Ind e-Pen XXII

The Ind e-Pen
+++vol+1+++BT+22+++

Introduction
==============

Happy Birthday to me,
Happy Birthday to me.
I’m another year older,
And on that, I’m not keen!

And 19 times 19 Mooooore!!
(or 361.)

Circling the drain…

Oh, no.

I thought I was done with this. I thought that I was finished with writing columns about my best bathroom experiences.

But look at this:

“The Kohler Arts Center in Sheboygan, Wisconsin was named the nation’s finest restroom as voted on by the Internet public in the America’s Best Restroom III contest, presented by Cincinnati-based Cintas Corporation”

According to www.bestrestrooms.com, there is an annual contest where hundreds of restrooms are ranked according to a bunch of stupid criteria (originality? unique style or theme? Who wants a theme in their crapper? No, my john just needs to be huge and as clean as an obsessive-compulsive’s operating table).

So now, in order to determine whether I have or have not truly been in the best restroom to raise one’s children in, I must travel to Wisconsin and compare this restroom to my current #1: the porcelain phone at the Treasure Island Hotel of Las Vegas, Nevada.

But it’s been about two and a half years since I saw that restroom last. I might have exaggerated it in my head. I mean, what if this restroom DOESN’T actually have a crystal sculpture of me looking over your shoulder at the urinals?

Okay, so before I go to Wisconsin, I have to go take a trip back to Las Vegas (Sheboygan? What kind of a name for a town that has an awesome nose powdering room is Sheboygan? Why can’t they have nice New Mexican names like Albuquerque, Chaparral, or Carizozo?).

So, anyway… I’m going to Vegas in three days.

No, it’s not because I’m some sort of spunky guy that likes to take random trips on whims just to go see a restroom (although I am. I mean, I did go to both the Waldorf Motel and Hotel on a whim… actually, that’s a blatant lie, I only heard about them just before I went, and they were both on the way. Oh, well. Back out of the parentheses now), the reason I’m going to Vegas is actually because a friend of mine is going to be there and it sounds like fun.

Really, the only coincidence is in the way I structured the article. But I guess that’s just the kind of guy I am.

Anyway, I’m going to Vegas for the sole purpose of using a restroom (actually, that’s a blatant lie. It’s not just me going, I conned a few friends into going with me, and I’m only going back to the restroom because of the contest I barely heard about,,, besides, it’s on the way. Oh, well. Back out of the parentheses now).

I’ll catch yous guys on the flip side. Wish me luck, ‘kay?

Birthday Tallies

Offers to do things that I have rejected: 4

An all-day movie thingy
A pool party/quincenhera*
Foodin’ with one or both of my parents
A fiddling-contest to the death (actually, there was something else here, but it was rescheduled anyway, so meh… Fiddling contest it is)

People that have wished me a happy birthday (it’s not even my birthday yet!): 3

One of them just couldn’t wait,
One of them was leaving for D.C.
And the
other didn’t want to be late.

Presents that I have received: 2 (a five pound hunk of Hershey’s chocolate and a wallet)

While I like chocolate, I don’t like it that much, and, well… I’m against chocolate on the principle that slaves pick the cocoa beans.

Oh, and I already have a wallet. Although, it’s probably for the best. This one had a $50 bill in it. Plus, it had a picture holder (that I so desperately need), and wasn’t made out of leather (I’m a bad vegetarian… now if only someone gave me a Pleather jacket, and some non-suede cool-looking shoes).

Pix Capacitors and Ind e-Pens that I have written: 1

Hi.

*Quince_era required the only other extra letter in the Spanish language that I just couldn’t talk my keyboard into typing. So instead I spelled it the Portuguese way (it still makes the same sound, it’s just not right in either language).

The Forum:

Remember, you can submit your own stories here.

A Small Quiz:

Congratulations to Jack Nagel, the winner of last week’s quiz. Where would you all be during the summer, if I weren’t here to provide the tests that you’re so obviously lacking? For his answers, Jack wins the Pix Capacitor that just came out yesterday. That is, of course, if I ever get my copies back…

Congratulations, Ja k.

Hm.. There was a pun in that, but I guess I just don’t “c” it anymore.

