I think I'm paranoid and complicated, I think I'm paranoid, manipulated

Lately one of my co-workers has been asking me where he can find my blog. I've been hesitant to tell him, not because I don't want him to read, but because I've been afraid that he'd give the address to other people who I'd prefer not to read this. So, I usually just tell him that it's not too hard to find if you know where to look.

Apparently he's serious about finding it. He told me yesterday that he's been Googling a lot of different things, but his searches have been fruitless. That's probably because he's been searching for things associated with my real name. Yesterday afternoon I finally caved when one of his office mates said that he knew someone at his old university who read it, so he could just get the address from him and pass it around. I told them both they could find it by Googling "Native Minnow" so the first guy did.

I was curious to see what his reaction would be, but he had to finish up something else before he could read it, so I went back to my office.

A little while later he yelled his response across the hall:

Him: You're pretty fucking funny.
Me: I'm glad you think so.
Him: Why aren't you this funny in real life?
Me: Maybe you just don't hang out with me enough.

He's not the first person to tell me that. Another co-worker's wife found me a few months ago and said the same thing, and she got the same answer from me. Maybe it's time to direct you to the 'About Me' section and remind you all that I'm the funniest person I know, and don't any of you motherfuckers forget it.

There was a time when it used to mean just about everything. Just like now.

My mom has a way she swears works to predict the height your child will reach when they are adults. If you double a kid's height at a certain age (2 years old for boys, 18 months old for girls), that's supposedly how tall they will eventually be. My mom says that it worked for all her kids. They laughed about it at first because the prediction was that all the boys would be over six feet tall and neither of them are. Well, it turned out that all three of us ended up being over six feet tall (I'm the tallest at 6' 4"), so now we kind of play the game with our kids.

I have a two year old niece that is quite tall for her age, so while the whole family was visiting we started talking about how tall our kids were going to be. My daughter is deathly afraid that she's going to be as tall as me. I don't think she will be, and my mom agrees.

Mom: I don't think she needs to worry about it because girls usually quit growing about two years after they get their boobs. She's not going to get too much taller than she is right now. Maybe another inch or two before she's done, but that's about it.

Naturally, that shifted the conversation toward one of my favorite subjects: Boobs.

Sister: If my daughter gets my boobs she'll be fine. If she gets [Sister-in-law]'s boobs she's not even going to have enough muscle to stand up.

We all laughed.

Sister(to me): I'm serious! They'll be like [Ex-wife]'s when she was pregnant with [Daughter]. Each one of hers was as big as a basketball.

Me: You don't have to remind me of that. I lived it. Remember?

Dad: It wasn't until then that [Minnow] learned how to dribble with both hands.

Remember winter gets cold in ways you always forget

A few observations I made while I was out of town for Thanksgiving:

- Rock chips in a windshield occur easily and far too often.

- It's probably too cold to stick your hand out the car window when it's 11º F, but I still encouraged my kids to have a contest to see who could do it the longest (my daugter won).

- Brand name Q-Tips are far superior to the generic kind I bought for my travel kit.

- Much like me, my daughter is willing to do gross things for money. She demonstrated this by eating a fly for $5.

- It takes a patient grandma to sit and listen to a five year old boy talk about World of Warcraft for 45 minutes.

- A CT Scan is expensive, but still worth it to ensure your daughter will keep her vision.

– An eye will heal rather quickly.

- A back won’t (old injuries never really go away).

- When you're hobbled by a back injury you have to do what your Dad tells you to do because no matter his age, he can still kick your ass when you're in that condition.

- One day of diarrhea is enough to make a sphincter raw.

- I finally understand the craze that is Guitar Hero (I can play a perfect song).

- Despite her years of cooking experience, my mother is still capable of setting herself on fire in the kitchen.

- I still don’t know how fast my car is capable of going.

- We take a lot for granted.

Work it harder make it better do it faster makes us stronger

Today's post has been brought to you by my brother's ability to figure out my digital camera for me. You see, I've known how to take videos with it, but have never taken the time to learn how to turn on the microphone so that it takes videos with sound. I did consult my owner's manual a couple of times, but that is a worthless waste of ink and paper as far as I'm concerned. Sure, it tells me where to find the power button, and how to zoom in and out, but what kind of retard* can't figure that out on their own?

