Friday, December 31, 2010

Something I Animated Way Back in the Day

I, like any misguided person, can become extremely motivated to do certain things, provided it is utterly pointless and does not further my career goals whatsoever. 

Here is an example, which brother Mike reminded me of just the other day:

The internet just got a little worse.

Thursday, December 23, 2010

Heading Home

No posts for several days. I'll be up in Maine, and I'll be too busy 


Wednesday, December 22, 2010

Journey to England Part VI

Holy shit part six?! Pretty soon I'll be at part seven, and then 


And beyond!

So where were we? More hitchhiking! Yes, at this point the novelty had worn off. It was no longer a case of "we'll get there when we get there, and it'll be an adventure either way!" No, it was more like "why won't these fucking assholes just give us a ride?" As it turned out, most of the people that picked us up weren't that cool so the act of hitching was no longer an end in and of itself, it was merely the means to an end, and one that consistently took way longer than we expected.

So, to Sterling Scotland! The first guy came after a little over an hour, and he only took us a few miles to the highway. Perfect! At this rate, we'll make it to Sterling by approximately never. It's funny how when things don't go your way you start extrapolating the horrors in your mind, so after that first ride took awhile I was considering what we would do in case we never made it to Sterling, or worse yet, if the entire country of England all decided to stop picking up hitchhikers forever. Then we'd have to walk all the way back to London, and I wasn't ready for that.

Lucky for us, the next guy came after about ten minutes. We immediately stopped hating everything, and came to an understanding with the world. It didn't take much good fortune for us to feel like a million bucks. So we chatted with this next guy a bit, and the only thing I remember was looking at the hillsides and noticing a trend. SHEEP.

There's one in there somewhere.

I asked him why there were so many damn sheep everywhere you looked and he said "we haven't actually got all that many, it's just England's so small, we have to put them everywhere." Interesting fact, when I think back on these rides, I remember myself riding in the front right side, even though this was England, and that's impossible unless you're driving. Hmm.

He dropped us at a service station, and we took a breather for some food. And we saw this fat little bird. 

"My wife left me."

At this point we started doing what we'd done at the previous service station: guilting people into giving us rides. We looked at our map and figured we'd ask people if they were headed towards Glasgow. The first guy I asked said "no, I'm only going up to Carlisle, but I can take you that far." Carlisle was about fifty miles closer. VICTORY DANCE! 

This guy was pretty interesting. He was driving to Carlisle to pick up a guitar. It was a better idea than having it shipped, lest it break in transit. Then multiple companies involved in the process would all blame each other and he'd be fucked. After our little lesson in economics, we learned that this guy had been falsely accused of cocaine smuggling, which he only found out after inquiring about the status of his visa after over two years of waiting. He needed his visa to go see his son in the US, but since he apparently had a similar name to someone involved with the drug trade, he was red flagged, and never allowed back in the states. To clear this up he would have to jump through bureaucratic hoops for probably the rest of his life, so he just settled on waiting for his son to visit him instead. Here's hoping that happens some day!

So there we were in Carlisle, about five miles from the border of Scotland. At an earlier point we had decided the border was a good goal for day one of hitching, and we had a couple hours of daylight, so we were in good shapel! 

Yay! Not long now!

The excitement over almost reaching our goal wore off pretty quickly, because we weren't at a service station, couldn't do the guilt trip thing, and were once again stuck. After a good forty five minutes we said "fuck it, maybe people will pick us up if we dance." So we both started to riverdance ridiculously. No exaggeration, about five seconds later, another trucker pulled over. One of the top five best moments of my life.

This guy was out of his mind. His accent was so thick we could barely understand him. He asked us where we were from in between puffs on a spliff. We told him, and he mentioned his friend in Texas, to whom he mails hash in exchange for coke. 

Seems like a fair trade.

Out of curiosity, we asked him how he gets gets away with mailing drugs. Apparently you have to do it in small amounts underneath cd jewel cases. Future drug entrepreneurs take note. It occurred to me how strange it was to meet an actual cocaine smuggler so shortly after meeting a falsely accused cocaine smuggler. 

