Bill

I met Bill because a Spanish man was furiously masturbating for 8 hours straight 2 feet away from me.

…Yeah.

I had broken my ankle playing dodgeball, or as I was telling people, “I fought a bear. And you should see the bear. But you can’t see the bear. Because he is dead. I fought a bear and murdered him.” I was on a lot of morphine guys, you must understand that. And as a side note I totally get morphine addictions. It’s the best. I could have broken a few more of my bones for fun while on morphine and laughed it off like I just saw a child fall in the supermarket after screaming bloody murder for more Oreos. It was pure hilarity.

I got to the hospital at a brisk 10pm and was told by a scary German doctor that I wouldn’t have surgery until the next morning. So after he massaged my bones around and my girlfriend at the time left for the evening I got wheeled into a room and they told me to go to sleep. What they don’t tell you is that they are going to wake you up every two hours to check your vital signs but they will only give you pain medication every 3 hours or so. So every time those horrible horrible people (they were great but when you’re in pain you say mean things to nice people) woke me up, the nurse and I would just sit there and listen to the man on the other side of the partition really giving it to himself. At first I played it off as normal because that’s what the nurse was doing. She was acting like she was sitting at a coffee shop on a bright sunny afternoon. Maybe everyone does this in the ER? I don’t know. I’ve never been to one. I could be the prude one in this situation. But, just to make sure I wasn’t a straight crazy person, I made sure to mention something to the nurse before she left to restart the countdown of waking me up again in two hours.

“Hey” I said “so, that guy?”

“Oh yeah. I thought you couldn’t hear him. He is here a lot. He doesn’t know any English and tries to scam doctors out of drugs.”

“And…the….”

“Oh right, the masturbating, yeah he does that almost the whole time.”

It was at this point that I realized I was absolutely the crazy person because my response was verbatim, “oh. Well. Alright then.” And then she left. And he stayed. And I tried to sleep to the soothing sounds of what I can only assume we’re two birds of prey fighting for scraps.

The next morning my surgery was scheduled for 10am so they started to give me morphine at 9. It was the best, for the record. A minute or two into that magic erase liquid seeping into my veins like molasses in January my mother walked in. Panicked is the word I’d use for her. And justifiably. Her first born was in the ER. He hadn’t been since he was a baby. I get it. But again, I was on drugs.

There was hugging. And lots of “how’s” and “whys.” To which I slurred back one cohesive word –  “IdunnoMom.” Then the silence hit where she just looked me over in anguish. Then that silence was broken by a Spanish man beating his crotch to a pulp.

“What’s that?” My mom asked.

“A Spanish drug addict jerking himself off,” I replied with a smile on my face and my eyes rolling into the back of my head.

My mom freaked out. She called nurses. She yelled at doctors. She yelled passive aggressively at the Spanish man which did not deter him in the slightest. He was persistent if nothing else.

Hours later my surgery occurred. More drugs. Some new pieces of metal holding my leg together and a lifetime of knowing when it’s going to rain hours before the sky darkens. All great things. When I awoke I was being wheeled into my new room which prompted me to break out into a rousing rendition of “on the road again.” Fun fact: you can scream in jubilation post-surgery and no one will stop you. Give it a hearty try if you get the chance.

When I got back to my NEW room it was 10pm. My mother had gone ballistic for hours which was just long enough for her to convince the hospital to put me in a single room turned into a double with a cloth partition in the center.

When everyone was finally gone I was left alone in a dark room with my ankle pounding and swollen with 2 hours until I could have any more drugs. And I started to cry. As you do when your life is taking a sudden negative turn you didn’t expect and you’re no longer on morphine. A few whimpers in I sniffed loads of mucus in hard (gross, but true) – and during said sniff the television on the wall across from my bed and in the middle of the room turned on. It was on Fox News.

“Bill O’Reilly is a fuckin’ moron.” A low raspy voice rang out into the void of darkness now lit by Bill O’Reilly’s forehead. I opened my eyes and looked over to the blue cloth partition. I had no idea anyone was over on the other side until then. Probably because I wasn’t hearing anyone violently whisper in a language I couldn’t comprehend while flogging his own bishop to no end.

“Ha. Yeah.” I wiped the tears out of my eyes like he could see them.

