Original Manuscripts for My Book
Possible Title: Life Behind the Rear Axle
Original Posting 8/26
Feedback and Suggestions are Greatly Appreciated. E-mail them to: email@example.com
Over the course of my somewhat short life I have often pondered the somewhat more obscure aspects of the world around me. In fact much of the time I have spent on earth has been focused on this pondering. The ideas that it has produced, while not always brilliant, are often looked upon by others as strange or not of the norm. Many of these people even go as far as to criticize the ideas or me as an individual, saying that I am ďridiculous.Ē Others on the other hand are quite supportive of my ideas and thought provoking comments. One such individual John Spinatto, is in fact responsible for the creation of this book. For it was he who first suggested that I organize and compile this series of random thoughts into the form of a book. That is why you are able to sit here today and read this. My hope is that these writings inspire you, the reader, to think and say the unexpected or ďunacceptableĒ thoughts that come to you. Write them down, because that may be the only way that the rest of the world may ever hear of them or you. Because, I guarantee that some of these thoughts you are having, are entirely original, and no one has even broached the topic before. Remember, if you donít say it, who will?
Matthew N. Goldberg, Esquire
Exploring New Uses for the Homeless
During the early months of 2001 I was taking a class on the subject of Earth Science. One of the units our class studied was on energy, which by the way I carry with me in seemingly limitless supplies. Anyway, we were each individually assigned a project on a different type of energy. Nuclear, hydro-electric, solar, etc. Michael Zerillo, a colleague or mine, and myself came up a with a brilliant idea. We could create a plant that would exploit the energy inside of homeless people for the use of powering cities. We inquired whether or not we could conduct a study on this and were quickly denied b our overbearing educator. At this point we were distraught. However we both knew that this could not end with that. It was too valuable an idea. We decided to privately research the subject using our own resources. And why not? If the study were successful it would revolutionize the Western World as we know it. We decided that it would be a clean source of energy. We then thought, what is cleaner a bicycle? We felt that with the immense number of homeless in the United States riding on bicycles, it had the potential to generate a great deal of energy. Of course theses bicycles would be stationary, hopefully donated by good, law abiding, citizens and rapists who were perhaps just looking to get rid of an old, but working exercise bike. These bicycles would be rigged up to a machine that collected the energy and dispersed it to the necessary locations. We felt that if these factories were set up in cities throughout the country as a form of supplemental energy, it would lower energy costs and pollution providing people with a clean efficient way to power their domiciles. However, there were other issues to deal with before absolute perfection could be met. What if some of these homeless people didnít want to participate in this program or even refused? We decided that we could still get energy from them by burning their carcasses in a large oven or crematorium. This would provide even more energy. Of course many people were not as enthusiastic about the project as we were but we felt that we could still show them the light that burned bright inside us. That light of course is powered by clean, efficient, homeless people.
The title of this chapter may seem confusing to some people, although it should not be. It is exactly what it says: A chapter dedicated solely to the subject of poop and the issues surround our bodies defecation. First of all, I would like to explore why the word is so humorous. Most people will lie and tell you that they donít find it amusing at all. That they in fact think that it is vulgar in origin and concept. But I challenge anyone to say the word poopy without cracking a smile let alone laughing hysterically. Iím not really sure why it is so funny but it just seems to make people laugh. Perhaps it is because it is not an ďacceptableĒ topic to discuss in public. I donít understand that. Why is this subject considered unacceptable. We all poop. Some of us more than others, and it pertains to everyone. It is so interesting too. What is it made of? Is it like a snowflake where not two poops are alike. They should have a separate section of the governmentís intelligence sector to study this phenomenon. There could be schools where they train people to specifically work in the field of poopology. They could have cool job descriptions that allowed them to play with their poop all day and their job title and scientific name would be Poopologist. That would be on my top ten list of kick ass jobs to have. Until then I suppose poop will remain a mystery that to me will always be unsolved.
The Pleasantly Plump
Pleasantly Plump is just a nice term used to refer to fat people. Now, fat people are the only large group of people (no pun intended) who have a similar personality trait. There has not been, in my entire life, one fat person that I have met, that was not in some way extremely funny. Obviously youíre thinking, sure itís fun to laugh at how big and cumbersome fat people are. But why is that clever? Itís not. But go up to a fat person and see if they make you laugh. Whether it is what they say or do it will draw some laughs from you. Like when the get real upset and turn red and start breathing like they ran the mile, when you know they could only complete a mile in a good half hour after a slow waddle and some time spent in a jazzy trying to complete the journey. Or when they make fun of themselves. Thatís the best. Thereís not a whole lot in life that makes me laugh harder than a fat person, cracking jokes on themself. They seem to be full of absolute primo one liners about their disability. Thatís not to say that there are characteristics about them that I donít envy. One of my goals in life is to eventually become morbidly obese. Itís just a functional excuse and lifestyle. Pretty much any activity you will be asked to perform in life, bar eating exorbitant amounts of food, you can get excused from with an ďoverweightĒ excuse. Plus, one activity in life I absolutely hate is carrying objects. If I was fat, I could store useful items between my rolls, on top of my almost maternity like stomach, or in the giant dress like clothes Iíll have to wear. I like pudding packs. Throw between a couple of rolls and weíre off for a day of adventure without any fear of starving to death. What do you do with your kids? Put them in a baby carriage? Now way! You would have to expend excess energy for that. Free up your ands by storing them in your enormously plentiful girth with a couple of comic books to read. If they get tired or bored they can swim around my rolls until theyíre hungry. At which point they can search for the leftover puddings in my fat. As you can see it seems like an extremely convenient lifestyle that I plan on pursuing at a later point in my life.
Subtext for Chapter 3
Recently, I was attending an informational session for the college I will be attending next year. While I was there I had an encounter with a fat lady. They were telling us that if we really wanted to park close to the dorms on the collegeís campus we should get a motorcycle. This fat lady yells out amidst the laughter, ďNo, get a bicycle!Ē This struck me as a little bit ridiculous. This fat woman was telling me to use a form of exercise to get around as my transportation. Meanwhile sheís eating the last cookie off of the refreshment table. I was stunned. I just looked up and was like, ďLady, you best be delirious.Ē I probably should have asked her for her bike. It was quite obvious she hadnít been using. Because if she had it was probably sitting in a twisted heap of metal in her garage. Seriously, some people donít seem to know when to shut the hell up. Which is ironic to say because thatís exactly what she told me after I yelled that comment out.
An example of one of these people is Jaime Laureano. He requested that his name be added to this segment of the text. For what specific reason I am not sure, but I am guessing that is so that his name will now be attributed to morbid obesity in our humble town of Waterford, Connecticut (authors note: Our town is actually not humble at all. It is a cesspool of obnoxious outspoken people who donít deserve the dignity of being mentioned formally in this book.). Again not being fully aware why he wanted to be associated with this particular chapter, I must assume it is because in his neighborhood he often referred to as a ďfatassĒ and ďoverweight slobĒ by many of the adolescents who live in close proximity to him. I am proud to say that Jaime is one of my friends, and that I donít think of him as just another fat person. He is really just a jolly kid with an eating disorder in my opinion. And as I believe I stated earlier in this chapter fat people are the best kind of people. They really do give the best hugs and there is more of them to love when they get married. Itís true. So hereís to Jaime and good friend to be around, and a great person to bring to a pie-eating contest.
