Candy Land:The True, Tragic Tale Of History's Most Delicious Genocide

The residents of candy land liked to think that their quiet sugary utopia was a safehaven for all candy kind. A place in which the denizens were not judged by the color of their coating but by the content of their artificially sweetened cores. Candy land prided itself on it's civility and sense of justice, being ruled by a wise although later on incestually produced candy aristocracy.
You can ask anyone if they know of candy land and they will immediately shout back "Yes of course!" and spout multiple incoherent claims through a torrent of nostalgic tears. However this love of "The Nation of Candy" brings about a question that many are too afraid to answer, or maybe to ashamed of their barbarism to respond to.
"Why still eat candy?" Many people are able to acknowedge the existence of a candy society while devouring what might as well be the stringy(yet delicious) spinal chord of Lord Licorice himself. Now I realize that visual was grotesque, but let it only magnify the social ills that plague our society and the true savage nature of our people. Would you feel comfortable eating a hot dog if it showed you pictures of it's grand children first?
Candy Land's tragic descent into the refugee camp it is today would start in 1949 when the game hit shelves. The nation of candy land was devastated by the industrial revolution, as their people were now being genetically engineered by the thousands only to be sent to their doom in the homes of the average American family.Representatives of Candy Land, after failing to have a cease fire recognized by the united nations would approach marketing executives with what would become one of the worlds least successfull propoganda campaigns of all time. Creating a simple game portraying the denizens of candy land in a glorious monarchal light, The plan was simple, it would garner respect and support through slanted imagery and a simplistic quest to move from one end of candy land to the other. Thus candy land was born,and for a moment, the residents of the confectionary commune's eyes glazed over with hope(go back and re-read that sentence if you can still read this one. It means your mind hasn't been blown yet)But this hope would prove a false one, as the barbaric attacks on candy land only increased tenfold as candy production sky rocketed upon release of the game. Citizens were pulled from their homes and cut to pieces, brutally beaten, and viciously raped(All but the last assisting the process of packaging the candy)
Candy Land became a shanty town, harboring the last war torn refugees of the once proud kingdom. The residents eventually became so fearful that they refused all access from the outside world, soon falling victim to cannibalism and incest, from which the character "Gloppy the molasses monster" was born. Candy land has lived on as a broken shadow of the glorious empire it once was, just recently being devastated by an expiditionary force led by Dora The Explorer in 2003, her new world diseases and foreign influence decimating 70% of the remaining population. So please, for the love of god think twice before you support the candy industry,now armed with the knowledge of knowing those whose lives you are affecting.Ask your local candy vendor before purchasing sweets, because your licorice isn't red due to Amaranth FD&C Red No. 2, it's red with the blood of innocents.

Exercise: Once Is Enough

I'm not completely out of shape, I require no rolling to move from place to place, I do not drive a Hummer H2 and I do not write down that my legal parent/guardian is "The Burger King" on paperwork. I can say however that I am not in good enough physical condition to do some pretty every day activities, such as repeatedly getting up to access the refrigerator(which is a like 15 feet from the couch. Insane? Yes.) and methodically brush Cheetos crumbs off of my beaten up college sweatshirt. I decided that I would start to work out, or "Exercise" as the experts call it in order to allow me to truly indulge without the shame of having to call 911 when trading spaces comes on and I'm too far to reach the remote(They do not appreciate that by the way. Batons hurt! Ouch!) Instinctively the first step of my journey was to acquire equipment that would get me in shape for me, as effort was very low on my priorities list. I spent hours upon hours scouring the Internet searching for the perfect piece of fitness technology to transform me into the hulking Adonis I am on the inside. I found many an aggressively described piece of equipment. However with such phrases as "Abs of steel!" and "Blasted Pecs!" they seemed to describe the robot holocaust more than a physical fitness apparatus. Finally I found what I was looking for, as I gazed upon it in all of it's matte painted glory I realized that you had to pay money to acquire it. My hopes were shattered as I realized the crucial flaw in my plan, I tried to bargain, I offered my antique Victorian era duck sculpture collection, and finally my body which I thought would work seeing as I was using Craig's list. Long story short. It didn't and I'm worse off then I started. I've been forced to sell painted M&M's as fake prescription medication and constantly change my name and move around the country. Which I must say is less inconvenient then you'd think as I am simply loaded into a van on my couch and carted off to the next destination. At first the movers were irritated and less then enthusiastic about the heavy lifting, but that's nothing a hand full of "Chocolate Quaaludes" can't fix. So I've failed at my goal, but I'd like to think not all is lost. I believe I've learned some real valuable information about life like that Craig's list fitness equipment may be a repackaged erotic torture device, and that manual laborers can be easily persuaded with prescription drugs, but mostly that staying in shape is not only unnecessary,it's un-American, I'm not fat, just loaded with freedom, and I plan on living the American dream from my Ikea 3 cushion lounge couch. God Bless America.