Last Week’s Questions:

1: What, exactly, DOES constitute selling out?
2: Give me money. I’m ever so hungry..
3: If you had a water gun, would you go power mad?

Jack’s Answers:

1: depending on another company to advertise for you. so, if coca cola advertised the P.C. then it would be selling out. if coca cola buy a section or donates, then it is not selling out.

2: that happens in this little nation of New Mexico

3: would i? i plan for it everyday, for some reason no one ever gives me a water gun

This Week’s Questions:

1: What’s the fanciest place YOU’VE ever peed in?

2: What’s the LEAST fanciest place you’ve peed in?

3: When’s your birthday?

To be removed from this list, send me a dollar. C’mon… it’s my birthday!

| 7 Comments

Ind e-Pen XXI

The Ind e-Pen

+++vol+1++BT+21+++

Introduction:

===============

So there I was, checking my e-mail, when I ran across my first submission to the Ind. e-Pen ever. My first thought was, “wow, someone actually wrote in,” then I thought, “ha, wouldn’t it be funny if I didn’t publish it?” Ha ha!

See, this is exactly why I should never have been in charge of editing my elementary school newspaper. I actually wasn’t in charge of it, but that’s not the point. The point is that I shouldn’t have been. Ah, memories… or the absence thereof.

Jobs, selling out to Corporate America, and the waterworks
A few of my friends and I have been looking for jobs for the past few weeks (”I’ve got a job for you”). We’ve applied everywhere in town (well, not everywhere. I refuse to work with food again, and I’m afraid of getting shot, so I’m not going to work at a gas station or the doctor’s office.
There’s something about having only worked at two places in your life (and quitting one of them after two weeks), that makes you less likely to be hired anywhere else. It’s a vicious cycle, not unlike anorexia nervosa and the Golden Globes.
After applying in a billion places (no, YOU’RE an exaggeration), I decided that I would pursue another venue of making money: selling out.

Or advertising, whatever.
Seeing as I’ve had my own paper for about five years now (speaking of which, I’m going to have a fifth anniversary special in September), I figured that it was about time I had some sort of sponsor. I mean, Michael Moore had his paper be statewide in only ten years.
The initial suggestion was that I ask the good people at Coca-Cola for sponsorship. “They have money to throw around! Just show up, look nice, say you want it, and they’ll give it to you!”
Then the debate started. “But if he goes to Coke, that’d be like selling out, I mean, he doesn’t support Coke, right?” they say to me whilst I drink a Dasani.
“You should only sell add space to local businesses. That way you’re not selling out, you’re just supporting the little guys.”
“Selling out is only when you sponsor something that you don’t believe in. If you were going to do it anyway, it’s just like getting paid for nothing!”
“My foot’s warm.”
It seemed that everyone but me had a rock solid position on this (except for my friend who kept changing his mind). So I did the only thing that made sense: I wrote Michael Moore and I asked him for advice.
What did he say? Well, he probably hasn’t read it yet, seeing as I wrote him less than twelve hours ago. Right before I left for the annual MESA/Science Olympiad party, in fact.
In dozens of high schools around the nation (New Mexico is a nation, right?), there are these programs that are essentially the geek’s excuse to miss school (although, ironically enough, almost all of the trips these clubs take are on weekends). Quite naturally, I belonged to every program I could find. Most of which I was in for all four years.
These two particular programs (MESA and Sci. Oly.) have their end-of-the-year parties together every year (and why not? About 85% of the people that are in one are in the other). When I graduated high school, I thought that I’d gone to my last high school party. Boy, was I delusional or what?
Yesterday, someone asked me if I wanted to go to this party. I said yes, why not? So today, instead of being a diligent worker and writing a letter to Coca-Cola, or writing this e-mail, I went to this party (which was both anti-liquor and anti-vegetarian. Yup, they hate me).
In these types of celebrations, there’s always a period where they take pictures and present awards. I don’t know why, I just know that it’s always when I finally get comfortable and find food I can digest. I think they do it on purpose.
For some reason, towards the end of the awards, they started giving away random objects like “Chicken Soup” books, scrapbooks, and water guns. As you can probably guess, people began throwing advice at each other.
I mean wetting each other. Wetting each other.
A few people took these water guns and started wetting everyone. One girl made the mistake of wetting me. And, before you could say statutory, I was off after her. I stole someone’s water gun and proceeded to engage in an all-out guerilla war against the poor saps that happened to not have an aquatic weapon handy.
Then I sat on the swings for several hours (I have an anti-climatic personality).
Eventually, however, someone began wetting me again. Grabbing a gun, I went and popped a cap in their ass.

