual Size. Because Frederick is a fucking douche.

Look at all this free advertising!

Anyway, that's an uninteresting story. Let's get back to my greatness. Jorge the Hell Demon from Mars, Pennsylvania was acting like a gigantic blubbering walrus. As I was busy setting up camp, he lay next to the ashy remains of Frederick sobbing about how he was the Chosen One. Honestly, all I got was "Oh no, he was the Chosen One" this and "Maname redacted, you're gonna be the death of an entire race" that and some "Oh, Creator, Maname redacted, what are you doing no oh creator noooooooooooooo." I didn't pay much attention. When you look as good as me, you let other people do the paying.

The next morning revealed Frederick's homeland to be a total wasteland. Much different than the last time I passed through. It disappointed me to see how little care some people could have for their planets. The cars, I told Jorge, had to be what destroyed this planet. Jorge stared at me with his empty eye-sockets. "Does the squishy savior perform a jest for entertainment?" I winked at him, not really trying to hide the large check Al Gore had just given me. "This dimension we now reside upon is lacking in the area of automatic horseless carriages. How can the squishy account for his hypothesis with such a staunchly obvious fact is present?"

"JORGE!" I slapped my compadre sexily. I then put my pants back on. "There's no time for your rambling! We have a planet to save."

With no room left for argument, Jorge and I made our way forward. Being the whiny bitch that he is, Jorge of course made me walk in front of him. Ask him and he'd tell you he was using me as a meat shield, but the truth of the matter is that he was too busy gaying up his gay-o-meter all the way to gay-leven to even attempt to do something. Other than be gay. Not that I have anything wrong with gayness. It's just that he's really, really, really gay.

When suddenly! A spider attacked!

Artist's Rendering

Of course, I would have none of this! Jorge, being the giant eye-less I-don't-even-fucking-know lacked any sort of balls so he couldn't fight our yucky enemy. The yuckiness can hardly be described in words, friends! Its legs were hairier than... something... that has a lot of hair. Um. Its eyes were all red and ugly! And its sense of fashion was especially unpleasant. And it acted like a big dumb doodoo head.

I immediately sprang into action. As soon as the monster made its presence known, I struck it with a jumping axe kick to the head. Any ordinary spider would have been finished right then and there, but my foe didn't seem to be fazed by my surprise attack. It whimpered a bit, probably realizing that its time was up. Not willing to accept defeat so easily, I went right back on the attack. I grabbed a leg and ripped it right from the filthy blood-sucker's body. Now, I've been around the octagon a few times. I know that once you have an opponent's limb, the fight is supposed to stop. But this isn't fake Mixed Martial Arts fighting. This is real life. I proceeded to throw the leg like a spear into the spider's eye. The left one.

Throughout all of this, Jorge cheered me on. Without his encouragement, however gay it may have been, I would surely have been defeated. "No! The squishy must immediately rapidly desist and cease its awful actions! That being the squishy attempts to vandalize and decimate so thoroughly actually truly exists in life as our guardian! Lacking its presence and without it being here, we surely will be doomed!" I laughed with Jorge. He was absolutely right, of course. This dumb ol' spider was especially tacky, if I may use such a gaily gay term.

My enemy would probably have been crying at that point if I wasn't so busy punching its one good eye. It lay on the ground, battered and thoroughly crushed. Despite the injuries, I persisted! My strength--nay, my pride!--NAY! MY HONOR! MY HONOR DEMANDED I CONTINUE! The spider could no longer move. It twitched occasionally. "You fiend! Do you not know when to stop?" All the ladies swooned over my handsomeness. Even the married ones. With my vast repertoire of attacks nearly exhausted, I decided the time had come for my final blow.

I leaped upon my foe and sunk my teeth into its abdomen. My rippling muscles tore out chunks from its fat ass. With a quick yank, I rocketed into the air, the spider's head in hand. I charged my chi up, focused all my chakras into my hand Chakra and finally let my super ultimate deluxe hadou spider-head-jitsu attack go. It made contact with my foe's body, obviously, and the nuclear explosion that followed sent me back into our own dimension.

The whole ordeal lasted far longer than I can really relate. Time moves so much differently in other realms. One can't really understand unless one experiences it for oneself. By my best estimates, it's been nearly a month since my adventure took place.

And that's why I haven't updated all month.

It's also why I don't write fiction.

HAHA! Rape! Get it? A Horror Story of Single LIfe

There are some things you just don't joke about. There are some things you just don't talk about. These things often over lap. If it makes people uncomfortable to talk about, you probably shouldn't be cracking jokes about it because people will then think you're unbalanced.