We crossed the border into Scotland, and he dropped us near a completely empty train station. 


We checked the schedule to see if it might just make more sense to do that instead of hitching. Well, it wasn't going to come for a long ass time, and cost money, so we took our chances on the road again. We didn't seem to be near any sort of main road, so we just walked through some smaller roads for a mile or so then glanced up and saw a "speed limit 70" sign. Whoops! We were on the highway somehow, and it's illegal to hitchhike on the highway. We checked our map, realized where we were and noticed a service station a couple miles away. We walked back a ways to this guy that had parked his delivery truck on the side of the road and asked him if he'd take us there. He seemed sympathetic, but was on the job and didn't want to get in trouble. He told us we should just walk, and if we get stopped say "Sorry! Didn't know." Then he paused, clearly weighing some pros and cons, and said "ah fuck it, I'll chance it." Woohoo! It was nearly nightfall, but we were in a good place. It was getting too dark to hitch, so we decided to camp for the night. We hiked through the woods a little ways, and hopped a fence into some farmer's field. After hopping the fence I lost my balance a bit and had to put my hand down--into a big pile of shit and mud. Awesome. We pitched the tent at the end of some random field, out of sight from everything. Here's a picture of it.

Not much different than most fields really.

We hoped to not get woken up by an angry farmer, or worse, an angry animal. 


Overall, we were about halfway to Sterling, and were optimistic. Stay tuned. 

Monday, December 20, 2010


Well it's happening. The older I get, the more and more people my age are getting married. What the fuck is this all about? The way I feel about marriage hasn't changed much since I was six: I probably won't do that til I'm old as hell.

Pictured: The future.

But obviously not all of my friends feel this way, and good for them! It's a sign of maturity, of planning for the future, of responsibility, or maybe just a sign of saying "eh I think I'm done looking for other people to have sex with". 

Haha but seriously, getting married is a huge step. Those that undertake it probably end up feeling like adults, and as long as I continue to find farts as hilarious as I do now, I don't anticipate ever feeling like an adult, so marriage is not for me at this point.

But, because of friends getting married, I've (go figure) been to some weddings. Let's talk about that!

First I have to figure out just how nicely I plan to dress up. Am I included in the wedding party? Probably not. Ok, most definitely not. So, I've got some options regarding what to wear. Namely, the blue shirt or the black shirt? And do I have a clean pair of slacks right now?  Yeah, I need to expand my formal attire just a bit, but it's ok, I've got this whole plan where I get rich pretty soon then BAM fucking wearing suits every day. Later I burn the suit I wore that that day, and change into my nighttime suit. Then I fucking burn that one in the morning. 

But until then, I'm limited to a few nice shirts, a few nice pants, and a few nice blazers, and basically nothing goes with anything else. I'm not sure how that happened but it leaves me with about 1 1/2 options for when I need to dress up. Or I can wear my tuxedo to the wedding but I probably won't because that would be stupid and I try not to do stupid things (lies). 

Then I attend the wedding. A beautiful ceremony commemorating the time these two have spent together, and the exchanging of vows, illuminating the promising future they have ahead of them. Plus I get to get drunk after. I don't remember when basically every social gathering turned into an excuse to drink, but I LIKE IT. 

Holy shit it's THURSDAY let's RAAAVVVEEE

So the reception comes next. I sign "Dr. Boner Rocketfist" into the guestbook and then have a seat. After eating and drinking far too much to be pleasant while socializing, it's time to socialize. I make sure to put most of my effort into avoiding the majority of the room because who the fuck are these people? But it'll happen eventually. Someone will join the circle and I won't know who they are. After some small talk, I run out of pertinent things to discuss and end up with "Hey man did you see that wedding back there?"

Then since I'm probably still a little buzzed I'll reflect on the moment. I might remember these people back from when I was ten years old, or younger! And what does that profound realization impart on me? Not a whole lot, other than "hey it's way later and I still know them, and that's pretty cool." I also wonder what the newlyweds must think about after the ceremony and reception are all over. 

