Annoyance

I wrote this whole long story for you, and then it goes and deletes itself.

Bah.

Okay: three things.

1. Esto es Budweiser. Esto es cervesa.
   
2. Lying is wrong. Especially a lot of lying. And especially lying so much you can't remember who you lied to and what you told them.
   
3. Who is this Chris person? Is he Frances' boyfriend? Someone answer me!

It was a really great story, too.

Ah, well.

Complete Sentences

What's the difference between normal sentences and complete sentences?

WHAT HAS THIS WORLD COME TO?!

And I only posted THREE TIMES this week!

I'm sorry. I'll post more next week.

Anyway the winner of TOtB this week is none other than our very own Jeff.

"Yell insulting comments about the author of said book (the book's mother) and have a very large arguement about kosher laws while eating a cheeseburger. Continue insulting the book's author until the book yells something akin to "Why do you torment me so?" Respond with the ever infamous saying "What's up, Doc?", immitating to your best effort Bugs Bunny. Be sure to be eating a carrot. This should drive the book up a wall and eventually it will turn all the words back into the actual book you were reading. Then continue to read until you've finished the book. After your test, yell insulting comments at the book, which you have found has somehow made its way into your fireplace to be used as fuel."

Although it makes no sense whatsoever, it caught my attention.

That was really the only quality answer of all of them, I think, but next comes Jen:

"Take the book with you to school on the day of the exam. When the teacher asks to speak with you about how you flunked it, show him the book with the insults in it and claim that you read it thouroughly twice, yet you did not find any similarities between that and the test questions. When he moves you down to academic, sue barns and noble, become rich, and you won't have to worry about going to college! ;D"

I would have sued the school also, but whatever.

And last comes Ali:

"pitch the book after doing what i always do-blaming your little brother. then go on sparknotes.com and get the notes. read the actual book nonstop over the next two days, cuz we don't have a test til day 3."

Not great, but not terrible.

Honorable mention: Leah.

"Gah, it's Mr. Mxyzptlk (had to copy-paste that one), my sworn enemy! He's messing with my chances at a hight GPA! I find him, (I don't know, call out insults about his mother and hope my family doesn't think I'm crazy.) then challenge him to a wet tee-shirt contest. Loser has to do whatever the winner says. So, I buy a pair of fake PamAnds (copyright not really) and win the contest. I make him read his name in a mirror. He goes back to his own dimension, and my book is back to normal."

It's the right amount of "bizarre-ness" (patent pending), but it's a bit difficult to understand, too many jokes I don't get, and a tad bit innapropriate.

So Jeff, design a contest for us from Canada.

<(^_^< ) <( ^_^ )> ( >^_^)>

I got that in an email a while back. It said "Kirby dance cycle. Like the rinse cycle, but better".

Bizarre.

Ah well. So soon is a major event in my blog history.

It's my 211th post CELEBRATION!

You may be asking yourself why the number 211 is special. If you are, you're a moron! It's because it is a repdigit in base 14!

Duh!

Okay so basically I'm wondering what I should do. Comment ideas.

Also: if you search my name in Wikipedia, you get 911 relevant articles. If you search Tim's name, you get 3!

311 for Jeff S., including the 1973 production of "Tom Sawyer" and the word "Vibraphonist".

None for Jeff B.

Ha!

On a different note: I HATE THE BEACH!

Where I Draw the Line

Two things about where I draw the line.

My mass-genocide-obsessed friend says we should give out condoms with college lunches.

Actually, I kind of agree. Except it'd be a bit awkward.

And the Google Etch-a-Sketch! WTF?!?

What the frankfurter?

And I want to post Ali's away message. It's hilarious:

"talking about stuff. and not stuff like, stuff stuff, but the deep philosophy of stuff and what qualifies as stuff."

Okay so now on to Angie's book description.

Angie has brown eyes.

Author's will use two expressions to describe brown eyes: "mud-brown" and "vat of chocolate".

Somehow, Angie managed to pull off both.

If you looked at her eyes only, they were the chocolate. Very warm, very friendly.

If you looked at her face in general, they were the "mud-brown" color.

In fact, her face was full of earthy tones (oh my god. did i just say "earthy tones"? ah, screw it). Her hair was brown, her eyes were brown, her skin a darker than most others.

Angie was what one would call "friendly". She was nice, but she would also make friends easily. Sam admired her ability to walk up to any person and just tell them her name. Sam had never met anyone who didn't like Angie. She was just impossible to hate.

Angie had a gift for psychology. She knew with eery accuracy how people were feeling, and would comfort them effectively. She also managed to figure out who liked who in the group, but usually kept it to herself.

Angie had a musical talent that was a bit understated. Her singing was great, and she made it seem real. She would smile at the audience and act like happiness really was morning and evening.

