Cold Sores

Curious. Dozens of complaints without a single compliment or praise. About the snow, the wind, the cold. Nasty stuff, eh? I mean, what's to like about it? Being cold literally shuts down the body, slows the blood (turning blue?). The wind gnaws at the skin and the snow blinds the eyes and gets in your shoes then melts and your socks are all soggy and you're sitting at lunch feeling awkward because your freakin' feet are soggy and that's all you think about while everyone else around you is talking and laughing and having fun.

Cold Winter weather is just so... detestable.

I love it. I am completely in love with it. Winter is so beautiful, so charming, so peaceful, so dead. She is my joy, my solace, my mistress.

Why in God's name would I love something that makes my face freeze and my snot runneth forth?
It is me. I am Winter.
We share so much in common, my mistress and I. We are cold, bitter, uncaring, sad, dying, we cover up dirt with a beautiful layer of pure white snow, we get pissed on by dogs that leave sickening yellow stains all over our beauty, we are trampled on, pushed aside to make way for others, plowed, blown, hated, cursed, and rolled up into balls to be thrown at stupid little kids who don't know any better. People don't understand or appreciate us and care to do neither. When the rain comes, we soak it in and freeze, becoming more bitter than ever.

This is my season. This is what I relate to. I belong in the Winter. Maybe I'm weird. Maybe I'm bitter. Maybe I'm just upset because of all the revoltingly pretentious air that surrounds the upcoming holidays. Ironic that I hate this part of the Winter, yet it's my season. What does that say about myself?

Cool Cats

Thanksgiving Break put me behind, so sorry (not really) for the multiple posts today.

I think at some point I mentioned some cats in my life, and here's the place to talk about them.

Roof Cat

That's Roof Cat. Adorable, isn't he? Roofie came around sometime this year, several months ago, and got his name because he would climb out of the window of the house two places down and just sit on my neighbor's roof. He was the only cat I've ever met that was really nice, and he was very playful and affectionate. As you can see, he is on my lap. He would even lie down there and fall asleep sometimes. He was cool. Strike that, Roofie was freakin' awesome. Worthy of the just-now-made-up Best Cat Ever Award.

Now, unfortunately, Roofie ran away sometime a month or so ago. His parents were douchebags, so I can't really blame him, but still, it sucks. Cats hate me, and I hate cats, but Roofie showed me that his entire species cannot be condemned because of a few bad cats, because he kicked butt. Well... figuratively, that is. Although he did have this really awkward habit of hiking his leg up to his ear and licking his nuts. He's a nice cat, so I'm sure someone took him in, so he's probably safe and better off than with the jerks he was with before.

Fat Cat

Ah, Fat Cat. Son of the Devil that thing was. My neighbor, Dave (the one whose roof dear Roofie so loved to frequent), took in a lot of strays and gave them homes, and Fatso was one of them. There's no picture (no one has been able to photograph the fiend), but here's an artists rendition of him:

I don't have a picture of him for one reason: the thing never let anyone close to him! Except Dave. Then it was really creepy because he looked almost happy-like. His face was in a perpetual scowl of evil madness, and it took my brother an hour or more of slowly sneaking up on him to gain enough trust to pet him for just a few seconds. Normally, if you got too close (like twenty feet), he would bolt in the opposite direction and you wouldn't see him again while you were out there. He was mean and evil, and I tried to be nice but nooooooo he had to be a jerk about it.


Since I've got a separate post about Spam Cat (I'm not real original with naming cats...), that'll be all.


Moral of the story: the actions of a few evil cats do no warrant the condemnation of them all. Same goes with *insert ethnic group here*.

Thanksgiving

Topical holiday blog, you knew it was coming.


Secret's out now: I hate holidays. All of them, most of the time. But, as this aptly named holiday suggests, now is not the time for whining. I'll save my Scroogery for Christmas. Maybe Valentine's Day. Man I hate V-Day (sounds like D-Day, which, if you didn't know, kinda sucked).


I know a lot of these posts have been complaints (actually, probably most of them), but, truth be told, that's just venting negativity. It's nice to get that kind of crap off my chest (Who made that phrase anyway? Venting has nothing to do with bosoms. I don't even have bosoms.), but it's also nice to think about things positively. So here I am, doing just that.


