Tuesday, August 31, 2010

I Intend to Change the World.

*EDIT* A part of me wanted to simply delete this post forever, and deny it ever having existed until the day I die.
But then I realized, this is an important part of history. I can't go changing history; as a writer, I have a duty to preserve truth in its purest form (with the occasional exaggeration... but that is beside the point). I will let it be known though, that I have decided against this. Call me a sellout, say what you may, I am not going to delete my Facebook account. I like it too much. That is the truth. I do, however, intend on strictly limiting myself, whatever that may mean. I do not want it to be a big part of my life, as it has in the past.
ANYways. Here is the original post:

I intend to leave Facebook. There are a number of reasons for this decision. But do you know what my biggest reason for leaving is? The fact that it is a big decision. The fact that people treat it like social suicide. Leaving Facebook... can you do that? My goodness people, it's a website! It shouldn't be as important as we have made it. Facebook shouldn't be the first thing you do when you get home. You shouldn't HAVE to have it send you alerts to your phone when you are not on your home computer so you know if someone poked you!

The fact is, I have realized that I am somewhat addicted to it, and feel the need to escape.

How many people have ever purposely left their cellphone at home, and just gone to a park, gone on a walk, ran away for the afternoon without any way of being reached by ANYONE? If you haven't, I suggest you try it. It feels wonderful. Liberating. You are free.

Not being on Facebook will have the same affect. It will be like camping!

Admittedly, there will be cons to not having a Facebook page. People won't be able to stalk me. And I know there are lots of people that do that every day. But you know what? Quitting will be giving them all a chance to return to normal lives in mainstream society. Even if they simply resort to stalking me in real life, at least it will force them to leave their homes. Vitamin D will be good for them.

Another, more serious drawback is the fact that there are a couple of people with whom the only way I communicate is through Facebook.
Deleting my Facebook will inevitably cut off contact with a number of people. My logic there, however, is that if I really want to talk to you, or if you really want to talk to me, we will find another way. There is Gmail. There is Skype. There will be other means. I promise, there will be other means.

I am not quitting Facebook for a little while. But know- it is happening.

Thursday, August 26, 2010

Learn this, everyone.

I have realized that it has become rather cliché to complain about people's lack of ability to write English correctly. Despite that fact, I want a lot of people to know... you really have to get better. It's bordering on pathetic. No, actually, it is has single handedly deconstruction the borders of pathetic, and reconstructed them without regard or sensitivity to the thousands of years worth of literature and linguistic evolution into a decomposing shadow of its former inglorious self. I hope you are proud of yourselves, degenerates of communication, foulers of language and grammatic
order. You did a great job messing things up.

On a lighter note,


No. You don't get a lighter note.

I'm Not One to Complain...

But the sun REALLY needs to calm down in the heat department.

That is all I have to say.

Monday, August 23, 2010

Plots of Mystery and MORDOR

I feel it necessary to inform the throngs of people who read this that I have allowed government access to my blog as a method of passing secret messages to unknown parties under secret names of code. Hence, the codename "Allison."

I am not given any information about said messages, or even agents, and am left only to guess as to what type of character this "Allison" may be.

Let us dissect this guise of innocence.

Allison. All.......... I.......... son..........

All, or everything, as we may have reason to understand, may be referring to the power this agent may be in possession of. Earthly power? Is she (or he) another high standing government official? Or perhaps another, more devious mastermind of criminal tyranny?! The power could be of physical strength, or even simply strength of mind alone, strong enough to crush a million wills of innocents across the globe!

Alas, our guesses shall abide in darkness, and guesses forever remain.

But I press on.


Perhaps the message is not but a guise to encrypt a note to myself! Yet in the very mentioning of this possibility, I do uncover my own identity... and goodness... that would be quite a shame. No, I believe we may indeed leave this possibility out.

What is the meaning?

I. Perhaps... EYE?

All, EYE. EVERYTHING, EYE. POWERFUL, EYE. Oh my word... it couldn't be...

I will move on, for now...

Son. The most obvious explanation for this cover would be for it to not be a cover at all. Hiding in plain sight, as they say.

And indeed, if this is true... we may understand, that this letter was addressed to none other than the son of the Great and Powerful All-Seeing Eye of Mordor, yes, even Sauron himself. Sauron Jr, that is.

This is TRUELY a frightening turn of events... I was expecting this to be some sort of teenage prank my brother was playing on a friend, but no. This is serious. The Obama administration is turning to Mordor for advice on running our country. I don't know how many people here have read the books or seen the movies, but Mordor does not exactly have the best track record when it comes to ruling the world.