My Beard

I want a beard. Pretty damn badly.......Alright I need one, it's not a joke anymore. While the prospect of growing a beard is a romantic one, the process has been all but what I've expected. I've found that growing a beard is like making a bunch of new friends without really knowing anything about them just because you're lonely. Just having them at first is great...but after a month you start to realize that having hobbies ending with"Philia" isn't that normal and that Jerry(Your personal favorite) is a rose lacquered coffee table. Within the first few days my facial hair is respectable. I even get compliments, which in no way is due to my application of subtle makeup arrows on my cheeks to draw attention to my face. Outside of subliminal attempts to be accepted, I figured there must be some easy way to grow a beard. So I observed people who have beards, and after producing multiple charts filled with numbers and lines I came to a pretty decisive conclusion. You have to be a douche bag. After submitting and receiving rejection letters from multiple scientific journals I began my revolutionary experiment. I started calling my friends and asking what they were doing, and than cutting them off and saying "Fuck that bro! let's play some bp". I would savor the resulting silence until I again shattered it with a "Fuck yeah" before hanging up. I started making terribly awkward race jokes in front of people and then supplementing them with "it's funny because it's true" and lastly I aggressively defending Dave Matthews band and took off my shirt a good five minutes before starting a fight. This as an added bonus let everyone see my tribal arm band tat, and my misspelled Chinese lettering of "power". So after multiple benders and my short stint of working atAbercrombie and Fitch I decided to check if my follicle growing power had increased. I looked in my mirror to discover the horror that had beset my face. Reflected off my generic gold chain necklace was no great plumage of hair but my scrawny chin. I wept for hours, and I suppose in a gesture of false hope called up my friend and made fun of him for being a pussy because I saw him cry last week. Plus he was wearing sneakers to his own grandmas funeral, how trashy is that? Anyway these results destroyed my hypothesis and left me clamoring for other scientific words to use along with a dictionary with which to reclaim my vocabulary. All of this is just too much to take in. Speaking of which I drank about 30 celebratory natty ices to commemorate the end of the experiment,and I can't feel my legs.

Top 3 Innocent Games That If Randomly Initiated With Strangers Might Get You Put You In Jail

1. Twister-

I have to mention first that I had a hard time classifying twister as an "innocent" game, due to the fact any game that requires people to entwine their bodies can't be too family friendly. There has to be something wrong with a game that when coupled with a slap bass line, and an awkward mustache or two can be considered soft core pornography. Now I'm not very up to date with my legal terms, but I'm also fairly certain that "Spontaneous Twister" is substitutable for "Sexual Assault" in the court of law.

2. "Would You Rather"-

While in the context of a friend setting "Would You Rather" comes across as a simple gross out exchange, when played with someone you don't know it takes a much different tone, coming closer to terrifying threats. Such as "Would you rather be stabbed to death? Or be choked to death?" Now unless the askee is massively suicidal, this will most likely be met with screaming, running, and calling for help(the order of those three is interchangeable)

3. Tag

Tag is a game of physical exertion agility and speed, which will all most likely come in handy when you are running from the police. Tag with random people becomes horrendously inappropriate in these situations.

1. With someone who was just in a moderately bad accident and is still in their vehicle.

2. At the tops of stairs (escalators also)

3. With babies(Premature are even worse)

4. With people who have BBS(brittle bone syndrome)

5. Pregnant women.

6. Cops(mall cops not included. Because let's be honest, what are they going to do?)

7.With frail old people.

8. On the Olympic winners podium.

9. While J walking

10. With the recipient of an open casket funeral( On another note you automatically end the game by doing this. Bummer.)

Farewell!

