The Island of Alaska, Part 1

I was never good at geography. I always figured I had more important things to learn about than where the hell a country, city, or state was. Due to these misconceived notions, I thought Alaska was an island until about 10 years ago.

I'm certainly not dumb. I honestly don't know many stupid people who enjoy trying to connect Loop Quantum Gravity and String Theory in their spare time. You ask me to determine the eigenvalues of a matrix than I can certainly do it for you but if you ask me to point out where Columbia is on a map and we got problems.

And just why did I think Alaska was an island? Well, posted in just about every grade school textbook I owned was a picture that looked just like this:

OR

Hawaii is an island, Puerto Rico is an island, the Virgin Islands are obviously an island, so wouldn't Alaska be an island based on the map above?

Strangely enough, I knew that Puerto Rico and the Virgin Islands were not actually states despite what the map above infers. I knew the 50 states, I just did not know where they were located.

Use the link below to pull up a Google Image listing of "Map of the United States" and count how many images show Alaska as an island:

Maps of the United States of America

From what I have gathered, most kids had the same maps in their textbooks but eventually they looked at a map of the whole world and realized that Alaska was connected to Canada. Perhaps other kids had better teachers than I had who explained the history of Alaska and how it came to be the 49th state. That will teach you to send your kids to expensive private schools like my parents did!

In reality, I just didn't care to pay attention to subjects such as Geography. After all, I had planets to discover and scientific theories to disprove. I'm sure you can imagine the embarrassment I felt the day someone clued me on the geographical location of Alaska and I realized I am not nearly as omniscient as I thought I was. That is a story I will share later in part 2 of "The Island of Alaska". Part 2 will be written after I have had some time to let my ego build back up.

__________________

Note: This is probably the most embarrassing thing I have ever admitted to. It has taken me nearly 10 years to come to terms with my asininity. However, I have accepted my lack of locus skills and now I find my ignorance in the matter to be comical. Please feel free to poke fun of me all you want.

The Heather Hammer

Do you ever wonder why tools are always named after men? Cause I do....

       1. Jack Hammer

When you see this:

I see this:

       2. Allen Wrench

This:

 Or This?

     3. Phillips Head Screwdriver:

This:

Or This?

You are supposed to give boats a female name so why don't any tools have a female name? Shouldn't that be bad luck or something? No wonder so many men hurt themselves while using tools. Duh! You wouldn't have this problem if it was called a Delilah Drill.

I propose we fix this problem by creating the Heather Hammer.

And just to punish you men for not naming a tool after a female, the Heather Hammer will be a castration tool.

No need to try to make this look like a vagina.

Pretty soon I will have these babies (Or lack there of) available at every Wal-Mart. That's what you get for not naming any tools after me or any of the other millions of females out there! Suffer my wrath!

If someone peed on me

Obviously this person would be a man. Otherwise you would be a very talented women.

So assuming you're a man that just peed on me, I would go all Lorena Bobbit on your ass and chop your dick off. Except when I cut off your wanker there will be no reattaching it like they did for John Bobbit. Then I would plead temporary insanity because the toxins in your piss soaked into my skin and caused me to temporarily turn into a psychotic penis chopping maniac.

Of course this rule does not apply to the infants, super old farts, disabled individuals, clinically insane people, and monkeys . If you belong to one of these groups then please proceed with the poo flinging and pee-pee shooting.

The reason I am writing about this topic is because recently a good friend of mine (Who incidentally is a sane man) told me he did just that. He was taking a shower with his wife and thought it would be funny to wizz on her. As jaw dropping as this admission is, I was even more surprised that his penis was still attached to his body and divorce papers weren't sitting on his desk

Honestly, there are certain things you just don't do to you wife, girlfriend, or friends. One of them happens to be urinating on them. Unless getting pee-peed on is some sort of strange sexual fantasy you have....then it is ok as long as both parties agree to your nasty perversions.

And this story reminds me of another story a man told me once about his wife. They were at a festival downtown and his wife decided she needed to use the porta-potty. While she was in the porta-potty he decided it would be really hilarious to tip it over. I'm sure you can imagine how well that worked out for him.

And yet somehow the porta-potty husband and the golden shower husband are still married and somehow both men still have their original wang attached. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU WOMEN? How much abuse do you have to take? Anything that deals with getting pissed and/or shit on should not be tolerated by one possessing a vagina.

It is so vile that I believe it should be an option when you file for divorce.

Legal grounds for divorce: (Please circle one)

1. Incurable Insanity
2. Abandonment
3. Cruel or barbarous treatment that endangers the life of the other.
4. Adultery
5. Excessive use of alcohol or drugs
6. Spouse knowingly and voluntarily allowed piss and/or fecal matter, not belonging to the other, to be smeared on the other's body.

So to all you men reading this, please think twice before you decide it would be funny to whizz or take a dump on a female companion. You might find yourself with no dick and an alimony payment.
.

Note: I am so passionate about his blog post that I am not even adding silly pictures (Except for the one at the beginning that I need for sharing purposes). In fact, I feel so intense about this subject that I think we should start a foundation to help raise awareness to both men and women about the dangers of pissing and shitting on your significant other. We shall call it the "Foundation Established Cause Excrement Sucks" or FECES for short.

I am the god of bugs!

I am the god of bugs. Specifically the small, buzzy, erratically flying ones that seem to attach themselves to you for the sole purpose of erasing all your pride after forcing you to run around in circles while screaming at the top of your lungs and begging someone to get it off you.