I know what must be done. We need a hobbit.

To be continued...

Thursday, August 19, 2010


Once upon a time, there was a droplet of water. Hurtling down from the heavens at speeds he never dreamed of reaching, he reached out his hands, and pretended for a moment he was a bird, soaring through the clouds, diving down to catch an unlucky squirrel to feed his hungry nest-bound babies. An eagle, he was, just for a moment.

But then... alas, a moment is all he had left. This thought left him sad. He had grown to love the cloud in which he was formed. A bustling array of molecules, hydrogen and oxygen alike, all anxiously awaiting nature's call to be released into the unknown: the light, as they called it.

He had friends in his cloud. Friends so close, they would even be called family. Every day, as the cloud grew darker and darker, they would tell each other stories, rumors from the other droplets of the adventures that lay in store for the ones who were "called." The callings were growing more and more frequent, they would whisper, as the brilliant flashes would light up their excited faces.

Then one night, when all was calm, and the cloud drifted slowly through the soft, tranquil breeze, a large droplet appeared within the wisps of their circle, and began to tell his story.

He told of life before the cloud. Could such things be? He said, before this state of unknown, there was a time, a wonderful and joyous time, when we were all brothers and sisters of the same great droplet, one deep, blue, and so full of mystery and adventure that we could not comprehend it if it sat in front of us now! The Ocean, he called it, and to it, he claimed, we would all someday return.

Nonsense, the droplet thought to himself. Such things cannot be... The cloud is all I remember. The cloud is all I have, all I know... I do not dare think such things to be true.

But nonetheless, the words of the droplet rippled within his mind. It sounded so real, so beautiful... It would truly be a great thing, were it to be true. Perhaps it would not hurt to pretend.

And so the droplet pretended. When life in the cloud seemed mundane, hallow or even wispy, he would say to himself, "Ah, dearest self, you know it is not but a short time until you return to the Ocean." Time passed, and he realized: It began to give him power. It began to give him strength. It was not long until the thought of the Ocean became his lifestream, the water inside of him, and more real than the very cloud in which he lived. One day, he knew, he would return home.

And then he was called. It was sudden, without much warning. Yet somehow, he had known it would be coming. The unknown began to draw near. Wind whipped at his face, as his thoughts called upon what he had decided to be true. The ocean awaited. With all his might, he screamed as he fell downward, "I AM RETURNING HOME!"

He dove as an eagle. He felt sadness, yet he knew the others would join him in the end. He would not be alone.


Sunday, August 15, 2010

Socks and Zombies

So, for reasons I don't quite understand, or even agree with, this post has 1) Become my most viewed page, and
2) Become the first page shown when you search for "incredulicity" on Google.
To be honest, this isn't exactly the first post I would direct you to, this being your first time visiting my deceivingly green and font-size-challenged blog. But alas, the all-powerful gods at Google have spoken, and so it has become.
So yes. Read on, if you must. Just... please don't judge me. Especially if you are a company that Googled my name to see if you should hire me. I am a stable person, I promise.
Now, to the dysfunctional blog entry.
End of Update.

There are so many things flying through my head right now, but every time I write a sentence, I finish the sentence, and then seem to be at a loss of words for what else to write. Like right now. BAM. That thought process is over, and now I want to move onto the next. So I'll indulge this ADD mind game for a minute, and see where it takes me.

There is a freaky monkey on my shelf. I don't know how he got there or who he belongs to. He is just there. Lucky for him, he is not watching me. If he were, I would have already tossed him out of my room.

There was this little doll girl that always sat on the windowsill of my grandmother's apartment. THAT was freaky. My grandma had hand made it, and had done a rather poor job at sewing hair onto the poor child's deformed head. It looked more like a child's corpse than a doll. It probably came alive at night. Lucky for me, I worked at night, and slept during the day... That is probably the only reason I survived.

What would happen if the world turned into a zombie wasteland? I think I would be a survivor. I don't picture myself simply catching the virus, and mutating into a cannibalistic monster... I would either die at the hands of a legion of angry zombies (thank you Hyperbole and a Half for the term "legion"), or save the world. But most likely I would just roam around living off other people's canned food, and visit all the places I always wanted to go before the world was ravaged by the T-Virus.

Update on Ninja-Mime: Due to a lack of funding and inflated ambition, the human live-action version will have to be postponed indefinitely. I simply can't due it justice without a budget of 20 million or more.