First off, thanks for all of you guys, my devoted, loyal, wonderful (or not) followers. Without you, I'd really have little reason to keep updating this thing. So thanks for hearing/reading me out.


But mainly, I'm thankful for oxygen. Without oxygen, I wouldn't be posting this either. Sarcasm aside, here's a charming lil list for you of what I've got to non-complain about:


Friends
Family
360 (O how I love thee)
This laptop
PhotoShop
My dog
Spam Cat
Spam packages
Spam mail (gives me something to do--deleting is hard work)


And there's more, but this is feeling too mushy and happy. Can't have that, can we? Happy Thanksgiving, everyone, enjoy your food, but don't forget why we're celebrating this. We humans have a nasty tendency to bypass the real meaning of holidays for materialistic things, especially food. Enjoy the food, be thankful for it, but try not to see today as another reason to stuff your fat face.


Moral of the story: you guys rock, don't forget that. And don't hurt me for using the phrase "fat face," that would be rude.


I'm going to Hell for this, aren't I?

Life Lessons with Mainerd

Hello, everybody! It's time for

LIFE LESSONS,

WITH MAINERD

Isn't that grand? You get to learn from me! And by "me" I mean "my failures." Well, I suppose the two are synonymous, so sure, use whichever.


If there's one thing I've learned in life, it's that the phrase "If there's one thing I..." is the most stupid thing ever. If there were only one thing you learned/did/etc., you wouldn't really capable of communicating it. But anyway, one of the things I've learned is that nothing goes right. Nothing. At all. Whenever I think about doing something, I wrack my mind for days (or even weeks) thinking of every single thing that could possibly go wrong, and how to correct it. Every time, something goes wrong, I can't correct it. So, next time, I think more. More failure. Thought, failure, thought, failure. You'd think I'd have learned, but what else am I going to do?


Every time something goes on, I spend forever thinking about it, then fall on my face. Slowly, I'm starting to just give up. I'm tired of failing, and I'm tired of getting all worked up for nothing. It's like masturbation without the payoff. A crude analogy, but fitting.


Dunno what to do. But hey, I'll look on the bright side: once I'm dead, this won't matter!

Spam Cat

So, I fed a cat today. It was a stray. It was hungry. It was cold as balls outside, and I was in shorts, no socks (but I was still wearing shoes....), no jacket.


Okay, now normally I hate cats. There've been two cats I've ever liked: one is Roof Cat (that's another story someday) and the other's this stray. It was very affectionate (almost annoyingly so), and didn't hate me (most cats do for some reason, like Fat Cat, yet another story) so it was cool. Might've been a she, I didn't really feel like looking at its genitals. You never know with those cats, they're so tricky.


I fed it Spam, which is disgusting, but Stray Cat ate it up and tried to eat the package too. It was one of these things:

Crazy Tasty Town... who eats this crap?! Besides the cat, that doesn't count. Poor thing was starving. I had the Spam because my sisters thought the label was funny (it is, admittedly, hilarious) and I've had it for almost a year, and planned on keeping it for a while, but the cat was starving. Then it made me sad because it was meowing really loud when I went back inside and couldn't take it with me, so it's out there sad and alone. Oh well.

Moral of the story: if someone ever gives you Spam, don't throw it away; you never know when you'll need it.

Emotional musings of a lonely goat

Isn't is strange how we (or at least I) have that annoying desire for the unattainable? Not like, "Hey, no one thinks I can do this, I'll prove them wrong!" Just a natural sort of magnetism to disaster.


I think part of my problem (other than self-professing myself to be a horned farm animal, then passing it off as a parenthetical joke) is that I have high standards for everyone, but have low standards for myself. I expect too much from people, but act as if nothing's expected of me. I don't know what they want or expect, and let's be honest, that's not the least awkward thing you can say to a girl. "Hey, babe, what do you want with me?""Either a restraining order or a pair of shears will do."


I just got no skills with the ladies, I guess. Good thing I had a father who talked to me about this kind of stuff, so that later in life, I'd be prepared. Oh wait, I totally didn't. But I don't care. It's much more fun stumbling around in the dark, lost and confused while everyone else around you is living and loving happily. Isn't life grand?


