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Allegedly_Funny
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Name: Petey
Gender: Male
Interests: Starting an '80s coverband (like that will ever happen) making excuses for not blogging
Expertise: I've spent way too many years in a grocery store and I have growing fears that I may one day fall asleep there and forget my way home
Occupation: see above
Industry: I get sick of repeating myself
Message: message me
Website: visit my website
Member Since:
8/15/2006
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| All future blogs are being posted over here http://bloggerofchampions.blogspot.com/, since nobody ever comments there, I don't have to fear negative feedback because in my mind it's like nobody's reading it.
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| Holy hallucinogens Batman! It's been over a week. Looks like I got a lot of 'splainin' to do.
For my inconsistancies I should be dropped into a tank of sharks that have the ability to read amateur poetry.
Which side of Abe Lincoln's head do you have to be able to see in order for your tires to be too bald?
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| There's a secret screwdriver method to solve things. You know a screwdriver, no not vodka and orange juice...that's just a whole new set of solutions. I'm talking about ripping the plastic squares right off the rubix cube's core. Just jam a flathead screwdriver into the edge and tear it to bits and build it back to perfection in fourteen seconds. It's much less shoddy that tearing all the stickers off. For one once you remove an adhesive it's just never the same. Once the backside of that sticker has a taste of freedom it's never going to face away from the light again. It's also insanely hard to get everything back to the right angle. I'm pesky over angles. It's gotta be right angles all the way. Anything other than ninety degrees is downright unsettling.
It's sheer luck when you can tear off a sticker in it's entirety. Utter perfection.
On a side note one thing has never sat right with me, in a movie when a character is supposedly a genius or some kind of savant they can solve a rubix cube within seconds. When did the rubix cube become the litmus test of mental acuity? It's like measuring somebody's brain power by a pop culture fad. You might as well determine their IQ by having them feed a pet rock or have them spin collectable plates on a stick.
I guess what I'm getting at here, if you're going to cheat at a Rubix Cube peal off the stickers. Leave that screwdriver stuff to the amateurs. I'm talking about serious skill. If you can remove all the stickers and leave them more or less intact and can place them back on strategically perfectly fitting the square, why that's just as amazing as solving a real rubix cube in my opinion.
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| A lot of people want to become rich enough not to work anymore. Not me. I just want to become famous enough to only get work in Geico commercials.
You know, the ones where people need the help of celebrities to talk about their claim. Now I don't have the use of a talking guitar like Peter Frampton. However I think I could be just as cool as the Police Academy guy. It's nice to keep these people off the streets. I mean it's not like being a human sound effect is a transferrable skill. Not many accountants need to sound like robots or power windows. Well maybe he could sell power windows.
I hope I one day reach the level of D List movie star reduced to selling power windows, then maybe Geico would be knocking on my door asking me to join the ranks of C List celebrities. That's a pretty nice promotion. However there's no amount of commercials one can do to match the commercial status of William Shatner. That man can sell anything and probably has sold everything.
Well none of us can ever be William Shatner, but each one of us has the potential to be that Police Academy guy.
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| Well like I previously stated. Getting home is half the fun, or is it getting there? Well either way it makes sense because in this situation, the "there" in question is home. And getting there was like pulling teeth.
I like that expression, like pulling teeth. Because honestly that can't be easy. I mean yeah dentists do it, but they have a special chair and they have tools and they get to knock that person out first. I'm assuming that's integral to the plan.
However, I digress. I'm wandering here.
After partying like it was 1999 on Saturday night I had to make my way home. Saturday night left us with a rather underwhelming snow storm. Nothing like they predicted. No apocalypse, no nukes, no nothing. Just some flakes. The snow plow went by 46 times and all was well again.
So I packed up and I hit the trail for my 38 mile trip home. A trip that would normally take me a leisurely 45 minutes. However it was this day that I was introduced to the frantic world of white knuckle driving.
My dodge stratus is ill equipped for New York driving. First and foremost I do not have snow tires. In fact some have compared my tires to racing slicks. Whoops my bad. Second, this car barely sits a half inch off the ground, it's practically like driving a submarine. With ice and snow covered roads my car reacted more like a sled than a quality American automobile.
At this point my attention turns to the serious. No more one hand on the wheel one hand navigating the shuffle list on the iPod. It was time to put my hands at 10 and 2 and drive 20 miles per hour in a 55. At this point I had to assume I was still following the road because all lines and recognizable forms of pavement had disappeared. For all I know I could have driven a frozen river home, okay well no I didn't do that.
Luckily the other partyers were following me because they needed to get home as well. Which worked out good because they had to help navigate my car (car turned sled) back onto the road twice. At this point I just wanted to make it home by January, let alone with my car.
I felt like I was navigating the Oregon Trail. Thankfully none of my horses drowned and I didn't come down with diptheria or anything that spectacular.
I did make it home, a good hour and a half after I left. I would have kissed the ground, but after hearing snow and slush scrape under my car for the better part of my trip home I really didn't want to see the ground again. Besides kissing the ground is for sissies or if you're in a plane and almost crash and say or do something really embarrassing right before the plane rights itself.
Boy I love a good ramble.
Maybe I'll walk next year.
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