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.

"The opinions of people that"

Oh, hey, I'm supposed to update aren't I? Well, uh. Here's something quick since I've kind of been kicked in the nuts re: inspiration. I started this blog 3 weeks ago. In that time, I've had 100 hits. That's kind of exciting for me because I didn't expect that much. But maybe I'm just being retarded and that's actually really awful for a new blog. I dunno. Either way, 100 people have read what I've written, and that means there's at least one person (Hi, Stephanie!) that likes my stuff enough to keep reading.

Now, going over all my stats and everything, I've found that a phrase has popped up under "Search Terms"
It's quite obviously not the full phrase. I wish I could figure out what the full phrase was because this is more than just a bit of a mystery to me. Today, at some point, somebody found my blog using "The opinions of people that" and that's all I know.

I have no idea what the rest of the sentence is supposed to be, so I've come up with a few ideas. Person that found my blog using that: Please tell me what you typed because this is killing me.

Possible Ideas:
1) The opinions of people that suck at writing [Fuck you.]
2) The opinions of people that think they're funny but really aren't [Seriously, what did I do to you? Why are you so mean? What do you mean it's karma?]
3) The opinions of people that got all their pageviews from hitting reload constantly [Uh...what. No, I have that option turned off so that can't possibly be th
4) The opinions of people that are so incredibly lonely and desperate for attention that they jump at any sign of attention [...um.]
5) The opinions of people that desire physical companionship so much they masturbate constantly [That's getting really personal, isn't it?]
6) The opinions of people that have a really guilty conscious and let it come through in what they write when they should probably try a lot harder to disguise that sort of stuff because seriously that's really depressing and all sorts of sad. [




















yeah? Well. That was a massive run-on sentence you asshole. Yeah. Take that.]




There's that. Then there's also this: National Novel Writing Month is coming up in 12 days. I'm joining in and will probably be posting excerpts from that novel on here occasionally (assuming that's not against NaNoWriMo's rules). I am all sorts of excited for that, so bear with me during November.

My dream's to get paid to write. Can you tell? Probably not because you don't exist, Imaginary Reader Created to Fill the Void of Attention Left by My Most Recent Break-up and General Lack of Luck with Members of the Opposite Sex.

Eh, that's all for now. Image uploads have been disabled and I don't have anything funny to say at the moment, so. Thursday. Be here. I've got even more proof that Darwin's system is broken.

Wherein I realize I have standards: A horror story of single life

My particular walk of life has left me in a situation where I don't get many chances to meet girls. As such, I take what I get and use whatever resources I have available to me. For every intent and purpose, my standards aren't exactly high. I also don't get too many opportunities to meet girls that I can actually ask out. My life revolves around work and  being an anti-social shut-in that spends too much time writing for a blog that has a whole one follower. My problem, as mentioned before, is that I don't really know how to ask a girl out even if I met one I liked.

So, there was a period of time when I resorted to a certain, unnamed dating website that I have decided to devote this random poem to.

Only for the desperate

Kind of makes you want to die

Causes a deep-seated hatred for humanity

Um.

Phuck, I didn't plan this out very well.

I don't care though. I'm making a point.

Don't judge me, dammit!

Ahem.

You meet interesting people on-line. However, there are multiple kinds of "interesting" and they're not all good.

In fact, the overlap between "interesting and from the internet" and "interesting in a manner that I like" looks something like, I dunno, this:

And so I fall into predictable graph jokes

So, where does a girl on a dating website fall? If I'm talking to them on a dating website, then that would suggest she's in the blue, right? But she's from the internet, so she'd technically be in the red. Red and blue don't mix.

As I have learned, you probably shouldn't meet people from the internet. The exceptions happen once in 500,000 users and those usually end only in regrets anyway.

Today's story is about one of those that don't fall under "Exception." Unfortunately, this is just one of many.

I had just gotten out of a relationship (re: broken up with) and wasn't, um. Stable is a good word, I suppose. I'm not the type to get "unstable" as in "Hoho, I'm coming for you!" as much as I get unstable in the "Hoho, I'm going to meet a stranger from the internet!" sort of way. Which is exactly what I did. There's really no covering this up and making me look good. It's not going to happen. So, here's what went down.

Never trust a big butt and a smile

Okay, a lot more went into the conversation than that. She also challenged my manliness. Also, she said I looked like a This instead of a That. Homey don't play that. Having been challenged and being charged up just enough by Testosterone, I went and met up with the girl.

"But, Mr. Sandwichman!" nobody protests, "What if she turned out to be crazy? Please tell me you met her in a public place so that if she turned out to be a serial-rapist-castratist-murderer you would at least have some witnesses!"

