I had to write an english paper on Pride and Prejudice. For those of you unfamiliar with the novel, consider yourself lucky. It is about some lady in 18 century spain or something who does something or other that there is absolutely no way a modern highschool male could relate to or care about. It is also written in the following style:
"The Bear, which was brown, the color of autunm in Derbyshire, considered by most the most prepentuous province in all of the southerly extremities of New South Devonshire, as it is the sole producer of intricate marmalade substitutes, those which the Prince of Pious Pine Grove often decorated his formalities with (being the bearer of false witness against his most recent recontrer, the imbominable Mr. Hollinsham, who was the son of Archduke Hollingsham (not to be confused with cardinal Hollygnsham, who, though unrefutably ingnanimous, could recite twelve score psalms from the book of Coherence without a single moments resolve)), ate the honey."
Seriously, its the same people who criticize my runon sentences who make me read this nonsense. The author gets on a (opposite/adjacent) mid sentance, and by the time they finish their thought, you forgot what it was in the first place.
N E How, i seem to have gotten off on a (sin/cos) myself, so let me tell ewe what eye wanted 2 tell u.
Well, i had to write a paper for this class anyhow, and I was saying something about how something something something. It bores me to think about it. any way, the sentance was talking about how lose ends were being tied up, and how without a section, the lose ends wouldn't be tied up. Well, heres what i wrote:
"Without this section, the audience would be deprived of his side of the story, and the loose ends would Knot be tied up."
Priorities:
1. Puns
2. everything else.
My teacher did Knot pick up on my pun and took off points, marking it as a spelling error. Meh.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Olymp-X
So its that time of quad-year again. No, not elections that decide the future of the planet (fuck those!). No not censuses (though those are quite exiting). That's right Olympic season! Lets all get pumped shall we? Ya we'll get pumped! How could we not without all the hype? But then the olympics come, and they're pretty frickin' weaksauce. Let me defend that argument....
Michael Phelps. Shattering world records. Winning gold medal after gold medal. But, seriously, is it just me or was every race he was in equally...well, equal. I'd like to be in the Olympic planning commission meeting while they're deciding the swimming events. I imagine it goes a little something like this:
"Ok, great. We've got our first event:'Swimmers race to other end and back'. Um, what should the next event be?.....Any ideas?"
*SILENCE*
"......uh, how bout they race to the other side and back, then do it again?"
"BRILLIANT!!!"
The running events are pretty much the same in this regard. And we wait 4 years for this. Now let me take a short break to lay out the history of the Olympic Games. The Olympics were first held in Greece (eww) thousands of years ago, or something. Some historians say they happened in Athens. The ones who aren't total retards say they happened in Olympia. Since these times, the world has seen some truly awesome advancements: Electric Guitars, Space Travel, Advanced Whale Hunting Techniques, Waffles, Chocolate Lucky Charms, and of course, The United States of America. So why then are we still playing games that even Jesus would say were old school?
Why indeed. But, I can solve this. Pay attention, cause I'm about to introduce the
OLYMP-X-TREMES
The Chopping Block
1. "Olympics are held every 4 years"
wow thats lame. In my Olymp-X, the games will only be held in years in which a major world leader is assassinated.
2. "Backstories of athletes and Sportsmanship"
Honestly, these athletes aren't all that interesting. They wake up, eat, practice, eat, then sleep. Weak. What we need to do is hire the writers from professional wrestling to craft storylines for the athletes. The Russian swimmer who escaped his submarine that was sunk by an American boat with the American contender on board. Vengeance. And how did that German runner get that gash across his eye? We'll find out as the Olymp-X runs its course. And of course, plot twists will be a plenty. Who's on what side? Only the writers know.
3. "National Flags, National Anthems"
I think that all the other countries in the world should vote on designs for the flags of the other nations. I think this would result in more accurate (and humorous) flags. America would end up with a little piggy, England would end up with a picture of those novelty red-neck teeth, China would end up with the movie poster from the movie "Liar Liar", France...well, I'm pretty confident that Frances flag would either be all white, or smell really bad. Oh, and all national anthems would be at least 20 mins long with raps (preferably freestyled by John Cena) and Bass solo's.
4. "Opening Ceremonies"
So we have every competitor packed into a single arena, and no event takes place...wtf? Why do we waste the opportunity for the most epic event of the Olympics? Well, I propose we turn this ceremony into one, huge, free for all game of "kill the carrier" where the champion is the one who manages to get the torch to the place where they light the big one. Rule #1: There Are No Rules! Rule #2: no shin-kicks.
5. "Games where the objective is to throw something the furthest, jump the highest, etc."
Javelins, in case you are unaware, are totally badass weapons. The reason you may be unaware of this is because the Olympics have reduced javelin throwing to a bar bet standard. I can just imagine how this event was born:
"No, I bet I could throw a javelin further than you!"
and so, two drunks created an event that is highly unentertaining out of an object that should be highly entertaining.
How to fix: Angry Rhinoceroses. I’m pretty sure that speaks for itself.
6. “Races”
Seriously? Did they forget the spectator part of the Olympics?
“WOAH! Did you see that! They all swam/ran to the other end of the pool/track without any problem! INTENSE!”
No. Weaksause.
How to Fix….no, how to fixtreme:
Well, in terms of swimming, have we or have we not invented wave pools? I believe that the answer is: Yes, yes we have indeed. Well, why not a bit of an obstacle course? Start by jumping off that big diving board, flat water, then waves, then Vortex (no, Vortextreme), then under the fire water, then the Dolphin tank (think, Day of the Dolphin, not flipper), then THE AGGRO CRAG.
Running races, well, they need to take a page out of the book of the most exciting and entertaining racing league ever’s book. Mario Kart can save Racing. We need fruity little courses. We need obstacles (though im not sure where exactly to find Goomba’s, let alone ones willing to be obstacles in a high speed race), we need mushrooms that’ll make the runners move faster (though I suppose we already have those), we need heat seeking tortoise shells (tax dollars well spent). We also need THE AGGRO CRAG!
(this is how all races should end. Period.)
I have to commend the Olympic commission (or shall I say Commie Mission based on how they give undeserving Chinese and North Korean gymnasts medals. Zing!) for at least trying to add obstacles to spice up races. I mean, that’s pretty much what hurdles are, right? But c’mon! Hurdles? Oh no! The poor athlete knocked down a piece of plywood! So much pressure! Nah. That’s lame. I’ve got a better idea. Do we have any of those Rhinos left over from the javelin event?
7. “Wrestling”
I turned on the TV and assumed it was on some sort of softcore gay porn channel, then I realized that, in fact, I was watching Olympic wrestling. Here’s a little fun fact: wrestlers in the ancient Greek Olympics competed in the nude.
How to Fixtreme:
Well, when I was watching, It was Russia vs. Kazakhstan. I just kept waiting for the characters to be stereotypical, for a steel chair to be thrown in the ring, for interference from another renegade wrestler, for the commentators to elaborate on the fued between the two, and for a loud “USA” chant, spiked with ignorance, to grip the arena. None of this happened, and after a while the match just sorta ended. All these things need to happen, and in a big Olympi-X sorta way.
8. “Gymnastics”
I’ve got to say, I am very impressed with what these girls can do. I do have one small suggestion however. I think it would be extremely entertaining if the Olympic weight lifters did the gymnastic thing for a night, outfits and all.
9. “America wins EVERYTHING”
I actually have no problem with this one.
Well, I think we can all agree that these games would be far more Xtreme. And far better. Ne-X-t time the Olymp-Xs roll around, I’ll be X-pecting something X-treme.
Michael Phelps. Shattering world records. Winning gold medal after gold medal. But, seriously, is it just me or was every race he was in equally...well, equal. I'd like to be in the Olympic planning commission meeting while they're deciding the swimming events. I imagine it goes a little something like this:
"Ok, great. We've got our first event:'Swimmers race to other end and back'. Um, what should the next event be?.....Any ideas?"
*SILENCE*
"......uh, how bout they race to the other side and back, then do it again?"
"BRILLIANT!!!"
The running events are pretty much the same in this regard. And we wait 4 years for this. Now let me take a short break to lay out the history of the Olympic Games. The Olympics were first held in Greece (eww) thousands of years ago, or something. Some historians say they happened in Athens. The ones who aren't total retards say they happened in Olympia. Since these times, the world has seen some truly awesome advancements: Electric Guitars, Space Travel, Advanced Whale Hunting Techniques, Waffles, Chocolate Lucky Charms, and of course, The United States of America. So why then are we still playing games that even Jesus would say were old school?
Why indeed. But, I can solve this. Pay attention, cause I'm about to introduce the
OLYMP-X-TREMES
The Chopping Block
1. "Olympics are held every 4 years"
wow thats lame. In my Olymp-X, the games will only be held in years in which a major world leader is assassinated.
2. "Backstories of athletes and Sportsmanship"
Honestly, these athletes aren't all that interesting. They wake up, eat, practice, eat, then sleep. Weak. What we need to do is hire the writers from professional wrestling to craft storylines for the athletes. The Russian swimmer who escaped his submarine that was sunk by an American boat with the American contender on board. Vengeance. And how did that German runner get that gash across his eye? We'll find out as the Olymp-X runs its course. And of course, plot twists will be a plenty. Who's on what side? Only the writers know.
3. "National Flags, National Anthems"
I think that all the other countries in the world should vote on designs for the flags of the other nations. I think this would result in more accurate (and humorous) flags. America would end up with a little piggy, England would end up with a picture of those novelty red-neck teeth, China would end up with the movie poster from the movie "Liar Liar", France...well, I'm pretty confident that Frances flag would either be all white, or smell really bad. Oh, and all national anthems would be at least 20 mins long with raps (preferably freestyled by John Cena) and Bass solo's.
4. "Opening Ceremonies"
So we have every competitor packed into a single arena, and no event takes place...wtf? Why do we waste the opportunity for the most epic event of the Olympics? Well, I propose we turn this ceremony into one, huge, free for all game of "kill the carrier" where the champion is the one who manages to get the torch to the place where they light the big one. Rule #1: There Are No Rules! Rule #2: no shin-kicks.
5. "Games where the objective is to throw something the furthest, jump the highest, etc."
Javelins, in case you are unaware, are totally badass weapons. The reason you may be unaware of this is because the Olympics have reduced javelin throwing to a bar bet standard. I can just imagine how this event was born:
"No, I bet I could throw a javelin further than you!"
and so, two drunks created an event that is highly unentertaining out of an object that should be highly entertaining.
How to fix: Angry Rhinoceroses. I’m pretty sure that speaks for itself.
6. “Races”
Seriously? Did they forget the spectator part of the Olympics?
“WOAH! Did you see that! They all swam/ran to the other end of the pool/track without any problem! INTENSE!”
No. Weaksause.
How to Fix….no, how to fixtreme:
Well, in terms of swimming, have we or have we not invented wave pools? I believe that the answer is: Yes, yes we have indeed. Well, why not a bit of an obstacle course? Start by jumping off that big diving board, flat water, then waves, then Vortex (no, Vortextreme), then under the fire water, then the Dolphin tank (think, Day of the Dolphin, not flipper), then THE AGGRO CRAG.
Running races, well, they need to take a page out of the book of the most exciting and entertaining racing league ever’s book. Mario Kart can save Racing. We need fruity little courses. We need obstacles (though im not sure where exactly to find Goomba’s, let alone ones willing to be obstacles in a high speed race), we need mushrooms that’ll make the runners move faster (though I suppose we already have those), we need heat seeking tortoise shells (tax dollars well spent). We also need THE AGGRO CRAG!
