So, as you know, I had to write a paper about how to fix OPEC last Thursday. A United Nations simulation starts in that same class on Tuesday. This has been a pretty intense class for the past two weeks. So now, I have the weekend to find out as much as I can about my country and how they typically behave in the real U.N. so I can portray them realistically for the simulation. It’ll require a lot more research that I would like, but it’s not unmanageable.

There’s a problem, though and it has me more than a little bit worried: I’m China. There are a lot of reasons that I could be worried about being China in a model UN simulation – They’re a member of the security council, so I’ll probably have a fairly large role in the simulation, the country has a culture that’s very foreign to me, making it a lot more challenging than if I were a more western nation, They’re a pretty big player in the global economy, so it seems unlikely that I can show up with one goal in mind and stick to my guns throughout – but of all the ways that I can potentially make an ass of myself during this simulation, there’s one that concerns me deeply.

I’m afraid that I’m going to have a Michael Scott of The Office kind of moment if I’m not careful.

Let me elaborate.

Speaking of Inappropriate, I found this topical pictu...wait. What the fuck is going on here?

I spend a lot of time thinking about doing wildly inappropriate things that I think would be funny, and then I spend a lot of time trying really hard to not do them. For example:

• Every time I buy a gallon of milk from the store, I have a strong urge to lob it as far as I can and watch it explode on the linoleum.
• Sometimes in dull moments in my classes, I wonder what would happen if I just started wetting my pants. No talking. No fidgeting. No explanation. Just calmly listening, taking notes, and peeing all over myself.
• Defecating. Almost anywhere. There’s really only one place that IS appropriate to do that, and it tickles me pink thinking about doing it anywhere else.

And this brings me to my model UN simulation.

The one where I’m China.

Here are a few situations that I’m concerned about:

Scenario #1:

Russia: “Russia is deeply concerned with China’s resolution. Despite Iran’s claims that they’re planning to use the uranium that they’ve been enriching for purely peaceful purposes, evidence suggests that they’ve been testing rockets that could potentially carry a nuclear device in them. How can you possibly guarantee the safety of the area surrounding Iran with your isolationist stance?”

What I Should Say: “While China understands the risk that Iran poses, we take them at their word when they say that they will be using their uranium for purely peaceful projects.”

What I’m Afraid I Will Say Instead: “ANCIENT CHINESE SECRET!!!”

Scenario #2:

United States: “Now is not the time to try and please everyone, China. Iran poses a legitimate threat not only to Israel but the United States and even you. What’s it going to take for you to support the United States’ proposal to impose economic sanctions if Iran doesn’t allow UN inspectors in?

What I Should Say: ” We respect your stance, but there’s not a whole lot you can to do sway us. We believe that this is an issue that the countries involved need to resolve, not something that requires intervention.”

What I’m Afraid I Will Say Instead: “FIVE DOLLAH!!! EVERY-TING YOU WAH!!!”

Scenario #3:

U.K.: “It’s no secret that relations between the West and China are tenuous at best, but we believe that a firm stance on this by both China and Russia will persuade Iran far more than pressure from Western powers that it doesn’t respect. Can we count on multilateral action from the West and the East if Iran continues to produce uranium?”

What I Should Say: “No. China abstains.”

What I’m Afraid I will Say Instead: “HEY BABY! ME SOOO HO-NY! ME LOVE YOU LONG TIME, ROUNDEYE!!!”

Did you notice the mistake that I’m making? It’s subtle, but I’ll bet that you can spot it.

That’s right – In two of the three scenarios, I’m spouting off lines from Full Metal Jacket, which takes place in Vietnam, not China! I might as well dress up as a mime with a baguette and start waving a white flag around or show up in an Uncle Sam costume wielding a Big Mac and a bible! I’d be laughed out of the room for making a gaff like that!

But there’s another, lesser known fact that also needs to be taken into consideration: Those phrases are all also incredibly racist and could be considered incredibly offensive by my classmates!

It’s true. I looked it up.

I’ll be honest. I don’t actually think that I’m going to say any of those things. Despite how I may come across in this blog (and over the phone. And in person), I’m a relatively decent human being.

