Happy New Year, blah blah blah

Whoo! I just got back from an incredible trip to... um...

An undisclosed location.

Okay, fine. I'll tell you. I was in Tibet helping the monks drive out the Chinese with our thoughts. Mind powers can be very intimidating. Here's a few pics:

The top picture is me on the mountain of peace, and the second is of the river of tranquility. Don't ask, they're stupid names.

So, anyway, these were taken with my new digital camera, which I got for Christmas. Because I'm awesome. I also made about $190 by just sitting here. I love this holiday.

And now for an update on...

INDIANA GRAHAM and the search for the pharaoh's schlong!!!

Now that the ancient banana has been found, I need a new mission. So, I'm embarking on a journey to find and kill bigfoot! But first, I need a Jeep, two trampolines, three gallons of rubber cement remover, a parachute, an albino gecko, eighteen bungee cords, an RPG launcher with targeting scope, and a road map of Montana.

Fortunately, I can get a tax write-off by calling all those office supplies! Bye!

Tron: Legacy

Hey, people who apparently have nothing better to do than read this blog! As I said previously, I am in full relaxation mode, and what better to do than watch movies?

I have a dream... of watching more movies this break than there are days. I have been on break for two days so far, and I've watched three movies: The Sting, Help!, and the subject of today's blog, Tron: Legacy.

This was one of the best movies ever. It's right up there with all my other favorites: Avatar, Independence Day, 2001: A Space Odyssey, and I, Robot.

As I've always said, plot lines are stupid. Sure, they might be somewhat imperative in the flow of the movie, but the special effects are way more important.

That's why I liked Tron. This was a tour de force of ass-kickings. People were getting hit with little discs and turning to a bunch of shattered crystals. That said, I want one of those outfits they wear.

Glowy.

So, my rating for this movie? Nine and a half! It was incredible, but there was too much character development. If you go see it, (which you should), you'll see what I mean.

Bye!

Cynical Christmas

'Sup, people! As you recall, I vowed that I would do 100 blogs in 2010 and no more. Well, I just can't keep that promise. Too many things have happened, and I'll be posting about them for the next few days in order to catch up.

First off, this is officially my 200th post! WHOOOO! And secondarily, winter break has started, and I am in full relaxation mode. I decompressed every nerve ending in my body individually and collapsed in a beanbag chair for eight hours. When I woke up, everything had changed and nothing would ever be the same again.

WE control the horizontal. WE control the vertical.

Anyway, I am currently in heaven. I have two weeks off and a growing pile of presents in the guest room.

This year we don't have a Christmas tree, not like that's a big deal. My family has a long and proud tradition of not buying ANYTHING. When my dad's old Volkswagen Rabbit died, it took him almost four years to finally buy a new car, our Volvo S40.

This is the third year in a row we haven't had a Christmas tree, and before that we just took an old potted pine tree in from our backyard and stuck a few ornaments on it. The tree died in 2007, and we've never had a tree since then.

Now that I think about it, we don't decorate at all. The only decorations we have up now are a few lights we strung around the windows. For Halloween, we didn't even carve pumpkins. We don't really get to worked up over holidays.

Then there are people like our neighbors down the cul-de-sac who, if they thought people would go along with it, would have a decoration contest every December. It's these kinds of social people who make me sick.

And another thing: the phrase 'Merry Christmas.' No one's 'merry' anymore. We should have a more fitting holiday greeting than that.

Hence, this post's title:

Cynical Christmas.

Bye!

Indiana Graham and the Search for the Pharaoh's Schlong: Part One: In DeNile

I was watching Stephen Colbert the other day when I heard the most gut-wrenching story known to man:

KING TUT'S PENIS IS MISSING!!! DUH-DUH-DUUUUH!!!

