A Rabid Squirrel is in Your Locker

Quick! It froths at the mouth and makes quite the ruckus! What are you to do about this small rodent jumping about in your personal depository?

Make haste, I say to thee! Wander down to thy friendly warlock of the funk down yonder, and make acquaintanceship with his magical being. A gift of rhythm and song shall do good. Should you now find yourself in his allegiance, you are to bring him to thy nuisance of fur and tooth, and seduce the beast!

Take it out now, ne'er fear. You need not worry, for this beast has been tamed. It shall be called to your presence upon the uttering of it's given title, Titmouse Green. Unto Green you are to bestow love, and nothing other so that you may find that one day it shall reciprocate relish of your own person. When this day comes forth, count the days to the first buds of lavender in the meadow down by the crick. Green shall be brought into this field where he will be sat down in a patch of subdued grass. With a flick of the wrist you are to launch an offshoot in his direction. Let this branch be great enough to give him a fright, but not so that you may injure his fragile limbs.

He flies! He soars! Into the air Green does rise, and truly risen is your small vermin companion! Over the shoulders and over the tail his crown rushes, you have taught him the first of the instalments in his craft!

To the towns and valleys and hamlets the three of you will wander. People will run rampant for Green, bringing with them the naive and the senile, and along with that, their merit. Golden merit that is, for Titmouse Green the rodent and Capricious Cootie the sorcerer will be fruitful in their expeditions to the remotest parts of the world.

I'm terribly sorry but I have to change tone from here on because the next half isn't very easy to write.

Yo dawg, then we be like, takin' the squirrel for some shit, you know? He be going up all over the coasts. West side, East side ain't gon' matter brah. Throw that little mofo into the cart and get his ass over to the next deal. We here to make the green! Hitch my ride up and tow the little f****er myself.

What's that? He's hungry? Throw in a leg of the good stuff, my most amiable negro friend, the moolah awaits us!


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So that's what happens when you leave me alone with a thesaurus for an hour to write a post.

Oh btw I hid links in the punctuation.

National Pencil Topper Width Regulatory Board

Times are dark my friends. In light of the recent economic downturn, I propose that the diameter of pencil toppers of all lengths be brought down 16% in order to save money on the expenses for rubber materials. This is essential, as pencil toppers are used widely across the nation for reasons spanning from writing to competing to see how far you can bounce one off a wall. We can save tonnes of material and energy in the production process, and drop costs so that education can become more affordable. The cost of education is too damn high, as a single student can be expected to go through tens of pencil toppers in their entire life. If you do the math, then you'll realize that you're spending money on these materials. And money can be exchanged for burritos, so you don't want that happening, losing your money to overpriced pencil toppers.

But today I come to you in hopes of speaking of a topic much more dark, a topic foreshadowing this writing piece as the major reason why I propose these regulations. This reason would be pencil topper adultery. You may snicker, but we all know how dire this is. Pencil toppers are casually being taken off pencils and replaced upon others, without any regard for the flow of the system. We can not allow people to simply remove and replace their pencil toppers upon other pencils this freely. Even if they do have bright colours and interesting shapes.

The interiors of these toppers are notched for a reason - to prevent the topper from sliding off the pencil. There is reason behind this in the fact that once a topper and pencil are bound together, they should never be split. Just like first love, once the two join, they are to be soul mates until either degrades from extended use. These two may be in union so long as you are not to taint their sanctity. Repeated removal of pencil toppers may lead to wearing away of the interior of the eraser or dislodged pencil ends, leaving the respective part unfit for service ever again. It's important parts have been ruined effectively, leaving them as sad lifeless husks of what could have been.

That is why I propose the National Pencil Topper Width Regulatory Board's creation, so that we may bring about reform and save these poor sticks of wood and rubber slabs. Upon the death of one of the halves, the remaining party of the pair is to be immortalized in The Bottom Of The Drawer. You are not to take another eraser topper and plop it down onto the remaining stub of pencil, or put the worn eraser topper on top of a new pencil. Because, you see, once we transgress in such a fashion, it opens up a gateway to other acts of unspeakable treachery.

