The Life of a Degu Ruler

Found notes

2007-04-19T20:38:00.000-07:00

I was cleaning my apartment today, which means I should have prepared a will in the event of my death, when I came across an old notebook from a few quarters ago. Within this notebook are some bulleted notes that I have no idea what they mean.

-Gun shot and shotgun... interchangeable
-You don't have to accept red Widgets
-People will sue if you use their gun to kill a bear in your yard
-That North Korea really is something
-If breaking their hips doesn't work, maybe dropping a plane on them will
-He didn't want to deliver pizzas with a bomb tied to him

If anyone can guess what class these notes are from, I will reward them with 22 cents, which I have also discovered. Let the games begin!!!!!

Moment of Prayer

2007-04-18T10:37:00.000-07:00

It's been a while since I last posted anything to the site and a lot has happened since then. This post will not have any funny moments because sometimes life itself does not unfold in a funny manner.

To the students of Virginia Tech, remember that you are never alone. Things may seem hopeless and despairing, but there is always a reason. That doesn't make your loss and pain any less intense, but maybe it will help comfort you in some small way.

The students of Shawnee State University held a beautiful candlelight vigil in remembrance of those students who were lost. I urge all that read this to remember the families and friends of those students in your prayers. Tragedy strikes sometimes. We can't stop it, but we can band together and comfort one another and never forget those who were lost.

Dirtania and My Father's First Attempt to Kill Me

2007-03-23T11:26:00.000-07:00

Growing up as an anxiety filled, depression fueled young man; I didn't want to bother with the nuisances and headaches of family. Unfortunately, I had no choice, as I was completely dependent on my parents for sustenance. I can see, now, that most of my problems were of my own creation. I don't want to take responsibility for that, but I have to. As long as my family is alive, I can't blame them (as soon as they pass on however...). Although I'm not sure that they are completely innocent.

To make things clear, I do love my family. They just annoy the crap out of me most of the time. With that out of the way, allow me to now tell you about the man who raised me and his futile attempts to annihilate me.

I've become convinced over the years that my father is trying to kill me. I understand why he would want to kill me. He is just one of many on a list. I have after all made the man's life difficult. I would say I drove him to insanity but he was kind of there already.

The first major injury of my life happened before I was old enough for school. It is a situation that, if it happened today, people from the state would strike my parents with a stick and take me to live with an overly happy, tolerant, and culturally sensitive family.

Thank God the back hills of Kentucky weren’t that worried about childcare in the late eighties. The above substitute parents would weird me out.

On this fateful day, I was in the field outside of our house playing. Here is the first problem. I'm not that close to the house and playing alone. I'm also younger than 5. The second problem was the toy I was playing with. I was playing with one of those old metal Tonka trucks. Back in those days, they hadn't realized that the toy was safer if they curved the metal around the edges.

So my parents let me play alone, out of sight, and with a toy that was essentially a tetanus pool. Sounds like I might survive the day if I'm careful. However, I was also playing next to a five foot deep by three feet wide ditch. (To this day I'm not sure why such a gorge was running through our front yard.) These factors have since lead me to believe that my father was trying to kill me.

Some of you are thinking that it was both of my parents that were responsible for the shoddy protection. However, it was my father to bought me the tetanus truck and provided the grand canyon in the yard. I was a foolish child to trust in the love of a father. I've since learned.

Once the setup was in place, my father ever so gently allowed me to play in the yard. Excited I took my tetanus toy and went to build a pile of dirt. Oh sweet pile of dirt, prepare to become mine! But what’s this? A gorge per say? Interesting.

As anyone who has been around kids can guess, I was fascinated by the lack of dirt. (I had been in that yard before and I could've swore that there was dirt in that hole.)

I moved next to the great divide and began creating a dirt city where little dirt people could create an economy that would rely solely on tiny rocks, or pebbles if you will. And would also have the benefit of attracting tourists to the moat, which protected the tiny dirt city.

Creating aimlessly in my own little world where there were never disputes because a dirt father couldn’t afford to get his dirt woman the best possible dirt house because his job doesn’t pay enough pebbles, we could all learn a lesson from Dirtania, I moved closer and closer to the trench, precariously daring to take Dirtania from a little dirt hick town to a dirt metropolis.

Then a terrible construction accident took place.

As the little dirt foreman was on break, the other construction dirters were fooling around with the dump, they are called dirters because they all have tetanus from the Tonka truck and are lower than everyone else in the society, the truck went over the edge and was lost to the dirters in the Grand Canyon!

Why, oh why? How could such a terrible misfortune happen to the loyal citizens of Dirtania?

Being the largest person in Dirtania, the responsibility fell to me to save those poor dirty souls from the wreckage of my Tonka truck. I put on a brave face and went over the side after it.