I go on trial in July.

I kid, I kid. No, I gathered two or three of my best comrades and we began our tyrannical, if short-lived, reign of terror over the rest of the party-goers. We particularly picked on the same poor kid that I picked on all through high school (his name is Josh. Let’s all laugh at him for a moment).
(nope, a little longer)
(ha ha!)
Anyway, eventually, Josh and his posse caught us off guard (when we were fighting amongst ourselves… it’s hard to share tyrannical power). They stole our water guns and wet the bejeezus out of us.
So we did the only manly thing we could do. We hid in the bathroom for an hour.
And we made water balloons. Lots and lots of precious water balloons.
Then Josh anticlimactically left. So what do ex-tyrants with a newly formed militia and no enemy do? Create an enemy, of course.
We called it Josh 2: Tyrants United.
And now, to anticlimactically end this column.

…

…

..

.

The Forum:

Okay, a nice story that people all over the country would enjoy reading? Well, since I live in New Mexico, the only things that have gone on lately involve cops, three drunk guys, and a drag queen (apparently it was a graduation and three guys decided to play a joke on their friend while he was passed out on the couch. It could happen to anyone, I assure you). However, my story has nothing to do with that.
Well, with the three conscious guys anyway…
Wait. No, I was right. Nothing!
This story is about my job back in the day when I was a workhorse for a semi-major baseball corporation in a local town (this mysterious anonymous baseball corporation is available on the web at www.diablos.com).
This was my first job ever and I was working with a grood friend of mine at what turned out to just be a giant playground for us (complete with a built-in fort with built-in blunt, wooden weapons and angry tobacco- chewing uniformed henchmen).
Our job title was “Parking Attendant,” but we ended up doing everything… most of which we weren’t supposed to do, but nobody has to know about that.
Every year in this stadium, they give out this award that they call the “Raving Fans Employee of the Year.” Since this was our first year and we were parking attendants, we thought that we would never win.
We did, but that isn’t the kewl part.
That night also happened to be the night that I got into a fight with another employee ten minutes into the game. Quite naturally, I left the stadium for the rest of the game, not caring about the work that needed to be done.
Of course, the boss knew about the fight, but I was gone before he could do anything. As the game was about to end, another employee came looking for me saying that the boss wanted to see me. I thought I was going to have to work, but when I got back in the stadium, they called for my friend and I to report to the field. Then they proceeded to tell the whole stadium that we won the award and gave us a fifty dollar bonus.
So we blew off work after that and sat in the box seats to watch the fire work show. Wouldn’t you figure, the one night I don’t do my job is actually the night I get recognized for it?

-Jack N.

A Small Quiz:

The winner gets a free Pix Capacitor. No big prize, I know, but it is mailed with a cool little envelope.

Question 1: What, exactly, DOES constitute selling out?

Question 2: Give me money. I’m ever so hungry..

Question 3: If you had a water gun, would you go power mad?

To be removed from this list, click on these links… actually, don’t. I forget what they do.

https://www.paypal.com/xclick/business=pixel_q_styx%40yahoo.com&item_name=Pix+Capacitor&return=http%3A//www.pixcapacitor.com/index.html&cancel_return=http%3A//www.pixcapacitor.com/index2.html&cn=Instructions&tax=0&currency_code=USD&lc=US

https://www.paypal.com/xclick/business=pixel_q_styx%40yahoo.com&undefined_quantity=1&item_name=Pix+Capacitor+12+month+subscription&amount=20.00&return=http%3A//www.pixcapacitor.com/index.html&cancel_return=http%3A//www.pixcapacitor.com/index2.html&currency_code=USD&lc=US

| 2 Comments

Ind e-Pen XX

The Ind e-Pen
+++vol+1++BT+20+++

Introduction:
===============

Yikes! Isn’t this supposed to be summer break? Shouldn’t I be less busy now than I was during school? Jeez. I can’t take the pressure anymore, let me go back to Final’s Week!