Soon people will back out on other promises, such as politicians (they already do that) lovers. They'll walk out on eachother when they see fit without a second thought.

Military planners? "Oh watsup bro cookie, it turns out we are invading you now".

Taco Bell employees. "NO! I say when the time is to serve you, and the time is not now!"

And when we don't have our cheap Mexican food, what do we have left to live for? For the sake of the Crunchwrap Supreme, Stop Pencil Topper Adultery now!

The Time Turn(s for everyone except you)er

Get ready for an extra large serving of ramblings with a nice creamy sauce of Durp.

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FADE IN WITH A SPINNING ARC, PANNING PIVOT ABOUT MAIN CHARACTER, PEDESTAL DOWN, TRUCK IN. CHEESY ASS CHARACTER  THEME PLAYS.

(You’re gonna need a shit load of rollercoaster tracks to get this dolly camera)

Nothing goes to plan and a domino effect of epic fail plays out in front of you in slow motion. A pretty girl is crying before you. Your best friend looks the other way with a look of disgust and leaves you. You’ve tripped and an oversized burrito full of molten nacho cheese is flying through the air, about to hit Robert Downey Jr. and ruin his crisp white shirt, bringing to an end any chance of you landing your acclaimed breakthrough performance on a Broadway rock opera about Harvard cheese vampires invading Amsterdam’s Red Light District to take back the Provolone encrusted brown jade pendant that was stolen from the Queen of Bangkok…-ia. Worst of all, the last serving of chicken fingers in the café just sold out. May Dan Harmon have mercy upon our souls.

BUT THEN! The nuclear silo explodes behind your back The heroine pulls out the diary as the scarlet sun sets The rain starts to fall around you and your soulmate You lamely pull out a pen shaped apparatus and click down on the top.

Everyone in the room freezes on the spot. You walk over, grab a chicken finger off some random bloke and eat it. Then you walk in between Johnny Depp and the burrito, take a ready stance, and leave your mouth left agape, ready to receive His Great Beefy Blessing (wink wink). Clicking down once again on the pen-looking-thing, the burrito comes flying into your mouth. From behind you, Johnny Depp exclaims “OMG YOU JUST SAVED ME FROM THIRD DEGREE MEXICAN FOOD BURNS! +∞ supermodels, sports cars, moneys, and fames to you!”