(this is how all races should end. Period.)
I have to commend the Olympic commission (or shall I say Commie Mission based on how they give undeserving Chinese and North Korean gymnasts medals. Zing!) for at least trying to add obstacles to spice up races. I mean, that’s pretty much what hurdles are, right? But c’mon! Hurdles? Oh no! The poor athlete knocked down a piece of plywood! So much pressure! Nah. That’s lame. I’ve got a better idea. Do we have any of those Rhinos left over from the javelin event?
7. “Wrestling”
I turned on the TV and assumed it was on some sort of softcore gay porn channel, then I realized that, in fact, I was watching Olympic wrestling. Here’s a little fun fact: wrestlers in the ancient Greek Olympics competed in the nude.
How to Fixtreme:
Well, when I was watching, It was Russia vs. Kazakhstan. I just kept waiting for the characters to be stereotypical, for a steel chair to be thrown in the ring, for interference from another renegade wrestler, for the commentators to elaborate on the fued between the two, and for a loud “USA” chant, spiked with ignorance, to grip the arena. None of this happened, and after a while the match just sorta ended. All these things need to happen, and in a big Olympi-X sorta way.
8. “Gymnastics”
I’ve got to say, I am very impressed with what these girls can do. I do have one small suggestion however. I think it would be extremely entertaining if the Olympic weight lifters did the gymnastic thing for a night, outfits and all.
9. “America wins EVERYTHING”
I actually have no problem with this one.
Well, I think we can all agree that these games would be far more Xtreme. And far better. Ne-X-t time the Olymp-Xs roll around, I’ll be X-pecting something X-treme.
Q and............A
Ok, I know its been a while. But this is absolutely ridiculous. The following story occurred about a minute ago, and I honestly don't even think you'll believe it.
So, today my parents went to some exhibit at a museum. I asked my mom, who was in the living room reading a magazine, "How was it?" Then I waited for a response.
*SILENCE*
So, without getting a response, I climbed the stairs to my room mumbling about how my parents can't hear anything. But then I realized I'd forgotten something downstairs and returned down, and upon arriving there, I heard my mother say, from the other room, "It was good."
...
"Seriously!?" I stammered, with a look on my face that probably was last seen there when 'Fat Nurse' explained to me what a catheter was, and that I had indeed had one. "Mom, I asked that question a minute ago!"
Anyhow, my father would describe this whole situation as being "Wacko with a capital 'W'"
So, today my parents went to some exhibit at a museum. I asked my mom, who was in the living room reading a magazine, "How was it?" Then I waited for a response.
*SILENCE*
So, without getting a response, I climbed the stairs to my room mumbling about how my parents can't hear anything. But then I realized I'd forgotten something downstairs and returned down, and upon arriving there, I heard my mother say, from the other room, "It was good."
...
"Seriously!?" I stammered, with a look on my face that probably was last seen there when 'Fat Nurse' explained to me what a catheter was, and that I had indeed had one. "Mom, I asked that question a minute ago!"
Anyhow, my father would describe this whole situation as being "Wacko with a capital 'W'"
Monday, June 16, 2008
There is no "i" in "Good Dream"
I had a plan for a blog while in Philadelphia this weekend (or as I like to call it, Chilladelphia). That plan was overridden by my wacked-out dream that I had while sleeping on my brother & sister's couch in Phily (Note: use "&" more often. MUCH easier).
I don't remember exactly how this dream started, I do remember sliding down waterslides with hip-hop artists, but that does not connect in any way to the next set of events (and frankly this may just be a memory. I consort with hip hoppers quite often. Snoop Dawg is a close acquaintance of mine. Do you know that he has tried smoking reefer before? Goodness!). Well anyhow, I initially found myself in a mind game with Soviets. Thats right, the USSR was back on the bloc, and the KBG seemed to hunting me through the city, in their "follow you and look suspicious" sort of way.
I, naturally, lost this mind game and in a series of events that I am not entirely clear on, ended up on a commie train headed to a prison camp (somewhere in America, probably in one of the RED states!! LoLz!). Heres where things get really freaky. All the passengers on the train were emaciated and wearing blue and white stripped prison suits. They basically looked like concentration camp prisoners. They didn't speak for the duration of the trip.
We soon arrived at the camp, and I got up and into the aisle. Before exiting out the door of the train, I put my hand on the shoulder of one of the prisoners and said, "Good luck comrade." I have no freakin' idea what I was thinking. Why on earth would I call a man so severely oppressed by commies "Comrade"? Perhaps this is because I was thinking one day and decided that it would be funny to start calling strangers "comrade" as opposed to my usual "man" or "dude". That would be funny, and I think I will start doing it, but I feel like doing it to an emaciated prison camper oppressed by the reds is a poor place to start.
At any rate, I simply bolted out the door and ran like 20 feet to the right and I had escaped the prison camp. Ya....that was really all I had to do. Nobody cared. All the guards just kinda blankly stared at me while I did it. There wasn't even really any fencing, and the camp was really just a house with a shed. I assume that my subconscious associates sheds with pure evil, as the house next door had no shed and was therefore not part of the prison camp.
I went in this house, and who was in there but my family!
My sister was mad freaked out about the concentration camp next door. I asked if anybody had called the police. Apparently nobody had. All of a sudden it was night time. I guess my mind cannot grasp the concept of dawn & dusk, so there just aren't transitions in my dreams. Anyhow I took out my cell phone & attempted to dial "911". You have no idea how difficult this was. Apparently I'm as much of a skrew-up in my dreams as I am in real life, because I just could not get the number right. I dialed 781, I have no idea why, then 721, 291, 991, 291991 (i forgot to delete the "291" before starting the next attempt), and many other ridiculously stoopid combinations. This was all in real time mind you. I actually dialed out all those numbers and tried to call them, then had to delete and start over. This has a parallel in real life. I am incabable of spelling the word "Tomorrow" without much trial and error, and error...and failure and shame. In fact, I kid you not, just now as i wrote that word in the previous sentence, I messed up about 7 times until the red squigly line beneath it went away. I'm dead serious, as I was typing this, I didn't even mean to but I went through this classic process:
1. tomarro X
2. tommarro X added an "m"
3. tommaro X subtracted "r"
4. tommoro X "o" for "a"
5. tomorro X -"m" +"r"
6. tomarro X tried the first one again. No dice.
7. tomaro X just...no
8. tomoro X its called desperation at this point
9. tommarow X realized the possibility of a "W" in the word.
10. tomarrow X closer...
11. tomorrow YEEEEEAH! SUCK ON THAT BIIIOTCH!
I honestly wish I was kidding, but I legitimately go through some mutation of this formula every time I attempt to spell that word. But c'mon. 911? Seriously? It's spelled the way you say it! Ugh.
So I finally got the number right, and called it. I was met with an answering machine....
...
an answering machine...dialing 911 for my emergency I was met with an answering machine....I considered leaving a message, but then thought, no that's absolutely ridiculous. I decided to call again and try to get through. I had apparently forgotten how difficult this was for me. I went through the whole "try to dial 911 and fail miserably" routine again, and got through this time. This is how that conversation went:
"Hello, what is your emergency?"
"Oh thank God! yes there is a concentration camp next door! Please send help!"
"......is this a joke?"
"...no please! Its being run by the soviets! They're going to kill us all!"
And then she hung up on me. Apparently, even the people that I make up think my dreams are absolutely ridiculous.
I tried this over and over again. The majority of this dream was spent attempting to dial 911, failing, attempting, failing, attempting, failing, succeeding, then meeting with disbelieving dispatchers, at different levels of shocked silence or anger or amusement. The only time I hung up on a dispatcher, rather that the usual them hanging up on me, was when I was met by a very furious, very sassy voice on the other line. One sweet sounding lady on the other line was ready to send the squads to my location, she just wanted to know where I was. As I was unable to answer, I lost my one opportunity. Eventually my family wondered if I would like them to try. I said YES and that was the end of that chapter.
Now something odd happened that had nothing to do with anything. Two really wide-eyed freaky peopleish things appeared at the window by the door and were staring at me and it was pretty unsettling. They kind of hovered over to the door and came in, but I guess my mind didn't know where to go with this, because soon the police came in and nobody paid any attention to the random creatures and we kinda got some closure.
So the cops come, and its randomly day again, and they take us outside and say to us, "Oh no no no, this is no concentration camp! It's merely a friendly little cult full of old jewish men who starve themselves in order to be pious." And all the "prisoners" were out there with their big unblinking eyes just nodding their heads "yes". But I was like, wtf?! "What about the Soviets!? Those guys are commie KGB officers!" I saw shocked expressions on the Russian's faces. One began crying onto the shoulder of another as the other consoled him by patting his back. The police said, "They're just Russians. What!? All Russians are Communists to you!? You just ASSUMED that these men were Reds just because they were Russian!?" I was like...wtf? And suddenly all the fear of this nightmare was gone. My family joined it with the "Mark, you ignorant, insensitive little bastard" and whatnot. I was still just like...wtf?
Anyhow, everything had wound down. The last thing I remember was my father saying to one of the old guys: "Mr. Hammond, I have decided NOT to endorse your park."
I soon awoke, and was really freaked out because it was sort of light outside the front window, to light to be night, to dim to be day. I thought maybe somebody was trying to break in, so I looked out the window only to realize that it was dawn. You know, that time where its too dark to be day but too light to be night. I guess I just really have no concept of such things. And yes, I know how stoopid i am.
I don't remember exactly how this dream started, I do remember sliding down waterslides with hip-hop artists, but that does not connect in any way to the next set of events (and frankly this may just be a memory. I consort with hip hoppers quite often. Snoop Dawg is a close acquaintance of mine. Do you know that he has tried smoking reefer before? Goodness!). Well anyhow, I initially found myself in a mind game with Soviets. Thats right, the USSR was back on the bloc, and the KBG seemed to hunting me through the city, in their "follow you and look suspicious" sort of way.
I, naturally, lost this mind game and in a series of events that I am not entirely clear on, ended up on a commie train headed to a prison camp (somewhere in America, probably in one of the RED states!! LoLz!). Heres where things get really freaky. All the passengers on the train were emaciated and wearing blue and white stripped prison suits. They basically looked like concentration camp prisoners. They didn't speak for the duration of the trip.
We soon arrived at the camp, and I got up and into the aisle. Before exiting out the door of the train, I put my hand on the shoulder of one of the prisoners and said, "Good luck comrade." I have no freakin' idea what I was thinking. Why on earth would I call a man so severely oppressed by commies "Comrade"? Perhaps this is because I was thinking one day and decided that it would be funny to start calling strangers "comrade" as opposed to my usual "man" or "dude". That would be funny, and I think I will start doing it, but I feel like doing it to an emaciated prison camper oppressed by the reds is a poor place to start.
At any rate, I simply bolted out the door and ran like 20 feet to the right and I had escaped the prison camp. Ya....that was really all I had to do. Nobody cared. All the guards just kinda blankly stared at me while I did it. There wasn't even really any fencing, and the camp was really just a house with a shed. I assume that my subconscious associates sheds with pure evil, as the house next door had no shed and was therefore not part of the prison camp.
I went in this house, and who was in there but my family!