A Gap, a party, and a graduation, and a graduation, and a party, and a party, and a party…

Wednesday night, my friends and I went to a party at an acquaintance’s house. During this party, I met a girl and, as is my usual fashion, I convinced her to walk for several hours in the unforgiving sun the next day.

Ever since senior year of high school, a few of my friends and I walk an insane distance through the hottest mountain in New Mexico. At some point in the process, like Mardi Gras, we lost the meaning and significance of it all. Now we just walk because we don’t want to break the tradition ‘this’ year. Anyway, each year we get less and less people go with us (we should probably stop calling it the “Annual Walk of Death”).

This year, one of the three people that had walked the previous years couldn’t make it. She had a final scheduled at that time. Plus… she was hit by a bus. Well, maybe. I just talked to her an hour ago, but a lot can happen in an hour. Haven’t you ever seen the hit TV show “24″ with Kiefer Sutherland?

Why is it still called “24,” anyway? Shouldn’t it be “72″ by now? And hasn’t the character had enough by now? Seriously, yikes…

Anyway, an hour is a long time. It even seems longer when you’re walking across a mountain in a desert conveniently located directly under the friggin’ sun. Eventually, though, four of us (my friend Daniel, myself, this girl, and a Jehovah’s Witness that we accidentally started talking religion to) did make it all the way across.

To celebrate, we decided to have a party. Unfortunately, everyone was busy. So we postponed the party to Saturday and relocated it to my house…

Wait. My house?

Crap. They wanted a pool party, didn’t they? Ha! Well, the joke was on them. My pool was the sickest looking thing in existence. There was no way they were going to clean and fill it in time.

Wait.

They expected me to do it, didn’t they?

Crap.

The only person that I could get to help was my token white friend Jack. For some reason everyone else was coincidentally busy at the time. Grr…

See, that’s the reason I’m not afraid of the Draft. By the time they get me, a dozen poor white kids will already be drafted before their time.

Also, I’ll probably work my way out of active combat. Us born again Mexicans are crafty like that: we work our asses off to stay lazy.

Back to the story; Jack and I worked our asses off for two days. We also managed to talk this same girl into helping us for a bit (yup. She was white). By the time we were finished, the pool was impeccable (except for the peccable parts). But by that time we didn’t care anymore.

We finished cleaning the pool at about 5:15. By 5:21, we had three separate people call and offer to help us clean. I really wish I were kidding.

That night, the Gadsden High School class of 2004 graduated. Later, there was a party. In case you’re wondering, that’s two parties in three days. There was no way there’d be more, right?

Well, except for the pool party that we were going to have the next day. You know… it’s funny. There were seven of us there, but only token white boy Jack and I actually went swimming. Something about the swimming pool being too ‘peccable’ for everyone else to get in. Grumble, grumble, grumble.

Also, it was raining (in New Mexico! Honestly, New Mexico!).

So we left, choosing to go crash someone’s graduation party instead. Unfortunately, we arrived just after all of the people our age had left (at least that’s what I’m hoping. Because if not… Nana’s really let herself go).

Figuring ‘the third party’s the charm’ (that’s not mine. That bon mot reeks of Jack,,, which doesn’t mean that he said it, just that it smells like him), we crashed another party. When we realized that that party whomped, we crashed another. Then we came back to my house and watched “Family Guy.” Oh, if I had a catfish for every time I’ve given up the possibility of excusable public drunkenness for cartoons, then my pool would never have algae again!

Sorry… pool cleaning humor. Anyway, I’ve gotta go now. My arms are sunburnt for some reason…

The Changes.

