Paycheck and Biracial Christmas

This particular author has been gone for a while, and these changes you see are all brand new to me. It's as sterile as a virgin's vagina in here. Seems more like the website of an up-and-coming business consulting firm. Here at LTS, Inc., we work for you...big thumbs up.

Speaking of work, the staff at this here blog just got our paycheck. For 54 blogs, over 2000 hits, and at least several dozens hours of labor....we have received 34 dollars and 50 cents. BYAH! I should explain. This cash flow has come from our recently estranged partners of Google Adsense, who's hilarious sponsors have given me many an idea for a blog when I just wasn't feeling very creative (Et tù, Cleanbutt.com?). They wrongfully (rightfully) accused us of encouraging readers to click repeatedly on our sponsors without any intention of purchase. Why? Cash. We got a quarter for every click. Eventually our corporate masters caught wind of this, threatened civil suit (not really), and so we dropped them so that we could better fill three columns with completely pointless stuff.

Sidenote: In the Author's Picks, Joe put more of his blogs than mine. And I have no idea how to change it. Damn you co-author! You've won this round only because you know everything the "control" and "alt" keys do in conjunction with other keys.....I don't know what "alt" stands for.

But somehow, probably due to an unknowing intern, we still got paid for all those bogus clicks. So....$34.50. I am unsure what to do with this new found cash, and so I went to Google and typed in "$34.50". One of the first things to pop up were these Bentstorm.com Pirates of the Caribbean Pirate Skull and Crossbones Adult Slippers:

Joe, I think we should go for it. We can each have one. It'll be like the mirrors in Harry Potter...we'll be able to speak to each other in this life....and the next.

But all this is a moot point.

What I really wanted to talk about was my Christmas, in which I experienced two big events: Christmas Eve with my Girlfriend's Family and Going to Church

Christmas Eve with the Girlfriend

As me and Joe have mostly realized by now is the fact that the people who read this blog are people who know us. Therefore, many of you probably know my girlfriend. For those Austrians, I mean readers, who don't actually know us, my girlfriend is Asian. For the most part, this has not really influenced our relationship. We're both intelligent college students in America, she just happens to have slightly less vertical peripheral vision, as they say.

This dynamic changes with the family. Point number one, her father, a Vietnamese chef, is not very fluent in English. I have yet to talk with the man. The first time I met him, I tried to shake his hand, and he walked away. I think he likes me.

I come from an Irish family. I have around 20 cousins from 8 sets of aunts and uncles, and I thought this was commendable. How sadly mistaken I was. When my girlfriend and I got to dinner, I swiftly realized that her joke about making flashcards was not a joke. The cousins (all 30 or more of them) I learned at a good pace. The aunts, however, were a whole other story. A small grouping of these were Nimba-Wei, Nimba-Lei, E-Khon, E-Phom, E-Hun, and E-Hùn. Thats right people, Hun and Hùn. Notice the accent mark! World of difference. Now, I'm pretty sure my girlfriend doesn't read this crap, so I feel fairly comfortable with saying this right now.....They all looked the same! I didn't learn their faces. I learned their shirts. I'm screwed at the next reunion.

And then there's the food. I've never had Lo Mein and Spring Rolls Christmas Eve before. Actually the big story occurred the night prior, when I had gone with her immediate family to a restaurant where they served FU. To pronounce it, take a well-known word, drop the -CK, and there you have it. It's a type of soup. I ordered the thing that had the prettiest combination of hieroglyphics. And literally twenty seconds later, a bowl the size of a baby hippo's head appeared before me. Now, the best part of the night was our waiter. To a blind man, he would appear to have been a perfectly average Asian server, bit of a heavy accent, a little unable to grasp the L sound, and my high school English teacher would have ripped his grammar apart. "Herro. How many ou want? For o fi?"

Translation Sidenote: Hello. How many chairs will be required? Four or five, pray tell?

The problem was that our waiter looked exactly like this:

For those of you don't know, this is Rob Schneider. A white man. A man who doesn't belong in a Fu Restaurant..... much like me.

Going to Church

I am what one would call sacrilegious. Churches don't really invoke me to maintain an aura of solemn reverence. I crack jokes, I provoke my family, and I generally shout to the world that I don't want to talk to their imaginary friend. No offense to my devout Catholic of a co-author. He has to go to confession every time he talks to me. It's the only way this friendship works.

But this mass that I attended with my family was the most entertaining I have ever attended. We had never gone to this particular church before. It was an extremely nice Catholic church that had all been built from one generous donation. Must have been a massive kidney stone.

Hanging in the church was a cross with (you guessed it) Jesus Christ on it. The figure was actually hanging over the pews...the very pews that we sat at. So...when I looked up..... Let's just say the sculptor was fairly generous.

Before the mass started there was an alter boy lighting some candles. There were 8 candles in all, and he got seven of them lit. But that damn eighth one. And this wasn't just a normal eye-level candle. This thing was twenty feet up there. This kid was on his tippy-toes reaching with that long stick with a Zippo at the end for ten minutes trying to light this thing. I know I wasn't the only one to think, 'Man, we need a Jew, a Jew would know how to keep eight candles going through the night.'

Sidenote: That was a weak Hanukkah joke. Menorah, get it? Fuck you.

Before mass started, there was the strangest event. I had never really gone to a traditional Catholic mass before. Apparently, on Christmas they did a reading that was kind of like a countdown to the birth of Jesus. "1300 years since Moses left Egypt. 1100 years since the time of David, 300 years since the start of the Roman Empire"...and so on. There were like twenty of these things. I kept expecting the guy from Conan O'Brien to start going "In the year two thousand....In the year two thousaaaaaaaand!"

Quick little story that occurred during "the Peace". This is where everybody shakes hands and say "Peace" as if they were finishing up the Treaty of Versailles. My father, in his earnestness to shake as many hands as he could, knocked my sister over her seat.

And then there's Communion. There have been wars fought over this thing. Transubstantiation. True body or metaphor. The spiritual transformation of God into this host or merely a ceremony demonstrating the sacrifice. Despite all this, I still get Jesus stuck in my teeth every time.

As I finish up this blog, I would like to say that I hope everyone had a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year's, but I hope your Martin Luther King Day sucks balls.

Byah!

Rob

Our Blog is Sexy

Try to contain your excitement. We totally pimped the blog out. That's right readers! LTS has moved into the 21st century. Feel free to let us know what you think: comments, ideas, whatever ltsfts@gmail.com.

In other news, New Years plans are in full swing. Lots of debauchery I can assure you. If we don't bring back one good story...we'll...sorry.

Anyway, it's a new day for the blog of the ages. Tell your friends.

-Joe & Rob

That's Dr. Rob To You

So I am embarking on my career now. Quite an adventurous undertaking. Despite all the fame and glory this blog has brought me and my entourage, this is not my real profession. Perhaps if it was I would be able to post more often. I would also be accompanied by a fellow blogger who wouldn't do things like post a blog about how he was unable to blog adequately and left a big white space to symbolize this where I expected a picture to load up, for which I subsequently wasted several moments staring dumbly at. Damn you JOE!

So yes, my career. I am now a Lab Technician at a local Veterinary Hospital. One day I hope to be a certified veterinarian, but as of right now I'm a male nurse, a murse, if you will.

Sidenote: The term of murse should not be confused with the other version of murse referring to a male purse mentioned some time prior to this post. Sorry for the confusion for anyone using this blog to learn English.

It has been quite an adventure so far, with many stories worth telling. I'll start at the beginning. The very first thing I was given were two sets of scrubs. Not Seasons One and Two of the popular NBC comedy, I'm talking about the clothes. Very sterile polyester type apparel. I was extremely excited to get these scrubs, more so than I should have been. I had every intention of wearing these scrubs everywhere. Grocery store, hanging with friends, Bar Mitzvahs, everything. I was going to buy a pager also. Every now and then I would grab at it frantically, look scared, and run to the door. This was the plan in my head, the actuality is a little different.

My scrubs, for starters, were shit brown. I say shit brown because I now know from experience that shit blends in perfectly. I try to be as hetero as possible in these situations, but I'll just go ahead and say it....I have nothing that goes with shit brown scrubs. High school art class color wheels did not prepare me for this. There was also another attribute of scrubs that are never mentioned in that popular NBC show...they don't exactly stay in place. Scrubs are low-riders, ladies and gentlemen. From the 110 pound high school intern to the 340 pound Head Nurse...coverage is not guaranteed. Crack inevitably shows. What I am trying to say is simply this: the facility I am working at...must look like the skankiest veterinary clinic on the eastern seaboard. And I am the new meat.

Now, being a murse is a big responsibility. It takes initiation and training. And anyone who has ever started a new job, from McDonald's burger flipper to President of New Guinea, has had to watch the training videos. Sexual harassment is apparently frowned upon, the customer comes first, lunches are only a half hour, and the best way to get a dog blood sample is through the jugular vein. Basic knowledge.