My New Life as an Old Woman
The one major flaw I have found in my life while writing this book is that I rarely have significant time to think and form new ideas. However through a personal research project funded by milk money and other private funds, that involved extensive research of the lifestyles of elderly women, I have found a new way to create ample time in my day to think. All the time. I found that my most productive thinking time is when I am using the bathroom, mainly sitting on the toilet. Elderly women use a technique known as, ďwearing a diaperĒ to relieve themselves. Now these diapers are a kind of portable toilet that becomes part of your everyday wardrobe. Thus enabling you to constantly be on the toilet. For me, this means that I will be able to think productively non stop. Now math tells me that If I am on the toilet for maybe 30 minutes a day., that is only 2% of my available time. That means that I could increase my coefficient of thinking by 50 times. Imagine the things that I would be able to come up with. Now, why arenít old ladyís smart then? Because theyíre old. They lack overall awareness of what is going on around them. Some of them donít even know theyíre wearing a diaper. This is the only explanation that I could come up with. Another problem I fare with my lifeís current direction is that I lack a sort of physical strength and energy. Now, after watching literally dozens of their companyís commercials I believe I have found a product that will help me with this problem. Viactiv is a product that is generally used by women as a health product to promote a healthier lifestyle. I have seen the old women in that commercial campaign and they are energetic and full of life. They remind me of a younger version of me. :People often tell me in fact that I look quite similar to an 80 year old geriatric woman. I have to say I am starting to see the resemblance. Most of the women in theses commercials are, well, thereís no getting around it. They could kick my ass in a fight. I want to be them. Retired, happy, strong, and full of life. You really canít find a happier demographic. And yet it is completely acceptable for them to act crochety and upset. They yell at you and people are like, ďWell, itís not their fault. Theyíre just old and crazy after all these years.Ē Apparently Iím the only one who knows how good these women really have it. And I donít think that they want their secret getting out. That would make their lives really hard. But their secret is safe with me. Itís not like I have anything to gain by telling everyone what I know. It would probably end up screwing me and kicking my ass like everything else I do in life.
Ridiculous Laws and Rednecks: Too Close of a Connection
The other day I was on the Internet and ďby chanceĒ stumbled upon a website based entirely on the subject of stupid people. While on this site I noticed there was a link for laws that the site associated with the fact that there are stupid people that need these laws to keep from hurting themselves or those around them. After reading through several of these laws, I found that I disagreed with the site. These laws were not meant to protect stupid people. They were put in place to stop Rednecks and other Hillbilly types from any sort of conflagration or other potentially deadly accident that they would be able to cause through their utter lack of wits. Some on the other hand were put in place, most likely, by one of these inbred hicks.
Some of these laws include:
∑ Georgia law provides that it is a misdemeanor for any citizen to attend church worship on Sunday unless he is equipped with a rifle and it is loaded
∑ It is contrary to Pennsylvania law to discharge a gun, cannon, revolver, or other explosive weapon at a wedding
∑ A Chicago law forbids eating in a place that is on fire
∑ San Francisco prohibits elephants from strolling down Market Street unless they are on a leash (Authors Note: Iím not sure that this law wasnít put in place to prevent Michael Jackson from doing something stupid)
∑ In Normal, Illinois it is against the law to make faces at dogs
∑ In Paulding, Ohio a policeman may bite a dog to quiet him
∑ In Tennessee, you canít shoot any game other than whales from a moving automobile
∑ Kansas law prohibits shooting rabbits from a motorboat
∑ In Salt Lake City, itís legal to have a gunfight in downtown at high noon as long as you give the sheriff written notification 24 hours in advance
Iím not really sure what the hell some of these laws are for. Is it really that big of a danger in Georgia that to go to church the state feels it must mandate that all citizens planning on attending church must carry a loaded firearm with them? Iíve been to Georgia, and let me tell you, you donít want a strong majority of theses people carrying firearms let alone be allowed to own them. Some of these people donít even own the set of teeth God gave them. Who the hell knows what they did with them, all I know is that theyíre gone. Imagine if these people misplace their firearms like they were their teeth. Pennsylvania, from what IĎve seen, is a much more civilized state than most of the south where they still believe that the Civil War, or the War of Northern Aggression as they so aptly put it, was the northern stateís fault. Still, if their citizens need to have a law in place to tell them not to discharge a cannon at a wedding, then Iím not sure I should ever go back there. Seriously though, these people have cannons? Why? What useful purpose doses a cannon serve to these people in modern times. I know everyone doesnít have a computer with the internet but theyíve got to know that the only people we are fighting are thousands of miles away, and their cannon can only fire an explosive a few hundred yards. But I guess if they never even wandered out of their yards to find a sexual partner because their sister or first cousin lives with them, then I canít actually expect very much from them. The fact that itís Pennsylvania really just surprises me. The Amish live there for God sakes! Those people churn their own butter. I canít think of a more calm and collected group. SO itís obviously not them. And chances are that itís not the people in the cities because they wouldnít waste their bullets at a wedding. Theyíre saving them for some homeboy who was talking smack to their babyís mama at the laundro-mat. This leaves only one group left essentially. The farm bred, corn fed rednecks. Case closed in Pennsylvania. Reading further down the list we see that you canít eat in a building thatís on fire. And then all that crap about harassing a dog and shooting animals out of a moving vehicle just seems a little obvious to me. However, I managed to finish the fifth grade before I was eligible for the draft, unlike some of these people that these laws were created for. Why would these rednecks do this stuff though? I mean, you donít have to be in charge of drying cars down at the carwash to realize that itís stupid to make faces at a dog. Now I think I understand why we have taxes.. Theyíre needed to clean up the messes that the idiots who require these laws to protect them create. Also it must waste a ton of money trying to get these stupid laws passed through the stateís legislatures. So basically the rest of the country has to suffer because Jim Bob and his wife/cousin/sister/grandbrother Billy-Sue had to go and have kids. Itís not really fair, but, I deal with it because those people do make me laugh. Donít get me wrong. I donít hate rednecks. I want to be a redneck and one of my friends is a redneck. Their lifestyle is so relaxed. Bi and tri-weekly trips to the local racetrack to watch one of their toothless relatives participate in a trailer race or demolition derby, seem like a great way to pass the time you have left on your unemployment and welfare. My friend Kyle Corey is one such case. His parents and grandparents all grew up in southeastern Connecticut and yet he still manages to have an accent that is reminiscent of the Bible Belt. The only possible explanation he could come up with is that he watched too many Dukes of Hazzard episodes as a child. He now spends his days watching NASCAR, going to the speedbowl, and working at a local horse farm. That seems to me like a pretty good lifestyle. Where is the stress in that agenda? There really isnít any. He is one of the happiest go lucky kids youíll ever meet. It borders on ridiculous. Obviously these ďrednecksĒ are an unexplained phenomenon that will take scientists and researchers many generations to fully understand. So that is why I will no longer try and explore their lifestyle. After all I wonít go anywhere near anything that hasnít been officially cleared by the government to not cause cancer. You can never be too careful these days. Like right now. Iím typing with a series of strings and levers as to not get anywhere near the dangerous radio and microwaves that my computer could be emitting.
High School Kids Really Do Know Everything
I always hear parents talking sarcastically about how teenagers think they know everything. This bothers me not only as a High School student and teenager of many years, but as someone who is a firm believer that teenagers really do know everything. For instance in my math class, as in every math class, there are always one or two kids who are absolutely brilliant. They know every answer and therefore sit in the back of the room doing whatever they please. Now Iím not talking about those regular book smart kids who sit in the front of the class brown nosing the teacherís grundle and studying hard every night. That to me is cheating. The kids Iím talking about donít have to study because somehow they already know all of the material in the book. In fact I suspect that they were the ones who wrote the book. After all, outsourcing is becoming more and more popular and these kids donít look like they were born anywhere around here. So anyway, a typical class period for me involves me doodling on the quiz I just failed, pondering why 2 plus 2 equals 4, while Ling Chow, the Asian exchange student is finding the cure for cancer in the back of the room. How the hell am I supposed to get ahead in life?! Of course no one knows about Ling Chows discovery because no one would believe him. And heís probably afraid heíll get deported and end up in a Christian Childrenís Foundation commercial begging for bread crumbs from the camera man. I donít have any clue how this relates to my original topic for this chapter but it seemed relevant at the commencement of the writing of the chapter, and now I seem to be rambling soÖÖ.on to the next chapter it is!