Right, of course I did. I'm not that foolish. I met her at a library and we proceeded to drive around town in my car. Alone. While I realized she may not be a serial-rapist-castratist-murderer, but she was indeed crazy. From the very start, I knew something was slightly off about her. For one, she looked nothing like her profile picture.

What I Expected:

What I Got:

My MSpaint skills never cease to amaze

Next thing I noticed is that she smelled bad. I won't deny the fact that I'm not always the best smelling person. I spend a lot of time in a state of social anxiety about whether or not I'm offensive to the olfactory sense. I don't expect girls to smell like daisies, cinnamon rolls and unicorn farts all the time. However, having B.O. that is worse than a men's locker room after a rousing round of forcing each other into awkward positions is just a bit of a problem.

Oh, yeah, and then there was the fact that she told me about her abortion. On the first day we met in person.

"Wait, what?!" Yeah. That's pretty much what my reaction was too. I didn't even ask for that information. That's not the kind of thing I want to know right away. If I had asked or said anything that even possibly related to the topic of abortion, then I could maybe see her coming forth with this information. That is somewhat reasonable. But, if you've read the previous two posts on this blog, then you'll probably figure that nothing in my life is ever fucking reasonable.

I believe the best way to convey this story is with interpretive dance. However, I don't have a camera to film that with. Nor do I have the patience to draw the entire thing on MSpaint. Just go ahead and feel slightly more sophisticated if not slightly more uncomfortable for having watched a magnificent dance about abortion. It's okay to feel awkward, though, because that's how normal people feel abortion is taken so lightly.

So, instead of a terrible dance that would make people feel terrible, have a dramatic, slightly exaggerated script of what went down instead.

(Mr. Sandwichman and Abortion Girl [A.G.] sit down in a chicken-eating establishment, neither feeling terribly comfortable about the greasy food or each other)

A.G.: So. What do you like to do in your free time?

MS: Well. I, uh. I like to read and write a lot. I haven't been doing much writing lately, though. No inspiration.

(AG gets a look on her face of "I could be your inspiration if you know what I mean, wink wink nudge nudge saynomoar saynomoar)

MS: I'm a huge movie buff. Uh. I play video games if I'm really bored.

AG: Ooooh, I play video games too! What's your favorite one?

MS: ...uh. Th-the one... with the magic.. and.. stuff?

AG: Kingdom Hearts?

MS: Sure.

(Allow AG to improvise at this point, going on a massive spiel about how certain characters in the game are probably having sex even though nothing in the damn game even hints toward that)

MS: ....

(Other patrons in the eating establishment start looking at the two oddly. MS feels all sorts of shame and decides to get back into the privacy of his car. AG hasn't stopped about various assortments of pixels "mashing buttons" if y'know what I mean)

MS: Right, so uh. Have you met any other guys on that site?

AG: Oh, yeah! You know when you have an abortion or a miscarriage you're supposed to be on bedrest for two weeks? Well, the last guy I met from {name removed} wanted kids and when I didn't have his he broke up with me.

Okay. Pause. I thought "Shake it but don't Break it" was bad. I thought that was something you simply couldn't recover from. How do you respond to "Shake it but don't Break it?" You can't! BUT! That's not nearly, nearly as bad as being told that your previous boyfriend left you because you had an abortion. On the first "date" and I really struggle to call it a "date" because it lasted the entirety of an hour and a half, most of which was me driving to meet her and then driving to drop her off. Seriously, WHAT

THE

FUCK

Moving right along.

This actually happened before my DON'T BREAK YOUR DICK 

incident, so I really had no idea what to do in that situation. Fortunately enough, at that very moment when things couldn't possibly get any worse (Well, y'know. Short of being post-partum aborted.) a friend called! His car had broken down and he needed a ride to the shop! Salvation! And it was the truth, not something insane like me texting that very friend earlier when I realized things were going down the toilet telling him to call me immediately and bail me out! Because that would be a douchebag thing to do.

And that's why I'm still single.

A Story wherein I escape death and/or a savage beating

On the road, there is one particular type of vehicle that stands out above the rest. Whenever people see it, they immediately recognize the danger and go out of their way to avoid it. Anyone that might drive one of these vehicles is considered legally insane. Purchasing one instantly lands you on the Government's Watch List. What is that vehicle? It is, of course... THE MINIVAN!

 Now, in case you live under a rock and therefore cannot actually be reading this right now because rocks have such terrible internet connections, take a look at this:

Frightening. Terrifying, even.

Today, as I drove home from work, I saw a kid trying to race. In a van. Smoke poured out of his exhaust; his tires left streaks on the pavement. He got up to 30 by the time I was half a mile passed him. I had to put forth all my efforts to get away from someone so frightening and obviously tough. His toughness radiated from every aspect of his van. The bulkiness. The sliding door with Child Lock on. The little decal on the back window telling the world that he's the proud mother of a [small town] Soccer Player.

