Here is an example, which brother Mike reminded me of just the other day:
The internet just got a little worse.
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.
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
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Journey to England Part VI
Holy shit part six?! Pretty soon I'll be at part seven, and then
PART ONE MILLION...
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.
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.
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!
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.
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.
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.
PART ONE MILLION...
 |
| 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.
 |
| Completely. |
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.
 |
| GOOD MORNING WOULD YOU LIKE SOME BREAKFAST?!!? |
Overall, we were about halfway to Sterling, and were optimistic. Stay tuned.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Weddings
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.
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.
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.
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.
 |
| 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.
Friday, December 17, 2010
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.
 |
| Seriously. |
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!"
 |
| HAHA THIS PLACE IS COVERED WITH JOKES |
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?) |
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