Since I'm too dumb to figure it out, I had my brother take a look at it, and he was able to do it in about five minutes. What can I say? He's technologically superior** to me. He figured it out while I was in the bathroom, so of course he had to come pick the lock and take video footage of me taking a crap. Don't be too disappointed, but I deleted that file. I did, however, record my five year old showing off some more dance moves. The video kind of lulls in the middle, but it's worth watching until the end. Trust me.





*I can hear you asking what kind of retard can't figure out how to turn on the mic on their own, and the answer is me. Obviously.

**I'm still superior in height though.

Cat scratch fever

Son: That is a mean cat!
Me: Why?
Son: Because, it attacks.
Me: Really?
Son: It attacks humans.
Me: Which humans?
Son: We're humans.

Speak for yourself kiddo. I'm a God.

Cut a slab of melon and pretend that you still love me

If there's one thing Thanksgiving is good for, it's bringing people together so that they can be humiliated in front of a large group. At least if you're in my family.

For example, this year I learned that over the years my ex-wife . . .

- showed my mother the first place she and I ever had sex.
- bragged to my sisters about the size of my penis.
- talked to my mom about how I had a knack for "getting [her] there every time."

I only wish I were making this up.

Lucky ones are we all 'til it is over

Since I haven't been very good about keeping everyone updated on the situation with my daughter's eye, everything looks to be fine now. She still has several check-ups that she'll have to go to, and there are some potential problems down the road that we may run into (she's more prone to glaucoma now, but there's nothing that can be done about it other than to keep screening for it and try to catch it early), but considering she could have lost her vision completely, we feel like we got real lucky. She still has to take it easy for a couple of weeks, but the doctor has cleared her to go back to school on Monday (but no gym class - she's not too upset about that), and to travel to Grandma and Grandpa's house for Thanksgiving.

The kids are excited that they get to see their grandparents again. I don't know how I let it get this long, but the last time was about five months ago. But they're not the only ones excited to be going there. While I'll be happy to see my family again, I'm also excited about getting out of my ex-wife's house after staying here for nearly a week. It's not that we don't get along, because we do, probably better now than we ever did when we were married, but I start getting antsy after spending more than a couple of days anywhere that isn't my house. While my parents' house isn't mine, it'll still be a change of scenery, so that'll be nice.

A couple of days ago I was talking to someone on the phone and happened to mention where I was staying.

Him: That's got to be pretty awkward.
Me: You'd think so, but it's really not that bad. We get along pretty well now.
Him: Well, if you need somewhere else to stay, you can always come stay here.
Me: I know, but it's easier if I just stay here. Plus, that gives me more time with my kids.
Him: Alright, but I don't to hear about any menage a trois breaking out between the three of you.
Me: I think you're safe there. If I were going to do that, there wouldn't be another guy involved, and it sure as hell wouldn't be with my ex-wife.
Him: Ok. Just checkin'.

Now some flowers they never bloom, and some flowers just bloom dead

I don't really see myself ever getting married again, but if that ever changes, I at least now have an easy way to pop the question. All I have to do is leave this lying on the counter somewhere visible.



Who says romance is dead?

Without the pretty pink ribbon, you'd end up just like me

The thing about hanging out around my ex-wife's house is that I have a lot of time to kill. I could sit down and write, but instead I find myself doing things that I occasionally think about but never actually do. For example, my brother called me to find out how my daughter was doing, and during our conversation, mentioned that he'd gained back some of the weight he'd lost over the past few months. It got me wondering how much I weighed. You see, I don't own a set of scales, so the only time I ever weigh myself is if I'm at the doctor or if I'm at my parents' house. Well, I haven't been to either place since about July, and probably haven't weighed myself since before then even, so I rummaged around until I found my ex's scales.

I've gained thirteen pounds since I last weighed myself.

I'm going to have to go start in on that second package of cookie dough while I ponder how this could have happened.

Let's hear it for guys like me

Son (5 yr old): Dad, will you make me a quesadilla?
Me: Sure.