So instead, I am going to do a live fruit-action version of it... to set the basis of a future remake. But believe me... It is going to be good. Don't believe me? WELL. I would direct you to the MOVING PICTURES?!? section of my blog. See for yourself. IT WILL BLOW YOUR SOCKS OFF.

There is a phrase in German, "Ich muss mich auf die Socken machen," which means, directly translated, "I must make myself on the socks." It makes no sense whatsoever, but in German, it means, "I have to leave."

That said. I must make myself on the socks.


Sunday, August 8, 2010

Of Boxing Bears and Jello

Once upon a time, there was a boxer named Ruffus. Ruffus was a very famous boxer, well known and renown for his successes in the notoriously dangerous boxing world, not only in the ring, but in the times without. Ruffus, though severely concerned with winning his next match with his arch nemesis, Swenson, was, on this particular monday (the day which our story will begin), rather upset with himself, as would all professional boxers be in his somewhat unique situation, for as he trained, and as he practiced, there was one thought that would so persistantly nag at his consciounce, that training in itself could alltogether be deemed as ineffective and moot. Moot, futile, and as worthless as a goldfish, for with this thought in mind, he simply could not practice!

The thought was this: jello.

Oh how he longed for it! The training would go on, and his energy would deplete, and his mind would ALWAYS, no matter the time, place, or thing, settle on this resolute determination, for, as luck would have it, he, on this rainy monday, happened to be in a place where the gelatinous confection which he desired was refused entrance, and thus, did not exist.

A perplexity to all, of course, would be WHY, of all things, Jello (its aliiiive) would be refused access into the place where he was living, but the sad fact is, it was, and there was nothing he could do about it. So instead of enjoying a fine slurp (for that is what one does to jello, to slurp it) of his desire, he dreamed it, and in his dreaming, found himself hungrier, and hungrier, and hungrier.

What I have neglected to tell you, until now, is that Ruffus, our boxer, is not a normal boxer. Ruffus was- or, still is, a bear. A bear? you ask. Yes, I boldly illustrate, this boxer was a bear, a fighting bear, and to all that hear my voice, I declare, this particular bear could fight! Or box, to be more specific. And I am sure, you could imagine, this bear was successful.

If his opposer even chose to fight at all. Some, upon the sight of him, elected not. The match would last usually not but four seconds, for upon the bear´s first blow, the challenger´s head would usually come off, and the curtains around the ring would fall, hiding the carnage from the proud and screaming audience (for that is what they came to see, the head of an opposer to come off). The ring would fall, and the bear would finish his meal, the janitors would come to clean the mess, and when the would finish, he would eat them too.

Of course, this would only cause more of a mess that he himself would have to clean up after, but that is simply the price Ruffus would pay to have a nice meal. The curtains would rise, the managers would ask where the janitors went, and Ruffus would be forced to eat them, for if he didnt, why, they would have the audacity to report him for having lunch! At this point, the audience would be screaming "more! more!" but where would he find more? He has eaten all that stood against him, and there is none left to consume, so he would leave, and go in search of dessert.

This dessert, when he was at home, ALWAYS consisted of jello and whipped cream (the whipped cream added the perfectly sweet touch that he always enjoyed). But, as I have already detailed, today it was nowhere to be found, and he wept. He wept like a child, with burning tears of longing streaming through his fur. He would find it somewhere, he resolutely decided to himself. He would find it, even if he had to eat through buildings of businesses and villages of peasants to get it, get it he would, and there would be nothing that could get in his way.


PS. Dedicated to my best friend Anna, who was the inspiration for this story. :)

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

War of the Braincells

I wonder what the actual physiological occurrences are within the brain that cause a headache.

When I was smaller, I used to imagine surgery as doctors being shrunk down to tiny little persons, who would then go through the mouth and navigate their way to wherever it was that needed to be operated upon, fix whatever problem there was, then exit in a similar fashion. As I got bigger, my theories became changed by the realization that germs are similar to terrorists, who try to sabotage your body into doing things it wouldn't want to normally do, like throw up, have diarrhea, and die.

This evolved theory meant that the doctors would then have to fight their way to the scene of disaster, and would have an array of weapons at their disposal for such skirmishes. Taking medicine is in a way giving ammunition to these superheros within me, benefiting them in the all out war that was taking place in my intestines/stomach/spleen.

That said. I feel as though a war is taking place within my brain. I must be losing. I want to write more, but the enemy seems to have recruited light to its evil cause, so I think I am going to lay down in pitch dark and root for the little persons in my head right now.

Good night.