Awww Shhhit

In the summer when my mind was at its peak of creativity, I would write down all these funny/weird things that would happen to me--mostly at work. Looking back on my notes written down on slips of receipt paper months later, I've discovered that not one of them is funny. But I haven't posted anything in a while, and it's not like anyone reads this anyway, so I might as well just dump a bunch of shit on the internet. Isn't that what it's for?
These are word-for-word notes:

Little girl: "Mama? Is it true that unicorns exist?" Pause. I think they do because they don't have magic powers, they just have a horn on their head."

The time my art teacher overheard me saying that I hate babies. She asked me if I'd ever held a newborn baby. And I said that it had been traumatizing. She actually had tears in her eyes. I believe she thinks I'm the devil. But then again, she abuses her husband and forces him to make her lunch and pack her an entire package of oreos every trivia Thursday.

Salsa package: "the freshness of your first kiss"--I'm not sure I want to be remembering my first kiss every time I eat salsa...

I just realized how funny the word "nickel" is.

Lamb-chop slippers<<I HAD THOSE!

I'm reading this book and the first chapter seems fine and then boom some prostitute eats some guy with her vagina. Don't you hate it when vagina dentata just happens like that?

Slow motion old person handing me money at work.

Casseroles without the C spells asseroles.

Until now, I thought the phrase "for all intents and purposes" was "for all intensive purposes." I feel like my world has turned upside-down.

Whitney Houston keeping it real.

You're welcome.

WARNING: Peppermint in large amounts is not soothing.

Conversation I had with my friend, Rachael:


Me: I feel like there is an alien baby about to explode out of my stomach...but it's more likely that I just have a stomach ache from eating twenty peppermint patties.
Rach: Wait...that's the funniest thing you've ever said.
Me: Isn't mint supposed to be soothing? There should be some warning about overdosing on peppermint.
Rach: Well, I think mint is soothing when you've had like one, but twenty...
Me: Yeah. Twenty should be like SUPER MOTHER-FUCKING SOOTHING.
Rach: ...
Me: That shit should be bolded on the front of the package.
Rach: Well, unlike you, most people don't eat twenty, so they don't have this problem.
Me: This is an outrage. I'm pissed.
Rach: Because you're a glutanist?    
Me: I refused to be discriminated against. Hannah's boyfriend gave me a sticker that's supposed to make me feel better, but I feel fine so how am I supposed to know when I feel better? Also, I feel worse because I ate so many peppermint patties. I think I might vomit....I HAVE NO SELF CONTROL, RACHAEL. EXPLAIN TO ME WHY I AM AT FAULT HERE?
Rach: It takes a special person to follow your thoughts. Unfortunately, that's me.

In conclusion, I'm disgusting and suffer from mild ADD. Also Rachael totally made up the word glutanist...

RIDICULOUSLY ANGRY.

You know how The Bloggess is totally awesome? No? Well, she's my fucking hero, so shame on you, asshole. Anyway, last year she wrote a post about being furiously happy to spite all the horrible things that seem to occur in torrents of shit. This post has a message of perseverance and hope and, if this were sophomore English, it would be courage in the face of racism as well.
However, tonight I've decided to be RIDICULOUSLY ANGRY. Angry people have more fun because we have an excuse to hit people and throw shit around like goddamn monkeys.

Boredom and a Scanner

So guess what's awesome.....THIS

from the guy with the orange pants

It's gettin' hot in herrrrrre...

You know what I've never understood? Why Nelly wears a band-aid on his face. Especially since it's so hot in herre. It's like when you have a band-aid on your foot, and then your foot gets all sweaty, and then the band-aid falls off while you're at a family reunion, and then someone is like, "whose band-aid is this?" and you pretend it isn't yours. Not my chair, not my problem.

Do normal people feel this way? Or is it just me?

I cut my hair very short over the summer. I absolutely love it. However, there is one downfall to having short hair that I became aware of last week. After trying on a sleeveless shirt (it's cooler than it sounds, I promise) that I had purchased from a thrift store, I found myself asking the question: "Does this shirt make me look like a lesbian?" This is something I never had to worry about before, for some reason.
I realize this post is not even minutely funny. And I'm sorry for that. It's just something I noticed and I felt the need to share it with someone.

P.S. I do not look like a lesbian. Probably.
Maybe I'll post a picture of myself at some point as evidence of my heterosexuality.

P.P.S. On second thought, maybe I just won't wear sleeveless shirts...

I don't even know how to start this post. That's an indicator that you should just skip over this one.

So I recently got in a fight about grammar with Michael Jackson's Ghost on Facebook.

I would put a link to the conversation but I don't think it would be accessible to you--my one dear reader. Instead, I'm just going to relay a conversation I had with my friend shortly afterward...

ME: I'm trying to decide which story to write about for my point-of-view essay. I don't really have anything to say for either of them...
So then I wondered if you could find short stories on Sparknotes. In case you were wondering too, you can't.

TRISTAN: Oh, dammit.

ME: I just had a cyber fight with Michael Jackson's Ghost. WTF?

TRISTAN: Are you on meth?

ME: Well...no. But he has a totally unnecessary hyphen in his name and I just pointed that out after he commented on Rach's status.Then he got all pissy and told me I had reckless punctuation, but my grammar is mother-fucking immaculate. So GET AT ME, Michael Jackson's Ghost.