CREDITS ROLL

~~~

That obscure Community reference aside, I think we’ve all had one of these moments. You see, thanks to the power of bad storytelling, cheap cookie cutter plots, and seizurificly cheesy camera work , I’ve effectively masked my next conspiracy theory, and it's all about that stupid pen thing.

For decades now I’ve been secretly feeding all of you liquid nitrogen mixed with microscopic DVD copies of Pirates of the Carribean - On Stranger Tides. These deluxe edition CDs, with their unique property of having an ionic charge of “holy fuck why is this so bad”, effectively neutralize the whole freeze-off-your-ass part of the liquid nitrogen.

None of you knew that it was in there. It all goes back to the Great War. Materials were running short and we had to get all the cotton we could. Without any of you knowing it, we planted agents into all of the cotton producing plants around the nation. They spent decades of their lives contributing to this great cause. By the end of the 1960, we had agents in the top circle of every single cotton conglomerate on the face of the planet. And then, we started meddling with the bleach mixes. We added paint thinner to all of the cotton marked to be used in female hygiene products, and watched the chaos ensure. 


Over the following decade all the young prepubescent girls developed high concentrations of paint thinner in their hoohahs. All the adult females were affected as well, and thanks to kinky promiscuous love making being so popular, many of the males were exposed to high concentrations of paint thinner as well. So it's kind of our fault that hippies exist. 


Around this time, I approached Walt Disney. "What if I told you that I have a way to make millions around the world fall for your cheesy films? The next thing you know, we've got exclusive rights to produce POTC and several million dollars to spend on liquid nitrogen.


Back to the toxic wombs.Upon birth, children of the 70s were just smothered in paint thinner. Causing much brain damage, these children had extremely low IQs (it's starting to make sense, eh?). These incompetent people and children were disillusioned with something called animal rights and healthy eating. Thinking that cows with feelings were in need of saving, and that sweetened sugary plant milk would make them skinnier, people started buying soy milk. Over decades, the magical tainted juice of my creation filled the cells of the hippies, and their children well into 2012.


Soy milk? Of course we mixed the liquid nitrogen/Johnny Depp compound into soy milk. The whole field of genetics was a cover up while we were learning how to suspend microscopic DVDs in soy milk while keeping the appearance homogeneous and the flavour light and refreshing. No one suspected a thing, because soy milk seems so innocent and pure. And NOW, with the power in my hands, I can release clouds of pretentious movie critic nanomachines to enter the blood stream and corrode the copies of Pirates of the Carribean so that the liquid nitrogen freezes EVERYTHING over.

Because, you see, in 2014 I missed the live series finale of Community. On my way to the TV I was blinded by a flying chilli cheese burrito that went flying through my window. I was devastated, what was there to live for now? I considered ending it all. But when I held the gun to my mouth, I hesitated. What if there was a way? In 2020 when the time machines first came out, I went on a one way trip to 1914 to start this great big scheme, so that when the fateful burrito flew through my window in 2014, I would be ready to sacrifice myself in the name of Dan Harmon.


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And that is what you say when you're an 125 year old breaking into a teenager's house to steal their PS3 and you're caught. 

A Meyerification of Life

Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww. That ring is ugly.
Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww. That puppy is ugly.
Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww. That man is ugly.
Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww. That tree is ugly.

Hey, a shiny cardboard box! Look how shiny it is! Look at it! Look at it!

That's a somewhat accurate rundown of what my train of thought was running through one morning last week (so like the start of February?) when the weather decided to stop being such a pussy and actually snow half a centimeter. In the aftermath of the devastating several mm of precipitation that Toronto was bombarded with, there was actually a pretty decent layer of frost covering some random objects on my way to school. Like the grass. And the sidewalk. And a random cardboard box I just happened to see. And damn, that was one really attractive cardboard box.

It makes sense, people have urges. All kinds of urges, whether it be for money, procreation, or Mexican food. I know I've played out on a good two of those three things. Go on, guess which it is.

Don't know? Yeah, I don't feel like I need money that much. *wink wink* No. Uhh... Back on topic.

Among those urges would be the primal redneck instinct -wait. Sorry. That was politically incorrect. The primal Southern folk instinct to be attracted to shiny things. And you know how you make stuff that isn't particularly shiny become shiny? By glazing it in extra nice stuff.

In this case it would be frost. Why are Froot Loops so damn tasty? They're not, you just think so because it's glazed to look shiny (or at least smooth on some parts). Why is Robert Pattinson making so much damn money sitting in front of a camera with a toned CGI abdomen? He's not, it's not the body, it's the glitter. You're attractive to his shininess. And finally, why do we seem to be so damn attracted to Apple products? It's not because they're innovative smartphones anymore, Android surpassed them in that already a while back. It's because the glass casing makes it shiny.

Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears, and eyes, and hips, and stomachs, and thighs, and anywhere else strippers may like to apply glitter; for we shall craft a great new land today. A land known as South'rn Idaho Moonshine County The Bopping Cowgirl Gentlemen's Club Daytona 500 Supreme 24/7 Canada Mk. II, and in it there will be no prejudice! No injustice! Neither will there be poverty, nor fear, nor strife, nor any of these unpleasantries! You see, in this vast land of beautiful glittery people and things who sparkle, no one will ever be called ugly, hideous, or visually displeasing again! And through that, we will achieve full synonymity in our perfect sparkly outer selves, and no longer shall we be shackled by the chains of well rounded characteristics or bright personalities! All will be equal in our shallow, superficial ideals of the perfect person. We must...