To those of you who still remember that I’m younger than 5, now is the time to realize that I’m a two foot tall child in a five foot deep trench. I’m also not very smart.

Long story short, which sucks for those of you who actually read the above story, my head caught the edge of the tetanus Tonka truck and started bleeding profusely. I don’t remember much of what happened after that, but was told that I had a ball in the emergency room. Jumping over seats, bleeding on old dying people and so on.

Since that day, my father has tried the same plan numerous times. I have learned from his first attempt and have defeated his futile efforts to end my life. Or maybe he’s just digging ditches in the yard for no apparent reason. If that is the case then I’ve fried the man’s brain.

Kudos to me. I still win.

DeguRuler Papers #3 Yet Another Macroeconomics Article Critique (last one i promise)

2007-03-14T09:36:00.000-07:00

Source: Quint, Barbara Gilder, “8 Ways to Invest $1000 No Risk to High Risk”, Family Circle, June 27, 1995 Page 43

Another week has come and gone and so we arrive dutifully at our destination. Here is another critique of an article that has to do with Macroeconomics. Let us begin.

The willingness to save, or the MPS if you will, will be affected if more people decide to invest their money instead of saving it. Why save when you can risk losing? Live a little and take a risk every now and then. Or don’t, because the author has a section titled No-Risk Investments. If the MPS changes, then the MPC will change because the MPS is 1-MPC and they are directly related.

Obviously, to anyone who read the title written at the top of this paper and on the article itself, this article gives advice on what to do with $1000. The author has arranged the piece so that the advice is sequestered into groups according to risk. Since the old saying is ‘the higher the risk the higher the return,’ people who wish to get rich quick would choose to read from the High-Risk Investments section. Those of us from the backwoods of Kentucky would much rather sit on it or bury in the backyard, but the article doesn’t really cover that aspect. Instead the author has a section called No-Risk Investments. There are also two sections in between, but the middle children are always disappointing.

The advice given by the author ranges from simple treasury notes to initial public offerings (IPO’s). While I have never heard of IPO’s, I have heard of treasury notes and they don’t interest me so I’ll talk about the IPO’s. After reading the section I have decided that I did indeed know what an IPO was and am interested so I will continue. Some companies are private. They like to sit in the corner of the business playground with some cards for solitaire. However, every now and then one of those lonely companies decides to be social and enters the wood-chipped area with the swing sets. They then offer stock of their company to the public domain were people will constantly fret over whether or not the stock is rising in price.

Wow. I’m at the bottom of the page. I shouldn’t talk so much. I enjoyed this article because I have often thought about investing and have been looking into the many different options available. This article lines up several options on the front and back of one sheet pf paper for me to look into at my leisure. The only problem I see arising is this thing the author keeps referring to as money.

DeguRuler Papers #2 Another Macroeconomics Critique

2007-03-08T17:33:00.000-08:00

Source: Conkey, Christopher, “Slowing Productivity Fogs Broader Outlook”, The Wall Street Journal, February 8, 2007 Page A2

Lately in class we’ve been talking about the different schools of economic thought. These different schools not only have differences in views, they have exact opposite views. Some say the money growth rate is constant and in control. Others say no we don’t have it under control but it ain’t out of control so it’s ok. The others completely freaked out and said: “You’re completely crazy! Ain’t no one no how gonna even know what the money growth rate is!”

Those of the latter school of thought need therapy.

This article talks about the slowing rate of productivity in the current period. Since there is a relationship between inflation and unemployment, a lower production rate will cause more workers to be laid off. More laid off workers cause the unemployment level to rise causing inflation to rise.

No one is to blame for the slowing productivity. There has been like a decade long surge so it’s about time for the strain on the production curve to completely snap it. It’s not anyone’s fault because it’s the normal movement of the economy. That fact does not stop people from pointing fingers. The republicans blame the democrats and vice versa. The economists blame the consumers who lame evil corporations. Osama blames us, and over in the corner is that crazy school of economic thought pointing at the rest of us and saying: “You’ll all be dead soon! Then you shall now the truth of the almighty money growth rate!”

Told you those guys needed professional help.

Once again I’ve had more fun writing the critique than reading the article. That’s normal so I’ll forget it for the purpose of this next sentence. It was a very informative article that told readers what to be expecting in the economy in the coming months.

DeguRuler Papers #1 Article Critique for Economics

2007-03-05T11:24:00.000-08:00

Source: Lloyd, Nancy, “Don’t Get Ripped Off 35 Ways to Cut Bank Fees”, Family Circle, July 20, 1993 Page 52

Being able to save more money, through the tips given here to cut bank fees, will raise the MPC. If people have more money, they are more willing to spend that money. Of course, only the MPS would get people to read this article and take the advice given. But a raise in the MPC will lower the MPS and then people will not really care about this article. It would seem that there is a Catch22 situation developing here. Although consumers don’t think that way I doubt that a Catch22 will happen within the economy. Or maybe we’ll just move back and forth between a high MPC and a low MPS, or a low MPC and high MPS. Enough babbling, time to get to the article.