You may have noticed that there are now ads on the website. I'm excited to say that I have quit my job and will be living off my blog. The amount of collateral ads bring in is staggering to say the least. I've foundmyself almost drowned in the hundreds of checks I've received in the mail. I even created a 20x scale check out of the checks, which I cannot cash.(At least until I find a 20x scale bank made out of smaller banks, in which case I will most likely be crushed by whatever demonic force stacked them) Either way I would like to thank everyone for reading, and sticking with me throughout all these days. I plan on retiring to the french country side where I will sip wine while reminiscing on all the time I spent writing blog posts, all the while buying out the worlds most powerful companies via my iphone 3gs, just to run them into the ground. Now you may be regretting supporting me after hearing my motives, and you may feel betrayed about devoting countless seconds out of your busy schedule between watching rock of love and designated periods of self loathing, but I have to say that I still care about my readers, and despite my ungodly net worth, I will still be with you in your hearts. Now you're probably wondering how much I'm making off this site, and if it weren't for the trade off of my humility for mass wealth I wouldn't tell you. What I will tell you is that if my salary were given in hay pennies(half pennies) I would be able to fill at least 4 dixie cups. But examples like this are meaningless. My following is made up of go getters who want solid numbers and pie charts. And while I'm not comfortable enough with Microsoft office to make the pie charts, I have a few numbers and here they are. I get approximately 16 cents per 25 impressions or more if you click a link. For those of you who fainted It's alright. As of today I've made approximately one quarter of dollar, also known as the current yearly salary of MC Hammer. So please, don't worry about me, I'll remember you all as the little people that made my insane wealth possible. Hopefully with your current level of support I can make enough money to buy a coffin before I die. Or at least a thick sleeping bag.
Love,
Alex

I AM NOT ACTUALLY DONE WITH MY BLOG. IT'S A JOKE. COME BACK AGAIN TOMORROW.

A Letter From Jesus To The World

Dear Children,

I know that as of late the world has been overwhelmed with chaos and violence, and many of you have been requesting my presence with more urgency than normal. I look upon you during your time of suffering and believe me when I say that I empathise and feel your pain. Now that last bit, the "feeling your pain " part brings up the problem I mean to address in this letter. As I'm sure you remember around 2000 years ago I walked among you and spread the word of the lord. It was a time of great joy and many were healed and brought into the light of the lords love. However that trip was cut short due to a certain disciple who felt the need to sell me out for a couple of pieces of silver. Which for the record he used to buy a time share. Great Idea. However despite his grievous ills I have forgiven him, and have even allowed him to spend the rest of eternity shining my halo. Regardless of my merciful acts, I lived amongst you and in my final hours I forgave mankind's sins by sacrificing my own life on the cross. Now this is where the problem comes in. After I ascended to heaven and was seated at the right hand of the father, I was soon seated at long couch of heavens makeshift psychologist, Aristotle, and was diagnosed with post traumatic stress disorder. For those of you who don't know what PTSD is, it is an anxiety disorder brought about by an experience with a traumatic event. Now I'm not going to rub in what happened to me, but I will say that being up on a cross, while it is also made of nails and wood, is no day in a tree house. Now I would LOVE to come down to earth and help everyone out, but you have to understand that your choice of symbolism is definitely not helping with my condition. How comfortable would you feel if everyone had a sculpture of you dying on a torture device hanging from their neck? Answer. Not very. I understand that you're trying to honor my sacrifice, but is it really necessary to have a picture of me dead strung up on a cross? I mean alot of people loved John F Kennedy, but I don't see you wearing medallions of him with his head being blown off! I'm sorry. I lost my calm. It's just that you have to understand where I'm coming from, it's gotten so bad that we've had to install a metal detector at the pearly gates so I don't have a panic attack every three seconds. I would just appreciate it if you guys could pick ANYTHING else to remember me by, I mean I had a great Hebrew school yearblock carving that no one seems to remember. Granted I kind of had a "Jew fro" thing going on but that's only because Judas told me it looked cool that way. Damn him. So I am really sorry about how bad things have been. And just be thankful you aren't Judas, because now that I remember that whole "Jew fro" thing there is going to be hell to pay.