“I’m Bill. You are?” He asked like he actually wanted to know.

“Ryan.”

“How old are you Ryan?”

“I’m 22. How old are you?”

“Old enough.” Bill pushed his words out with force like if he didn’t sharp shoot them into the world they’d dissipate before he could say them. “What are you doing here? This a vacation for you? Palm Springs or this? Those your options?” Bill was funny.

“I broke my ankle playing dodgeball. Although I’ve been telling people I fought a bear.”

“Yeah I’d stick with that story. The first ones not so great.”

“I caught the ball though! That’s what counts. I got the guy out and held onto the ball through twisting my leg like a pretzel.”

“Yeah, well. Alright then. Still. I’d stick with that bear story of yours twinkle toes.” Bill was really funny.

Bill and I talked for the next 12 hours straight. We covered everything. My College years. His prison years. His Harley collection. My Kia Sorrento. His family. My family. Bill O’Reilly’s stupid face. Favorite kinds of rocks. The best and worst nurses (the tall one my mom yelled at was the worst. She was bad at sponge baths. Scrubbed too hard.) How morphine rocks our socks off. His terminal cancer. Everything.

The chemotherapy didn’t work for Bill. He said it made him sick and he’d “rather be dead than do all that bull shit again.” So that’s what he was going to do. “I got 3 days. Maybe 4.”

I wanted to ask if that scared him. Thankfully I didn’t have too. “Good riddance!” He raised his voice slightly and coughed. It was lung cancer from smoking since he was 13, hence the John Wayne-esque tones coming from his tar ravaged throat. His words, not mine.

We only stopped talking for an hour in the morning when Bill’s entire extended family came to say goodbye. Bill reacted like they were going to too much trouble…like they were trying to pay him for lunch and he was shoving the credit card into the waiters face assuring them that he’s got this. His brother had ridden Bills Harley to the hospital and parked it outside so he could look at it from his window and say one last goodbye. I don’t know why but that’s the part that still makes me cry sometimes.

Bills wife was long gone. The room consisted of Bills brother, a gigantic balding man with a goatee and a riding vest on. His cousin was also there. Also huge. Also bald. Same vest. There were 3 other impressively large guys he called brothers as well but they weren’t and they also had the same vests on. One older woman whom never said aloud who she was to Bill was there as well. She only talked about whiskey. Bill loved whiskey and she just so happened to bring some. And by some I mean a lot. Bill was pleased.

As the family members cycled in and out of the room they would say hi to me when they got to my side of the partition that was still blocking my view. When they’d say hi Bill would yell “that’s Ryan! He fought a bear!” Bill was really very super-d duper funny.

At the end they all cried along with Bill. Through the tears I could hear Bill over and over “y’all are being pussies and it’s wearing off on me.” They’d all laugh quick and then go right back to sobbing openly with each other. When they all left I didn’t say anything for a few minutes. I didn’t know what to say.

“What do you want to do, Ryan?”

“What?” I was startled by the conservation. Bill wasn’t crying anymore. He was back to spitting his words.

“You’re young. What do you want to do now?”

“Well, I guess I just want my leg to heal.”

“No!” He shouted it. “After that you idiot. You have an after. So. What is it?” I had an after and he didn’t. That’s what he meant. I thought about it quickly.

“I want to be happy.”

“Oh yeah?” You could hear the smile while he talked. “And how you gonna do that?”

“I honestly don’t know.” I honestly didn’t.

“Do you want some advice?”

“Yeah. Please.”

“When you’re really really sad just put your hands up in the air and scream like your life depended on it. It releases endorphins into your brain or whatever. You’ll feel better immediately. Also get a dog that loves you.” There was a few seconds of silence. “And that’s pretty much it.”

“Thanks” I said. You could hear the smile in my voice. “I will.”

My eyes grew heavy from not sleeping the entire evening and I slipped into a deep sleep while watching more Fox News in silence. Two hours later they woke me up and handed me crutches. I was leaving the hospital. I put on regular clothes and stood up for the first time in three days. I lumbered on over to the wheelchair and through the sweat and the pain I got myself into it. The nurse started to push me out.

“Wait!” I said turning around to say goodbye. I was in such a daze of drugs and pain that I’d almost forgotten.

