The United State of Forvik

Just when I think my well of bloggable topics has run dry, something (generally from the internet) comes and lands in my lap, and I must discuss.

I read this incredible article several times over to get the jist, and I'm going to give you the major points. Here we go:

In 2001, a man named Stuart Hill attempted to circumnavigate England, but his boat capsizes off the coast of the tiny island of Forvik. He has lived on the 2.5 acre island ever since.

Sidenote: Sounds like a storyline from "Lost", huh?

He has been living in a tent all this time, until suddenly he decides to go do something monumentous in his life. He wants to declare Forvik a nation independent of the United Kingdom.

Citing a 15th century marriage dowry concerning the island, King Stuart Hill claims that the island has been held unlawfully for six centuries. In his own words: "The monarchs and governments of Scotland, and Great Britain and the United Kingdom have for many years assumed powers over this island to which they were not entitled."

This is just another example of soverign western states colonizing and imposing their doctrines on native people to exploit their natural resources and make them all play cricket. Well, Prime Minister Stuart Hill is having none of that. His 2.5 acre bastion of liberty is standing up to the Man, i.e. the Queen. In a bold and patriotic move, he wrote a letter asking to be Forvik's independent steward that will submit to England in most affairs of state and/or tourism (kind of like Canada). Way to go President Stuart Hill, way to go.

I really want you guys to imagine this scene. This a drunk (educated guess) 64 year old kilt-wearing shipwreck ... living alone on a rock off the coast of Scotland in a tent ... citing Dark Age legal documents ... writing a letter to the Queen of England ... asking for freedom from the tyranny of the United Kingdom.

So here's my idea. The moment that the Queen grants Forvik independence, I think we should get some people together and invade the island. Let's all put on some blue facepaint, pick up some broadswords, and storm the beaches of Forvik. Of course, after we vanquish the evil tyrant (Lord Stuart de Hill), we should rename our island. And I'm just putting a suggestion out there: Djibouti II.

Think about it.

Byah!

Rob

My Concern

It would appear that the elections are slowly creeping up on us. In the red corner, there’s welterweight Barack Obama. Opposing him in the blue corner is the enfeebled John McCain who is looking more and more like Roosevelt every day.

It's going to quite the epic battle. It'll be like Plessy vs. Ferguson except with a more balloons and black people will be allowed in the first row.

Here is my concern.

I personally think Obama has a better shot at this. Ignoring some unforeseen circumstance, I'll go ahead and say Obama will be president. An African-American president. Incredible. Or is it?

In every movie about the future, there always seems to be a black president. Cause that's the futuristic "thing" right? It's either a black president or a woman president (and let's face it, that's a long way off). But in these movies, that’s when something terrible happens. Nuclear bomb, terrorists only Jack Bauer can deal with, alien attacks, zombie attacks, alien zombie attacks, etc.

These are awful things that always seem to be in the near future. Why? Black president. It'll happen soon, but not too soon for everyone to worry. But now it seems that the future is now. Time to worry.

That's why I'm telling everybody to vote for John McCain. Because otherwise we’ll soon be in a post-apocalyptic zombie-filled world, and I don't think I fit the personality type of a surviving character.


Byah!

Rob

Leave Me Out of It

I was in the process of driving last night when I was suddenly and inexorably drawn into a Race War. Let me explain.

I was turning onto an off ramp behind two other cars. The car in front was driving a tad too slow for the second car, who began to get close behind and crowd him (in some circles, this is known as "freaking"). We have all seen this happen, and I knew the two were going to be pretty pissed at each other.

So we come off the off ramp onto a three-lane street. Up ahead, a stoplight turns red. The first car gets into the right lane. The second car gets into the left lane. I roll on up into the middle lane, which was probably a mistake.

On my right was an Indian guy looking very angry. If you are having trouble picturing an angry Indian man, think of an Arab. On my left was a black guy giving dirty looks right back.

Sidenote: I spent a long time wondering if I should capitalize black. Hopefully I made the right call.

