Post Number 50!!!!!!

This is post number 50. We should do something special, don't you agree?

Yes, I do. Should it involve roasted carrots?

No, I have a really good idea! Let's interview random people!

Yeah! I know where we can find some. Let's go!

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J: Welcome to The Amazing Spectacular Shiny Really Big and Cool Show of Wonder! Today we will be interviewing that all-time favorite pet, ToddD the Monkey!

T: (enters with very large bomb looking thing) No, you won't. (ToddD blows up the entire theatre, with Jeff, Maeve, and some of the cast and the audience barely escaping the large explosion. ToddD is nowhere to be seen.)

M: Well, I guess we'd better use the backup stage. (pulls out large cardboard box) I was *going* to use that box as my house, but now I'll just have to find a job that pays, I guess. Welcome to The Cardboard Box Show! Today we will be interviewing Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived!

HP: (Entering, struggling against the several giant bodyguards dragging him in by his feet. Harry clambers to hold his bath towel up.) I DID NOT AGREE TO THIS! THEY ARE HOLDING ME AGAINST MY WILL!!!

J: Oh, that's silly! Of course you wanted to come here! Now, tell me, are you going to die in the next book? No offense, but I'd be really sad if you didn't.

HP: Well, that's rude. If I were to interrupt you in YOUR bubble bath, send some thugs to kiddnap you, send you by bungie-transport to some cardboard TV studio across the world in Nevada (where IS Deaddogville, anyway?), and then--

M: Please, just answer with a "yes" or "no".

HP: No, I'm not going to die.

J: What? Oh, well I guess I'll just have to kill you now, then. (Pulls out a very large stick and starts to beat Harry to death)

M: Argh!

J: Well, if he wasn't going to die in the book...

M: Now we need another guest! Let's interview you, Jeff. What made you psychopathically murder the best-loved protagonist of modern times?

J: Well, his story is so dark, and J.K. Rowling had been hinting at his death pretty much the entire series. If...

M: You can't kill the hero!!!

J: Yes you can! But anyway...on to our next guest, Renfield from Dracula!

R: (Enters, very scared, as if running from someone) Hello. Would you have any flies?

J: Um...no, but we have got some tea! Would you like one lump or two?

R: I'll take just the six, but leave the tea. (Takes the sugar and places it next to the nearest window.)

M: Renfield, how does your treatment at the asylum make you feel?

R: It makes me feel insane. (glances at the sugar) Oh, good, flies!

J: That's very non-specific. Can you please explain?

R: Sure. I'm a zoophageous, or something. Dr. Seward says I enjoy eating life. Here, spider, spider...

M: So you eat bugs? Gross!

R: Could you hold on for a minute? (Feeds flies to spiders) There. What was the question?

M: Ew!

R: I am thoroughly offended! I happen to like plastic wrap! You can use turkeys to fly to the moon, if you're good enough. I mean, take the light from Benjamin Franklin. He made the first nuclear reactor under a college sports field. Oh, good, the birds have come to eat the spiders.

M: Ew!

J: Oh, come now, Maeve. It's Renfield.

M: I never pictured my hero quite so enthralled with the mysteries of plastic turkey Franklin reactor wrap.

J: Wait...what?

R: Hm...do you have any cats?

M: Why do you want a cat?

R: To...love...and pet! Yes, that's it!

J: But you don't have any food.

R: *Silence*

M: Well, there was a cat here in the box earlier...

J: You can't seriously want to give him a cat.

Dr. Seward: (Running in) Renfield! I told you not to escape!

R: Oh, sorry. I have to go now. Bye! (Renfield leaves with Dr. Seward.)

J: What happened to the birds?

M: Um...look at the floor. (On the floor, following the path Renfield exited, is a trail of feathers.)

J: Oh.

Dracula: (Appears very spookily) I'm sorry, but have you seen one of my minions around?

M: (In a southern accent) He went that a-way.

D: In which direction? (Maeve points down, Jeff points towards the audience. Dracula takes off and lands in the orchestra pit. Playing the first violin is Renfield.)

R: Master! You found me!

D: We must leave, Renfield.

R: Alright. Bye, everybody! (Dracula and Renfield leave in a poof of smoke.)

J: Well, that was interesting.

M: No, it wasn't. It dashed all of my secret hopes to be like Renfield when I grow up. Now I know that he is unequaled.

J: Well, at least Harry's dead.

(A group of knights consisted of supposedly dead people are led by Sir Lancelot and Sir Robin, singing "I don't know, but it's been said! We're off to war we're not yet dead!" At the end of the line is Harry, supported by a throng of fan girls, who is alive, kicking, and singing along. As he passes Jeff, he yells "AVADA KEDAVRA!" Jeff falls down, presumably dead, in a flash of green light. Maeve shrugs, and goes off to join the fan girls.)