My sister was mad freaked out about the concentration camp next door. I asked if anybody had called the police. Apparently nobody had. All of a sudden it was night time. I guess my mind cannot grasp the concept of dawn & dusk, so there just aren't transitions in my dreams. Anyhow I took out my cell phone & attempted to dial "911". You have no idea how difficult this was. Apparently I'm as much of a skrew-up in my dreams as I am in real life, because I just could not get the number right. I dialed 781, I have no idea why, then 721, 291, 991, 291991 (i forgot to delete the "291" before starting the next attempt), and many other ridiculously stoopid combinations. This was all in real time mind you. I actually dialed out all those numbers and tried to call them, then had to delete and start over. This has a parallel in real life. I am incabable of spelling the word "Tomorrow" without much trial and error, and error...and failure and shame. In fact, I kid you not, just now as i wrote that word in the previous sentence, I messed up about 7 times until the red squigly line beneath it went away. I'm dead serious, as I was typing this, I didn't even mean to but I went through this classic process:
1. tomarro X
2. tommarro X added an "m"
3. tommaro X subtracted "r"
4. tommoro X "o" for "a"
5. tomorro X -"m" +"r"
6. tomarro X tried the first one again. No dice.
7. tomaro X just...no
8. tomoro X its called desperation at this point
9. tommarow X realized the possibility of a "W" in the word.
10. tomarrow X closer...
11. tomorrow YEEEEEAH! SUCK ON THAT BIIIOTCH!
I honestly wish I was kidding, but I legitimately go through some mutation of this formula every time I attempt to spell that word. But c'mon. 911? Seriously? It's spelled the way you say it! Ugh.
So I finally got the number right, and called it. I was met with an answering machine....
...
an answering machine...dialing 911 for my emergency I was met with an answering machine....I considered leaving a message, but then thought, no that's absolutely ridiculous. I decided to call again and try to get through. I had apparently forgotten how difficult this was for me. I went through the whole "try to dial 911 and fail miserably" routine again, and got through this time. This is how that conversation went:
"Hello, what is your emergency?"
"Oh thank God! yes there is a concentration camp next door! Please send help!"
"......is this a joke?"
"...no please! Its being run by the soviets! They're going to kill us all!"
And then she hung up on me. Apparently, even the people that I make up think my dreams are absolutely ridiculous.
I tried this over and over again. The majority of this dream was spent attempting to dial 911, failing, attempting, failing, attempting, failing, succeeding, then meeting with disbelieving dispatchers, at different levels of shocked silence or anger or amusement. The only time I hung up on a dispatcher, rather that the usual them hanging up on me, was when I was met by a very furious, very sassy voice on the other line. One sweet sounding lady on the other line was ready to send the squads to my location, she just wanted to know where I was. As I was unable to answer, I lost my one opportunity. Eventually my family wondered if I would like them to try. I said YES and that was the end of that chapter.
Now something odd happened that had nothing to do with anything. Two really wide-eyed freaky peopleish things appeared at the window by the door and were staring at me and it was pretty unsettling. They kind of hovered over to the door and came in, but I guess my mind didn't know where to go with this, because soon the police came in and nobody paid any attention to the random creatures and we kinda got some closure.
So the cops come, and its randomly day again, and they take us outside and say to us, "Oh no no no, this is no concentration camp! It's merely a friendly little cult full of old jewish men who starve themselves in order to be pious." And all the "prisoners" were out there with their big unblinking eyes just nodding their heads "yes". But I was like, wtf?! "What about the Soviets!? Those guys are commie KGB officers!" I saw shocked expressions on the Russian's faces. One began crying onto the shoulder of another as the other consoled him by patting his back. The police said, "They're just Russians. What!? All Russians are Communists to you!? You just ASSUMED that these men were Reds just because they were Russian!?" I was like...wtf? And suddenly all the fear of this nightmare was gone. My family joined it with the "Mark, you ignorant, insensitive little bastard" and whatnot. I was still just like...wtf?
Anyhow, everything had wound down. The last thing I remember was my father saying to one of the old guys: "Mr. Hammond, I have decided NOT to endorse your park."
I soon awoke, and was really freaked out because it was sort of light outside the front window, to light to be night, to dim to be day. I thought maybe somebody was trying to break in, so I looked out the window only to realize that it was dawn. You know, that time where its too dark to be day but too light to be night. I guess I just really have no concept of such things. And yes, I know how stoopid i am.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Lets Talk Politiks
I was hoping we wouldn't have to....
But we do. Why? Because I found something while cruising through the forest of Bumper Stickers on facebook. If you don't know what Bumper Stickers are, its basically a little thing where you cruise through thousands of pictures of disgusting things that shouldn't be naked together, really bitchy phrases intended to be used maliciously, sexist and racist pictures and remarks, looking to find a picture of adorable small animals with hilariously cute phrases written underneath them, to send to your friends. Well among these piles of terrible things I came across this gem:
Wowza! Take another look at that. The what party? I believe you are missing two letters. "I" and "C". Thats ok, I am missing the same two letters. I'll just call you an _gnorant h__
Where to start with this one!? Ok, first of all, could you maybe come up with something a bit more clever than that? Its hardly even an observation. What does flying have to do with anything? You honestly could have taken any combination of things that come from someplace and had an equally witty insult. Swim and pool for instance. Heres my attempt "If ignorant morons could vote for candidates based on anything but whether or not they seem patriotic and how much they manage to scare you, the United States of America would be a legitimate Democracy!" ROFL! I Know! That one is HILARIOUS! LoLeRskaTez!
Alright. So you call it the "Democrat" party, which I realize may have been a really stoopid attempt at insulting the Democratic party. Honestly, if your calling them names, I suggest the infinitely more insulting "Demo-twats".
Anyhow, you move on to make it seem as though you actually believe the political party is a physical location, stating that it would be an Airport, rather than perhaps a idealistic grouping, such as an airline company. You also assume that anything that flies belongs in an airport. Huh. Interesting logic. I was on a bike ride the other day, and I came across a sign "Bicyles Only". Well, by your logic, if it has wheels its a bicycle, so yes, driving your humvee on the bike path is quite acceptable.
Quite acceptable indeed.
Anyhow, I suppose the Democrats could come back by calling the Republican Party the Republic Party, but that just sounds like something from Star Wars, and, as anybody who lived through the eighties will tell you, Republicans love being associated with that movie. (See, Ronald Regan's Crazy Defense Idea. Lazers! WOAH!)
Let me clear something up. Republicans are not dumb and ignorant...provided they are wealthy and powerful. Let me elaborate. Republican policies tend to favor the rich getting richer and maintaining power. To do so, this party hunts for votes among the poor, uninformed classes of society. I see these people as victims, and it deeply saddens me that the Republican, but also the Democratic party, dupes them into false hope and security. Candidates often present themselves as the Common Working Man, when in fact, the presidency is unattainable by all but the aristocrats. But by presenting themselves as such, they generate hope amongst the workers. But this hope is carefully channeled through blind nationalism, and a better tomorrow fades away.
This is why such a little thing such as "If all A-Holes could fly.." boils my blood so much. It attempts to unify the masses against each other rather than having them come together to achieve the common good. The poor stay poor, the dumb remain dumb. Why do poor republicans and poor democrats hate each other? Because they mustn't hate their leaders. Who else will protect them from the other party's agenda?
Anyhow, I'm getting to preachy. I geuss I'll just come out and say it. I'm not a Republican, as you have most likely gathered. Nor am I a Democrat. Think about it. What system does it sound like I favor? One where all are equal and the Proletariat all work together for the common good. Thats right. Fascism.
But we do. Why? Because I found something while cruising through the forest of Bumper Stickers on facebook. If you don't know what Bumper Stickers are, its basically a little thing where you cruise through thousands of pictures of disgusting things that shouldn't be naked together, really bitchy phrases intended to be used maliciously, sexist and racist pictures and remarks, looking to find a picture of adorable small animals with hilariously cute phrases written underneath them, to send to your friends. Well among these piles of terrible things I came across this gem:
Wowza! Take another look at that. The what party? I believe you are missing two letters. "I" and "C". Thats ok, I am missing the same two letters. I'll just call you an _gnorant h__Where to start with this one!? Ok, first of all, could you maybe come up with something a bit more clever than that? Its hardly even an observation. What does flying have to do with anything? You honestly could have taken any combination of things that come from someplace and had an equally witty insult. Swim and pool for instance. Heres my attempt "If ignorant morons could vote for candidates based on anything but whether or not they seem patriotic and how much they manage to scare you, the United States of America would be a legitimate Democracy!" ROFL! I Know! That one is HILARIOUS! LoLeRskaTez!
Alright. So you call it the "Democrat" party, which I realize may have been a really stoopid attempt at insulting the Democratic party. Honestly, if your calling them names, I suggest the infinitely more insulting "Demo-twats".
Anyhow, you move on to make it seem as though you actually believe the political party is a physical location, stating that it would be an Airport, rather than perhaps a idealistic grouping, such as an airline company. You also assume that anything that flies belongs in an airport. Huh. Interesting logic. I was on a bike ride the other day, and I came across a sign "Bicyles Only". Well, by your logic, if it has wheels its a bicycle, so yes, driving your humvee on the bike path is quite acceptable.
Quite acceptable indeed.Anyhow, I suppose the Democrats could come back by calling the Republican Party the Republic Party, but that just sounds like something from Star Wars, and, as anybody who lived through the eighties will tell you, Republicans love being associated with that movie. (See, Ronald Regan's Crazy Defense Idea. Lazers! WOAH!)
Let me clear something up. Republicans are not dumb and ignorant...provided they are wealthy and powerful. Let me elaborate. Republican policies tend to favor the rich getting richer and maintaining power. To do so, this party hunts for votes among the poor, uninformed classes of society. I see these people as victims, and it deeply saddens me that the Republican, but also the Democratic party, dupes them into false hope and security. Candidates often present themselves as the Common Working Man, when in fact, the presidency is unattainable by all but the aristocrats. But by presenting themselves as such, they generate hope amongst the workers. But this hope is carefully channeled through blind nationalism, and a better tomorrow fades away.
This is why such a little thing such as "If all A-Holes could fly.." boils my blood so much. It attempts to unify the masses against each other rather than having them come together to achieve the common good. The poor stay poor, the dumb remain dumb. Why do poor republicans and poor democrats hate each other? Because they mustn't hate their leaders. Who else will protect them from the other party's agenda?
Anyhow, I'm getting to preachy. I geuss I'll just come out and say it. I'm not a Republican, as you have most likely gathered. Nor am I a Democrat. Think about it. What system does it sound like I favor? One where all are equal and the Proletariat all work together for the common good. Thats right. Fascism.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
I am a genious
IRONY
Throughout my many years of schooling and social interactions, it has become clear that many are unclear on the concept of "irony". Irony is located in the "things elementary school teachers tried, and miserably failed, to teach us" files, right alongside "Vowels" (hold your criticisims, im talking about kindergarten), "Long division", "Respect", and, well "Vowels" once again (im sorry, but how the fuck can "Y" be a sometimes vowel? The day i allow my letters to have free will is the day I use "Larry the Cable Guy" and "Funny" in the same sentence. Remember your place "Y", you're second to last already, and last time I checked "Z" was looking for a promotion). I still remember what book we were reading when the concept of Irony came up, it was "A Girl Named Disaster", and was full of symbolism that our hyper-active minds flat out refused to comprehend. I'd say that there were quite a few girls in that class who could've easily been named "Disaster". I wonder what there up to now adays? At any rate, our teacher (God bless her patient, hard working, and, in retrospect lesbian, heart) tried to teach us what Irony was. Tried being the key word, and teach being the locked word.
