I destroyed a team of scout ants this morning.
They came in our third story pad from either the deck door, which does end up open throughout the day, or through the shoddy craftsmanship in the walls. Tiny buggers, and apparently expert climbers no matter the way they arrived.
I may have jumped a bit when I noticed them because I'm not a lover of stinging insects, and when I notice out of the corner of my eye something mobile that shouldn't be there I immediately think of the gigantic wasps we saw in Belize.
They are the size of hummingbirds, but clearly have stingers and wasp-like qualities. We named them hummingbees.
How we came across one was luck, because apparently they keep away from people and to themselves. However, they do come out to sting and paralyze tarantulas before dropping off some eggs inside the spider for use as a live host. Awesome, and fucking scary as all fuck.
So I notice the ants, squeal a bit, possibly pee myself. Then I vacuum them up and go about my day. Until I start thinking about how these advance ant cells work.
Do they scout out an area before reporting back to their brethren and then all converge on the area to take over like Arabs with gas stations and Dunkin Donut's?
(Donuts? Donutses? Donuts's'es?)
Or, and the reason I'm running out to grab some attack chemicals, does their lack of a return to base camp after a specified time signal to their posse that it's time to roll out regulator style?
(Mount up!)
All I know for sure is I don't want a repeat of my childhood home in Utah where we came in one day from school to a few flies lazily buzzing around the stairs. Then, as we head past them to the basement for a little original nintendo action we see the entire double-wide downstairs windows covered in flies. Not 40-50 flies buzzing around in a little game of insect ass-grab, we're talking thousands and thousands of flies clinging to the windows. It was some sort of fly species that travels in packs searching for specific temperatures to chillax in. Apparently that time of year and our unfortunate luck brought them into our basement. All of them.
Side note: It took my dad 2 hours to set up the original Nintendo to our television when it first came out. If I'm not mistaken it was two cords with a total of 4 plugs, one of those plugs clearly a wall plug, and the other three clearly matching input/output plugs on either the Nintendo or the TV.
Have a good day. And if you know what's good for you you'll shake your shoes out this morning because there's probably a brown recluse in there.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Monday, April 25, 2011
Invitations
Every year around Thanksgiving (Which, if I remember correctly is the time we give thanks to the Indians for graciously giving us their land) my mother asks me for a Christmas list. In other words, she wants ideas of things to get me for Christmas (Which, if I remember correctly is the day we give thanks to Jesus for helping us steal land from the Indians) and I always have a problem coming up with ideas.
Part of my problem is that I make enough money these days to buy the things I'm interested in having. Thus, someone searching out $20-$50 gift ideas is going to have a hard time finding something I don't already have. The other reason, though, is the real problem.
I don't like telling people what to get me because it defeats the purpose of gift giving and turns the whole thing into an emotionless ritual.
Alright, that's a little harsh. I still like getting gifts, but I definitely like giving gifts better and if I had my way I'd never give anyone ideas for me. So that's the basic idea behind my hesitation to create lists for presents. I like to buy gifts that hold meaning for the recipient. I'd wager to say that people who have been on the receiving end of my gifts would agree that I do a pretty good job of accomplishing that. Actually, that was too kind. I do a fantastic job of gift giving. I'm also quite humble.
This kind of shit happens all the time. Someone invites you to something of theirs and they expect an invite back to your thing. Bonus checks become something counted on as part of your salary rather than a bump in pay for good performance. Hell, I've had a woman stop at a door and wait because she noticed I was 10 seconds (TEN SECONDS) behind her and she clearly felt like doors should be opened for her all the time. Clearly some unfortunate douchebag used to treat her like a queen and nobody has had the balls to call her a selfish bitch since. At any rate, it's not new and it's not going away.
Which brings me to the reason for this whole subject.
Weddings. One of the worst kind of events for these types of problems.
Hey, guess what? You're probably not invited!
Ok, so now that we've got that out of the way let's discuss how awesome it is to create the list of attendees to your wedding. First, you and your loved one decide when and where you're getting hitched. After all it is your wedding, right?
Then, once you've determined the type of wedding you want it's time to create the list of attendees. There's family, friends, and a few other people including the 48 year old deejay who's going to show up and try to rape you and your guest's earholes with the chicken dance and hokey pokey. I'm sure you're happy with the people you've selected. After all, it is your wedding. Right?
Alright, you've made the tough decisions about friends. Some never show up to anything, some can't afford to travel, and some can't stop dating people who should be on Jerry Springer and the last thing you want is someone breaking a bottle over someone's head at your reception. You're good, I imagine. Happy. It's a good list. Solid. The people you want to celebrate with and nobody more.
Or so your mom, or his mom, or your step mom, or father, or just about anyone related to you thinks.
Hey, remember cousin Jack? No? Well, you were pretty young that one time you met him. But he lives near your destination wedding so you should make sure to invite him.