I pull the tortillas and some shredded cheese out of the refrigerator.

Son: No. Not that kind of cheese. I don't like that kind of cheese.
Me: Well, what kind of cheese do you like?
Son: Square cheese.

You know, because it all tastes so much different when it's melted.

Me: You guys don't have any square cheese.
Son: You could put ice cream on it.
Me: Nice try.
Son: Can I just eat a plain one?
Me: Do you mean just a tortilla with nothing on it?
Son: Yeah.
Me: Sure.

Looks like someone's gone on the Native Minnow diet.

See that girl in the cat black dress, she'll love a man if he's had success

The other night before I got the call about my daughter I was talking to my friend about whether she'd heard back from a soccer player she had met who had shown interest in her.

Her: No. I think I ruined it by telling him I was moving in January.
Me: You think so?
Her: Yeah. But oh well, my loss. Wait. I mean, his loss, right?
Me: Right.
Her: It's too bad, because he was hot.
Me: Yeah?
Her: Yeah. But he knows it too, which is kind of a bad thing. It even says so on his web site.
Me: What does his web page say?
Her: It says not only does [Soccer Player] play for Team [LA club], he also plays for Team Good Looking.
Me: Is he being serious though, or is he like me . . .
Her: No. He really is good looking.

I'll show you how to cyclops rock, then you turn around and break my heart

Two nights ago I was finishing eating dinner with a friend when my phone rang. I almost didn't answer it because I didn't recognize the number, but decided to once I realized it was a number from the Salt Lake area. It was my kids' step-dad calling with some bad news. My son had accidentally shot my daughter in the eye with a BB-Gun and they were at the emergency room. It was late, and there wasn't much I could do to help with anything, so I just sent home and worried. I got a little bit of sleep, but woke up at 3:30 the next morning, packed my things and got on the road at about 5:00 so that I could be with my kids. It's good that I left when I did, because I got to their house just in time to take her to get a CT scan that the doctor had ordered. We got the results back today, and everything looks good. The doctors are confident that she won't need surgery, that she's on the way to recovery, and that she'll regain her normal vision. There's still too much blood in her eye to know for sure that there isn't any retinal detachment, but it looks like the blood that's in her eye is being reabsorbed by the body, so we should know more on Monday. But don't take my word for it. See for yourself:



The silver lining? My friend had to cover the bill for the meal because I was on the phone. And it was fairly expensive. I'll have to pay her back. The other is that I'm able to spend time with my kids, even though it's not under the best of circumstances. I'll be in SLC until we're certain that everything is alright.

Now that I'm startin' to learn I feel I'm growin' old

Yesterday I had to proctor another exam. I always joke that the only good thing about proctoring is that I get to look at all the pretty girls in the class, except, I'm not really joking.

We all showed up a few minutes early, and while we were waiting until we were able to pass out the exams, the professor came up to talk to me.

Him: Some of the students have approached me to see if I could do something about the way you look at them during the exam. They said it makes them feel uncomfortable.
Me: No they didn't.
Him: I couldn't even get all the way through that with a straight face.
Me: And you know what else? Even if they did say that, tough.

Any time we proctor, students are bound to run into questions they need additional clarification on. It's just part of the stress of the situation, and they want to make sure they're not going to be losing any unnecessary points. They'll usually ask for clarification without really thinking about what they're asking. For example, yesterday I was asked, "By constant, does he mean stable?", and "What does he mean by 'first step'?"

Usually I just restate the question for them, but I'm often tempted to be real sarcastic and say things like "Oh, by first step he really wants to know what happens at the end of the process." So, you can imagine the things that were running through my head when several students sought clarification on a question that asked about which group contained the largest animals.

"Does he mean largest in body size, or does he mean the most species?"

I told them he was talking about body size, but relayed the message on to the professor. He kind of rolled his eyes and said, "If I say I bought a large car does that mean I bought ten cars? Or, if I say you have a large bank account, does that mean you have ten bank accounts each with $1?"

Immediately after that, a blonde girl raised her hand and asked me the same question. I wanted to answer her by saying, "Well, if I say I have a large penis, what do I mean by that?"

