I Told You So (And I wrote it down) Vol. I

Hurrah, an advice column! This week we're addressing the US Government! The fat cats we all know and love in the District of Columbia have been having a pretty tought time dealing with immigration lately, and I'm nothing if not a patriot, so I figured I'd offer the republican caucaus some sage advice. In case you haven't noticed, we have two very long borders: the cold one and the hot one.
I'd like to take them one at a time, if you please. First, teh problem of our neighbors to the North. To be honest, this one is pretty easy. Have any of you guys been to Canada? Sure, it's cold, but they've got free health care, legal marijuana, maple syrup, bacon, curling, and, this is the deal sealer: Mounties. Oh, they also totally have porno on regular TV after 10. Sorry O'Reilly, but most Canadians would rather sleep with a moose than move to the US. (And once and for all, that's a myth, we Canadians love our moose, but not that much.)
Ah, but what about the senor(ita)s to the south? I've heard some of you want to build a wall I know you've all heard of Berlin (David Hasselhof performed there once, remember?) and I gurantee you that the wall didn't come down because God hates commies and thus made it so. (Though god does most assuredly. Hate commies. And make walls fall, but only if there are horns and Jews involved.) They couldn't wall off half of a city, what makes you think we can wall off half a continent? (Besides the fact that America> USSR , etc, etc) Now, if you're willing to make a slight break from policy and spend the slightest bit of money and/or effort on Education, I've got a foolproof, win-win plan: we pay to teach every Mexican English. Either they'll fall in love with the wonderful phonetic logic of our language and are hence able to learn our laws and become much more productyive workers and hopefully citizens, or they use their newfound knowledge to read an American newspaper, see how wonderfully you are leading our country, and promptly get the fuck outta Dodge.

Shakira

I am confused as to why there is a song called "Hips Don't Lie". Hips also do not file taxes, yet no one is playing that song on the radio before and after every Enzyte commerical. Also, I was reading the other day, and apparently Shakira's hips also do not really speak Spanish and she was just pretending. I think that this is a very good idea and will probably run my next post through Babel-fish because not only will you then think that I am exotic and interesting, you will also have no idea whether or not I am writing complete and utter shite (unless you just run on the assumption that nothing has changed).
I have decided that I am going to write a song. It will be called "Hips Don't Work" and it will be a big lyrical middle finger to the MTV generation as well as my decrepid joints. I hope to make many new enemies.

Thank you, Bobby

He would have been 80 today, and the world would have been a much better place. We wouldn't have forgotten how to dream, and how to fight for our dreams.

"Too much and too long, we seem to have surrendered community excellence and community values in the mere accumulation of material things. Our gross national product ... if we should judge America by that - counts air pollution and cigarette advertising, and ambulances to clear our highways of carnage. It counts special locks for our doors and the jails for those who break them. It counts the destruction of our redwoods and the loss of our natural wonder in chaotic sprawl. It counts napalm and the cost of a nuclear warhead, and armored cars for police who fight riots in our streets. It counts Whitman's rifle and Speck's knife, and the television programs which glorify violence in order to sell toys to our children.

Yet the gross national product does not allow for the health of our children, the quality of their education, or the joy of their play. It does not include the beauty of our poetry or the strength of our marriages; the intelligence of our public debate or the integrity of our public officials. It measures neither our wit nor our courage; neither our wisdom nor our learning; neither our compassion nor our devotion to our country; it measures everything, in short, except that which makes life worthwhile. And it tells us everything about America except why we are proud that we are Americans."

Robert F Kennedy, University of Kansas, 3-18-67

Let us remember, and in remembering, keep pressing on, keep fighting on, and never stop believing in our dreams.

Ta-daa!

No excuses, I'm tired of excuses. I've been gone, I've been busy, I've been tired, you've heard it all before. Firstly, I'm quite surprised. In the past few months of not updating I've had more people attempt to contact me about this site than in the rest of its entire illustrious history. Call it exciting or call it ironic, either it fine by me.

As the few comments lingering beneath my lost post can attest, the civilized world is clamoring for me to reveal what my idea of hilarity is, and I'm not quite cruel enough yet to deny them. The link's broken now, but it was originally a very badly photo-edited pamphlet cover advertising the ostentatious Peugeot 405s, my beloved junk-box. As it is, I still don't have my license, and the Peugeot is quietly loitering in my aunt's garage, paont peeling, tires deflating, and battery dying.

So, I will try to make up for past hilarities 404'd with this wonderful website, guranteed to entertain for hours on end.

Has anyone out there been reading this since the beginning? I can't imagine how weird it would be, to have followed my erratic updates from 5 years ago, before I was even in high school, and now reading this, talking about my first car, about driving. Heck, I've been watching the whole thing from the front row and its still disorienting. Kudos to you, mysterious internet friends.

It's November again, which means I'm back to writing. It's hard, as always. Harder this, year, partly because of school, partly because of my constantly arthritic hips, partly because of my INSANELY EXCITING LIFE, and partly because of the intense subject matter. I'm lagging a little behind and writing this is really just pouring salt and alcohol onto my own wounds. Yet, here I am, everyone's favorite magnet for self-torture!

Send me your well-wishes, I need them.

I make no promises about my return, but keep your eyes peeled. (Whenever I say that, I think of Halloween. Do you know what I'm talking about? It makes me think of those old hounted house tricks; a bowl of peeled grapes for eyeballs, spaghetti for intestines...ah, the delight of tormenting our young. If not for that, there'd be no reason to grow old.)

Click here for my idea of hilarity!

But, yes. When I tell people that my car (which I am still, in fact, too young to drive for several months) is a piece of crap, I get a variety of reactions. Mostly shared laughter, with a rare hint of superiority.

One reaction I get fairly often, however, is "at least it's a car", which is a sentiment I could not agree with more. The thing is, I don't think most people would view me as sane if I started running around saying what was on my mind ("HOLY SHIT I HAVE A CAR!!!ONE! I ROCK!") as I proceed to strip nearly nude and run across the nearest highway, flaunting my new acquisition.


If you think I'm obnoxious now, wait till I get my license

With friends like these, who needs anemones?

I'd like to talk about things being corny, for a second. I don't belive in it. I'll moan at a bad line in a movie just as much as the next guy, but I don't believe people can be corny in real life, you can't be cliche. When you're giving advice, and you say, "aw, this may sound corny, but" because it sounds like something your parents would say, that's a good thing.

Things become cliched because they're overused, and guess what: advice that's given out so much that it just sounds like rhetoric is probably some of the best advice around. We're talking about the creme de la creme here, the tidbits that have survived the test of time to become the phrases that seemed relevant the first time, but now just seem retarded.

The next time I hear something like that, I'm going to pretend like I've never heard before, and that's when I'm going to realize what good advice really is.

/gets down from soapbox
//remembers something, gets back up

I'd also like to share my new slogan. You're breathing, you're eating; fucking smile.

I think it's poetic. Give a beret and some bongos, we'll have a whole new movement on our hands.

Ahh...innocence.

I just want to say that there is very little that is so simultaneously gut-bustingly hilarious and absolutely miserable as a group of about 50 six year old kids singing "Hollaback Girl." How could anyone ever think our culture was going downhill?

Technology

I made some tin can walkie-talkies, but I have no one to use them with.