And now... a story.
Roger Vs. The Vending Machine
Roger is on a different level than the rest of us. Most of us get excited about something from time to time. Roger is excited about everything and nothing all the time. At stasis, scientists have estimated that Rogers heart beats an average of two hundred thousand beats per minute. Of course, you wouldnt know it to look at him. Hes a behemoth, for one thing. And he doesnt walk anywhere. He lumbers, almost like hes pissed off that he has to use his legs. You dont know just how amped he is until he opens his mouth. When he talks, he sounds like Cartman on speed. He spits out words, thoughts, ideas, and sometimes even complete sentences as fast as his brain can process them. And his brain can process them very quickly. I think thats part of his problem.
Roger is, unfortunately, too smart for his own good. By this I mean that Roger would quite literally be a lot safer if he were just a little bit dumber. One of the problems this raises is that he rejects almost all social conventions. Some people would consider that a good thing, until they realize that Roger considers common sense a social convention.
When most of us read warning labels, on a bottle of No-Doz for instance, we see the part that reads: Do not exceed more than three doses per day and think Hmmm. No more than three doses per day. Ill have to remember that. Roger reads it and shouts Bullshit! And commences to eat the entire bottle just to see if it would hurt him. When Roger wakes up in the hospital bed because he ate an entire bottle of No-Doz, he says simply, That sucked.
This gives the impression that Roger is a fucking retard. Hes smart, I swear. The guy got me three thousand dollars back on my taxes last year completely legally. This is a guy who doesnt pay taxes at all because he has a bunch of homemade tax shelters in the forms of charities that he runs. These are legitimate, federally recognized charities. Mind you, theyre not Feed the Children, Save the Whales charities, nothing so noble. These charities are more along the lines of Feed the Lemurs, Save the Dodo. So there were no actual beneficiaries of these charities, per se, but as long as he never saw a hungry lemur or a living dodo in trouble, he was home free.
He built a hoverboard, as well. He took over his mothers garage and built an electromagnet that took up the entire floor. Then he built the hoverboard, balanced it, and really did a bang-up job of it. Unfortunately, he didnt put an electromagnet on the wall, so when he tried to do a trick that involved him jumping up and riding along the wall for a short distance, Roger fell directly on his face.
Now that you know Roger, this story Im about to tell you will make a little bit of sense.
Roger works in an office building. One day, while working within the walls of said office building, Roger became a mite peckish. When the opportunity arose, he left his desk and retired to the area known as The Small Caff. Brief for The Small Cafeteria, the Small Caff was known as a locale where one could attain refreshments for a nominal fee. Upon examining his options, Roger inserted one dollar into the refreshment vending mechanism and made his selection. Roger had chosen a rather popular brand of confection known as M&Ms. As Roger watched the spiral bar nudge the chocolate forward, he became aware that all was not right and proper with this transaction. The M&Ms seemed to be stuck. He watched in horror as the spiral bar stopped turning and his bag of M&Ms stopped also, hanging over the precipice as though it were looking down, afraid to fall. When Roger reluctantly accepted that gravity was not going to assist him in satiating his hunger, which was getting more ravenous by the second, he attempted to jar the wretched machine with his shoulder. It hardly budged. Roger peered through the glass at the M&Ms and stared at them hard. Hard and cold. They seemed to be mocking him. Rogers hunger left him. In its place was a hot belly full of rage.
Roger dropped to his knees and rammed his arm through the small door at the bottom of the machine where one would ordinarily retrieve their purchased victuals, but quite unfortunately for Roger, the machine was equipped with a security flap. The security flaps purpose was to prevent neer-do-well hooligans and common thieves from making off with untold amounts of pilfered grub, but in this case it did nothing but obstruct justice. Nonplussed, (Roger was always nonplussed. You see, Roger was not anything that could be called a common thinker. He took great pride in this and strove to eliminate the behaviors of common thinkers from his repertoire. Being plussed was something common thinkers did, ergo, Roger was always nonplussed.) Roger decided to try a different tack. He went to the coat closet and removed from it a wire hanger, and began to tear at it with the voracity of a junkie tearing open a poppy pod. Once the hanger was straight, he stormed back into the Small Caff to do battle with the machine. He slipped his weapon into the slot at the bottom of the horrid contraption and began to shake it around violently, hoping to snare and free the M&Ms with this not-very-vorpal-at-all tangle of metal and rubber coating. Alas, this was to no avail. The hanger would not reach the defiant chocolate.
This was no longer about chocolate. It had long since passed principle. This machine was now perpetrating a personal affront to Roger. And he wasnt taking kindly to it. Roger started examining options that would allow for both retrieval of the goods and vengeance against the accursed machina. Upon arriving at a conclusion that would achieve both of these goals as well as being spectacular enough to serve as a warning to other machines that practiced underhanded commerce, Roger took three steps away from the machine. And with a barbaric yawp, Roger launched himself into the machine; his cranium drove into the glass followed by the full force of his mammoth frame.
Blood began to trickle down his forehead as Roger reached for his prize. Sadly, the trickle turned into a flow, and the flow to a gush. So just as Roger freed the M&Ms from their prison, he passed out.
The moral of this overly verbose and very pretentiously told fable is that even though one may be extremely intelligent, it is still possible for one to also be a total fucking retard.
Also, I think I'm allergic to sage.