Submitting to the Man. Thanks to a recent suggestion by a trumpet-wielding maniac, I have opened a PayPal account. Apparently, this will make it easier for people to order subscriptions and will eliminate the ‘check is in the mail’ excuse. However, the ‘check is in the e-mail’ and ‘it must have gotten lost in cyberspace’ excuses are still open.
I tried to open up a business account mutually for the Ind. e-Pen and the Pix Capacitor, but PayPal hates us bad entrepreneurs. So instead, I just opened a personal account to which you can donate money, order back issues, or buy a subscription. Just go to the website and say that you want to give this e-mail account moneys.
Well, don’t say it, type it. That might work better.

The Quiz. At the end of every e-mail, I usually include a question to give people the ability to get a Pix Capacitor mailed to them at no cost. Due to the recent deluge of (presumably correct) responses, I’ve (tentatively) decided to replace the question with a weekly quiz to see if that works better. I’ll introduce it next week and it could cover anything from the previous e-mail to the Universe and everything between. Ah, don’t you love how I put the ‘exam’ back in Summerexambreak?

Opening the forum. We’ve done about twenty e-mails so far this year, and the only chance that anyone has really had of sending their viewpoints or telling their stories is by answering a weekly question. Noticing this problem, I have decided to open this viewsletter up to the public by allowing you to submit any stories of your life, thoughts, or ramblings. The rules are simple: don’t do anything stupid. However, to appease the lawyers (not my lawyers, just these guys that I send this e-mail to), I’ve attached a detailed list of stuff that I figure I’ll publish at the beginning of every season from now on:

Things you CAN’T do:

• Swear. Basically, unless you work them in cleverly, don’t write any of the seven words you can’t say on television (shit, piss, fuck, cunt, cocksucker, motherfucker, tit). Also, no racial, ethnic, or religious slurs (unless it’s your race, ethnicity, or religion, it’s best to just stay off the topic).
• Tell inside jokes. If I don’t get it, it’s out. If only I get it, it’s out. If it’s only pertinent, funny, or obvious to your town, county, or state, it’s pretty much out too. However, if you explain the joke or the origin of it, you can leave it in.
• Not Proofread. I can correct missing words, homonyms (but not homophones), and some grammar errors. But the moment I don’t know how to correct it, it’s out.
• Plagiarize. I don’t have to publish your name (or your sources), if you don’t wish me to, but all work submitted must say who wrote it and whether or not any information used came from anywhere in particular.

Things You CAN Do:

• Use it to further your political agenda. Hey, I need to maintain my credibility (shh! it’s true), you don’t.
• Insult any group that attracts attention to itself (or could defend itself).

Things You CAN Do, but in moderation:

• Refer to previous issues.
• Insult me, Gabe, or any previous guest writers.
• Picking on any group too much.
• Introducing characters, people (including friends/family/enemies) in your article. Generally two is the limit, but this can vary.

One last thing:

Okay. First of all, I’d like to mention that I single-handedly taught Trumpet Rob Troyan and Silly Nikki Soohy how to solve a Rubik’s cube. I just wanted to pat myself on the back for that. Okay, sure, they put a lot of practice in, but that had nothing to do with it, surely? Anyway, congrats to my good friend Adelay for making me laugh. She, and also Mr. Rob and Ms. Nikki, get a free Pix Capacitor this fortnight. Hmm… maybe I should get started on writing that one…

Last Week’s Question: Can YOU solve a Rubik’s Cube?

Adelay’s Answer: “No, and it’s not possible to solve it. The phenomenon of the Rubik’s cube landing on all of the same colors is strictly luck in any case.”

This Week’s Question: Do YOU have any adventures to write about?

To be removed from this list, add me to yours.

| 3 Comments

Ind e-Pen XIX

The Ind e-Pen
+++vol+1++BT+19+++

Introduction:
===============

Bah, humbug. I’m becoming a Jehovah’s Witness. That’s right mom, no Mother’s day present for you. Okay, okay, yeah, I know I did that last year, then renounced my religion the day before my birthday only to take it up again the week before Father’s day, but this year is different. This year I’m going to create my own sect of Jehovah’s Winessesism that allows members to accept birthday presents. I think I’ll call it JW-2: Judgment Sect.