The thing is, these two guys are giving their angry looks through my car. I actually grabbed my seat control and rolled back a few inches so I wasn't in the thick of it. I could feel the tension building. As the light turned green, I knew I was about to die.

Ultimately, I decided to wait a few seconds to let the two cars get ahead of me. This might have been a good decision, because about five seconds later, the Indian guy pulls into the middle lane. A few minutes later, the black guy turns left at the next light, and the Indian guy follows him!

I decided not to follow and see how the evening turned out, but I know what the result will be: Race War.

Byah!

Rob

Be Afraid

This is late-breaking news that has the international community abuzz. Certain individuals have been shown to have ties to "murderous Islamic extremists" according to Michelle Malkin, author of a nationally recognized column.

Sidenote: Much like me.

The perpetrators? Dunkin' Donuts and Rachel Ray.

Terrifying.

Here's the scoop (yes, it's an actual news story). Rachel Ray did a commercial for Dunkin' Donuts. Her apparel was chosen by a professional, they did the commercial, it was aired, and all seemed to be going well. But then the controversy started (as everyone knew it would).

Turns out, Rachel Ray's scarf is reminiscent of scarves worn by those darned "murderous Islamic extremists". The Middle Eastern garb is called a kiffiyeh. The "look" was popularized by Yasser Arafat and is worn in all of those beheading videos. And honestly, I'm surprised more people didn't see the resemblance. I totally thought this dude had a cooking show.

Her scarf apparently just screams "JIHAD!", which was not the message Dunkin' Donuts was going for, so the advertisement will no longer be run. According to one executive: "we are no longer using the ad because the possibility of misperception (i.e. resembling terrorists) detracted from its original intention to promote our iced coffee." So the gist of the ad was like so:

Very easy to get the selling point confused.

Mistakes like this are surprisingly common in advertisements. Who can forget "Earl's Ice Cream, Inc."? The company was doomed due to an unfortunate shaving mistake in their first marketing campaign. They swiftly lost customers.


But the article wouldn't stop there. It couldn't! Because the corruption isn't stopping at Rachel Ray. The author, Michelle Markin, who is now a shoo-in for the Pulitzer, has discovered numerous kiffeyeh-wearing celebrities spreading Islam. Colin Farrell (actor, last seen in Bruges), Kanye West (rapper, possibly Jesus), and Howard Dean (wait....what?) have all been seen wearing similar scarves.

Any 'Average Joe' seeing one of these men in these scarves would have thought, 'uh....gay?' But now the public has been made aware that it is actually a symbol of people involved in radical Islamic practices. Thank you, Michelle Malkin, for your hard-hitting journalism. Thank you.

Guantanamo is gonna be packed.

BYAH!

Rob

Sense of Accomplishment

Once again, my faithful reader(s), I have been lax in my blogging. Let's get you all up to date.

The school year is over, and for all those who are interested, I did quite well. For all those who aren't... you're just jealous.

And get this guys....I'm exercising. I'm jogging on a regular basis, running in progressively larger circles until I get lost somewhere in West Virginia. I actually tried running with one of my dogs today. One bit of advice I should give you pet-owning runners out there: Make sure you let them go to the bathroom before you take them running. Otherwise, you'll be running along at a regular pace listening to the Braveheart soundtrack (I get the image of a highlander trekking across the landscape, it motivates me...shuttup) and all of a sudden you feel a jerk on the line. You give it a tug, thinking your dog just stopped to sniff at something..... not the case. You turn around and you're dragging your dog across someone's driveway and she's dropping pellets every two feet. Not good.

Well, in the pursuit of bodily health, I took up a game of basketball with our old friend Joe. It's been a while since I've played (because I suck) but apparently flip flops are not the foot garment of choice. Another interesting note is that the only basketball we could find was a fancy "glow-in-the-dark" one, which doesn't really make sense since the hoop doesn't glow in the dark. There are lot of claimed "swishes" when we play at night.