But when I turned he wasn’t there. “Where’s Bill?” I asked the nurse in a panic.

“Oh him? It’s time for his sponge bath so he’s down the hall. I’ll say goodbye for you.” I reluctantly accepted her offer and was wheeled down the hallway.

As I was adjusting in my seat and waiting for the elevator to come I heard some screams from down the hall.

“Ow! Owwww! Woman I’d rather see my ex-wife than you.” His voice echoed through the hallway. “You’re the god damn devil!”

And I smiled. Because I never saw him but I knew him. And he knew me. And I never had to say goodbye. But mostly, because I knew that giant nurse was scrubbing him way too hard and he would hate it if he knew I told all of you about it.

And I miss him.

Once Upon That One Time – Chapter 3

Click Here for Part 1 and Here for Part 2

We didn’t eat or drink anything while we were at the castle and the world was a barren wasteland. So we all cooked Kate’s stabbed body outside the castle and made coats from her skin, which totally helped us out. Everyone was psyched minus GBaby and his Emu but they were skin hungry and asked to eat all the skin themselves and we were like, no we need coats, so we didn’t care that they were sad. Marc called dibs on the torso. Everyone obliged.

Ralph, my flying polar bear that spits acid out of its butt and mouth and sometimes ears and nose took off along with Seph and Abigail, leaving everyone else on the ground. For the record, at some point in this story everyone starts flying as all the animals have the ability to fly but they must become in tune with their master in order to do so. Ralph and I were tight, so he could fly already. Seph and Abby were like two peas in a pod who could tear apart antelopes, so they were good too. Marc and his Rhino “Carl” were close but they were always fighting about who has the better beard/horn so they just weren’t there yet.

So we all were heading towards The Disciples layer to see what’s what cause we figure we need to see this evil guy for ourselves if we are gonna choose a side although the thought of choosing a side other than our own left a bad taste in everyone’s mouth. Abby and I spotted a pack of other people at a camp from afar in the middle of the barren wasteland with tents set up and fires going somehow.

We both went down to hovering above the ground and then told everyone to speed up. Adam could not keep up so we left him and his regular iguana there. When we got to the camp site it was empty and the fire that was just lit was now doused. As we entered the center of the encampment, several human beings came out from behind the tents and surrounded us. From the crowd of maybe 20 human beings, all riding some sort of medium sized mammal, 3 mid-20’s gentleman came forward who were the leaders of the group we would come to know as The Range Riders. Their names were Collin, who was riding a Silverback Gorilla with laser eyes, Mitch who was chillin’ in the pouch of a giant kangaroo, and The Steve was riding a brilliant red bull named China Shop. I walked up to Collin cause it turns out we knew these guys, especially Collin because he’s my younger brother and his longtime friends Mitch and The Steve were now leading The Range Riders who live off the land and have no faction, like us. Also they set fire to most things.

Collin said, “Hey, what are you guys doing?”

I replied “We’re heading towards The Disciples layer to see what’s what.”

Elliot said, “We heard The Chancellor is a real dick.”

“Yeah,” said Mike “We want to see it for ourselves.”

“I’m on an Emu!” exclaimed GBaby. Everyone ignored him except Pat who gave him his patented stern nod of acceptance.

“Well,” said The Steve “I wouldn’t do that if I were you guys. It’s a total poop shoot.”

“Why not, also hi. I’m JR. It’s very nice to meet all of you. I really like your Gorilla, he looks top notch.” said JR, the ninja scientist. His giant Elephant Flounder high-fived him with his trunk.

“That shit sucks over there” said Mitch “Ole Chancy Chancellor is a real dick. His cult and him do weird shit all the time like move the continents back together. It’s a real drag. ZING.”

“That all sounds stupid.” Said Marc while poking his Rhino in the face to make sure Carl the Rhino knew what was what. Carl did not approve.

“Stop poking Carl, Marc. He’s going to retaliate.” Abby said making a solid point.

“He knows the rules,” Marc said “I’m the king of this here domain.”

“Alright then, just wait for him to impale you I guess.” Abby said while teaching her eagle about the importance of hydrogen bonds.

“My roots are growing out!” Steph yelled out of nowhere, “which makes me look like I’m not even trying.” Steph said even louder while looking at her hair through a mirror that she made out of crushed limestone while riding full speed on her translucent jaguar on the way to this moment like a true boss.