Moral of the story: it's better to give than to receive. Not sure what that has to do with all this crap, but it's pretty good advice.


Clever sign-off.

WASTING TIME

M'kay, so I've got a two-thousand-word essay on affirmative action due this Monday, so there won't be much to read (and by "much" I mean "anything"). Just so you know. I was going to talk on a video for a bit, then post it here, but by Zeus, I don't know how.


So, like... go read a book or something. Or maybe peruse the internet for other worthwhile (while=less) blogs by insightful (insight=spite) darlings.


Moral of the story: work, unfortunately, must come first.


See? I can still teach you something.


Stay cozy.

I don't hate babies

Story: a few days ago, in the worst class in the world (World Literature taught by someone without a basic grasp of what the Engrish... er... English language is), someone said they hated it and I smiled. She asked why I was "smirking," and I said that sometimes, I laugh at things that shouldn't be laughed at and gave the example of kicking kittens (hilarious, right?). After being smacked, it was all blown out of proportion and she said I probably thought human trafficking and kicking infants was hilarious too.


So, to prove that horrifically ignorant and wrong statement wrong, I have taken a real photo of me with a baby, and we're both having a great time. See for yourself.

See? Look at how great that moment is. That kid'll cherish it forever. Oh, I know what you're thinking. That's just a bad PhotoShop!

Well, it's not! THIS is a bad PhotoShop:

The pathetic thing is, that took almost an hour to do. Go me.

Moral of the story: putting words in other people's mouths is as good of an idea as sticking your fingers in an angry rhino's ears.

Let's go shopping. Photoshopping.

Personalization will ruin advertising

I was thinking a while ago about this, and I wonder if it's actually feasible. Feedback would be great, if you agree or disagree. Just bouncing crap off the wall here (yes, you're a metaphorical wall and I'm going to throw feces at you).

With the advent of personalized products, create-your-own-whatever gimmicks, and other sorts of things like those that target very small demographics, I wonder if advertising will eventually become obsolete. If everyone can basically make their own product, there won't be any reason to advertise. Of course, there has to be some kind of a company behind the personalization, but if it becomes common enough, there won't be any point in advertising.

I don't know if this'll be a good thing or not, but if everyone is the boss of what they want, and everyone gets whatever they want (greedy pricks), people who run around saying, "Hey! Look at my product! It's super great!" will be looked upon as idiots. People will reply with, "That's not what I want at all, you should give me the ability to change it to my specific needs." But then, maybe they'd still need to advertise, I dunno. Just a thought.

Maybe we should find a way to brainwash everyone and both blatantly and subliminally find ways to make them feel like they need what we can offer instead of their own personal wants. Oh wait, we're already doing that.

Why are people stupid?

I'm starting to lose track of how many times I have girls talk to me, crying that their boyfriend's a douche and hurt them, so they break up, and they're all sad, and things move on. Then, a month later (sometimes sooner than that), they're whining about the same thing. Usually with the same person.


How much sense does that make? I don't get it. "Gee, Mark, I know you cheated on me, hurt me emotionally and physically, but you say you love me after each of the six times you went behind my back, so you must be telling the truth! You wanna go back out?" Someone explain how the hell this is supposed to make any sense? I'm getting sick of hearing about it, especially because they never seem to learn. Two year olds seem to have more mental capacity. When they touch a stove when it's on, it burns, and they never purposefully do it again. And they're TWO. And here we've got 17 and 18 year olds burning themselves on the same stoves over and over again.


I can't understand. Something tells me I don't want to, but I feel I need to. Bah. Special thanks to Mr. Dio for making such awesome music that makes me feel better.


Moral of the story: think with your head, not your heart, especially when your heart keeps running into brick walls. Every try thinking of a different approach? Honestly.


"I am anger
Under pressure
Locked in cages
A prisoner
The first to escape"

Tada!

I hope you'll all excuse my not-post for the past two days. The fifth was Guy Fawkes day after all, and I was celebrating.


Okay, so I wasn't. I just didn't have time. As for the sixth, well, that was just a few minutes ago, and someone decided to call at midnight, so I couldn't finish it in time. So, since I need to wake up early tomorrow, I figure I'll make it up with some haphazard attempt at humor by talking about Mountain Dew.


