And if they continue to displease me I shall throw dirt in their tank for 40 days and 40 nights. I smite thee, Sea Monkey sinners!

I realize I totally suck as a blogger because I have let a million years go by without posting anything. I have no excuse. I started a post a couple of days ago about how I sort of peed my pants at work, but there really was nothing more to say about it than that.

I feel sad that I have neglected my blog. It's how I used to feel when I would get tired of my Sea Monkeys and I would stop feeding them and they would all stop swimming around and I would cry because I totally killed their whole Sea Monkey village like some vengeful God of the Sea Monkeys.

Holy crap! I was totally their God! God Lemish. That is so freaking awesome! I think I'm going to buy some new Sea Monkeys and feed them long enough so that their society has time to evolve and build the awesome castles that I was promised on the front of the box. I will make them build images in my likeness and punish them when they have not pleased me by unleashing a plague of goldfish on their asses. Let's see how long those fuckers keep having pre-marital Sea Monkey sex after that.

Goonies never say die. (Especially when they are deaf vigilantes of justice.)

So I've had this life long dream to be a Goonie. Because if I was a Goonie I could get into all kinds of adventures and figure out neat ways to get myself out of dangerous situations. I would also have this cool group of friends that would follow me around and say hilarious things. And we could all make fun of the Asian kid to make ourselves feel superior.

Anyway, if I was a Goonie I could be out saving the day all the time. Like if I was ever stuck in a McDonalds drive-thru lane and a carjacker came up to me and was all "give me your fucking car, you Goonie!" I could totally foil his plan. I couldn't just drive way and go for help because I would be completely blocked in by the asshole in front of me ordering his 12 Big Macs, so I would have to come up with a different Goonie plan.

I think I would bamboozle the carjacker and make him think that I was deaf and that I couldn't understand his carjacking instructions. I would just start frantically signing at him with a confused look on my face. Like "Where are my McNuggets that I was promised? I would like Hot Mustard please." The carjacker would be so frustrated with my inability to understand him that he would have to move on to the next car. In the meantime, I would have been secretly signing to the drive-thru worker to call 911. Then the police would show up and bust his ass before he could carjack anyone at all. Victorious!

Everyone would be so happy with me that they would reward me with a big bag of jewels, which is the usual Goonie fee for a job well done. And I would get to go on Oprah and tell my tale of vigilante justice, just like that old lady who got burgled and was able to stop her burglar by crushing his testicles. I think Oprah bought her a small country or something for being awesome and crushing a burglar's balls and because that is one less pair of balls we have to deal with in the world.

No one would judge me for pretending to have a disability because I would totally donate half of my jewels and at least one quarter of my island to the hearing impaired because I am liable generous like that. I would teach them all how to hand jam and how to make fun of the Asian kids in their group with ASL. Oprah would probably give me a two-part episode and buy me a fleet of rickshaws for all of my good deeds.

Cheating the system doesn't make my victory any less sweet

Confession: I click on the link to my blog 70 times a day to pump up my Google Analytics numbers. It's like analytical steroids. If blogging were an Olympic sport I would be the Chinese. Or the Russians. One of those asshole countries for sure.

I pity the fool

*Update: I used my time traveling abilities to post this after April 1st because I forgot to post something about April Fool's Day and I'd already found this cool picture. Who but Jesus could give me these astonishing powers? He loves me. And dinosaurs.

My ears are like, not even old enough to drink yet

This website is totally hitting on me and telling me I am young. I don't know what the website is trying to get our of me by this blatant flattery but I'll tell you right now that I'm not falling for it. Like I would really be all overcome with gratitude just because they tell me I am young and that I can do things only teenagers should be able to do. Seriously. I'm not that easy, Website. Like I would really tell everyone I know about how I could be mistaken for a high school student or something. Puh-lease. I mean I appreciate it and all, and I think you are one of the most intelligent and insightful websites I've ever seen but really, your flattery is having no effect on me at all. I love you.

My plan for ukulele-porn driven world peace will not be undermined by that demon girl Hannah Montana and her didgeridoo-playing followers

Lately I have found myself obsessed with ukuleles. I watch you tube videos of indie ukulele covers over and over again. It's almost like a porn addiction because I am both secretive and ashamed of my inability to look away. Except it's not because ukuleles are sweet and pure and porn is rarely sweet and pure. In fact, I really think the porn industry should look into some ukulele soundtracks to clean up their smut factories. I really think they would be able to capture a wider market share. I would totally watch more porn if they classed it up a bit like this.



In fact, I am positive that there would be world peace if it was mandated that all songs be performed on ukuleles.



I wish this dude was my weird, red hat wearing french grandfather who would sing me songs of the sea on his ukulele and make delicious pastries for us to share.



Even Disney who, despite being the harborer of the anti-Christ and the catalyst for the ensuing apocalypse, is always at the forefront of feel-good brand association has jumped on the ukulele bandwagon.

There is even a rockstar ukulele available.