The clinic I work at isn't especially diverse in their patients. We deal primarily with dogs and cats. Before I start this next bit, I'm going to say that I am a Dog Person. Dogs are cheerful and full of energy and I can't stop petting them. Cats are vile creatures. Having said that, I will also say this: Dogs are fuckin stupid.

This is what is going through a Dog's mind during a visit to the pet:
Ooooh car ride! Car ride! Car ride! Window down! Window down! Wanna jump out. Aww window back up.
In a building. Smells funny. New dog. Smell their butt but they can't smell mine. Hey! Why did you smell my butt! That's right you better back down.
Ooh, nice lady with treat taking me to shiny food. Up up up on a table. Long way to the floor. New person, he has a coat. Smells familiar.
OH NO!
It's the Vet! Maybe if I whimper he'll stop.

This is what is going through a Cat's mind:
.........They think I don't know about the vet today.
I know.
And there will be blood.
And my hand takes hold in judgement. I will take vengeance upon mine enemies. And I will repay those who haze me. O Lord, raise me to Thy right hand. And count me among Thy saints.

Dogs are simple creatures, and I love them that way. Cats are clever devious little critters who would ditch you in a second if it found someone with better tasting kibble. Fraternities shouldn't even bother with hazing. They should just give all of their pledges cats instead. The weak will be weeded out, trust me. Everybody at this clinic has scars from cats. So far, my hands are like a newborn babe's. I am terrified.

I am going to wrap up this blog with some funny stories about the pet owners, our clients:

This past week, I had the pleasure of meeting with a nice client by the name of Vallathol Narayana Swaminathan. He had a cat named Joe.

I'm not sure if you've ever seen a large man. The kind of man who fills the room with both girth and presence. His beard would have clothed a small Peruvian family. His hands could have palmed Pluto (Is that thing a planet again? I have no idea). People in line in the waiting room immediately moved aside when he came in. And it was a good thing they did. His "Poopsicans" had a very bad cough.

A woman came into the office saying she couldn't get her cat house trained, and that it kept relieving itself all over the house. We asked her, "Have you cleaned the litter box?" Her reply was, "The what?" Apparently cats don't like newspapers.

But the funniest story had to be when Mrs. Wilder came in with one of her dogs. Mrs. Wilder is a little elderly, and has been a long time client. She actually has five dogs at home, all patients of the clinic. She is well liked, and she adores the staff. But she is extremely fond of one of the other nurses, who has been working with her for nearly 15 years. Today, Mrs. Wilder said she was planning on getting another dog. "And," she said to her favorite nurse. "I'm going to name her Chloe after you." There was a dramatic pause, and then the nurse replied, "My name is Megan."


Byah!!

Rob

Pants

So, I'm taking a big step here.

I'm going over the picket line...

The other writers, when they hear about this, are going to pitch a fit! They can stay on strike if they want, but I have things that need to be said. I am a little afraid of the repercussions though.

The According to Jim guys will beat me with a harmonica. The Heroes people will kick my ass, go back in time, and kick my ass again. And I'll be raped by the Lost writers and then they'll leave me while I try to figure out the meaning behind it.

It might be too much for me to handle, but I have important topics to discuss.

Joe might not have the balls to write.

But dammit I do.

Sidenote: OK, I am changing the tone of this blog now to happy.

I like Christmas. It's a fantastic time of year, in my opinion. Cause it's that time of year when everybody acts like greedy bastards. Let your shallow need of possession shine, people! Our Lord Savior is coming! For any Jews out there, the Lord Savior is Jesus F'in Christ. And you know what I'm eating for Christmas dinner? Ham.

Every year I am asked to write a Christmas List. I am twenty years old, and it's starting to get ridiculous.

Sidenote: When I was seven, writing this list for Santa, I asked for a cure to diabetes, cause the shots hurt my bum-bum. Looking back, that was probably the most awkward situation my parents could have ever been in. So they wrote me a letter back (on my mom's stationary) about how Santa was sorry (yes, he writes in the third person) but that his medical elves were working very hard on it. I'm glad I was stupid when I was seven.

I can tell I'm starting to get old, too. Usually my list has things like video games or movies or K'NEX sets (those things were freakin awesome!). You know what I asked for this year?

Pants.

I'll tell you why. Apparently I am more flexible than my trousers, because in nearly half of my pantaloons there is a good sized rip in the crotchal nether region. I've tried to fix it. I've sewn it up, but it comes undone. I've even considered putting a patch on it, but I think it would look like a poo patch like on the back of pajamas with footsies. There's no hope, and I'm a cheap bastard who won't buy my own pants. For the last few months I have been matching my underwear with the pants so nobody notices.

So that's pretty much all I asked for this year. Just pants. And I'm sure when Christmas comes around. Everybody will be opening their presents. And I'll open a sweet new video game, and a kick ass movie, and a rockin CD.

And then there will be nothing left, and I'll say, "Hey....where are my fuckin pants!"

Byah!

Rob

The Big Screen

So, today was an excursion into the world of film acting. I had gotten a role in a ... wait for it.... student programs film about off-campus housing. This is the big leagues people!

I was thinking that this is gonna be incredible. I'm going to be acting! Make funny faces on camera! Be on Oprah!

That's what I thought before I actually got to work. Seven hours later after three lines and 89 takes, I was having some second thoughts. Turns out acting might be one of the most boring careers ever. No wonder they all do coke.

This was a real series of takes this afternoon. My line was "Is that included in the rent?":

I walk after the realtor lady who says her line about natural gas heating.
Me: Is that included in the rent?
Director: OK, cut. Bobby why don't you stand here after she says her line. Lets redo it.

Realtor lady does her line.
Me: Is that included in the rent?
Director: OK. Bobby, can you just stand still while we get the lighting right?

14 minutes later I can move.

Realtor lady does her line.
Me: Is that included in the rent?
Director: OK, cut. Bobby, I really like how you're saying the line. But I want more.
Me: More what?
Director: Just more... (and he definitely made a pelvic kind of wiggle).

Realtor lady does her line.
I then go through 8 more takes with various inflections and facial expressions. Finally, I do one that was good in some way that I didn't understand.
Director: OK, that was brilliant. So.....we're actually gonna start taping it now. I want you to do the exact same thing. Just remember.....(and he wiggled again).

It takes 13 more takes. And then we did close-ups.

That was scene 1 of 23.

One interesting part of the whole thing was that they had written in a girlfriend for me. Which was awesome cause my order from that Russian catalogue was taking a long time to get over here. I had met the girl before. We had said hello and not much else. Now today we were actually doing scenes together, talking in between takes, and that's when I realize....I do not like this girl. It was just one of those things. We would not date, we would not be friends. If she were a guy it would have come down to fisticuffs. Instead of being nice and perhaps trying to get chemistry on screen, the day was spent with us pretending like we're in a good relationship while casually slipping insults at each other after the scene. Each of these statements started with "I think my character would...

She would say things like: "I think my character would rather be involved with a different actor" or "I think my character could do better."
And I would say things like "I think my character would be better off single" or "I think my character would rather be gay."

We spent 3 hours on two scenes where we were "snuggling" (I might have bruises from that ordeal) on the floor watching a "movie".

Sidenote: The "movie" we were watching was a blank TV with a guy behind it flickering a blue light back and forth. That way it looked like the lights of TV was flickering on the scene. I have no freaking clue why we couldn't just watch Jungle 2 Jungle or something.

The big climax of the film was the PARTY scene. The basic premise is that we have a house, and a party of ours gets out of hand. It's all meant to show students what not to do when they move off campus.

Another idea of what not to do is invite a whole bunch of students to be extras in a party scene, have them come at 5:00, and not begin shooting their scene until 7:30. Basically what we did was cram them all in the basement, and every five minutes or so the Director would scream down the stairs to be quiet because the highly tuned audio equipment was going haywire. They also weren't fed very much. I'm almost positive one of the girls, I think her name was Anne, started writing a diary.

But finally we had the party scene. They basically told us to just mill around and pretend to be partying. They would film the whole thing and make a montage out of it later. So we're just hanging around with empty solo cups with a bunch of people shouting directions on where to wander to. Now, I'm not much of a party guy, and am actually pretty shy. But nothing quite brings that fact into light more than a middle-aged director with a megaphone yelling, "Bobby! Go talk to the group of girls in the center! Stop hiding in the corner!"

And in case you were wondering, my committed girlfriend in the scene had wandered off with a frat kid.

Ah well, so that was my day. It was fun in parts. And I got paid, so I would count it as a success. Be sure to check out my flick, coming soon to a Housing Fair near you.


Byah!