This two page article that is from, I believe, a magazine is all about how the banks in America have little rules that no one knows about to cheat you out of your money. The fact that this is news to people, even in 1993, is what truly shocks me. It’s a bank. They take money. That’s what they do.

But those who wish to keep such evil banks from invading every aspect of their lives and controlling their income, I’ve moved from Catch22 to 1984 now so try to keep up, this article will reveal the little known tricks up the banks proverbial sleeve. Wow, that was a long sentence. Anyway, some of the tricks are as simple as rounding “errors” as seen in bullet three.

For those readers unaccustomed to finishing an article, the article is divided into subsets so people can only read the area that they wish to stop being cheated out of money in. The author then finishes the article with two obvious scams that many people fall for. Credit Life Insurance and bank provided Life Insurance. The moral? Never trust a bank with your life.

I enjoyed reading the article. Although not as much as I did writing this critique. It was informative and relevant to everyone. The article, not this mass hypnosis of words I’m turning in. This paper is only relevant to my grade.

Upcoming

2007-03-01T12:26:00.000-08:00

I've been working on material for a while now and will be posting on a more regular basis this month. At least once a week. I'm also starting a segment called the DeguRuler Papers. These are papers that I've actually turned in to professors. I don't don't how they managed to get an A, but I wrote them mainly as a joke.

At the end of this month I will be volunteering with Habitat for Humanity and will be in New Orleans. At the beginning of April I will have a lot of material about the trip and, hopefully, some funny stories to go along with it.

Keep checking in!

Social Retardation and You

2007-02-23T09:49:00.000-08:00

Socialization is an important part of being alive. Having a niche that one can call friends and family helps define us as people. Even animals, such as wolves and fish, form social groups even if that groups function is simply safety in numbers and to not all die at once. In an interview I did recently with the Office of Psychological and Counseling Services at Shawnee State University, (for those of you who have no idea why I would interview someone, I am a reporter for the SSU paper) the director stated that students who participate in school activities have a much higher retention and graduation rate. That's how important social behavior is.

This is why I’m screwed. I am socially retarded.

By socially retarded I mean I'm a person who is quite fine never speaking to, or seeing, another human being. And in those situations where I must interact with humanity, I have no methods or norms in place to trigger. These situations tend to result in my being awkward and unable to handle interactions or relationships. This is just one of many reasons most people don't like me.

My social retardation is the result of several years of untreated depression, anxiety disorder, and OCD during high school. While most students were hanging out with their friends socializing, I would be over in the corner plotting their demise. First high school, then the state, then the world, then...

Well you get the idea.

Having a social retardation leads to many uncomfortable moments and intense awkward silences. These are the moments I live for. For some inexplicable reason, those moments when the crowd looks at me with obvious disdain, and maybe a little fear and anger, I feel as though my life has purpose. However, it is just a feeling. I have no purpose.

For example, should I be sitting in a group, most of the time it's a small group because I hate people, and someone says something like, "you know what this country needs?" I feel the need to reply with something that I don't necessarily believe in but think will make these people stare in awkward wonder of my supposed insanity. Some typical replies to the above statement:

More Canadians
Legalized beating of old people
Killer Anteaters
Physical wrestling within Congress
Euthanasia

That last one is a personal favorite.

Having interacted so little with other human beings, I often have no idea what most of them are talking about. A simple phrase, such as 'wassup', has a whole different meaning for me. Who knew that 'wassup' is a greeting? It sounds like a question. Yet people still look at me like I'm crazy when I start talking about what I've been into lately. I'm apparently supposed to answer 'not much homey' and go my own way.

Since I've started being a journalist for the SSU paper, I've been forced to talk to people. It's never pleasant. Most college faculty has trouble with the question 'who do you want to write about your life when you’re dead?'

Maybe it's because I open with that line.

Needing random student quotes for articles is never easy. Not knowing how to speak to people my own age makes it even harder. One thing I've learned: students aren't very friendly while they're cramming for a test in a half hour. Sorry people but it's not my problem you can't manage your time better. I need a quote by 4pm so get over it.

Social retardation is a serious problem and one that needs more attention. The reason most people have never even heard of it, besides the fact that I made it completely up, is that those of us who suffer don't tell anyone because we don't talk to anyone.

The next time that you see some lonely person sitting in a corner by themselves I implore you, leave me be I'm happy without you. Well, not happy, but content. Well, not content, but...

Well you get the idea.