Of course, sometimes they'll come across questions that are just poorly worded, and because of that are confusing. I make it a point to notify the instructor about those just in case he wants to make a general announcement so we don't have to answer the same question 100 times. When I came across one yesterday I showed it to him and told him I thought it was a poorly worded question.

Him: Hey, out of 60 questions there's bound to be 20 or 30 that are bad. Cut me some slack, it was four in the morning when I wrote it. Don't tell them that. Four in the morning and I was hammered*.

Once the exam was finished, we had to go grade the essay portion. The professor said that he was going to supply pizza for us while we graded (a standard practice for these things). On the way there, one of the TAs said that she hadn't eaten all day so she was starving.

Her: I was told we were having pizza, so I didn't eat earlier.
Me: Well, you could be like me and eat earlier and still eat pizza.
Her: No. That exceeds my caloric intake for the day, and I need to watch that. I have squish where there didn't used to be squish.

When we got there we talked about how he wanted us to grade the questions, what he was looking for in an answer, how many points each one was worth, etc.

Professor: I'll go over the answer key, then I'll leave . . .
Other TA (interrupting): And never come back?
Professor: . . . and get pizza. But that depends on whether I see an IPA.
Me: I would have said it depends on if I see a hot girl, but you say a beer. I can see where our priorities are different.
Professor: I wanted to keep it professional.
Me: Yeah, getting drunk on the job is real professional.

Surprisingly, the students did fairly well this time around, so I don't have any headache inducing answers to pass on. You'll have to wait until next time for that. I'm sure there will be plenty then.









*Just to be clear, I should probably point out that all these things are said in jest. He wasn't really drunk when he wrote the exam.

I'm more than a bird, I'm more than a plane, more than some pretty face beside a train

Yesterday one of my co-workers was walking down the hall in our building while looking down at a piece of paper in her hand. Of course, since she was distracted, I couldn't let the opportunity pass. I ran up and startled her by acting like I was going to slap her.

After her initial reaction of jumping back, she elbowed me in the stomach. Luckily, I saw it coming and had time to flex my stomach muscles and avoid having the wind knocked out of me. She wasn't quite so lucky. She hurt her elbow.

She looked at her elbow, then at my stomach, and said with a tone of shock in her voice, "You have stomach muscles!?"

The everliving ghost of what once was

The other night I was sitting in my car in the parking lot to a movie theater listening to music while I waited for a girl to show up. We had agreed to see Wristcutters: A Love Story (great movie by the way), but I had miscalculated the time it would take to drive across town, and arrived twenty minutes early. I didn't mind waiting. I just sat in the car listening to music to kill the time, which is something I enjoy doing anyway.

However, as I sat there listening to music, it occurred to me what day it was. Nov 11. Also known as the day my ex-wife and I officially separated. It took nearly three years for the divorce to be finalized. Those were the most emotionally draining three years of my life. It won't come as a surprise to anyone who knew me during that time that I was extremely depressed.

Flash back to that time period a few years ago, when I first moved to Vegas. I already knew a guy in the Ph. D. program because we'd worked on our master's degrees together, so I stepped into an immediate group of friends who did a lot of things together. A couple times a week we'd all meet up after school, usually at a particular bar that was close to campus which had great happy hour specials. On one occasion in particular, I was listening to Ryan Adams' Demolition on the way to meet up with them, and just broke down in tears on the way. I ended up being quite late because I just sat in the parking lot listening to music and sobbing. Once I got it all out, it took a few minutes to compose myself and go inside. I offered up some excuse about how I was sorry it took me so long to get there, but it was because I got caught up responding to an email or something like that. Of course, they knew better, but they never said anything to let me know that they knew.

I never told any of my friends (or family) thanks for getting me through that difficult period of my life. I don't think most of them can even comprehend how much they helped me. So, for the few of you who were there for me that read this, thank you. I've come a long way since then. Now I listen to music in my car to kill time, or because I want to hear the rest of a good song, not because I'm trying to get myself together before going into a public place. That's a big difference.