I imagine all sorts of comedic scenarios. It probably takes awhile to sink in, so maybe a couple weeks go by, they're doing the dishes, and they think "Holy shit I'm married." And then they get dizzy and fall into a pile of plates they got as a wedding gift. 

Like this, except replace the baseball player with plates.

Or maybe one day they're vacuuming and they realize "Holy shit I'm married." And they get dizzy and fall into some more plates. Basically all I can think of involves household chores and ruining plates. Haha, why do they keep those all over the house?

Before I know it, the wedding's over. It's been a great day celebrating the life these two people will have together. Yup, another couple in the books. But time for me to go home and continue laughing at farts. 

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

The Heart Attack Grill

Perhaps some of you have heard of this real place. Menu items shamelessly high in portion size, calories, fat and death. Their philosophy on cooking is apparently "fuck it". They coat food in lard and offer "bypass burgers" of the single, double, triple and quadruple varieties. People over 350lbs. eat for free. 


It's hospital themed, presumably so that when customers wake up in an actual hospital it won't be such an adjustment. Waitresses are "nurses". Customers are "patients". Meals are "prescriptions". What the "fuck"? 

I don't even know what to say about this place. But I noticed their motto is "Taste...Worth Dying For!" I think I can do better, so I'm going to offer some of my own mottoes in this post. Maybe the owners will come across it, use one of them, and then I will earn royalties. 

The Heart Attack Grill: Why Other Countries Hate Us.

The Heart Attack Grill: Yes. We're Trying to Kill You.

The Heart Attack Grill: Fuck You.

The Heart Attack Grill: You're Gonna Die Sometime, Why Not Much Much Sooner than you Expected?

The Heart Attack Grill: Set the New High Score! (Blood Pressure-wise).

The Heart Attack Grill: We Found All This Extra Lard Lying Around, Want Some?

The Heart Attack Grill: Why Do All of our Customers Keep Dying?

The Heart Attack Grill: Bring Me Solo and the Wookie. Hoo Hoo Hoo.

The Heart Attack Grill: Free Vomit Buckets!

The Heart Attack Grill: You Seriously Might Have One. 

The Heart Attack Grill: Ever Been Carried Home in a Wheelbarrow? 

The Heart Attack Grill: Donate Your Clothes After you Eat! Since you know, they Probably Don't Fit Anymore. 

The Heart Attack Grill: Quite Possibly the Last Place You'll Ever See.

The Heart Attack Grill: 'Merica

The Heart Attack Grill: You Definitely Might Not Die.

The Heart Attack Grill: *Gurgle*

Now, I support a lot of libertarian ideals, but this place makes me rethink my position. With these people sure, it's their life, and they can do what they want to their own bodies, but maybe only with the stipulation that they know full well what they're doing going into it. We are a nation of ignorance, where it's possible people actually think "I can stand up under my own power most of the time, I must be pretty healthy". Then they see the sign about being 350lbs. and eating for free. "Surely nobody would encourage something like that were it not healthy!" 


Ok ok, so I'm sure "A Taste...Worth Dying For!" plus the whole hospital theme, and you know, common sense, clues these people into the fact that yes, eating like this is extraordinarily bad for you. But when corpulence becomes a gimmick to this extent, the reality of the dangers behind it are overshadowed by the fact that HEY THIS SHIT TASTES FUCKING GREAT AND OUR WAITRESSES ARE HOT KIND OF I GUESS AND WE ALL LOVE YOU HERE'S A GIANT BUCKET OF MEAT AND FAT. 

These people may need somebody to step in and save them from themselves. I still support the idea that "it's your life, do what you want", but Jesus Christ.

(By the way, did anyone else think of this?)

Saturday, December 11, 2010

The Microdyne Days

There are two sides to every coin, and Microdyne is no exception. It is a place where students come to learn valuable job skills, with aspirations of financial independence. It is also a soulless pit of drudgery and despair. 

