For Those Who Have Heart...

To the detractors: I know. Do you think I like this? I hate my blog too. Why do I continue to embarrass myself? How can I spew such hate filled rhetoric? Look at my writing...a pathetic attempt at trying to sound eloquent...it's poorly phrased and I gratuitously overuse similes and comparisons because I lack the ability to describe things with words instead of using some contrived anecdotal thing that nobody relates to.
And don't get me started on the pictures...I mean...do I really think these pictures are good? Who the fuck am I kidding here guys? Pablo Picasso is rolling over in his grave looking at these. I can't believe I would actually masquerade around as an artist.

As far as free entertainment goes, this is the worst i've seen, and I honestly feel bad for even subjecting you all to it. Imagine if Team Liquid was beautiful woman. Now, imagine that beautiful woman lying on the ground. Every time I post a blog entry, it is the equivalent of me squatting over the top of that beautiful woman's face, arming the laser sight I have retrofitted to my asshole, gazing into her eyes and seeing the red dot directly in the middle of her forehead like an Indian woman's third eye and exploding feces onto her, in a mean-spirited fashion.
One day I will organize and launch a campaign of torches and pitchforks to burn me at the stake. Please be warned, though, that there are a few detestable people out there who actually like this blog. YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE. These people are to be known as enemies of the state.

To the scumbags that manage to like this blog (probably because you are engaging in illicit drugs and sexual acts...like shoving an ectasy pill in a guy's dickhole and then deepthroating it):

I haven't stopped. In the last couple months I have traveled and married my long time girlfriend of seven years. In the six hour period from the time I get home from work until I go to sleep to wake up and do it again, I almost exclusively work on the blog. A few months ago, an old english teacher of mine that I showed my blog to contacted some random guy she knew that had some influence at a blogging network. Despite how shitty it may be, he gave me a couple pointers and was interested in picking my blog up or helping me get in contact with an even larger blogging network. Part of his advice was to have a large base of content already completed. Cue the montage of me brainstorming, writing and redrawing all of the pictures. I am about a week away from having six months of entries completely done, at which point I will start shopping around and bring this travesty to something other than an obscure sub-forum of a gaming website. I'll be sure to get the information to you guys as soon as I have it. That said, for anyone interested, I leave you with the first blog post I ever posted, except rewritten and redrawn. Hope you enjoy it...talk to you guys soon!

Staring directly into the sun is a really stupid thing to do. It's also a fitting metaphor for doing stupid things and not learning from them. You stare directly at the sun for a while and look away and the image of the sun is burned into your vision. You blink and rub your eyes for a couple seconds and the image becomes distorted and discolored and it fades, until after about ten seconds when it is entirely gone and it is almost as if you never even stared at the sun in the first place. Everyone does stupid things; the question is, how many times do they do the same one? Even geniuses do stupid things. Take Stephen Hawking for instance: He stared at the sun for so long that now he is fully retarded and wheelchair bound and spends his days fingerpainting and eating legos, but do we judge him? It is impossible for anyone to trump how stupid I was in 9th grade. I was at a stage of my life where my chief priority was doing stupid things vying for the approval of my stupid parents, and today's story is a perfect testament. But briefly, for anyone currently in a similar situation to the one that I found myself in years ago, I offer a few words of advice. Often people see their parents as untouchable overseers, but really, your parents are just...older...people. At some point, after you've determined a moral code to adhere to, I think it is important for everyone to take an honest assessment of your parents as peers; using the same yardstick you use to measure yourself. If you are still a dependent of your parents and you deem them to be certifyable morons, treat your remaining time like a prison sentence. Stay out the the warden's radar, be in your cell at lightsout, make your license plates, bake a nail file into a rhubarb pie and countdown the days to when you can feel the sun on your face, a free man and finally have sex with that fat chick you've been writing letters to for 5 years. The sooner you write them off as complete losers, the sooner you can ignore any advice they give you, patronizingly nod at anything they say and strap yourself to a chair and force feed yourself episodes of the Bill Cosby Show to try to reverse the damage they have done. If I had learned this sooner, I could've saved myself the embarassment of the following day.