Your Lord And Savior,

Jesus Christ

My Only Greatest Fear

Alright. so let's get this out of the way, I much like a young Evil Knievel fear nothing. I often live life on the edge and given the option to go big or go home, the thought of my comfortable manhole-neighboring cardboard box never crosses my mind. However this does not mean that I can't be respectfully aware of things that would do me harm. While that list of things that aren't fears is extremely long, there is one amongst them that I am the most aware of. That thing is pelicans. While most people see pelicans as hilariously unfortunate looking birds, after a near death experience as a child my perception of these winged beasts changed forever. It was a hot day in Florida and I was on a pier that I had been convinced to walk down for the same reason that would double as my excuse to never go back. There were at least a dozen pelicans circleing the structure and I looked on without the slightest feeling of fear. This would all change when suddenly one landed right next to me, shaking and cracking the earth as his webbed feet left deep imprints in the sun burnt wood. He then let out a massive ear shattering squawk, and quickly flew away. Suffice to say I barely made it out alive. To this day pelicans adorn the outside of pickle jars and my darkest nightmares. Now most people would be confused as to why pelicans scared me that much. I mean it did only land next to you for a second and you weren't necassarily in harms way whatsover. And to that I say, fuck you. You find me something with a mouth proportionately that large outside Steven Tyler and have it descend from the sky near you, and tell me if you're not scarred for life. And let's look at it from my point of view. I don't know if I was just paranoid but the jaws of a pelican are about the same size an 8 year old child, and to my knowledge it is instinctual to fear something with a mouth tailored to your torso. Plus It's common knowledge that pelicans bring everything they hold in their mouth to china to sell their organs on the black market. Pelicans are also lazy, live off welfare, cheat and steal their way through society and are communists who secretely consume more than everyone around them.

This note doubles as a PSA to keep you and your loved ones safe from the winged menace. I'm also required by the state to say that it is mandatory as part of my parol for doing something that wasn't a big deal regarding pelicans and dynamite. Whatever I have a feeling the San Diego zoo will survive.

Not A Believer ( How Shrek Scarred Me For Life)

First off I agree with Shrek on one thing. Ogres ARE in fact like onions, in that they both make me cry uncontrollably and want to wash down the bad taste they leave in my mouth with something strong. Now I won't say that I'm the most outspoken critic of Shrek alive, but I will say that I've consistently produced an expletive at the mention of the obese fairytale fuckup's name for the last 7 years. Now you may want to know how this hatred of a generally beloved Dreamworks movie manifested itself inside me. Well it all started with a little card back in 4th 5th and 6th grade, or as I like to call them "my golden years". Not because they were beautiful and high quality, but because people thought it was funny to piss on me from the stairwell and continued to think that for the remainder of my time in elementary school. However this is besides the point, "Gold Card" was a small underwhelming yellow ticket handed out at the end of the week by our teachers to students who handed in their homework or weren't caught pissing on me or anyone else in the facility. The benefit of gold card was that at the end of the week, you got to go out to recess or experience a cinematic triumph of the ages with your peers. A movie that from the frequency that it was showed convinced me it was meant for our parents and contained subliminal messages convincing them to pass the next budget expansion. Which never happens by the way due to the many expertly crafted arguments from our senior citizens such as "When I was young, school was a trip to the whorehouse and storming the beach at Normandy!" Or the classic "I don't know where I am". Because god forbid they get taxed too much to afford their 70 horse power rascal scooter. Anyway. This movie. This incredible achievement in film, was none other than Dreamwork's Shrek, and it changed my life forever. Now the first time I saw the movie, I was slightly amused, however the rest of my classmates flocked to the iridescent ogre like a group of ravers over the last bottle of water. Fall approached and with it gold cards tragic flaw was exposed. When it rains the option to go out to recess to enjoy the natural world was nullified, leaving the children to be bottle necked into the killing field that was Shrek. Soon everyone in my school began to speak in tongues unfamiliar to me as I had assumed the fetal position with my hands snugly around my ears every time I heard "I'm makin' waffles!". Shrek had spread through Elmer Theinis Mary Hall El faster than gonoria in a TGI Friday's bathroom. I had to do something, I suggested a different movie and was met with a look that I previously thought was reserved for rapists or people that kill small animals. As soon as Friday came I readied myself for another grueling trip through Shreks swamp( which is the fairy tale equivalent of living in a trailer park) lord Farquads tower and finally back. Finally I realizes self sacrifice was the only way to beat Shrek who in my mind was now just green Idi Amin. I simply messed up every week, missed homework or did something worthy of having my gold card revoked. However I never pissed on anyone as that would have most likely been more awkward and effectively end any sympathy sent my way from the staff. So Shrek, thanks for endangering my education and my sanity. I'll see you in hell with Sid from Toy Story, Boo from Monsters Inc, and the entire cast of Ice Age.