What I AM a little bit worried about is that any time I’m expected to speak during the UN, my brain is going to immediately try to determine what a 1960′s Chinese stereotype would say, and then I’m going to have to give an appropriate response while laughing in a high-pitched, girlish timbre. Everyone is going to think that I’m incredibly amused by UN parliamentary procedure, or maybe that there’s a gas leak in my corner of the room. And what do I say if they ask me what’s so funny? “Oh, no, it’s not you! I was just thinking how funny it would be if I said something really inappropriate and racially insensitive”? That’s only slightly better than just saying whatever inappropriate crap I was thinking!

My first choice was Russia, and I think that would’ve been a much better deal. Nobody’s going to be nearly as offended if I slip up and yell “IN SOVIET RUSSIA, ECONOMIC SANCTIONS IMPOSE ON YOU!!!”

Oh well. If I do slip up, It’ll be fine. I already have a plan if the unspeakable happens.

I’ll just distract everyone by deliberately wetting my pants.

Ancient Chinese secret, huh!?!?

About two weeks ago, my Mom brought home a stray cat. I guess that she was at a friend’s house, and the friend told her that one of her neighbors had recently foreclosed and had left their cat there, so my Mom took him and brought him home. So far, he’s a pretty classy guy – he appears to be litter box trained, he doesn’t claw, and he loves cat nip. The new addition to the household hasn’t been without his problems, though.

He Doesn’t Have  A Name

We’ve been fighting over his name ever since my Mom brought him home. I was originally calling him Chubbs, but that apparently wasn’t dignified enough, and he’s not fat. My brother has been calling him Socrates and my Mom has been calling him Dickens, but I refuse to acknowledge those names. He has a white stripe down his face, like a scar, so I started calling him Omar, but nobody liked that either. It seemed like we were never going to agree on a name, until inspiration struck:

Barry.

You see, I’m actually kind of a creepy cat lady at heart. When students tell me that I’m going to die alone in an apartment with a bunch of cats, a small part of me knows that they’re probably right, but a larger part of me thinks “Cats, you say? That doesn’t sound so bad!” Part of what comes with my Cat Lady personality is spending a lot of time talking to my pets and then having them talk back to me in stupid voices.

Is that more or less crazy than talking to myself? I guess that both are technically “talking to myself”, but I’m also pretending to talk for an animal in this case, so I vote more crazy. You know what, though? I talk to myself a lot too, so  I guess that it doesn’t really matter. Anyway, when my family had greyhounds, I decided that they sounded like  Triumph the insult comic dog. They spent a lot of time threatening to shit on my stuff and insulting me (at least in my head, they did). I decided that the cat should talk like Barry Gibb on The Barry Gibb Talk Show, so I started calling him Barry and then pretending that he was calling everyone around him a sorry excuse for a human being and threatening to humiliate their corpse. Here’s the skit, in case you haven’t seen it:

I have to say, I feel kind of insane talking for my cats anyway, but when I get a good look at my behavior in writing, it’s especially embarrassing. Anyway, I’ve just kept calling him Barry, and even though no one else seems to like it, it’s starting to stick. It doesn’t really matter, anyway; he’s a few years old, and already has a name he’s used to. Unless we stumble on the one that his old family used to call him, he’s not going to know what we’re talking about.

Not really related. I just think it's hilarious.

He’s Kind Of A Pervert

A few days ago, Barry was sleeping on my bed, and I was doing what I always do in here. Can’t guess? Let me give you some hints: I waste hours of my life doing it, I yell random video game lines when I’m done, and it rhymes with “plasterbating”.

So, I was “plasterbating”, and I suddenly realized that Barry was in the room. It wouldn’t have bothered me, but when I looked at him, he was staring at my junk. I tried to ignore it, but when I looked back a few seconds later, he was still staring at it. He was transfixed. After a few more minutes of trying to do my thing with Barry leering at me, I finally had to kick him out of the room. Whatever Barry’s into, that’s fine, but I don’t swing that way, and he needs to respect that. And not eye my dong like it’s made out of fresh salmon.