TRISTAN: You just raped him with words.

ME: You found it! Thanks for supporting me, friend. He's not even a real person. It's prolly like someone's cat or something that figured out how to type in order to ease his separation anxiety...

TRISTAN: Wait. I'm totally quoting that.

ME: No. You're not, actually.

TRISTAN: I'll give you credit for it. *

ME: WAIT. Rach just told me it's her dad's friend from high school. I just peed a little. This is awkward...

TRISTAN: I'm literally peeing my pants this is so entertaining.
GAHHH...I NEED TO FIND A SENIOR QUOTE.

ME: Common Ground: "They all have babies and they all carry them all the time." --Aine Cole

TRISTAN: Tempting. I was actually going to say, "OOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHH YOUR SEX IS ON FIIIIIIIIIIIRE...

ME: Oh. I would go with that one, fo' sho'.

TRISTAN: Fuck my life. I need a good one! Imma quote Nicki Minaj...

ME: "And I don't sympathize 'cause you a simple bitch." DONE.

TRISTAN: Personally, I would quote "Days of Our Lives."
"You wink it just goes by. So we'll just get it with no edison."

ME: Go for it, Homo.

*He didn't. That asshole.

Let me tell you about my mother...

Do you know my mother? No? Well...my mother works at a bank, has a tramp stamp, aspires to be a "Gentleman Farmer," and once had a meltdown because she believes "clothing should not actually touch [her] skin." She also will curb stomp you if you throw away a sliver of paper. That shit is recyclable, yo. In other words, she's insane. Or fantastic. Take your pick.

Anyway, recently she got a mole removed on the top of her thigh, and--apparently--the stitches are hyper-sensitive right now. The other day I was just sitting on the couch engaged in some stressful form of homework, blissfully unaware of the coming assault to all my senses, when my mother walks past the doorway. She stops and turns to face me. She is wearing short Soffe shorts and a stolen pair of my over-the-knee volleyball socks. If one mixed all the colors of each garment together it would prolly be the approximate shade that causes one's eyes to explode. I look up and she waves her hand across her body as if she needs to direct my attention toward her outfit. "Get at me," she says. And then she walks away. In the words of Miranda Presley, "That's all."

God bless mother fucking America!

Just today, a friend showed me this article. And after I stopped crying from laughter, I started crying for America. Or maybe it was from fear. Of Nicolas Cage. No, not because he is currently the word's holder of the title "Ugliest Man Alive," but because of this. Nic cage is a vampire?

My favorite part is the quote from the seller:

 "Personally, I believe it's him and that he is some sort of walking undead/vampire, et cetera, who quickens/reinvents himself once every 75 years or so. 150 years from now, he might be a policitian, the leader of a cult, or a talk show host."

Although the seller's use of "et cetera" confuses me, I am mostly impressed that he knows that the Nicolas Cage vampire reinvents himself every 75 years. But what does bother me is the poll question: "Do you think this photograph looks like Nicolas Cage?" Apparently, my only choices are "Yes--I believe he is a vampire," "No way--this is ridiculous," or "I don't know." Obviously, it is not possible to think the photo resembles Nicolas Cage and still believe he is mortal. My ideas are clearly too fucking revolutionary for this poll...

I hope my ugliness won't offend you.

Do you ever wonder why people watch Spongebob when they aren't under the age of ten? Then this is for you. My brother and I often spend our free time watching Spongebob videos on Youtube. Just in case you're wondering, my brother is 19. Are you judging? Stop. Now watch these videos. They speak for themselves.

You're welcome.

It just got better, ya'll!

Hey! Good news, yo. I have hired my friend, Colin to be in charge of design and art. Now, fortunately, you won't have to look at my heinous attempts at artwork ever again as much as before. Yay! Seriously--WHY AREN'T YOU CHEERING? Now--because it is my specialty--here is a horribly inaccurate representation of Colin.

HOLD. UP. What am I taking about? This is a mo-fucking masterpiece. Colin really has those snazzy orange pants. Plus he's always yelling stuff like that.

welcome, yo.

Hey mother fuckers! Too much? No, I get. Right now you're thinking, "Who the fuck is this chick? This is totally not worth my time." And I'm not going to lie to you. You're completely right. To those who take pity on me--or simply have bad taste--READ ON.

Welcome to my blog. My name is Mikal (pronounced Michael). And this is me below.

As you can see my body is roughly the shape and color of a Christmas tree, my eyes are a stunning shade of poop, and I am perpetually flipping people off. It's a disability, asshole. Don't judge me. Actually, the truth is, this is my first time ever using the paint program on my computer, and this, combined with my total lack of computer skills, has led to this horribly inaccurate version of myself. In real life--I can assure you--I am much more heinous to behold. So trust me, I'm doing you a favor. I am hoping to improve these skills so please bear with me for the time being. We are all suffering. Stop complaining. I also will TRY not to draw pictures if I can help it. Your health is important to me too and I wouldn't want to burn your eyes or anything.

Anyway, after barely making it through this past year without a daily panic/stress attack, I started writing satirical comics/short stories from the depressing scenes of my adolescent life. I like to think it is sort of theraputic for me but it's quite possible that I've just cracked. ENJOY. Maybe?