Rob

Full of Awk

So we are no longer advertised by Google. I don't know whether to feel abandoned or relieved. It's like an abusive stepfather abandoning the family. Sure he roughed you up every now and then... but still.... there were good times, like when he bought YouTube and you both stayed up all night watching TheWineKone.

Its going to be really awkward if we ever run into each other. But awkwardness can be fun, and that's what this blog is about. These are some of my most favoritest awkward moments of my life.

And yeah...most of them were in high school.

The Beginning
Me and Joe have been friends a long time. But we weren't always like that. We weren't always buds. Somewhere in high school I got it into my head that...hey...me and him....we're gonna befriend each other.

Now Joe is a lofty individual, which is strange cause he doesn't bring a whole lot to the table. It wasn't easy to become an acquaintance, never mind a friend.

Well, we were having a chat after school had let out. The chat ended, and he started walking home. And I thought to myself, this chat is far from over kiddo, and I went with him. In some small part of his brain, he was thinking "What the F?....." So we showed up at his house, and I introduced myself to his very confused mother. I had a glass of water, and then left to go home. Joe showed me out with a half puzzled/half angry look on his face. I said, "See ya later" and left. And the whole way home I'm thinking...oh yeah.....I'm in.

The Suitcase
It was a family reunion on my dad's side. And we all went to my Grandma's house. All of the adults were getting drunk and reminiscing in the backyard. All of the older cousins were playing cards. And all of the younger cousins were playing in the attic. I was about 15 at the time, and on the borderline of which group of cousins to hang out with.

I ultimately decided to be king of the little ones.

Somewhere along the line, as we were playing, one of the little ones, Frankie, climbed inside of a suitcase. And he started shouting for somebody to pull him around. Somehow I got the job.

As i was pulling him around the attic amongst peals of giggles, the little one decided to zipper himself up inside the suitcase. I have no idea how he did it.

At that moment, his dad (my uncle) came up the stairs. Eventually he followed the muffled sounds to the suitcase, and opened it. And when my uncle asked Frankie why he was in a suitcase, the little bastard pointed at me and said, "Rob put me in here!"

I can't wait for the next reunion.

The Elevator
Flash forward a while. Still in high school, and now me and Joe are best buddies. We even know each others last names now.

Sidenote: Readers, you will never know our last names cause we don't want you to find us and kill us in our sleep. No offense.

In our high school, there were two floors, and there was an elevator. This elevator was only supposed to be used by handicapped kids. But when there wasn't a teacher around, everybody used it.

Now me and Joe are gamboling about, as we do. School had just let out, and we were staying after for...some sort of club thing. Anyway, we decide to use the elevator. It was going down, and I say to Joe, "Hey, lets do ninja poses. It'll shock and amaze anyone standing outside the door." Well, that was my mistake. There was nobody standing there. We're fixed in most awesome ninja poses...the doors open.....and there's a girl in a wheelchair in front of us.

Our ninja poses slowly fall...there's a moment of silence, and then I say, "I am SO sorry."

To which she replied, "WHY DOES EVERYONE ALWAYS SAY THAT?!"

Oh boy. "Quick Joe! Run for the stairs!"



Well, that's all I can think of.

Before this ends, I just want to put a quandary out there for you readers. Do you think Martin Luther King had a dream diary?

Byah!

Rob

LTS is now Ad Free!

So we broke it off with Google AdSense after receiving this email:

It has come to our attention that invalid clicks have been generated on
your Google ads, posing a financial risk to our AdWords advertisers.
Please note that any activity that may artificially inflate an
advertiser's costs or a publisher's earnings is strictly prohibited by
our program policies.

That wasn't the part that made us uncomfortable:

Lastly, please note that if we continue to detect invalid clicks on
your Google ads, we may take further action on your account in order to
protect our advertisers' interests. Thank you for your understanding.

Sincerely,

The Google AdSense Team

Yikes! Rather than face judgement from the Google Mafia, we decided to just cut if off. Can't imagine why any clicks would be invalid. You all weren't interested in buying parasites, scoping out gay automotive accessories, or supporting Hillary's campaign?

Google has proved all knowing and all powerful, it's best not to poke the beast. BUT, if you know of anybody who's interested in advertising on our site for a very very minor fee, email ltsfts@gmail.com. We get like a billion hits a year- we'll make it worth your while.

Sincerely,

The LTS team

Lessons of Rob

This blog is a little blast from the past.

My sister is currently dredging through her college application process. And being the experienced collegiatoso that I am, I have been attempting to aid her. The big thing she is having trouble with has been her personal essays.

And with that in mind I started looking at my own college essays. One of them I still think is amusing. Here it is, titled simply: The Lessons of Rob

Lesson 1

Two people work at the same company. Harold scored 1600 on the SAT. Earl scored an 1120. Both are up for the same position as chief financial officer. Both Harold and Earl know that they need to impress the boss to be promoted. For the last two weeks both have been working hard.
They both see her at the copying machine. It isn't working and she looks frustrated.
Howard holds a minor in engineering from Harvard, and he immediately steps up. He starts explaining that perhaps the rollers were jammed, and proceeds to try to reroute the document. After several minutes with no success he admits failure and walks back to the cooler.
Earl then walks up and says it might be out of paper. Earl gets the job.
The Lesson: Knowledge should never overshadow sensibility.

Lesson 2

John is talking on a cell phone outside. Next to him there is a construction site. Across the street there is a park. He doesn’t pay attention to his surroundings as he is calling in about a very important merger. The man he called has a strong German accent and John is concentrating so as not to miss anything. He sees ducks are flying overhead. He pays no attention. The man is talking about Euros, and as John tries to convert the number into dollars, someone yells "DUCK!" John doesn't care about a flock of birds, so keeps walking.
A brick falls from the construction site. It lands on his cell phone and demolishes it. The German businessman is very upset by what happened and subsequently calls the merger off.
The Lesson: Grasp the big picture, but don't ignore the details.

Lesson 3

Fred is a realtor. He is persuasive, endearing, and successful. In school he did very well in business, legal affairs, and finance. However, he has never been skilled at calculus and trigonometry, and he never tried to improve his scores. He doesn't think of the subject as useful.
Fred is in trouble. A psycho has captured him and put him in a cell. And on the wall in big letters is:

You can leave if you answer this question

A train is leaving Cleveland at 66 miles per hour
at 4:30 and another train 400 miles away is leaving
Newark at 6:00. When will the two meet and at what
distance from Chicago? Chicago is 65 degrees north
of west from Newark. (HINT: Draw a picture)

Frank is in trouble.
The Lesson: Knowledge is never useless


Yes indeed, if you follow the Lessons of Rob, you can never go wrong. Of course, you wouldn't get into that particular college that I submitted this to.... but other than that, you're golden.

Most of the other essays were frivolous nonsense about how great a person I was (obviously a bit of a stretch to prove). One part I laughed at in particular was a section about an event when I was at an outdoors diabetes camp (sugar-free bug juice rocks!). I wrote about how I had helped one of the younger campers (a cute little tot named James) learn how to do an insulin injection all by himself, and about how James gave me a big hug before going home with his parents. ..... This was a lie. There was no James. I'm a bad man.

There were quite a few other essays to a multitude of colleges. And as I read them, I realize they're actually pretty good. They were appealing, endearing, and something more. They convey a depth of something. I wouldn't call it character, who are we kidding? But of something.

I've always had this hinting suspicion that I'm actually a very deep person. There's more than meets the eye here, and I'm not just talking about disproportionately strong calves. I'm talking about mental, man. I'm talking about a emotionally fragmented, spiritually attuned subconscious savant.

For example....sometimes...when I look in the mirror....I see myself.

Whoa right?

Whoa.

And I've always kind of thought that because I happen to be a decent writer. Not just this blog crap I do every now and then, and not just these essays. But other stuff. I've won literary awards. I've written some memorable short stories. I can prose like you wouldn't fucking believe.

But I realized today that I am not deep. Not at all.

What I am is an exceptional Bullshitter.



And James is doing quite well. We still write.



Byah!


Rob

Study of Life

I'm a Biology major. Biology, in case you didn't know, is the "study of life." It's the study of living creatures, the environment, and complex workings of anatomy. What you might not know is that a lot of studying life comes from cutting up dead things.

A lot.

You have no idea. Frogs and fetal pigs are just the beginning. Calves, chickens, rodents, sharks, squid, fish, more rodents, worms, insects, cats, and vegetarians (they really didn't want us hurting the animals, so we offered them a trade).

But today's story revolves around rats. I am currently in a class where we were learning about tapeworms two months ago. And two months ago we infected rats. Now, I don't know if you've ever grabbed a squirming inbred rat by the scruff of the neck, shoved a tube down it's throat (past large yellow teeth), and injected it with tapeworm larva....but it's a hoot and a half. I named my rat Marvin.

I named the tapeworm Phil.