Sidenote: I really do suck. Joe was playing PIG, while I was playing PORK CHOP (yeah, he still beat me). Not only that, but every time I shoot, my left leg just has this insistent urge to flail, like I'm skipping over a puddle.

Well, we were wrapping up our game when Joe notices that there is a kite stuck high up in a tree next to the court. Being the civic-minded young men that we are, we took it upon ourselves to rescue the stranded kite.

Lacking both a ladder and a migrant worker to shimmy up the tree and grab our fruit, we settled on our next best tools: my flip-flops and Joe's glow-in-the-dark basketball. We were only heaving our various implements for a few seconds when....one of them didn't come down. That's right, our basketball was now stuck in the tree as well. And not just stuck, it was wedged in a perfect basketball-shaped cradle. Honestly, if that had been what we wanted, it couldn't have gone any better. As it was, we now had a basketball stuck in a tree.

The next twenty minutes was spent intermittently changing from shaking the tree to throwing flip flops and sneakers at it (Joe took his shoes off for added ammunition). As the sun began setting, the inherent property of the glow-in-the-dark basketball began to show itself, giving off a pale yellow light. It brought a crowd of onlookers from a little girl's soccer team that was practicing next to us. It actually would have been quite a magnificent sight if it weren't for the two tiring college boys cursing this ungodly sycamore in progressively higher tones, much to the excitement of the children.

Well, finally, an expertly thrown flip-flop from yours truly was able to dislodge the glowing basketball. When I picked it up I thought I might get super-basketball powers like in Space Jam (anybody else remember the 90s?).

Anyway, Joe and I were then able to walk home with a good feeling of accomplishment. We conveniently forgot about the kite that was still up there.

BYAH!

Rob

Why I'm Stupid

My Internet went out on me last night.

It happened when I was having a lot of IM conversations at the same time. And of course, when Internet goes IM doesn't tell you, so I spent about ten minutes afterwards telling stories and wondering why nobody was replying back.

Now, I had spent some time without Internet when I desired the need for human contact, and not the kind I have with myself (again, no Internet).

So I tried to call my girlfriend, it went straight to voicemail.

I tried to call Joe, that went to voicemail, too.

And then a thought popped into my mind.....what if I was dead? The possibility lingered in my mind for much longer than it should have. I thought that any second the little black things from the movie Ghost would come and drag me off.

Anyway, long story short, I called my mom to reassure myself I was alive.

Trying to recover from my near-death experience, I decided to visit the blog....... but I couldn't... I'm stupid.


BYAH!

Rob

Escapades of a Soda Bottle

I'm gonna go ahead and tell you about the most embarrassing experience a guy can have.

You just finished up your soda, and you're walking down the sidewalk. Up ahead of you, you see a trashcan fast approaching. As you pass by it, you nonchalantly give the required 1.5 foot toss of your trash into the receptacle. Seems simple, no?

Your projectile, inspired to some mischief, hits the rim of the trashcan and bounces back out. And it always lands five feet from you in the middle of a crowded sidewalk.

It's one thing if this was a Styrofoam cup, or even a crunched up aluminum can. No, this is full-on soda bottle, so it starts bouncing down the sidewalk, making the doink doink noises so everybody knows what just happened. Not only that, but those bottles don't have a uniform shape, making it bounce rogue all over the place. So you're jumping around the sidewalk trying to grab this demon-bottle, cause you don't want people to think, 'Oh, not only is he a bad shot, he's a litter bug, too.'

Well finally you catch the damn thing. You're not near the can anymore. People are giving you side-long glances. Your reputation on this turf has been severely shattered. You know there's only one shot at redemption. You have to turn the most embarrassing experience a guy can have into the most spectacular experience a guy can have.

You line up your shot. Twenty feet to the can. You have to take the wind into account because PET is a very light plastic. You set your feet, cock back...and let it fly. People pause. A single breath stretches for a lifetime. Little drops of soda start scattering from the spinning bottle, but the spectators don't care because they're part of history now.

Could it be.....?

Yes, nailed it!!!

Your work is done. Time to move on.

BYAH!

Rob