Why I Hate Kids Who Know Everything
In reading over the previous chapter I realized something. I hate all of the kids who know everything. Thatís not to say that I take back my point that they do know everything, because I still believe they do. But it seems to me that when these kids find out that they know everything they become very obnoxious and annoying. Like theyíre so much better than me just because they know a bunch more stuff than me! I mean, so what if I canít read good or I have poor hygiene. Like itís such a big deal that I froze the computer once when I tried to run the spell check on one of the papers I wrote. And most of them grow up to be homosexuals. Yes, itís true. They never socialize because everyone thinks theyíre annoying and they end up having to have their sexual relationships with other people that knew everything as a teenager. So, I guess Iíll have the last laugh this time. Unlike every other time when conversations always seem to end with them laughing at something Iíve done or said that is stupid or wrong. Actually, Iím pretty sure that none of this is true. I mean really, how could every kid who was smart in high school grow up to be a homosexual? It might be true but I have no scientific basis for these statements or statistics that I have provided. On that note I think that I should end this current chapter and move onto one that is on a lighter note.
Marrying a Woman in a Wheelchair
This next idea that I will present to you has often drawn several disconcerting looks from people who disagree with me on its merits. The idea is that I think to aid me in leading a more aesthetically pleasing life for myself I should marry a woman who is physically restricted to a wheelchair. Now, this may seem like it would be a hassle for me and you may be wondering why I would specifically look for a woman with a handicap that is so restrictive. But I assure you I have thought this plan through. If the woman is in a wheelchair all of the time except when she is sleeping or riding in an automobile, I will have to be her primary caretaker. At least of the beginning this plan will be rather time consuming for me, but in the end I am sure that it will pay off with huge benefits for me. First of all, when people see someone in public helping a handicapped relative, especially a spouse, by pushing their wheelchair or helping them in and out of vehicles they always look like a saint. Everyone around them gushes and says how wonderful these people are for marrying and staying with these handicapped people. They think that itís true love because with her being in a wheelchair thereís virtually no chance that Iíll be getting any ass out of this deal. Of course for me this will just be a cover for my real plan. I figure this marriage will just be a sham anyway. Itís not like I plan on intentionally marrying someone thatís not able to put out on a regular basis. This is where her handicap will act as an aid to me. The way I see it, sheís in a wheelchair and Iím going to run all over the place sleeping with whatever women I want to. What is she going to do about it? Chase me? Get real. Even if she tried to chase me I would just go somewhere with stairs and poor accessibility for handicapped people. Now I know this sounds awful at first but if you factor in the fact that this woman is in a wheelchair and probably wonít be getting married anyway, and that the majority of marriages end in divorce anyways, itís really not that bad. Plus I donít plan on having kids with this woman, so itís not like any third parties will be affected by this plan. And I plan on treating this woman pretty good anyway. Iíll buy her one of those nice wheelchairs with sturdy brakes and comfort grip wheels. Iím not really all that bad of a guy. Anyway, thatís my plan for getting married. Take it or leave it.
Greek Life: Accurate, or Just a Bunch of Animals?
I was recently watching the end of the summer Olympics on television and a thought came to my mind. Now as everyone knows this year the Olympics were held in Greece where they originated. Therefore the opening and closing ceremonies involved a great deal of glitter and flair to show how extravagant Greek history has been and how brilliant their earlier generations were. I was watching most of these things as a college student of about a week and this, I think, gave me an interesting perspective on some important issues. As anyone who has ever gone or been around a college knows that Fraternities and Sororities are big parts of college life. These organizations advertise themselves as a way for college kids to make friends and be part of ďGreek LifeĒ as they seem to view it. Well, I noticed that there is a huge disparity between the way the actual Greeks view their lifestyle and the lifestyle of their ancestors, and the way that these fraternities and sororities have interpreted their lifestyle. If I understand the way that the Greek people believe their lifestyle is, and I think I do, they believe themselves to be well adjusted, intellectuals who invented much of the same technology that we use today including construction techniques, math, and philosophy. Now this may have been embellished a little bit by the modern Greek people to create a false sense of national pride for the Olympics, but I believe that this is mostly accurate. However, it is entirely contrary to what the modern fraternities and sororities would have you believe. After talking to several individuals in these organizations and watching Animal House literally dozens of times, I believe I understand their view of what Greek Life is really about. Apparently the Greeks are or were a bunch of raging alcoholics who threw parties that last several days and involve various types of liquors and beers, and engage in various homoerotic acts with their frat ďbrothersĒ after becoming intoxicated and sometimes without any influence of alcohol at all. They enjoyed putting on a false front when peoples parents and prospective members acted interested in their activities, and for that reason they would occasionally engage in a community service project. These projects were most likely linked to the court sentence they received as part of a plea bargain they were encouraged to accept by the public defender after they were arrested for urinating in the middle of a street in the early hours of the morning after one of their ďGreekĒ themed parties. Maybe Iím a pessimist but I believe that, although it may have been slightly embellished, the Greek peopleís version of their society may be slightly more accurate. Seriously though, these so-called Greek organizations are hilarious. Like our country doesnít have enough enemies at this point in time, we have to allow these groups to stumble around on practically every college campus in the country, in a drunken stupor mind you, claiming that they are behaving ďjust like the Greeks do.Ē Iím sure this practice just thrills the Greek people. I mean, of course they want people to learn about their culture, but Iím sure they donít want tens of thousands of people essentially mocking their values and history. Iím not saying that these organizations should be closed because I think theyíre great ways for college kids to spend their time and meet people. Not only that, when you get a large group of these frat brothers together they are absolutely hysterical. I just think that they shouldnít really directly associate themselves with the Greek culture. Itís really got to piss off a lot of Greek people, and with a Bush in the White House, believe me; enough people are pissed off without idiotic college students comically mimicking other cultures. But what are you going to do. Whenever I doubt that our country should be allowed to piss off or offend other countries and cultures I know I can find my answer on the side of the Bush-Cheney Campaign Bus. There I find my answer as it read, ďYes, America Can.Ē Great, then thatís settled. Thank you Mr. Bush for your complete indifference to other nations opinions and feelings.