I had almost completely forgotten about Marvin and Phil until last week when it was announced that we would be dissecting the rats and examining the tapeworms. And I was excited. Now you might be thinking that I seem very cold about all of this. I am about to dissect an animal that I had named Marvin! The problem is, you are under the false pretenses that I liked Marvin. I didn't. The plague-holding bastard bit me. Just because you call something a name doesn't mean you like them. I called my fifth grade teacher a name: Mrs. Alvalado. And she was a bitch. On Teacher Appreciation Day my mother had bought a plant for me to give to her. I threw it into the trash. No Chrysanthemums for you Mrs. Alvalado. No ma'am.

So basically the rat that I infected with a parasite is on the same level in my mind as my fifth grade teacher.

Well, I'm excited about the lab. I think it's fascinating really. Little freaky though, once I was there. The thing is, they had euthanized the rats that day, just a few hours before. Marvin was still warm.

I kept expecting it to jump back to life and attack. Course that didn't stop me from grabbing it by the front paws and singing "Hello my baby/Hello my honey/Hello my ragtime gaaaal."

I need help.

Anyway, I felt much better about the whole thing once I had removed Marvin's duodenum. Now the way the process worked was that basically you massage down the small intestine, and basically force out any tapeworms into a petri dish.

Now, everyone around me had worms.....everywhere! Worms OUT THE ASS!

I, on the other hand, had the misfortune to discover that Phil the Tapeworm could not take ahold in Marvin's digestive tract because Marvin was too badly constipated. Basically I got a petri dish of shit.

Poor Phil.


Byah!

Rob

Support Our Sponsors II

Before blogging, I would just like to say that we are honored to be sponsored by the noble benefactors of gaywheels.com. I find their changes to the crude and heterosexual automobile very practical. I happen to like the.... unique.... position of the stickshift. I'm intrigued by the milky complexion of the wiper fluid. And i find the horn very entertaining: it is not a boring honk but instead gives the acoustic version of a different Clay Aiken song every time.

So on behalf of the writers here, I would just like to say that we would never discredit our sponsors. They are all fabulous!

Having said that, I think we should have a look at some of our more recent sponsors. As regular readers know, we are subscribed to an ad company through Google in some complex contract that I had nothing to do with. The ads are chosen based on our blogs. They pick up on some key words, and some ad is automatically associated with it.

Fact Number One: These companies have no idea who we are and did not choose to be associated with us.
Fact Number Two: We have no say which companies are advertised here
Fact Number Three: I have a huge penis

OK, so lets take a look at some more of our sponsors.

New 2007 Sinful Clothing: Largest Collection Online. Free S/H
Yes, this catalog has been updated every year.
It all started with the 30 AD Whore of Babylon Collection. "You're not going out dressed like that! Next thing you know you'll be following that Jesus fellow around."
And who could forget the 1634 Puritan Hussy Ensemble. "That's right, Goodwife, buckle me hard. That's right, show those ankles."
But now it's 2007. And you don't even want to know what the new sinful clothing is. But it does come with free S/M. Oh, I mean free S/H. Or do I?

Top 7 China Stock Tips
Rice, rice, rice, rice, rice, rice, and Jackie Chan movies.

Alliums for Sale: Fresh from Holland
I don't know what an Allium is. But apparently they're fresh from Holland. Maybe they mixed up and meant Austria. I would like an Allium from Austria. Is Holland close to Austria? I don't think so, but it's close enough that if I was playing Risk and wanted the whole European bonus, I would need both.

Traveller's Home Insurance: Understand Your Risks
This doesn't seem to out of the ordinary just by itself. But you have to realize the context. This was the sponsor for a blog titled "Questions." For those who haven't read it, it consists of some of the choiciest stories of my life that involve humorous, sometimes awkward, and oftentimes public instances of urination. Yes, they're peeing stories. My peeing stories are endorsed by Traveller's Home Insurance. Damn right I understand my risks.

Gypsy Halloween Costumes
The point of Halloween is to wander around to people who have homes, asking for food, perhaps doing a trick or to, and then being driven off. You don't need a costume. They are already gypsies.
This actually does remind me of something else though. I have mentioned before that I have a friend named "Stu." He has decided to study abroad the upcoming semester in Switzerland (I wonder why he picked that locale). But somehow he has discovered that local authorities look the other way if you want to beat up a gypsy after they try to rob you. So he is very excited to put an empty wallet in his pocket in the hopes of catching a Romanian, and then beating the hell out of him/her (he doesn't care). Too bad he didn't know a bunch of people in gypsy costumes were gonna be out and about on Halloween. He could have practiced.

Anyway, I think that's about it. But you should definitely click on some of those sponsors. Very good stuff.

That was a lie.

It's rubbish.

But it'll make me rich.

Do it!

Byah!

-Rob

Long Story Short

Alright, loyal readers, I must apologize as to our relative blogging silence as of late. I swear its mostly Joe's fault.

I actually have an excuse. And it all started with a Macaroni and Cheese recipe. Now, I am something of a connoisseur of Macaroni and Cheese. I like to experiment. Toss some hot dogs right in the mix. Throw some garlic and oregano in there. Put ketchup in

Sidenote Regarding Ketchup in Macaroni and Cheese: According to my research half of America enjoys this, and the other half are morally appalled by the idea. Its delicious.

But recently I have taken to putting tuna fish into my Mac and Cheese. I find it delightful. My mother found out about this trend, and was extremely worried about my mercury intake.

Let's just say that my mom has from the beginning taken a very direct approach to my health. Here is a brief story. I happen to be a diabetic, a fairly boring disease in the grand scheme of things, it just needs pretty constant management, and my mother liked to be in control. She always went crazy when I thought my blood sugar was high or low. So I was in 6th grade, and was taking at the time what I thought was a major math test. The test was about to start, I had several #2 pencils in line in front of me, I was set to go. All of a sudden the intercom buzzes on, saying that I needed to report to the nurse's station IMMEDIATELY. Now, I'm worried. Maybe my insulin was faulty. Maybe someone had slipped chocolate milk into my skim milk. The horrors man, the horrors. So, I breathlessly show up to the nurse's station. Turns out....my mother had called in.....because she felt like she had a low blood sugar.....and so she figured that I must have a low blood sugar.......I'll let that sink in.....Unknown to the scientific community, my mother had a telepathic connection to my pancreas.

OK, back to the reason why I haven't been blogging. I'm eating tuna fish with my Mac and Cheese. And my mom is worried about mercury intake. I'm home for the weekend, and she buys me six cans of tuna and tells me, "Now, this is all the tuna you will eat this month. No more." I shrug and say fine.

Now, when I go home, the only luggage I bring with me is my mesh laundry bag. Yes, I spend forty bucks on gas to save $3.75 on laundry money. Do you know how hard it is to find quarters! Anyway, so I put the cans of tuna in my bag on top of neatly folded khakis.

It was a rather uneventful ride back. I drive up to my apartment. Stretch. Scratch. Open the trunk. And inside I find that somehow during the trip the edge of one of the tuna cans caught on the mesh, and ripped my laundry bag! Quite severely actually. My neatly folded khakis! Ruined!

So now I have no storage facility for my dirty laundry, which has slowly accumulated on my bedroom floor. It is about a week after I got home that I was cooking up some Mac n' Cheese con Tuna (can number two, I'm getting sick of it actually). And I thought to myself, I would like some skim milk with this delicacy, so I get a glass brimming with watered down milk. I stride into my room intent on watching some sitcoms on their network websites

Sidenote: Being able to watch those shows online when you miss them might be the greatest thing ever. But it's losing its appeal. It used to be, that for every ten minutes of show, you watch 30 seconds of commercials. A good deal when compared to actual TV. But I was watching an NBC show...the commercial finished...and all of a sudden ANOTHER ONE came on. I don't know what they're getting at, but I conveniently forget to watch regularly scheduled programming so I don't have to deal with multiple commercials. Don't mess with me NBC.

Anyway, so I walk into my room carrying food and milk and stride towards the laptop. All of a sudden I trip on a pair of khakis in the middle of the room. I feel my momentum swing forward and I drop my milk to stop my fall. As if in slow motion, I see a great wave of white cascade on my computer (and not in the normal way). It canvased the whole thing, and for a brief second I thought it was OK. And then my screen kinda went "F you", flickered, and vanished.

So now my laptop is being serviced, thus my lack of recent blogs. I'm actually writing this on Joe's computer, and I must say his internet history over the past two weeks seem to favor redheads.

Anyway, long story short, I blame my mom.



Byah!

Rob

Good News and Bad News

First, the good news. It is with great honor that we have the return of a reader who has long been missed. For several months now, our viewership has been without the noble Austrian influence that lifts it above the meandering comments of bored college students and into the level of international diplomacy.

We have another Austrian reader! Exactly one. Whoopee!