“Does that really matter right now, ladyface? We’re over here trying to save what’s left of this weird world.” Asked Michael.

Steph replied, “Uhhh yeah it does Mike, I’m over here lookin’ fierce, and it’s the main reason we’re constantly doing so well, so, like, whatever shut up.”

“Yeah,” Collin said “Just maybe never go over there bros. Nothing good can come from going over there and messing with that crazy dude.”

“This guy seems like a real ass hole” I said. “Someone should sick a large animal on him to eat him while he is still living.” Everyone concurred. “What do you guys say? You wanna go fuck some shit up for the sake of fucking some shit up?” Everyone cheered except for Adam because him and his iguana had just gotten there in time for us to start walking again.

“This is bull shit guys” Adam said while wearing shorts all the time.

“Hey Adam,” Elliot piped up for the first time in a while cause I forgot he was here for a second, “When you gonna finally teach that iguana to be at all useful?”

“When you don’t cry at the end of Toy Story 3, dick.” Adam said with malice, punching at the sky in heat.

“Shut up ya good gosh darn fuckface!” Elliot boisterously threw his words like anchors into the sea, “It’s a sad story about love and loss. WHATEVER DON’T EVEN. SHUT IT WITH THE YA KNOW. I CAN’T EVEN RIGHT NOW.”

“BUT CAN YOU EVEN?” Steph cheered.

“NO. I CAN’T EVEN. THAT’S THE POINT OF TALKING IN CAPS LOCK.” Elliot took a breath and calmed down. Koo and Stew, his penguins who were underneath/attached to his feet looked up at Elliot like he was a crazy person which is an unsubstantiated fact maybe.

“You guys should go before the sky turns off the light.” Collin said.

“That was a weird thing to say,” I replied “But you’re right. Let’s head out.”

“I’m still on this Emu!” GBaby once again said out loud for some reason. No one cared still and we all moved on. But GBaby didn’t care cause he lives his life like nobody is watching except for his Emu who is always there so it’s a pretty straight forward system for living that he is comfortable within and he doesn’t have to explain that to anyone, so he doesn’t. Then the Emu made a face like he was saying “whaaaaaaaat.” We all laughed and we went on our way.

7 Real Decisions to Make Your Life Better

1. Make something…

There is no joy in life like creating a thing that wasn’t previously a thing. Draw a picture. Take a picture. Paint with all the colors of the wind. Sew some cloth until you have a sweet hat ala Abraham Lincoln. Glue some stuff together. Pee in the snow. Build a chair. Duct tape a bottle opener to a knife. Write a song. Write a story. Start a blog. Get a journal and write anything down that is in your head. Be a creator of things. If you used to do some of these things and stopped because you don’t have the time, that is bull pucky. You’re just being lazy. You aren’t the President of the United States, you don’t have a schedule that spans into the coming months, you watch TV for hours sometimes. Take one of those hours and leave your mark on the world. A mark is a mark no matter how small. I think Dr. Seuss paraphrased that in some way.

2. When someone compliments you for whatever reason always start off with a smile and a thank you

If you’re like me, getting complimented is nerve racking. I have no idea what to say back to someone being nice. It’s the weirdest. But as I’ve learned, when you are being complimented, it’s not all for you – in fact most of it is for the person doing the complimenting as it makes them feel better about themselves through genuine kindness. So just say thank you, smile, and remember next time that person does a kick flip or eats a pancake really fast to look them dead in the eyes and say, “You are good at that. Praise be to you.” You know, something a normal human being would say.

3. Pick up an instrument…

It’s never too late to put a tiny amount of effort into a musical instrument so that you can trick people into thinking you can play that one John Mayer song at a party. Breath gently into a harmonica enough and you could be the lead singer of Blues Traveler. If you can’t afford a real instrument, you could always learn to beatbox because most people have mouths. Just keep saying the phrase “boots and cats” a bunch of times in a row and you’re basically a master beat-boxer.