Mad at MADD

2007-01-31T15:01:00.000-08:00

The swarms of people harassing me about when my next post would be has finally convinced me that my destiny is set for me. I'm doomed to be a terrible person for the rest of my life. Which is convenient, because that was my plan all along.

I've dealt with so much stupidity the last few weeks, or two months for those counting, that every time I thought about writing it down, I realized that I didn't want to think about it anymore. What I wanted to do, was shove a pen in my eye.

Speaking of pens, don't support the Mothers Against Drunk Driving (MADD) organization. They recently sent me a promotional package, I had just turned 21, and in this package was a pen. Being cheaper than a possum is on defense tactics, I was excited that I would not have to buy a writing utensil for a while longer.

Let me assure you that this "free pen" was of the lowest quality possible. It was a dark blue, almost black, with gold letters and gold decorative lines surrounding the glossary cylindrical exterior. The pocket attachment was a sophisticated looking gold colored intricately designed piece of metal that flowed like silk being held by Venus, the most beautiful of the goddesses.

Words cannot express my ecstasy. It was the pen of my dreams. I slid the pen, ever so gently, into my pocket, making sure that the pocket attachment was snuggled against the canvas fabric of my jean pocket. I then faced my day with the proud determination of a man with a pen.

Little did I know that my day would soon meet a cataclysmic demise.

It became necessary to write something down in the course of my day. I immediately reached for my trusty sidekick pen. Wait... what's this? I can't seem to find the top of my gold molded pocket attachment!

I quickly freak out and lose my mind. Even more so than I already have.

I dig into my pocket as though the lost city of Atlantis might be in there. I finally come across the gentle cylindrical shape of my long lost pen. I quickly pull out my pen and prepare... to write something down. The not so gentle penetration of cold cheaply made aluminum pierced my skin causing me to cry like a horse in a dog food factory.

I then discovered that my beloved pen had lost it's pocket attachment. It had snapped off in less than a days use.

NOOOOOO!!!!

I put up a brave front and clicked the pen. I wrote down the information with the greatest of sorrow. The pen was usable, but it was as though a piece of my soul had snapped off along with the pocket attachment. I would never be whole again.

I continued for days, wandering through the haze of hopeless despair that had ensnared my life. I went on about my normal business, but it just wasn't the same.

The time came again when I needed to use my pen to write down more information that was key to absolutely nothing. I reached for what was left of my MADD pen, and then it disintegrated in my hand. The click function used to make the clicking go smoothly simply degraded and slipped into the hereafter.

My pen was gone. What was I to do? What good is a man without a pen? Was everything pointless now?

Yes. Yes it was.

So I do not support the MADD organization anymore. If they really wanted to save the lives of teenagers, they would send out a pen that would last more then four days. Poor misguided fools. They shall be the first to fall.

A letter to that Girl in the Video Store.

2006-12-01T09:00:00.000-08:00

Dear Girl in my way,

I'm very happy for you. I really am. You apparently have a lot of stuff going on in your life. Must be nice. However, I DO NOT CARE! There is no reason to tell me, a perfect stranger, all about it. I'm just looking to rent a movie. Not make a commitment to a lasting relationship.

I thought that maybe you would take a hint when I started going through everything in the store and constantly moving away from you. The signal to get lost and leave me alone was apparently misinterpreted as please follow me and look at everything I do! I can see maybe how the two were easily mistaken.

There are a lot of movies out in the world. I'm sure your judgment and advice is terrific since you seem to have seen every one of them. But I'm just looking for something to pass the time, not change my life. I simply want a movie that doesn't suck. Is that too much to ask for? Is it really worth this?

I admire your determination. Even after I have chosen and go to the front to pay, you still feel the need to tell me what 'your kind of movie is and that the one on display on the counter isn't it.' Even the rental guy was giving me sympathy.

I can't reiterate often enough on how much I do not care about your dislike of Evanescence. I don't care about your type of film. I care about getting away from you and into my car.

Oh, and I do appreciate your efforts to keep perfume companies in business. It's good for the economy to have consumers like you. However, whatever company your supporting, your supporting it too much. The line between too much perfume and overpowering is not all that fine and yet, you've managed to pole leap your way into the far reaches of indecency.

Sincerely hoping to never see you again,
Deguruler

The off-whitish pill of death.

2006-11-06T13:21:00.000-08:00

Every morning I follow the same routine. Wake up and fall back asleep until the last possible second to still be considered reasonably late and not AWOL. I quickly dress, take my medicine, and grab my things as I sprint out the door, usually hurting myself in the process. This morning, however, I was assaulted in my own room by the Off-whitish Pill of Death!

I take a couple of pills every morning: Zoloft, my anti-depressant, and some vitamins to help make up for my poor diet. I'm not sure what I have done to make my Zoloft angry, but it came at me with vengeance in it's non-existent eyes.