I suppose that it’s also possible that he was glaring at me. As in “Really? You’re going to do that while I’m in the room? I’ve been here all of three days, and you’ve decided already that we’re close enough that it’s okay to jack off in front of me? I AM BARRY F-ING GIBB! I WILL RIP OFF YOUR HANDS AND USE THEM AS BOXING GLOVES AND BEAT YOU TO DEATH!!!”

And, I guess, a third possibility is that he’s just a fucking cat, and he didn’t really have any clue what was going on. I don’t know, though. I saw that look in his eyes, and there was only one word for it: Catlust.

He Produces Roughly Two Times His Body Weight In Feces Every Day

Seriously. Every time that I walk by that fucking litter box, he’s shitting in it again. I’m several orders of magnitude larger than that cat, and I think he makes seven or eight times as much solid waste in a week as I do. It’s ridiculous.

He glares at me while he’s doing that, too.

—

So there you go. Other than that, he’s a pretty nice cat. only 29 more to go, and I’ll be the creepy loner that middle school kids always accuse me of being.

I wish my OPEC paper could’ve been on a subject like this. I can get a much higher word count a lot faster when it’s on a subject that I’m truly passionate about, like the family pet eye-humping my wang when I’m “Browsing the Internet” in front of him.

Oh well.

Hey.

Since about Saturday, I’ve been working on a paper about OPEC and how to fix its problems. At first, I was planning to put a warlock in charge of the organization, and then he could solve all of their problems with a little economic strategy that I call “magic”.

Countries cheating on quotas? Wave the wand and make their wells overflow with hot, ropey and relatively worthless horse semen instead of sweet Arabian crude for six months as punishment. Large oil-producing countries like Russia and Brazil refusing to join your cartel, making it hard for you to manipulate prices? Send in an army of skeleton centaurs to “persuade” them. Making all of your money off of a finite resource that you will one day run out of, leaving your economy in shambles? Make everyone trade in their cars for skeleton centaurs.

Skeleton centaurs that will turn on their masters if OPEC isn’t compensated handsomely, that is.

Assuming that you’re willing to suspend your disbelief about a warlock running OPEC, it’s an air-tight strategy.

Unfortunately, our teacher told us yesterday that our plan has to be relatively realistic, meaning that for the past four days, I have been completely fucked. I’ve been hacking away at the paper ever since.

And that is why I’ve done a shitty job of updating. It’s not my usual laziness. It’s that I’m focusing all of my energy into coming up with a strategy for fixing OPEC without using a single mind meld or reanimated corpse, which, by the way, is far more challenging.

I apologize for the inconvenience. I would also like to point out that although it’s short and school related, I put more into this post than “sorry I haven’t been updating enough, I’ve been so busy!”, because people have built entire blogs that are nothing but apologies for their lack of content, and those blogs suck.

Now, I’m afraid, I have to re-focus all of my writing energy into a REALISTIC solution. I put the word “realistic” in caps to imply that if I were saying it out loud, it would be with a tone and facial expression that would lead you to believe that I was retarded. I would also be doing jazz hands to really drive home just how moronic the whole concept is.

In my absence, please enjoy this Meagan-Fox-on-SNL-unfunny three and a half minute hate crime that I found on youtube.

I don’t know what Air Farce is, but I know what it’s not.

Funny.

So, as I’m sure you know, Halloween was about a week ago.

As I’m sure you also know, I was a ghost. I went and got a sheet and cut a couple of holes in it, and then proceeded to haunt the shit out of this town. This is nothing new. I wear that same costume every year, and I’ll tell you why: because it kicks ass, that’s why. It’s simple, it’s cheap, I can wear whatever clothing I want with it and I can do whatever I want under that sheet. You’re somewhere with me on Halloween, and all you see is a sheet with some legs sticking out of the bottom and some random movement going on underneath. Maybe I’m texting. Maybe I’m eating a taco. Maybe I’m masturbating. Maybe it’s some combination of the three. Who can tell? Certainly not you; I’ve got a sheet covering me. It’s the ultimate in Halloween terror.

At least, I used to think that it was.