Her spelling wasn't great. But it didn't really matter.

The end.

TOtB

Forgot yesterday. I'm officially moving it to Sunday 'cause I always forget.

There was no real winner this week; it was very very close. So I'm going to write the contest again.

Horray.

All of the following people are vying for first:

Jen:

"Take out your old halloween costume from last year, which just happens to be a ghost costume. Put it on, (the large ghost costume will fit perfectly over the vase) and on your way out grab a bottle of liquid soap. Run out of the house screaming and hope that the people bombing your house will either be afraid or not notice you. Once you are long gone, use the soap as a lubricant to slip the vase off."

Leah:

"Shatter the vase and get the hell out of there! You can collect the insurance money because it will simply be assumed the vase was destroyed in the bombing. Also, carrying said delicate vase would've slowed you down so you would've died too and not be able to care about the stupid vase anyhow. Heck, claim there was a smaller priceless Ming vase inside it while you're at it!

You should probably get to a bomb shelter or equally stable shelter."

Jon:

"Depending on how your life is going, why leave and not just get bombed?? What if that is a plus in your life? That or shatter the vase on a wall and worry about the cuts later as you run."

Here is my problem: none of you focused on both things in great detail. Jen was the closest, since she solved both problems to a certain degree, and used the word "lubricant" in her answer. Heh heh. So anyway, I'm awarding a kind of first to her this week. I'm not sure liquid soap would be good for that, I think Ali's answer of margarine is probably better.

Next is a tie between Leah and Jon. Leah's answer reflected a good way to get the vase off and to not lose from it by cheating the insurance company, and Jon questions my contest, being extremely cynical.

But neither person really answers the question of how to escape the bombing to the detail we're looking for. I mean, I'm not looking for much detail, but come on!

"You should probably get to a bomb shelter or equally stable shelter"? My house doesn't have a bomb shelter, I don't know about yours.

Okay so here's the problem this week:

You're reading your summer reading (oh shoot. I need to do that) book extremely late (8:00 the night before school starts), when suddenly all of the letters in the book rearrange themselves to form expletives and insults about your mother.

What's going on here?
How do you solve the problem?

Good luck.

I am a Duck

This is a story I wrote for this contest.

Please read it all.

I am a Duck
I am a duck.

I would, quite dearly, like to that follow that statement with the phrase “But I am no ordinary duck” and then perhaps “For I am Superduck!” or “I am a mutant duck!” or even as far as “I am one of those ducks that you throw tiny pieces of bread at quite diligently but yet I ignore it, acting as though I think that eating food thrown from inferior human hands is simply distasteful”.

Unfortunately, I cannot follow that statement with any of these particular sentences, for I am not a superhero, I was never exposed to any form of radiation that could cause me to become a mutant, and I gobble up every tiny bit of anything thrown at me, be it some delicious Italian bread baked fresh from your local bakery, or a large chunk of plastic, taken, perhaps, from the garbage of the local bakery at which you were too cheap to buy me a delicious Italian bread that was baked fresh. Incidentally, I have eaten more plastic than bread as of this writing. I hope to have more bread in the future. Plastic tends to have a rather tough consistency.

But I digress.

I am a duck.

That statement in itself can be read in a variety of ways. It can be read in an astonished sort of way, read at about an average speed, accenting the word “duck”. It could be read in a thoughtful sense, pausing after the word “I”, and then continuing quickly, as if a roller-coaster paused at the top of a hill, and then shot down it. It could be read in a reassuring way, with a kind voice, the emphasis on “am”.

It is not to be read in any of those ways.

But once again, I find myself out on a tangent. I shall pick up where I left off.

I am a duck.

But, just in case you were wondering, it is to be read in the most expressionless way possible, emphasizing no word and leaving even amounts of space between each word. It is to be read in what the rest of my flock would call “an ironic sense”.

My flock uses the term “ironic” too freely. They just don’t know what it means. I seem to be the only one. Perhaps they don’t understand because they’ve never had irony in their lives. After all, most people don’t expect ducks to be as socially advanced as to experience first-hand the phenomenon known as “irony”.

Irony is what gave me this personality.

Irony is what made me funny. It gave me the humor. People like the humor. I like the humor.

No, I don’t. I don’t like the humor.

God, I hate the humor.

I just wish I could tear it all off. The sarcasm, the cynicism, the humor. Just rip it’s cold clutches from my feathery body.

But I can’t.

I believe you humans are familiar with a story of “The Ugly Duckling”. There is an aftermath to this story that is not quite as pleasant as the story itself. The main character, who, at the end of the story, turns into a swan, happens to live in my pond. As a youthful duck at this time, I was dating a swan by the name of Penny. Penny was a very wonderful swan, nice, pretty, brilliant. It is very uncommon for a duck to be dating a swan, but not completely unheard of. I was quite glad to be dating such a marvelous swan.