He's obviously the tuffest of the tuff. Definitely not some annoying suburban kid that didn't get his license on time so he had to be escorted on every date in the same vehicle he now drives.

"Wow, you are a really shitty artist."

Yes. Yes, I am.

Moving on. Um... One time, I almost got killed by a roadragin' minivan driver.

It's been a couple of years now. I still had a girlfriend and was right in the middle of my "I CAN GET AWAY WITH ANYTHING" stage that all teenage boys go through. It didn't help that the car I drove at the time had brakes that pretty much required such over-confidence. If I didn't have it, I would spend all my time driving going "ShitshitshitshitshitshitIdontwannadieshiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!"

The brakes, you see, were so reliable that they prompted (read: forced) you to brake the way you're supposed to. That is, you started breaking about a mile before you need to stop.

That is, more or less, how my brakes worked. Parking lots were absolute hell in this car. Especially busy parking lots such as those of a movie theater on Saturday night. Keep that in mind as you read this story.

My girlfriend and I were going to see Land of the Lost on a busy Saturday night. I think it was the week after it came out. Anyway, I couldn't find a single parking space. Not even out in the boondocks. So, I drove around slowly with the idea that going slow would allow the brakes to work better or something. Less momentum = less danger, I suppose. I reached a three way. A minivan was coming from the left, the right was clear and I putted along from the center of the T.

Big deal, right? Except, where I live, there is an abnormal proportion of rednecks driving large trucks, so I didn't see the minivan coming at all. Upon seeing the van, I had about three seconds to make a decision. A normal, rational, y'know... adult. probably would have slammed on the brakes hard enough to force the car to stop. And again, I was going slow enough that I probably could have stopped if I tried. But no. 17-year-old dipshit, "I am the fucking Superman" me decided to speed up. My logic went something along the lines of: The Brakes don't work quite as well as they should, therefore I should go faster than the minivan so that I prevent a crash! FOR SAFETY! TALLY-HO!"

Proof Darwin was probably wrong.

Surprisingly, it worked. Ish. 

Unsurprisingly, Minivan Guy wasn't too happy about being cut off. Like a rational, completely reasonable and totally mature adult, he then started following me. Soon after, we both parked right next to each other and had a solid discussion about road etiquette, both leaving a bit wiser than before.

Nah, just kidding. I ran because I feared for my life that I might have to bust out my mad karate skills and slap a ho.

Picture Unrelated

I had to get away and lose the guy. A plan formed in my mind. "Genius!" I thought. "I'll drive behind the theater and take the exit that leads back around to the front so I'll be back to the public. That way, if he gets out and attacks me, there will be witnesses to say the guy went berserk and randomly attacked me. Hoho, I'm so smart it hurts."

Guess which path I continued on from there

Keep in mind, the entire time this is happening, my antagonist is a guy in a van. While I was panicking at the idea of being pursued and possibly beaten, my raging hormones were laughing at the idea because come on guys he's in a minivan! Bahahaha! Don't you get it? He can't possibly do any real harm to anybody because he's driving a minivan. Hoho. What a chump.

Oddest thing. As soon as one is cornered and the big guy is getting out of his minivan, one's hormones decide that it's time to evacuate. Logic returns! Right?

Yes!

Normally!

If you're not a retarded 17-year-old that gets jumped on adrenaline when he reaches that one level in Super Mario World.

                                     

FUCK YEAH! COME ON, SUPER MARIO WORLD! BRING IT!

All right! It's Game Time! From here on out, pick out every single one of the bad decisions I made this night. The winner gets to have my babies. Ladies.

Or a high five. Guys.

I sped up to avoid a wreck because I'd heard that might actually work sometimes. It worked. When I realized I was being followed, I chose to try and get back in front of the building where there would be witnesses. I ended up in a dead end because I'm directionally challenged. I get blocked in at the dead end seen above. Guy flips me off. As a side note, I'm a sarcastic asshole. Whenever someone does something immature, I'll usually give them a thumbs up and obnoxiously say, "Way to be mature!" Back on topic and completely unrelated to that last statement (ahem.) I give the guy a thumbs up and my pretentious smile.

Guy gets pissed off, jumps out of his van and starts stomping towards me. I lock all the doors because that's going to stop a hormonally imbalanced road raging monster. At the very last minute, I notice a gap between the Testosterone Abuser and the rear bumper of his van. With access to my cell phone, my girlfriend's cellphone and common sense I decide to call the po---no, I slammed into drive and drove between the two, narrowly avoiding hitting his bumper and getting my window punched in the process.

I managed to get out on a main road, lose the Gorilla and get off scot free! Yay me!

I even got to go get ice cream before my movie! And then I saw my movie!

All that trouble for this movie.

And that's how I almost got killed in a road-rage incident.