Two weeks ago, my friends Dan and Steph hosted a Halloween party. Dan and I started talking about good ideas for Halloween costumes. Here’s the thing about conversations I have with Dan: they start out simple, and then we fixate on them, the spiral out of control, and three hours later, we’ve come up with a really bad idea. Here are a few examples:

Welcome to Thunderdome.

- I was hanging out with Dan and his roommate at his old place a few years ago. We decided to go get some food, and when we left, I shut the door behind us. It stuck, so I jerked it a little bit to get it to close, which seemed to make Dan cringe in fear. As we walked by the neighboring apartment, a middle age woman came out and started yelling at us. She was pretty vague about why she was scolding us, and I had no idea what we had done. Dan explained to me after we were out of ear shot that she was pissed off about the noise it made when I closed the door. Apparently, she had just moved out of a house and into an apartment, and she got angry any time that anyone made any kind of audible noise, which meant that ever since she had moved into the apartment, she had been pissed off pretty much all of the time. A lot of times, this anger was directed at Dan, because he was in the apartment right next to hers.

If I were talking to someone else, I probably would’ve said “What a bitch!” and ended it at that. In this case, by the time we had finished eating, we had decided that when we got back, Dan’s roommate should repeatedly open and slam his door as hard as he could while I wailed on her door and yelled. While all of this was happening, Dan would come windmilling through her wall dual-wielding sledge hammers and screaming at the top of his lungs. It’s been a couple of years, and I’m still kind of sad that we didn’t do it.

- When Dan and I were roommates, he burned some falafel, which he tossed out onto our concrete porch. We looked at it for a few minutes and decided that it looked like deer droppings. Naturally, we went and got a camera and took a picture of Dan with his pants around his ankles squatting over it.

- One of Dan’s old high school friends invited him to a party where you had to wear a costume and do some sort of performance. I’m going to say that we probably spent six hours over two days trying to come up with the best combination of costume and performance, and I think that after all of that deliberation we finally settled on Dan dressing up as Abe Lincoln and taking a shit on the floor. My only job was to videotape everyone’s reaction.

- Dan had a girl he knew coming from out of town to visit. He wanted to be sure that she didn’t get any ideas about the two of them becoming romantically involved. After some discussion, we decided that the best plan of attack would be for his female roommate to take a dump in the sink every morning, after which she would pour a tiny amount of vinegar down the drain, vehemently claiming that “It kills all the bacteria!” before “flushing” the sink by turning on the garbage disposal for a few seconds.

As I’m looking back at that last one, I’m not quite sure why we thought this was an effective way to keep the out of town girl from wanting to jump Dan, or why we didn’t toy with the idea of him saying something like “I’m flattered, but no thank you”. I’m also noticing that the first example is the only one where Dan and I had a brainstorming session that DIDN’T end with someone taking a dump in an inappropriate place. Oh well. I’ll just change the story before I put this post up.

So, anyway, we were discussing Halloween costumes, and we came up with an idea.

NO MERCY!!!

I dress up as the Kool-Aid man for Halloween. I have a boombox with me that has Andrew W.K.’s “I Get Wet” in it, turned up all the way, on repeat. Then, I head down to campus and show up at a party uninvited. As the powerful melody of “Party Hard”, “It’s Time To Party”, “Party ‘Till You Puke” or, really, any of the other tracks on the album is blasting, I run around the house and trash it. I dance through the house, punching people in the face, breaking tables, feeling up girls and even going through walls if they’re made of a flimsy enough material (and, OBVIOUSLY, screaming “OH YEAH!” the entire time). When I feel like I’ve done sufficient damage to the property, I pick up my boombox and dance out of the house and down the street until I find another party. Wash, rinse, repeat until the cops finally catch up to me or the batteries in my boombox run out.

I thought I had found the perfect costume with the ghost, but this may change that. There’s only one problem, assuming you ignore the fact that it’s a plan that almost certainly gets me beaten up or incarcerated: Dan and I have no idea how to construct a Kool-Aid man costume, much less one that can withstand the kind of abuse that we plan to put it through. If anyone has any ideas, let me know, because his would be awesome.

I mean, look at this video. I’m not coming up with anything that unique here. I’m merely suggesting that something like this needs to happen with a Kool Aid man costume on, and I think I’m just the man for the job.

