Thing a Week 15: In Which I am accused of Being a Worse Person

So an unnamed brother of mine (hint: he has a predilection for murder whales) has threatened to sic Cyber Weasels on me if I don't finish my story. Since the only thing worse than a Cyber Weasel attack is a Murder Whale attack, although (as my educated audience will doubtless know) Professor Lucifer Von Rathsburg has recently published a paper theorizing that a Dire Bactrian attack would not just be as painful as Cyber weasels, it would also be more humiliating. I'm off topic. Anyway, he convinced me that finishing one of my writing attempts for once would be preferable to horrible virtual mutilation, and so I will do my best to finish recollecting the events of the previous Saturday.
Anyway, the first group of drunken collegers I ran into were by far the most interesting, in the sense that most of them were apparently white supremacists. It was awkward. Funny, but awkward. I extricated myself from their inebriated fingers, but I must confesss they plied a strange fascination upon both me and my fellow campers (the two who were stupid enough to stay awake with me until 2 in the morning). We returned to our campsite, but the sound of their drunken laughter wafted through the treetops like a (slurred) siren song. No matter how entertaining our conversations at our own campsite, they could not, in the end, compare. The chance to study the effects of alchohol on the human at such close range was a FASCINATING oppurtunity, and as long as we were willing to stand the verbal abuse and edge gently around any topic that could be construed in any way as even remotely resembling something that could possibly be put in as part of the race argument, then everything was good.

I can't think of a decent way to end this right now, and it's nearly midnight, so I will have to finish this fascinating slice of life tale in a third installment.
However, I promised my brother that I would give him a bonus item to read, so here is anohter small piece of writing i did a while ago. Interestingly, it isn't a finished piece either.

The Child was not an optimist. It wasn't old enough to know about things like that, and besides that, it had led a life sheltered from things like three syllable words. Nonetheless, It had managed to achieve the opinion that overall, life was probably Pretty OK. It was because of this conclusion that the Child felt it necessary to consult with the Old Man on the day It didn't feel all that Pretty OK.
Said the Child, and I quote: "Old Man, I'm bored, and nothing seems interesting, and I feel sad for no reason in particular, but quite a few reasons in general" Replied the Old Man, "That's because you live in a cruel world full of Unloving People, Misery, Skulduggery, and Humbuggery, and you'll die early because of all the fattening foods this self indulgent nation tells you to eat".
The Old Man was a pessimist. In news that might be unrelated (but isn't), he was also clown. He loathed his job, and took great pleasure in terrifying small children by shoving unnecessarily squeaky balloon animals into their faces. No one was really sure why the Child ever spent time with him.

P.S. I realize this piece is horribly structured form a purely technical stndpoint, but I'm honestly too tired to care right now. Maybe I'll proofread and correct it when I finish the story.

Thing a Week 14: In Which I may be a Bad Person

So, yesterday I went camping with my scout troop (for the readers I like to fondly imagine exist who don't know me personally, I am a Really Truly all American Boy Scout of America, which means I go on camp outs sometimes and light things on fire that I shouldn't, such as my foot), to a state park. It is a nice place, scenic, with lots of trees and grass and other trees and rocks to admire while realizing you forgot something vitally important, and as a result will spend the duration of the night in misery. There were also people of a female persuasion at this camp site, which is normally a situation so rare that when scouts hear of it they plug their ears to prevent further pollution and corruption from such wild heresies. Being the kind of guy I am (a male), this plot development intrigued me, and I found it advisable to inquire as to the reason behind the mystery. Turns out that the college semester recently ended, and many students were celebrating it by the traditional manner (cheap beer, expensive beer, medium range beer, and any other liquor available for consumption). So in my smartfulness, I decided to say hi to my fellow campers, and enjoy watching their reactions as they tried to muster enough coordination to actually look at me and respond coherently. This story isn't done, but I'm tired and typing is hard when you are trying to operate on 2 hours of sleep.
The story will be finished later, but for now let me say: the night ended with a police call, it did not end up with me drunk or consuming any foreign substances, alcoholic, hallucinogenic, or otherwise, and I had to fill in a sheet of paper as a crime witness for the first time in my life.
Night All!