13 miles, 13 goodbyes, and a partridge in a pear tree

I’m not an emo kid. In fact, you could even call me Not-emo (or Nemo if you wish). I find it rather difficult to EMOte my EMOtions while I’m busy looking for my rEMOte control. Quite often I simply end up concealing them in a bad joke. Let me give you a dEMO:

Knock, knock
(Who’s there?)
Boo Hoo.
(Boo Hoo who?)
Don’t cry,
it’s just a joke.

Don’t mock me for my disability, I don’t mock you for your peg leg. Or your eye patch. Or your hook. Despite the fact that I have my doubts about how authentic they are. Truth be told, I’m beginning to think that they might be Pirated (ha!).

Anyway, this last week was not only the last half of final’s week, but also the week that I, and everyone else, left the Indiana University of Pennsylvania.

There’s something about leaving a place forever that makes people extra nice to you before you leave (unlike leaving a place regularly. One time, when they chased me out of castle Frankenstein, not one guy with a pitchfork or torch wished me a safe walk home– friggin’ rude jackanapes).

Everyone seems extra nice and somewhat unwilling to say goodbye for good. This particular group of people was so touched by my leaving that they had a party, presumably as a farewell for me. Granted, through some accident of scheduling, I couldn’t be there for the majority of the party. Oh, well, I hope they had fun without me…

The goodbyes started on Tuesday with my very own roommate. It was the saddest moment of the week for me, not because I’m going to miss him (though it’s possible that I will), but because I knew that afterwards I had to run thirteen miles.

Let me explain.

One of my life goals has always been to run a marathon (here I define “has always” as “since mid 2003″). For about four months now, I’ve been running an average of a mile a day (and I’m not even including the walking to and from the study lounge, despite the fact that I do that constantly. Hey, Somebody has to bother the people studying).

Well, I realized that if I didn’t at least do half of a marathon while I was in shape (in my case, an oval), then I would never get myself to do an entire marathon later. So I decided that from noon till four on Tuesday, I would run 13 miles around the track.

In case you’re wondering, 13 miles is 52 laps. It’s also 20.8 kilometers…, which is about 20.4 kilometers more than I can run without being winded. It’s a terrible sign when, two percent into your journey, you lose all will to keep going and only want it to be over. I wish that I could say that that was an isolated incident, but it happens to me all the time, it’s the reason I’m still single.

Eventually, I finished the 52 laps (plus or minus seven laps– it’s hard to keep track of petty details like that when you’re going insane. Actually, I don’t think that it was insanity. It was basically just the same two thoughts repeating themselves in my head incessantly: ‘why didn’t I use any sunscreen?’ and ‘why didn’t I stretch?’

Somehow I survived the running (in case you’re wondering, I’m still sore and still sun burnt. That last paragraph was quite serious). The worst part is that next week is my annual 13-mile walk across an accursed mountain. You’d think that a weird coincidence like that would have jogged (ha!) my memory and I would have not bothered to run the first time, knowing I’d have to do it all over again so soon, but it didn’t.

I spent the next two days saying goodbye to everyone I’d met throughout the exchange. The goodbyes kept getting sadder and sadder too. I heard everything from “I’ll miss you so much” to “can we like– Not pay you back?”

Sigh, but then the worst part of the entire experience came up to bite me in the arse (isn’t it funny how I think that Everything is the worst part?). On Wednesday I had to pack.
You’d think that, if you packed on Sunday, and you packed on Tuesday, that on Wednesday you’d have less packing to do. At least less than half, right? Nope. The second law of thermodynamics doesn’t apply to packaging or restaurant bills, anyone who’s ever gone out with their friends to eat knows this.

The worst part (quit it!) was when I had to check out. Aside from not being able to go back into my room and having to sleep in the study lounge, I had to bring my room up to par with how I had received it at the beginning of the semester. Last time I had to check out of a dorm room, my R.A. kept me there for over two hours cleaning up different parts of the room. Luckily, my roommate had already moved out. Hold on, I’ll explain.