Then along comes the Ugly Duckling, who is not ugly anymore. Immediately, Penny falls in love with his smooth ways.

I knew I was losing her. I knew that I must do something to save her. So, I buy her chocolates.

Apparently she was allergic to chocolates.

So, in an attempt to save our dying relationship, I put the nail in the coffin. And there’s the irony.

For the record, the nail and the coffin are both proverbial. Ducks find it difficult to grasp hammers. Webbed feet aren’t great for that.

I would do anything to get Penny back. For the record, I do not dislike this “Ugly Duckling”. I am simply jealous of him, and I wish to see him BURN in the FIERY INFERNOS OF HELL!

But once again, I find myself straying farther and farther from the intended subject. I remember, now, what it was.

I am a duck.

Backslash

AIDS.

Again.

So we had the discussion and one again my friend proposed all-out genocide. But he said it was okay. Because we would make a "Make a Wish" foundation so before we killed them they would be very happy.

WHAT THE @#*%!?!?!

Moron.

Anyway. I'm tired. So I'm going to go to sleep.

Es una monstrua en nuestra casa.

Find out the following.

If you search a certain season on google, adsense comes up.

In one of these ads, it advertises a company called "Xingfa".

What is this company's fax number?

Free Time

Once again, I link to Tim's Blog. You have to watch the HSB thing. Absolutely hilarious.

Next a quick bulletin: camp was cancelled today so a younger friend of mine (he's like, nine or ten) is coming over. So I have lots of free time and a helper who will do what I say.

Undoubtedly, today will be interesting. I will probably make a movie for you.

Also I have made a puppet show called "The Circle of Life" which I will link to later, once I upload it.

And lastly, Jen's Book Description. So here you are, Jen. You weren't patient.

And I commend you for that.

I'm using a yearbook. Every member of our group looks acutely uncomfortable. I guess that's just the way the cookie crumbles.

Here we go.

Jen was new this year.

Not in the conventional sense.

New personality.
New friends.
New social group.

New. She was a new person.

(damn. too thoughtful. and the word "new" is starting to lose it's meaning to me. ah, well)

Last year Sam was barely aware of her existance, this year she's a member of the social group. The newest member since Dain.

The story of how she joined is sketchy, but it basically amounts to her sitting at our table. How curious that such a small decision could change many lives.

Well, she has seen her share of drama, though it was mostly out of the lime-light, which I think is good. No one running around, making comments, being annoying.

Jen's eyes seemed slightly larger than normal, but it was just because she kept them open wider, as if she needed to observe every single thing around her. Her hair was long, normally tied back in two ponytails that would rest on her shoulders. She was about average height, so she still towered above Sam.

Jen was an artist and a nerd (is that insulting? I mean it as a compliment), which was, as always, an interesting combination. Her blog would frequently house an animation, which was both well-drawn and well-animated. Her layout was well-done also, as she was an HTML wizard.

Jen's personality was interesting. She managed to keep to both ends of the happiness/sadness spectrum. She was rarely a bit happy or a little sad. She was either off-the-charts, bouncing-off-the-walls, as-hyper-as-frances happy, or miserabally depressed. Rarely was she sad, however, which was fortunate.

She was quiet, so she was a bit of an enigma. Not many people knew her very well, even within the social group.

There we are.

Done at last.

Act up, fight AIDS!

Check!

This is one of the kid's at my camp view on how to solve the AIDS problem.

We should kill all of the people with AIDS.

I believe that statement is so bizarre it doesn't even need a comment.

Laughter

Time for another thoughtful post! Horray!

Please read the below post as well. Thank you.

Why is it, I wonder, that much of our time is devoted to making others laugh?

My first thought was simple: attention. People loved others paying attention to them, so they make them laugh to accomplish this goal.

But that can't be right. Plenty of the quiet people who would want nothing more than to have no one ever pay attention to them make jokes. These are the people that are awkward in front of a crowd, hate it when people compliment them, and rarely speak up, no matter how brilliant the idea.

Another contradiction is simpler: there are other, easier ways to get attention. Yelling, standing on chairs, and (I would go so far as to say) murder.

Attention is clearly not the primary motive.

The answer is far more exciting, I suppose. Perhaps exciting enough to blog about.

It's the laughter.

That sound the people make when a joke has entertained them. For some it is nothing but silence as they double over, for others it is a loud guffaw. For Frances it is a rather squeaky roller-coaster.

Not really the point.