At any rate, i did eventually learn what Irony was. And no, its not a large vowel molded out of a sturdy metal (think about it for a minute. No? Not gettin' it? Ok, i'll give you a hint. "iron" is the metal i was referring to. "E" is the vowel i was referring to. "Reefer" was the slang term for marijuana i was referring to. And yes, i do know my vowels now thank you very much. I also know my Consonants, except im confused as to whether Antarctica counts)(I also realize that by this point half my story has been put in paranthasees, but hey, when life gives you lemons you make lemonade. And when keyboards give you parenthasees, you make paranthesee sandwiches. Oh you make them alright) but it is actually a state of affairs that is amusingly contradictory. See the title to this blog. No i will not retype it you lazy bastard, scroll up. (Interestingly enough, that last sentence was unintentionally ironic.) The title, as you hopefully noticed, includes a stupid spelling mistake that contradicts its message. If you are still unclear on "Irony" fear not, for this next bit is an even clearer example. Some might say even more stupid.
Now, every year, my school has an assembly where the gifted minds and athletes are rewarded in order to make the rest feel like worthless piles of shit right before their dull, meaningless summer vacations. Seriously, they put this thing right before vacation. After its over we're free. Perhaps thats why I felt like i could...well, read on. Anyhow, have you ever played the game where you toss a water balloon back and forth until it breaks on someone? The person it breaks on is usually the same person who pokes himself in the eye during the doctors hand eye coordination exam (warranting the first ever flat out laugh from a p.h.D., as they are generally restricted to highbrow chuckles at the misfortunes of what they affectionately refer to as "normie-tards", such as us). Anyhow, this person is me. That is to say i'm not the most athletically gifted. I'm not the asthmatic with the broken glasses on the sideline, but i'm not the one who deserves MVP either (and by MVP i am indeed referring to the movie about the monkey who plays hockey. Its a monkey, who plays hockey. For the love of God, the awards practically win themselves. And then they give it a uproariously clever title such as, "MVP: Most Valuable Primate"). That being said, it was the sports section of the awards ceremony, and i knew i wouldn't be walking up to the stage to receive any awards.
My freind on my right side was not convinced however. Lets call him Mr. E (holy shit, "mystery"="Mr. E". Totally unintentional, and also a simpsons rip-off. No, his name honestly begins with an "E"). Mr. E noticed the "Sportsmanship Award" and was convinced that i would receive it. This may have something to do with the fact that i was everybody's favorite lacrosse "punching bag", (although i prefer the term "Total Badass") and was quite sportsman-like about the whole situation (though to be honest, everybody's manners should improve when they are dealing with larger, irrational teenagers with metal poles (and good lawyers, seeing as this is lacrosse)). I, still a skeptic of the "hey you know that little dude who is pretty mediocre at stuff? well lets give that guy an award!" theory, expressed to Mr. E how utterly hilariously ironic it would be to receive such an award in a completely unsportsman-like manner. Mr. E got me to promise that i would do so should i be the recipient. I promised, still unconvinced of the "dude, we give waaay to many awards to talented people who deserve them. Lets just give one to some guy" theory.
Guess who won?
Me, thats who (or is it "whom"?)
So they give a short speech justifying me being the winner, and call me to receive my award. I leave the aisle, taunting those i have to step over, and acting as cocky as possible. I continue this attitude, sorry, badittude, all the way to the stage and to the high level people presenting me with the award. How high level? Try "Head of the WHOLE FUCKING SCHOOL". Anyhow, i give this person attitude in keeping with my resolve to be unsportsmanlike. I'll try to clarify this. I shook hands, but in a "i'm better than you, therefore i'll roll my eyes and refuse to even look at you" sorta way. Then i migrate to the center of the stage with my award for the cherry on top of the ice cream (What flavor was this ice cream? Chocolate chip cookiedoughN'T EVER GIVE THIS KID AN AWARD EVER AGAIN). I raised the award over my head and taunted the audience with a classy, "IN YO FACE!". I apologize sincerely for not adding "biotches" to the end of this.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is Irony.
So, why the hell would I do this? First of all, it was pretty perfect. Second, i made a promise, and i keep promises. And i don't make such wise promises. I grew an afro. "why? WHY?" you might ask. Yes, i asked myself why as well. Cuz i promised thats "Y", and that is an instance of when "Y" is a vowel. And Larry the Cable guy had a funny joke, just one.
Throughout my many years of schooling and social interactions, it has become clear that many are unclear on the concept of "irony". Irony is located in the "things elementary school teachers tried, and miserably failed, to teach us" files, right alongside "Vowels" (hold your criticisims, im talking about kindergarten), "Long division", "Respect", and, well "Vowels" once again (im sorry, but how the fuck can "Y" be a sometimes vowel? The day i allow my letters to have free will is the day I use "Larry the Cable Guy" and "Funny" in the same sentence. Remember your place "Y", you're second to last already, and last time I checked "Z" was looking for a promotion). I still remember what book we were reading when the concept of Irony came up, it was "A Girl Named Disaster", and was full of symbolism that our hyper-active minds flat out refused to comprehend. I'd say that there were quite a few girls in that class who could've easily been named "Disaster". I wonder what there up to now adays? At any rate, our teacher (God bless her patient, hard working, and, in retrospect lesbian, heart) tried to teach us what Irony was. Tried being the key word, and teach being the locked word.
At any rate, i did eventually learn what Irony was. And no, its not a large vowel molded out of a sturdy metal (think about it for a minute. No? Not gettin' it? Ok, i'll give you a hint. "iron" is the metal i was referring to. "E" is the vowel i was referring to. "Reefer" was the slang term for marijuana i was referring to. And yes, i do know my vowels now thank you very much. I also know my Consonants, except im confused as to whether Antarctica counts)(I also realize that by this point half my story has been put in paranthasees, but hey, when life gives you lemons you make lemonade. And when keyboards give you parenthasees, you make paranthesee sandwiches. Oh you make them alright) but it is actually a state of affairs that is amusingly contradictory. See the title to this blog. No i will not retype it you lazy bastard, scroll up. (Interestingly enough, that last sentence was unintentionally ironic.) The title, as you hopefully noticed, includes a stupid spelling mistake that contradicts its message. If you are still unclear on "Irony" fear not, for this next bit is an even clearer example. Some might say even more stupid.
Now, every year, my school has an assembly where the gifted minds and athletes are rewarded in order to make the rest feel like worthless piles of shit right before their dull, meaningless summer vacations. Seriously, they put this thing right before vacation. After its over we're free. Perhaps thats why I felt like i could...well, read on. Anyhow, have you ever played the game where you toss a water balloon back and forth until it breaks on someone? The person it breaks on is usually the same person who pokes himself in the eye during the doctors hand eye coordination exam (warranting the first ever flat out laugh from a p.h.D., as they are generally restricted to highbrow chuckles at the misfortunes of what they affectionately refer to as "normie-tards", such as us). Anyhow, this person is me. That is to say i'm not the most athletically gifted. I'm not the asthmatic with the broken glasses on the sideline, but i'm not the one who deserves MVP either (and by MVP i am indeed referring to the movie about the monkey who plays hockey. Its a monkey, who plays hockey. For the love of God, the awards practically win themselves. And then they give it a uproariously clever title such as, "MVP: Most Valuable Primate"). That being said, it was the sports section of the awards ceremony, and i knew i wouldn't be walking up to the stage to receive any awards.
My freind on my right side was not convinced however. Lets call him Mr. E (holy shit, "mystery"="Mr. E". Totally unintentional, and also a simpsons rip-off. No, his name honestly begins with an "E"). Mr. E noticed the "Sportsmanship Award" and was convinced that i would receive it. This may have something to do with the fact that i was everybody's favorite lacrosse "punching bag", (although i prefer the term "Total Badass") and was quite sportsman-like about the whole situation (though to be honest, everybody's manners should improve when they are dealing with larger, irrational teenagers with metal poles (and good lawyers, seeing as this is lacrosse)). I, still a skeptic of the "hey you know that little dude who is pretty mediocre at stuff? well lets give that guy an award!" theory, expressed to Mr. E how utterly hilariously ironic it would be to receive such an award in a completely unsportsman-like manner. Mr. E got me to promise that i would do so should i be the recipient. I promised, still unconvinced of the "dude, we give waaay to many awards to talented people who deserve them. Lets just give one to some guy" theory.
Guess who won?
Me, thats who (or is it "whom"?)
So they give a short speech justifying me being the winner, and call me to receive my award. I leave the aisle, taunting those i have to step over, and acting as cocky as possible. I continue this attitude, sorry, badittude, all the way to the stage and to the high level people presenting me with the award. How high level? Try "Head of the WHOLE FUCKING SCHOOL". Anyhow, i give this person attitude in keeping with my resolve to be unsportsmanlike. I'll try to clarify this. I shook hands, but in a "i'm better than you, therefore i'll roll my eyes and refuse to even look at you" sorta way. Then i migrate to the center of the stage with my award for the cherry on top of the ice cream (What flavor was this ice cream? Chocolate chip cookiedoughN'T EVER GIVE THIS KID AN AWARD EVER AGAIN). I raised the award over my head and taunted the audience with a classy, "IN YO FACE!". I apologize sincerely for not adding "biotches" to the end of this.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is Irony.
So, why the hell would I do this? First of all, it was pretty perfect. Second, i made a promise, and i keep promises. And i don't make such wise promises. I grew an afro. "why? WHY?" you might ask. Yes, i asked myself why as well. Cuz i promised thats "Y", and that is an instance of when "Y" is a vowel. And Larry the Cable guy had a funny joke, just one.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Pun-ctuality
Punctuality: Because Timing is Everything
Today i will examine borderline pun opportunities. Is there a wrong time for an innocent little wordplay? I'll leave that for you to decide, and perhaps demonstrate where even I draw the line.
I'll start off with an instance where I perhaps crossed the line. I was coming back from a school ski trip in a school bus as you might imagine. Following the bus was a van, containing everybody's ski equipment and my chemistry teacher. Anyhow, there had been a storm the previous night, and a fresh blanket was carpeting the poorly plowed New Hampsire roads. They live free. Fuck paying taxes. even if it would mean better snow plows. More like live free and die! am i right? Anyhow, this heavy van hits a bad patch and spins out of control and off the road, into a snow bank piled against the median. Everybody's reaction: "OH MY GOD!" "WHAT HAPPENED!" "THEY JUST SPUN OUT INTO THAT SNOW BANK!" "HOLY TOLEDO!"
My reaction: "Well, i sure hope he's snow-K"
Now before you judge me note this, 1. I'm really the only one who showed any bit of concern for him....sorta 2. i was pretty sure that he was, infact, snOw-K 3. Snow-K, c'mon thats frickin' brilliant. And especially at a time like that. Is that not the perfect time for a pun? to break a moment of nervous tension? I guess thats up to you.
Now here is a circumstance that, I feel, went to far. The timing was wrong. Let me set this up for you: A breezy, yet pleasant April day. Fresh rain and melting snow have left puddles here and there and have lifted that unmistakeable scent of spring into the air. Did I mention that this is in a cemetery during a funeral?
Before I move on, let me say that I did not laugh at this. It crosses the line.
Anyway, the minister made a pun out of the deceased's name. Ya, I know, classy right? I've got too much respect to repeat it, but it was not made any better by the fact that the minister said "No pun intended" before blurting it out.
Now for something that I don't know whether it crosses the line or not.
In the same cemetery, my brother pointed out a toy hippo stuck in the mud. I thought, but restrained from saying, "talk about a hippo-crypt". Is this an ok , or should i say snOw-K, time for a pun? I honestly don't know.
Now I'll leave you with some brilliance that i didn't come up with, but i think these are amazing:
Today i will examine borderline pun opportunities. Is there a wrong time for an innocent little wordplay? I'll leave that for you to decide, and perhaps demonstrate where even I draw the line.