Homework and it's Government Roots
The thing that most kids fail to realize during school is that your education is not really something to take seriously. They think that they have to respect the people who work in the institution that they attend. What they donít know is that all of the things that are associated with school is regulated by the government. If it werenít true most people would never even go to school. But it is required by our government that we attend school until sixteen. They require us to attend school for the same reason that they require another terrible activity for students at these forced education camps. Thatís right, Iím talking about homework. The only reason they give kids homework while they are in school is to cut down on underage drinking and other perfectly acceptable activities that teens engage in on the weekends. Look at it like this: They can only keep kids in school for a certain amount of time each day, and days per week without causing too much suspicion. That time would normally be sufficient for eating up trouble making time for kids, but the older kids stay up later and can drive. This forced the government to take a different approach. They decided to add a new item to the curriculum. Homework. This requires many more hours of studentís time outside of the actual school day. The government does this because itís main supporters, corporations run by working people, wants to create a quiet time during the week. The government could easily make school a six or seven day a week ordeal for kids. They could even start school on Sunday. But adults donít need their cities and towns quiet on the weekends. They want them quiet so they can relax during the workweek so they can be more productive for the companies they work for. The same companies that are the biggest supporters of the government who enforces these rules. Most of this I already had sneaking suspicions about but a lot of it I figured out the other night talking to a friend on the Internet. For this friendís privacyís sake weíll just call him Alex Molina. He informed me that he had to go spend the remainder of his night, about five hours, on school homework. This concerned me considering that I was not currently being forced against my will to attend one of these internment camps. This homework had essentially ruined a perfectly good night. Why, we could have been out drinking, smoking, or engaging in other equally ludicrous behaviors. You canít do anything loud anymore during the five-day workweek without getting in some sort of trouble. But on the weekend, you can make all the noise you want until late into the night without any ramifications. Now personally I rarely did the assigned homework and there were few if any real consequences. This is because the teachers donít really care. Ask anyone who works as a teacher. They think of their job more as a babysitter than an educator. They could care less if kids do the homework because they already know itís useless. They are just government-funded lackeys. In four years I believe I put in the bare minimum and am damn proud of it. I could have wasted the past 4 or 5 years like many of my friends did, but I took the risk and won out on this deal. Had I not, I wouldnít be the person you see today. I would be just like every other form fitting tool that our public and private school systems secrete. Instead I live life like a totally unique person who bends the rules and lives like as a rebel. And thatís why the people I hang with are rebels. Youíve got to fight the government anyway you can. Myself, being lazy, understood that message to include not only what I do to fight the government but also what I donít do, like my work. If you get one thing from this chapter it should be that no matter what that teacher is telling you, donít do your homework. Besides your teacher butt diddles little children and gives wobble jobs to homeless people on the weekend. What do you do on your weekends? Make everyday a weekend.
Short Movie Reviews
Jackass: The Movie
All I have to say about this movie is that I only hope that when I grow older my vocabulary will have become so inferior of what it is now that I will be able to refer to the region in and around my rectum as a cornhole. Brilliant work.
Helpful Hints to the Reader
Awkward Ways to Start A Conversation: ďWhen I used to sell cocaine in gay barsÖĒ
Mother Theresa and Gandhi: Self-Actualizing Individuals or Pity Whores with ADD?
To prove to some people that I actually do attend classes at college and on occasion pay attention I have written his chapter that displays some of my opinion on issues that were discussed in one of my classes. One of my elective classes is Psychology 220. Donít ask me why I am taking it; I was sleeping during class sign up. In that class our teacher informed us of a term for an extremely rare type of individual. The term was self-actualizing. It is defined as, ďpeople with exceptionally healthy personalities, marked by continued growth.Ē I had never heard of this before and was trying to think of people that could be included in this category, when the teacher told us that many experts felt that Gandhi and Mother Theresa were two such people. Now, I donít know who I was going to think of but I guarantee that it wouldnít have been either of those two losers. First of all, what is special about either of them? Gandhi was considered privileged compared to those around him. And what does he do with this advantage? He goes on a hunger strike and encourages thousands of other people to join him in this endeavor. People will tell you that he was making a positive difference in his homeland and was helping millions of people, but that couldnít be further from the truth. In my opinion, he was just a loser who had an extremely advanced case of ADD. Having grown up in an area that didnít receive a lot of international attention, he felt under appreciated and decided to try and get attention by acting up. Itís the typical case of the disorder. Who did people think he was helping? Certainly not the already starving people who were joining him in the hunger strike. He had food and chose not to eat it. He could have at least given the food to these starving people and engaged in the hunger strike himself. But no, just like the neighborhood kid who doesnít get enough attention, he has to go to someone elseís house and get them to act crazy with him. He couldnít just get himself into trouble, he had to drag other people down with him. And the worst part of it all is that people bought into his lies. People praised him for using non-violent methods of protest. The only reason he didnít use violent protests is that he didnít really care about his cause. He was just looking to get a quick fix for his attention disorder. When people praised him it was like laughing at that neighborhood kid. It just encourages them to continue with their unacceptable behavior. Now Mother Theresa isnít innocent herself. She went around the world visiting places where people were suffering and to my knowledge, didnít really bring any aid or relief to them. She is what is known in my vocabulary as a pity whore. She had some sick obsession with peopleís suffering. People called her a saint and a savior. Where I come from we call people who enjoy human suffering a sociopath. When people gave her this attention and admiration they didnít realize what they were doing. They thought they were helping the situation and plight of this woman and her followers. In actuality they were just pitying the whore. And you donít want to pity the whore. It just gives her some sick pleasure. In my opinion these were not bad people, but peopleís view of them was misguided. They just saw what the media showed them and failed to take a look beneath the surface of the situation and see what these people were really doing. At any rate, that, although Iím sure not even close to what the professor was hoping I would get out of that particular class, is probably an extremely misaligned view of what I learned that day in class. Most people disagree with me but thatís probably due to the fact that I am often told by the professional help I seek that I am a tad askew. I am so alone.
Real Life Helpful Advice from the Author
Recently I was informed by a lawyer from my insurance company that there was a problem with the insurance policy I had filled out. You see, realizing what a walking train wreck I was as an individual, I had obtained the proper forms to fill out to get a good accident insurance policy. I had figured that someone should benefit from my death. Especially because it was most likely going to be an extremely unfortunate and untimely occurrence. The lawyer told me that I the beneficiary that I had provided for them was not an acceptable one. I assured them that my dog Waldorf was completely capable of spending the money and that someone would be available at the time of my death to sign any necessary forms for her if she didnít feel up to it. He refused and said that although I may consider her part of my immediate family she didnít qualify as a legal beneficiary because she didnít have a birth certificate and a social security number. Although I argued, I eventually was forced to provide them with another name for the insurance policy. So if you are filling out an insurance policy, donít put any of your pets down as the beneficiaries for it. Apparently there is some legal mumbo jumbo in Washington preventing animals from getting ahead in life. Now you know.
When I Die....
I know most people will tell you one of a few things they want done when they die. Either they want a nice normal funeral service and burial, to be cremated, or they donít really know. Personally I was cut from a different piece of cloth. I know exactly what I want done. When I die I want the coroner to saw off my head. I then want him to pour out my brain and whatever else there is in my head and put those things with the rest of my body. My body and brains should then be cremated in an oven and the ashes stuffed back into the empty orifice in my head. Once my head is properly sealed I want it packed with explosives and launched into space during the next closest presidential inauguration or state of the union address. Either way Iíll be happy and there will be less crowding on earth. And most importantly we will have begun the next stage in destroying our earth: Polluting the solar system. From there Iím sure it will only be a few more years before we have completely desecrated the place we live.
B Wiggit: The Man, The Myth, The Rebel
Let me tell you a little something about the person I like spending my weekends with most. Brennan Ward is quite possibly the most ridiculous kid I have met other than myself. In one breath he is completely out of control and in the next, heís like any other person you will meet. The kid rebel to the very definition of the word. He does whatever he wants and doesnít worry about what anybody else thinks. And for some reason, whatever he does seems cool to me. The kid wears some of the craziest outfits I have ever seen and yet, they just seem right. I have seen this kid take a shot from a roman candle right in his back from under twenty feet and not even flinch. Youíve got to be a rebel to take that. Anytime anyone tries to bring him down he just picks himself up, brushes himself off, and keeps living life rebel. Adults, school administrators, and even law enforcement often have to be brought into situations to try and break this kids crazy spirit, but nothing can change this kid. He is the only person Iíve ever met that has convinced me that robbing a liquor store at three in the morning is a good idea. Coming from him though, it just made sense. If he asked me to try it again would I? Most definitely. He is one of those people in my life that makes me want to get up each day and live life like I want to. Also, I just have to say I have never seen anyone face brutal rejection so many times from the same girl and still be able to tell her how much he loves her right to her face. That takes balls right there. Most people would just give up, especially as she has left for college, but I know heíll wait for her to come home. He also has the most accurate shot when throwing things at moving cars from a moving car around town. He easily hits over half of his targets while others fail miserably time after time. He is a true example of the way that people should try and live their lives. Without Brennan around life just wouldnít be worth living. Keep the Rebel spirit alive Wiggit.
