A House is not a Home Without a Rubber Chicken

I have decided that rubber chickens are truly the epitome of human technological engineering. How they turn those chickens into rubber is a mystery to me. Scary.

We just went to San Fransisco and, as per China Town law, I bought a rubber chicken. These things are the greatest piece of rubber ever to be pumped out of the manufacturing plants in Beijing. And now, I've started the Vertco Plastic & Rubber Crap Division! WOOOHOOO! More Benjamins, please!

And now, THE MOST EVIL COMPANY EVER is marketing a certain type of South African noisemaker as a party favor...

VUVUZELAS!!!

Aaah, yes, the most annoying 'music' maker ever has returned! At your 5-year-old's next birthday, just buy a pack of these babies! There's nothing like hearing five little kids blare out a loud, droning sound that resembles a swarm of angry bees! Have fun! And, if you want to find the company that started the vuvuzela craze in America, look no further than Vertco: The Most Evil Company Ever.

Bye!

So-Despicable-A-Three-Year-Old-Could-Write-it Me

'Despicable Me' has got to be one of the crappiest movies ever. I'm not going to waste a Spoiler Alert on it. Just don't go see it. It's unbelievably bad. Here's a pic:

I guess this guy is mad about the review I just wrote.

I neglected to mention the last part of that story from yesterday. Here is the rest:

The policeman pulled us out (the doors were unlocked) and put handcuffs on us. All the while, he was doing the 'you have the right to remain silent' routine. Then he looked at my hat and said that I was either trying to disguise myself, or I was a 12-year-old pimp. He was pretty sure it wasn't the second one, but he wanted to question me on it anyway.

So, there we are, standing there with handcuffs on and wearing a ridiculous hat while some policeman goes through my friend's car. If you thought the circumstances weren't weird enough, they're about to get worse:

Apparently, the knife in the fake Halloween cadaver wasn't fake, it was an embellishment my friend had added on for last Halloween. Oops. Another unusual circumstance was that his parents had just visited cutlery world and bought a few butcher's knives. At this point, the policeman was pretty much convinced that:

A: We had murdered someone in the backseat of my friend's Honda CR-V using butcher's knives from cutlery world.

B: That person had yelled out for help (see previous blog 'Insanity').

C: I was possibly a 12-year-old pimp.

Then he grabbed the knives and the hat as evidence. I really didn't care. All I was thinking about was what the look on his face when he finally inspects the 'dead body' will be, and how I can't wait to get to a computer and blog about this. He still hadn't touched the dead body, but then I realized: this was not his area of expertise. He was supposed to arrest us, not inspect the body. That was the job of the detective that he had just so conveniently called in. This was gonna be funny.

Then my friend's parents came over and realized what was going on. They told the policeman, he looked embarrassed, and he walked away to his car to call off the detective and the other two squads.

Oop-sies.

For some reason, he kept the hat. I don't know why. I don't really care.

That thing was bad news.

Bye!

Insanity

Another tip on defeating telemarketers:

Me: Hello?

Telemarketer: Would you like a subscription to the New York Times?

Me: YES! (hangs up)

Of course, I took this one from Seinfeld, but it's still pretty good.

I'm about to go see the new movie 'Despicable Me' with one of my friends. Expect a review soon.

I had the STRANGEST experience the other day. Me and my aforementioned friend went on a hike and came back to my house. His parents picked both of us up (we were going over to his house to play the Xbox. He's been in Boston for two weeks, so I was going into withdrawal).

We were driving to his house when his parents saw a garage sale sign and followed it. We ended up at the garage sale, looking at some random stuff. His parents found this incredibly strange hat for free, so I took it.

Me and my friend went back to wait in his car. And then, something scary happened that I wish I could wipe from my memory:

We saw two little kids running around naked.

So we ducked down to hide our eyes from these insane little people.

Before I continue, I have to tell you something. My friend has a bunch of Halloween stuff left over in his car, including a fake dead body and a button that, when you press it, makes a screaming sound.

So, as I hid my eyes from the naked menaces, I bumped the button.

And the scream went off.

And a policeman looked in to see me wearing this crazy hat, looking somewhat shaken, with a 'dead body' in the backseat, with a rubber knife through its chest.

Apparently it had 'screamed' before it 'died'.

It looked very realistic.

It was not good.

CURSE YOU, NAKED BABYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!

I Reeeeally Don't Like Telemarketers...

I don't like telemarketers.

I don't HATE them. They're not as bad as those monkeys (mentioned previously). But really, I'm getting tired of them.

So here's the dialogue from the last telemarketing call I got:

Me: (picks up phone) YO!