Harry Potter: The Lost Book

I love Harry Potter, I love him and all of his angst, and let's face it, total douchebaggery. I can honestly say my distaste for harry grew as the series progressed and it seemed as if whatever was stuck up the boy wizards ass had transformed from being the size of a golden snitch to a full blown regulation quafflle. But considering his personality flaws, Harry, was for lack of a better word the boss. "The Chosen One" ran Hogwarts and by the time he was in his 5th year could turn heads faster than you can say "Accio birth control". His heroics in the chamber of secrets, the Tri Wizard tournament and the bagging of his best friends homely ginger little sister made Harry an instant celebrity. That was the life of the boy wizard, but what of the man? While It's hard to not be satisfied with the incredibly rich and satisfying( Definitely not last minute) epilogue JK Rowling generously added to the final book, some ungrateful fans just couldn't get enough and began to wonder what Harry's life would be like in his adult years. While I can't say my envisioning of HP's future is better than that of any other fan, I will say that mine is edgy, breathtaking and hauntingly emotional. And with adjectives that impressive I'll leave it up for you to decide who's number one . So here is a summary of the final book in the Harry Potter series, Harry Potter And The Emergency Intervention.

After the events of the seventh book, harry potter's marriage begins to disintegrate. After much soul searching he discovers that his awkward relationship with Ginny is only a superficial replacement for the man-boy love affair of his past. While the first indicators of his deteriorating psyche take the form of subtle deficiencies such as premature appiration, they soon take a disturbing turn for the worse including bathing in Dumbledore's penseeve memories while stroking a fake beard. Harry quickly developes a poly juice potion problem and is found on one instance in Diagon alley screaming "WHO AM I?" all the while weeping and stuffing his mouth with Bernie Bot's every flavor bean's. Another situation of note involved Harries calling Hermione while intoxicated, which consists of his reaching her answering machine, becoming infuriated and calling her a mudblood , and leaving 130 apologetic messages. The straw that would break the proverbial camels back however and would be the tragic introduction to the next and final adventure of the boy wizard would occur on the first day of school at Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry. Harry, donned in his very much outgrown Hogwarts robes, attempted to sneak onto the Hogwarts campus and was apprehended by staff after being found asleep atop Dumbledore's grave and attacking them. From here on out things would change for the chosen one as he was sentenced to twenty years in Azkaban prison, which he would find to be a shockingly different world to the one he was accustomed to. Harry quickly learns the ropes as the book explores the culture of life in Askaban and Harry's rites of passage. Harry's only true friend takes the form of a small warlock whom Harry pities as his unbelievably unfortunate animagi form of a gerbil is horrendously abused by the other inmates. The confrontation for which the novel is named occurs towards the end of the tale as his addiction is fed through the smuggling of premade polyjuice through a modified "Vanishing toilet". Harry is confronted by his prison compatriots and agrees to leave his vice behind immediately. This choice will be his undoing however as he becomes irritable and on one fateful day assaults another inmate who unbeknownst to Harry, is armed with a shoddily crafted prison wand. Harry is mowed down with an excellently cast avadacadavra in the dingy prison cafeteria(Sadly on wizard taco day. Which are simply Tacos, however rap them in foil and put them on a shelf at Barnes and Nobles and JK Rowling could sell to the entire world for vast quantities of money). Harry passes away on the dirty STD covered floor of Azkaban but leaves freed of his demons and goes off to be with Dumbledore in that weird ass train station/heaven place he goes in the Deathly Hallows. I've yet to decide whether Harry's jailtime conversion to Wizlam will effect his reunion with Dumbledore in the afterlife.

Top 3 Worst Situations In Which To Do The Robot

1. In front of anyone with a voice modulator, especially Steven Hawking

Let's be honest, despite those "Truth" commercials and the character in family guy, people with voice modulators make for very unfunny and unfortunate situations, on the other hand, "The Robot" is always a light hearted and humorous thing to do. However despite what you might think combining these two factors creates possibly the most terrible and mocking gesture you could ever perform, or with the help of a boom box the sweetest dance/electronica duo ever assembled.

2. After successfully passing through airport security

A victory dance of any kind will most likely be seen as suspicious, especially when the dance is meant to imitate an advanced possibly weaponised piece of technology. The effects of this move can be greatly enhanced with a pre-dance "Are you serious? !" just after walking through the metal detector.

3. At Any Time
Come on. The robot is innapropriate to perform in the 21st century. Even if you're a robot yourself, or living a lie and diligently maintaining your eight track player with the styx "Mr. Roboto" on it, you should still never consider doing the robot. If your idea of cool is really that dilluted please, take the vintage 80's "A-ha" shirt you're wearing and asphyxiate yourself with it.