I'm bringing Austrians back
Yeah
Those other Europeans don't know what they're missing
Yeah

Don't worry, that rhymes in Austrian.


But now the bad news. Geico just fucked me over.

And some more bad news. As some of our regular readers out there might know, this blog has, since its inception, been submitted by three distinguished personages: Joe, Rob, and Matt. But this is misleading, since out of 31 posts so far (wow, thats not too bad), only five have been posted by this Matt person.

We view this as unacceptable. No Joe, we're in this together!

And so, Matt, you're on suspension. Life's Too Short to wait for you to blog. Goodbye my love.

But we still think three is a good number to have. I've been trying to tell my girlfriend that for months. And so we're having open tryouts (just like that Invincible movie, exactly the same thing). So if you're interested, send a sample post to ltsfts@gmail.com. We'll post all the funny ones, and the best will be hired on to complete the trio.

They will get fame, friends, and fortune. Thats right, forture. So far we've made about $11 from the ads....split that three ways.....we can each get some Silly Putty.

We'll only post if its kinda funny. It'll still be better than Joe's. That State Fair thing was boring as hell, Joe.

Oh, stop whining.


Byah!

Rob

History Lesson

I love history, I think it's fascinating. It's like, woah, that happened, ya know? I like hearing individual stories about different time periods, really try to experiene what happened. Anyway, this blog is devoted to sharing some of my favorite stories with you all. And they are all absolutely true.....

ROME

All of the information we have on Rome comes from texts written centuries later, from looking at the three types of columns, and from pictures on pots. But the big thing everyone knows about Rome are the GLADIATORS. And there actually is one surviving account of a gladiator owner named Ashius.

Ashius was an industrius gladiator trainer, and he went over all of Rome capturing and training as many gladiators as he could. You could say, in fact, that he had to catch them all. His first, and favorite, gladiator was named Pikachues. So they went around the Roman empire challenging as many other trainers as they could.

When Ashius found someone to fight in an arena, he would yell "Go get 'em Pickachues!" And as Pikachues would fight, Ashius would yell things like "Use Quick Attack Pikachues!"

Anyway, long story short, they were crucified.

MIDDLE AGES

The feudal system was big back then. The basic idea behind it is fairly well known, but I'll give you a basic explanation. The King is the big man, with many lands and vassals. Now he sets up this system where he recruits ten Lords to be part of his plan.

Each of these ten Lords pays the King 10 dollars to be part of the plan. The King then tells each of them to recruit ten more people, getting ten dollars from each of them, except the King gets a cut.

So each of these Lords each go and recruit ten Knights, getting ten dollars from each of them and giving 20% of their earnings to the King.

And now each of these Knights go and recruit ten Serfs with the same proposal.

And then one of the serfs says, "Hey, this is fucking stupid!"

REFORMATION

I know a lot of people don't really know what the Reformation was, so I'll tell you. It was a true tale of perseverence: about fighting a corrupted dogma and about getting ideas about personal salvation out there.

I mean sure there were the wars, massacres, guillotines, and wasps later on, but what I'm talking about is the the thing that started it all. That thing was Martin Luther getting a copy of the 95 Theses on those big church doors. This dissertation was a tirade against indulgences, church corruption, and Michael Bay movies.

What people don't know is that it took him a few tries to get the Theses on the door.

First he tried a sticky notes. But each Theses needed its own sticky note, and eventually a stiff wind scattered all 95 of them across Europe.

Then he tried putting up a dry erase board, and writing it all there on the spot. That way, if he wanted to, he could go back and erase one if he thought #43 just wasn't Theses-material. But that failed because somebody came during the night, wiped it all off, and drew a big penis. It was still signed by Martin Luther though, so he was really embarassed.

But finally after several more failed attempts, he got a brilliant idea. And with much dignity he NAILED his 95 Theses to the church doors. And from that moment on, European politics has been delicately intertwined with Home Depot.

OLD WEST

Saddles, leather chaps, stirrups, cattle prods. You have to pay good money to get to use that stuff now-a-days, and for entirely different reasons.

Every Old West movie I've ever seen had a good old-fashioned duel at the end. Two guys staring each other down in the middle of a deserted mining town. Old prospecters wimpering in the windows. The aged doctor with the spectacles wisely looking on. And the schoolmarm Miss Rosie begging Clint not to do it.

Sidenote: Nobody has ever cared to tell me why there's a schoomarm in a town where there aren't any kids...or women to make the kids....except the schoolmarm.....oooh....that's thinking ahead right there.

But these Old West showdowns weren't always so formulaic. The standards were set March 15, 1869. Billy the Kid was gonna have a shootout with Jack the Adolescent. The dispute was over copyright infringement.

The fight started the night before:

BILLY: sup
JACK: how do you think you did on the schoomarm's geometry test?
BILLY: not too bad
JACK: lol
BILLY: why did you lol there? it wasn't funny, you're just a fuckin retard
JACK: fuck you
BILLY: alright then, we're shootin this out tomorrow at noon
JACK: high noon?
BILLY: fuck yeah

And so the two met at high noon, and they started the duel. Billy the Kid laid down the rules: "....and we'll each walk 20 paces, turn, and DRAW." Jack the Adolescent agreed, and so they measured their paces. At twenty, they turned and faced each other. Neither made a move as they stared each other down.

"This town ain't big enough for the two of us," said Jack the Adolescent.

........."What?!" yelled back Billy.

"I said this TOWN ain't big enough for the TWO of us!"

"I can't really hear you! Maybe next time we should measure ten paces instead!"

"Okay."

BAM!

WORLD WAR II

For anybody who doesn't think sequels ever do better than the originals.

So the French were still recoiling, Britain and America were doing their best along the western front, America was island hopping in the Pacific, and Russia was losing millions along the eastern front.

At this time, some of their allies were cramped in a bunker: Pierre Auture of Canada, Esteban Cuertes of Guatemala, and Ali Khal of Saudi Arabia. They looked at each other until Esteban asked, "Hey, do you think anybody would notice if we left?"

THE FUTURE

The crisis in the Middle East will have come to a head. Another world conflict will seem inevitable as negotiations are coming to naught and the world's economic instability seems certain to drive all the nations of the world into chaos.

But then, the current President of the United States (all 49 of them, Kansas seceeded, so America now looks like a donut with Alaska and Hawaii being the sprinkles that fell off) will make a speech. Not just any speech, but an impassioned speech that will be a symbol for the end of the conflict in the Middle East

He/she will raise a white/black hand and finish the speech: "Mr. Ahmadinejad, TEAR DOWN THIS TENT!"


Thats history for ya

Byah!

Rob

Questions

My friends ask me a lot of questions.

Sometimes, a friend will ask me, "Excuse me sir, do you have the time?" And I oblige them, because thats the kind of friend I am.

Sometimes, a friend will ask me, "Rob, what makes you such a good friend?" And I will reply in question, "Who says I'm your friend?" And I will walk away.

And then there are other times when a friend will ask me, "Bobby do you have any good peeing stories?"

"Why yes....

.....yes I do."


Sidenote: This question was asked as I was hanging out with some guys who wrestled in high school and who lift a lot now.

Sidenote to the Sidenote, which means an italicized italic is normal font: Whenever I picture wrestling, I don't picture a real sport, I don't even picture Hulk Hogan....I picture Tickle Fights....and those end even bloodier.

Return to Sidenote: As I was hanging out with these guys, they started into the stories. And as time went on, I realized that the majority of these stories involved anorexia, binge eating, and a lot of unexpected poopage in public settings. As time continued to go on, they realized I had not contributed to the stories, and asked why. I replied that I had control of my bowels and had never accidentally stained myself at a barbecue. They paused for a second, and then asked the question which is the subject of this blog.


There are, in fact, two stories that fit the title as peeing stories. Neither of them cast me in a particularly good light. Anybody wishing to hire me or are interested in me sexually should stop reading right now.

The first incident occurred when I was nine years old. We had just started Sex Ed. This was an abbreviation for Sexual Education, something I did not realize until I was eleven. Needless to say, nine is a bit young for this kind of thing. I could have gotten a parental note and gone to the library, but only the loser kids did that. As classes went on, there were a lot of terms being thrown about the room. Words like erection and intercourse and masturbation. At nine, I had no idea what any of these things were. Raised a Catholic, I thought masturbation is what came after confirmation. I wish that line was a joke I invented. I also wish this next line was too. I asked my priest about it.

I definetly remember that our Sex Ed teacher was of a creative spirit, and decided to teach us a song about sex. PTSD has driven most of it from my mind, but one of the lyrics was: "And then mommy and daddy might decide, just maybe / to get together and have themselves a baby." Powerful stuff.