I've got something to say, I killed your baby today, doesn't matter much to me as long as it's dead

This past week was the one where my students dissect a fetal pig. Part of the dissection includes identifying all the parts to the reproductive system for both male and female pigs. In one of my labs there was only one group that had a male pig. They were nervous about ruining something, particularly because the rest of the class needed to look at their pig, so I told them I'd help them with that part, mainly because I was afraid they'd ruin something too, and then I'd have to cut open a whole new pig. As I started cutting, they started talking about one of the radio morning shows here in town.

Girl: So, they were talking on the radio today and asked the question, "What would you do for a million bucks?"
Me: I'll tell you right now, there's not a lot I wouldn't do for a million dollars.
Girl: Really?
Me: Yeah. That's a lot of money.
Girl: They were coming up with all sorts of things on the radio. Like, would you punch your Grandma in the face?
Me: Hmmmmm. It sounds harsh, but I probably would. I'd feel bad about it, but I'd give her some of the money later and she'd forgive me.
Girl: Would you make out with one of your parents for at least ten seconds?
Me: For a million bucks? I would.
Girl: Even if it was your dad?
Me: Yeah, but I doubt he would.
Girl: That's so disgusting.
Me: You're talking to a guy with a pig's penis in his hand. And I'm doing that for a whole lot less.

I'm such a whore.

Sense of security, like pockets jingling, midlife crisis

Me: I had my mid-life crisis early. It happened when I was 24 years old. Does that mean I get to have another one?

Guy: No. That just means you're going to die early.

Me: There's nothing I can do about it?

Guy: Nothing.

Me: Well, I have a friend who started going through what she called a quarter-life crisis at 23.

Guy: Then she'll live to be 92.

Me: So, if I'd called mine a quarter-life crisis, I'd live to be 96?

Guy: Yes. But you didn't. You said mid-life.

Me: I can't go back and retroactively change it to a quarter life crisis?

Guy: Nope. You're screwed. Dead at 48.

Me: That sucks.

Hate to see you lyin' there in your Superman skivvies. Lyin' on the floor, lyin' on the floor I've come undone.

The other day I ran into a friend as I was walking across campus. She was on her way to the mall to pick up something to wear to a pajama party that her employer is throwing this Saturday. All proceeds are going to help the victims of the California wildfires. Obviously, she works there, so she has to go, but I've been thinking about going too. The problem is, I generally don't wear pajamas, so I'd need to buy some first. With this in mind, and a knowledge of my general aversion to doing anything productive during the work day, she was able to convince me to head to the mall with her by telling me she had to be back in an hour.

I thought we were just going to make a quick trip through a department store or two, but that's because I'm a guy, and I've forgotten how women shop. We walked through Dillard's and didn't even look for the pajama section in ladies' wear.

Me: We just walked through the entire store. Didn't you want to stop and look here?
Her: Eh. If I can't find anything anywhere else we can stop here on the way back.
Me: Ok.

We walked a little way through the mall and then she said, "Here we are." Then she walked into Frederick's of Hollywood. She looked around for a while and found a few things that she liked, but then couldn't settle on a color, mainly because she didn't know what shoes she had that she could wear with it. So, we left the store without buying anything.

We walked a little further and then she kind of pushed me into a Victoria's Secret store.

Her: I know, it's a rough day. I can hear it now. "What did you do today?" "Oh, it was terrible. I had to go to Frederick's of Hollywood and Victoria's Secret with a girl."

That's a fair point.

Anyway, there really wasn't much there. Or should I say, there wasn't much there that she would actually wear. There was a lot of stuff that looked like something a ten year old girl would wear. It was pretty creepy. There were a few things that looked like what they had in the first store, but there was still the issue of footwear. So, we set off to find some.

We went to another department store and found some slippers that matched a silk robe they had at Frederick's, and they had hard soles, so she figured they'd match and be practical enough for work. She bought those and we went back to Frederick's for the silk robe.

There was still time before she had to be back, so as we walked back through Dillard's on the way to the car she asked if I wanted to go look for something too.

Me: Sure, why not?

Then we walked through the store looking for the men's pajamas. We walked for a little while and didn't see any, so I stopped and asked a salesperson where I could find some.

