I Don't Know...

Maybe I've been pampered. Maybe video games today are too pandering, too simple. Maybe looking back now, when I was a kid, they really were just designed to pander to a smarter, larger attention span audience.

But fuck if Mega Man 9 is not one of the most mind-numbingly frustratingly difficult games I've ever played.

See, MM9 came out today, and it's designed like an old school NES game, which at first is fun for the nostalgia factor. "Whee, this is like when I was young!" Then we get to relive the fun of "God DAMMIT MEGA MAN! You WORTHLESS FUCK!" I had to stop, or I would break my Wii-mote in half.

See, they included all the classic frustrations of Mega Man, like:
Enemies Which Can Still Hurt You Long After You Kill Them!

You Fell Down, So Everything You Just Killed Is Alive Again!

and everyone's favorite: Goddamn Spikes of Instant Fuckin Death.
Along with some new classics, like:

Drops Off The Place Of The Planet!
and: You Don't Get To Control The Character Right Now!

So, here I am, on my birthday, in my pajamas, by myself, screaming, literally SCREAMING at my TV set.

Fuck Mega Man. Fuck that game. Fuck the entire franchise. And especially fuck the fact that the game is so good anyway, I'm going to continue this shit.

It's my birthday!

And, if you read today's Penny Arcade, you will discover, as I did, that I share a  birthday with cartoonist Jerry Holkins, AKA Gabe, and we both refer to it as The Christmas In September. Really, if you just replace the word "Gabe" with "Marty" and the Tycho pinata in the last panel with one of Trench, it'd be awesome perfect.

Update: My keys are no longer locked in my car. Because my upstairs neighbor apparently knows a thing or two about breaking into cars, and did it in two minutes with a pair of pliers, some scotch tape and THE FUCKING ANTENNA  TO MY OWN CAR. That's right, my own car has an essential tool for breaking into it PERMANENTLY ATTACHED TO IT. It took him...oh about the same amout of time to break in for me as it did for me t pull up, enter my apartment, turn back around, and realize that my keys were locked in. I now feel much safer and at the same time less safe about the people in my building and am kind of wondering why I even bother to even lock the damn thing in the first place.


So, that crisis is solved, and then in a frenzy of cleaning, I did not realize that the jeans I had worn today somehow worked their way into the load of laundry I was washing....and I wound up washing both my wallet and my brand-new (Now useless) cell phone.

Maybe I SHOULD always be working. It appears that days off are downright dangerous to me.
 I'm going to bed until Thursday.

So I, I wanted to go to school, 'cuz I haven't been for a long, long time and I don't wanna fail my class but first I had to go to the store, s I went to the store and then I came home and left my keys in my ignition cause I was only gonna be a second and I thought new cars weren't supposedta lock with keys in the ignition, but the doors did lock and now my keys are in my car, but luckily it's not running, so I called my dad and he's in Happy Camp right now, but he said to go to his house and see if I could find a key, and I, I rode my bike up there and found out that my bike has a flat back tire, so it took a long time and I got really, really tired, and I got there, but there wasn't a key so I had to go all the way home, and now I have to wait til tomorrow to call triple-A, so I  missed school again, and then my nose itched and I scratched at it and then it started to bleed and it just now stopped and and and and I and and I I ...I'M NOT HAVING A VERY GOOD DAY.

In other news, Marty spends too much time around little kids. Kick Shyly is reporting live with the story. Kick?

Oh, god I love the Olive Garden. Oh, man,

Previously, I thought I LIKED the Olive Garden. But yesterday. we went there to celebrate Murphy's  new job, and discovered the ENDLESS pasta bowl special. See, the way it works is, there are two lists. One is pasta, one is sauces. And for nine bucks, (11 if you want sausage or meatballs, which are awesomly worth two bucks!) you can get unlimited amounts of these pastas, and soup. THEN YOU CAN TAKE IT ALL HOME. And our waitress wanted us to take full advantage of this. She would literally bring our plates and ask us immediatly if we wanted to box it all up and order another combination. This morning, we had six boxes of Olive Garden in our fridge. I had to give some to my mom, because we had too much! It. Was. Awesome.

Switching gears, I have a few Wal-Mart stories I'd like to share.
A few weeks ago, I was working in foods. and these two guys come in, and one of them has a Captain America shirt like I've always wanted.

Me:Cool shirt, where'd you get it?
Guy 1: Oh, I went to this website.
Me: Yeah, I've been there, but after shipping and stuff, it's so expensive.
Guy 2: Well, how much would you pay for it right now?
Me/Guy 1: Whaaaa???
Guy 2: Right now, no tax, no shipping. How much?
Me: ...Ten bucks?
Guy 2: Sounds good to me, Ten bucks.

And so this guy convinced his friend to literally sell me this shirt right off his back, and he went and bought another shirt. So, now I have this Captain America shirt that I have decided I must sell as soon as someone pays it a cmpliment, because that's how it works. I'll post a pic as soon as I can.