The one instrument that I think is the opposite of the ukulele and therefore the most likely instrument to spur war would be the Australian didgeridoo. Because even though it has a cool name, it kind of separates itself from the other instruments and acts all better than everyone else just because it is made out of bamboo hollowed out by termites. It's an instrument snob. We didn't want you to join our symphony anyway you smug son of a bitch! It also sounds kind of scary and it used to be that only men could play it and women had to play the lame-ass clapsticks, second only to the ridiculous triangle in lameness. So it's sexist too. It's basically the instrument equivalent of Jude Law. So fuck the didgeridoo and it's attempts to undo my mission of instrument based world peace.

*Update: I can't stop watching! Just look at the people playing the tiny little guitars with their big hands! They look like music loving giants! I wonder if regular sized guitars WOULD sound like a ukulele to giants? That would be totally awesome. I need to find a giant and make them play a ukulele because that would just set me over the freaking edge. I feel like rolling around on the floor and squealing at the very thought!

I might be having a seizure.

*Update 2: I really like nickels.

My milkshake... is cleaner than yours

It may surprise you to know that I have a few quirks. One of these quirks is that while grocery shopping I cannot take the most forward sitting product on the shelf. I always take the one right behind it, preferably without touching the first product. I do this, obviously, because the first product on the shelf is dirty and those further back are fresher and less likely to have been touched by the heathens. If there is only one product left on the shelf I just refuse to buy it.

The other day I saw something that shook me to the core. While shopping at my local Target, about to pick up some milk, I saw a woman take out three gallons of milk, put one in her shopping cart, and then put the other two back. She didn't even put them back in the right order! The dirty milk was now the second milk on the shelf, and the fresher milk was in front!

Well first of all, fuck this bitch. She obviously has the same kind of sickness as me, really even more of a sickness because she had to take the third goddamn milk on the shelf (what kind of sick person needs the third milk back? A total sicko that's who.), and yet she didn't have the common courtesy to put the milk containers back in the correct order? She obviously doesn't know what she is messing with. You go screwing with the order of things like the dirty milk/clean milk paradigm and you are just asking for fucking anarchy. Good job Lady, you just put us all in mortal peril. She probably doesn't even use a paper towel to open the door in a public bathroom. Amateur.

So, obviously I was in distress by this milk situation. It made me realize that I really cannot rely on the fact that the second milk back will be the clean one. I really was an embarrassment to the vigilance of germ-watchers everywhere. Sloppy bitch in Target had made that crystal clear to me. I realized then, that the only way to be safe would be to go four milks back because no way is anyone sick diligent enough to go back that far. The problem with my new plan was that it's not always easy to reach four products back to get something without taking the other three out first. So I had to take the first three milks out, set them on the floor, and then grab my fourth, assumed clean milk.

Most days that would have been the end to the story. I would have taken the fourth milk, put the other three back and been on my merry way to the cookie aisle. However, on this day the fourth milk back had a smudge on the bottle. Well of course I can't buy the one with a smudge, that milk has obviously been through some shit. Unfortunately there wasn't a fifth milk on that row, which is total bullshit. Obviously Target was trying to slip their smudge-milk by on some poor unsuspecting fool. Well not on my watch Target! I left the smudge milk on the shelf (but turned backwards which is the universal signal for "don't buy this! It's yuck!"), but didn't put the other three milk containers back yet because, in an emergency, if all the other bottles failed their inspections, I could buy the third milk and just wipe it down with Clorox wipes once I got home.

I bent down and began removing the first third containers of milk from the second row and set them down (in order of course since I have respect for germ hierarchy.) I was in luck and the fourth milk on the shelf was smudge free and otherwise unremarkable. So I lifted it out and turned to put it in my cart, but somehow, before I could deposit my milk safely into the cart, it slipped out of my hands, crashed to the floor, and burst open in a white blast of clean milk goodness. At that moment a Target employee walked by and found me standing there in a huge puddle, surrounded by six full gallons of milk. Everyone was staring at me like I was the crazy one. I briefly contemplated stuffing a bag of chips under my shirt and going with a "my water broke" story, but I was afraid everyone would think I was totally weird for having white uterus juice and might take me to some scary medical research facility where they would do scientific tests on me and stuff... so I decided to suck it up and go with the truth. I explained that I was just trying to get a clean milk but most of their milk was dirty, so I had to keep testing them and that obviously it was their shoddy milk container craftsmanship that was the problem here and not me.

The Target guy didn't seem that sorry and I was starting to panic, so left with no choice, I grabbed the soggy third milk container and headed off to the disinfectant aisle leaving a milky trail behind me. On the way I gave the lady who started this whole mess a pointed look and held up my dripping container so she could see what havoc she had caused. She just looked away but I could tell she knew what she'd done and that from then on she would follow the rules like a normal person. Walking away I kind of felt like a superhero or something, like I'd really made a difference and that the world would be a cleaner, less germ-infested place because of me.