Authors Question to the Reader: What is the Point of Local Fairs?
In my life I have attended countless local fairs around my house and my relatives houses. After going to all of these fairs I still cannot fully comprehend why they have these things. Have you ever been to one of these? A more ridiculous spectacle I cannot recall. At the Washington County Fair in Rhode Island for example there is always a small population somewhat normal people in attendance. At least they seem normal when compared to the other inbred hicks who attend this hootenanny or hoe down. Unfortunately these ďnormalĒ people always have three or four mentally retarded people clinging to their hands, arms, and underarm flab. Now they have their arms full and you would think they couldnít carry anything else, but they surprise you because for some bizarre reason they just canít seem to let go of the bucket of chowder they all seem to be carrying around with them. And for some reason there is one thing in common with all of the people at these fairs. They are all morbidly obese. Some so badly so, they are restricted to a wheelchair or a walker. Now I ask you, what would possess you to spend an afternoon wheeling yourself around a fairground in a chair. Maybe Iím the only one who noticed but these people are powering themselves by putting their hands on the wheels of their chair. After the wheels have been around one time they already have so much grime on them I would feel obligated to throw the whole thing away, or at least burn the skin off my hands with acid. Not these people though. They donít mind eating fried bread without even washing their hands. Then of course there is the strange character who is running around the fairgrounds, which by the way are entirely made up of mud and animal feces, with no shoes on. What a great idea! Lets run through the animal pens with no shoes on. He might as well; I highly doubt there are any diseases he could catch that he doesnít already have. The whole idea of the fair thoroughly repulses me yet like a terrible car crash I just canít look away for some reason. I return every year like some sort of religious pilgrimage to see these people and thank God Iím not one of them. I mean these people literally live just down the road from me and yet for some reason choose to live a century or so behind me. I have no idea why they would want to show off the different aspects of their lives each year in a sick kind of freak show where they wander around eating undercooked food, riding unsafe oversize toys, and showing off livestock. What the hell could the point of this ritual be?
First Semester of College: Hurricanes and Hotels with a Side of Church and Class
Most first term freshmen in college have a reality check when they move away from home and start classes. They are stunned by the workload and are upset from the abrupt separation from friends and family. This obviously was not going to be the case with me, seeing as how most people at home were quite glad to be rid of me and that I had never done any of the work assigned to me before. This however is not what makes my first month at college unique. The fact that I decided to attend school in Daytona Beach, Florida during the biggest hurricane season in years gave me a somewhat interesting experience. I moved into college on August 25th and began classes on the 30th. After about twenty minute introduction classes on the first two days, I had my full two hours of class on that Wednesday. At the end of that day we were told that Volusia County would be evacuating and that we needed to be out of dorms by Thursday at noon. We promptly loaded up one car and one truck, both of which were owned by my roommates, and headed north to Hilton Head, South Carolina for what we thought would be an extended weekend. After spending one night in a Fairfield Inn we changed to our permanent hotel for our stay in Hilton Head, a Hampton Inn. Now, donít get me wrong, it was a nice hotel. But when the manager of the hotel has to fill out a restraining order each day for one of his employees, they obviously have a problem. I mean there was an actual catfight in the lobby our first day there. And Hilton Head, being an island seemed like a nice place to stay, being just outside of the stormís outer bands. Of course it was no fun at all until I got there. Apparently itís an upscale golfing resort area that caters to the wealthy though. And since that leaves very little for a bunch of college kids do, I felt the obligation to find something for us to do on at least a couple of days that we were there. One day we went to see a movie, it wasted time but its coefficient of fun was not very high. I had to find something for us to do that rich people do, because thatís all there was to do there. I had to think like a rich person. Then it hit me. Rich people love to smoke cigars. So we found the islandís premier cigar retailer and searched for the perfect cigar. Seeing as how it had been almost a week since we had left school and I was almost completely broke, I queried to the shopís owner if he could find me a low priced yet full-bodied cigar that he thought I would enjoy. He showed me to the Spirit of Cuba cigars in his store. It was a moderately large cigar, about an inch or so around and a good six to eight inches long. Needless to say this endeavor blew the remainder of that day. And so the days passed in this needlessly ridiculous manner. There was one highlight of the week for me. I got a voicemail on my phone one morning while I was sleeping and listened to it when I woke up. Nothing couldíve made me laugh harder than when I heard Mr. Bonannoís voice on my phone, ďHey Taliban! Iíve been watching the weather and I was a little worried about you. Give me a call back.Ē It was good to hear from him, even though he calls me Taliban and I am attending one of the schools that trained some of the terrorists to fly. Like I really care though. A couple days later, after six total days in South Carolina, we found out that the school was going to be closed for at least another three or four days. Two of my roommates decided to go to one of their homes in Pennsylvania while my other roommate and myself decided to head up 95 to Concord, North Carolina to spend a couple days with his aunt and uncle who both happen to work for Penske Motor Sports. I knew this town was big on NASCAR when we got the directions to get there. I remember something about turning left onto Motor Sports Boulevard and looking for the gray building with the racecar on it. This place was truly the Bible Belt at its finest. But once again there was little for college kids to do there to pass the time. We went to the mall one day but thatís about all there was in the area to do for entertainment. One day I even went to church. I mean what else was there to do? Thatís not to say that I wouldnít have gone even if there were other things to do. I will probably never get an opportunity to go to a Southern Baptist Church in the Bible Belt again. Plenty of people tell me about how they go to church, but you really have never been to church until youíve been to one of these churches. These people really do love Jesus. And even though I have no idea what was going on most of the time, it was some good old-fashioned fun. Iím not completely sure but I mightíve even been saved while I was there. Who knows? Anyways, we stayed at these peopleís house for a few days and then heard the word that it was okay to return to school, just as another storm looked poised to steamroll through Florida again. Nonetheless, we embarked on the eight-hour drive back to school and slept until the next afternoon when I was awoken with a phone call from my mother telling me I was coming home. Apparently the school had decided that rather than telling students when they could return a day at a time, they would just cancel a whole week to be safe. So I returned to home to wax nostalgic with the remainder of my friends who had never left town. It was a good week and rather than get into specifics, I returned to school the following Saturday which was the 18th. We actually finished an entire week of classes this week and unfortunately that streak wonít continue because another storm is currently ripping through the area, canceling Mondayís classes. We went down to the beach during the beginning of the storm to see the waves and could see them for over a mile before we even got to the beach. The entire beach was under water and, in fact, most of it has been washed away and will likely need to be rebuilt. Oh well, itís not my problem. With hurricane season not completely over, this story could possibly not be completely over, but hoping it is because Iím tired of moving in and out. I think Iíve done it more than just about any other first year college student has before. Really though, school would have been a lot more boring up north with most of my friends. How many people can honestly say in their first month of school at least three hurricanes struck their school? I consider myself lucky. Yep, I think I might even take up gambling.