I'll start off with an instance where I perhaps crossed the line. I was coming back from a school ski trip in a school bus as you might imagine. Following the bus was a van, containing everybody's ski equipment and my chemistry teacher. Anyhow, there had been a storm the previous night, and a fresh blanket was carpeting the poorly plowed New Hampsire roads. They live free. Fuck paying taxes. even if it would mean better snow plows. More like live free and die! am i right? Anyhow, this heavy van hits a bad patch and spins out of control and off the road, into a snow bank piled against the median. Everybody's reaction: "OH MY GOD!" "WHAT HAPPENED!" "THEY JUST SPUN OUT INTO THAT SNOW BANK!" "HOLY TOLEDO!"
My reaction: "Well, i sure hope he's snow-K"
Now before you judge me note this, 1. I'm really the only one who showed any bit of concern for him....sorta 2. i was pretty sure that he was, infact, snOw-K 3. Snow-K, c'mon thats frickin' brilliant. And especially at a time like that. Is that not the perfect time for a pun? to break a moment of nervous tension? I guess thats up to you.
Now here is a circumstance that, I feel, went to far. The timing was wrong. Let me set this up for you: A breezy, yet pleasant April day. Fresh rain and melting snow have left puddles here and there and have lifted that unmistakeable scent of spring into the air. Did I mention that this is in a cemetery during a funeral?
Before I move on, let me say that I did not laugh at this. It crosses the line.
Anyway, the minister made a pun out of the deceased's name. Ya, I know, classy right? I've got too much respect to repeat it, but it was not made any better by the fact that the minister said "No pun intended" before blurting it out.
Now for something that I don't know whether it crosses the line or not.
In the same cemetery, my brother pointed out a toy hippo stuck in the mud. I thought, but restrained from saying, "talk about a hippo-crypt". Is this an ok , or should i say snOw-K, time for a pun? I honestly don't know.
Now I'll leave you with some brilliance that i didn't come up with, but i think these are amazing:
- A bicycle can't stand alone; it is two tired.
- A backward poet writes inverse.
- If you don't pay your exorcist you can get repossessed.
- When a clock is hungry it goes back four seconds
- He had a photographic memory which was never developed.
- A plateau is a high form of flattery.
- if you jump off a Paris bridge, you are in Seine.
- When you've seen one shopping center you've seen a mall
Friday, April 11, 2008
Another Pun Bites the Dust
So the Lacrosse team, which I am a member of, returns to the locker room after a game to find that all the lights are off. The following dialogue ensues:
mr. Z: "Why won't the lights turn on?!"
mr. D: "Are you serious!? They seriously turned all of the lights off!"
ME : "Well thats just Off-ul!"
mr. G: "Shut the hell up! Your puns have been really bad lately."
ME: "Im sorry mr. G, I didn't mean to Off-end you."
everybody "(:"
mr. G "Ugh. shut up Mark"
ME: "Woah! Why are you picking on Dark so much today? It's quite Off-setting. Anyway, I'll make you an Off-er, I'll stop making puns as Off-ten as i do"
I actually have no intentions of following up on that offer.
And now for some wise advice:
"First they ignore you, then they laugh at you, then they fight you, then you win."
-Gandhi
mr. Z: "Why won't the lights turn on?!"
mr. D: "Are you serious!? They seriously turned all of the lights off!"
ME : "Well thats just Off-ul!"
mr. G: "Shut the hell up! Your puns have been really bad lately."
ME: "Im sorry mr. G, I didn't mean to Off-end you."
everybody "(:"
mr. G "Ugh. shut up Mark"
ME: "Woah! Why are you picking on Dark so much today? It's quite Off-setting. Anyway, I'll make you an Off-er, I'll stop making puns as Off-ten as i do"
I actually have no intentions of following up on that offer.
And now for some wise advice:
"First they ignore you, then they laugh at you, then they fight you, then you win."
-Gandhi
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Communication
We ain't got it
My mother does not understand body language (you know, nodding the head "yes", shaking it "no" or violently thrashing it "METAL"). This issue is made worse by the fact that neither of my parents can hear anything whose volume is below that of a jet taking off from a rock concert in war-torn Baghdad during a thunderstorm at a distance further than, say 5 feet. As you may assume, communication can be difficult.
Here is an everyday situation:
STEP 1. Mom yells "MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARK"
STEP 2. I respond "What?"
STEP 3. silence
STEP 4. Mom yells "MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARK" once again, having not heard my response.
STEP 5. I yell "WHAT?"
STEP 6. My Mom asks if I want like, a piece of pie or something.
STEP 7. I, exhasted from steps 1-5, shake my head to indicate, "no mummy, but thank you for the ever-so-gracious offer"
STEP 8. repeat step 3
STEP 9. not having understood my head gesture, my mother repeats step 1.
STEP 10. By this point I understand that she did not understand the head gesture, and that I will have to make words happen (*groan*). So I respond , "No thanks" in my ruggedly deep and good looking voice.
STEP 11. My mother, not having heard step 10, yells "WHAT?"
STEP 12. I draw a picture and write a sentence about how i don't want pie. I soon remember the poor vision that my parents also suffer from, and give up entirely.
Believe it or not, my father is worse than my mother. Enjoy me now folks, because based on my folks, I will not age well.
My mother does not understand body language (you know, nodding the head "yes", shaking it "no" or violently thrashing it "METAL"). This issue is made worse by the fact that neither of my parents can hear anything whose volume is below that of a jet taking off from a rock concert in war-torn Baghdad during a thunderstorm at a distance further than, say 5 feet. As you may assume, communication can be difficult.
Here is an everyday situation:
STEP 1. Mom yells "MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARK"
STEP 2. I respond "What?"
STEP 3. silence
STEP 4. Mom yells "MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARK" once again, having not heard my response.
STEP 5. I yell "WHAT?"
STEP 6. My Mom asks if I want like, a piece of pie or something.
STEP 7. I, exhasted from steps 1-5, shake my head to indicate, "no mummy, but thank you for the ever-so-gracious offer"
STEP 8. repeat step 3
STEP 9. not having understood my head gesture, my mother repeats step 1.
STEP 10. By this point I understand that she did not understand the head gesture, and that I will have to make words happen (*groan*). So I respond , "No thanks" in my ruggedly deep and good looking voice.
STEP 11. My mother, not having heard step 10, yells "WHAT?"
STEP 12. I draw a picture and write a sentence about how i don't want pie. I soon remember the poor vision that my parents also suffer from, and give up entirely.
Believe it or not, my father is worse than my mother. Enjoy me now folks, because based on my folks, I will not age well.
Monday, April 7, 2008
Appendicitis Now
The Following Story was originally written as a note on Facebook, coming to completion on February 22, 2007, shortly after the events of the story. It remains to this day both my proudest piece of writing ( even better than anything I wrote in 11 years of schooling) and the most epic Facebook note. Ever. So now, I present to you, in its entirety,
Appendicitis Now: Un-Cut
CHAPTER 1:---Thursday Morning
Sometimes, you can tell a day is going to suck by the way it starts. This was one of those days. I woke up feeling what i believed was bad gas from the rotten meatballs i had been fed the previous night. I got up and ate breakfast, frosted mini wheats. A wheat fiber got caught between my braces and my gum. It hurt. I brushed it out, but then the toothbrush hurt where the fiber poked my gum. After i was dressed, showered and ready to go, i went out to the car. Now this was the day after a snow day, and my dad was parked in a snow/ice drift. Geuss who got to push the car out of it?
Then off to school, though I left school a bit early, due to my condition gettin worse. Good call. took a bit of a nap. When i woke up, i felt pain on my lower right side. Didnt think much of it. till later on that night.
CHAPTER 2:--- If the pain gets worse, come tell us so we can tell you to tell - us if the pain gets worse.
Now, i pretty much owe my life to a few factors.
#1: G-d
#2: my brother
#3: Carelessness
Now you might be wondering why i owe my life to my brother. (and by brother i mean Joe, sorry Tom.) Well, my bro joe had appendicitus a few months back, and if he hadnt i never would have suspected that might be what i had. Now take this to note for later on in the story, i told my family that i had pain in the lower right because i knew the appendix was on one side or the other. My mother said, "oh, you have pain on the right? why, that's where ur apendix is." Then she spoke no more. No calls to doctors. I got up in my pain, wandered into a cold room and went to webMD on my dad's computer.
Here is a lesson on web MD: They will tell you that everything is fine
and what u have if it goes away after passing gas or a little bit of time. They will not tell you what's wrong or what to do if it doesnt go away or gets worse, which is what i realy wanted to know, and why i would be on the frickin' site IN THE FIRST PLACE! There are links for small problems, but no mention of severe problems. My conclusion from webMD, i didnt have appendicitus. I asked my parents, they said, "go to sleep, if it gets worse, tell us." so i went up the stairs, bent over in pain, and then to bed.
When ur sick, u tend to halucinate in bed. This was no exception. Cept i halucinated that i was at the hospital and everything was frosty. I felt safe. Then i came to conciousness and lay in pain. worse than before. i laid awake for quite a while untill my mom came to check on me, at about 2:30. Remember how she said, tell me if the pain gets worse? Ya i told her the pain was worse. The verdict? go back to bed and we'll call the doctor in the morning. That was a little much for me. i said, "shouldn't i go to the hospital?" and finally there was an investigation into whether or not i had it.
CHAPTER 3:---I got a Fever, and the only prescription, is not more Cowbell
Now here's a quick question:
You are a nurse with many thermometrers in your house. Your child and you somewhat suspect that he may have a somewhat serious health issue. a side-affect of which is fever. Do you wait untill 2:30 am to take your child's temperature or call a doctor?
Aparently, yes, yes you do.
My mother busted out a "new" thermometer of hers and stuck it in my mouth. we waited for it to beep. and waited. and waited. It was in my mouth for at least five minutes, probly more. With the plastic rod im my mouth, i couldnt tell my parents i was feeling nauseous, another symptom. Finally, my mother got out another thermometer, after 'staying the course' for long enough, and within 20 seconds, we had a result. I had a fever allright... and it wasn't dico fever.
So we called up the doctor, he asked a few questions:
-Is it "tender" on the right side?
Tender? i dont know what "tender" feels like. I know what tender tastes like... Ya sure, its..."tender..."
-Did the pain start in the middle, then move to the right?
ya, pretty much
-Jump and tell me if it hurts.
...ok, it hurts to walk, it hurts to lie down, it hurts to ride in a car, and im doubled over in pain.... its going to hurt to jump, but i will
#JUMP#
Ya, it hurt all right.
-Take him to childrens hospital.
CHAPTER 4:--- Diagnosis, Diagnosis, and somemore Diagnosis
I have never been a patient in a hospital before this experience, and hopefully i dont end up there to many times in my future. I wish the same for all of you. This was a learning process for me. I learned that hospitals are horribly mis-mannaged places. If you have an emergency, you had better be prepared to walk and stand around.
Me and my mother walked to the check in counter, or whatever it was, and the lady asked when my bithday was. I was hunched over using the desk to keep myself up, waiting for my mother to answer, when i realized she didnt know what my birthday was. "April 20 mom..." i said
"1991..." After answering more questions, and then reclairifying them for the women behind the desk, she told us where to go.