You see, him moving out means that he successfully checked out. What that means is that his side of the room was up to par. So really, the only thing to do was switch all of his stuff with mine and have them check it, not knowing that they were just checking the same stuff over again. The beauty of it all is that if anyone does eventually catch on (and they will, once they realize that everything on my side of the room was held together with bubble gum and aluminum foil), I’ll be blameless because they gave me a sheet of paper saying that I had successfully passed the check-out process. Ah… life is good…

The Friggin’ Drive Home

As of right now I have gone 8,500 miles since my last oil change. I meant to get it changed when I took my impromptu trip to Texas, but never got around to it on the count of it being extra work and I was having so much fun catching up on my lost sleep.

I really should change my oil soon, but first I need to unpack everything from my car. Since I left Indiana, Pennsylvania on Thursday morning, it would make sense that I would be home right now, right? Yeah, like I’m stupid enough to go home on Mother’s Day.

No, I’ve been staying in different people’s houses (in Albuquerque, Las Cruces, and now Chaparral) since Friday. It’s the reason that this e-mail is late– that and because I’m inconsiderate.

So how was my trip, you ask? Ugh– don’t ask.

The most interesting thing that happened during the trip (aside from my constant dozing off) was in Illinois. St. Elmo II, Illinois to be exact. Apparently, St. Elmo was so popular that they did a sequel.

If you’ll remember, a few weeks ago I went to New York City to pee in the world-famous Waldorf Hotel. Well, a few days ago, while driving through Illinois, I noticed that they had a Waldorf MOTEL (strategically located in front of the most ominous looking cemetery I’ve ever seen). I drove into the town, expecting to compare this lovely rip-off’s restrooms with the original’s, but this lobby (aside from being 1/100th the size of the Hotel) had no restrooms.
It’s probably best if I don’t explain what happened after that, but I’m sure if you think about it long enough, you’ll guess what I did next. That’s right: I drove away. Wink, wink.

One last thing:

Congratulations to Jessy Salinas, the person I decided won last week’s question (technically Matt Gorzalski should have won, but he didn’t. Not because I have anything against him, just because his responses amuse me and I want to see what he’ll say when I, like everyone else in his life, screws him out of what he justly deserves). She wins a Pix Capacitor for that (Jessy, the person you probably forgot about while reading those dang parentheses that I feel are so important, but you probably shouldn’t be reading anyway).

Last Week’s Question: Doesn’t [the fact that I have to include an unsubscribe option as per the latest "œCan Spam" legislation that was recently implemented to arrest four people in Detroit who were accused of sending millions of e-mails making fraudulent claims to hundreds of thousands of annoyed internet-philes] suck?

Most Excellent Answer(s): Yes, also [insert gay joke about me here].

This Week’s Question: Can YOU solve a Rubik’s Cube?

To be removed from this list, complain loudly about it to your neighbor.

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Ind e-Pen XVIII

The Ind e-Pen

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Introduction:

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Lazy weekends are the best, aren’t they? No finals to study for (which doesn’t mean no finals), no Pix Capacitors out (at least not to my knowledge), no games to play, no fun to have, nothing to do, being bored… sooo bored. Absolutely bored. Bored enough to die. Why doesn’t anything interesting ever happen to me?

INTERRUPTION!!! This morning I woke up with extra beads and nobody flashing me. Isn’t it great how things can change so drastically in just four hours? Yey! Go beads! Screw boredom, I’m typing this with one hand.

Guilty by Association

I have these neighbors, we’ll call them Mean and Satt (it’s Irish, you pronounce the ‘S’ like a ’sh’), who never turn on the fluorescent light in their room. It’s like a sin for them.

Sunday night, my roommate went by their room and turned on the light for the hell of it. Somehow he made it back to my room without Satt catching him. Quite naturally, Satt blamed me. This hallway has a thing with blaming minorities, whether it be closet homosexuals or closet Mexicans (OR! OR!! OR!!!).

My roommate repeated this several dozen times throughout the night (you’d think that Satt would catch on at some point, wouldn’t you?), and each time Satt came by and told me to quit. One of the times, I was at the end of the hallway when I saw my roommate running towards our room. Not wanting to be at the wrong place at the wrong time, I hid… despite being completely innocent.

It wasn’t me. It’s never been me. I don’t think I’ve EVER done anything covertly in this hall, and yet they always blame me first. I was a central suspect in the “Jackson 5″ scandal (one of the saddest, most pathetic moments in college-history), I was the first suspect here, and… well, that’s it, but it’s annoying. How can I steall Satt’s speakers when I’m the first one he suspects for everything?