Different Kinds of Poor People
Once youíve lived for a while and observed different cultures and societies you start to notice the intricate differences between them. The one sure-fire way to tell what type of upbringing a person had and what cultural background they hail from is to look at their behavior. Now the wealthy and middle class sectors of a society behave in various ways because there are generally to many of them to all behave in one manner or the other. The middle class often tries to imitate the upper class and some of the upper class likes to spend money pretending that they donít have it for some bizarre reason that is beyond my grasp. However poor people behave in ways that link them to a certain racial group. Now not to stereotype, because stereotyping as Iíve been told is not a good thing, but Iím going to stereotype here anyway for the benefit of the reader. If you see a poor person living in a trailer surrounded by overgrown grass, beer cans, and broken trucks, well, nine times in ten that person is going to be white. Actually to correctly categorize people and not offend all white people, they belong in the segment called, ďwhite trashĒ. Now on the other hand, if you see a person with gold teeth, a big-ass car with huge rims and a loud stereo system, and more expensive clothes than youíre wearing, thereís a high probability that the person youíre looking at is black. Itís just what they do. By the way, confused white people tend to act in this manner also, but only if they live in predominately black surroundings. Now as for the rest of the races and cultures in our world, quite frankly I donít intentionally observe poor people and donít really give a damn about how they behave or how I can specifically stereotype them into a category. In fact, the only reason I can so accurately place whites in blacks without seeing skin color is because poor people tend to be the most obnoxious and have a propensity to force themselves and their views on others that are around them. Now as a personal preference, I favor the poor black people over the poor whites on most days. This preference stems from no other reason than that I feel that when I see a poor person overextending themselves and trying to live in luxury on a welfare check, I think to myself, this person is at least trying. This is simply not so when I look at the poor whites. I mean dear God, where is the money going if not to better your immediate living conditions? Donít tell me the money is going to alcohol or bills because the poor black people drink just as much (source: Donít Be a Menace) and if you want me to believe that these people pay any bills, youíre just nuts. But back to the previous point that theyíre making a concerted effort to better themselves, it impresses me. The people in the trailer parks are just lowering property values and destroying the economy in the process. The current housing market is red hot and these people arenít trying to make any money off the meager property they currently own. Theyíre just causing the rest of us to not make any more money, so either shit or get off the pot. Even though the other group of poor arenít doing anything to help the rest of us make money at least they dress up themselves and their cars to try and better fit in with the rest of society. Because you should at least look good if youíre going to drag the rest of society down into a pit of despair with you. And in reality they poor people living in luxury are actually spending more money than many middle class families are. Even though they donít have actual money to spend, they still buy stuff, and this practice gives the economy a false sense of growth. At least until payment comes due. But my hat is off to the poor black people who spend money they donít have so they can look better than those of us who actually have jobs and goals in life. And also, thanks to the poor white trash individuals who make me feel good about myself on a daily basis.
Some Things I'm Good At
Today I was thinking about things that Iím good at and decided that I couldnít come up with much. But I really jogged my memory and remembered that yesterday I was filling out a student survey for the university and was putting down answers to their questions that were kind of humorous. And then it hit me: I am good at filling out surveys and or questionnaires in a manner that other people find funny. Sure it doesnít seem like much to a normal well-adjusted person, but for a person with as diluted social skills as I have, itís a last shred of self-dignity to hold onto lest I plummet to my death in the canyon of abnormality that lies just below me. Backtracking to the original point of this segment of the book, itís not even so much a talent as a sad habit or throwback to adolescence that I have sadly not yet outgrown. I look at the questions and think to myself what sort of answers to the questions people around me would find funny. A lot of people do it, theyíre just in middle school or underclassmen in high school. I suppose that makes me a late bloomer of sorts. At this point in writing this, Iím not even sure why I decided to add this. Itís only making me feel worse about my current situation and the direction my life is headed in. Oh God, Iím aloneÖ
How is the Author of The Da Vinci Code Not Dead?
I recently decided to join mainstream society and in keeping with that theme change in my life I figured a good start was to read a good pop culture fiction book that everyone was talking about. It couldnít be just any book either. It had to be one that would be made into a movie in the near future. Also, it had to be a book I would understand while I was reading it. I hate these books that people write that you have to be smart to understand. Itís like, okay we get it, youíre a lot smarter than most people. These authors who write books most people donít understand and then market them to mass audiences should be thrown in jail. The idea is to use the fact that youíre smart to help normal dumb people to understand the message youíre sending out in your book. But anyway, Iím way off subject. So I pick up a copy of The Da Vinci Code and start reading it. It all makes sense and is relatively easy to read. That is to say itís not one of those books that leaves me depressed about my present lack of brains and the poor future that lies ahead of me with this deficiency. The plot was really interesting and it actually made me not want to put the book down while I was reading it. It only took me a couple of days to read and I was rather satisfied with the story overall when I was finished. One question was left in my mind, however, after I was done reading it. Is the author trying to make a statement about his views on Christianity, i.e. is he trying to get himself killed? I mean, there are some points in the book where he takes less than subtle jabs at the religion and its concepts. He also makes some of the villains in the book members of the religion and shows how their practices and thought processes are evil by todayís standards. Not that Iím saying he isnít entitled to his opinion, by all means I agree with most of what he is saying. Itís just that, as Iím sure he knows, this is a good way to get yourself killed or to disappear quickly. Its not like heís unaware of this because itís part of the books many aspects. I thought that I should further look into this, and because I liked the book, I bought the prequel to it Angels and Demons. The plot in this book I thought was just as outlandish as in Da Vinci Code, if not more ridiculous. But again, I found it to be really entertaining and better than most of the trash thatís on television right now. This book, not to ruin the plot (even though I know that nobody actually reads for pleasure anymore, except porno magazines), directly involves the members of the Catholic Church hiring hit men to kill people who work as scientist. Again, I donít know if this really happens but it doesnít seem like a good idea to wildly hurl accusations of transgressions at any organization that controls the minds, beliefs, and lives of an enormous sect of the worldís population. Itís just stupid because people have spoken out against people they hate for centuries and it never really ends up well for them. Just because youíre a famous person doesnít mean youíre immune based on the fact that youíre in the publicís eye most of the time. I mean maybe thatís his plan though. To get a hit put out and martyr himself so that his work and image is forever immortalized in the eyes of the public as positive good work. Thatís a good idea, except for the death part, and it usually works. People donít like to talk trash on people who are dead. Itís just not good policy. Just look at all the idiots who have died in the past few years and all of a sudden theyíre heroes even though nobody really like them or what they did while they were alive. But really, Iím getting off topic again. The point is, if this guys keeps naming names behind the protection of his creative license heís going to go down hard, and soon. Enough said.