Oh, another thing really quick. Um, I noticed you hadn't invited Carl. You know, Carl is having a really tough time lately. He doesn't really know anybody and it would be nice if you invited him as well. No, Carl. From the neighborhood. He's the one you always called Dirty Carl. I'll give you his address.
Are you busy? I just wanted to ask you how prominently my name would be displayed on your invitation. I am, after all, paying for a portion of your wedding and as such I wanted to ensure that everyone is able to clearly see my name so I get all the credit I deserve. May I suggest 16pt font and Sans Serif?
Oh, honey...You can't have a wedding cake without at least 4 tiers. That's something the Jews would do.
Alright, that second one was probably made up.
But what the fuck is wrong with people? It isn't your wedding. You don't have to feel bad that people weren't invited. You don't have to sweat the details. In fact, all most of you have to do is show up and not be an asshole. Seriously. You can even get drunk. Watch a friend or relative share a moment together, then eat free delicious food and drink far too much free delicious alcohol and that's it.
And there will be fantastic food and wine. That I can assure you jackals. A destination on everyone's must see list, food, wine, and a chance to get away from your whiny little snotboxes or relentlessly blind to your efforts boss for a few days. It's not that difficult.
I think the photo below encapsulates what you can expect quite nicely.
So be happy you made the list and just strap in for the ride. It'll be a good one, I promise. And if I'm wrong you can totally just zip it because I'm not going to want to hear it.
After all, that's something the Jews would do.
Part of my problem is that I make enough money these days to buy the things I'm interested in having. Thus, someone searching out $20-$50 gift ideas is going to have a hard time finding something I don't already have. The other reason, though, is the real problem.
I don't like telling people what to get me because it defeats the purpose of gift giving and turns the whole thing into an emotionless ritual.
Alright, that's a little harsh. I still like getting gifts, but I definitely like giving gifts better and if I had my way I'd never give anyone ideas for me. So that's the basic idea behind my hesitation to create lists for presents. I like to buy gifts that hold meaning for the recipient. I'd wager to say that people who have been on the receiving end of my gifts would agree that I do a pretty good job of accomplishing that. Actually, that was too kind. I do a fantastic job of gift giving. I'm also quite humble.
This kind of shit happens all the time. Someone invites you to something of theirs and they expect an invite back to your thing. Bonus checks become something counted on as part of your salary rather than a bump in pay for good performance. Hell, I've had a woman stop at a door and wait because she noticed I was 10 seconds (TEN SECONDS) behind her and she clearly felt like doors should be opened for her all the time. Clearly some unfortunate douchebag used to treat her like a queen and nobody has had the balls to call her a selfish bitch since. At any rate, it's not new and it's not going away.
Which brings me to the reason for this whole subject.
Weddings. One of the worst kind of events for these types of problems.
Hey, guess what? You're probably not invited!
Ok, so now that we've got that out of the way let's discuss how awesome it is to create the list of attendees to your wedding. First, you and your loved one decide when and where you're getting hitched. After all it is your wedding, right?
Then, once you've determined the type of wedding you want it's time to create the list of attendees. There's family, friends, and a few other people including the 48 year old deejay who's going to show up and try to rape you and your guest's earholes with the chicken dance and hokey pokey. I'm sure you're happy with the people you've selected. After all, it is your wedding. Right?
Alright, you've made the tough decisions about friends. Some never show up to anything, some can't afford to travel, and some can't stop dating people who should be on Jerry Springer and the last thing you want is someone breaking a bottle over someone's head at your reception. You're good, I imagine. Happy. It's a good list. Solid. The people you want to celebrate with and nobody more.
Or so your mom, or his mom, or your step mom, or father, or just about anyone related to you thinks.
Hey, remember cousin Jack? No? Well, you were pretty young that one time you met him. But he lives near your destination wedding so you should make sure to invite him.
Oh, another thing really quick. Um, I noticed you hadn't invited Carl. You know, Carl is having a really tough time lately. He doesn't really know anybody and it would be nice if you invited him as well. No, Carl. From the neighborhood. He's the one you always called Dirty Carl. I'll give you his address.
Are you busy? I just wanted to ask you how prominently my name would be displayed on your invitation. I am, after all, paying for a portion of your wedding and as such I wanted to ensure that everyone is able to clearly see my name so I get all the credit I deserve. May I suggest 16pt font and Sans Serif?
Oh, honey...You can't have a wedding cake without at least 4 tiers. That's something the Jews would do.
Alright, that second one was probably made up.
But what the fuck is wrong with people? It isn't your wedding. You don't have to feel bad that people weren't invited. You don't have to sweat the details. In fact, all most of you have to do is show up and not be an asshole. Seriously. You can even get drunk. Watch a friend or relative share a moment together, then eat free delicious food and drink far too much free delicious alcohol and that's it.
And there will be fantastic food and wine. That I can assure you jackals. A destination on everyone's must see list, food, wine, and a chance to get away from your whiny little snotboxes or relentlessly blind to your efforts boss for a few days. It's not that difficult.
I think the photo below encapsulates what you can expect quite nicely.
So be happy you made the list and just strap in for the ride. It'll be a good one, I promise. And if I'm wrong you can totally just zip it because I'm not going to want to hear it.
After all, that's something the Jews would do.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
HE HAS ARISENED!
It is on this Easter, in the year of 2011, the time of before noon, and the clothing of what I slept in, that I resurrect my totally gay online diary. Or MYTGOD, if you'll indulge my love of taking the first letter from a series of words and creating a whole new word which represents the series in a shorter, easier to remember word. They really should create a name for that, by the way.
Where have I been?
The short answer is that I stopped blogging for your sins. The long answer is a totally different one involving laziness, inability to make a simple website actually appear in this space, and the simple fact that some other jackhole owned this site until recently. I'm not sure what was on their webpage but it more than likely sucked.
So I'm back. Risen, if you will. Like Jesus. Only Mytgod "HAS" risen, whereas Jesus apparently "IS" risen. Totally different thing. In fact, I have a theory on why nobody can prove this whole God & Jesus thing exists. It goes like this...
It doesn't exist.
So moving along, I found myself in my car a few days ago driving home from a round of golf. It was out in the middle of nowhere, which gave me a chance to drive by lots of tiny, rural churches. With temperatures nearing 80 I drove with the windows down. The sweet smell of type 2 Diabetes was in the air as I noticed the beaters in the yard of ramshackle homes, the overgrown yards, and of course the satellite dishes. They all seem to have satellite dishes. No matter how impoverished an area, it seems that people can live without quite a bit of civilized society but they'll be damned if they're going to miss their favorite comedian yelling git er dun.
Signs seemed to be out in force, he is risen, he is risen, he is risen. I couldn't help but find myself saying out loud, "HAS. HASSSS. HAS RISEN!" Nobody heard me though. Those country folk all have mangled ears from the meth and inbreeding, I hear.
But it did get me to thinking about finally writing again. About finally figuring out how to get this website to actually appear. About taking this important day* and bringing MYTGOD back from the dead. To begin blogging again, knowing that nobody really cares, but to get back to that place I so enjoyed where I had an outlet for all of the ridiculousness my mind is capable of. And it's a lot.
*So important that it changes days every year! Hell, even gays have a month (a whole month!) that never changes! In your face, religion!
I've bounced around from site to site, started and stopped ideas, masturbated relentlessly, and ultimately gave it all up. Except the masturbating, of course. But on this holy day where people put candy in plastic eggs, force their kids to take pictures with giant bunnies, and then spend weeks cleaning up all that fucking grass from easter baskets all in the name of a higher power, it's time that you know something. Jesus, if he exists, (which he doesn't) loves you.
But I think you're a cunt.
You're welcome!
Where have I been?
The short answer is that I stopped blogging for your sins. The long answer is a totally different one involving laziness, inability to make a simple website actually appear in this space, and the simple fact that some other jackhole owned this site until recently. I'm not sure what was on their webpage but it more than likely sucked.
So I'm back. Risen, if you will. Like Jesus. Only Mytgod "HAS" risen, whereas Jesus apparently "IS" risen. Totally different thing. In fact, I have a theory on why nobody can prove this whole God & Jesus thing exists. It goes like this...
It doesn't exist.
So moving along, I found myself in my car a few days ago driving home from a round of golf. It was out in the middle of nowhere, which gave me a chance to drive by lots of tiny, rural churches. With temperatures nearing 80 I drove with the windows down. The sweet smell of type 2 Diabetes was in the air as I noticed the beaters in the yard of ramshackle homes, the overgrown yards, and of course the satellite dishes. They all seem to have satellite dishes. No matter how impoverished an area, it seems that people can live without quite a bit of civilized society but they'll be damned if they're going to miss their favorite comedian yelling git er dun.
Signs seemed to be out in force, he is risen, he is risen, he is risen. I couldn't help but find myself saying out loud, "HAS. HASSSS. HAS RISEN!" Nobody heard me though. Those country folk all have mangled ears from the meth and inbreeding, I hear.
But it did get me to thinking about finally writing again. About finally figuring out how to get this website to actually appear. About taking this important day* and bringing MYTGOD back from the dead. To begin blogging again, knowing that nobody really cares, but to get back to that place I so enjoyed where I had an outlet for all of the ridiculousness my mind is capable of. And it's a lot.
*So important that it changes days every year! Hell, even gays have a month (a whole month!) that never changes! In your face, religion!
I've bounced around from site to site, started and stopped ideas, masturbated relentlessly, and ultimately gave it all up. Except the masturbating, of course. But on this holy day where people put candy in plastic eggs, force their kids to take pictures with giant bunnies, and then spend weeks cleaning up all that fucking grass from easter baskets all in the name of a higher power, it's time that you know something. Jesus, if he exists, (which he doesn't) loves you.
But I think you're a cunt.
You're welcome!
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