4. Get a pet…

Anything. Maybe it’s a hamster, maybe it’s a very pretty rock. Sometimes you need to add a life to yours in order to be living for something outside of yourself. Having to feed something that is too stupid to feed itself can be oddly rewarding. Get very literally any kind of pet that is legal where you live. Do not tell the police you have a Tiger because you read this article, though. You don’t know me. Also, if you already have a pet, look at it at least once a day and say, “I am doing a very good job at keeping you alive and the evidence of that is right in front of me. Because you’re still super good at moving and/or having a heart beat.”

5. Start being psyched about tiny things…

When you heat up a meal to the exact temperature your mouth wanted on the first try, be excited. When you almost drop a thing but then miraculously your cat like reflexes that are NEVER AROUND WHEN YOU NEED THEM kick in and you totally catch that shit. Also, when you dance by yourself naked in your room after your shower and you pulled off that moon walk thing better than you ever have before – Celebrate like your future career as a back up dancer for Prince depends on it.

6. Start using the term “Throwing Shade”…

…As often as possible to describe when you give someone a look that is straight up ferocious after they say words you don’t like. It just sounds cooler than “looking like a bitch.” Plus, Beyonce does it. Need I say more? Well, I’m not gonna, so there.

7. Be proud…

…Of what you accomplish but do not shove it into people’s faces against their will. I can’t tell you how many times people have made me rage quit Facebook because they are being showboaty dick bags. Sharing is important – Validation is needed – and your life deserves an open canvas for everyone to see – but if you don’t inject a bit of humility when you tell everyone about how awesome you are doing, they will straight up think you are a turd.

I’m Afraid

I’m afraid I’m not talented enough to succeed. I’m afraid that even though I put every fiber of my being into achieving my goal, it still won’t happen because I’m just not good enough.

I’m a writer. Out of all of my hobbies, writing is the one I have invested the greatest amount of true work hours into. Malcolm Gladwell said “… researchers have settled on what they believe is the magic number for true expertise: ten thousand hours.” That might also remind you of a Macklemore and Ryan Lewis song aptly named “10,000 hours,” and for a very good reason, they are based on the same principle. To become an expert at anything according to Mr. Gladwell, you have to put 10,000 hours of practice into whatever it is. To writers, those hours can easily be translated and then subsequently measured by word counts.

So, let’s do some math! Well, I guess I’ll do some math and you just have to keep reading this. Good, I’m glad we had that talk. I am 8 days from being 26 years old and in the spirit of rounding up, let’s just say I’ve been alive for 26 years. I have been literate for 22 of those years. I have been writing stories for 10 of those years. On a weekly basis I average 800 written words, most of which are not publishable. That number includes weeks that I’ve written 20,000 words (that happened one time – it was a very good week) and others when I have written absolutely nothing.

4 x 800 = 3200 words a month

3200 x 12 = 38400 words a year

38400 x 10 years = 384000 words all time

For reference the book I just finished reading, Divergent, has 105,000 words. Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone is 76,944 words. Ulysses by James Joyce is 265,000 words. The longest novel ever recorded is Mission Earth by L. Ron Hubbard coming in at 1.2 million words. Granted, L. Ron Hubbard can sometimes be described as a  psychotic lunatic, but you have to give it to the dude, he wrote a whole hell of a lot of words. For even more reference, my debut novel Odessa Red (available on Amazon.com) is 45,093 words.

Now, this is not to say that the number of written words automatically equals the quality of your product. It’s just saying that as a writer, the designation I identify myself with the most, I am a relative novice. And in that light, here is the cold hard truth: I’m not good enough yet, but I’ve invested too much time and effort to stop now.

On a related note, I truly love writing and because of that love it doesn’t matter how many times I fail, I will never stop. But what you love and what you’re good at are two very different subjects. I know why I love writing. The idea that words in a particular order that did not exist previously can create entire worlds is absolutely amazing to me, and my ultimate goal is to create worlds that I love and that others can fall in love with as well.

I want that very badly, but I will never say that I want it badly enough that I will definitely succeed. I honestly don’t know if I will succeed, and I think that’s the point. I might not be good enough. I might not have the talent to describe the worlds in my dreams. But that has nothing to do with whether or not I will keep writing. I doubt myself often; mostly at night right before I fall asleep. I ask myself why I keep doing this. Why I try so hard. I read books and think that I’ll never be able to encapsulate a story like they did. But then I fall asleep, wake up, get out of bed, and do it all again. Because the elation brought on by success outweighs the misery of failure. Success hasn’t happened yet, and I don’t know if the previous statement is true or not, but I want it to be true so badly and not trying is a great way to never find out if it can be true.

