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).