Globalization and its Financial Implications

I shall now use a technique I learned in my days as a Navy Seal.
"The only easy day was yesterday!"
Do you feel either inspired, encouraged, intimidated, or like you need a good banana split? No! The answer is wood chips = the hand of destiny. You must not be very good at math.

If I say, "on a different note" it would imply that what came before had a note. If it did, it must have come from a rusty clarinet. Instead, I will say, "I have made a titanic discovery!" This is both intriguing and misleading, since I didn't actually discover anything, and what I found out had to do with tiny things. Have you ever wondered where baby corn comes from? If not, read anyway. If you already know, read anyway. I am very excited about this, and I intend to get some recognition. Baby corn is actually grown from the seeds of corn varieties that grow to full size. The corn is harvested before it reaches maturity. Since this must be done by hand, most of the US's supply of said miniature vegetable comes from Asia. Americans are obviously too lazy to pick the corn themselves.

Bayonets are silly. If you're too far away, shoot the jerks. If you're at close range, it's still a good tactic. Who wants to go through the trouble of goring the other guy, pulling the sword-type-bit out of his bleeding corpse, and then going about the rest of the battle? It's true you have to prepare the gun powder and everything, but I guarantee you get better results with a bullet than a pointy thing. Also, what if the enemy crept up behind you while you were trying to get the sword out, and were having some difficulty? If that enemy had any sense, he would just shoot you, and not bother goring you like you did to that first guy. If the enemy did run you through with the sword, though, and it got stuck, someone else might come up and run him through, and so on. Eventually, there would be one long carnal shish kabob flopping around. Gross. Also, say you were just carrying that bayonet around with you. You couldn't sheath is like a sword, or put it in a holster like a gun. You would have it strapped across your shoulders. Now, let's also say that just before the battle your squadron was sitting down to a picnic lunch. You unslung your bayonet and put it beside you so that you could eat your coleslaw properly. Finding that you finished before your comrades, you decided to watch the clouds drift by and think romantic thoughts for a while. You go to lie on your back, but instead lie right on your bayonet! Ouch! That ends any romantic thoughts that you might have for a while, especially because you also set the gun off as you lie down, shooting your friend Alf in the elbow. That is my enlightened argument against bayonets. And war is wrong. Remember that, too.

If I told you I'm not morbid you wouldn't believe me. I'm not though. I just wanted to illustrate my point that bayonets are silly. To expose my whimsical side, I give you this brilliant "Brain Oucher" that I borrowed from Benny of "How?" Ahem.

"Two trains leave the station at the same time. But they both topple on the tracks, because trains can't be on the same tracks at the same time at the same station. Where would they fit? So they topple. HA HA! Then they get up, dust themselves off, and follow each other in an orderly line. But one is going slow, and the other one is going fast. Guess what? The slower one is in front, and the faster one is behind, which means they run into each other and fall off again! HA HA! It is not their day! So they get back on the tracks again, and they go in opposite directions, and never see each other again. Okay, now knowing the information above, what kind of sandwich should I have for dinner?"

Ponder that, and the answer will be at the bottom of this post.

Rats. That means I need to come up with more to say to not make the answer too obvious for you cheaters. Oh, well. Here it is now.

Not yet.

...Now!

"Ostrich on Foccacia bread, hold the pickles."

Until next time, don't sit on any bayonets.
Eat some baby corn: support Thailand's economy.

Rhapsody in Blue

George Gershwin. I love it. It's my favorite piece.

Let me make one thing clear before I continue: Rapaz Mau can defeat anyone, anytime, anywhere. He is even more evil than Darth Vader (in Episodes 4, 5, and 6). He doesn't have a son, so he isn't at the disadvantage of having his son being his nemesis. I could go on and on, but you'll see what I mean later.

If you catch my drift, you have good catching skills.

Spore. Start out as a single-celled organism, end with galactic domination. The fabulous game of evolution, made by Will Write (The Sims, Sim City, etc.). How I hate the fact that it comes out in 2007.

I was wondering to myself one day why Les Miz is getting a revival...when it seriously just got off broadway. If you're going to revive a show, revive one that's been off broadway for a while, like Camelot or My Fair Lady. Oh, I know, how 'bout those old shows no one's heard of? Porgy and Bess. Iolanthe. Princess Ida. Show boat. Wow, never thought of that, did you?

Thunder. How I hate ye. Thunder signals that I have to turn off my comptuer. So I'll post as is.

*EDIT!* Sam, you get a cookie for answering the questions correctly.

Taxi!

Halt! Okay, now that I've got your attention...hey, wait a second, get back here! Jeez...stupid taxis...hey, taxi! TAXI! TAXI!!!!! Thank you. Now, I need to get to main street...what? 8 bucks to sit in the car and 40 more for each minute?! That's ridiculous! Get out of here! Alright, one more try...HEY, YOU! YOU IN THE TAXI! Thanks for stopping. Yeah, I'm talkin' to you. No, I don't want a cigar! What do you mean you crossed the border? Which border? The Paraguayan border?! We're in NYC! How did you get into the US by crossing the Paraguayan border? You took a plane. Good for you. Scram!