When Tut was discovered in 1922, his 'staff' was attached in its correct position. But when his body was re-inspected in 1968, his 'little Nile' had gone missing! The Egyptian government kept it under wraps, because whoever had possession of the 'royal scepter' could resurrect the dead and control an unstoppable army. Fortunately, the Nazis hadn't gotten it back in the forties, so they knew whoever had it was just a regular schmoe.

For decades, the undercover hunt continued. False leads were explored. Until a breakthrough in June 2010: A former museum curator had recently 'come into wealth' and bought a mansion in Dubai, retiring in luxury. You know what this means, right?

HE SOLD KING TUT'S PENIS ON THE BLACK MARKET!!! DUH-DUH-DUUUUUH!!!

Now, being the one of the most prominent figures in the black market, I put together a crack team of historians and mummified penis experts and tried to retrieve the 'royal cobra'. I went to great ends to find it; I flew in a private jet to the Pyramids of Giza, thinking it might have had its own sarcophagus. I went to Lake Tahoe and battled ninja assassins and telepathic mind control monks, but the 'elongated pyramid' that they were guarding was just a forgery!!! Then the museum people found it lying in the sand around the mummified corpse of Tut.

About time, too. I was running out of penis euphemisms.

But first, consider the following: Before you start throwing a 'We found the penis' party, some believe Tut's penis WAS SWAPPED!

Yes. A penis forgery. Hard to believe. Probably because it's completely insane. You see, Tut's 'Nile Crocodile' was unusually small. This leads some to think that modern Egyptians stole the actual 'Little Mummy' and replaced it with a forgery.

I guess we'll never know.

Not if I have anything to say about it! I will keep you updated on the story...

OF KING TUT'S PENIS!!!

Bye!

Doonesfield

I don't know about you, but I love Doonesbury. Probably because I'm mature. There are way too many people who like Garfield at my school, and I'm trying to change that. Doonesbury and Garfield are exact opposites. The only things they have in common are the fact that they are both American comic strips. From there, there’s practically nothing else.

For instance, the characters. Doonesbury is a very realistic strip that follows a group of four main characters through their lives, starting with their college years up until now, where they’re in their fifties. It’s a very realistic strip, almost never straying from things that could actually happen. The only exception is one of the minor characters, Uncle Duke, who has jumped out of planes and seized control of Iraqi cities for his whole life. Garfield, on the other hand, has three main characters. The interactions between them are incredibly silly, and could never happen in real life. Doonesbury, in all, has 68 characters. Garfield has six.

The most important factor of any comic strip is the storyline. Doonesbury, from the start, was a political satire strip so liberal that it was pulled from hundreds of main comics pages and moved to the editorials. Because it has always been relevant to current events, it has had an unusual ability to stay fresh for forty years. There’s always a congressman or president to satirize, and Doonesbury has never needed to rerun a strip. Garfield, on the other hand, doesn’t have the advantage of always being new. The same storyline is enacted every month: There’s a strip where Garfield kicks Odie, he eats a lot, sleeps, complains about Mondays, and repeats. Of course, the strip could add new characters to shake things up and make it more interesting, but that’s never happened. Because of this, it’s much harder for Jim Davis, Garfield’s creator, to think up new gags every day.

Last but not least, the target community. As a political strip, Doonesbury seems to always be rejected by younger people as ‘too complicated’. Even the characters are hard to keep track of. Garfield, of course, is probably the most simple cartoon on the entire comics landscape. While you might read Garfield for fun, it takes some real devotion to read Doonesbury. Garfield’s target, therefore, is the two most annoying groups in America: Kids who want to read a strip as simple as it, and old nostalgic people who are reminded of growing up when they read it.

In conclusion, let me say this: Garfield SUCKS.

Bye!

Creepy People

I really have the strangest friends.

One of them was out sick for all of last week with the flu. He's still on medications, and they're really dulling down his brain. Today, after fifth period, I asked him what class he just had and he said 'I dunno'. I said 'How can you not know?' and he said 'Woah... I don't know. That's weird...'