Wherever I go, bugs follow me. "Follow" might be a modest term. These bugs actually hunt me down like little ninjas. They attack me from all sides....flying into my hair and face and trying to crawl into just about every opening on my body. Some of these bugs should definitely be registered sex offenders.

Even places that should be "bug free"-such as in the middle of downtown San Diego, on the 25th floor of a building, in the middle of December--become exceptions if I am visiting.

How is this possible? How do they always find a way to creep into my life to torture, molest, and harass me?

One day I finally realized the answer to this question. Instead of coming up with a perfectly rational explanation that I have heard my whole life such as "You release a pheromone that they like" or "Your shampoo smells good", or even "you hate them so they hate you", I decided upon the most irrational answer: I am the god of bugs! 

All the creepy crawly insects in this world think I am their god and they are actually worshiping me instead of attacking me. There is a fine line between attacking and worshiping as I am sure Justin Bieber can tell you.

....or perhaps I am more equivalent to the bug Jesus. Are the bugs going to one day crucify me on some sort of arthropodal secretion formed into a cross? It's a possibility.

I believe that when every noxious icky, sticky, and possibly perverted bug was born, their bug parents hung a mobile over their crib with little pictures of my face. This way I would forever be embedded in their tiny bug sized brains.

All the bugs read this blog religiously. It is their bug bible

Instead of soon-to-be bug moms strapping a headset to their belly and playing Mozart, they play recordings of my voice to their unborn abominations. When I am singing in the shower, there is a fly perched in the corner of my bathroom with a microscopic tape recorder. This is how they make bug radio.

Bugs know that one day I will save them from their persecution. One day I will realize my true fate and come to the conclusion that bugs are really just cute, fuzzy, warm little animals that need some Heather love. Bugs must be freed of their awful stereotype and they all know that I will be the one to deliver them from evil.





But their day of buggy freedom is not today. No, I will not be parting the waters of the bug sea today. Today I run from bugs. I run far, far away screaming profanities and smushing them so hard that their guts are permanently embedded in my walls and flooring.

So if you are a bug and you are reading this now: I understand why you feel the need to latch onto me but I am begging you to stop. Being a martyr sounds all noble and awesome but in reality doing a kamikaze into my face just isn't cool. Don't be that bug. Leave me in peace. Let me meditate upon my feelings and find my inner love for bugs without being harassed by your penetrating eyes, annoying communication methods, and painful but tender bites that long to awaken my soul. This is a command from your god and if you disobey then I will be forced to come down upon thee with my bug zapper!

Too Much Jager = New Company Policy

I didn't quite finish my blog posting for this week.  When you are super lazy like me, even blogging can be too much work.

So instead of posting a story or an idea that popped in my head, I am posting a memo I received from my company a few months ago. Everyone at the company was copied on this memo even though it was specifically addressed to me. I removed the letter head and any other identifiable markings so no one can be harmed (except me) in the posting of this. Yes, this honestly came from my boss.

BEST MEMO EVER!!!!

Sure does beat a TPS report.....

Christmas Lights are for Poor People

Ever since I started this blog, people have been asking me where I get my twisted sense of humor from. Honestly, it's not hard when you grow up around a bunch of sick and twisted individuals. Here are some examples of some of the strange advice I received growing up.

Please note: this advice did not come from me, nor do I always agree with it. Although I agree with most of it. Especially the part about vaginas and grandma.

  #1.  Boys are good for one thing: Carrying your bags through the mall

    #2.  If you ever get in trouble with the police then you need to cry.  Think of whatever makes you so sad that you are forced to break down in tears. If you have to think of dead puppies, do it. If you have to think of you mom being gunned down by a group of Nazi bastards, do it. 90% of the time the police won't know what to do with you and you will get off easy.

    #3.  Always be pessimistic. Then you have nothing to lose and everything to gain. (Perhaps this is an optimistic way of viewing pessimism?)

I want this book.

    #4.  Do drugs-- but don't do more than one type of drug at a time.  In other words, try ecstasy and try cocaine but don't try them at the same time. Mixing drugs are how people die.

Noms = Death

    
    #5.   Marijuana is not a drug. You can mix any drug with Marijuana. In fact, I highly recommend you mix it.

Not a drug

    #6.  Don't ever strive to be the best. Strive to stay in the middle. It's less conspicuous there.

Zebras got it figured out yo.

    #7.  Christmas lights are for poor people.

    #8.  Vaginas look like old wrinkled grandmas so don't ever shave all your pubes. Note: I believe this piece of advice was a great way to ensure I never became a lesbian.

    #9.  Always take time out of your day to sink someone's battleship.

Even if it's your 6 year old's Lego battleship. The bastard deserved it.

    #10.  Invest in Pogs. Eventually they will become legal tender.

    #11.  The internet is hard

So don't forget your hard hat moron.

    #12.  Frogs will always pee on you if you pick them up. If you drink it, you might get high.

Dill Pickles is the street name for Frog Piss.

    #13.  There is no #13. Just like a hotel.

    #14.  Everyone knows #14 is actually #13 but no one wants to admit it.

    #15.  Don't try to meet up with someone that you met on the internet. It's dangerous. After all, he/she might be drinking frog piss. 

 

UPDATE: One of my faithful readers sent me this picture. They thought it was a more accurate description of vaginas and old wrinkled grandmas. Thanks you sick bastard:

 UPDATE 2: Picture had to be removed because it was far too vulgar.