Microdyne is known to people of Orono, Maine and surrounding areas as a place where anyone looking for a job can turn. You needn't ever wait more than two weeks before something opens up, which is a big plus for the jaded job seeker. However, once hired you might lose the will to live.

So, what is Microdyne? You mean besides a depressing gulag of shattered hopes? It is an outsourcing company that takes in contracts with several other companies to help them with customer service. These companies have to outsource because they are awful people that fuck up so often, they couldn't possibly handle all of the angry calls with their current workforce. You're juggling the policies of Microdyne, and the policies of the company whose contract you're working for. So, since you are essentially working for two companies at once, you are constantly torn between who to hate, and end up hating only yourself for getting into the whole mess.

There are inbound telemarketing contracts, outbound telemarketing contracts, and inbound customer service contracts. Some contracts are certainly better than others in the same way that some diseases are better than others. Given the choice, you would have a preference, even though they will all slowly kill you, or at least make your life terribly inconvenient.

So, in this prison where happiness goes to die, you undergo a one to two week training course where you are familiarized with the contract, and learn their software and policies. You don't spend any of the time actually speaking with customers at this point. Then comes On the Job Training. Now you get real customers on real calls, but not often, and with coaching in between. During the OJT stage, management will go easy on you when you inevitably screw everything up. After this is over, you're in the no holds barred arena, where you get to watch your life force drain with each call. 

There it goes!

I worked there for about two years, part time and full time, and I know about one million people who also tried their hand at it. The turnover rate was so astronomically high that what you thought must've been ghosts were actually new employees getting fired or quitting so immediately they left vapor trails.

When I got started on the actual calls, I didn't quite know what to expect. What I did was handle magazine subscription complaints, which were mostly along the lines of "I want to cancel my subscription" because "I have no idea how I even got signed up for this". And I was the one that had to convince them to keep something that they felt they were tricked into. GOOD. But hey, I was working regular hours, making decent money, and one of my bosses was kind of hot, so it didn't seem all that bad. Then I got a call from a lawyer. 


She had an erroneous charge that someone told her was from us, but from the looks of it, actually wasn't. She didn't appear to know what she was talking about, and she didn't exhibit any professionalism, or human decency. So either she was lying about being a lawyer, (probably) or just wasn't a very good lawyer. She constantly threatened me, telling me I'm going to lose my job, and when I told her the credit card she mentioned wasn't on the system, she screamed "IT'S NOT A CREDIT CARD, I TOLD YOU IT'S A BANK CARD, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!" I assumed a "lawyer" would know that the term "bank card" is used loosely, and can refer to a credit card, but even if she specifically meant debit card, that wouldn't change the fact that the numbers still weren't in the system. She went on to say our entire organization was in "so much trouble" and furiously hung up. 

I felt like a target at which a monkey had just thrown its poo. No matter what I calmly tried to explain to this woman, I couldn't get her to stop throwing said poo. This was my first time dealing with someone that could somehow remain convinced that they were completely in the right despite being a lousy piece of shit fucking idiot that didn't know anything. I kept my job despite her certainty otherwise, but I remained baffled.

More and more strange calls like this would roll in from time to time. Some people were hilariously furious. I couldn't even take them seriously because their anger was so intense and immediate I knew that there was nothing I could do to save the situation and may as well just enjoy the ride. Here are a few examples.

Me: Thanks for calling the magazine service center, can I get the spelling of your last name please?



Me: Ok, sorry sir I looked you up and you don't appear to be on the system, so your subscription might not be through our service. Is your name misspelled on the label or anything? 


Me: *stifling laughter* Ok sir..uh well you might have to call the publisher directly, since we don't have a record of your information.

Customer:....Don't play with me buddy...

Me: Thanks for calling the magazine service center can I get the spelling of your last name?

Customer: Who's your manager? I just spoke to him..what's his name..he's an asshole. Jerry or something? Yeah he's an asshole. Because if someone calls in and tells you you're a piece of shit, even if you are, you get to hang up on him don't you?!