Also, he has these random spasms, like yesterday playing Black Ops, all he could say was the phrase 'Michelle's a baaaad mamma jamma', which is the lyrics to a song. Sometimes he didn't even know he had said it.

So, my question is, who was he talking about? Michelle Obama?

Michelle Bachman?

Michelle, the crazy old lady who lives down the street?

Side note: Michelle the crazy old lady will eat you alive if you look at her cross-eyed.

Whatever. It doesn't matter. Hopefully his memory will be a little more intact tomorrow and I can find out what his fifth period class is.

Bye!

The Story of Kyle

I will now tell you the funniest story ever.

I was at my friend's house two months ago with another friend when we started talking about older brothers. I'm an only child, but I wish I had a brother, so I lied about having an older brother named Kyle. I was about to reveal that I was lying when the friend whose house I was at pulled me aside.

"So". he said. "You don't really have an older brother, do you?"

"Nah". I said.

He started giggling maniacally. "Well, let's keep this up. This is fun."

So we walked back into the dining room where the other friend was sitting. He didn't believe us, though.

"I don't believe you". he said. "If Kyle exists, call him on my cell phone" he pulled out his cell phone from his pocket and handed it to me.

"Well, I don't know his phone number, but I'll call my dad and have him patch me through to him."

So, I called my dad and, whispering so no one could hear, filled him in on the whole scam. He thought it was fun and decided to go along with it. So I put the phone on speaker, and handed it to my friend.

"Who is this?" said my friend.

In a very strange voice, my dad said "This is Kyle."

Well, he went BEZERK. He started tearing up the furniture screaming "No, no, no! I don't believe you, I don't, I don't I DON'T!!!"

And from then on, we kept the elaborate little scam going. Kyle's character developed. He was a college graduate, 23 years old, with a '94 Mustang, a girlfriend, and a dog named Scrotum. He lived in Connecticut, so we didn't have to present Kyle to anyone. We could have kept it going forever.

But we decided not to. At a sleepover at the same friend's house, we informed every friend we had gotten in on the scam that Kyle wasn't real.

So now, I have a problem: We need to do this again. And fast. This was so much fun.

All we need is a new Kyle.

I'll keep you posted on our progress.

Bye!

(PS: Here's a pic of Kyle).

Dumb and Hummer

I don't know about you, but this is about as dumb a thing as I can imagine:

Hummers are the biggest gas-guzzling machines ever. I can't tell you how incredibly stupid it is to own one. They get practically 10 miles to the gallon, have numerous blind spots, are so large that they endanger other drivers, and can sometimes take up two parking spaces.

This is why I've taken to a little ritual: Whenever a Hummer drives by, I roll down the window of our Volvo, stick my head out and yell 'BOOOOO!!! HUMMER!!!!'

Fortunately, Hummer is out of business, and you don't see too many of the things anymore. Maybe one a week. This is one of those rare cases where the tree-huggers triumphed: cars. Every day, you hear about new, incredible innovations in car-making technology: Green cars, electric cars, hybrid cars (my favorite of which is the Chevy Volt). Boo. Hummer.

So, being the awesome person I am, I have been trying to convince my dad to trade in our 1994 Isuzu Trooper, the gas milage of which is probably hovering around the 12 mark, by the way. There are so many alternatives now, it's scary. Which is why I've invented...

The wind-powered car.

Seen here attached to an old Mini Cooper, my wind power system will make crude oil a thing of the past. We just might have some problems going through tunnels.

Bye!

Bad Acting Island

Update: with this post, I have six more until I hit my goal of 200 blogs! But I refuse to go over 200, meaning that if I did all six more today, I wouldn't blog again until the year was out. I want to keep this as orderly as possible.

I finally saw The Graduate, and right from the beginning, I was wondering why it was rated PG. Mom said it was because back then everyone was a little more tolerant of those kinda things than they are now. I could tell it wasn't going to go well for Dustin Hoffman as soon as Mrs Robinson took off her clothes. Yeek.