Elementary School Art Class
If youíll allow me to rant for a moment Iíd like to relive one of the most confusing and uncomfortable periods in my adolescence. I wonder how many people took art class in elementary school. And of those people I wonder how many actually remember what went on in that class. Well, I do. Vividly. I remember that we had like eight teachers one year and they all pretty much sucked. I remember that my favorite time during the class was the clay time. We got to make whatever we wanted out of clay and then the teacher would immortalize it somehow into a hardened form of what it was when you were shaping it. I also recall not being good at art and wondering why my clay always looked like crap when I was finished shaping it. Be that as it may, I never could get a straight answer from any of the art teachers about what they did to harden the clay when we gave it to them at the end of the art class. They would always tell me that they were going to cook it in ďthe kilnĒ and give it back to us next time we met. This answer never entirely satisfied me. I wanted to know exactly what a ďkilnĒ was and what it looked like and all sorts of other information about it. But no matter which one I asked they all told me that they were the only ones who could see it because it was very hot and dangerous. I never did get to see that thing and to this day it vexes me. What the hell was so special about this thing that curious students like myself couldnít see it if we wanted? What kind of a machine is always running and hot? This sounds like they were trying to avoid showing me what it was. The only machines Iím aware of that operate constantly are nuclear reactors and other machines that are running in power plants, not ďkilnsĒ in elementary school art classrooms. I think that there really was nothing special about this ďkilnĒ and that they were trying to have something to hold over the rest of our heads, like theyíre better than us. I bet it was just a regular oven like I have in my house. Or maybe it was even crappier than that. Lastly I want to know why the hell all of my projects seemed to explode when the teacher ďbakedĒ them in this toaster oven. They used to tell me that my project mustíve had air bubbles in it because it was destroyed in the so-called ďkilnĒ. I think they knew that I was on to their little easy bake oven scheme and they destroyed my project in their art teacher anger, because if my project exploded why the hell didnít anyone elseís projects get affected? Whatever, my projects all sucked anyways.
The Era of "Webshots"
In this new age of the Internet and technology people have once again found a new way to go way too far. It was bad enough when people started buying digital cameras for themselves so that they could take thousands of pictures of themselves; Let me stop here and elaborate on why this is a bad thing because I donít think that most people think that it is. First of all, this digital camera completely eliminates the need for people to have their pictures developed because they can just put them on their computers and send them via e-mail to all their friends or just save them to nag people with later. This removes the third party, the person developing the pictures, which in turn entirely eradicates the need or obligation of the picture taker to have any sort of modesty or shame when taking the pictures. This means we, the viewer of the pictures, have to see all of the stupid things that people think there should be pictures of. And with the perpetuation of these bigger and bigger memory cards and increasingly smaller cameras for ease of travel, people are able to take thousands of pictures of these stupid things. Itís really just a bad thing. And just when I thought that the situation couldnít get any worse along came Webshots. It entirely changed the social scene. Now you canít just ask someone what they did the previous weekend, itís your obligation to check their profile on AIM to let the pictures tell the story of their weekend adventures. It also creates a social burden for the person who likes to do things on the weekend. Now you canít just go to a party and have a good time, you have to remember to bring your camera with extra batteries, and also remember to take pictures while youíre there. And not just a few pictures. You need to have pictures of yourself with every other person that went to the party. And God forbid you drank more than one type of beer or liquor, because youíll need pictures of yourself drinking each type along with some of each stage of intoxication you brought yourself through. This isnít even what concerns me about the whole Webshots fad. What I donít understand is how bold people have become with these pictures. Why the hell would you take pictures of yourself at someone elseís house drinking let alone vandalizing it when you know the whole party was supposed to be a secret from the parents who own the house? I only bring this up because Iím not sure that some people are aware that parents have the Internet and access to the Webshots website. The chances are slim that they would ever find these pictures but still, why the hell do they even need to be taken. Itís like some modern day game of chicken that people like to play with digital pictures. For the record, yes, I do have a Webshots account, but itís for random pictures I take. Itís not some sort of scrapbook timeline of my social life. I really think that people use these Webshot accounts as some sort of status symbol or social barometer to hold each other to. I really have nothing else to say about this issue, if you could even call it that.
Making Life Insurance Work for You
This particular chapter came to me or, started off if you will, like so many other wasted nights in Waterford. I was rolling through town (the 860 as people call it now) in the P.T. Loser with my boy Z-Mac and our cast of regulars, Coz and Corey, who incidentally doesnít have a last name as far as I know, when we decided to hit up Taco Bell (ring the bell as it is commonly referred to). Now, what this really has to do with the story is very little, however, I just wanted people to know what I do on the weekend in lieu of having an actual life. When we had completed our pilgrimage to our proverbial Mecca of fast food, we were sitting down and I was thinking to myself, ďHow is it possible for me to scam old people out of their money in a manner that would be considered only slightly morally objectionable?Ē In the midst of the ruckus created by the local drunken high school kids, who now resort to drinking in the fast food restaurant for entertainment, it hit me. I could find a way to get their life insurance policy money from them when they kick the dirt. As I do with most of my good ideas I ran it by Zach, and he agreed that I had struck gold with this one. We figured that if we went to convalescent homes and hung out with the old people whose families had abandoned them they naturally want to cut us in on some of the sweet action they would be dealing out from beyond the grave. We figured that even if they didnít have any money we could sign them up for life insurance policies that would pay off huge when they died. Plus weíd be doing the community a valuable service, in that we would be spending time with the elderly. Itís not like weíd just be robbing them. Weíd really have to work for this money, and Iím sure theyíd want us to have it so that we could use their money to have the fun they can no longer have. It may sound awful, but itís really doing the old people a favor. I scratch their back, they scratch mine. Their families have forsaken them and left them to rot in a rundown elderly home. These old people shouldnít be forced to leave their remaining assets to them. They donít deserve the riches that will be passed on to them when theyÖpass on. Iím basically acting as a third party or middle man where the old people can choose to dump their financial assets in order to spite their families and prevent them from getting anything in the event of their untimely death. Now I havenít looked into this situation to deeply as to figure out exactly how many state and or federal laws I would be breaking, I just know that these people are old and confused and someone is going to take that money from them, so why not let it be me? Thatís all Iím going to sayÖand that it might sound much worse on paper than if you really look at his idea in your head. Thatís all.
A Modest Proposal on the Mentally Disabled
This next chapter is probably the most offensive of all of the previous thoughts and ideas Iíve introduced even if they were all combined into one altogether inappropriate thought. Itís really actually more like two thoughts in one that somehow in my mind correlated to each other. Having said that, before I start I just want to say that I am merely throwing these ideas out on the table and you may do with them as you please. If you feel they are so offensive that you need to complain to me personally my e-mail is available at the top of the page, but really if you are so offended you most likely deserve to be. Here it goesÖfrom what I have personally observed I think that some mentally challenged individuals are faking it. Before you take that statement in, let me elaborate further into my thought process. I think that it would be fair to say that there are certain social, shall we say, benefits of this lifestyle. If considered to suffer from this affliction, one is no longer responsible for the everyday caring of themselves that normal people are required to do. You have a special class with no work in it, and people help you do everything including use the bathroom and get dressed. Do you have any idea how much time it would save me if someone would feed and bathe me everyday?! Now I donít think that all of them are faking this ailment. After all it is extremely serious and pretty debilitating if itís for real. On the other hand if you were to fake the symptoms and be diagnosed with it, youíre life is on easy street for a long, long time. I just think that some of these diseases are overly diagnosed and that it would be easy to get a doctor to write you a note saying that you are entirely incapable of behaving as a functioning member of society. This is like a free pass to Disney World or something. Itís like going back in time in your life to the point where you were an infant and being able to defecate in your pants in public with literally no repercussions. In fact someone will then come and clean you up. I guarantee that if tomorrow I was in a crowded area and had a bowel movement while fully clothed, no one would clean me up. In fact Iíd be willing to bet that I would be outcast by society as some sort of freak. This brings me somehow to my second point, which is really more of a proposal for dealing with people who suffer from one of these mental illnesses. I personally find that when I am in the presence of these individuals often times I will have a difficult time determining how handicapped they really are. Because some of them function like normal members of society, or even better (in the case of the remedial programs at public schools), and it is difficult to tell if they are disabled or not. Now in order to avoid an embarrassing comment being made about them or just to know exactly what youíre dealing with, I think that it would be nice if there were a system in place to deal with such an event. A sort of ďHandicapped Richter ScaleĒ if you will. This would allow people in society to communicate to one another just how handicapped some individuals are. It would spare us the embarrassment of certain situations that are easily avoidable if we could just look to one another and say, ďHey, be careful that guy is a 9!Ē This would let that person know that the person they are dealing with is completely incapable of really functioning as a normal member of society. I really think that enough has been said about this topic for right now and that if I continue on more people than already are offended might become so. Also I think that this topic will resolve of itís own accord when people realize that this isnít just some insane idea, itís genuinely a good suggestion.