You.

I've already mentioned once before that abortion is not something that you should really bring up on a whim. That gets into politics and then everybody gets upset. There is one topic that people can universally agree on, though. That topic is, of course, rape. And how it's bad. And how you should never, ever ever  take it very lightly. You also shouldn't threaten people with it.

Guess what today's story is about.

I was once again using a certain site in utter desperation. On this particular site, I found that girls tend to be catty and want to be contacted first. Because, y'know. Equality. Anyway, having a female initiate a conversation is typically reserved for spam-fembots sharing their porn sites with stupid men. Those men then fall into the trap of visiting the site and having their organs harvested days later. On this day, after a string of bad luck, a girl contacted me. Shock! A girl was actually interested in me!

We talked for a bit and she didn't seem crazy. But of course, they never seem crazy until you meet them. By that point, it's too late! You're in the spider's web. You're crazy-person-food. Or, in okcupid's case, you're a crazy person's living masturbatory tool. Since I lacked any sort of sense (having yet to learn from previous experience), I decided to go ahead and meet up with this girl.

A few days later, we went ahead and met up. The first thing I noticed was that she didn't stink. This was a major step up from Abortion Girl. I wasn't really attracted to my date, but ehh, oh well. Might as well give her a decent night, right? I expected that we'd have from the time we met up to the end of the night by ourselves. We didn't. After a half-hour of chatting, she revealed she had to go pick up her kids from day care.

Well. All right. She's responsible. That's good, right?

All right. So, we went and got her kids. Since they were so young, I was dragged along in her minivan

OSHI--!

Normally, I like to have access to my own car. That way, if something happens and I need to leave, or if I get so uncomfortable that I want to bail, I can do so on my own terms. I was stuck in a minivan with someone that I was very slowly getting more and more uncomfortable with. A few minutes later, we were at her trailer. I don't live in a mansion. I'm not some fancy-pants high-dollar writer. I'm a young adult living in a modest house. As such, I don't expect much from the people I hang out with. If you're on a date, though, you typically want to impress the person you're with at least a little bit. A trailer is not a good way to impress someone.

I don't judge, though. Despite more and more redflags coming up, I press on. I'm just really courageous like that. We go into her house and I get to meet her mom. On the first date. And they get into an argument. On the first date. Not a reasonable argument like over money or childcare. No. They argued about whether or not the girl's mom would please leave.

Interesting note, this particular individual happened to be 21 years old.

They bickered. I started feeling more and more awkward. I finally proposed the idea to go get my car real quick so it wouldn't be parked in front of the store we met at all night. This, fortunately, got me out of the fire zone and out on the road again.

Now, me being the gigantic asshole that I am, I had a few problems. I'm pretty damn shallow, so I didn't exactly want to be seen in public with her. I'm also a coward, so I didn't just want to tell her I had to go and she couldn't come along. I made the totally wise and not at all dangerous decision to take us somewhere not at her house, not at my house, and not quite in public. What made this situation even better? I'll tell you! She had spent the entire night staring at me lustily. If I hadn't told her that I didn't want to rush into anything, she probably would have jumped me then. I dunno. I try not to think about it.

"Hey, there's no mention of rape here? What gives!" Hoho, foolish reader. Didn't you notice how I said "first date" throughout?

"Oh man. Please tell me you didn't---" I did, reader. I did. I regret it, but I did.

Date 2

Nothing remarkable happened. We met up. Watched a movie together. She stole my belt. Wait, what?

Yeah. She figured that Second Date wasn't going too fast any more and stole my belt. She went home pretty quickly after that. I still haven't gotten that belt back. I don't want it back. I can only imagine what it's being used for.

I wonder...

DATE 3: The Incident

Her: "Hey, my mom's at a friend's house tonight"

Common Sense: DON'T DO IT! STAY THE HELL AWAY, YOU IDIOT!

Me: Hm. I wouldn't mind some company. "What would we do?"

Common Sense: NO! Ugh, why do I even bother?

Her: "Watch movies at my house ;)"

Friends, I have a piece of advice for you. Never trust the winkie face. Never. Ever. Ever. The winking smiley tells you that the user is implying something more. Something secret. Something like sex.10 times out of 9, it means sex.

Me: "Eh. Okay. I'll be there in a few."

Well. I got to her house. She let me in and we sat on her couch for a while, watching some stupid tv show. She was, uh. Frisky. I was not so much. The whole "I don't find her real attractive" thing played a large role in that. Being a young adult male, however, there are certain ways to get around a lack of physical attraction. It's really not that hard. You probably know a few. If you know your victim's particular tastes, you can take control without any problem.