It's the best, okay? Without Mt. Dew, I think Pepsi would probably die. Mt. Dew is their crowning jewel. I've got a whole case of Voltage (the best Mt. Dew ever) and it's making me get all bothered and hot.


Oh! And as it's nearing the holiday season, Oreo's have released those awesome white chocolate covered Oreo's, which further increase the amount of pants things. And I just realized my fridge door has been open for the past hour.


Also, I am hereby immune to tetanus and hepatitis A and B.


Moral of the story: I heard you're supposed to post consistently in order to establish more of a following, so I'm following that advice.

Why swine flu is good for the economy

Think about it: the economy starts to go downhill, Obama jumps in the office, and before you know it, BAM! H1N1 virus. Coincidence? You decide.


With the advent of this "swine flu," more people will be visiting hospitals, getting vaccinations, taking medicine, etc. All of those things have one thing in common (apart from health-relation so okay I guess it's two things): they cost money. What stimulates the economy? Spending money. Fellatio is also stimulating, so we should really try to make that a part of the plan, too. It's worth a shot, right?


I got an e-mail today from my hall director that said if you got swine flu, you should basically quarantine yourself and not go to the dining commons, chapel, or social events. If that's not bad enough, he said that if you had to leave for the toilet or shower, you should wear a mask and disinfect everything you touch.


Are we real with this? It's a strain of the flu. People get sick with the flu all the time. Regular flu kills, too. Why is this strain so violently different that we're going through all this hype? If anything, it will help stir things up a little economically. Oh, and it's all Obama's fault, because everything bad that happens in America is directly because of something he did or didn't do.


Moral of the story: conspiracy theories, if anything, are great comedic material (which subsequently creates more jobs for comedians and satirists, further fellating the economy).


Get sick (trust me, it's not that bad).

More Possible Racism

One thing I always found annoyingly hilarious is how everything has to be politically correct in terms of discrimination. Like those pictures in school textbooks. They've got a group of people standing around, and there's always an equal amount of guys and girls (usually four people). Every single person is a different ethnicity. If that's not awkward and unrealistic enough, there's always a guy in a wheelchair, to encompany the handicapped and disabled as well! Yeah, because some kid in a wheelchair is really going to get upset and offended that the guy in his Math book wasn't crippled.


WHAT'S UP WITH THAT?! (did you say that in a dramatic stand-up voice? You should've)


I swear, my old Spanish book had less Mexicans/Spaniards than not. I just don't get it. We're becoming so sensitive about everything these days. Do people really get offended by stuff like this?


Serious question, I want your feedback.


Moral of the story: racism is awesome. Double-standards are better.

Affirmative Action is a load of crap

RACISM! I can hear it now. No, I'm not being racist. Affirmative Action is racist, not me.


For those of you who don't know or are unsure what the term means, it is "A policy or program providing advantages for people of a minority group who are seen to have traditionally been discriminated against, with the aim of creating a more egalitarian society through preferential access to education, employment, health care, social welfare, etc." (egalitarian means "a person who believes in the equality of all people." Don't you love it when dictionaries define words with other words you don't know?)


Ignoring all the fluff and governmental propaganda dripping from the definition, AA is basically a rule that says you have to have a certain amount of minorities employed at your business, whether it be an office, factory, school, or clean-up crew (of course not every single business has this--how many Arabs do you see serving at authentic Mexican restaurants?). For example, for every forty-four presidents, there must be at least one black.


Sure, this seems like a great idea. Getting past racial barriers, breaking down walls, joining together, color doesn't matter, all that. And all of those are wonderful things. There's just one problem:


What if the employee sucks?


What if they can't, don't, or won't do their job well? You can't fire them, because that's racism (because we all know you're either egalitarian or racist; there's no in between). You can't turn down their application and hire a white guy instead. That's discriminatory.
So go ahead and hire the Kenyan woman, who doesn't understand poetry or the intricacies of the English language, as an English teacher. Anything else is simply racist.


People who do the job well should get the job. If the only people who can work a factory just happen to be white, big deal. It's not like any of that matters anyway. Performance is all that should matter. But, of course, it's not.

Sock it to 'em

Scale of 1 to 10, how bad is that pun?
Shut up, never mind.