People want to make others laugh because laughter indicates happiness. People, when they are making jokes, want other people to happy. It causes no joy to make a joke and have no one laugh (another reason it is not attention: making a bad joke gets you the same attention, but is not satisfying). Quite simply, people make jokes for the enjoyment of others. It is merely an act of good will.

So the next time you make a joke, remind people you are only doing it out of the goodness of your heart.

This post gave mankind too much credit. Tomorrow I'll have to be more cynical.

TOtB

Think Outside the Blog contest #2, entitled "The Pumpkin Fiasco"'s winner is...

ANONYMOUS!

Yes that's right. The person who won would not give us their name, but here is what led them to win:

Carissa's comment was the following.

"Let the pumpkin hit you. Fall off the edge. Die. You will then have escaped into heaven."

But anonymous' clever retort was what won him or her first place.

"or you will have been doomed to hell. i guess it depends on your beliefs."

Incredibly cynical. Amusing yet serious. An answer after my own heart.

Number two is Carissa's response, combining laziness with god (the perfect combination).

And three is to Jon.

"You can roll, once you have fallen on the ground, away from the canyon and towards the catapults, so to hit you, they would need to fire hirer and that should give you enough time to get up and start running again. Or if the catapults are on the other side of the canyon, so if you rolled toward them you would fall down the canyon, roll away from the catapults until you are out of range, then run like a bat out of hell flies and hide. If you are concerned about your friend you could, once out of the way of the pumpkin about to caress both your face and the ground in one fell swoop, you could stand and pickup and or drag your friend with you to safety, or roll him with you, if you can. Or just hope your friend is not hit again or too damaged from when he was hit, and when you can, get help."

Clever and correct. Also he was the only one left.

I need responses this week, as I am at a record low of three. I have decided that the winner decides next week's contest. If it is anonymous I will decide, and no one can claim they did it. Sorry.

Look at this week's winner! There answer is so short, so simple. It is clearly the work of five seconds.

This week's contest:

You got your head stuck in an extremely expensive Ming Vase. Moron. Your house is equipped with normal house stuff, but you should get out quick because Iran is bombing your house.

Good Luck.

Patience...

is a virtue.

For the WEAK!

But Jeff has been very patient, and here is his description.

Jeff.

The singer Jeff.
The funny Jeff.
The tall Jeff.

And yet that hardly narrows it down.

Brown Hair.
Glasses.

Still there is confusion has to what one.

So I would say Snoopy. Still nothing.

Jeff who has a blog. Who reads Sam's blog. Who asked for a description.

And now we know which one.

Jeff was tall. Relative to the whole grade, he was one of the tallest. He had brown hair which seemed always to be a tiny bit messy, and glasses that were rectangular with rounded edges. His nose was elongated but the rest of his face was perfectly normal.

He was tall and lanky, his arms reaching out a great deal of length. He would be a perfect basketball player, or perhaps to act as a bassist. But no, Jeff chose to play piano, which required almost no use of the arms whatsoever. Sam thought this a bit odd, but respected Jeff as one of the finest piano players in the grade. His musical skill expanded to singing and he was also had great acting talent. This combination of musical talent and acting skills made him perfect for parts in musicals which he frequently took. He was a lead in the school musical and also the main character in quite a few outside endeavors.

Jeff was different. Not unpleasantly so, but just different. Tim was different more consistantly, but Jeff was more daring. Tim would not dare to make an important speech reflect the bizarre part of his personality beyond a few minor jokes, but Jeff would go further. To name an instance, Tim's speech for the music awards was conventional, but Jeff's was different, begininning with "It was a dark and stormy night". Sam admired Jeff's jokes because they were always funny. Sam made a lot of jokes, many of which he would be forced to add at the end "Wow. That joke was terrible.", whereas almost all of Jeff's jokes were followed by resounding laughter.

Jeff and Sam would share many an inside joke, mostly relating to them both being Jewish. They would say, "It's probably because we're Jewish". All the others would try to put a knowing look on their face and nod, and we would just simply laugh.

The end.

No Subject

Jeff I've kept you waiting for your description but by 12:00 midnight tonight, it will be done.

Is today something special or am I just hallucinating? Oh well.

So.

No subject is like how an email doesn't have a subject.

TOtB contest tomorrow. So get those entries comin'.

Can't wait for next Thursday. For from then things start being fun.

Thursday: Guys and Dolls
Friday: Classified
Saturday: Guys and Dolls, Party
Sunday: Guys and Dolls

Yeah. That's it.

Pirates of Whatever

Holy crap.

That was not a good movie.

In fact, you might even call it a bad movie.

You know why?

CAUSE IT WAS BAD!

First off, I thought the animation was incredible and the fighting was pretty cool.

But now for the problems.