Thing a Week 13: Terror is a Whale With Red Eyes

A few days ago, I had a conversation with a certain brother of mine. He knows who he is. Hopefully. You do know who you are, right dude? Anyway, we were talking, and eventually the conversation turned, as all conversations eventually must, to Orca whales. Specifically, I was expanding on my theory that Orcas would be 3,000,000,000 times cooler if the world, as a whole, referred to them as Murder Whales instead of Killer Whales. I mean, think about it! You sight a pod of murder whales, and you know things gon' get real, and SOON. Anyway, my brother shared this opinion with me (how could anyone not?), and we started discussing how murder whales could be used to make the best movie possibly in the universe, like jaws but more amazingly fantastic. The conversation was long, but the result was clear: a movie had to be made. Spielberg cannot pass this chance up. The earth will probably fracture from the pent-up radicality if this isn't done. And I have humbly taken upon myself the task of creating the script for this awesome. Unfortunately, I am lazy, so I'm mostly patching together the meat of this post together from excerpts of the conversation. To add context, this scene in the movie takes place just as Lance (the hero type), a scrappy freedom fighting pirate, manages to survive an attack on his ship by some godless commie murder whales, which boat was carrying a load of tanks for a 3rd world country full of (also scrappy) lovable natives fighting for freedom from the communist regime besetting them on all sides.

Murder Whale:
Attack of the most terrifying things to ever exist, ever
*Technically, the whale should plural
Lance scanned the surface of the choppy sea, his red rimmed eyes searching desperately for some sign of life. It was three days now since the murder whales attacked last, two days ago since the ship was destroyed, one day since he ran out of water. Eyes glued open by the harsh sea spray and the horror of what he had seen raked the waves, always seeking the fin that he knew would inevitably appear. All that had survived that first attack of the whales was a Tommy gun, a crate of ammunition that had miraculously managed to stay dry, and a gallon of the cooks best bootleg hooch, which he and Lance had been sharing at the time of the attack.
The first fin slipped into Lances line of sight, and he grinned humorlessly. When the whales returned, he WOULD be ready.

Thing a Week 12: Late! (Complete With Crappy Excuse)

In an unfortunate trend, i am two days late to posting this. this is a BAD THING, but in my defense i had my wisdom teeth pulled today, so maybe i couldn't write because of emotional distress? anyway, this is my memory of the surgery. I'm sure everyone how reads it will find it quite instructive.

Start: I am in the car, being driven to the oral clinic by my mummy. I fall asleep.
Next: I wake up as we pull into the clinic. We get there early, so we have to wait outside for a little while before the doors are unlocked. once I get in, I start reading a reader's digest. As usual, the jokes aren't that funny. The nurse asks me to pee before the surgery.
And then I'm called in! A young, fairly attractive nurse starts asking me routine questions: Am I allergic to stuff (nope), do I take meds (nope), have I ever had Vicodin (nada), have I ever had an IV (again, no) how old am I (something I try to avoid telling the Internet) how tall am I (6'2") how much do I weigh (fat).
Then I get the nitrous oxide. I don't start to laugh, and feel disappointed. nurse person starts hooking up lots of doodads to me. This one checks my heart beat, this one checks my pulse, this one tears off my leg hair, and this one is purely decorative.
Still nothing from the the laughing gas, so nurse lady turns it up. I don't notice any difference, but then I start smiling unaccountably, and giggling quietly. I was expecting complete euphoria, but this feels pretty OK. I don't like laughing without reason, so I try to stop. It works fairly well.
Now I can hear the dentist outside. He's talking about how his hand is dry, and it hurts when he bends it. It occurs to me that normally I would kind of pissed about him talking about that instead of me, but I'm high right, and couldn't care less.
Eventually he comes in and starts prepping my arm for the IV that is going to knock me out for the surgery. I hear one of the nurses (there are two in the room now) complain that it's hard to attach something to my left arm because she's left handed. I mention that I am too. She dislikes it because the world is designed for right-handed people; I do like it because it makes me feel superior (I take pleasure in small things). Then dentist guy pricks me with the IV. I smile while he does it, and one the nurses notices and says something about it. I tell her that I'm high, and really don't care.

Then I wake up, and the surgery is over. I have to stagger up and down a hallway a couple of times, then I'm guided out to the car. I spend the rest of the day sleeping and watching Star Wars.
Wasn't that the greatest story EVER!?!?