CREEPY.

Never mind. Let's get off that topic, SHALL WE?

We were forced to go to another school play this year. Every December, the Ross Valley School District puts on a play at the San Anselmo Public Theatre. There are plays for practically every grade level. Here's the breakdown of schools:

Wade Thomas: A small school in San Anselmo, grades K-5

Manor: School in Fairfax, just down the street from my school, White Hill. Grades K-5

Brookside Lower Campus & Brookside Upper Campus: Formerly one school, so many people enrolled in Brookside that the school had to split. Lower (K-2) is in San Anselmo, while Upper (3-5) is back in a part of San Anselmo called Sleepy Hollow, where no house costs less than a million bucks.

White Hill Middle School: Or as I like to call it, The California Academy of Doom and Gloom. Grades 6-8.

Anyway, every campus but White Hill puts on its own play. White Hill used to have just one play for the whole school, but since there were so many kids, it now puts on one play for every grade. This year, the seventh grade play was 'Treasure Island'.

I have to say this for that play: I stayed much more awake than any other. During my last year at Brookside Upper, the school put on 'Tik-Tok of Oz'. The person who played the Tik-Tok dude was this girl with an extremely quiet voice. The people in the front rows could hear her if they leaned forward REALLY far. And don't get me started on last year's production of 'High School Musical'.

The playhouse is also really dusty. You wouldn't know it when you walk in, but it must have five tons of dust floating in the air. You can see it when the stage lights come on and expose the swirling dust in the air.

All through the play, I made snide comments with one of my friends. At the point where my occasional friend, occasional rival died from a coconut in the head, we all cheered. Of course, he must have thought we were cheering for his performance. And I don't care WHAT he says, getting clonked on the head with a plastic coconut and falling off a fake stage pirate ship onto a hardwood floor has GOT to hurt.

Bye!

Wikileaking

I was reading up on the whole Wikileaks thing, and I think it's hysterical. This one dude, using only the internet and a few contacts, has brought the entire national defense network to its knees. If only I could get the guys at Vertco (my incredibly awesome company) to do something like that. Hmmm...

This Assange guy, the Wikileaks founder, is awesome. He revealed numerous diplomatic cables sent among the US government. The cables describe exactly what the US thinks of other countries. Here is an actual quote from a cable sent by the US UN representative:

"This is the fifth time this week that I've come back to my special UN mini-fridge and found that SOMEbody has stolen my chocolate pudding cups. I suspect the representative from Monaco. He's always licking his fingers right after lunchtime, and I know for a FACT he doesn't have any finger-licking foods in his lunch. This guy's a sleazeball."

For more information, click HERE to visit Wikipedia's page on the cable leaks. Now, you'll notice I'm DELIBERATELY not providing the link to Wikileaks. This blog does not condone the kind of behavior expressed by Assange and his little gang of psychotic whackjobs...

Okay, fine. Click HERE to access Wikileak's main page.

Oh, wait... the page won't load. Hmmm. I wonder why that is... because of evil people

Uh, duuuuuuh. Gee, I wonder. Maybe it was the government? Naaaaaw, that would be STUPID.

Bye!

The Bus Nazi

I just had the most intense COD Black Ops match ever. We were having a ballistic knife battle (knives that can be fired from tiny barrels) and I was pwning ass. I nailed both of the people I was playing against in the head from 50 feet away and got a spy plane. Two of us were tied at the last second, and I said "Hey--- suck this". Then I stood up from my hiding spot in the bushes and nailed him in the head. Right then, the screen said GAME OVER. Goomba

Also, just to boost my ego, I played a one-on-one against the most incredibly sucky COD player ever. Needless to say, I kicked some serious butt: 1,150 to 200. I am so awesome, I even got an 11 kill streak, getting me a chopper gunner and nailing him from a helicopter.

I love this game.

My bus driver is insane.