Her (pointing at a rack directly behind me): Um. They're right there.

I'm very observant.

The selection was very slim. I looked over several racks and didn't find anything that even looked comfortable, let alone in the colors or patterns I'd consider buying. Then my friend pointed at the back wall.

Her: Oh, right there. I see the perfect thing for you.
Me: Where?
Her (pointing): The tuxedo one.
Me: I don't see it.
Her: Oh, you will.

(Then I saw it)

Her: I'd pay good money to see you wear that.
Me: Yeah, well you'd be getting ripped off.

I'm pretty sure the Hungarian would have liked to see me wear that too.

You will lose it all. And you will find again. Don't lose touch

I got the following email from a friend of mine the other day:

I saw a t-shirt in walmart the other day for little kids. The slogan read, "What happens at Grandpa's in Vegas, Stays at Grandpa's"...um...hello....

Isn't that about the worst thing you could put on a t-shirt? Is that really the message you want your grandkids spreading to the world? Does that include the fondling and inappropriate touches?

'Til I can't remember what it was we said

A week ago I was talking to a friend of mine just before she taught her lab. One of the other TAs had left a copy of their quiz lying on the counter, so I picked it up and handed it to one of my friend's assistants.

"Here, I'm giving you an assignment. I want you to fill this out by next week."

This is what I got back:

Name: Fuck You!

1. The life cycle of most organisms from this Phylum alternates between two forms, name them: (2 points) Virgin and wanton sex goddess

2. This organism displays what type of symmetry? Sexy!

3. How many embryonic tissue layers does this organism have? Lucky 7 sleven

4. What Phylum does this organism belong to? There are 2 types of monkeys in the world. Which one are you?

5. ID the structure indicated by the pointer. Penis

6. What Phylum does this organism belong in? The one with your mom

7. Does this organism possess a true gut with two unique openings? Yes, an in-hole and an out-hole

8. Identify the structure labeled A (the hump). My lovely lady lumps

9. Identify the structure labeled B. Vagina

Had a real student turned that same thing in, I'd have been real tempted to give them a few points for making me laugh. If I could figure out their real name that is.

---------------------------------UPDATE---------------------------------

Side Note: I've just updated my links. If you would also like to be included, or if you would like your name removed, now would be a good time to let me know.

They're bouncy trouncy flouncy pouncy fun fun fun fun fun

You'll all be happy to know that Mr. Teddy Bear has been resurrected from the dead.



It seems that someone who knows how to carve a pumpkin better than I do couldn't "bear" the thought of him being tossed out.

I will now go slam my head in the car door for typing that last sentence.

Stick shifts and safety belts and bucket seats have all got to go

The first time I used the heater in my car was when I was mountain biking at Brian Head about a month ago (no, it wasn't this sort of trip either). Until that point, I'd been running the air conditioner instead. It turns out that's what people do during the summer here in Sin City. Anyway, once the hot air was blowing, I was very displeased to detect an odor not much different from poor people smell.

"Great!" I thought to myself. "My car's heater stinks. How am I going to make it through the winter if I have to smell that for three months?"

"Wait," another part of my brain interjected. "It's probably just because the heater hasn't been used for so long. Maybe there was just some stale air in the vents."

Well, that wasn't it. I've smelled it every time I've even turned the air conditioner off and just had the vent blowing. It seems that the second part of my brain is stupid. The problem is, when I ask anybody else who rides in my car about it, they claim that they don't smell anything.

Initially I chalked this up to my super sensory abilities (Now would be a good time to tell you that I have extraordinary senses: I can smell things no one else can smell, and I once heard a bat fly into a mist net from approximately thirty yards away), or my turbo nose, as Flieswithoutwings used to call it.

Well, I haven't had to use the heater yet (our temperatures are still in the 80s), but I know the time is getting close, and I've been dreading it. I spent the last few weeks trying to figure out what I was going to do with my smelly car. I've purchased different kinds of air fresheners, all to no avail. I've been thinking about taking it in and having all the filters replaced to see if that helped. If it didn't, I was going to either have to gut the car and replace everything, or trade it in on something different.