A letter to congress( In the form of a drunk email from a bro at yahoo.com)

Dear Congress,

First off, u guys are my boys! I love u guys, u make all the laws and shit. I mean without you guys we would all be like overrun with alqueda and stuff. And we need peace. We do and that's why I'm writing to ask one simple request. Throughout history there has been one thing that has brought kids together during wars..... and that is music. Remember Woodstock? Millions of hippies and bikers got together and just smoked J's and chilled the fuck out. Now when you think peace you may think Gandi, Martin Luther King jr, or Al Gore, but the greatest of them all is a man called Dave Matthews. This guy is amazing he makes unbelievable music about love and partying, and he's African! But he's white! He is not only a great musician but he is a great role model to black and white people everywhere. In addition his concerts are a great way to bring good kids together to just have fun and appreciate the music.Because in the end it's all about the music. Now that you know how cool DMB is I think now would be a good time to start asking you some reasonable favors. First off you know kids just want to have fun, just love each other in a safe environment and be kids! We're all nervous bout getting our sports scholarships(Harvard. Crossing my fingers.) and we just want to hang out. So here's my plan. We fill the CT XL center with booze. And I mean literally fill it. Now I know this may seem like big request but me and my pal T-bone would be willing to contribute as much money as our parents American express cards would be willing to pay. I'm thinking a 50:50 mix of Dubra and Pabst Blue Ribbon. And wait, best of all we would invite DMB to play a floating concert! Now you're probably sold, the idea of a bunch of kids floating on inexpensive( I took a business class sophomore year) alcohol and listening to peaceful jams is just too cool, so this next request should be no big deal. Let in EVERYONE, who cares if they're under 21? Age is just a number, I mean my girlfriend is a 14 year old freshman and I'm a 19 year old senior, I've been proudly breaking down the age barrier because I accept all people. Alright so now you're wondering how will these kids float? Answer, rafts made of weed bro! I've seen Harold and Kumar and I know you guys have a shitload of medical marijuana that you're just holding out on giving us. So there, you guys have heard my humble request and I can only hope you guys love peace and music as much as I do. Now i have to go throw up, because I was running the table at a game of BP and I need to be ready for round deuce!

One love,
Jason

Top 3 Toys From My Childhood That Looking Back Were Really Fucking Wierd

1. Milton Bradly's "Mister Bucket"

A seemingly innocent game in which you place plastic spheres in an anthropomorphic bucket.

However his tag line is what seals his fate. That tag line is "Put your balls in my mouth!" Not a joke. Just terrible, terrible advertising. I don't have to explain why this is a problem.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dV1hv6L0R74

2. Hasbro Parker Brothers "Don't wake daddy"

The board game that revolves around sneaking around your house, attempting to not wake and subsequently enrage your father. This game brought to mind more questions than answers. Why are daddys own children so afraid of waking him? Why are they so desperate to get to the fridge at night?And most disturbingly why does daddy sleep in a bed by himself? Is he divorced? Is he a widower? What kind of family dynamic is hasbro suggesting? While Don't wake daddy was quite the game on it's own, I'm thinking it should have come packaged with a jigsaw puzzle where you can reassamble daddy's broken marraige.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kndIxjQsw-Q

3. Hasbro's Gator Golf

If my childhood taught me anything, it's that there is nothing more wholesome than using a golf ball to choke an alligator. Here are three facts about Gator Golf I've compiled.

1. Gator Golf is the bastard child of Tiger Woods and Skip Irwin ( Steves homely brother who hunts Alligators. Way to be original Skip.)

2.Gator Golf is the perfect choice if you plan on instilling the values of sports enthusiasts and outspoken poachers in your child.

3. Gator Golf will look perfect on a shelf next to your PGA trophy and your alligator skin PGA trophy case.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e8lDfSR_q_s

On a side note: Hasbro's "Operation" also blatently pushed plastic surgery on children.

(hah)

The Internet: Our Friend.

The Internet is home to a menagerie of compelling bits of information, and while statistically it's mostly Asian pornography, blueprints for building bombs and google hits for "The Jonas Brothers" I believe that it deserves our respect for satiating our needs and allowing us to throw away precious/useless hours of our young life into it's gaping maw. However many of you are treating the Internet like a 20 cent hooker apposed the classy lady it actually is.( on that note, 20 cent hooker yields around 500,000 results.) So I'm thinking it's time we all appreciate the Internet for what it does, not what it is because when it comes down to it, it makes us happy, and if that means that we have to overlook it's almost endless potential to induce fits of self destruction than so be it.