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For some reason, my dad and sister weren't home that Friday evening, and after school when my friend Greg and I arrived to an empty house, we were desperately trying to find something to do. As two profoundly stupid 16 year olds, we couldn't imagine a better way to spend our afternoon than raiding my dad's treasure trove of porn that was hidden in an old milk crate in his closet. My dad didn't think anyone knew about it. Leave it to our hormonal intuition to find a box of dollar store tissues, a novelty sized bottle of watered down aloe vera lotion, 15 magazines and a single DVD. What can I say, my dad was old fashioned, but even he couldn't prevent the technological age from rearing it's ugly head into his porn horde. We spent a long time studying exactly how the DVD was placed in the box. We even looked closely to check if my dad left a strand of hair across it so that he would know if it was altered in any way. We popped in the DVD. The first scene, even before the title screen, was of a young girl giving a testimonial to a man that was interviewing her behind the camera telling him in rich vocabulary what she wanted him to do with the contents of his balls. It was very articulate and quotable, and I could tell that the professionals that made the DVD recognized that fact. We sat next to eachother on the couch and watched the first minute of the DVD laughing. Then our laughing faded and turned into awkward silence. Then I can only imagine we both realized simultaneously that we were watching porn alone with another dude. We quickly returned the DVD to the milk crate, making sure it was facing the EXACT SAME WAY, and moved on to more productive activities like making prank phone calls to everyone in our class. We made several prank calls, but all of them lived beneath the shadow of my triumphant call to a very attractive blonde senior girl named Bree, where I pretended to be the nerdy guy from our class named Tim. Everyone reading this has met a guy like Tim before. Tim is the guy that returns from spring break boasting to everyone about how many consecutive times he beat off to the Star Wars franchise over the course of the previous week. Tim made it very clear to everyone with unabated social ineptitude that he was madly in love with Bree and that he knew that one day he would marry her.

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I dialed Bree's number on Greg's cell phone and it rang three times before the answering machine picked up. "PERFECT!" I thought. The message consisted of me pretending to be Tim professing his love for Bree and telling her all the sexual acts he dreamed of performing on her, all of which was concluded by the direct quote from the girl on the porn movie. The quote was completely innapropriate; riddled with profanity and graphic sexual descriptions. To put it short, even for my blog it was risque. For anyone with a curiosity as strong as their stomach, this is as close as I remember it:

"I want to come a blood streaked chunky load all over your face and have it drip down onto your tits and have you rub it into your hard nipples..." and then I think I added something about funneling it into her ass with a turkey baster.

Greg exploded with laughter like a pressure cooker and nervously asked what we would do if any of our classmates told our teacher. Luckily for us, I actually knew everything, and was a legal expert at the age of 16. I waived my typical consultation fee for expert legal advice and told him that they could never prove that it was us, and that as long as we denied it, they couldn't do anything to us. Fast forward to monday morning. I was sitting in my first period class when two police officers and the Vice Principal of the school show up and tell my teacher that they need to see me.

Although none of this was caused by the public school system, I am going to rail against it anyway.

This is a hallmark of a stupid person. Stupid people are products of the public school system.

This is the guy that looks like Shaggy from Scooby Doo that smells like you dumped bongwater into the dumpster behind a panda express that would weave a hemp necklace in the back of highschool spanish class. His perpetual goal was to smoke a joint in the bathroom and blow the smoke through a toilet paper roll with fabric softener sheets inside to hide the smell, so he spent his time navigating a Spanish-English Dictionary trying to Rossetta Stoner his way to learning the one sentence that was of use to him: May I go to the bathroom?
Five years later his coworkers at Taco Bell crowd around him with wide eyes as he gains some pathetic sense of notoriety within them by touting the three words he remembers from four years of spanish one. You had two choices when you graduated: Taco Bell or Movie Theater. At least you picked the one where your skillset worked in your favor. And yes, this IS the closest you'll ever be to getting laid.