"Do you need a wheelchair?" the woman asked. "No." my mother promptly answered before i could. so, i hobbled down the hallway, relieved to finaly sit down. A nurse came in and started to diagnose me. "Did ur pain start in the middle, then move to the right?" me, "Ya", her, "when did the pain start?" me "this morning" her, "when did u feel pain on the right?" me "came home, took a nap, felt it when i woke up." Does this hurt?" she pushed on my tummy. (ya i just said tummy. Got a problem? its fun to say. Stomach? who the hell invented that word? i feel like i need to rehydrate and take a breather after saying it. "tummy" is quick and easy.) "does this hurt?" i thought, ya it fuckin kills. "ya" i said. She tried other locations around my abdomen. they all pretty much hurt, cept for ones on the left. Then she pushed in on the right, directly over the apendix, and asked if it hurt more when she pushed in or let go. it hurt more when she let go and i told her so. Then she asked me one of the most impossible questions in the universe. I swear she asked it for her own amusment. "if u could rate your pain on a scale of one to ten, one being the lowest, ten being the highest, where are you?" Ok, so if 10 is the worst possible pain imaginable, i dont think anybody could live through it. 9 is a step down, and therefore a miracle that you are still well enough to answer. 8 is a step down from 9, so pretty fucking terrible pain. 7 is bad pain. so i said '"7, but its just continuous" Now, this is just my system for judging 1-10. I dont know how the medical staff sees it. I doubt it is an essential question. picture this scenario:
"ok mr. Gunshot Wound, if u could rate ur pain, 1-10, what would it be?"
"GHAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!"
"Sir, i need an answer."
"KILLLLL MEEEEE!!!"
"Sir, we cannot properly treat you unless you give us a number."
"10!!! for the love of god 10!!!!"
"you fuckin' liar!"
and so that was the process.
Then a doctor came in and did the exact same thing. Then a Surgeon. then another surgeon. I swear, the EXACT SAME PROCESS. the same fucking question. the same fucking push on my tummy. The same fucking "does it hurt more when i release?" They all asked me my birthday, my allergies, if i had previous health problems... the same questions over and over. Hospitals either dont communicate AT ALL or everybody in the place completly distrusts one another. You would think that a place dedicated to saving the lives of children would be a little more efficient.
You thought wrong.
CHAPTER 5:---preparin' for surgery
Here is where i first met the iv. It would imprint lasting memories on me. Through the iv, they pumped in liquid and antibiotics. When the iv is empty, it beeps untill it is changed. And everybody ignores it for quite a while. Everybody, cept for the patient. that thing is fucking annoying. they need a new system to tell you that it's empty. last thing i need is to go crazy right before surgery, which they told me i would go into at 7:30. it was about 4 or 5 at this time. how to pass the hours while in pain? i tried to sleep, but i couldnt. i was turning in pain.
Here is where i first met morphine. The miricle drug. They hooked a bag of morphine to the iv, and soon my pain was gone and i was asleep. I woke up and was moved to the pre-op wing. i felt like i didnt need surgery. the pain was gone. i felt wonderful. completly relaxed. Some lady came over, gave me a prayer, although i wasnt worried. my father turned on the tv, although i would rather look at the lighting fixtures and the ceiling. This was probly due to the morphine. A Heavily obese family walked passed. Heavily Obese. Heavily. Just an observation.
Now, my apendix was basically a ticking time bomb. if it went off, i would have a long recovery process. So of course, they started surgery 45 mins late. The anisteshiologists came and started talking to my dad about "Heroes" on NBC and putting me to sleep. The last thing i remember, very very vagely, is being wheeled into the operating room and seeing 2 large discs of light.
CHAPTER 6:--- A Day in Bed
The next thing i remember is waking up naked with a sore throat. I had a sore throat because, during surgery, there was a breathing tube down my throat... at least thats what they told me. What i didnt really find out untill after surgery, is how much they violate you during surgery. For some reason, they cant just operate on the affected area. They feel the need to strip you and do things to you, that you would not normally want done. But more on that later.
I dont remember how i got into the hospital room, but i got there. It was room 10 south, 10th floor i believe. When i looked at my incisions, i saw my belly button was closed shut, as well as two small cuts on the left side. Which is intresting, since the apendix is on the right side. These incisions were glued shut. Glued. Now, if u have ever used glue, you know that it can hold only one thing together, Paper. Once you step up to construction paper, the glue doesnt hold. This is what was keeping my body together. I didnt trust glue.
Now, you never quite realize how little is on tv untill all you can do is watch tv. All you want to do is... anything but watch tv. I think i ended up watching family matters and cartoons. Then i saw that commercial for Bob's Furniture where the temprapedic matress is on trial for costing too much and bob is prosecuting it. I thought, wtf? Here's my version of that commercial.
Bob- "Why do you insist on costing more than my Bob'o'Pedic?"
Matress- "What?! Why the hell am i on trial? Im a fucking Matress!"
Eventually, the nurse came and got me up and walking. Now, when i tried to get up, it felt like my belly button was ripping open. When i tried to walk, it felt like my belly button was ripping open. When i lay back down, it felt like my belly button was ripping open. By the way, when i say walk, i mean inch along.
I had calls all day and a visit from my brother, but it was just a long day in bed. They got me up now and then to go to the bathroom. They wanted me to pee in a jug. I couldnt really go. Just didnt have to. They said it was probly because during surgery, they did a catheter. I said ok, not knowing what the catheter was.
CHAPTER 7:--- A Night with Fat Nurse
My parents asked if it would be ok if i stayed the night by myself, and i said sure. The nurse of the night: Fat Nurse. I dont remember Fat Nurse's real name. I remember sharon and jen, but those nurses were nice. Fat Nurse was a bitch.
I was watching a history channel show on some WWII naval battle when Fat Nurse came in, to change my iv or something. I was gonna ask her if she wanted to bet on the outcome of the battle of midway, but Fat Nurse was not the kind of person to bet on fun things, like things that have already happened. (i once won 5 bucks betting on the American hockey team in the movie "Miracle") Then Fat Nurse got me up to go to the bathroom. I couldnt go. A few hours later she got me up again, threatining a catheter if i failed. I did go this time. It stung like hell. It felt like peeing fire. I couldnt get all the way through my wiz before i had to abort. I brought my jug of pee out to Fat Nurse (Fuckin perverts) and told her that it hurt to pee. She said, "oh, thats because of the catheter." i responded, "what is a catheter, ive been hearing a bit about it." Fat Nurse explained, "it's when they stick a little tube up your................................... to make sure they dont rupture your bladder." WHAT THE FUCK! i thought. "oh......" i managed to say. Seriously, cant they just cut you open and rip it out? Do they have to violate you in every possible way?
Anyway, the night wore on and i was watching the sienfeld at 11 when my iv emptied and began to beep. I didnt think much of it, even after about 10 minitues or so. I had been hooked up all day, and so it had been beeping everytime it emptied. I decided i should get some sleep. I turned off the tv and tried to sleep, but i knew i wouldnt really be able to untill the iv shut up. Time continued on. Beep Beep. Beep Beep. Beep Beep. All right, thats enough of that. i thought. It was about 11:30. So i pushed the nurse call button. The waited, and waited some more. After about 15 more minutes, Fat Nurse finally arrived. See switched the iv and stopped the beeping. Then she asked, "every thing all right?" i said, "Ya." "then why'd u push the nurse call button?" she questioned. I thought back and remembered something my parents had told me before they left, "If u are having trouble getting to sleep, just push the nurse call button." So i cautiously responded, "well i was trying to sleep, and the iv was beeping..."
Fat Nurse snapped, "well you dont push the nurse call button just because something is annoying you." Now, the thing was beeping for at least 45 mins. I just had surgery and was trying to get some sleep. They did things to me while i was out that i will try to supress until i forget. The nurse took so long to get to my room that if there really was something wrong, i would have been messed up. What the fuck is wrong with this place? Guys, if u need to die, do it in the comfort of your home.
CHAPTER 8:--- 0≠O
In the morning, Fat Nurse was replaced with a kind nurse, Jen. She said she had some pain meds for me to take, but i should take them on a full stomach. So she gave me the phone and told me to call down and order breakfast. The number was like 555-FOOD or something like that. Now to order food, you need to know ur room number, cept as a bedridden patient, hooked up to an iv, who can't remember how he got where he is, its a bit tough to look outside the door and find out what room ur in. I mean, i just asked the nurse what room i was in, no big deal... but there should probly be a better system. I called the number, no answer, so i left a message, asking for some pancakes to be delivered to my room.
Time draged along, i spent it watching family matters on abc family. Oh that Urkel... Anyway, about an hour later i saw the food cart go right by my room window. I was like wtf? Another hour later, a knock came at the door. I thought finally! But no, it was somebody comming in to take away the dirty linens in the corner. Eventually the nurse came in and told me to order again. I dialed the number again and got the computerized voice telling me to leave a message again. I didnt leave one, but instead checked whether the number i dialed was the right one. ya, 555-FOOD, 555-366...wait a minute, i wasnt dialing 555-3663, i was dialing 555-3003. So some random person got a request for pancakes. oops.
In my defense, not only does 0 look a lot like O, but on the button was an abbreviation for "operator", in the same vertical fasion that all the letters on the phone were arranged, like this:
O
P
E
R
And P comes after O in the alphabet so, its really not that stupid... oh who the hell am i kidding? i was at children's hospital! Hundreds of small kids outsmarted me everyday by realizing that 0≠O.
When i got the number right, i called, and got an answer-
"hello?" the woman on the other end answered, "Ya id like to place an order for breakfast. Could i please have pancakes and..." she cut me off, "Could i please have your room number?" in a smart ass way. She might as well have known about my number troubles and be jeering me. Since its tough to express tone of voice in writing, ill translate what the way she said it meant:
"Slow down you dumass. Where the fuck are ya?" This is a CHILDRENS hospital. Why do they put people who can make you cry by just changing a single word of your sentance on phone duties. As if it needs to be said, what the fuck is wrong with this place?
Finally, like 3 hours after i "ordered" it, about 10 mins after i acctually ordered it, breakfast came, and it was sweet. The nurse came in and said, "oh, it finally came huh? what was the problem?" Now, how would u answer this question? The one appropriate answer is to just say, "im an idiot" and hang ur head in shame. But I tried to tell her what happened. "I...sorta dialed the wrong number...." She pretended not to hear, but i know she was just being nice.
CHAPTER 9:--- home again home again jigity jig?....not so much.
My parents arrived around noon time. My dad said, "hey mark, there is a HUGE fish tank downstairs in the lobby. Its quite something." That is what he said. This is what he could have said with the same effect, "Hey mark, wanna go see the awesome aquarium? Huh? y-ya just wanna, you know, get up? huh? huh, just get up out of bed, take out the iv, maybe go for a fast- paced stroll? Hmm? wh-what? whats that u say? oh? u cant walk very well? You have trouble getting up? Stuck in the room hooked up to the iv? oh well, im gona go ride the roller coaster and play contact sports. Have fun watching whatevers on tv at noon."
Well, they told me i could go home, just as soon as the nurse checked some things with some people. Of course this process took a few hours.Then it was up and into the bathroom to put on my clothes. While in the bathroom, struggling to put on a pair of jeans, i realized how stupid the design for pants is. Its impossible to get the dam things on if you cant bend over, or stand on one leg. Why do we bother? it would be so much easier, and more comfortable if we all wore bathrobes or something. You know, i think the greeks, romans, japanese, africans, scottish and cavemen got it right. If you start to wear a kilt, man-skirt, bathrobe, kimono, toga or animal hide, you are my hero. Im calling on you the readers to help me start this new, or old, style. Where do pants, shirts and such come from? England. Fuck England! Seriously this country went to war against those bastards twice! Why do we feel the need to protect their traditions?
I got dressed, and slowly inched to the elevator. Went down to the lobby, saw the fish tank. It wasnt that impressive. The doors to the outside were revolving doors. Automatic revolving doors. They appeared to be revolving faster than i could walk. They really didnt take people like me into consideration when they biult this place did they? Which is weird because this place is supposed to take care of people like me. So, one last time, what the fuck is wrong with this place?
CHAPTER 10:--- Epolouge--- Not even a cool scar
In the days after, i healed fast. I was walkin' around quite well just a few days later. In the first few days, however, there wasnt much moving out of me. I started using a baseball bat as a cane. Which means i was the 2nd most heavily armed cripple, right after the chick with a machine gun as a peg-leg. But i didnt even get a cool scar, instead, i got 2 tiny scrapes and an open belly button.
There was also concerned letters and calls from relatives. In the case of the calls, my mother would answer the phone, and i would hear her say this: "Thak god that i figured out mark had appendicitus! He was complaining about right side pain, and i said 'that's Appendicitus! T
o the Hospital ASAP!'" Now, i dont think my mom is lying to everybody, but this just isnt true. i pretty much diagnosed myself, told my mom, told her again, and then said, take me to the hospital for the love of God! No, my parents are just losing their memories. Its a bit of credit where its not due. Also, my mom kept wanting me to take pain meds when i wasnt in pain. Apparently she wants me to be a junky. But i do owe my parents (mostly for the birth of my brother, Joe) quite a bit, and in no way think they are bad or neglectful parents. They are loving people and they have helped me become a good person. (Thats right. Im a fuckin' great person. Modesty is just one of my many awesome qualities)
I think i should finish up with a little PSA, (thats public service announcement)
If you wake up one day, with gas that doesnt go away, and you start feeling pain on the right later, but not really so muh on the left, and it gets worse, and you tell your parents, and they tell you to go back to bed.....you should head out to the ER. Just be prepared for an abundance of scars, mostly emotional.
Appendicitis Now: Un-Cut
CHAPTER 1:---Thursday Morning
Sometimes, you can tell a day is going to suck by the way it starts. This was one of those days. I woke up feeling what i believed was bad gas from the rotten meatballs i had been fed the previous night. I got up and ate breakfast, frosted mini wheats. A wheat fiber got caught between my braces and my gum. It hurt. I brushed it out, but then the toothbrush hurt where the fiber poked my gum. After i was dressed, showered and ready to go, i went out to the car. Now this was the day after a snow day, and my dad was parked in a snow/ice drift. Geuss who got to push the car out of it?
Then off to school, though I left school a bit early, due to my condition gettin worse. Good call. took a bit of a nap. When i woke up, i felt pain on my lower right side. Didnt think much of it. till later on that night.
CHAPTER 2:--- If the pain gets worse, come tell us so we can tell you to tell - us if the pain gets worse.
Now, i pretty much owe my life to a few factors.
#1: G-d
#2: my brother
#3: Carelessness
Now you might be wondering why i owe my life to my brother. (and by brother i mean Joe, sorry Tom.) Well, my bro joe had appendicitus a few months back, and if he hadnt i never would have suspected that might be what i had. Now take this to note for later on in the story, i told my family that i had pain in the lower right because i knew the appendix was on one side or the other. My mother said, "oh, you have pain on the right? why, that's where ur apendix is." Then she spoke no more. No calls to doctors. I got up in my pain, wandered into a cold room and went to webMD on my dad's computer.
Here is a lesson on web MD: They will tell you that everything is fine
and what u have if it goes away after passing gas or a little bit of time. They will not tell you what's wrong or what to do if it doesnt go away or gets worse, which is what i realy wanted to know, and why i would be on the frickin' site IN THE FIRST PLACE! There are links for small problems, but no mention of severe problems. My conclusion from webMD, i didnt have appendicitus. I asked my parents, they said, "go to sleep, if it gets worse, tell us." so i went up the stairs, bent over in pain, and then to bed.
When ur sick, u tend to halucinate in bed. This was no exception. Cept i halucinated that i was at the hospital and everything was frosty. I felt safe. Then i came to conciousness and lay in pain. worse than before. i laid awake for quite a while untill my mom came to check on me, at about 2:30. Remember how she said, tell me if the pain gets worse? Ya i told her the pain was worse. The verdict? go back to bed and we'll call the doctor in the morning. That was a little much for me. i said, "shouldn't i go to the hospital?" and finally there was an investigation into whether or not i had it.
CHAPTER 3:---I got a Fever, and the only prescription, is not more Cowbell
Now here's a quick question:
You are a nurse with many thermometrers in your house. Your child and you somewhat suspect that he may have a somewhat serious health issue. a side-affect of which is fever. Do you wait untill 2:30 am to take your child's temperature or call a doctor?
Aparently, yes, yes you do.
My mother busted out a "new" thermometer of hers and stuck it in my mouth. we waited for it to beep. and waited. and waited. It was in my mouth for at least five minutes, probly more. With the plastic rod im my mouth, i couldnt tell my parents i was feeling nauseous, another symptom. Finally, my mother got out another thermometer, after 'staying the course' for long enough, and within 20 seconds, we had a result. I had a fever allright... and it wasn't dico fever.
So we called up the doctor, he asked a few questions:
-Is it "tender" on the right side?
Tender? i dont know what "tender" feels like. I know what tender tastes like... Ya sure, its..."tender..."
-Did the pain start in the middle, then move to the right?
ya, pretty much
-Jump and tell me if it hurts.
...ok, it hurts to walk, it hurts to lie down, it hurts to ride in a car, and im doubled over in pain.... its going to hurt to jump, but i will
#JUMP#
Ya, it hurt all right.
-Take him to childrens hospital.
CHAPTER 4:--- Diagnosis, Diagnosis, and somemore Diagnosis
I have never been a patient in a hospital before this experience, and hopefully i dont end up there to many times in my future. I wish the same for all of you. This was a learning process for me. I learned that hospitals are horribly mis-mannaged places. If you have an emergency, you had better be prepared to walk and stand around.
Me and my mother walked to the check in counter, or whatever it was, and the lady asked when my bithday was. I was hunched over using the desk to keep myself up, waiting for my mother to answer, when i realized she didnt know what my birthday was. "April 20 mom..." i said
"1991..." After answering more questions, and then reclairifying them for the women behind the desk, she told us where to go.
"Do you need a wheelchair?" the woman asked. "No." my mother promptly answered before i could. so, i hobbled down the hallway, relieved to finaly sit down. A nurse came in and started to diagnose me. "Did ur pain start in the middle, then move to the right?" me, "Ya", her, "when did the pain start?" me "this morning" her, "when did u feel pain on the right?" me "came home, took a nap, felt it when i woke up." Does this hurt?" she pushed on my tummy. (ya i just said tummy. Got a problem? its fun to say. Stomach? who the hell invented that word? i feel like i need to rehydrate and take a breather after saying it. "tummy" is quick and easy.) "does this hurt?" i thought, ya it fuckin kills. "ya" i said. She tried other locations around my abdomen. they all pretty much hurt, cept for ones on the left. Then she pushed in on the right, directly over the apendix, and asked if it hurt more when she pushed in or let go. it hurt more when she let go and i told her so. Then she asked me one of the most impossible questions in the universe. I swear she asked it for her own amusment. "if u could rate your pain on a scale of one to ten, one being the lowest, ten being the highest, where are you?" Ok, so if 10 is the worst possible pain imaginable, i dont think anybody could live through it. 9 is a step down, and therefore a miracle that you are still well enough to answer. 8 is a step down from 9, so pretty fucking terrible pain. 7 is bad pain. so i said '"7, but its just continuous" Now, this is just my system for judging 1-10. I dont know how the medical staff sees it. I doubt it is an essential question. picture this scenario:
"ok mr. Gunshot Wound, if u could rate ur pain, 1-10, what would it be?"
"GHAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!"
"Sir, i need an answer."
"KILLLLL MEEEEE!!!"
"Sir, we cannot properly treat you unless you give us a number."
"10!!! for the love of god 10!!!!"
"you fuckin' liar!"
and so that was the process.
Then a doctor came in and did the exact same thing. Then a Surgeon. then another surgeon. I swear, the EXACT SAME PROCESS. the same fucking question. the same fucking push on my tummy. The same fucking "does it hurt more when i release?" They all asked me my birthday, my allergies, if i had previous health problems... the same questions over and over. Hospitals either dont communicate AT ALL or everybody in the place completly distrusts one another. You would think that a place dedicated to saving the lives of children would be a little more efficient.
You thought wrong.
CHAPTER 5:---preparin' for surgery
Here is where i first met the iv. It would imprint lasting memories on me. Through the iv, they pumped in liquid and antibiotics. When the iv is empty, it beeps untill it is changed. And everybody ignores it for quite a while. Everybody, cept for the patient. that thing is fucking annoying. they need a new system to tell you that it's empty. last thing i need is to go crazy right before surgery, which they told me i would go into at 7:30. it was about 4 or 5 at this time. how to pass the hours while in pain? i tried to sleep, but i couldnt. i was turning in pain.
Here is where i first met morphine. The miricle drug. They hooked a bag of morphine to the iv, and soon my pain was gone and i was asleep. I woke up and was moved to the pre-op wing. i felt like i didnt need surgery. the pain was gone. i felt wonderful. completly relaxed. Some lady came over, gave me a prayer, although i wasnt worried. my father turned on the tv, although i would rather look at the lighting fixtures and the ceiling. This was probly due to the morphine. A Heavily obese family walked passed. Heavily Obese. Heavily. Just an observation.
Now, my apendix was basically a ticking time bomb. if it went off, i would have a long recovery process. So of course, they started surgery 45 mins late. The anisteshiologists came and started talking to my dad about "Heroes" on NBC and putting me to sleep. The last thing i remember, very very vagely, is being wheeled into the operating room and seeing 2 large discs of light.
CHAPTER 6:--- A Day in Bed
The next thing i remember is waking up naked with a sore throat. I had a sore throat because, during surgery, there was a breathing tube down my throat... at least thats what they told me. What i didnt really find out untill after surgery, is how much they violate you during surgery. For some reason, they cant just operate on the affected area. They feel the need to strip you and do things to you, that you would not normally want done. But more on that later.
I dont remember how i got into the hospital room, but i got there. It was room 10 south, 10th floor i believe. When i looked at my incisions, i saw my belly button was closed shut, as well as two small cuts on the left side. Which is intresting, since the apendix is on the right side. These incisions were glued shut. Glued. Now, if u have ever used glue, you know that it can hold only one thing together, Paper. Once you step up to construction paper, the glue doesnt hold. This is what was keeping my body together. I didnt trust glue.
Now, you never quite realize how little is on tv untill all you can do is watch tv. All you want to do is... anything but watch tv. I think i ended up watching family matters and cartoons. Then i saw that commercial for Bob's Furniture where the temprapedic matress is on trial for costing too much and bob is prosecuting it. I thought, wtf? Here's my version of that commercial.
Bob- "Why do you insist on costing more than my Bob'o'Pedic?"
Matress- "What?! Why the hell am i on trial? Im a fucking Matress!"
Eventually, the nurse came and got me up and walking. Now, when i tried to get up, it felt like my belly button was ripping open. When i tried to walk, it felt like my belly button was ripping open. When i lay back down, it felt like my belly button was ripping open. By the way, when i say walk, i mean inch along.
I had calls all day and a visit from my brother, but it was just a long day in bed. They got me up now and then to go to the bathroom. They wanted me to pee in a jug. I couldnt really go. Just didnt have to. They said it was probly because during surgery, they did a catheter. I said ok, not knowing what the catheter was.