I throw all of the medicine into my mouth and take a swig of water to help them find their way to the appropriate organs. That was when the Zoloft became lodged in my esophagus. I will break down my thoughts and feelings as the moment went on:

01 seconds after drinking water: Something's not right...
02 seconds: Hmmm...
03 seconds: I realize that humming has become almost impossible and stop.
04 seconds: It dawns on me that I am choking. I don't know why it took so long. Maybe I believed the first few seconds of not being able to breathe were a fluke. I also never realized how small the esophagus was.
05 seconds: I begin to panic. I've never choked before! What do I do?! I immediately begin coughing, hoping to dislodge the pill.
10 seconds: It still isn't working. I can't really stop now though...
16 seconds: Wait! Pills are dissolvable! I begin to look at my predicament scientifically. Maybe if I were to weaken the structural integrity of the pill with fluid, it would crumble enough to slide down my throat.
18 seconds: I take a chug of water feeling smart and triumphant.
18.5 seconds: Oh yeah... I'm choking. I can't swallow water at the moment.
20 seconds: I'm still choking and I'm now covered in water. The police will think it's a suicide.
23 seconds: I consider making it look like murder and blaming Squirrelly.
27 seconds: I see the time flash before my eyes. I make a mental note to set my clock.
34 seconds: With a great heave of my abdominal muscles, I hack the largest hack of my life. The pill shoots out of my mouth and becomes part of my carpet. I kill it without remorse.

I know that it could have happened to anybody but it didn't. Don't try to comfort me. I know that pill was out to get me. It's a bad day when your depression medication turns on you.

A typical conversation with me.

2006-10-22T21:21:00.000-07:00

I have written about Squirrelly before. He was once my landlord and has now moved on to nothing. We became somewhat good acquaintances through the years. Here is a conversation that I had with him recently (This was copied verbatim from MSN Messenger. I have changed all names):

Squirrelly says:
yeah I was going to say that's par for the course
Squirrelly says:
I live only to make your life miserable
Squirrelly says:
and I'd like to think i'm good at it
Squirrelly says:
haha. nah you like me........as a friend. not in that other way that is not natural
DeguRuler says:
I hate you
Squirrelly says:
you make me laugh. anyways the other day while looting I found a key board.
Squirrelly says:
I would like to have your magic fingers teach my dumb ass a simple song.
Squirrelly says:
ShortGirl also found a flute. we are going to start a band
Squirrelly says:
a keyboard as in the musical keyboards. not like the keyboard I'm using now
DeguRuler says:
seriously
DeguRuler says:
stop talking
Squirrelly says:
hahaha. yeah fair enough. I'm going to try and eat something without throwing it back up. Have a nice evening. later

It must be nice to have a friend like me.

No. I'm not dead. Yet...

2006-10-05T19:42:00.000-07:00

I know that I've been scarce from you out there in internet land for a while. I've missed you all. All five of you who actually read my stuff. Thanks. Thanks a lot for not telling your friends about me. Jerk. Here I am pouring my soul out to all of you, and you can't even get me a few lousy hits. Well I guess you find out who your friends are.

Enough ranting already! Geez you whine like a little girl. Apologies to all little girls out there.

I'm actually sitting in my Management Principles class at the moment. I have no idea what this class is about. I would assume Management Principles but I would be wrong. We've talked about all other aspects of business. But nothing about management techniques or methods. Most people doodle or bring laptops and post to their humor blogs which no one reads because no one cares.

After the first break, the class contained less than half of those at the beginning of the class. We all know it's pointless. Foolishly thinking that information was to be had, I stayed. What was to be had was a petty conversation about how stupid the change from quarters to semesters is going to be. No one here has any power over it and no one here can stop it but they feel the need to have a forty-five minute discussion in class about it.

Now she's talking about building bridges. Not sure how we got to this point, but oh well.

I'm gonna go kill myself now.

Laziness. Always a good plan.

2006-09-20T17:15:00.000-07:00

I'm a class this quarter called management principles. I have no clue what it's about even after being in the class a couple times. The first group event was split into six members per group and we were told what page to find the assignment on.

The only row of seats that was full was the back row. This is the row that I sit on. The entire row looks at each other and decides that we don't want to move so we'll be a group. We don't situate to better speak to each other. We just think that it would easier to yell across the room and disturb all the other groups. I assume it's because no one likes them.

I read the directions of the assignment and don't understand a word of it. I ask the guy next to me if he understood them. He doesn't. I ask the rest of the group if they understand them. They don't.

For most students, not understanding the directions would mean that someone in the group would ask a peer if not the instructor. My group decides to ignore the directions and make up our own.

I'm starting to love my group.

The first thing we are required to do is for each member of the group to define quality. Then we are all supposed to compare definitions and come up with a group definition. We all decide to look in the back of the book and use that definition. We are lazy. We treat the rest of the assignment in the same manner.