Everyone has something like this in their lives. I love writing. Ask yourself what you love. I don’t know how you feel, but I know that I’m glad I’m afraid of what I love and I think you should be too. Fear drives me toward an unknown future and personally, I’d rather be afraid than be nothing at all.

Jurassic Park 4D: The Adventures of Zeb and Teddy

On a whim I started to write/produce an audio book with my friend Marc Gibson – cause I thought it would be fun and I needed a productive distraction from that movie I’m making this summer. We were talking about what would actually happen if Jurassic Park ended up being a real place. Then because there are two of us we decided two fictional characters should go through this scenario.  It’s in the future – Jurassic Park is opening of at Universal Studios and these two nerdy dudes who love this movie to death get the chance to be on the first ride along with the original cast…and then everything goes wrong.

Each episode will be  6-15 minutes long and it is available for free listens on SoundCloud (below)  Take a listen – it’s gonna be lots of fun!

More Things to Say When You Get Injured

When you get injured in any way you are always asked the question, “How did that happen?” After the 20th time you get the question it starts to become taxing to say the same thing over and over again…so….you start to make things up. A lot of people have the default made up answer of, “I fought a bear…and you should see the bear.”

Vicious creatures.

Sometimes I add on, “You can’t see the bear though, because due to my undying respect for animals I gave him a proper burial.” Then I watch as laughs turn to groans and it’s awesome (for me.)

But I think there needs to be way more answer options to have in our arsenals when we are injured and get that question. You can’t say you fought a bear every time, because then even THAT will get boring. So I decided to sit down and think of some more things to say…and here they are:

  • I was vaulted into the future and took part in a robot vs. human’s war where a giant mechanic version of Osama Bin Laden fell on me after I stabbed him in the face with an ice pick.
  • I was racing Koala bears in South America when all of a sudden poachers stormed in and I got this wound from hacking and slashing my own bull knife that was given to me by the local chieftain after I saved his daughter from a forest fire.
  • Cage Match with Carrot Top
  • A school of midgets attacked me from all sides like a pack of tiny awkward werewolves.
  • I burnt myself with coffee…that was brewed on the god damn sun…it was Sun coffee.
  • Oh this? Got this on my trip to the arctic – My partner fell through the ice and I pulled her to safety and to save her from hypothermia I wrapped my body around her like a man cocoon.
  • I Twittered way too hard last night.
  • Freak Violin accident
  • I high-fived the hulk.
  • Got caught up in an Ugg fire. I was burning all of the Uggs. Now I have this scar. Totally worth it.
  • I saw a woman with her feet up on the passenger dashboard of a car across the highway so I jumped the divider and then one thing lead to another and now I need all of the surgeries.
  • I broke up a fight between Billy Joel and Bruce Springsteen. It was boss.
  • Reinjured it while in Retail Physical Therapy
  • Some dude was all like, “You can’t put shrapnel in the microwave!” and then I was all like, “WANNA BET BRO?!” so yeah, no more face.
  • She broke my heart man…and then my leg.
  • Remember when I died for like 3 minutes? Completely Unresponsive. Brain dead, really. Yeah, well I guess I was in heaven for a bit and randomly met up with Macho Man Randy Savage. The dude dropped a bow on me. It was great.
  • I didn’t start the fire. It was always burning since this world has been turning. Either way though, smoke inhalation is a real bitch.
  • Entered a boxing match against a bull with red shorts on.
  • Flash Gordon scissor kicked me.
  • I was Tubthumping.
  • I was on the red carpet when Joan Rivers called Adele fat and me and Ryan Seacrest were the first to try and break up the fight…Adele has a mean haymaker.
  • How many bullets where inside 50 cent? Well whatever, it was a bunch more than that. While on an erupting volcano.
  • Tom Cruise electrocuted me.
  • I was on this juice cleanse diet and my insides drowned themselves.
  • I was singing a cover of La Roux’s “Bulletproof” on the street and then some vagrant was all like, “Wanna bet?!”
  • Yeah, turns out I’m The Last Airbender.
  • Got this one when I rode that Eagle to the world fair in 1930. Also I’m immortal, so, not a big deal.
  • Battle Royale: Me vs. M. Night Shama-lama-dingdong. The twist ending was me pushing him off a cliff into a dark abyss.
  • Got shot out of a cannon at clown school
  • An onslaught of Corgis happened. I don’t want to talk about it!
  • I was reading YouTube comments where Atheists and Christians were ripping into each other and then I proceeded to slam my face into the keyboard.
  • I played Baskiceball with the Erickson brothers. It was a total blood bath.
  • I hopped aboard the murder train.
  • I had to get down on Friday.
  • Bit too hard into my 8 candy necklaces.
  • The door knob shocked me while I was standing in water and using a blender to chop up old hard drives and stray pieces of glass.
  • Gravity is a bitch.
  • I French fried when I should have pizza’d.
  • …it was that stupid blue shell again.
  • This? You don’t even wanna know…oh you do? Well…okay. So I was looking towards the sky as a shooting star threw itself across my vision like cotton on a breezy day – I looked around me and saw a long stretch of rope. Picked that shit up, tied a few knots, and starting whipping it around my head. As it got faster and faster the star got further and further away – and at just the right time I hurled the rope as fast as my arms would let me – and it flew across the horizon, out of this world, light years away until it wrapped tightly around that beast of a star. Before the rope pulled tight I wrapped it around my waist – and then WOOSH I went flying up into the sky – just before I hit the top of the atmosphere I took one last breath and waved goodbye to the Earth. The Star was headed out of our solar system, it had seen all it needed to see and picked up a passenger in the meantime so it decided to move on – I passed Mars and ate it like a candy bar, I dodged asteroids while fixing my belt, I rode the storm on Jupiter like Pecos Bill in the Tall Tales, I river danced across the rings of Saturn, held my laughing back on Uranus, took a picture of Neptune to send to Poseidon (we have fun), and softly pet Pluto for old time sake.  For years and years we traveled, boldly going where no man riding a star had gone before. Met an Extra Terrestrial, who when he found out we called them that he that said, “I mean, I might have gained a little weight over this past cosmological decade, but not enough to call me extra.” Then he cried. It was sweet. Then an immense amount of time passed, but I did not age at all. Until one day while sitting on a planet light years away from home I looked up to the star and said, “You know what. I know when I go back no one I knew will be alive…hell, the earth might not even be there. But I think the end of my story is me knowing what happened to where I came from, because without that land to stand on I could have never caught a star.” The star looked down upon me, obviously disappointed, but she understood. When we finally got back to Earth it was a little rustier than before and the O-Zone was all but gone – but it still had that green and blue I missed so much. The star set me down where my home used to be; now a field of a plant I did not recognize. As I waved good bye to the star I turned to see what was ahead of me. I had ridden around the universe – to the edge of it and back – but I didn’t do the one thing I had always wanted to do. Have an adventure on a land I called my home. Oh, also there was some time travel involved somewhere…not a big deal…and I tripped over a rock and scraped my knee. Wanna grab me that ointment? Cool, thanks.

What Your Phone Says About You

96.5% of the United States population owns a cell phone. That means that no matter what age you are, there is a good chance your pocket feels like it’s vibrating from time to time but no one is trying to contact you – take solace in the fact that it’s just your body being a dick.

Without trying to make a vacuuming generalization (I hate sweeping generalizations but I have to call them something) – the mobile phone is without a doubt in the top 5 best inventions of all time. In fact here is my top 5 for future reference:

5. The Telephone (But let’s be serious, The Mobile Phone is where it’s at. Suck it Alexander Graham Bell.)

4. Antibiotics (What up disease.)

3. The Printing Press (Or as I like to call it, Microsoft Word’s Great Grandpapa)

2. The Clock (More precisely the concept of telling time. And for the record, If you’re still using sundials you are so two thousand and late)

1. The Toilet (No invention has saved more lives. Seriously. Look it up. And later check out water.org – dropping human waste removal knowledge like it’s hot.)

But back to my point – I know many people, including myself, who live and die by their phone. Hell, if my phone’s battery is at 20% battery by 9pm on a Friday night I’m most likely having a panic attack. That’s not even a joke. It actually happens.