CHAPTER 7:--- A Night with Fat Nurse
My parents asked if it would be ok if i stayed the night by myself, and i said sure. The nurse of the night: Fat Nurse. I dont remember Fat Nurse's real name. I remember sharon and jen, but those nurses were nice. Fat Nurse was a bitch.
I was watching a history channel show on some WWII naval battle when Fat Nurse came in, to change my iv or something. I was gonna ask her if she wanted to bet on the outcome of the battle of midway, but Fat Nurse was not the kind of person to bet on fun things, like things that have already happened. (i once won 5 bucks betting on the American hockey team in the movie "Miracle") Then Fat Nurse got me up to go to the bathroom. I couldnt go. A few hours later she got me up again, threatining a catheter if i failed. I did go this time. It stung like hell. It felt like peeing fire. I couldnt get all the way through my wiz before i had to abort. I brought my jug of pee out to Fat Nurse (Fuckin perverts) and told her that it hurt to pee. She said, "oh, thats because of the catheter." i responded, "what is a catheter, ive been hearing a bit about it." Fat Nurse explained, "it's when they stick a little tube up your......................
Anyway, the night wore on and i was watching the sienfeld at 11 when my iv emptied and began to beep. I didnt think much of it, even after about 10 minitues or so. I had been hooked up all day, and so it had been beeping everytime it emptied. I decided i should get some sleep. I turned off the tv and tried to sleep, but i knew i wouldnt really be able to untill the iv shut up. Time continued on. Beep Beep. Beep Beep. Beep Beep. All right, thats enough of that. i thought. It was about 11:30. So i pushed the nurse call button. The waited, and waited some more. After about 15 more minutes, Fat Nurse finally arrived. See switched the iv and stopped the beeping. Then she asked, "every thing all right?" i said, "Ya." "then why'd u push the nurse call button?" she questioned. I thought back and remembered something my parents had told me before they left, "If u are having trouble getting to sleep, just push the nurse call button." So i cautiously responded, "well i was trying to sleep, and the iv was beeping..."
Fat Nurse snapped, "well you dont push the nurse call button just because something is annoying you." Now, the thing was beeping for at least 45 mins. I just had surgery and was trying to get some sleep. They did things to me while i was out that i will try to supress until i forget. The nurse took so long to get to my room that if there really was something wrong, i would have been messed up. What the fuck is wrong with this place? Guys, if u need to die, do it in the comfort of your home.
CHAPTER 8:--- 0≠O
In the morning, Fat Nurse was replaced with a kind nurse, Jen. She said she had some pain meds for me to take, but i should take them on a full stomach. So she gave me the phone and told me to call down and order breakfast. The number was like 555-FOOD or something like that. Now to order food, you need to know ur room number, cept as a bedridden patient, hooked up to an iv, who can't remember how he got where he is, its a bit tough to look outside the door and find out what room ur in. I mean, i just asked the nurse what room i was in, no big deal... but there should probly be a better system. I called the number, no answer, so i left a message, asking for some pancakes to be delivered to my room.
Time draged along, i spent it watching family matters on abc family. Oh that Urkel... Anyway, about an hour later i saw the food cart go right by my room window. I was like wtf? Another hour later, a knock came at the door. I thought finally! But no, it was somebody comming in to take away the dirty linens in the corner. Eventually the nurse came in and told me to order again. I dialed the number again and got the computerized voice telling me to leave a message again. I didnt leave one, but instead checked whether the number i dialed was the right one. ya, 555-FOOD, 555-366...wait a minute, i wasnt dialing 555-3663, i was dialing 555-3003. So some random person got a request for pancakes. oops.
In my defense, not only does 0 look a lot like O, but on the button was an abbreviation for "operator", in the same vertical fasion that all the letters on the phone were arranged, like this:
O
P
E
R
And P comes after O in the alphabet so, its really not that stupid... oh who the hell am i kidding? i was at children's hospital! Hundreds of small kids outsmarted me everyday by realizing that 0≠O.
When i got the number right, i called, and got an answer-
"hello?" the woman on the other end answered, "Ya id like to place an order for breakfast. Could i please have pancakes and..." she cut me off, "Could i please have your room number?" in a smart ass way. She might as well have known about my number troubles and be jeering me. Since its tough to express tone of voice in writing, ill translate what the way she said it meant:
"Slow down you dumass. Where the fuck are ya?" This is a CHILDRENS hospital. Why do they put people who can make you cry by just changing a single word of your sentance on phone duties. As if it needs to be said, what the fuck is wrong with this place?
Finally, like 3 hours after i "ordered" it, about 10 mins after i acctually ordered it, breakfast came, and it was sweet. The nurse came in and said, "oh, it finally came huh? what was the problem?" Now, how would u answer this question? The one appropriate answer is to just say, "im an idiot" and hang ur head in shame. But I tried to tell her what happened. "I...sorta dialed the wrong number...." She pretended not to hear, but i know she was just being nice.
CHAPTER 9:--- home again home again jigity jig?....not so much.
My parents arrived around noon time. My dad said, "hey mark, there is a HUGE fish tank downstairs in the lobby. Its quite something." That is what he said. This is what he could have said with the same effect, "Hey mark, wanna go see the awesome aquarium? Huh? y-ya just wanna, you know, get up? huh? huh, just get up out of bed, take out the iv, maybe go for a fast- paced stroll? Hmm? wh-what? whats that u say? oh? u cant walk very well? You have trouble getting up? Stuck in the room hooked up to the iv? oh well, im gona go ride the roller coaster and play contact sports. Have fun watching whatevers on tv at noon."
Well, they told me i could go home, just as soon as the nurse checked some things with some people. Of course this process took a few hours.Then it was up and into the bathroom to put on my clothes. While in the bathroom, struggling to put on a pair of jeans, i realized how stupid the design for pants is. Its impossible to get the dam things on if you cant bend over, or stand on one leg. Why do we bother? it would be so much easier, and more comfortable if we all wore bathrobes or something. You know, i think the greeks, romans, japanese, africans, scottish and cavemen got it right. If you start to wear a kilt, man-skirt, bathrobe, kimono, toga or animal hide, you are my hero. Im calling on you the readers to help me start this new, or old, style. Where do pants, shirts and such come from? England. Fuck England! Seriously this country went to war against those bastards twice! Why do we feel the need to protect their traditions?
I got dressed, and slowly inched to the elevator. Went down to the lobby, saw the fish tank. It wasnt that impressive. The doors to the outside were revolving doors. Automatic revolving doors. They appeared to be revolving faster than i could walk. They really didnt take people like me into consideration when they biult this place did they? Which is weird because this place is supposed to take care of people like me. So, one last time, what the fuck is wrong with this place?
CHAPTER 10:--- Epolouge--- Not even a cool scar
In the days after, i healed fast. I was walkin' around quite well just a few days later. In the first few days, however, there wasnt much moving out of me. I started using a baseball bat as a cane. Which means i was the 2nd most heavily armed cripple, right after the chick with a machine gun as a peg-leg. But i didnt even get a cool scar, instead, i got 2 tiny scrapes and an open belly button.
There was also concerned letters and calls from relatives. In the case of the calls, my mother would answer the phone, and i would hear her say this: "Thak god that i figured out mark had appendicitus! He was complaining about right side pain, and i said 'that's Appendicitus! T
o the Hospital ASAP!'" Now, i dont think my mom is lying to everybody, but this just isnt true. i pretty much diagnosed myself, told my mom, told her again, and then said, take me to the hospital for the love of God! No, my parents are just losing their memories. Its a bit of credit where its not due. Also, my mom kept wanting me to take pain meds when i wasnt in pain. Apparently she wants me to be a junky. But i do owe my parents (mostly for the birth of my brother, Joe) quite a bit, and in no way think they are bad or neglectful parents. They are loving people and they have helped me become a good person. (Thats right. Im a fuckin' great person. Modesty is just one of my many awesome qualities)
I think i should finish up with a little PSA, (thats public service announcement)
If you wake up one day, with gas that doesnt go away, and you start feeling pain on the right later, but not really so muh on the left, and it gets worse, and you tell your parents, and they tell you to go back to bed.....you should head out to the ER. Just be prepared for an abundance of scars, mostly emotional.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Priorities
Here's the question that was on my Chem homework:
"What is a salt?"
Here's what my answer was (thanks to wikipedia):
"a crime of violence against another person. In the United States, assault refers only to the threat of violence caused by an immediate show of force."
Priorities: Puns then Chemistry.
At least I proved an understanding of the English language.
"What is a salt?"
Here's what my answer was (thanks to wikipedia):
"a crime of violence against another person. In the United States, assault refers only to the threat of violence caused by an immediate show of force."
Priorities: Puns then Chemistry.
At least I proved an understanding of the English language.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Intro
Well, welcome to my little slice of the internets, "Byrne Under a Bad Sign". Finally, I can has Blog. Lemme start out our little informal relationship with a story. In my fair city of Boston, I was riding on the T. The T is Boston's subway/public transportation system. Why do we call it the T? Well, ive narrowed that down to a couple theories. #1 is that it's named after the Boston Tea Party, which is, in my opinion, the most out of control tea party of all time. Anybody who says they remember the Tea Partay wasn't really there. Theory #2 is that us Bostonians are just lazy and dumb people, who can't use more than 1 syllable to describe what they're riding. Seriously, if we changed the name of that thing I'm pretty sure all of the commuters would just hop in cars. And nobody likes a Bostonian driver.
Heres how Bostonians think while driving:
"Gee Wiz! A ride into town in my automobile! What am i supposed to do when the light turns green? Oh yes! Why of course, beep on my horn the minute the light changes without giving the folks ahead of me the chance to move! Thank Golly horns emit such a soothing, tranquill tone at a calm, reasonable volume that absolutley does NOT MAKE MY BLOOD BOIL."
But Theory number 2 cannot be correct. First of all, Bostonians are not lazy. Sure the big dig was supposed to be done 8 years ago, but we're working on it! Honest! Second of all....aw skrew it I'm way to lazy to come up with another reason.....
Anyhow, I seem to have gotten off on a (opposite÷adjacent). Get it? Tangent. No, not diggin that eh? ya...I hate trigonometry, i have trouble with it. I just find it so, trigky. Still not liking the puns? Well, get used to it, cause u just arrived in the city of Bostpun... alright, I'll stop.
Well, I got of topic again, but by now I really don't feel like writing a story. But, you shouldn't go away with nothing at all, so ill leave you with these words of wisdom:
"Whatever you do will be insignificant, but it is very important that you do it" -Gandhi
Heres how Bostonians think while driving:
"Gee Wiz! A ride into town in my automobile! What am i supposed to do when the light turns green? Oh yes! Why of course, beep on my horn the minute the light changes without giving the folks ahead of me the chance to move! Thank Golly horns emit such a soothing, tranquill tone at a calm, reasonable volume that absolutley does NOT MAKE MY BLOOD BOIL."
But Theory number 2 cannot be correct. First of all, Bostonians are not lazy. Sure the big dig was supposed to be done 8 years ago, but we're working on it! Honest! Second of all....aw skrew it I'm way to lazy to come up with another reason.....
Anyhow, I seem to have gotten off on a (opposite÷adjacent). Get it? Tangent. No, not diggin that eh? ya...I hate trigonometry, i have trouble with it. I just find it so, trigky. Still not liking the puns? Well, get used to it, cause u just arrived in the city of Bostpun... alright, I'll stop.
Well, I got of topic again, but by now I really don't feel like writing a story. But, you shouldn't go away with nothing at all, so ill leave you with these words of wisdom:
"Whatever you do will be insignificant, but it is very important that you do it" -Gandhi
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