Another Sex Ed teacher later in life described menustration to us. It was the most brilliant thing I'd ever heard from a seven foot tall football coach with a thyroid condition. He described it as Michael Jordan coming to a party. And when MJ was there, everyone is excited and the party is jumpin. But then MJ decides to leave, and when he goes, the whole party goes out with him ..... until the next party.....Wow.....Awesome.

OK, well, basic idea so far is that I had no idea what any of this stuff meant at the tender age of nine. And then I heard about Wet Dreams. The basic gist of it was: when you start to become a man, its not unusual to have wet dreams in your sleep. And of course they showed a video which consisted of an embarassed kid and soiled sheets. Now, at nine, not everything works the way you want it to, and some of you right now are remembering what the original topic of this blog was. Shortly thereafter, in the comfort of my own home and the innocence of youth, I wet the bed. IT IS NOTHING TO BE ASHAMED OF!

I wake up, and see a giant wet spot on my bed .....

.......

......"MOM! MOM! I'M A MAN!"





My second story occurred at a much more mature age. And by mature, I mean I am now in full mastery of terms such as masturbation, wet dreams, and Michael Jordan.

I am now at the near adult age of 19. And, as one might expect, this story involves alcohol. For sake of legalities, I will say I live in Canada. And if you discover I don't live in Canada, I will say that i wasn't drunk....I was stoned. So I have all of my bases covered.

I was in some form of intoxication on a lovely friday night at a buddy's party. After being stopped from playing darts in a crowded room ("No man, I'll just throw it over them"), I apparently disappeared for several hours. My loyal friends (who also happen to be the same people who asked the original question for this post) didn't give a shit. Eventually my friend's girlfriend, "Keri", found me at 2 AM, and made me lie down on the couch. She placed a wastebasket by my head and a glass of water on a table. Nice girl.

Now there is some dispute with this story. I wake up some hours later, with what can only be described as a damp crotch. The glass at the table was empty. Either I spilled the glass on myself, or I did the thing that made this story qualify for this blog.



Sidenote: Yeah, I pissed myself.



I can't go back to sleep like this, so I try to go dry myself off. Keep in mind, I'm still messed up. I take off my pants......I'll let that image sink in.......and proceed to the kitchen. Now, it's very dark, and I can't for the life of me find the light switch. Giving up, I open the fridge and use that light. I begin trying to sop up my pants with a roll of Bounty paper towels with no success, partly due to the fact that it was still unopened in the plastic wrap.

All of a sudden, "Keri" walks in. Try to imagine the scene. It's probably about 4 AM, I'm bathed in the pale light of the refrigerator, in my boxers, drying off wet jeans with a plastic-wrapped roll of paper towels.

No words were really necessary. She opened the paper towels, flicked on the lights, closed the fridge, and walked away muttering something about the Irish.

Now with the use of actual paper towels, I proceed with the drying. After ten minutes, I realize that it wasn't working very well. And this is when the most brilliant of brilliant ideas sprang to mind. My eyes settled on the microwave. A second later I was shoving my pants in the microwave like the Grinch shoving a Christmas tree up a chimney. I set the cooktime at popcorn, and waited.

Looking back, my pants should probably have exploded. Luckily it did not. After the bell dinged, I started taking my pants out of the microwave (what a strange sentence). Readers, you know that glass plate that spins on the bottom of a lot of microwaves? The thing that isn't actually attached to anything? Well, as I pulled the pants out, this thing came with it. It fell...and CRASHED on the counter, glass shards going everywhere! And I freeze. There isn't a sound in the whole place. Is everyone asleep?

Now here is what my mind is thinking: OK, I'll throw all the pieces out the window....And say somebody stole it! ...... BRILLIANT! .... Unfortunately my plan was ruined as "Keri" once again came around the corner ...looking very tired.

I am clutching my trousers (which were still soggy), still in my boxers, surrounded by glass shards, and I look her dead in the face and say, "I tried to cook my pants."

Good times.

For sake of avoiding embarassment, I will not be signing this blog entry. So, until the next time



Byah!







.....damn

A Burger in the Hand is Worth Two in the Trash

I was having a bad day to begin with.

My day started bad due to one simple mistake. A mistake that would ruin the next two weeks of my life.

I was opening my brand spanking new Honey Bunches of Oats w/ Almonds (Family Pack, I don't have a family, but now I know I can feed one). Everything was going fine until I began to open the clear bag in the box. With horror I saw a tear open down the side of the bag, nowhere near the top. Like a surgeon who just nicked an artery, I took a deep breath and tried to repair the damage. I tried to go in from the other side of the bag. But woes me! The mistake repeated itself! And now the two rips met in the middle to create an inferno of honey bunches and oats.

So now for the next two weeks, pouring cereal will be a messy .... tedious .... chore. If it wasn't for the almonds I wouldn't even bother.

But, as the day went on, I realized something much worse was in the air. It was October 1st, a relatively inconspicuous day. But as I was crossing campus, I noticed a large number of rather sickly looking people were handing out flyers and brochures. As it so happened, one of them caught my eye, and immediately rushed to give me a brochure. As I took it, she said "Happy Vegetarian Day!"

My first impulse was to laugh, which for some reason offended her, and she walked off to eat some bean curd.

Then I actually looked at the brochure. Underneath a title reading "The Vegetarian Starter Kit", there were pictures of chickens, cows, pigs, and fish......This was a terrible starting kit for a vegetarian....It would be like showing a priest a Playboy before he takes his vows.

Sidenote: I once had a girlfriend who claimed she was a vegetarian, except that she ate poultry .... she goes to U Penn now ...... and it confuses me.

There is, of course, a reason people like meat more than vegetables:

"Meat tastes better because it has a soul, and souls make things taste good."
-Blog Patron DTWO-324522 (a.k.a. Stu)

This patron, let's call him "Stu", has long been a supporter of meat. But it was to my complete chagrin, that....on this same day of October the first....I discover he has decided to turn veggie. It's one thing to do it for animal rights or whatever.....but he went the political route. I'd give you the whole lecture about methane emission, unsustainable factory farming of meat, destruction of habitat, and poor protein output...but "Stu" already put me through it and I would never do that to another human being.

Normally, I would consider these arguments retarded. It is an issue that can only be handled on a government-wide basis. But...I think I might have been proven wrong by the infallible logic of "Stu".

Quick, turn on CNN! They're probably broadcasting it now!

By not consuming meat, he is single-handedly bankrupting the entire infrastructure of factory meat production in America...nay...the world. Even as you read this, great things are happening. Cattle are roaming free. Chickens have just started migrating away from Kentucky. Pigs are setting up communist communities. Fish are... swimming... no big change there.

Despite all of this "Stu", if that is indeed your real alias, you have still severely lost credentials in my book. I guess at the next barbeque you can eat my fucked up Honey Bunches of Oats.

You know....in parts of South America, testicles are a delicacy. I should give them a call because there's a pair up here that aren't being used.


Byah!

-Rob

Austrian Swan Song

As regular readers of the blog will know, we have somewhat of an international readership, stretching from Mexico to Canada, and everything in between. But most awesomely in my mind has been a certain group of Austrians who somehow found their way to our site.

After the first few posts, we discovered we could put a counter on our blog, and also be able to see which nationalities visited. To our astonishment, we discovered that in a short time, 28 Austrians, on separate occasions, visited our lonely corner of the Inter-web.

Overjoyed by this, I immediately put on some lederhosen and began blogging some more. But, as weeks went by, I came to the startling realization that the number (28) had not risen. The Austrians were not revisiting the site (I blame Matt).

And so, this blog is a swan song for our Austrian readers. Wherever you are, you are always welcome to come back to civilization.

I don't wanna close my eyes
I don't wanna fall asleep
'Cause I'd miss you, Austrians
And I don't wanna miss a thing
'Cause even when I blog about you
The wittiest blog would never do
I'd still miss you, Austrians
And I don't wanna miss a thing, especially your sausages. Are they only made in Vienna, or does each region have their own? I will try them all. And I don't know what kind of permits are required to have a gondola, but I'll make it happen.


Wir werden immer Tanric haben

Farewell



oh yeah,
Byah!
-Rob

I think the blog is getting to Joe's head

And it worries me.

But more importantly, my world has been rocked. Up until this day, I've always hated "that guy." I've despised "that guy." "That guy," of course, being the one person in every class who just has to have something to say about everything. The one who always talks, always volunteers to answer questions, always has an opinion, and can somehow always relate the war in Iraq to the current discussion, even if you're in discrete math.

In the past, I have not had good feelings about "that guy." I didn't respect "that guy" and I generally regarded him (I have yet to meet a female "that guy") as a teacher's pet. Once, "that guy" woke me up while I was taking a pleasant nap in a class. I never forgave "that guy."