It figures that the group I get into does the most they can to get out of work. The instructor is very disappointed throughout our presentation.

But we did the work with all the right answers. That counts in life.

I hope.

Pushing people off of the path of life.

2006-09-13T14:19:00.000-07:00

After fighting my way around campus to get a parking spot (I didn't want a decent spot, just a spot) I finally find an empty stretch of asphalt on the opposite side of campus from where I need to be. (I assume it was a spot but I didn't see lines. Maybe I should keep a can of yellow paint in my car and create "new" parking spots whenever I can't find one.)

I began the long trek to my office, I work on campus, and was following a boulder of a woman up the stairs who is on the cell phone. This is what I hear from her:

BoulderGirl: Hey. Where's your class at?
pause
BoulderGirl: Ok. I'll wait for you here.

She then stops. In the middle of the staircase. She is apparently waiting there. I hope that the person she was talking to knows where "here" is. Otherwise I think BoulderGirl might be waiting in the middle of the steps for a while.

I quickly walk around her and move on. Hey, if she's stupid enough to wait in the middle of a staircase, then let her rot. I have work to do.

The Legal Environment of Business sucks.

2006-09-12T21:41:00.000-07:00

I had a class entitled "The Legal Environment of Business" tonight for the first time. I, for some reason, mistakenly thought that this class would involve business. It does not. Turns out that it is nothing more than a general law class. This is required for a business degree.

The professor is incredibly boring and monotone. She says a lot of things that don't make sense. Some of the lessons I learned tonight:

Don't grow pot with tomatoes.

Watch out for big sales in pits.

Beware the Nexus of Negligence.

The class started at six and is four hours long. Some highlights of the night:

8:36 I crack a book for the first time. I don't use it because the professor isn't teaching anything. I just decided to crack the book.

9:08 I glare at the professor and think "be interesting" hoping that I have somehow gained telepathic abilities in the last three hours.

9:10 I haven't.

I realize that I hate law. I could never study law. I'm considering killing myself in the middle of class just so that the rest of the students can have something interesting to take their minds off of the historical nonsense that this woman calls law.

Old people and the handicapped.

2006-09-11T20:25:00.000-07:00

I was stuck behind a SLOW moving truck today. The license plate said handicapped and there was an old man driving. I find many things about this situation disturbing. Why would a handicapped person be driving a truck. Are they lifting things into the back of the trucks? Or are relatives loading things into the truck for the handicapped person to unload later? That's mean. Funny. But mean.

I think that there isn't much difference between the old and the handicapped. Both are useless to society and should be rounded up into camps and fed Jello while they're allowed to play Bingo.

It would be a perfect society not infected by the weak. We could hire guards to make sure they don't escape from their cages. I want that job. It would be fun.

That's right. I said it. I want to hunt old people and handicapped. Does that make me a bad person?

New co-workers think I'm insane. I see no reason to correct them.

2006-09-05T12:01:00.000-07:00

Training began for two new people today. They aren't really co-workers because they are technically in a different department. I'm also above them on the evolutionary chain so I don't really wish to be associated with them. The current student worker supervisor, KillerWorkAholic (who shall be hereafter known as KWA because I'm too lazy to type that name out every time), was showing the rookies around the office and explaining the duties they shall be performing.

Since we work for different departments, we are actually in different rooms. We don't have a door to separate us or anything. Just separate rooms. I was dutifully working and ignoring the tour that was being given outside of my office. I suddenly hear KWA say very loudly, "I'm going to show you the Office (I don't wish to reveal the name of my place of employment for obvious reasons). Don't ever go in here again cause this guy's insane."

Having worked with KWA for a while now, I knew that he was setting up a joke on the new guys. It was up to me to take the baton. With only a few seconds to act I went to work on a punchline.

I quickly turned off the computer screen that had all of my work on it. I then played Sugar Sugar by The Archies through my computer speakers and looked at the blank screen and tried to think of something hilarious. A story from the Tucker Max website came to mind and I began laughing uncontrollably.

The two new guys walked in on a guy that was listening to a gay oldies song while laughing maniacally and staring at a blank screen. They quietly turned around and walked out. Whatever. Maybe they won't bother me now.

Please leave the dead people alone.

2006-09-04T21:05:00.000-07:00

I'm beginning to think that the people in my church are all idiots. Listening to their interpretations of political movements is like playing Russian Roulette with an M16. But at least with the M16, people laugh at the destruction. No matter what the decision, my church uses it as an excuse to call the government the antichrist. Should antichrist be capitalized? Would that be sacrilegious? Deep questions.

Anyway...