Memoirs of a Baldist
As much as Iím not the type of person to claim to know the answer to the whether Creationism or Darwinism is responsible for the current state of the human being, I am at a loss in figuring out why and how people go bald. I really have to believe that people that have gone bald are afflicted with a disease that the rest of us (at least so far) havenít contracted. Now, putting the idea of evolution aside, I believe that it is a given that people tend to adapt to their respective environments. For example, when people grow up in the northeast like myself the weather never seems to be that cold during the winters. However, after spending the better part of two years down in Florida at school, I returned to find myself bundling up while my friends who remained in state for their schooling are comfortable with far less clothing than I require to stay warm. This is due to the fact that my body has adapted to a warmer environment and I have become accustomed to living in strong heat and can no longer be comfortable in the frigid New England winters. If I was to spend some time up in Connecticut I would most likely become reacquainted with the weather and my body would adjust accordingly. That is why after a long summer in the Northeast, I return to Florida to find the temperatures and humidity levels to be on the verge of unbearable. Now, that having been said, I believe all of that semi-coherent rambling is entirely relatable to people going bald. That was all an example of how a persons body adapts to his or her environment. Why then, are people bald? It really makes no sense. Generally speaking the only bald people we see are men who are anywhere over the age of 20, give or take a few years in rare situations. These men, if they are anything like the rest of us, are constantly trying to maintain an intimate relationship with the opposite sex. Now, the bald factor makes this noble quest extremely difficult, and in some cases even impossible. I suppose some women are attracted to a bald or balding man, but that is a menial percentage of the female population. From all the years that I have watched Seinfeld, I have come to understand and appreciate George Costanzaís plight. However, I do not understand why the body doesnít grow hair on the head simply by necessity. If the body cannot get sex, it must change the ways that it grows so that it can obtain it. It would seem intelligent then to assume that over time baldness would have been eradicated, as all bald men would have been unable to get a woman to have sex with, and therefore their seed and bald genes would have died off. Everywhere else on the body hair grows so that the body and all its elements function properly. Hair grows on and around a maleís genitals so as to keep that organ at the ideal temperature for producing the fluid that breedís life. In countries that are in a perpetually cold climate, the current generation of people have a higher percentage of their bodies covered in hair. This is because over the years their bodies have adapted to perform at their ideal level in the environment. It is a form of protection too from harsh conditions. These are just examples of how the human body has adapted only in the area of hair growth, regardless of how it has changed over the past several thousand years to better live in the changing time periods. That all having been said it obviously makes no sense that the human body canít make itself grow hair on the head, the one place where it is universally accepted that hair should grow. This has got to be undeniable proof that bald is a disease and not just something that runs in a personís family. If not, well then I give up trying to figure out these people. I donít get it. Am I right people?
Ok, Facebook and My Space have officially gotten completely out of control. And itís really not the websites that are at fault in this matter. The situation stems from how reliant people have gotten on theses sites for their simple existence. I use both of these sites, although I find that Facebook is much easier to use than My Space and also much more structured and restrictive. I also like Facebook more than My Space. There is really only one main thing about Facebook that I donít understand. Itís not so much that I donít understand it as it is that I wonder how other people use this feature as compared to myself. Iím referring of course, to the relationship tag under each personís profile. It seems that each person uses this feature differently. When youíre single this option is really simple. You just put single and leave it at that. But when youíre with someone, this option grows to something that is often in my eyes mind boggling to even think about. This is because in my eyes there are so many options that are available to these dating couples. Do you just put ďin a relationshipĒ and leave it at that? Or do you put who you are ďin a relationshipĒ with? And if one person puts one thing and the other puts something different does this cause friction among the couple? Seemingly this simple public expression of a relationship to the world could end up destroying the very relationship it is expressing. Especially if its one of these new age relationships where people just meet up at parties and ďhook upĒ and then go on their respective ways, only to end up in the exact same situation the next weekend. Does this constitute a relationship? And what if one person thinks it does and the other doesnít? That could really be destructive to a good thing. And again, this simple ďhook upĒ may not in my eyes be eligible for placement on Facebook or My Space. The relationship display feature should be reserved only for couples that are officially dating, and have come out in public and openly make people aware of this. If you donít have the balls to step up to the plate and transform your ďhook upĒ into a relationship, youíre really not worthy of the time that people take to read that relationship tag that each Facebook member is allotted. Even if that time is most likely less than a half of a single second. Lets be honest, if itís not official, youíre just wasting everyoneís valuable Facebook browsing time. Itís inventions like Facebook and My Space that are making an already complicated social world, all the more awful in my opinion. And as if there wasnít enough drama in the social world already, these websites are sure to stir up some adolescent hormones that people have lying dormant in their bodies right now. Itís becoming an increasingly complicated world to live in, and if we donít pay attention and stay ahead of the curve, the Japanese might just sneak up from behind us and make it all smaller and more efficient. And those are words of wisdom that you can go to the bank with.
Waterford High School Senior Night
Itís finally summer and schools out, which means that there is a new class of alumni from the local high school. This year was the year that my sister graduated and that meant that I got to attend all of the festivities related therein. Probably the most boring of all of these events was the senior night. They just sit there for around two hours reading off lists of the winners of random scholarships for the kids. You just keep listening, trying not to fall asleep, and clapping relentlessly like some sort of drone. But the worst part of this whole ordeal has to be listening to the descriptions of the awards the kids have won, and how they poorly describe the person receiving the award. And because of the person that I have become, I am forced to sit their and make immature and sometimes witty comments to whatever sad soul is sitting next to me at this point. And in reality I could care less who wins what award as long as the night goes quickly and all the kids are happy. Because the kids being happy is what this whole night is about. Am I right? There is however one award that I found so ironic, not necessarily because of who won it this year, but because of who I realized always wins it. In fact, I donít even remember the name of the person who won the award this year. The award Iím referring to is the scholarship for a student interested in early childhood development. I can always describe the person, usually a girl, that will win this scholarship. This is due to the fact that there is a disturbing trend surrounding this award. First of all the award always goes to a girl, but thatís not to say that itís a sexist award by any means. This is just to say that girls are the only students to take the childhood development classes offered at schools. The most distinguishing characteristic of the recipient is that they are almost always, with very few exceptions, pregnant or have had a child while they were in high school. If they donít meet either of these criteria, just give it time. They may not get pregnant tomorrow, the next day, or even six months from now. But when you come back from your first year of college, that summer they will either be walking around all preggers and whatnot, or with a child strapped to their midriff. I think thereís a simple reason for why this occurs. All of these girls that take the classes in high school think that they therefore have some innate ability to care for children and they want to have their own. This is just ridiculous because in my opinion 17 and 18 year olds have no business having kids. Unfortunately most of these preglets donít see anything wrong with having kids when they have no income or home of their own. Thatís off topic though. You can say what you want but inevitably the recipient of this award every year is the gross pregnant chick from your class, or the girl that was mysteriously absent from school for their second and third trimesters. I mean, the schools should get real and stop giving this award out, because it always ends badly. It should be called the annual bad ending award, because thatís where the winners life is going to end up: pregnant without a college degree or decent job. Gross.
Home Equity Line Counter