Yes they say the Internet is 80% pornography...... But Welches, and that adorable little Asian girl that advertises for them claim that they are 100% grape juice, and we all know that's a fallacy.( Welches contains 5% ignorance because that little girl is a real bitch off set and grape juice has more sugar than coca cola. You're welcome. ) Now that your perception of the Internet has been shattered by my flawless argument let me give you a bit of advice. You know, when I get hung up on the internet's many flaws, I try to envision it as a person. The Internet: The person, first off has the head of bill gates, I associate that with the almost endless wealth of information you can find on the world wide web , however this version of bill gates has a condition known as schizophrenia. Now you may ask "Why would Bill Gates, the genius, have a crippling mental condition that may cause auditory and visual hallucinations?". That's a good question. Well it's because the Internet is also full of brazen lies. For example, a forum may be called "Big foot is not real". FACT. However directly underneath there is a link to a news article called "Big foot is real and I married him". Now while the article does go into realistic depth regarding big foots drinking and domestic abuse problems, big foot is still not real.(Quick note, the head of bill gates can be substituted with the head of "Mr. Owl" from the tootsie pop commercials. He is equally smart.)

Moving downward, the mid section of the Internet is adorned in a no longer relevant ironic hot topic T shirt, stained with mountain dew gamer fuel and tears, this represents the many nerds and Chinese civilians who have slaved away(literally in the case of the Chinese) gaming. Lastly the bottom half of the Internet is the most horrifying sexually transmitted disease covered piece of anatomy ever to walk the planet earth. And the Internet never wears pants. Now you may be wondering who would want to consider this pants less business savvy abomination their friend? And I'll tell you now that there is no need to consider. You have been digitally french kissing this beast since windows 98. And if you find this disgusting, I suggest you take it up with "The Internet: The person's" 10,000 intimate singles responses it received with this description on craigslist.

Burglary, Burglars, Burgers.

So I'm afraid of being robbed. While in these turbulent times this may seem reasonable, my irrational fear of burglary has begun to take it's tole on my Psyche. My fear is not of a sophisticated robbery, because let's face it, I love mini coopers too much to be offended when they speed off with all of my gold. No, my fear is of a classic break in. Ski masks. Broken glass. A lack of a GED, you name it. However I believe that I've devised the perfect plan to thwart any and all thieves from trying to plunder my belongings. The first step of the plan is to purchase and wear a burglars outfit to bed every night. While this may seem a little bit excessive and borderline psychotic, it will give you a sense of security and secure your neighbors shaky suspicion that you are a criminal. Now the costume comes into play during the break in itself. On the fateful night of the forced entering( as much as that sounds like a rape) wake up and begin prowling your own house in your costume. It's important that you surprise the criminal and have a very "Scooby Doo" like encounter, which is not to say you should smoke copious amounts of marijuana. Once you have the jump on him/her(yes I'm that open minded) tap him on the shoulder and state clearly"Hey bro, looks like beat you to it". After he/she jumps back out of surprise and gives a chuckle and an exasperated sigh of relief finally sealing the deal with a fist tap, or in the case of a lady burglar maybe a kiss on the cheek, they should leave in peace. However in reality I would most likely get to "Hey-" before being gunned down in my own home, and in a sadder envisioning, in front of my dog. Now this would be the case because I got the last costume at Iparty, which was not a classic burglar but "The Hamburglar". Even after I attempted to modify it, I still looked like a 1950's runaway who decided that dressing as "Zoro if he was an accountant who loved fast food" was a great way to blend in, and than quickly took another massive hit of crystal methamphetamine.

WMD

I mentioned weapons of mass destruction earlier and that got me thinking as to how we as a country handled the situation regarding Saddam Hussein. First off, I feel like the term, weapon of mass destruction is just too heavy. While those who have weapons capable of destructive feats may have previously just thought of them as simple tools of war, the term WMD, automatically made them feel either absurdly bad ass or impotent. Regardless of what Saddam Hussein may have had be it a dirty bomb, or a pack of two year old fountain fireworks, I believe the moment the term WMD was slung he felt a massive wave of guilt. I mean if my third grade teacher started calling chewing gum a "Material of Dental Degradation" I would probably shit my pants due to the pack of juicy fruit in my back pocket(Thus destroying the juicy fruit, an unintended but appreciated side affect.) But I suppose this psychological side affect has to do with the character of the man in question. Saddam Hussein's rigid stance on weapons inspection suggests that there may have been more to the situation than just the terrifying nature of the phrase. I can only imagine the arguments spawned by our insistence on investigating his country coupled with his own stubborn nature. I'd like to think that Saddam said "You want a weapon of mass destruction? Here's your weapon of mass destruction" while grabbing his crotch. However seeing as Saddam was not the sleazy owner of a pool hall I suspect that my fantasy falls slightly short of reality. So to the government of the United States of America I have a list of suggestions for terms used to describe exceedingly dangerous armaments during negotiations that will hopefully have less of a negative and possibly conflict sparking side effect.