Similar to every major industry, diversification helps to drive private and public companies toward better, more technologically advanced phones as time goes on. (That would be my beginning sentence if I was writing a High School term paper about the telephone. Holler at my English teachers.)

In layman terms – every time some dude from Apple Bottom Jeans or MicroSofties gets up on stage and tells us they’re holding THE NEXT BIG THING – everyone else in the business takes it as a challenge to, not just make the next next big thing, but to make THE big thing. This only bodes well for us, the consumers. Personally I want all of the fun things and if it turns out all of the fun things are super-duper amazing, then I’d say I’m better off. (And as those same English teachers from before cringe, I take a bow.)

Pulling from the list of top mobile phone sales by year on the all seeing all knowing website Wikipedia, I’ll break down what owning a specific phone model says about you.

Ebony and Ivory

The iPhone 5: It’s the last product our buddy Steve worked on before he checked out for good. It’s taller. It’s thinner. It has a camera that everyone tells me is better although I think they might be yanking my chain on that one. Owning the newest iPhone is like owning the newest car. It doesn’t mean you’re better than me…but at the same time it sorta does…but whatever. I’ll tomahawk your ass, you don’t even know!!

iPhone 4 or 4s: “I don’t know what the big deal is with the new one. This one is working just fine. Like,  I get an upgrade that makes the future iPhone like, one billion dollars instead of two billion dollars in like seventy years, so like, I’ll figure it out then…ya know?….Like.” Says everyone ever.

Older iPhones: You’re either in college or homeless. Or both.

The Galaxy: ohhhhhh ahhhhhhhh shut up

Samsung Galaxy: We get it. Apple fanbois are lame and it’s so nice to be thinking outside the box with your Android phone. Again – I’ll reiterate because it’s so important. We. Get. It. You’re unique! You’re an individual! Also 80 million other people bought these phones so you might want to find a bigger bandwagon to jump on that doesn’t have as many insufferable people.

220px-Samsung_Galaxy_Note

Note the Piece of plastic that people with fingers find extra useless

Samsung Galaxy Note: Anything that comes with a stylus these days is horrible. Promptly throw it out.

Any HTC Phone: These phones are like early in life relationships – they go through phases. First is the cupcake phase where everyone is jolly and the world is a new and brighter place. Then the complacency sets in. Maybe sometimes you get the stink lens because you get caught looking at other phones. You get accused of not touching the screen the way you did when you first brought it home. Maybe you love it but you’re not “in” love with it. It shuts down without warning. Its mood freezes up for absolutely no reason. It’s a giant bitch who cheats on you and then it’s somehow YOUR GOD DAMN FAULT!!!!!!!!! …….Umm…Maybe just get another phone.

Ever notice how Crackberry and Crackbaby are eerily similar words? Photo: http://aquanhaphoto.com

Crackberry: If you ever want an accessory to make it look like you are constantly late for a meeting – this is it. You are now considered old school with your physical buttons and your little ball or arrows that do gosh knows what. Seeing “Sent from my Blackberry” is now like seeing an Ivory-Billed Woodpecker. It’s so rare; it might as well be extinct.

Motorola – Nokia – LG – ZTE – ETC: You might think ETC stands for some phone brand. It doesn’t. It stands for etcetera – although that would be a great brand name. PATENT PENDING. – All of these different companies have a lot in common. They run some form of Android and/or their own operating systems. They think “apps” is still a word people care about. They have phones the size of tablets but they refuse to call them that because they’re edgy.

I for one look forward to our new toaster overlords

These are the phones you’ll walk into a Radio Shack or a Verizon/AT&T ETC (patent pending) store and the salesman will be pushing on that random day to meet their quota. Sales people will tell you things like, “the screens are so clear that you can watch movies on them! OhMyGherd!” You can literally watch movies on anything these days. There are freaking toasters that play videos now. Your weird phone isn’t special.

Flip Phones: You’re super lame but you also still have the ability to slam your phone shut when you’re trying to make a point which makes me peanut butter and jealous.

Brick Phones: Just….stop it. Stop it right now. Cut it out. It’s over. Just…..stop it with your stupid face. Get with the times, people. If you owned a brick phone and your name was, oh I don’t know…Kate? You would be two thousand and Kate. And that’s worse somehow….so stop it.

Kate.I.Am

Kate.I.Am