Also, we have this guy who is friggin crazy who will come in wearing nothing but one shoe, and sone sock, (which he switches depending on the day) and a pair of Spider-man shorts. He scares customers, follows associates, goes in the women's bathroom, digs around outside in the rocks, eat candy in store, and asks others to pay for it, and generally freaks people out. He's been arrested several times, but they can't hold him, and we keep getting him here.

I'd post more, but other work calls. Awesome-Marty AWAYYY!

Two thoughts induced by reading Something Awful forums today:

1) If a child is born with Fetal Alcohol Syndrome, can the mother be charged with child abuse/endangerment? If this is not law, how hard would it be to make it so?

2) If you are working in a store, and an obviously pregnant woman attempts to by cigarettes and/or alcohol, do you have a moral obligation to refuse the sale? Or even the right to? I know she may be purchasing for others, but if you're not supposed to sell to people you suspect of buying for minors, then shouldn't you also not sell to pregnant woman you suspect of harming their child?

I had quite a happy day, with some strange events thrown in.
Murphy, Jeremy, and I went to Medford because Murphy needed to get shoes for her new job. She found them, and we ate some Olive Garden. Then we went to the movie theater.

Let me just say this. I WANTED to like Mama Mia. But it's...awful. Like, this is a movie for fifty-year old ladies.One woman in the theater was so old that she had to be CARRIED to her seat, which was of course RIGHT next to us, on the third from the top row. As for the film itself, it gave me a new appreciation for the music of ABBA, because I hated every moment that they weren't singing. I hated a lot of moments when they were, too, but they gave us a brief relief. I NEVER leave walk out of mvies, but this was so god-awful that Murphy and I had to leave a half an hour in, and went to Barnes &  Noble. (Jeremy was seeing Hellboy.)

Then we went to Lithia for happy times. (After a quick return to B&N so Jeremy could buy a Hellboy book.) and had them generally, except when Murphy and I were being very cuddly-kissy-happy by the beautiful fountainm and some dude on a bike rides by and says, "Better watch out for that fountain. I asked my wife to marry me here. Seven years later, she left me." Then he rode off. Moment killed!

Later, as we filled up on gas, I heard a man in a truck say to the attendant, "You won't believe what happened in Yreka!" and I think. Hmmm...maybe there is something at home I should know about.
So on the way out, I ask the man, "Did you say something happened in Yreka?" and his response is: "Yeh, man, I was down in Yreka at the Shell station, an I was talking to this couple, and the woman turns to me and says, 'you want to go in the bathroom and watch me fuck my husband?' and I say 'YEAH!' and then we all go in the bathroom and they fuck and it rocked!"
Me: ------Kay....

It was an interesting day.

Now Wal-Mart managers want a list of everything that gets zoned, or doesn't, and why.
No one else, by the way, just my department.
So yesterday I started way early.
What was zoned? Oh, only everything!
So bite me, managment.

Me, five minutes ago: Well, I'm a-gonna mop the kitchen floor... Mr. Mop, meet Ms. Bucket. Well, it appears that Mr. Mop doesn't quite reach the water... I'll just push it in there a little more. Get in the freaking water...

*CRACKKK!"

The hull has been breached! Repeat, the hole has been breached. I HAS BROKEN DA BUKKIT!

...I am completely and totally inept.

Well, I did it. I created a separate journal (Two, in fact!) for my news and media rants, so this will become more my personal journal, just for you all, my friends. Show an tell all your friends, and all their friends.

The Pun-tastic new title... Schneid Remarks!
There's a few posts up already, so add schneidremarks to your friends and spread the word, because its important that I keep writing! EDIT: ALL LINKS WORK NOW!! Including the one for Austin's blog below!

...But my buddy Austin Sendek does.

If you're in a political mood, and are feeling fairly liberal, you can catch his amazingly insightful musings over at austinsendek.blogspot.com

What I find interesting about Sendek's point of view is that not long ago, when we played in bands together, Sendek was incredibly pro-Bush admin, staunch republican. Something happened in the few years since then to make him change his ideas, and no you can read the thought process from, for lack of a better word, a crossed over liberal.

So... Murphy got her old Compaq Presario back. and I'm now using it for all my internety needs. Meaning I'll once again be blogging about stuff.

I'm considering keeping this as my personal Journal and creating a separate one for my comic/movie/political commentary. I already started one up at Rotten Tomatoes, but no one reads Rotten Tomatoes blogs.

Wal-Mart has turned into a job job.  I'm out there everyday, stocking and zoning (That's what they call moving up all the merchandise to the front of the shelf, which is actually detrimental to sales.) I'm realizing that management are idiots, and that foods is the only department where everyone takes themselves seriously, ulike, say, electronics, which is goof-off happy time.  Meanwhile, for me it's "You better ZONE!!" "But I already zoned!" "ZONE HARDER! And don't even think about bring stuff out that we need to have on the shelves! You don't have time for that! You could be zoning!"