She spent a lot of time trying to get me in the mood. She did most of the work and I just sort of let her. Innocent fun, right? Nobody's getting harmed. I remained strong enough to keep her from removing any of my clothing. After I shot down a couple of her attempts, she finally pulled out the big guns. She did it.

In the ensuing chaos of the Discomfort-o-Meter exploding, I got the hell out of there. I had just been told that she wanted to rape me. This had come from a person who claimed to have been raped when she was younger. My question to you is this: Who the FUCK uses that as dirty talk? "I COULD JUST RAPE YOU" is a turn off to fucking anybody with any fucking resemblance of sanity. "Hey, I know somebody who has a rape fantasy" Yeah? Have they been raped before? No? Then they don't actually want a RAPE fantasy, they want rough sex! There's a slight difference there. Can you spot it?

Here, let me help you!

"Oh, now slap me!" vs. "Make a fucking noise and I slit your throat!"

And that is why I've chosen to be single for a while.

Survival of the Fittest? More like survival of the fat...dumb...ugliness!

Okay I'm bad at puns. And will never try them ever, ever again.

Today I want to warn you about the dangers of being a stupid little kid. I'm feeling especially generous today, so I'm adding in a free side dish of "The History of Stupid Little Kids" if you call now! That's right, you'll get a Sandwichman was a Stupid Kid PLUS the History of Stupid Little Kids, all for the low price of having read my blog! Are you interested? You should be! Act now!

Survival of the Fittest: What it is and Where it's at now
"Wow, kids aren't the bastion of intelligence I thought they were? How enlightening, Mr. Sandwichman. I never would have been able to figure that out without your guidance." Why the hell are you still reading? What is the matter with you, imaginary reader? Do you enjoy--ah, wait. Internet. People do this all the time. Ugh.

Way way back when mankind was just discovering that they were slightly more intelligent than the monstrous animals surrounding them, there existed a thing called "Survival of the Fittest." This is the thing that Charles Darwin proposed allowed for evolution to bring us the world we have today. Certain traits developed that allowed creatures to survive longer than others. Those creatures then passed those traits on and on and on. As populations spread, they were put in different situations and had to develop certain traits. And that is why we have all the species we have.

There's just one key issue to be aware of here. Only the strongest survived. Stupid ones (for instance, kids that might throw rocks at a hornet's nest with the idea that their super soaker and an ounce of bug spray would be enough of a defense) would get eaten pretty quickly. Most of the time, this happened because such idiot individuals would wander into a predator's mouth thinking, "Hey this cave is so much warmer than Ug's cave. But oh no! It's not a cave! Now I'm dinosaur food. :("

Over time, mankind developed better technology that allowed everybody to survive longer, breed more and breed faster. Everybody. Everyone that was human, anyway.

We don't serve your kind here.

With humans kicking Evolution in the jaw, the whole concept of "Survival of the Fittest" has started to decline. It's no longer "The strongest survive!" but rather "Who can hide from humans the best?" Throw in some "Who can be the most frightening?" and you're a spider.

Teehee! I hide in your shoes!

Some might argue that being able to hide really well is part of being among the Fittest.
That is a reasonable argument and you should be aware that reasonable things don't exist on this blog.

I am now legally required by the State of Kansas to provide an alternate hypothesis to Evolution.

God made the world and humans. Humans did stupid things all the time. God became angry.

Years and years and years later, God had this prophet. Elisha was the protege of Elijah, but Elijah had been taken up into heaven. Shortly afterwards, a group of stupid kids made fun of him for being bald

AND GOD SENT BEARS TO MANGLE THEM. (2 Kings 2:23-25)

Moral of the story? No matter what you believe, the stupid should not survive.

Okay, so you're the great-great-great-great-grandson of Ug. Ug's friend Ungabunga is the one who found that really cool "cave" years back. Through a weird twist of events involving an ostrich farm and a hideous amount of necrophilia, your family moves to Europe. Due to the fact that thy mother provides sexual favors of questionable and unsavory varieties, your family quickly becomes a bunch of nobles. Well, you're digging your French noble-house and your French noble-food pretty well when you decide to enjoy the French noble-passtime of laughing at the peasants. You approach one group because you're a stupid kid and shout, "Your mother is so thin, if this were a 20th century cartoon, I could play her ribs like a musical instrument involving specialized sticks!"

Well, those French peasants don't really like your fatass or your mom's fatass (which when they say "goes around town" they mean "goes around town") so they have a revolution and kill you all.

Stupidity in progress.