A couple days ago, I was doing laundry. Towels and whites (both socks and underpants, but although the title suggests it was only socks, there were underpants and a few T-shirts as well--there's just nothing logical about saying "Underpants it to 'em"). But the towels don't matter (I mean that on the most pun-related racist way possible), because they came out fine. However, when I was taking the whites from the dryer, I noticed that they were still damp--almost wet. Put them back in for another hour, no big deal. Came back an hour later, they were still damp. So, I did the only thing a man in my situation would do. Set the timer up all the way, full power. Two hours later, still damp. Timer, power. Two hours later, infinitesimally damp, but quite crispy. The heat had made them all crunchy.


Today, I put them back through a wash and dry, and it came out great the first time. But I noticed the error of my ways. The machine I had them in the first time wasn't spinning. D'OH! Silly me. I should've noticed they way the clothes were all in a pile that hadn't changed its shape.


Moral of the story: ZZ Top is the only good way to follow up Metallica. Oh, and stay in school.


Suck on that.

Perfect Hypocrites

Whoever said we were supposed to be perfect? Most Christians I come in contact with are total liars, both to themselves and to everyone else by living in a one reality and existing in another. After all, we have so much pressure from everybody to be perfect. We all act like it, but why? Remember in grade school, when the guest speakers would come and talk to us about not giving in to peer pressure? Well, that doesn’t apply just to sex and drugs. We have an unrealistic model set up for us and we spend most of our time trying to get up to par with it. That’s giving in to peer pressure, and guess what? It’s still bad, it’s still wrong, and we’re still doing it. Problem? I should think so. Am I saying that we shouldn't try to be perfect? Actually, yes, I am. Perfection is impossible, and living in hopes of achieving it is futile. Imagine spending your entire life trying to get something that you can never have. All of your efforts are completely worthless, and you should just give up. Blasphemy? Probably. The thing is, we could be doing so many incredible things if we weren't so hell-bent on being perfect. Since that's impossible, we've got two choices:

1. Keep trying, even though you know you're going to fail miserably and rightfully earn the hatred of everyone around you.

2. Spend your time and effort on something possible that can actually benefit someone.

No one can benefit from someone having the self-righteous, pretentious notion that you can be perfect and thus better than everyone else. If anything, it'll tear people down and just make them resent you. It's amazing how many people are living with choice number one, which I think to be one of the reasons people hate Christians. Honestly, I tend to agree with them.

Romans 12:2 says “Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.” If we think we should be living the way the world sees us, that’s conforming to their pattern. That’s living for men, not for God. And how can we effectively be models of Christ if we’re not acting like Him?

It's simple: we can't.

ChaCha Sucks

I won't spend any time complaining about them, or saying how frustrating they are, but here's a conversation I had with them (for those who don't know, ChaCha is a phone service that will basically answer any question you ask, whether it be by leaving a message or texting, and they'll text back an answer). The following transcript completely unedited (and by completely, I mean down to the punctuation and capitalization of the letter "i"), except for the advertisements, which are clearly indicated.




M- How well did the book Six Pixels of Separation by Mitch Joel do on the market? Was it successful? :Nemo:


C- Aarrrgh! Ur temporarily out of Qs. Txt WHYME to know why. Or u can use ThmbSavrs: txt MENU or FUNMENU. Or Send ur Qs to LuLu 2 C if she knows: txt HOWLULU


M- Whyme :Nemo:


C- 1/2 We're not singling you out! It's just that while we are growing so explosively, we have some limits on Qs. Still, there are lots of ways to get ur answers.
C- 2/2 If out of Qs, u can always: Call ChaCha at 18002242242; Send Qs to LuLu: text HOWLULU; Use ThmbSavrs like 411: txt MENU to see all the ThmbSavr options!


M- This is the first question ive asked for months. How the hell am i out? :Nemo:


C- You are not out. Just ask your question and I will get you an answer. ChaCha on! *[ADVERT]


M- I did ask a question. I got a text that said i was out. Now im very confused and slightly agitated. :Nemo:


C- 1/2 There are limits to the amount of texts you can send ChaCha. You always have unlimited questions if you call 1-800-2ChaCha. *[ADVERT]
C- 2/2 Thanks for using ChaCha!


M- I only sent one text! I havent used chacha in over a month. I sent ONE text and it said i was out :Nemo:


C- 1/3 ChaCha questions limits are some times messed up. I'm answering your question right not, you must have some left. You can *[ADVERT]
C- 3/3 ChaCha again!
C- ChaCha got your answer and is working on the answer! *[ADVERT]
C- 2/3 call 1-800-2ChaCha for unlimited questions. You record your question and have the answer texted back to you. Thank you and


M- How well did the book Six Pixels of Separation by Mitch Joel do on the market? Was it successful? :Nemo:


C- Aarrrgh! Ur temporarily out of Qs. Txt WHYME to know why. Or u can use ThmbSavrs: txt MENU or FUNMENU. Or Send ur Qs to LuLu 2 C if she knows: txt HOWLULU


M- Very well. Goodnight. Ill try Google instead from now on. :Nemo:


C- Aarrrgh! Ur temporarily out of Qs. Txt WHYME to know why. Or u can use ThmbSavrs: txt MENU or FUNMENU. Or Send ur Qs to LuLu 2 C if she knows: txt HOWLULU




So, it's pretty obvious that they don't know what they're doing (they even messed the order up of one of them). They've always been pretty good as a quick, on-the-go dictionary, but I think even that is more trouble than it's worth.

Age Matters Not

My great-grandma is a machine. She's a 93 years old widow whose husband died just a few years ago, is the matriarch of what seems like a family clan, lives alone self-sufficiently, and has the deepest love, respect, and admiration of everyone she knows. For good reasons, too; the woman's been through, seen, and heard everything (and remarkably still remembers most of it, except for some short-term things).
For her 90th birthday, our family put together a surprise party for her at the fire station (how they got her there without her realizing is beyond me, the place is used for get-togethers more than it is for anything else). A lot of her old friends came from out of state, people she probably hadn't seen in ages. The excitement must've been to much for her, because she had a heart attack and was lying on the floor surrounded by people when my family arrived. With Grandpa Great's death not too far in the past, everyone was more tense and worried than they probably normally would've.


I think that the day she dies, our family goes with her. Grandpa was like everyone's father, in a sense, just like Grandma's everyone's mother. Half the people in our family probably only care about being with the family because of her. Don't even want to think about what could happen.


But on with the story. She was taken to the hospital, everyone followed, and waited tensely until anyone was allowed to go see her. She had hardly been in the hospital for two or three hours, and when I saw her, she was completely back to normal, complaining about how she hated hospitals and how she just wanted to go back and talk to her friends over a meal.


Talk about a powerhouse.


Moral of the story: no matter how old you are, you can still keep going strong, and you can still kick it.

Sports are Dumb

I'm confused. Maybe someone can help me out here. I've never understood what's so exciting about watching a bunch of sweaty, overpaid, middle-aged guys exercise? People throw away dozens (or even hundreds or thousands, depending on how devoted they are) of dollars a year down the toilet for exclusive networks, cable packages, stadium tickets, fan gear (jerseys and those foam fingers, which are admittedly kinda cool), and food at the stadium. Entire arenas sell out and are packed full of eager fans craning over the fat guy in front of them to see what's going on, all yelling, screaming, and cheering.
And it's not just the excitement of leaving home and having a night out, which is somewhat understandable (I'm sure there're better things to do than to sit in a crowded stadium and watch people work out). People will sit down in front of a TV and yell, scream, and cheer. At a screen. A screen. Yelling at the top of their lungs about poor calls (which only happens if the team they're cheering for is harmed), swearing at players for a poor performance (I'd like to see you do better), and, this one's the best, just noise. Just the occasional, random "OOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!".
Someone next door (at least I hope it's next door; if it's farther away, that's just scary) has been bellowing incessantly for the past half hour. My door is shut, the walls are concrete, and I've got music on fairly loud and I can still hear every word he's saying. He's getting so mad, it's ridiculous. Or maybe it's excitement, not anger. Either way, it's way over the top.


Honestly.


Moral of the story: yelling at televisions and cheering for people who are engaging in mindless physical activity will only make you look like silly, especially if you're only shouting at pixelized renditions of them on a screen).

Time Management

My dashboard keeps saying that I have one more post than is actually visible. So, being the responsible blogger that I am, I checked to see what was up.

This is it.

No really, this is it. I saw an empty post titled "Time Management". I don't remember posting that, nor do I even remember considering it as something to talk about. I suck at time management. I mean, c'mon, I'm sitting here at 11P listening to the Beastie Boys with a word document up that's due in two days and I've hardly done a thing with it.

But I'm sure you're reading this for a reason, so... manage your time well. Don't do the Facebook thing all the time. Do your homework and stuff. Maybe some day I'll swallow my own.

My own medicine, that is. Figure I should add that, in case you start thinking dirty. I know I did. That's why I'm keeping it the way it is.

Moral of the story: quit reading this and do something productive! You're not gonna live forever, so go make the best of it.

Friends

Three years ago, I met one of the best friends I’ve ever had. Or so I thought at the time. Maybe it was because we had all seven classes together. Maybe it was because we understood each other. Either way, I can’t really say that I care, because during the second semester of that year, she quit talking to me. There was no explanation, no cause—nothing. So, of course I tried to find out, but she wouldn’t answer messages or even pick up the phone. I would equate it to being stabbed in the back, but with as much as I trusted this person, it was more like that scene in The Patriot where Mel Gibson chops the British soldier up with a hatchet like it’s nobody’s business. In the back.

I was always a shy person, so people never really bothered to talk to me. Having a good friend is something that happens very rarely, and it’s something I take very seriously.

Sometime, during the next year, some completely random person started talking to me. I had no idea she was and had never seen her before. In a way, she saved my life, because with the way things were going back then, I have no idea where I’d be without her. Oh, and did I mention that at the time, she was probably ten times more miserable than I’ll ever be? 'Cause that’s kind of important to know. It’s ironic that people who you’ve known your whole life don’t care enough to sit down and talk to you for two minutes, but a complete stranger does. A complete stranger whose everyday life is a living hell, to be exact. She still took the time for some little kid like me. To this day, I've never, and will probably never, meet another friend who cares like she does.

Moral of the story: you can truly change (or even save) someone’s life just by starting a conversation, even if you don’t know them.

ADD ME!!!!1

If I had to pick one thing on the internet that I hate the most, I would tell you to eat it and give you a list. For the sake of not wanting to sound like a whiner, I'll keep it to the one appearing in the title (although those stupid lolcats are a close second).

A site I really enjoy is AddictingGames.com, which has addicting games on it. Under every game window is a comment thread, and you'll see things like "dis game sux add me lol" all the time. Silly me, I thought it was something limited to certain websites. But oh, was I wrong (yes, I was)!

Turns out that social networks do it all the time, especially on YouTube and Facebook's game application fan pages. These I can understand, because you'll get bonuses on those games for having several people on your crew or whatever. But on AddictingGames? You get nothing whatsoever.

And, of course, it's not just for games. It's comments on celebrity profiles, status updates for other networks (every other person on Tagged has their Yahoo! account for the whole world to see), and I wouldn't be surprised if I saw billboards asking to add some 38-year-old dude on World of Warcraft.

People really shouldn't even need to tell others to add them. What's the point anyway? You don't care about the people you add and they sure don't care about you either. There's no need to impress anyone (if anyone is ignorant and gullible enough to be impressed by this) by your 82,93,847,210 "friends" who don't care and who you've probably never said or written a syllable to.

Moral of the story: there's no need to be wasting everyone's time shamelessly advertising yourself. Unless you genuinely know or talk to all of the people you add. Then props to you, that's actually pretty freakin' impressive.

AWESOME

Once upon a time, as so many good stories before have begun, I went to take a leak. I did my thing and went to the sink to wash my hands, like the upstanding citizen that I am. To my great distress, I saw that the entire sink was filled with hair: mostly stubble, but a good amount of short, manly locks that coated half the sink's interior, making it almost completely impossible for the sink to perform its primary purpose: drainage. The sink was completely out of commission, all because someone decided that responsibility and cleanliness are both overrated.

As we all know, it is housekeeping's job to clean up after all of our messes, which is why I make a pointed habit of missing the toilet and urinating on the walls. Who needs to pick up after themselves anyway, when you've got a dedicated crew of poor, unfortunate women who have to clean up after your sorry mess every single day of their career?

Moral of the story: ten extra seconds and a paper towel is all it takes, it's really not difficult.