We were on the bus and a person pressed the button for a stop. No one got off. The bus driver picked up the intercom and yelled "OKAY: WHO PRESSED THE STOP BUTTON???!!!"

A girl in the seat across from me said "Oh, sorry... that was me. I thought my friend was getting off here." Then the bus driver went insane. He just started yelling "I ONLY HAVE FOUR MORE DAYS OF PUTTING UP WITH THIS!!! ARRRRGH!!!" I whispered "And we're all so happy about that." Then he got on the intercom and yelled "EVERYONE JUST SHUT UP! SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UUUUUUUP!!!!!!"

There have been many, many other instances like this. He's secretly referred to as the Bus Nazi, a play on the Soup Nazi from Seinfeld. The Soup Nazi is a somewhat eccentric character who has a very complicated procedure in getting soup from his store. You have to walk in a certain way, state your order a certain way, and NEVER COMPLAIN. If you don't, he yells 'NO SOUP FOR YOU!!!' and you don't get your soup. Here's a pic of the Soup Nazi:

If you want to watch this episode click THIS link.

Bye!

Pick Me, Pick Me!

I'm back! And I'm also beginning a new feature: THE 2012 PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION, A FEW YEARS AHEAD OF ITS TIME!!!

Today, my viability as a candidate. Now, we all know the different requirements for president: a strong understanding of issues, charisma, patriotism, relatability...

Okay, let's cut the crap. It boils down to three things:

1) Money. Lots of it. If you don't have this, you're so screwed it's not even funny.

2) Beer. Who wants to have a beer with you. This is very, very important. If you don't occasionally volunteer to be the designated driver, America will punch you in the nose and leave the bar before the cops come.

3) Amount of stars/stripes in your logo. This is the biggest and most important of all. So after careful consideration, I've chosen this as my "ME 2012" logo:

This picture relates to both Republicans, Democrats, and, of course, Hippies. Some might contest whether or not this logo will reach out to the average American voter, but it's better than the other choice:

I don't even know what store this is for. Probably Macy's.

Now, let's check my candidacy's viability at my incredibly awesome SITUATION NOOK!!!

Now, unknown newscasters, let's see what you've got. Hmm? Oh. Yes, yes, I see.

WONDERFUL NEWS! As a 13-year-old, I don't have a sordid and disgusting past!!! I'm good to go! All I need now is my team of advisors. Who to choose, who to choose...

Aaah, but of course.

Bye!

Me For President: You've Done Worse

I recently went to the Giant's World Series Super Splendorifious Epic Homecoming Parade of Awesome (for extended title version, visit Giants.com), and I took this awesome picture. Take a look:

That's Brian Wilson, for those of you who couldn't read the sign on the cable car. He's a pitcher for the Giants whose beard has a fan base of its own. I'd go into more detail, but if you want the full effect, just move to San Fransisco.

I'm running for president again, this time under the name Elephant Man. I'll conduct my campaign from funnytimes.com and use the word 'man' in the name Elephant Man to convince everyone I'm actually 47, not 13. This is my master plan. Then, once I've seized the government, I shall invade Canada---

Wait. I shouldn't be telling you this.

Bye!

Certified Ninja

I was on eBay the other day and bought a book on how to be a ninja. It's awesome. I have mastered self-levitation. Other awesome ninja powers in my repertoire: wall roundhouse kicking, time stopping, bullet catching, and mind control.

Here, I'll make you do something right now. Keep reading.

If you're reading this, it worked. Haha! Who's laughing NOW? OR DID I JUST BLOW YOUR MIND??? I THINK I DID.

As you might recall, last year I vowed to do 100 blogs before the year ended. Well, It's December, and I have a minor setback: With this blog, I have 11 to go. This is intense. So I need to do a TON of blogs this month. Which means I have to do a few minor cutbacks: Quality, quantity, and truthfulness of storylines.

Enjoy!

Bye.