Butt (I mean Satt) eventually found out that it was my roommate, but the question isn’t on whether or not I was right (I know I’m right. How could I be wrong? I’m me… mostly), it was my feeling like I had to hide whilst I was completely innocent. I suppose that’s the way the Justice system (or the Turnbull Hall Neighborhood Watch) works: all the innocent people hide while the guilty people laugh at both the victims and the accused. It’s all fine and dandy until it happens to you, I think. I mean, it was perfectly fine when I was the one laughing at O.J., right? Meh…

Kentucky Derby

Oh, man, us rich people have it so hard… I just entered the Kentucky Derby $5 million contest thing (chances of winning: 1 in 2.5 quintillion. That’s less than the likelihood of Brooke Burke breaking into my room and forcing me into making passionate love with her… not much less, but still less).

I can’t think of how I’m going to spend my money. *sigh* Well, okay, $1 million is going to my neighbor Evan who clued me in on how free this entry is (quote: “very free”). And after taxes, I should only have about $3.2 million (boy, the government sure screws us rich people over. God bless our current president: Dick Cheney. I mean, us rich people aren’t worried about education or war, because that only affects poor people anyway), but how do I spend all of the rest of it?

I mean, standard operating procedure is to squander a good section of it (labeled: “my kid’s inheritance”), but how do I spend the other $3.199999 million? I can’t very well invest it, seeing as the last thing that I invested in was Enron (if you’re wondering, I only invested my hopes and dreams, so losing them wasn’t all bad). I also can’t donate to charity, because I’m not going to be one of THOSE types of rich people. The rest of us look down on them. We also look down on any rich people with less money than us. Also, newly rich people, so I’m going to have to pretend that my grandfather invented Heroin, but hey: anything to shoot up to the top, right?

So much stress– now I have to keep up with the growing trends, I have to trade in my current model girlfriend for next year’s eighteen year old, I have to go to all the fancy fund-raisers– It’s tough. Being rich. You poor people are lucky. With your poor medical coverage, weak education, low income, under representation in congress, and higher level of happiness– Oh, what I would give to be like you only richer. Much richer.

One last thing:

Okay, first of all, taking credit for MY spontaneous/outrageous activities does not guarantee winning. It doesn’t even guarantee a name mention. So, as to not support further answers at my expense (or answers ripped off from my life experience), I won’t even mention Jack David Nagel or Kevin Matthew Johnston this week. Too bad, anonymous losers! Ha! Pfft! Losers. The true winners are Jessy Salinas, Alicia Cardoza, and my neighbor Adelay. And now, in reverse order, their answers:

Last Week’s Question: What’s the most outrageous/spontaneous thing that you’ve ever done?

Most Excellent Answer(s): So, it’s mid-October and, living in Pennsylvania, that means quite chilly temperatures. It was a clear night, free of freezing rain, so I picked up a good friend by the name of Corey. Now Corey lived in this neighborhood in my hometown known as Treasure Lake, which, semi-obviously, was marked by a large lake in the center of it. We were sitting on the beach eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, when out of the blue he chucks a jelly slathered slice of bread in my direction. Myself, not wanting to be upstaged, generously smashed a peanut butter coated slice into his red hair. With approximately four sandwiches left over, we had an all out PBJ war. At the end of it all, covered in condiments and realizing I didn’t want to get my car sticky, I did what any logical seventeen year old would do. I jumped into the freezing lake fully clothed including shoes. Corey followed, and soon our teeth were chattering and our lips blue. Lake jumping later turned into a most common experience for the both of it, as we continued our nippy dips that fall until the water froze.

the other day I brushed my teeth in the car, with a battery-powered Spongebob toothbrush. To top it off I spit out the door while the car was still in motion; it was so exhilirating!

Become a lesbian. If that’s not a winning answer I don’t know what is.

This Week’s Question: Did you know that they just arrested four people for spamming under the government’s new “Can Spam” law? That means I have to provide an unsubscribe option with each e-mail– Doesn’t that suck?

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