With the current world affairs, which make even me wanna kill myself, the church has had a lot of material with which to brand anyone with even a state paycheck worthy of a crucifixion. Which makes one of the statements I hear frequently in my church a little hypocritical.

The Statement? "It would be wonderful if all of our loved ones could be here with us today."

WHAT?! If I don't wanna be here, why on Zeus's ancestral urinal would I want my loved ones here? Life sucks. So I guess it's better if I'm not alone in my suffering. Take that old dead guy who put in eighty-some years on the planet and suffered from disease and illness's for years before finally being granted rest and relief from your pain. My church doesn't want you to be through with your suffering. Sigh.

I hope that no one figures out how to re-animate the dead after I'm gone. If they do, then I'll haunt everyone in my church and kill them one by one.

See what you made me do? It's all fun and games til a dead corpse impales you on it's arm.

Mrs. EMO gets the best of me.

2006-08-30T20:06:00.000-07:00

I was at church tonight. Don't act so surprised, it's my one redeeming act for being a terrible person. Anyway, the youth led the service tonight. By saying the youth led, I mean the youth were led. The youth leaders of our church don't like to plan ahead and don't like kids to show them up by thinking. I have many problems with the youth leaders of my church. For one, they let me grow up to be a total jerk.

The service started out with the youth leaders passing out a sheet of paper with a single statement on it that the audience was to complete. They had some music playing while everyone was writing down their answers. The statement:

"I will consider myself successful when..."

I saw this as a terrific opportunity to show my disdain for the leadership that made me what I am. I also had some good jokes that I couldn't pass up. I decided to make a list instead of finishing the statement only once. I'm an overacheiver in that way. Some of my favorites:

I rule the world.

I have found a girlfriend who won't give me VD.

I stand over your dead bodies basking in the crimson sun and quench my thirst with your blood.

That last one may have been a bit over the top. Here I am with a list of ludicrous statements of success when they announce that they aren't going to take them up. I cried a little.

The youth leaders then had two of the youth to do a poorly written and badly organized skit. The point of this skit was that people look everywhere for the secret of success when it's faith in the Lord that is true success. Funny how they came to that conclusion when they haven't even begun to define success. Apparently success has nothing to do with survival. I realized at this point that my attendance on this night was pointless.

One of the youth leaders is the definition of EMO. You can look at this lady and make her cry. I do it often. It makes me warm inside whenever I make a grown woman cry. Anyway, this lady decides that she is going to read a poem. There is a collective sigh from the congregation. We all know what's coming. She begins the poem, and true to character, is crying freely by the end of the line. I'm about ready to tune her out and think about comic book characters (I know, I'm a dork) when she begins the next line. She starts the line with a strong clear voice that has no hint of tears in it!

This shocks me out of my reverie. Is this a sign? Does this mean that she's gonna start making sense? I begin to hope that the little kids in the pews just might be okay after all. Then Mrs. EMO begins to break down in the middle of the second line. WTF? Is she toying with us? Did she just emotionally start over and will continue to cry throughout the rest of the poem? I become enthralled with her and must figure out this mystery.

She finishes the line, which no one could understand through the tears, and begins the next line like a normal human being! Hmmm. She then proceeds to break down into tears in the middle of the line again. I begin to regret living.

She continues the TWO PAGE POEM in the same manner. Starting every line in a clear and concise manner and then going EMO in the middle. For the entire poem. I cannot even look at this woman anymore. She has now taken the great joy of making her cry away from me.

What have I done to deserve this? Oh. Wait. Now I remember.

I blame genetics.

2006-08-27T19:46:00.000-07:00

My dad has been a musician since he was a kid. As a result, both me and my brother turned out to have some measure of musical talent. So naturally we began playing music together as a family and as a result, we are now part of a band. That band recently set out to create a studio album of original songs. Being a financially impaired band, we were discussing how much we should charge for our CD.

My family has never claimed to be brilliant. We do manage to understand quite a bit and are considered intelligent people by some of those who know us. These people are wrong. And those few who know my family quite well have figured this out. The following conversation happened in my parent's living room while guests were there.

Dad: I don't think we should charge too much for our CD.
BassPlayer: Well then how much?
Dad picks up a calculator. Since he forgot what a calculator is, he points and grunts until someone figures it out for him and hands it to him. After a few seconds of math he lets loose this gem:
Dad: At 12 bucks per CD, we should charge $3000 a CD.
Everyone in the living room cracks up. Some of us are on the floor. We finally repeat the line to Dad. He still doesn't see what we're laughing at. Mom forcefully takes the calculator from Dad. This is promising since Mom has done simple math in her life. Instead of trying to get the actual numbers, she takes the high road and makes fun of Dad.
Mom: This many CD's at this price...
She looks at the calculator and in an excited voice says:
Mom: Whew! Big money papa!
Everyone laughs until it hurts.