That is not a typical day trying to catch a taxi. Well, it might be...haven't tried to catch a taxi for a while. Anyyaw, now that you've got the horse right here (his name is Paul Revere) I want to know some things.
1) The original Dracula was played by whom?
2) The name of the writer, director, producer, and all that jazz in Citizen Kane.
3) The director of Plan 9 from Outer Space.
4) The movie that consisted of mostly animation set to music (with no dialogue[in the animation])in 1940.
5) The author and title of the book that later became the movie Secret Window starring Johnny Depp.

Those who answer get a cookie. Those who answer correctly get two cookies. Those who do those two things and do an interpretive dance to the soundtrack of said 1940s movie get an all expenses paid trip to Southern Utah, where they will learn the ancient art of cookie growing and some stuff about clay sculptures.

But seriously, folks. Comment! Look how desperate we are. Enough to beg, at least. Either comment, or... um, you get a negative cookie. That's right. If we catch you with a cookie, it will be confiscated and gobbled right in front of you. I wouldn't get too attached to them if I were a non-commenter. I certainly wouldn't give the cookie a respectable name like Richard and dress it in a jogging suit and send it to jazzercize sessions. Nope.

Mission: Impossibly Cheesy

Sorry I haven't written anything in a while. I was about 2000 miles away without Internet access, so I hope I'm forgiven. And -Ireland- for those of you who are going to ask twelve times in the comment section. At least, that's what I've been telling people. The truth is very different. I'm just not sure if it's safe to bring to light...

Aw, what the heck. If the Internet isn't safe, what is? Here's what really went on:
It all started out when I was watching one of the infinite amount of kid spy movies that have been popping up like nasty, prickly weeds with taproots so they don't go away. At one point there were some robots, dinosaurs and kids with lasers fighting an evil-looking guy with a black mustachio and his thugs. I couldn't take it anymore. I turned it off. I made to get up and get a glass of water, when I heard a disembodied voice. I checked to make sure it wasn't the TV back on again. It wasn't.
"Maeve @#(*&@^*, you are the Chosen One! You are being put on top-secret FBI business that can only be handled by a kid, because the government is so frighteningly incapable. Don't tell your parents; then you can't have cool and dangerous adventures on an uncharted island of evil exploding robots. Come to the Hydro-depressurization Cubic Precirculation O2 Chamber at 2100 hours. This message, although seemingly coming from nowhere, will now self-destruct."
Well, when I heard those keywords (in bold), I knew exactly what was going on. It had never crossed my mind as to why we had a HDCPO2 Chamber in our basement before, but now it became perfectly clear; It was destiny (duh)! Now, by watching too many kid spy movies in succession, I had invoked the wrath of the Great omniscient Dietywhomakesalivingasamoviecritic (GOD). Everyone knows those movies push the limits of good taste, so I had angered GOD by watching them against His recommendations. My only hope was to complete whatever mission I was assigned, to prove that despite the all-encompassing cheesiness, there is some sort of substance to kid spy adventures.
At 9:00 I thumped my way downstairs with all my SCUBA gear that I keep for a rainy day (appreciate the pun or perish!). I stepped into a shower-like glass cell, and suddenly everything was rushing water. The device spat me out somewhere in the South Pacific. Things get a little muddled from here. I remember swimming to a skull-shaped island while fighting of sharks with two weapons I had not possessed five minutes ago: semi-automatic plasma guns, and a mastery of several of the funniest-looking martial art techniques in existence.
I'm pretty sure I fought all matter of robots, lava monsters, prehistoric beasts, cannibals, bears, thugs, and guard dogs to bring back an impressively shiny key. It was probably the key to something important and/or mystical and classified, but I stopped paying attention to my motives after a while. There didn't really seem to be any. It turns out GOD was a computer program set up by the government and the FBI to manipulate me into doing their bidding. Oh, well. At least I got a medal.

So, yeah. That took up the better part of two weeks. Just don't tell anyone the real story. I was in Ireland, remember? I don't like to think of the hangar in Arizona where they put the bodies of kid agents who blab about government workings. Okay, so maybe the Disney movies didn't talk about it, but trust me -- it's right next to Hangar 18 with the aliens in it. And yes, Jeff; I'll say "Hi" to them for you if I end up being shipped out there. I'll get them in touch with their friends in Massachusetts.

As a final note, it is harder to be Jeff than I thought. Nora's drum is good for an afternoon's worth of amusement, though.

Too lazy...

Too lazy to write an entire post right now, so I'll just say the subjects I was "planning" on covering.

Dark matter...is there light matter?

Rhapsody in Blue rocks.

Grace notes are evil.

The moose in zoos are cool.

Beanbags made of memory foam are hard to break apart but are really comfy.

Cheese is good.

I don't get much comments.

That's all.