First: the music. There was no new music in this movie. It was all the same. And it kept working itself into a frenzy and then stopping! I like this technique to create suspense in a movie but it doesn't work if you do it like FORTY TIMES! Like, with one scene, the music would climb to a climax and stop, and then do it again like 10 more times. That isn't how you do it.

Bah.

Second, there were too many plot lines at once. I was so confused. And why did they want to kill Jack Sparrow?

Third, there were so many disposable people. Like there were maybe 12 people in that cage but like 300 or so crewing The Black Pearl later. It was stupid.

Fourth, cliffhanger was bizarre.

So yeah. That's why I didn't like this movie.

An Apple a Day

So this is a first for me. I am officially blogging from...

duh duh duh duuuuuuuh.

A MACINTOSH. I am sitting on Jon's bed in his room here in Lewes, DE. Well, technically it's our guest room, but he's using it for the week. So yeah. It's fun.

He's sitting sitting on the otherside of the bed, leaning on the headboard.

This is his laptop, but my parents were sick of me using their computer so I'm using Jon's.

I like the feel of this keyboard... it's funny.

And I feel like using a mac has made my writing style different. Is my writing style different?

Ah, well. So I'm going to do Jon's first cause he's sitting right here, and then Jeff's tomorrow or the next day, cause I'll bring a camera to Guys and Dolls. I'll tell you, it's incredibly difficult to do these without a picture. I'll be home tomorrow (but back the next day) so I'll grab my yearbook.

Okay, so, without further ado, Jon's Book Description!

Sam thought Jon was tall. Of course, when you're as short as Sam was, everyone was tall. But Jon was especially tall.

He was probably the oldest person Sam could call a "friend" only. I mean, he could call his sister a friend, but she was also his sister.

Jon's height fit him well. He wasn't one of those very tall people that seemed to simply be tall only by chance, but rather the rest of him adapted. He was strong and had a wide chest.

When someone met him the first thing they thought was probably not that he was tall, but later they would realize that he was tall for his age.

He had a head of curly black hair; the front which seemed to consider having bangs, but curl up just before. He had rectangular glasses that had rounded corners, behind which lurked his eyes, which changed with the seasons; a hazel in the winter and fall, and a gray-green in the spring and summer. His cheeks were a tad red, and the bridge of his nose a bit narrower than most.

He didn't play an instrument, as far as Sam knew, but it seemed as though he had musical talent. When he would hum along to his iPod he would be on key, and when he drummed quietly upon a tabletop his tempo would not waver.

Playing cards, Jon was a sight to see. He had an unusual strategy for most games that was extremely effective, and picked up new games very quickly. That is, he wouldn't "pick them up". Anyone could understand a card game. Within a half-hour of teaching Jon "euchre", Sam watched in amazement as Jon calmly pulled in all five tricks. He acted as though he was a casual chess-player, but was also very good at the game.

Jon was funny. His jokes appealed to all ages, which Sam admired. While Sam's jokes could make kids his age laugh, Jon's jokes could send his mother, Sam's sister, and Sam into stitches all at the same time.

Skimboarding?

Skimboarding involves throwing a piece of wood onto sand that has a centimeter of water on top. The only time there is sand with a centimeter of water on top is when a wave has just broken. You must throw your piece of wood, which is extremely thin and extremely slippery, onto the water and take a running jump on top of it. Then you glide about five feet until the wave has receded and you are just on wet sand.

An eight-year-old from Utah is teaching me how.

This translates to:

This is almost definitely my last post.

But otherwise: Jeff, you're up next. Then Jon, then Jen.

Jeff
Jon
Jen

Freaky...

666

Ich! You're getting your faith all over me.

Sheesh.

Anyway... I have this bug bite on my neck and it really itches.

Okay so the winner of the "Think Outside the Blog Contest" is several of you.

Jon gets first prize. Jon, your answer reflects the creativity that such a contest needs.

"...You can move around, so make money that way. Just replace talking with playing soccer and you will still get rich quick."

Truly a brilliant answer.

But it would be nothing without Jeff's catch. Jon's original answer said that you should talk, but Jeff responded:

"Yeah, that's nice...except it says in the rules 'You can't talk.'"