Me: Whoa, uh..

Customer: Listen I ordered a subscription months ago with my airline miles, and it still isn't here. You people can't do a fucking thing right cause you're all idiots. You try to talk to me like you're educated but you work in a call center.

Me: Actually, I'm working here to help pay for scho--

Customer: Get over yourself. You fucking people waste all my time, and where's my magazine?

Me: See ya! *click*

Then there were the occasional customers that used the call as an outlet for their feelings, or to talk about their life. I loved these people, because they talked forever. Taking over one hundred calls a day got to be pretty draining, so if you got one that could eat up a solid 45 minutes it was very therapeutic. And you barely had to put any effort into the conversation. Just occasionally say "yup" "uhhuh" "wow" or "hmm!" and they would keep right on talking. I've had people tell me about how they met their wife on a plane, they still skydive every day even though they're 85 years old, they could kill me five different ways with their bare hands, etc.. These people had all kinds of stuff to talk about that had been building up for who knows how long because probably nobody talked to them anymore. One woman claimed to be 105. Holy shit!

Then there's the time I got a customer that was from Waterville Maine. We had customers from all over the country and I actually got a caller from my hometown! Amazing! I couldn't help but tell her, and quickly realized my mistake. She got all weird and talked about how people called her the "Waterville Angel" (yeah? I've never fucking heard of you) and she talked about miracles. 

"Come home child..."

My shift was over and she was still talking so I did the classic "crumple paper over headset" and hang up. 

So sure, there were some colorful callers sprinkled throughout the day, but for the most part, it was the same thing over and over and over. Someone called because they didn't recognize a charge, I told them what it was from, their tone immediately gave away that they remembered now, they still denied it and wanted to cancel, I offered them a better deal, they said no, I offered them another deal, they said no again but angrier this time, they hung up, and then I did it all again with someone new. It was the most monotonous depressing thing, and will forever be a reminder of what I don't want to spend the rest of my life doing. 

Something more like this perhaps.

So Microdyne was an interesting experience. Sometimes I would reflect on the fact that over the course of my time there, I must've talked to thousands upon thousands of people, from all different areas, ethnicities and backgrounds. I guess not a whole lot of people get to do that. And what did I learn? That we're all mostly the same...that we all get pissed when someone takes our money...that most people refuse to accept that the mix up was partially their fault...that some people are very difficult to interrupt...everyone knows a lawyer that could end our business immediately...that when I try to talk someone out of cancelling they would rather interrupt and rant about why they don't want it for five minutes rather than just say "no" and be done with it in two minutes...that the country is terrified of identity theft...that very few people have senses of humor when their money is at stake...and that the people who do have senses of humor throughout were my favorite people to talk to.

Nowadays when I call customer service, if I get upset, I just take a moment, and picture someone like me on the other end of the line, then fucking yell at them anyway cause they're an IDIOT.

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

This One Time, Someone Stole my Bike

I was never the kid with all the cool shit. As angry as that made me in my younger years, I feel it has no doubt shaped my personality for the better. It taught me the value of working for things that you want. Also I could probably kick your ass at super mario world, because I was still playing it even after playstation and N64 came out. 

Yeah motherfucker.

However, every once in awhile I did get something awesome, so I cherished it. One of those awesome things was a new bike, which I got for my 12th birthday. I'd had bikes before, but this was a fucking.. bike. It cost hundreds of dollars more than my previous bikes, which is a lot of money when you're 12. 

Those previous bikes I just mentioned in that paragraph up there got all shitty really fast, so my dad figured "Hell, we'll get him a more expensive bike that will last awhile. This will probably save money in the long run."  

And I'll finally complete my solid gold pyramid.

The model was a trek, and some numbers. I don't remember what the numbers were, but I seem to remember everyone else's trek had higher numbers. Whatever, my bike was fucking green and it was a 24 speed and it kicked ass.  