Weapon of Palpable Chaos (It's a start)

Tool of Insignificant torment( Actually count that one out due to the acronym)

Courtney Love ( let's be honest, it's a tad beside the point, but who wouldn't want us to come into their country and take Courtney Love, and there is no way in hell they would touch her themselves. SO while they're forming flash mobs and searching for their beloved Cobain's killer( everyone loved Nirvana. And she totally did it.) That's when we investigate.)

USA ( The last and most important acronym of all. This is America. The best reason anyone that's not a communist could give. We don't have to ask, we just deliver a fist full of freedom and kick in the front door.)

The most unfortunate animal.

Raccoons. If you were guessing after seeing a title as provocative as "The most unfortunate animal" what set animal was. It's a raccoon. And before you say, "Hey raccoons may have it bad, but look at the platypus! That thing looks like a mixture of a duck, a beaver, and a ham sandwich" In which case I would say, "I understand where you're coming from"(everything but the sandwich part. That's just fucking weird) but the platypus doesn't count because it is a freak of nature. And if I had to consider every freak of nature when posting this, I would have at least two paragraphs explaining Jeffree stars intelligibility.Now outside of the name of this post sounding like a TLC special, I have to say I am a tad concerned as to how truly unfortunate raccoons are. First off, their appearance. Raccoons look like little burglars, and as tempting as it is to hear that as "Widdle burgwers" and see it in the light of another adorable woodland creature, it sucks. Not only this but raccoons have coon in the end of their name, which is racial slur for black people. I cannot imagine an animal that could have a less attractive set of attributes and if I did have to imagine it, it would have the face of the Una bomber and be called the hippopotospick. Picture of Hippopotospick soon to come.

Quick question

Could there be siamese wonder twins?

5 star senior year(Bullshit?)

School is on the horizon again and I can't help but sense an ever present feeling of encroaching doom. Obviously the prior grade propaganda about senior year is uncharacteristically optimistic, skipping class, sleeping in, doing pretty much whatever the scholastic world disapproves of. Apposed to what we would hear in grade school, more work, less youthfulness, and a shit load of cursive. Which is bull because I'm maintaining a respectable GPA without being able to tell apart my B's and F's. Which I guess could be bad in the case of reading about a rodeo, "Bucked by his horse etc etc".But what respectable cowboy recreational activity uses cursive anyway? Cursive is for sissies, 3rd graders, and the declaration of independence and anything that reaches over into multiple categories (Button Gwinnet was a total pussy!). Anyway, instead of being comforted by ambiguous adjectives like "cool" and "bad ass" I'm kind of off put. While the thought of parking my nonexistent car in the school lot is fairly enticing, I'm not sure if I'm ready to enjoy myself in school. I feel like I've trained myself to hate going into school with the idea in mind that when I get out my victory will be that much more simple to cherish. But enjoying my senior year while taking classes? Thus far I've felt like school is prison, and you don't see the guy who's reaching the end of his 14 year sentence getting let off the hook on the ole shank and rape front.(Maybe a colorful string to hang his soap on though...) Maybe senior year will shape up to be all it's praised as. Actually thinking back, they lied to me about cursive, CAPT being hard, and finding weapons of of mass destruction. I guess I'll have to start my senior year with a shattered sense of trust and my trustier five star notebook. Quick note on five star notebooks(hah note, note. I hate my life) they probably have the most pretentious name for a notebook company ever. Most of my notebooks have been flimsy pieces of shit held together with a mix of my shame at having to buy the pink one (because that was all they had left) and my tears due to dust they use to treat the plastic covers...This memory makes me look forward to school even more.

Note: Button Gwinnet was a representative of Georgia who signed the declaration of independence, he was killed in a duel by Lachlan Mcintosh. Suffice to say this was a significant blow to the ATL. TI often sites Gwinnet as the inspiration that fueled his musical career.