By some miracle, you are now living in America. Your grandfather of x years back is celebrated for having started the French Revolution by being the straw that broke the camel's back. You're working in a cloth-making factory when you notice a bit of hair caught in the gears. You, being a stupid kid, reach in without thinking, get dragged into the machine and are crushed to death.

Defying logic, your genes have been passed down. It's now the 20th century and things are a lot better. Technology has come a far way. People are living long and life is good. It's roughly 1998 and you're a 7-year-old kid that is possibly allergic to hornet venom. You've seen "My Girl" once or twice and saw Maculay Culkin's character get stung to death by bees. You fear anything that flies and stings, now. As you should. That's the "Survive!" part of your brain working.

Your mom has a friend in this neighborhood, right? Of course! Well, one fine summer that friend goes on vacation. Hornets inhabit her mailbox. You think, "Well, this simply will now do. I must valiantly drive these fiends away for the sake of Boobs! TALLY-HO!" This is the 20th century part of your brain thinking. All sense of survival has been driven away because technology has come so far. You can now be incredibly dumb and still manage to survive. Consequences be damned.

Mr. Sandwichman was a Stupid Kid
"I must valiantly drive these fiends away for the sake of Boobs! TALLY-HO!" Now, I didn't fully understand why I was doing what I was doing. I just knew that when I was around Boobs, I felt quite content. Must be the Misogynist Chauvinistic Penis, am I right feminists? Ho ho!

I don't remember who came up with the idea. In the end, it doesn't really matter who the mastermind was. We still threw rocks into a hornet's nest. Literally. That saying didn't exist until after what my brother, my friend and I did. [citation needed]

Our plan was pretty simple.
Step 1: Throw rocks into mailbox, disturb hornets.
Step 2: When hornets fly out, spray their wings with water gun so they can no longer fly
Step 3: Walk up to downed hornets with bugspray. Kill them.
Step 4: ?????
Step 5: SUCCESS!

We made it to Step 1. Step 1 went without a hitch. It went flawlessly. If the rest of our plan could have gone as smoothly as Step 1 did, we would be gods! Strangely, though, hitting about 15 targets that were no bigger than 2 inches long is a lot harder than pissing those 15 targets off. Who would have thought?

My brother, my friend and I quickly found ourselves in over our heads. We had an idea of how things would go, and then shit went down. It didn't exactly go the same way as planned. It took all of 2 seconds to realize, "Oh, hey. Hornets have stingers. These hornets aren't happy. RUN!" Keep in mind, having been as young as we were, we didn't have a Plan B. We didn't account for "In case this goes wrong..." If somebody ended up getting stung repeatedly by the entire hive, we probably would have just abandoned the poor guy.

Good ol' wikipedia tells me that an entire nest of non-European hornets can sting you to death even if you aren't allergic. So here we are, two 7-year-olds and a 10-year-old realizing what we had just done and were now running. Chances were high that the slowest person would have to take one for the team and distract our pursuers while the others called for backup, re: my mom. So, who would the slowest person be? Well. My brother had a bike. My friend had a bike. I did not have a bike. Uh-oh. Looks like I would have to man up and 

Run faster than either of those two bastards could ride. I was the first one back inside my house where the hornets couldn't get me. The Flying Insect killer had been used up, our water guns abandoned and our plan compromised. None of that mattered, though, because the hornets couldn't get me. I decided the best way to relax after my battle was to play with my giant tub of LEGOs.

I went into my room, poured out more bricks than I would ever need and went to work building something or other. Then I felt a tickling on my leg. I scratched at it but didn't really think too much about it. The tickling returned. I scratched back. It kept getting tickled. I finally moved my leg to find out what was tickling me.

OSHI--!

I belive upon discovering what had been tickling me, my thought process went something along the lines of "SUNAVABITCHFOLLOWEDMESHITSHITWHATSHOULDIDOOHGODHELP!"

I darted out of my room and down into the garage where my brother and I had originally found the Flying Insect Killer. I remembered putting it back in the cabinet, thinking that my parents wouldn't notice us using it all up. If I was nearly as intelligent as the school said I was, I probably would have been able to figure something else out. I am not that intelligent, apparently. Or maybe I just lack common sense. But, I grabbed the first thing I saw that might kill that mother fucking hornet. A can of KILZ.

I thought to myself, "Self. This says 'Kilz' which means it can probably Kill. It's also in a cannister similar to the one we used outside. It must be another kind of insect killer!" So. Armed with my spray paint, I ran upstairs and sprayed that little devilish fucker to death. On carpet. I noticed that the area turned white, but I figured that would go away as it dried. It didn't. "That's all right, though," I thought. "I won!"

And that's how I almost got stung to death.