But thanks to the wisdom of a friend, I've realized that "that guy" is the most vital and essential part of my college career. "That guy" provides me cover: without "that guy" my professors would only hear overwhelming silence whenever they asked a question. They might even catch on that I have yet to buy a textbook in college. And that would be a nightmare.

So if you, like me, failed to realize how important "that guy" is, today you should thank "that guy." Tell "that guy" what a great job he's doing for the rest of us. Shake "that guy's" hand and tell him to never stop. Because without "that guy" the rest of us would be up the river without a paddle.

~Matt

Dirty Dirty Dirty

People have dirty minds.

I will not receive a comment on this post saying, 'oh no Joe, Rob, or Matt...people are naturally good, and never think of naughty thoughts when someone on Law & Order says "penal system"."

I won't get any complaints because everybody knows I'm right. The proof of my statement is rampant. Search for anything on Google with the word 'box' in it and you better have a Church nearby for some major confessions. But what has really proven it for me is how we can take the most innocent things in the world and make them literary phalli. Yes, the plural of phallus is phalli, had to look that one up, I can tell ya.

I use the word phallus because it was ingrained into me by AP English...you happy Mrs. Sturtz?! All the girl in that story was doing was climbing a tree! Now every time I go hiking all I can think of is Ron Jeremy!

Anyways.... So yes, making innocent things dirty. We can turn any innocent thing dirty. Now...what can be more innocent than simple games? Some meant entirely for children.

Well Timmy, you don't want to know what happened on that old hand-me-down Twister your mom gave you. Every awkward high school moment of my life I think can be traced back to a game of Twister. Should definetly not have played with those theatre kids. Right hand on blue...."GEORGE! I know my pants are blue, but that's the third time tonight!" I try to complain to the two band kids who were also playing, but they're already having sex on the spinner.

Then there's Jenga, the wonderfully educational game about structural integrity. A wonderfully innocent game...until someone grabs a sharpie and starts on page one of the Kama Sutra. I have no idea how that kid drew the Caffeinated Monkey position on that little block, and I have even less of an idea of how I pulled it off.

Lets say it's a rainy day outside, and you're with your family. Your grandma brings out a deck of cards, and the afternoon is a revelry of high-passioned games. 7 up 7 down, kings, hearts, maybe even some poker (with all of Aunt Jenna's Botox she has a great poker face). Now change the situation a bit, and you're with a bunch of friends of relatively equal gender ratio....Someone brings out a deck of cards, and the afternoon is a revelry of high-passioned games. All of the games listed above are played, except before each game name comes the word STRIP. It makes everything more interesting. "Hey guys! Strip Bridge!" "Do we even know how to play?".........."Does it matter?"

Look guys. All of you kids newly stripped from parental restrictions and ready to go nuts with your new found freedom. All of you vibrant couples having some fun. And all of you Austrians, yes you sick depraved Austrians. Listen to me. Forget the games, forget the innuendo, forget the sexual connotations. Forget all of it and just.....screw. Get all of those sexual energies out so we can have a regular time of it. Cause I would really like to have a conversation without the constant threat of someone shouting out "That's what she said! OOOOOHHHHHH!"

Byah!
Rob

Frednecks

As most of you know, I go to school in Fredericksburg, Virginia. Fredericksburg is an amazing town, it contains the heart of capitalism (Central Park, where you can find a Best Buy 5 feet away from Circuit City and every chain store known to humankind), Waffle House, and a quaint old downtown area. For those of you who don’t know, Fredericksburg is also where the North meets the South. We’re just not quite Southern: the accent isn’t prolific, people don’t have an overwhelming love for grits, and most people would probably be upset if the South “rose again.” However, we’re definitely not Northern: we’ve got great sweet tea and not a week goes by where I don’t see a pick-up truck with a Confederate flag in the back window. Clearly, Fredericksburg has everything a star-struck young college student could need.

But I digress… back to the main part of the story here. Fredericksburg does have one downside: Frednecks. Frednecks are the local rednecks; Fredericksburg townies with nothing better to do than drive along College Ave. at 5 in the afternoon yelling incoherently (probably drunkenly). Thankfully, my experience with Frednecks has been limited… up till now. A certain LTS blogger was attending a party (which happened to be in my apartment, so you’d think I’d know everyone) with some folks from my school and Christopher Newport in which CNU was shut out repeatedly in a “game of mass consumption.” In a futile attempt to earn back “all of the honor in the world” CNU staked their pride on final game- their pride, and the most horrific of college traditions, a naked lap. Needless to say, CNU was shut out again and forced to run a naked lap.

Here is where the story gets more interesting. One of the girls cheering CNU volunteered (volunteered!) to run the naked lap with them. Later, after much humiliation and good times, we learned the girl (“Red”) had not come with the CNU kids. In fact, no one at the party had any idea who she was. After being rejected by nearly every guy in attendance, “Red” disappeared as mysteriously as she came. At the end of the night, all we knew is that she lived in Fredericksburg.

And that is the story of how I met my first Fredneck.

-Matt

Nostalgia

I think the best thing in the world is nostalgia.

I actually started this post a week ago, and I remember when I wrote that first sentence. You know how I feel about it right now?

Another week later. Like it's the best thing in the world!

I like to remember what being a kid was like. During the summer, it was about running to the ice cream truck and laughing at the diabetic kid drinking his warm sugar-free raspberry lemonade. During the winter it was all about hanging out with your buddy Hans and skiing in Kitzbühel while momma made some schnitzel. For some reason we've been having a lot of Austrian readers, so that was a geographic shout-out....I have no idea what schnitzel is, or how to pronounce that town...But I actually did hang out with Hans.

But I digress, for the reason for the blog is the ultimate of nostalgia. The topic that makes any individual of our generation zone out as they reminisce. Old Nickelodeon shows.

So, lets discuss.

Fourth grade through sixth grade, I had my TV bloc ritual, it consisted of two shows. The first was Xena: Warrior Princess...for obvious reasons. The second show was The Secret World of Alex Mack. Dumped with a vat of toxic stuff, as is always the case, she now has superhero powers including telekinesis, shooting electricity, and turning into a puddle (not sure what that one was all about). And you know what she does with them? She goes to middle school... Seems like a waste. If I had those powers, I would totally kick some ass. And you know who taught me that? Xena.

Doug....Oh what a magnificent show, and was totally about me. There was a high school crush, there were bullies (who were also green at my school), there was a dog who got cable, and I also have a best friend who honks when you grab his nose. My superhero alter-ego was more of a boxer briefs kind of guy, but to each his own. I was such a huge fan, I got a new cell phone for the sole purpose of getting that theme song as a ringtone. Do da do da do do do da do do do Bpit-a-Bpit-a-Bpit-aaaaah. You don't want to know how long I tried to work that out.

And now lets start talking about the game shows. Every kid who has ever seen Legends of the Hidden Temple wanted to be on that show, as long as we weren't a Purple Parrot. Gotta be a Green Monkey. The thing adults didn't understand was this: we didn't watch it for entertainment, we were researching. We had schematics and room plans of that Hidden Temple. And I know if I was ever climbing through that maze, and a Temple Guard came out, I'd punch him in the nuts and keep on going. No, you can't have half a coin! I have to find the Undershorts of Ghengis Khan!

GUTs was a pretty awesome show too. That was the one where they brought kids from all over the world to play a kid version of American Gladiator Every contestant had his own little biography thing too. Every kid not from America said he played soccer. Every American kid said he liked video games. I wonder who would win? No way our fat asses could get up the Agro Crag when Esteban has been hurdling up the Pyrenees since he was four years old.

But the undeniable best show Nickelodeon has ever made was Rugrats. There's Phil and Lil, the sexually confused duo. There was Chuckie, whose Jew stereotype was too much even for me (I think the Austrians probably laughed about it though). And there was Tommy, who was awesome regardless of the fact that his giant head probably should have killed Mrs. Pickles. I was watching that show religiously even after they started making the dumb episodes where they were "all grown-up"...but the grown-up versions were in middle school.....which means they were still younger than me...dammit.

Now there were a few shows on Nickelodeon, although I hate to say it, that I positively disliked. Nobody who is fond of their IQ should ever watch these shows: Ren and Stimpy & Rocko's Modern Life. No. Just no. My girlfriend says she liked those shows, and it makes me think I should try single life again.

Everybody has their own favorites, and there's only so much of your time I can use up talking about bygone awesomeness. Most of you can get HBO and probably feel like you're too old for such tom-foolery as Nickelodeon re-runs. But as you stay up til 2:30 in the morning for that one boob shot on HBO2, take a moment and let nostalgia take over. Best thing in the world....until the boob shot, I mean.

Byah!
Rob

24, Change, and Tacky Sobriquets

"Spare me your sixth grade Michael Moore logic!"