The usefulness of Jeff's comment coupled with the sarcasm involves slips him into second, just above Tim. Tim was really the only one with a real answer to the actual problem I would like to point out that from now on your answer will simply have to be "how do you make the situation better?". Tim's creativity is reflected in his answer:

"First, open the closet door. You can do this by clipping yourself onto the bottom of the door, pulling it open, and then use your friend, the caramel mocha latte, as a doorstop. Go through the closet, and find Christmas lights, or something similar. Take the lights, and then go outside through a dog/cat door. Plug the lights into an outside outlet (if you don't have any, just run some extension cord inside), and use them to spell the words, "Aliens: Land here! Come as you are." (Alternately, you can use a lawnmower to mow the message into your lawn. That is, if you can figure out a way to drive the mower.) With any luck, in an hour or two, an alien spaceship will have landed, and extraterrestrials will have emerged from it. Explain your situation to them (they have translators, so they understand you.) If they are nice aliens, they will let you use their humanizing ray to turn yourself into a human. (A humanizing ray is a device that aliens use to turn themselves human. As humans, they can sneak around on earth undetected, and observe our ways.) If they aren't nice aliens, and won't let you use the humanizing ray, use your binder-clip clamping abilities and clamp onto the aliens' toes. Most aliens find this to be extremely painful, and they will soon let you use the humanizing ray if you agree to stop clamping their toes. Now for your friend: If they are not a nice friend, and you like caramel mocha lattes, just drink them up. However, if they are a good friend, use the humanizing ray on them also. Congratulations! You have have just turned your friend back into a human."

This answer is also good because with almost everything that exists, Tim provides an explanation. The humanizing ray especially. Otherwise it would have seemed too convenient, but Tim's explanation for it was part of what earned him third.

And the honorable mention goes to Jen. Jen's answer reflects the laziness we need to see more of:

"I don't really care. Stay as a binder clip for all the rest of the world cares."

**LINE BREAK**

I added that for the lazy people who don't read the whole post.

TOtB (think outside the blog) puzzle of the week:

You and your friend are walking along the grand canyon, blissfully unaware that the local "Pumpin Chunkin'" festival is in town. It involves launching pumpkins from catapults. A pumpkin smashes next to you, and you look over to your right. A huge barrage of pumpkins are heading your way. You and your friend start sprinting, but it is too late. A pumpkin to the head sends him careening off the edge. You slip on the remains of the orange vegetable, and look up to see an unusually large one about to hit you.

How do you escape?

Good luck.

I have lost

I admit defeat; here is

Vanquisher, I have narrowed down the people you could be:

Jeff S.
Tim

It is, in all likelihood, Jeff S. For the vanquisher has never commented on his blog, and speaks like him.

This is the vanquisher's decription.

I would also like to mention that, inadvertently, Tim helped me with this.

The Vanquisher of Anonymous (VOA) was a clever fiend. Sam thought of him as a "he" but wasn't entirely sure. He was quite peaceful most of the time, which is why Tim referred to him as a "mockingbird". He could act as a policeman of some blogs; when someone came on constantly commenting under a pseudonym, he managed to identify them almost always correctly.

His face was the white type of blog comments, his name was the pen name he assumed.

He was clever, as his style of writing was unlike any other. He knew HTML and apparently about how people were trying to pin him down.

There. That's all you get.

Following Directions

Our vanquisher friend has trouble following directions.

Excerpt from my last post:

"But I need two things: your gender and your eye color.

The way I am prepared to accept these answers are odd, but the reasons will not be revealed.

You must email me at my hotmail account: nerdjedi@hotmail.com. I know it's Tim's thing. It's a long story.

Your email must be either from a Hotmail or a Yahoo account. I will accept nothing else.

Your email must be in the following format:

[gender], [eye color]

Nothing else is to be written.

Meanwhile I will continue posting descriptions after you until my wishes are fulfilled."

You MUST email it from a hotmail or yahoo account, it MUST be in that format.

Gender must be either male or female, eye color you must have only two.

If these demands are not met I will not write a description for you.

The reason I have Tim's thing is that a while ago, Tim did a post because he won LOTW. A girl name Claire told him that she wanted to get together with him and left him an email address. I sent her an email using hotmail pretending to be Tim, so I used his name (nerdjedi).

Oh and over at Tim's Blog a "mad quoter" war broke out. This was a quote by one of them that I thought was cool:

One death is a tragedy. A million deaths is a statistic.

---Josef Stalin

For those of you that don't know, Josef Stalin was a communist dictator of the former Soviet Union for some time and killed millions of people.

Pleasent, eh?

Vanquisher

Dear Vanquisher of Anonymous-ness,

For reasons that confuse all of us, you have asked for a description. You have no name and no face. Writing a description for you would be a challenge I would readily accept.

But I need two things: your gender and your eye color.

The way I am prepared to accept these answers are odd, but the reasons will not be revealed.

You must email me at my hotmail account: nerdjedi@hotmail.com. I know it's Tim's thing. It's a long story.

Your email must be either from a Hotmail or a Yahoo account. I will accept nothing else.

Your email must be in the following format:

[gender], [eye color]

Nothing else is to be written.

Meanwhile I will continue posting descriptions after you until my wishes are fulfilled.

Thank you.

Okay so who is next? My good friend CARISSA! Here you are.

Carissa was one of those people who hated attention. She avoided the spotlight, hated being called "smart", and tried to be the smallest part in a skit.

Sam didn't really know how she managed to live.

Carissa was a genius. Her grades were exceptionally high, she was a grammar genius, and she was a level above the highest math. You wouldn't know by talking to her; she was just like everyone else.

Her hair was also a tribute to her personality; it was simply dark brown tied back in a tight ponytail. She called as little attention to it as she could. It matched her hazel eyes exceptionally well. They were not unusual, but Carissa was a sight to see when she was laughing. Her face crinkled up a tiny bit and her eyes glowed.

She was one of the tallest girls in the grade. She was also on the skinny side, so she seemed even taller, but managed to be nondescript about it. She didn't go bowling her way through people like some of the other tall people in our grade, and rarely referenced her height.

She was quiet, so the only way you could tell she could be hyper was by her occasional sugar rush. It was always funny when she was on a sugar rush.

I feel that one was a tad lacking.

Ah, well.

Run and Hide, Part 2

Tim's description. Then I'll do a post.

Oh and read Angie's Xanga. Her most recent post about a dream is hilarious. And my reaction is rather accurate. Luckily she doesn't have that moronic Xanga Lock, so anyone can read it.

Okay, Tim. Just close your eyes and you won't feel a thing...

Maturity is a curious thing. Some seemed to naturally possess it, some seemed to be completely unaware of what it is. Some thought that maturity was something that it wasn't, like knowing sexual terms or making fun of others.

Tim had his own version. If the whole concept of maturity was a planet, Tim was on the moon.

Tim was mature, almost by accident. Sam attributed his curious style of maturity to his family, his friends, and his faith.

Tim acted strangely to get attention, which could be called immature, but Sam didn't really care. Tim's strange method of complimenting others used to annoy Sam. But then he realized. Some compliments are transparent. Tim's were so perfectly opaque that no one would have any idea if they were fake.

Tim's hair was a marvel. It stuck straight up and never moved, as if it was a piece of plastic that was removable. It revealed a widow's peak as sharp as a tack. His eyes were a shade of emerald that matched the grass, the only color in his otherwise bland face, as if someone got extremely bored with a paint by numbers kit. His face could be divided it half from his widow's peak to the bottom of his chin and remain identical. It was a tribute to Tim's odd personality that even his face was curious.

Tim was tall and skinny. He didn't mind being called weak, in fact he enjoyed it. He often enjoyed making jokes involving him and Sam being beat up by little kids. His self-esteem was hard to judge. He was probably average, but didn't care what others thought of him.

Time is an Illusion

Lunchtime doubly so.

Okay. I am officially canceling the whole stupid karaoke thing. Forget it.

Alright, now time for Ali's book whatever.

Ali seemed out of place among Sam's friends (I'm writing it third-person). She was mistakenly considered a drama queen by a small number of those who did not know her well enough, but people who knew her knew otherwise. It is implied by "drama queen" that the person exaggerates her drama. Ali was unique in this respect: she informed others of the drama in her life, but didn't exaggerate it. The drama was real.

Her hair was nothing out of the ordinary, in fact it was fairly common for a girl of her age. A simple brown cut off at her shoulders. Her eyes were darker than her hair, but not depressingly so. Ali's eyes had the unusual tendency to perfectly match her mood. When she was sad they seemed to darken, but when she was happier they seemed to light up. Centered between her eyes was the bridge of her nose. From this point to her chin her face seemed slightly elongated, as if someone had stretched it a tiny bit.

Ali's patience for life was like a balloon. If life was bugging her, she would let out air in the form of an angry blog post or an instant message rant. In this manner she had an infinite patience for crap life could give her, as long as it came in small doses. Sam knew of no time when she had, so to speak, "popped".

But he was sure he didn't want to be around when that happened.

Well that's that.

Ah I tire. Good night, my friends.

Oh the title is Douglas Adams.

Oh, that word

From 1776.

I deem it appropriate.

Well, it's storming out, so it's unlikely we're going to see fireworks. Bah.

But... here's the deal. I am making homemade karaoke for a limited time only. Primarily rock songs, they're the easiest. It will be really crappy, but still karaoke. Plus, it's free.

So comment away. And Jen: no, I can't make that song. Sorry.

Today In History

1881: Billy the Kid was shot to death in New Mexico.

And I could have sworn something else happened...

Ah well.

So it's been 230 years, and let's see how we're doing.

Well, it looks like we're consuming 21,100,000 barrels of oil a day, which is more than 5 million more than all of Europe combined.

We consume 80% of North America's electricity, more than any other country including China and all of Europe.

Well, it's a good thing we have a moron in office.

That was fun, eh?

Okay so I'm doing "Book Description" of anyone who decides they want one. It's basically like how an author would describe you. I'm going to do a sample of myself, just so you can see what yours would be like.

Sam, quite simply, was short. He was shorter than almost anyone in our grade that you cared to name, and the shortest one in all musical groups. Somehow, though, he managed to compensate. For his size, he took unusually large steps, and he had a knack for getting people's attention. He had natural leadership skills, and often sought to be the leader of any group he could. It was unfortunate that he was so self-obsessed, as if he didn't have people's attention, he had a tendency to get jealous of those who did. He frequently was finding himself thinking ill of those who he thought were friends, and frequently had to correct himself. His hair was an unusual shade of red. Most "red" hair was actually more of a fiery orange, but Sam's was dull, almost the color of rusted iron. The oddly-colored hair sat atop a small, round face. Glasses perched quietly on an average nose; behind them lurked two hazel eyes which remained emotionless for most of the time. The area directly under these eyes was dark, but this was masked by the glasses, which seemed to cover them up with their transparent lenses. His nose was framed by a multitude of freckles, which seemed to stop abrubtly when they came to his mouth. He was extremely white and extremely weak, but this did not seem to bother him. He would frequently make jokes about his size and lack of strength.

Now I know that ended abrubtly, but in a book it wouldn't have. It would have been followed by "on this particular day..." etc.

I will only do one a day so sign-up quickly. First come, first serve.

Isn't it odd that we celebrate our nation's birth by blowing things up?

I leave you with that thought.

Too To Two

Yeah I'm too cool to eat two donuts.

Okay I'm done now.

So yeah. I like Jeff's "301" idea, but he made a mistake. Too bad, cause I was rooting for him.

Ah, well.

So three plus three is, what? Six? Eight?

Whatever.

So here is my challenge. I have a key for life. If you follow this motto, you will always be correct. By following a series of blogs, you will find it. Each blog you will find the clue to the next blog. The first one to comment my words of wisdom wins!

My clues will be extremely vague. I warn you. Here is my first one:

This blog is different from all others. No others are like it.

It used to be plagued by "jediraptor07".

Smile for Ted Koppel, Officer Martin

And a merry Christmas to your family...

Right.

That's not a bad song, I suppose. Once again from "Rent".

Okay so I'm mad at Carissa. Not like really mad. But I just like saying that. I find when I say I'm mad people tend to take me very seriously.

Carissa was un-lazy enough email this people.

"yay jeffrey is gone. jeffrey, my sister remembers you and it is funny. frances, i can't see the font."

But is too lazy to do my contest.

And now it's time for a story.

Once upon a time there was a bright and charming young lad named Sam. Sam had brilliant visions for the future, one where all children used Google's email client, gmail. Sam invited many a folk to join him in using Gmail, and many of them joined. This went on happily for some time, everyone enjoying google's advantages. But one day an evil maniac named Sri emailed a bunch of people at the same time. This was not a terrible thing, as it's only one email. Then a less important character named Tim replied-to-all. This was not a big deal either, for he was just informing the public who spammed them. But then a young moron named Jeffrey replied-to-all with a pointless message, and the can of worms was opened. People began ranting about off-topic materials. Conversations were being held. People replied-to-all telling others not to reply to all. People replied-to-all telling others not to reply-to-all and then apologized for replying-to-all in the "P.S.". Sri tried to stop it, but it was too late.

There was a short blissful period in which no emails came out that were moronic like these, and the people's inboxes was graced with a mere one or two important emails.

But it seems as though Sri's email lit a fuse. A two-month long fuse. For a sixth of a year later, inboxes exploded. It exploded with trash which would quickly pick up 30 replies-to-all. For people were voicing their moronic ideas, replying to 30 people with such words as just "hola". They don't seem to realize just how much pain they caused their friends.

And 1 year later, the world ended. Sri found every email address ever created, and emailed it. Stupid people replied-to-all. Sides were formed, and an all-out war ended the world.

In conclusion...

STOP REPLYING TO ALL YOU STUPID #@$%'s!

My Bad

The winner of this week's "Think Outside the Blog" Contest is no one.

Your answers are all very similar and all very unrealistic. I must pick a more open- ended question that could have multiple answers. I blame none of you, as this is my fault. The new question is this:

You and your best friend were hanging around the house when suddenly, in a bizarre act of god, you are turned into a slightly larger than average binder clip, and your friend is turned into a caramel mocha latte. How do you turn yourself back into a human?

You can't talk, but you can move around. You can have anything you want in the house with you, but nothing that is unusual for our area (i.e. it can't be a random machine that turns office supplies and coffee into humans).

Good luck, and may the force be with you.