Now that I had a bike that was built properly I could ride faster and harder without fear of parts falling off it. Plus, I wore a helmet, which made me indestructible. 


Since I was indestructible,  I would take this bike down the steepest hills on earth as fast as possible, and take it for rides on gnarly trails, off buildings etc... I can't remember if I named my bike, but I wasn't very cool when I was 12 so the answer is probably yes. 

Then one day it all came crashing down. 

For you visual learners.

I'd had my bike for about a year, and one day I went to fetch it from the shed behind my house, and it was gone. 

"Oh, someone must've brought it inside for some reason." Nope. 

"Okokok..*panicking* maybe I rode it somewhere, immediately forgot I rode it there and then walked home?" Nope, that shit only happened when you were drunk, and I was 12. 

Hmm, no way it could've been stolen. That doesn't happen...ok well it does, but not to me. 

I refused to accept it. Then later, we found out a couple of neighbors also had their bikes stolen. So, finally it sunk in. Some worthless bag of shit had stolen my bike. I guess that someone wanted to die, because they had just made an otherwise innocent 12 year old capable of murder.  

I pictured myself walking down the street, and spotting the thief on my bike. Then I pictured that person getting hit by a train. I pictured them owning a new hot air balloon, taking it for a spin, and crashing it into high voltage electrical wiring. I pictured them accidentally shitting their pants in a really public place. I pictured them buying a brand new car, then somehow finding out it was pre-owned. I pictured them going to the store only to find out their favorite brand of peanut butter was out of stock. I pictured them with a pathological fear of bread, then meeting the girl of their dreams, only to find out she works in a bakery. I pictured them buying a new pair of pants then gaining a bunch of weight and the pants not fitting anymore. I pictured them not knowing how to swim and getting invited to a pool party. I pictured them liking lame music and everyone finding out. I pictured them being allergic to love. 

These were the things that got me through.

I never found out who it was. If you have any information, please email me.    

Sunday, December 5, 2010

I Wasn't Done Bitching About Public Transit!

Haha no I certainly was not done complaining! When it comes to public transit I will never be done complaining! Here are some more gripes!

Constant Unexpected Delays
When you depend on public transit to arrive to work, you'll arrive one of two ways: Late, or Fired.


Regardless of what the internet estimates as your total travel time, random delays will pop up. For this reason, it's a terrible thing when going to a new place in the city for the first time, because you'll never know exactly when you'll arrive. 

"Hey meet me at Lexington and 76th at noon!" 

"Ok great how long will that take from here?" .

"About 45 minutes. But maybe 4 hours.

Sometimes you can plan for delays because of those helpful little signs. 


But most of the time it's out of nowhere, 

Like this frog.

Dum de doo, the train's cruising along nicely for once! I'm only one station away now! BAM. THE TRAIN STOPS. Then comes the announcement "Ladies and gentlemen we are being held momentarily by the train's dispatcher." Where momentarily is anywhere from "before the announcement is even finished" to "the rest of your life". 

The dispatcher, or "son of a bitch" must sit at their desk, find trains that are running on time, and then..

Awkward Silence and Eye Contact on the Train
There's nothing I like more than sharing hours of silence with strangers on crowded trains every week. 


On trains in the city, minding your own business is an olympic event. It's human nature to want to commiserate with people, but since 90% of the train appears to be having the worst day of their life, I wisely keep my mouth shut. For those longer rides, if I don't have something to keep me occupied, I will eventually become bored of looking at the floor and ceiling, so it's inevitable that I'll make awkward eye contact with people from time to time. 

Forget about actual conversations with these people. Ever hear a married couple say "Oh we met on the subway! It was so romantic." Nope. If people are speaking to you on the train it's because:

A. They want your money.

B. They want your sex.

C. They want your directions.

Which brings me to my next point:   

Loud Spiels for Money/Jesus
If I'm on the train, it means I'm late. If I'm late, I'm stressed, and if I'm stressed, the last thing I want to hear is anything. 