Roger Vs. The Vending Machine
Roger is on a different level than the rest of us. Most of us get excited about something from time to time. Roger is excited about everything and nothing all the time. At stasis, scientists have estimated that Rogers heart beats an average of two hundred thousand beats per minute. Of course, you wouldnt know it to look at him. Hes a behemoth, for one thing. And he doesnt walk anywhere. He lumbers, almost like hes pissed off that he has to use his legs. You dont know just how amped he is until he opens his mouth. When he talks, he sounds like Cartman on speed. He spits out words, thoughts, ideas, and sometimes even complete sentences as fast as his brain can process them. And his brain can process them very quickly. I think thats part of his problem.
Roger is, unfortunately, too smart for his own good. By this I mean that Roger would quite literally be a lot safer if he were just a little bit dumber. One of the problems this raises is that he rejects almost all social conventions. Some people would consider that a good thing, until they realize that Roger considers common sense a social convention.
When most of us read warning labels, on a bottle of No-Doz for instance, we see the part that reads: Do not exceed more than three doses per day and think Hmmm. No more than three doses per day. Ill have to remember that. Roger reads it and shouts Bullshit! And commences to eat the entire bottle just to see if it would hurt him. When Roger wakes up in the hospital bed because he ate an entire bottle of No-Doz, he says simply, That sucked.
This gives the impression that Roger is a fucking retard. Hes smart, I swear. The guy got me three thousand dollars back on my taxes last year completely legally. This is a guy who doesnt pay taxes at all because he has a bunch of homemade tax shelters in the forms of charities that he runs. These are legitimate, federally recognized charities. Mind you, theyre not Feed the Children, Save the Whales charities, nothing so noble. These charities are more along the lines of Feed the Lemurs, Save the Dodo. So there were no actual beneficiaries of these charities, per se, but as long as he never saw a hungry lemur or a living dodo in trouble, he was home free.
He built a hoverboard, as well. He took over his mothers garage and built an electromagnet that took up the entire floor. Then he built the hoverboard, balanced it, and really did a bang-up job of it. Unfortunately, he didnt put an electromagnet on the wall, so when he tried to do a trick that involved him jumping up and riding along the wall for a short distance, Roger fell directly on his face.
Now that you know Roger, this story Im about to tell you will make a little bit of sense.
Roger works in an office building. One day, while working within the walls of said office building, Roger became a mite peckish. When the opportunity arose, he left his desk and retired to the area known as The Small Caff. Brief for The Small Cafeteria, the Small Caff was known as a locale where one could attain refreshments for a nominal fee. Upon examining his options, Roger inserted one dollar into the refreshment vending mechanism and made his selection. Roger had chosen a rather popular brand of confection known as M&Ms. As Roger watched the spiral bar nudge the chocolate forward, he became aware that all was not right and proper with this transaction. The M&Ms seemed to be stuck. He watched in horror as the spiral bar stopped turning and his bag of M&Ms stopped also, hanging over the precipice as though it were looking down, afraid to fall. When Roger reluctantly accepted that gravity was not going to assist him in satiating his hunger, which was getting more ravenous by the second, he attempted to jar the wretched machine with his shoulder. It hardly budged. Roger peered through the glass at the M&Ms and stared at them hard. Hard and cold. They seemed to be mocking him. Rogers hunger left him. In its place was a hot belly full of rage.
Roger dropped to his knees and rammed his arm through the small door at the bottom of the machine where one would ordinarily retrieve their purchased victuals, but quite unfortunately for Roger, the machine was equipped with a security flap. The security flaps purpose was to prevent neer-do-well hooligans and common thieves from making off with untold amounts of pilfered grub, but in this case it did nothing but obstruct justice. Nonplussed, (Roger was always nonplussed. You see, Roger was not anything that could be called a common thinker. He took great pride in this and strove to eliminate the behaviors of common thinkers from his repertoire. Being plussed was something common thinkers did, ergo, Roger was always nonplussed.) Roger decided to try a different tack. He went to the coat closet and removed from it a wire hanger, and began to tear at it with the voracity of a junkie tearing open a poppy pod. Once the hanger was straight, he stormed back into the Small Caff to do battle with the machine. He slipped his weapon into the slot at the bottom of the horrid contraption and began to shake it around violently, hoping to snare and free the M&Ms with this not-very-vorpal-at-all tangle of metal and rubber coating. Alas, this was to no avail. The hanger would not reach the defiant chocolate.
This was no longer about chocolate. It had long since passed principle. This machine was now perpetrating a personal affront to Roger. And he wasnt taking kindly to it. Roger started examining options that would allow for both retrieval of the goods and vengeance against the accursed machina. Upon arriving at a conclusion that would achieve both of these goals as well as being spectacular enough to serve as a warning to other machines that practiced underhanded commerce, Roger took three steps away from the machine. And with a barbaric yawp, Roger launched himself into the machine; his cranium drove into the glass followed by the full force of his mammoth frame.
Blood began to trickle down his forehead as Roger reached for his prize. Sadly, the trickle turned into a flow, and the flow to a gush. So just as Roger freed the M&Ms from their prison, he passed out.
The moral of this overly verbose and very pretentiously told fable is that even though one may be extremely intelligent, it is still possible for one to also be a total fucking retard.
Also, I think I'm allergic to sage.
VIEW 4 of 4 COMMENTS
Granted - that does not make as good a story.