I started watching season five of 24 last night. It was good, but something was different - and not just Jack's hair and the fact that they killed off half the cast in the first five minutes [SPOILER ALERT]. As one of my friends pointed out to me, while Jack "The Ripper" Bauer and the Chechen terrorists are killing each other, there's significantly less bloodshed than normal. I'm not talking about less people dying, but less of their blood and guts flying across the scenes. When someone explodes, I expect to see some internal organs (or at least pieces of them) everywhere, not newspaper-confetti . When someone gets shot in the back of the head and dragged across the floor, I expect it to leave a bloody trail, maybe even some bits and pieces of brains.

Now if I seem a little bit bloodthirsty, let me clarify: I'm not necessarily against the change, I'm just surprised by it. It caught me off guard, but I guess its my fault for not watching 24 for so long. And maybe its for the better, maybe what the viewers really want is less needless violence.

I guess I just feel a little empty inside, knowing things will never be the same. It will take time to heal, but I guess we always knew this was coming someday. Well, cheers to new beginnings.

Life's Too Short For Tacky Sobriquets

-Matt

Support our Sponsors

Sadly, this is a cold monopolized capitalistic world on whose crotch Matt is happy to lick. And so I have to admit that this blog of the ages has succumbed to our corporate masters. Our page is now full of advertisements. And people, with your help, we can make some serious bank if you just start clicking on them. Divided three ways, we can each stand to make over 22 cents a month. Just think about what that is in yen!

What happens is that a computer sifts through our blogs, and comes up with sponsors that our best represented in the pieces.

Here are some of my favorites:

For Spoiled and Stalls, a very general rant on public bathrooms we have been sponsored by Toilet Partitions and More! Custom built and low cost. And as befitting such a noble enterprise, the website is www.TinkleProducts.com. hehehe

For A Rebuttal to Rob, a piece which showed to the world that Matt is certainly not a dirty rotten commie we have been endorsed by Buy Capitalism Apparel! Show your standing! And I'm sure all products were made by your fellow capitalists, the Burma Orphan Foundation!

...I have found a very bizarre ad. I'm just going to type it out:
WE NEED YOU TO WRITE. Write short articles & earn cash. Free, Fun, Fans! Try Helium now!
I'm confused. Apparently that's the buzz of choice for free and fun writers.

In the first of Matt's blogs, Life's too Short to Vote, he went on a rant about how voting was a giant waste of time and he won't do it. In fact he tries to discourage our readers against voting as well. This was his ad: Presidential Vote Race! We need your vote!!
They really should screen these things.

And finally, this last add was again advertised with Spoiling and Stalls, along with TinkleProducts.com (hehe). This one easily takes the cake because it was the only one I felt compelled to click. I had to know what this was all about. Before I begin my discussion on the ad, I'm just going to give you the website: www.CleanButt.com

I'm gonna go ahead and give you a moment to visit www.CleanButt.com and you can come back to me in a second.


Go ahead.







Alright then.
First off, holy mother of awesomeness I'm excited to become rich one day. For the people out there who have gone beyond Charmin Ultra...I bring you...the CleanButt BidetSpa.


Point number one, the last four digits of the phone number is BUTT. I don't know a lot about pre-planning phone numbers, but something tells me that the only other companies who used BUTT at the end (hahah, think about it) are selling something much less hygienic. (Joe's last four spell out MEAT. I think MEAT and BUTT should give each other a ring)

Point number two, I think when nature calls you have to relax, that's the whole point. You don't go all stressed....unless you recently had a burrito.

Point number three, yes I tried to look between the knees.

Number four, it comes with a WIRELESS REMOTE. Say that again Rob, I didn't hear you. A WIRELESS REMOTE! Oh good God Almighty what must be happening to people around the world?

"Timmy! Stop pushing that! Timmy! Stop rinsing daddy's ass!"
or
"Baby, my jaw is tired, why don't you sit down on the toilet for a while?"


Alright guys keep clickin those ads!


Byah!
Rob

Spoiled and Stalls

I have recently discovered that I am a spoiled brat.
I'm not talking about getting all the Hot Wheels I wanted and getting every Land Before Time DVD that came out every month.

I'm talking about bathrooms.

During my past summer internship, I had the opportunity to use a very nice bathroom whenever I wanted (or needed). It had motion sensor toilets, faucets, and paper towel rolls. Quite literally the only thing I had to touch was myself.

Unfortunately I have grown used to those amenities, and I occasionally forget that those plebeians with whom I dwell don't have motion sensor bathroom facilities.... Lets just say I sometimes accidentally leave presents for the next user of the stall. I wait up to 15 seconds at the sink waving my hands around like Harry Potter waiting for water to come.

The point of course being that I'm sick of these fancy bathrooms. The faucets are the worst. They either run for half a second, just long enough so it gives you hope but cuts out after you move your hands from the sensor. Either that, or they last two and half minutes. So that after a while you begin to think...I think my hands are clean...but the sink isn't letting me go....it must know what I did in there.

And then theres the industrial sized blow dryers from hell. Which do....nothing....nothing at all. I know the bathroom executives are trying to reduce the risk of germs by not having people touch a paper towel roll, and so they created the most unused product to hit bathrooms since the Handicapped Stall. If I needed to get my hands dried, I'd feel more comfortable wiping them off on an elephant's taint than using the automated air dryer.

The Handicapped Stall, thats another item (bit off topic, but you'll deal with it). Everybody uses it. Everybody. But I'm just wondering how you would feel if you finished up in there, put the Wallstreet or People or Teen Life (whatever it is you read) under your arm, walk out, and find a guy paralyzed from the nipple down waiting out there, ready to kick your ass.

Anyway, I conclude today with this simple bit of advice: shit in the woods. Its easier.

Byah!
Rob

A Rebuttal to Rob

I don’t think I’ve ever been called a socialist before. I’m enraged, and I wouldn’t take your Kramer poster if came with 72 virgins and a “manshake.”

First, I’m a capitalist through-and-through. If capitalism were a lady she’d be mine. If capitalism was being attacked by thirteen armed Eastern European terrorists trying to steal $640,000,000 in negotiable bearer bonds I’d kill them all and do it without shoes.

Second, there’s a difference between political and economic systems. Even if being concerned about the efficacy of voting indicated I might be a fan of tyranny that has nothing to do with economics.

Third, sack up and finish your milkshakes. If you don’t throw up at McDonald’s you’re not having fun yet.

On a related note, this book is my bible and this man is my god.

-Matt

"Johan Norberg's book is a stunningly insightful, brilliantly detailed refutation of the crank theories of the anti-globalists. In Defense of Global Capitalism is a shining example of what a gifted mind can do working with the truth to advance the cause of capitalism, which in the end is the cause of every decent man and woman."
--Ben Stein

Last Will and Testement

It is to you seven readers out there (two of them being writers) that I leave my last will and testement. For I fear that my demise is nigh. I am visited by the most terrible of afflictions. Those of you who know me should stay away, lest they must bear my burden with me.

When the moon reaches that most pivotal point....waxing crescent....thats when it comes upon me......Restless Leg Syndrome!

For almost 14 minutes, I have the unresistable urge to walk around. Don't look at me when I am in such a demented state!

Oh no

The moon.....its looking waxy tonight. I will try to finish my will with these last hurried words.

Joe, I leave you the last of my condoms, you have until 2010 for them to expire. Matt, I leave you my Kramer poster, I've been wanting to get rid of it for a while because it makes me feel racist.

Ok then.

The MOON! aaaaaahhhh


Ok gotta walk.

-Rob

Life’s too short to vote

Everyone expects me to have an opinion on elections. I don’t. My vote doesn’t matter. Neither does yours. Perhaps if you campaign for a candidate you can make a difference in whether or not they get elected, but voting alone as a political activity doesn’t make a difference. When people ask me what I think of Obama or Hillary they think I’m joking when I respond Obama’s black and supports ethanol subsidies and Hillary’s a woman who excessively hates on free trade.

I just wanted to make this clear at the outset: I’m a firm believer in the idea that voting is a waste of time. I won’t vote in the federal primary or election. However, for those of you interested in kidding yourselves, I’ve decided to do some non-partisan blogging on each of the major candidates. At the very least I’ll be able to make small talk at parties with people I don’t really care about anyway. So hopefully over the next couple of months you can look forward to disillusioned political commentary from me.

Joining LTS fashionably late,

Matt S.

Subtlety

As I have repeatedly told my blogging compatriot: literary genius cannot be rushed! If this is indeed to be the blog of the ages, it requires careful planning, detailed prose, and the correct vernacular to better reach the multitude of the internet public. But most of all, I need a sophisticated topic.

So I think I'd prefer my condoms being made in America.

Yeah, I said it.

I want a Made in Detroit sticker on my Trojan. I don't want it made in China! You have any idea how many people they have over there? No way their condoms work. They're probably made of bamboo. The last thing I want is a splinter, and neither does she.
Byah!

-Rob