Friday, October 29, 2010

My War on Cats and Dogs

I’m not going to lie to you all. I don’t like cats or dogs. I know what some of you may be thinking, my girlfriend thought the same thing.

And I don’t disagree with that.
They are adorable, at least a lot of them, and I’m sure we could have been best friends. The problem was how we met; first impressions mean a lot.
Yup, the first cat I ever got in close proximity with nearly killed me. 
At first the cat and I played along great. We rolled around, the cat showed me her hiding places and we had a great time. Then I stopped being able to breathe. As the world spun around me, my wheezing too strong to cry out, I looked up at the cat.

Damned thing was smiling.
That bastard, she probably knew I was going to die, luring me into her lair just to watch my slow agonizing death.

I didn’t die; my mother had been watching me the whole time and caught wind that something was wrong when I stopped breathing.  Turns out I’m horridly allergic to cats, dogs too. I’m actually allergic to much more then that – But those shall remain a secret till another time.
Since that day my life has been all out war
Dear Ramona,
I write this letter to you in fondness, hoping that it sees you well. My days here are long, but my thoughts of you keep me going. We continue to lose ground here on the southern front. I have heard however that the north is doing much better. Looks like all hope is not lost y—

Much of my battle continues to be victories on my side.  I’ve reclaimed my own house, while a short campaign shortly after lead to capturing my parent’s houses.
Years passed and a massive mandate arrived in the form of my grandparents houses.  For years we battled, neither side budging. But time was on my side, and patience proved key.
Alas, in a battle so numerously against me it is only a matter of time till the cats and dogs find a way to undermine my defenses.

Touché cats, touché.
It’s a low blow, but effective. I cannot ever go over to Ramona’s house for fear of dying in my sleep. Not to mention that after about five minutes I would be completely miserable; sorry Ramona (Still love you).

Sunday, October 24, 2010

The Slender Man

I’m so going to die.

This whole thing started last night, thanks to my good friend Gabriel. He sent me a link to an online series of videos involving the “Slender Man.”      
I was terrified. I watched the whole thing, but it could not stop there. I looked up the slender man and found out everything about him. I read countless stories, doing what I always do to defeat fear, learn. 

When I have a fear I learn to defeat it. A great example is from not too long ago when I suddenly realized that if I was in an airplane that exploded, or just crashed, I would die. I read a huge paper on physics, learned all about aerodynamics; I learned how to survive. After that I planned, and now I know just what to do if while flying out to visit family in Arizona the plane explodes.

Yes, this is a part of my plan.
So I read up on this “Slender Man.” Exploiting all his weaknesses, learning his strengths, I studied him.

1.       If caught on film he is slowed down.

1.       Destroys your memory
2.       Paralyzes you
3.       Can shape shift
4.       Not limited to 3rd dimensional movement
5.       Can only be seen by his victims
6.       Has really creepy stretchy limbs
He also likes fog and overcast days.
Ok, scratch my plans. I cannot kill this. “Not limited to 3rd dimensional movement?”  What does that even mean? Can he move through time? How do I fight that? I mean if I even wanted a chance at this I would need an entire squad. Maybe then we could try and – oh yeah ONLY I WOULD BE ABLE TO SEE HIM
That’s it, 

game over.

I’m sitting here feverously scratching down all of this, peering out my window every thirty seconds for some ambiguous shape to emerge on the edge of my peripheral vision, only to cause my paranoia to skyrocket and cause a mild heart attack; when I realize that I’m smiling. I’m horrified that at any moment I’ll be brutally murdered by the slender man. I even have a video camera watching me all the time just in case. Yet I’m smiling. I love scary stories; extrapolating their ideas in my mind and freaking myself out, I love it.
I think it all falls back on the stress I feel normally. Taxes, life, expenses, the dentist, and a slew of other things I cannot say for the sake of surprise in future stories.
Some twisted logic in my mind; applied stress if fun! But when it is mandatory it is awful.
And that ladies and gentlemen was a lot deeper of a topic then I originally intended to breach with this post.

Tuesday, October 19, 2010


Some days I really want to be attacked by ninjas.

Simply going about my day, nothing too exciting, and then BAM ninjas.

I suppose one could look at this to be an implication that I could beat up ninjas. This may or may not be entirely true. I should specify. Some days I just want ninjas, I can beat in a fight, to attack. I really don’t need my day to be ruined by ending up dead.
It needs to be a good fight though. I don’t want 300 pound ninjas attacking; I could just climb some stairs and watch them take their selves out.

Then again, if it was a 300 pound sumo wrestler ninja that may be a bit too much.

Not quite sure how I would fight that.

Now I just feel bad. I can’t be happy with any ninja attacking me. Nooooo, it has to be a certain kind. Gosh I am so needy. 

Saturday, October 16, 2010

Childhood Games

When I was a child I loved playing games. Not that big of a surprise as most children love games, but it is true none the less.

I was also the kind of child who enjoyed winning. Playing a game was like being given a bowl of ice cream, while winning made it a bowl of my favorite flavor, with sprinkles.
Everyone knows sprinkles make ice cream ten times better. 

One day after being abandoned by our parents to a painful world of education, that is to say, after kindergarten one day, my friends and I decided to play hide and go seek while waiting for our parents to pick us up. 