The people wanting money will either launch into a five minute tirade about how terrible their life is and you should give them money because of it, or they'll do some sort of performance and you should give them money because of it. With these folks, it's usually a couple minutes or so, then it's over. 

Pay me and I'll stop playing!

The preachers are much much worse.

I don't know if there's ever been a person that found jesus because of "that dude on the subway" but these people will act like it happens all the time! They go on for so long! I've gotten on the train in the midst of someone preaching, then transferred 15 minutes later, and they were not showing any signs of slowing. They don't understand that religion is like a dick, and you can't get someone to appreciate it by jamming it down their throat. 

Utter Intelligibility of Announcements
Obviously the train conductors never get people to test the levels in the cars. Someone should tell them that the idea is to press the button, then talk in a concise manner, not press the button, then do your best dog impression. 

The internet has a picture of that exact thing! NO WAY!

It's amazing the sounds that come out over the intercom. In many ways it's like reading the lyrics of a death metal song. You can follow along if you've got the words right in front of you, but you never would've figured it out on your own.  

"Stand clear of the closing doors" becomes. "..stagloders.." .

"Because of construction, there will be no 2 train service between manhattan and brooklyn, take the 4 train instead and transfer at brooklyn bridge" becomes "fft". 

And in some stations there are occasionally two trains ready to go, and if you get in the wrong one, you'll hear someone on the intercom say "the train across the platform will be the first to leave" but since all you hear is 'BRBRBZMHHHHMM' you don't realize what they've told you until it's too late. 


That's it for now!

Thursday, December 2, 2010

Hammerhead Sharks Look Stupid

Let's take something terrifying, like a shark, and mix it with home improvement. Great idea.

I really wish this thing didn't exist. 

Now you wish it didn't too!

And by this thing, I really mean these nine things, as there are nine different species of hammerhead shark, which is about nine times as many as we need. 

Imagine if you were the first person to see one of these. We'll never know who that actually was since I'm sure they immediately killed themselves, but just imagine. 

I picture someone swimming in the ocean having a great time, and then one of these comes floating by. They must have assumed someone took a regular shark and flattened its head with a mallet. Smashy smash, everything's going along fine, eyes bulging out in a cartoon fashion, and it just wouldn't die.

What other alarming features does this thing have? Let's see.

Well since it's eyes are on the end of long tubes of horror, it can basically see you no matter where you are. And that doesn't even matter, cause it's nostrils are pretty far apart, giving it pinpoint accuracy in that regard too! This means it could close its eyes and smell you no matter where you are. The only way this thing is not finding you is if you happen to not look or smell like food, which you don't, so you're fucked.

But bring these just in case.

They also form schools during the day, look!

Oh you don't like sharks? Well fuck you, here's one hundred of them.

I don't know what it is about things people don't like, but they always seem to love to hang out in groups. Spiders, zombies, locusts..

They always come in swarms. Hammerhead sharks of course are no different. If they could just swim alone, I would be apt to assume they also die alone, and that would make me feel much better.

Here's another fun fact. One species of hammerhead shark has been found to reproduce asexually. Great. That means if we don't literally kill every last god damn one of them, they'd still be capable of coming back and taking over the world.

Go get your head stuck in a door you dumb son of a bitch.

I can only guess how evolution allowed this to happen. A hammerhead shark must've one day caught it's gross reflection in something and thought "well, I guess I'm on my own." And I'll be damned if it didn't actually figure out asexual reproduction, to the chagrin of every other living thing on earth. Probably even pygmy marmosets.

"You're shitting me."

And I saved the best for last. It has electro receptive sensors on it's face to detect electric currents. So you could be wearing the best hammerhead shark proof suit money can buy, but if you're wearing a watch that day you're still fucked. It can detect down to half a billionth of a volt! THAT'S SO LITTLE ELECTRICITY! What doesn't give off a half a billionth of a volt? The hammerhead must be swimming around just fucking knowing everything about the ocean. 

Brilliant Photoshop Skills.

Keep hammers in the tool boxes, and off the heads of sharks. That is all.