So, like I said, help me out. Otherwise, chances are about one hundred percent that I’ll just be a ghost again next year, and you’ll have to live through the horror of being at a party with me without knowing if my dick is inside my pants or out (hint: it’s out).

Hope everyone had a good Halloween and that you have a BONE-CHILLING THANKSGIVING!!! oooOOOOOOooo!!!

A few months ago, due to a lot of horse-penis related traffic to my site, decided to get rid of my post that had a picture of a horse penis in it. I replaced it with a picture of a horse vagina. I would link to the post, but I’ve had several conversations with people who read my blog over the past month that have gone something like this: “Hey shit head. I was reading your blog (on a crowded subway/in a computer lab/in church/on an overhead projector in a room full of orphans and nuns) and all of a sudden ‘bam’! Horse vagina. Fuck you.” Because of this, you’re just going to have to trust me when I tell you that there’s a picture of a horse vagina somewhere on this blog. If you know me, you know that this is a completely plausible scenario – it’s filthy, it’s not funny to anyone but me, and it would be a huge pain in the ass to explain in court.

What could possibly go wrong, right?

Well, it turns out, the answer is “plenty”. Because I love you guys, I’ll keep this post picture free. I think we all know what kinds of terrible images would be staring you in the face right now if I didn’t.

Let’s take a look at my favorite search terms from October, shall we?

1. horse vagina: So far, no surprises. You put a picture of a horse vagina on your blog, you’re bound to get some hits from people looking for a horse vagina.

2. hourse vagina picture: It’s spelled wrong, but, once again, I can’t really be surprised that a search for “hourse vagina picture” leads the user to a horse vagina picture. Just google doing its job.

3. dog vagina: …Alright, that’s a little bit strange, but still. It’s an animal vagina. It’s kind of related. It’s probably a veterinary student or something. There are plenty of good reasons to search for pictures of dog vaginas on the Internet.

4. alien vagina: …what the fuck…

5. how should vagina look: I like to imagine that someone was trying to figure out what a human vagina should look like and they consulted the horse picture. I also like to imagine this guy’s internal dialog on the ensuing date.

“Alright. We’ve shared a bottle of wine, the lights are low, I’ve got the Kenny G playing and we’ve been doing some heavy petting – I think that it’s time to take a little trip to third base! Let’s just get these pants off and take a look under the hood, shall we? I’ve never done this before, but no need to worry, I consulted the Internet first. Oh, she’s wearing those boy shorts underwear! Those are really hot…let’s just get those off and…GOOD LORD WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON DOWN HERE!? No tail? No protective layer of horse hair? I don’t even know how she supports her own weight with these small, pale, hairless haunches! I need to feign sickness and get this bitch out of my house NOW!”

Is it creepy that I’ve put this much thought into this?

6. how do horse pussy look like: I wonder if the person that wrote this thinks this way? “I doesn’t know the ways horse vag looking. I needs with the searching to sees. How do horse pussy look like?”

7. head in vagina: To the credit of whoever searched for this, I would be kind of interested to see that, too.

8. 13 year old vagina: This one’s pretty creepy. I hope he means a horse.

9. cold vagina: I like my beer just like I like my vaginas: fresh, bitter, and as cold as the Rocky Mountains.

10. strange vaginas: I’ll only say one thing about this term: You shouldn’t type it into google, no matter how curious you might be. You won’t like what you find.

11. man eating horse vagina: I little bit unspecific again. Are we talking eating like “Oh yeah, horse, I’m gonna go downtown on that sweet horse vagina”? Or are we talking eating like “Agnes, you need to give me your recipe, because that meal was absolutely divine. I’d better have seconds – pass me another plate of that delicious horse vagina”? How do these people expect to find what they’re looking for if they don’t type it in correctly?

—
Well, I think I’ve learned a valuable lesson about maintaining this blog: Creepy pictures lead to plenty of entertaining traffic searching for those pictures. There’s only one reasonable thing to do: Put something new up every month so I can maximize the amount of amusement I get out of weird search terms. I’m tempted to start now, but I promised to keep this post image free. I guess you won’t know when it’s coming until it happens.

Sleep lightly.