I loved hide and go seek, why? I was fast. Should that really matter in a game of hiding? No, not really. Did it? Yes. This is because even as a young child I was learning the ways of our legal system, exploiting loopholes. The poor soul unlucky enough to be chosen as “it” began his fateful count to a hundred; the rest of us scampered about.

 This is where the loophole comes in.

A problem with small children playing games is that unless rules are asked for they are never explained. What this meant for me is that boundaries did not exist. We never mentioned them, we don’t have them. So by my logic if I ran really fast for one hundred seconds no one would find me.

Running for so long sure was hard but the thought of those hypothetical sprinkles was oh so hypothetical and oh so delicious. After what I assumed to be something like one hundred seconds I needed somewhere to hide.

Jumping into a nearby inconspicuous bush I settled, planning to wait out the game, my plan was perfect. 

Scratch that, my plan was horridly flawed. I was so far away I could not even hear my friends to keep me on edge/ to know when the game was over.
Slowly poisonous thoughts entered my mind…
“is the game over yet?”
“What if I’ve already won?”
“What if that’s just what they want me to thing and are secretly waiting for me right now with a cheetah!?”
“They would get a cheetah… Just to catch me…”
Having a hyperactive imagination aside I was getting quite bored. Soon I even found myself daring to leave the safety of my bush for the outside world.

The real issue was that I did not want to go back yet.

But I was bored my mind needed stimulation.

This is about the time things started to go downhill

And that ladies and gentlemen is called foreshadowing. 
I was not a stupid mind you; no part of me thought I could skateboard. But I could look awesome pretending to skateboard. This very quickly devolved into an adorable child version of myself, as I was very adorable at the time, trying desperately to look awesome.

 Ultimately I was closer to imitating surfboarding.
This held my attention for a shocking whole two minutes. After which, and this is the special part, I wanted to get off the skateboard. Stepping off my foot landed on its side. This is that sort of step that twists your ankle if you put all your weight on it. The typical reaction to this is to stumble forward saving yourself from an injured ankle. When I stepped I stumbled not forward but circularly, yea work that over in your mind.

I was then standing backwards on the skateboard feeling quite proud of myself. You know the funny part about stumbling? It is a force of momentum that if you say applied to the wheels of a skateboard just standing around may cause that skateboard to move.

I soon found myself falling quite quickly down a terribly steep hill backwards on a skateboard. How I did not notice I was playing with a skateboard on a massive hill of doom and death is a question I still ask myself. Needless to say I freaked out a little bit.

I understood that this was bad, this was very bad. I also understood how amazing it was that I did not slip off at any given moment to my assumed death. This hill was so long however that my mind slowly had time to cool down from its state of complete panic. I recall just looking over my shoulder and thinking “This is amazing!” when I discovered a large rock in my path.

I woke up later with a general sense that something was wrong. I gave a little mental groan, I felt like a computer rebooting. I was in the grass, somehow, and everything was wet. I thought this was just the dew on the grass. Opening my eyes was a challenge but soon I found myself looking out at a red tinted world. I instantly understood that something was wrong, I’d hurt my eyes, I needed to get back.
I tried to get up,

But that was not working so well.
My motor skills were shot; nothing was working as it should. Fortunately I kept a cool and collected mind. “Everything was going to be ok,” I told myself. I just needed to get back. My calm mental demeanor was sadly askew. Outside of my mind I was screaming my head off; some shock from head trauma keeping my knowledge of this quiet. I just figured I could not talk.
I did finally get up somehow, slowly beginning the trek back. Still nothing was working. My best attempt at movement was no less than a zombie lurch.

Those houses had better have all been abandoned because as I painfully lurched by no one came to my rescue. I mean yes if I saw a young zombie child covered in blood goring up the sidewalk, while screaming his head off, I would be scared too.

I did make it back to the house. My friends had retired long before from hide and go seek, so I approached with only a sweeping wind as company. I neared my final obstacle, the front door.

Well first the stairs up to the door. All my motor skills to raise my legs were gone, let alone balance which had effectively forsaken me. My whole being had the only purpose of getting into the house, nothing else mattered. By sheer willpower I climbed, with muscles long torn asunder, to the door.

All I needed to do was turn the knob… turn the knob… turn the bloody knob! (Huh, I just realized how ironic saying that is.) My hands slid on the door like they were covered in finger-paint, actually my blood. I couldn’t aim. The door was so close but all I could do was flail at it miserably.

Statistically speaking if you keep trying you are bound to succeed. This is how I explain machine guns, blindly eating jellybeans, most music playing bands, and how I finally grabbed the doorknob.
The door swung inward easily and I soon felt the shudder of adult footsteps coming towards me. Mind you I had no idea I was screaming. So when a friend’s mother showed up I was simply glad she had psychic powers.

I’m pretty sure she screamed, not that I could hear. Then we both sort of wobbled and collapsed. I’m told we passed out, which explains the gap in my memory.
Though I’m under the impression I passed out first. 

It turns out my eyes were fine; lying around in a pool of my blood just covered them in a film of red. My cuts and scrapes, though plentiful, were all something a week or two could mend. The real problem was my tongue. I had cut my tongue in half. Not the snake way, but horizontally. I was left with a wicked scar across my tongue that kept me company for years and years of my life. When I crash landed my tongue had been sticking out past my teeth. My head colliding with the ground caused me to close my mouth rather violently, and thus all the blood.