So, you can imagine my relief when I realized that the smell was coming from my sunglasses. Or rather, my sunglass case. Apparently the case got a lot of sweat on it during the mountain biking trip, and the stale sweat has been permeating the air in my car for the last several weeks. Understandably, the smell is especially strong when I first take my sunglasses out of the case and put them on. Hence the reason I'm the only one who can smell it. (But I do still have a turbo nose.)

I'm just glad I can wash the sunglass case rather than having to go out and buy a new car.

It's the same in any language

I'm not entirely sure why, but today I feel a pressing need to tell you a childish joke instead of giving you anything original. Deal with it.

There was a shipwreck in the South Pacific, and three survivors (all men) washed ashore on the same island. Initially, they thought the island was deserted, but after exploring for a day or two they encountered some natives and were captured by a handful of warriors from the tribe. The warriors tied the men up, took them back to the village, and placed them between a large bonfire and the hut of The Chief.

The Chief sent one of his advisors to speak to the captives as the rest of the natives gathered around. The advisor approached the first of the captives and said, "The Chief wants to know which you choose: Death or Unga-Bunga?"

Eyeing a large cauldron atop the bonfire, and suspecting that the natives were cannibalistic, the man replied, "I don't want to die. I choose Unga-Bunga."

The advisor went back to the Chief, and relayed the first man's choice to him. The Chief bellowed to the crowd, "He chooses, Unga-Bunga!!!"

Cheers erupted from the natives who had gathered. Then they began chanting, "Unga-Bunga, Unga-Bunga" over and over again. After a few minutes, the crowd parted, and a large warrior emerged. The warrior walked over to the first man, cut the ropes that were binding him to the pole he was tied to, and anally raped him in front of the Chief and the other natives, all whilst the natives continued chanting "Unga-Bunga."

When the warrior had finished, the Chief told the man he was free to go, and he hobbled off into the jungle.

Then, the Chief's advisor went up to the second man and gave him the same choice. "Well," the man said, "Unga-Bunga doesn't look like a whole lot of fun, but I really don't want to die. I want to be able to see my family again, so I choose Unga-Bunga as well."

The advisor relayed the message to the Chief, and the Chief again bellowed, ""He chooses, Unga-Bunga!!!"

Again, cheers erupted from the crowd, followed by chanting. Again, a large warrior emerged, cut down the captive and proceeded to anally rape him. When the warrior finished, the man was told he could leave, and he too hobbled off into the jungle.

Then the advisor approached the third captive. "Do you choose death, or Unga-Bunga?"

"I'm a very religious man, a devout Christian who believes that homosexuality is a sin. If I choose Unga-Bunga, I will be judged as a sinner by The Lord, and will spend eternity in Hell. While I would like to see my loved ones again before I die, I believe that I will be rewarded in the afterlife with a place in Heaven because of my decision. Therefore, I choose death."

The advisor returned to the Chief and said, "He chooses death."

The Chief then turned to the crowd and yelled, "Our prisoner has chosen, and we will honor his wishes. I sentence him to death, by Unga-Bunga!!!"

There is blood on our hands again

I've mentioned on here before about how I can be a heartless bastard. If you don't believe me, one of the deeds I performed in order to complete my Halloween costume should prove it.

I killed a teddy bear.

I didn't go for an easy painless death either. I cut its head right off. That's right, I'm going to Hell for sure.



Take a closer look at its headless corpse (which is still in my room):



One of my friends told me that I have cotton on my hands.

I kind of feel like the terrorists that attacked Imagination Land *.





*(watch until there are 9 minutes left if you don't know what I'm talking about.)

I've got a bad idea tonight, I've got a Halloweenhead

Trick-or-Treater: Hey Mister, what are you supposed to be?
Me: A bear in a suit, kid. I'm just a bear in a suit.

In case you're wondering what goes on in a day of the life of a bear in a suit, well, you're in luck. It pretty much consists of what you'd expect from a bear. You know, the usual stuff, like scratching:



Blogging:


Teaching:


Playing video poker:


Shooting pool:


And of course, shedding some light onto an age old question: