Tuesday, January 27, 2009


I bet that if a parrot spends the first portion of its life around lots of gangsters, it ends up saying a bunch of stuff like "bwwrraaaakkk! Bust a cap in his ass! Brwwwaaaak!"

Probably parrots shouldn't hang out in bad crowds.

Sunday, January 18, 2009


This happened to me a few years back while I was still trying to stay in shape. How foolish I was....

Today, as I was jogging for the first time since my nintendo power pad broke, I had a little adventure involving love and nature. I had just finished my first 20 miles, so I decided to take a break. I found a nice little shady street and stopped, taking in the world around me. As I was walking around, I spot some movement in a puddle that was still a good 30 yards away. Intrigued, and not willing to start jogging again, I slowly approached the pool of mystery. At about 15 yards I can see that my mysterous wiggling lump in the pool is an animal of some sort. With this in mind, I grab a rock to defend myself in case the pool dweller has dudicus on his/her/its mind. At 10 yards, I can see that the creature is a bird, so I pick up a second rock. When I reach the edge of the pool, I can see that the bird is struggling with something, and wasn't about to fly away. Ready to live the human dream of catching a bird with his/her bare hands, I jog into the shallow lake. When I can finally get a good view of what is going on, what I see is shocking. Perhaps some of our younger readers should look away. Here, I will give you an emoticon to look at while I relate the rest of the story . Ok. I see what at first appears to be a struggle for life occuring between two different birds. Both had each other gripped tightly in their beaks. In an attempt to save some lives, (and to have an excuse for splashing around in a puddle) I race forward start making a series of angry cat/german wails. Finally I was able to break the little tiff up and happily exited the pool feeling like I had just stopped two good bird friends from ruining a perfectly good bird friendship. As I was walking away, I finally dropped my rocks as I realized something. Those birds weren't fighting at all! Rather, I had just broken up a torrid little bird romance. Enraged that the birds had fooled me into entering their "Puddle of Avian Eroticism" I start to yell at the little flying perverts. Finally, a woman who had seen the whole exchange between myself and the birds while sunbathing asked if I was OK. I replied that I was and was just looking for a lost contact lens, ignoring the fact that I had just been shaking my fist in the air screaming something akin to "You little horny devils!!" So, I decided to start jogging away again. That is all.

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

The final tonsil post

Alright, on the 4 week anniversary of my tonsillectomy I will say a few last words about it. It sucked. It wasn't as bad as I thought, but it sucked. I heard that bleeding can happen, and you can end up looking like you are shooting red fruit punch out their mouth, but that never happened to me. Just pure, beautiful blinding pain. Concerning the scabs, they taste horrible. Like worse than anything ever tasted by anyone ever before ever. EVER.

Being knocked out isn't fun, nor is it painful. It really isn't anything. One second you are sitting there strapped to a table making a joke about this being 30 cc's of fun and some lady puts this tube thing in your arm. Then suddenly there is a new lady telling you to drink some coke and that you can leave as soon as you feel well enough to stand. You do get to keep the little sock-like things, so that's pretty cool.

Overall, to anyone undecided on the topic of getting your tonsils out, I will tell you this. It's not ALL that bad. You really grow to miss food that isn't of the "frozen" and "purple" variety, but just think of how good that food tastes when you get to go back to it! But don't go back to it too soon, cus it hurts like a swarm of angry cats clawing your face.

That's all I know.

Monday, January 5, 2009

Moving along with the tale of my tonsils. Let's sum up what we know.....

1. Tonsils are located waaayyyy in the back of your trap, like behind the tongue and near that crazy dangling doo-dad in the back of your mouth.
2. Tonsils are like two little mall cops that work within your throat..mall. They catch all sorts of "undesirables" that might travel into the neither regions of your head.
3. Tonsils can go from being team players to being D-holes in no time.

Now, in my case, lets look at fact #2. My tonsils did their jobs well, and in the end they did their jobs too well. They captured all sorts of goo, sludge, and well, whatever else crawled into my throat. Suddenly, they discovered that they had too much of these "prizes" and did what we all do with excess stuff. They shoved it in the basement. Slowly these "tonsil basements" filled up and um, formed hard little chunks of outer-worldly grossness, commonly known as tonsil stones or "pearls". But before you get excited, realize that these "pearls" aren't worth anything. No one is going to pay you for a fancy necklace made of tonsil pearls. In fact, it's pretty safe to assume that no one is going to pay you for any sort of accessory composed of objects harvested from your body.

Anyway, tonsils stones are bad. They make your mall cops swell up which in turn leads to more stones. It's very gross. At last, it came time to settle the issue once and for all. I was about to recieve the worst christmas present ever. Yes, one the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me an adult tonsillectomy.

Friday, January 2, 2009

Alright, I'm back. After a short, 7 month recess. I have purposefully waited this long between entries so you would all have time to reflect upon what I have already written and find ways to apply it to your own lives. Now, onto more important matters. The following is the tale of how I had an tonsillectomy.

Tonsillectomies are not fun. They should only be attempted by professionals. If you had asked me 4 months ago how my relationship with my tonsils was, I would have answered that things couldn't be better. They were happy just sitting in the back of my throat, doing whatever it is they do on a day-to-day basis, and in return I was happy to supply them with oxygenated blood. Then, without warning, everything changed. Maybe they started listening to rap music, or fell in with the wrong croud, but my tonsils turned into little pockets of pure evil.

Alright. I will finish this in a second....