Telemarketer: Hello, may I speak to the owner of your house?

Me: (clearing throat) Speaking. May I ask who this is?

Telemarketer: This is a political phone call.

Me: Uh-huh. Suuure, punk. You're all the same.

Telemarketer: Umm... what?

Me: Well, eat it, kid, I'm not gonna play along. We've all had enough of this. We have to suffer phone calls like this every day because of people like YOU. Prodem

Telemarketer: What's going on here?

Me: You should know.

Telemarketer: Who IS this?

Me: I have noooooo idea (hangs up).

Woe to the telemarketer who has to call me.

If I may also mention something, I'm twelve years old. I am not the owner of the house in any way (but I act like I am).

By the way, I accepted a job at BP as their press secretary. I guess they liked how I handled my own company, Vertco. Let me tell you the most recent developments:

I went to the beach and decided to drill for oil. After I got through to the softer sand below and named the rig Deepsh*t Horizon, I was doing pretty good, except for the fact that I hadn't struck any oil. Oopsies. So, anyway, I torched my rig and got the insurance money. KA-CHING!

Anyway, now that I work at BP as a press secretary, I need to tell EVERYONE that BP is completely innocent. HA!

Oops, I don't think I should'a done that.

Bye!

I Got Nothin'...

My summer so far has been extremely uneventful.

Sure, I started a company, preformed a military coup on my hometown of San Anselmo, declared myself the Oil Czar of Marin County, got stung by a bee, helped an old woman across the street, built an adirondack chair, got a freaky haircut, and was involved in an international incident with China (which ended with a party that got me banned from flying commercial airlines, don't ask). But compared to what my summers are usually like, that's nothing. Usually there's more insanity, like the time I nearly blew up a meat-packing plant (2007) or the time I posed as an FBI agent in order to steal a car and escape some Russian spies (2009) or the time I single-handedly decided who would lead the free world in 2008 after only three minutes in the White House situation room.

Aaah, those were the days.

This year, I'm going back to Lassen National Park (see my previous blogs, 'Day one',

'Day two', 'Day three', and 'Lassening'.) It'll be interesting, as long as my chief spy shows up to tell me where the bunker is. If I said any more, I'd have to kill you.

Of course, the Yugoslavian meat packers may or may not return for revenge. If they do, I'll be ready. I've secretly stolen a rail gun...

I can say no more.

Today's PEARL OF ANTI-WISDOM: Never say never, unless you're talking about Sarah Palin's presidency.

Bye!

Take the Monkey and Run

I hate monkeys.

I have always hated monkeys. It all goes back to an incident in which a monkey betrayed me. Him and all his primate friends. From then on, I've always despised them.

I have not told anyone about what happened in this incident. The details of it are too horrific to describe. Just remember: Whenever you see a monkey, he could do to you what he did to me.

On a lighter note, here's a link to a great YouTube video! It's a mashup of all the greatest quotes from the best TV show ever, Seinfeld! If you've never seen it, this should give you a taste of it:

100 Seinfeld Quotes

Ironically, there's an episode where a monkey throws a banana peel at a main character (Kramer). They're out to get us. Don't believe me? Watch 'Planet of the Apes'.

GET OUT OF MY SUIT, EVIL CHIMPANZEE! AND STOP ANSWERING MY PHONE!

I'll give that monkey his own if it's the last thing I ever do.

HEY! Here's an idea for a movie!

PLANET OF THE APPS

I'll have to remember to patent that.

Bye!

Isuzu Stormtrooper

Hell-o, people who are wasting their time reading this blog! I am embarrassed to say that...

Sigh.

My parents own an Isuzu Trooper.

Yes, an Isuzu Trooper, the cruddiest car anyone can own. 18 miles to the gallon. Almost as bad as a Hummer. Sickening. Here's a pic:

This car is unbelievably crappy. By buying a VW Vanagon, we could apparently save $20 a month. Yow. That's painful.

Also, I could sleep in it. That would be totally awesome. Unfortunately, a van can't fit in our garage. Even though we could park it in the driveway, it's apparently 'out of the question' because of that. The thing is BUILT to be left outside! It's a camper van!

Well, that's it. We need a more fuel efficient car. I think dad secretly just doesn't want to spring for a new car. Oh, well.

Bye.

P.S.--- HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY!!!*

CHEESE PEANUTS!!!

*Even though the Declaration of Independence, the document that Independence Day is built around, was signed by different delegates over a period of about 18 months that do not even center around the 4th of July, causing it to be a false holiday, and if we really wanted to celebrate the exact date/s when the Declaration was signed, we would have about 26 different holidays year-round.