Is it any wonder why I've turned out like I have? I blame genetics.

All the badness in the world makes me want to kill my landlord.

2006-08-25T13:51:00.000-07:00

I just witnessed a travesty against mankind. It came in the form of a B-Movie titled: "Hell Comes to Frogtown." The plot on the back of the box sounds like the plot of a porno. I'm skeptical of my landlords intentions. The movie is so low-key that instead of "Start the Movie" it says "Strat Movie." This is gonna be good. Here is a breakdown:

0 Minutes: Seriously. Strat Movie.
1 Minutes: Some guy with a mask kills another guy without a mask for a small replica of the Statue of Liberty.
8 Minutes: Lead character finds out that his criminal record will be wiped clean if he agrees to help impregnate fertile women.
9 Minutes: It's not a joke. That's the plot.
12 Minutes: To protect his "assets" they place a metal pair of underwear on him that only one person, who is a girl, can remove. For him to fulfill his "duties" he is informed that there is a flap.
15 Minutes: Yeah. This guy is inspiring hope for the future of mankind.
20 Minutes: The guard with him climbs in his sleeping bag and opens the flap. The sound effect is a suitcase being opened. Really.
21 Minutes: I want to die.
22 Minutes: I want Squirrelly, my landlord, to die.
23 Minutes: I want anyone to die.
30 Minutes: I can't finish this!
40 Minutes: Whats the dance of the Three Snakes?
43 Minutes: I really wish I hadn't asked.
60 Minutes: Where'd he get a sword?
62 Minutes: The main antagonist falls off of a cliff and lands on a clearly visible mattress. Quality.
End: It doesn't. Not sure if an ending would help...

After this abomination, I want to kill myself slowly. Squirrelly will pay for this. After I cut myself to ease the pain. Aaaaaaah. Sweet Release.

Weird Conversation

2006-08-24T20:54:00.000-07:00

I'm talking to this girl on MSN and the following came up (I have changed her name):

NaiveBlonde says:
i lost my gum!
NaiveBlonde says:
brb
NaiveBlonde says:
back

This appeared on my screen while I was taking a swig of Sprite. So she managed to write this in the span of less than two seconds. From the lines above, the situation can be deduced as the following: Girl lost gum (presumably fell out of her mouth), Girl writes that she lost gum, Girl writes BRB, Girl retrieves gum and replaces it within her mouth, Girl then is ready to give me her attention again.

It seems to me that the whole three lines could have been left out of anyone's conversation. However, if the need to inform me that she had lost her gum was indeed relevant, then one would think she would do so after the fact. She literally took the time to inform me of her moves as she was making them.

Is this my life? Apparently.

Kids... It should be legal to hunt them.

2006-08-24T16:11:00.000-07:00

Well I now officially live in a school zone. There's been construction going on across the street for some time now, but school actually started there and kids are running amok. Special workers from the state even put up slow children signs. Makes me want to do something that would scar them all. Maybe wait until recess and moon them all. Apparently to make up for the sugar that the school feeds the little monsters, they bought a lot of different kinds of balls for the kids to play with. My landlord, who shall be hereafter known as Squirley, wanted to jump the fence and chase the little buggers around yelling at the top of his lungs and throw the balls everywhere. I might pay him to do it. Does that make me a bad person? I hope so.

Urge to Kill... PEAKING

2006-08-23T10:07:00.000-07:00

Well. People are waking me up way to early to tell me that I suck. Whatever, I can take it all in stride. But then the idiots who are saying I suck are also asking me to do stuff for them. Pardon me? Why should I do something for you if I suck? Maybe you suck. I think you do. I don't care to do favors for people. I also don't care if people criticize me for who I am. But don't put the two together. That's just contradictory. Whatever. Just leave me alone. I'll be in my dark corner crying about how no one but Jesus loves me. Actually, I'm pretty sure even HE doesn't love me anymore. Sigh. Life sucks.

Urge to Kill Rising

2006-08-22T15:12:00.000-07:00

Well I'm getting sick of fooling with people. I have never had as much trouble trying to give someone money as I have had since Bush recieved a second term. I don't know if those two events are related, but I have my suspicions. Anyway, now that the world economy is doing, whew, apparently fantastic, even though I can only get half a percentage point of interest on a savings account max, my money aint needed by anyone. Sweet sarcasm take me away. If I can't get this certain corporation to actually work with me, or at all, then I'll post a blog later on to sincerely point out their imperfections. Stay tuned!

Explanation and my purpose for writing

2006-08-22T14:37:00.000-07:00

The life of a Degu ruler. I chose the title because Degus are the best pets on the planet. That and I Hate You All was taken for a address. This blog will be about nothing in particular and everything in general. You heard me. I hope that some of the entries will be humorous, but who are you to judge me? Jerk.