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The role of the public school system is to give everyone a baseline of knowledge that will facilitate them living as close to a productive and successful adult life as they choose to. Despite this fact, the last four years of public schooling is essentially a glorified daycare, where kids either pay attention and take classes on useless things like shakespearean footwear, or they take bong hits and tie shakespear's shoelaces together and try to fling them over a powerline. For this age bracket, school is little more than a storage facility for teenagers whose parents have to go to work, and so many of them graduate without knowledge of so many things that are mainstays in adult life. Does sitting through months of algebra 78 yield a benefit for anyone other than the one guy that is engineering nuclear weapons for a living?

My point is not that nobody learns anything; it's that there are more effective applications of schooling. There needs to be a class that teaches the basics of young adult life; things that apply to everyone regardless of career path, or lack thereof. This can be taught by the blowhard gym teacher that usually coaches football at the highschool, because lets be honest, gym teachers are gym teachers because they're losers and can't teach anything else and probably have run into several of "Life's Pitfalls" along the way. Plus, this will give him something to do other than spout condescending remarks and work on drilling his peephole into the girls locker room. The most important piece of information one should glean from this class, and one that should be revisited throughout the entire semester, is the idea of skepticism. Question the motives of everyone, and if something sounds too good to be true, it probably is. If your long lost uncle from Nigeria e-mails you that he won the lottery and made a sacred oath at birth to give it all to you, you probably shouldnt send him your bank account information and social security card while telling your boss to "suck it". Students should learn how to make a good impression in a job interview, and how to block your boss from seeing the Facebook picture of you taking a line of coke off your boyfriend's dick. They should learn how to fill out a w-4 and what a deduction is and how to file a 1040ez tax form. I mean, public school's aim is to turn you into a productive tax paying citizen, but they don't teach you how to pay taxes? How about we teach them about the realities of nutrition and diet and counting calories so we don't have a country of people that look at the food pyramid and their only thought is that it resembles a Hershey's kiss? Lets teach everyone CPR so they can potentially save the life of the person drowning in pudding and Mountain Dew. How many lives have been significantly altered by choices made in the interest of a bad relationship in young adult life? Lets teach people about what a reasonable relationship is and how to interact with different types of people, not just in a romantic sense, but coworkers and fellow citizens.
At a certain point, it is beneficial for schools to take an honest assessment of a student, and if he is obviously not going to be attending Harvard in the fall, teaching him a trade, or some skills that he can use. That way, when he graduates, he can make ten dollars an hour instead of eight, and be in a higher tax bracket, paying more towards funding the public school system that awarded him those skills.

I walked into the office with the police officers and saw several people sitting around a giant table in the middle of the room. Greg sat with his dad's arm snugly wrapped around his back and he hung his head vehemently swearing that he had no idea what happened. His dad firmly looked in the principal's eyes and said "If my son said he didn't do it, then he DIDN'T DO IT GOD DAMNIT!" Unfortunately, it was completely obvious that we did. I said that I took his phone and made the prank call against his will. The police officers lambasted me for 20 minutes and explained to me that I could be arrested for sexual harassment, but when they asked Bree if she felt like pressing charges, she said that she was relieved to find out it was her friend pranking her and not someone that was legitimately trying to hurt her. Just as my dad started to walk out of the office, the police officer asked him if he would like to hear the message. He said yes.
Bree put the message on speaker phone in the center of the table in front of my dad, me, Greg and his parents, Bree and her parents, three police officers (two of which were female), and the vice principal and principal of the school. It...was...absolutely mortifying. It was a toruturous 25 seconds that I thought couldn't get worse until my dad heard the direct quote from the porn in his closet and his eyes turned to the size of saucers. He knew. He knew I knew. He knew I knew he knew. You get it.
To punish me for my transgressions, my dad sprayed me with a garden hose, poured pine-sol on me and scrubbed me with a wire toilet brush to get the "filth" off of me. Still have scars.

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For Those Who Have Heart...

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