PUNY HUMANS.
Regard me with terror for I have come upon you, bearing the strange and terrible fruits of my mind. (Which I'm going to share before the court-ordered Prozac kicks in and I decide better of it.)
Back story: Every two or three weeks I make a two hour journey to the fabled San Fernando Valley in order to buy comic books and visit with my other friend, whom I shall refer to as Deidrich Barometer.
So, during my most recent trip (which happened last week), Deidrich and I ran into a fellow we went to high school with, whom I shall refer to fondly as Bastard McIhopehedies. Now, Bastard used to make fun of me quite often in high school. So needless to say I wasn't too thrilled to see him. Truth be told, I wanted to jam a rusty screwdriver into his lungs and urinate into the puncture wounds so that he would drown in my waste. But Bastard and Deidrich were on good terms, so I was forced to talk to him for a few hours.
We sat down at some coffee shop. The kind of coffee shop where middle aged yuppies and middle school "intellectuals" merge to form some bizarre, twisted variation of the fifth circle of Hell. For two hours, we all drank coffee; me more than them, since they gabbed about local events and I just sat there, miserably sulking like a good little emo. So of course I was completely out of my mind on caffeine after a while.
Highlights include:
Bastard: Yeah, you were pretty weird in high school.
Me: Yeah, well, when an Indian spirit rises from your toothpaste daily and charges you with avenging him, you're either the chosen warrior of Keliophestes the turtle god or you're completely insane.
Me: When I die, I want my gravestone to read, "Michaelsaurus: 1384-2509. A Well-Programmed Robot. Resurrect At Own Risk."
Bastard: I ran into [name removed] the other week. Didn't you use to have a crush on her?
Me: Yes.
Bastard: So how come you never asked her out?
Me: Because talking to her back then was like lighting my ear drums on fire and eating my roasted brain cells one by one.
Me: You drink coffee but not soda?
Bastard: Yeah, man. Soda's so bad for you. I don't even know what it's made of.
Me: It's mostly holy water and satyr's blood.
Bastard: Holy water AND satyr's blood?
Me: Yep. The satyr's blood gives it the taste and the holy water purifies all the evil into your bladder, much like a divine flood... only with less pummeling towers of ocean.
(after Bastard and Deidrich somehow perverted a discussion about Salvador Dali into one about breasts [no pun intended])
Me: This is truly a victory for reasoned conversation.
There were more. But I'm too lazy to remember them.
Anyway, I hear that Bastard thinks I'm cool now and wants to hang out with me the next time I'm up there. Too bad I still hate him.
Regard me with terror for I have come upon you, bearing the strange and terrible fruits of my mind. (Which I'm going to share before the court-ordered Prozac kicks in and I decide better of it.)
Back story: Every two or three weeks I make a two hour journey to the fabled San Fernando Valley in order to buy comic books and visit with my other friend, whom I shall refer to as Deidrich Barometer.
So, during my most recent trip (which happened last week), Deidrich and I ran into a fellow we went to high school with, whom I shall refer to fondly as Bastard McIhopehedies. Now, Bastard used to make fun of me quite often in high school. So needless to say I wasn't too thrilled to see him. Truth be told, I wanted to jam a rusty screwdriver into his lungs and urinate into the puncture wounds so that he would drown in my waste. But Bastard and Deidrich were on good terms, so I was forced to talk to him for a few hours.
We sat down at some coffee shop. The kind of coffee shop where middle aged yuppies and middle school "intellectuals" merge to form some bizarre, twisted variation of the fifth circle of Hell. For two hours, we all drank coffee; me more than them, since they gabbed about local events and I just sat there, miserably sulking like a good little emo. So of course I was completely out of my mind on caffeine after a while.
Highlights include:
Bastard: Yeah, you were pretty weird in high school.
Me: Yeah, well, when an Indian spirit rises from your toothpaste daily and charges you with avenging him, you're either the chosen warrior of Keliophestes the turtle god or you're completely insane.
Me: When I die, I want my gravestone to read, "Michaelsaurus: 1384-2509. A Well-Programmed Robot. Resurrect At Own Risk."
Bastard: I ran into [name removed] the other week. Didn't you use to have a crush on her?
Me: Yes.
Bastard: So how come you never asked her out?
Me: Because talking to her back then was like lighting my ear drums on fire and eating my roasted brain cells one by one.
Me: You drink coffee but not soda?
Bastard: Yeah, man. Soda's so bad for you. I don't even know what it's made of.
Me: It's mostly holy water and satyr's blood.
Bastard: Holy water AND satyr's blood?
Me: Yep. The satyr's blood gives it the taste and the holy water purifies all the evil into your bladder, much like a divine flood... only with less pummeling towers of ocean.
(after Bastard and Deidrich somehow perverted a discussion about Salvador Dali into one about breasts [no pun intended])
Me: This is truly a victory for reasoned conversation.
There were more. But I'm too lazy to remember them.
Anyway, I hear that Bastard thinks I'm cool now and wants to hang out with me the next time I'm up there. Too bad I still hate him.
VIEW 15 of 15 COMMENTS
I don't care what those people above me think, because the day after your birthday is actually the one that matters.
I swear...
(bday pirate)
happy 621st birthday + 1 day