Zoning is actually a stupid way to dothings. If you see a group of Oreos on the shelf which are missing items, and are scattered around, you know, "Hey! people are buying Oreos! Maybe they're good! I should buy some!" Then you think to yourself, dude, they are friggin Oreos. I know how Oreos taste. But say next to them is a perfect display of Nutter Butters which is nice and neat, wel, that maeans no one is friggin buying them. Guh. Der.

Also, I've learned that Ihat I hate old people. The other day, a woman and I had this dialouge:

OLD LADY: I DON'T LIKE LARGE LIMA BEANS!
Me: Ooookay..
LADY: WHY DON'T YOU CARRY THE SMALL ONES?!
Me: I don't...I'm...
BITCH: OTHER STORES CARRY THE SMALL ONES
Me: I'm sorry, I...
HAG: YOU NEED TO MAKE THEM CARRY SMALL LIMA BEANS THEY'D SELL! I KNOW THEY'D SELL!
Me: I go on break now...
Husband: Can you help me find the sunglasses?
Me: Certainly, sir. They're...
SHREW: FOR MEN!!!!
Me: Excuse me?
PAIN: ALL WE SEE ARE SUNGLASSES FOR KIDS! WE DON'T NEED KIDDIE GLASSES!
Me: Over there (Pointing them towards wmen's glasses, because, well, screw that)

She literally yelled at me in the middle of the store over Lima Beans. This isn't the only one. Something about being old makes them feel like they're entitled and can treat people however the hell they want.

We may be a generation of pussies, but the Greatest Generation is a bunch of assholes.

I realize this is a screaming generalization, but it's fairly common among people who work where I o to find that the older a customer, the ruder.

This morning, I get an IM from someone who has my e-mail address from God knows where, whom I've never met before in my life. The following conversation occurred, I have not cut anything out..


Her:
elooo u ok

Me:
Hello...do I know you?

Her:
dno where u frm

Me:
California.

Her:
na lol im frm tipton

Me:
...How did you get my e-mail?

Her:
dno reail

Her again:
lol

Me:
I just kinda showed up on your contact list?

Her:
dno am u a gurl

Her again:
lol

Me:
Nope...I'm male.
Me:
How old are you?

Her:
u write posh u nw
Her:
16 u

Me:
I don't write posh. I just use the time to use correct spelling and grammar.
Me:
I'm 19. Married.

Her:
lol u do

Me:
I just don't write like I'm constantly texting.

Her:
lol

Me:
Also, I'm an English major.

Her:
lol
Her:
wht u bin doin

Me (getting a little uncomfortable.):
Working....you?

Her (lying out her ass):
collage lol

Me (calling Shenanigans):
Already?
Me (still confused):
Why does your e-mail look familiar to me?

Her(with no concept of English):
wht do u mean

Me:
I don't think we've ever talked before, but your e-mail address looks like I've seen it before somewhere.

Her:
lol where bout lol
Her(What?):
where u frm gen

Me(making the best response I can from the gibberish):
I have no idea... I don't usually go places that give out my e-mail address.

Her (showing wit and wisdom beyond her years):
?

Me (apparently I'm now doing the comments in parentheses):
Like, I have no idea where you could've got my address, and I have no idea where I've seen yours, if I've seen it before, that is.

Her(I have no idea what this means):
yh
Her(Drinking game! Everytime she says this, take a shot! Hope you don't get alcohol poisoning!):
lol

Me(changing subjects):
Where is Tipton?

Her(Being helpful):
west midlands

Me (using deductive reasoning, given that her e-mail reads hotmail.co.uk):
I'm assuming Europe?

Her: (I can only assume indicating Washington):
wa

Me(unsure why I'm still taking):
..."wa?"

Her (apparently confused, thinking I asked her what her favorite chocolate covered caramel candy is, and then mistyping the first "R" in the name):
lolo

Me(Attempting to recognize our failure to communicate):
It's amazing it's like...I know we're both supposedly speaking English, but none of the words we say are connecting with each other.
 
Her(Hating vowels):
lol i nw yh lol

Me(deciding "fuck this."):
Do you turn in papers like this, out of curiousity? "Abe Lncn fred da slves w/ d Emncption Prclmation in 1863."

Her(again letting the world know her love for the great state of Washington!):
wa
Her(Take another shot!):
lol

Me(Not expecting a response):
...Clearly, you are this generation's Hemingway.
 
Her (Telling me how much the guitar playing dog from Animal Crossing makes her laugh. Looking back on it now, I wonder if I wasn't actually mocking a mentally undeveloped child.):
kk lol

Me(Elementary, Watson Time!"):
Anyway, I figured Europe because your e-mail address reads hotmail.uk
 
Her: (GRR FUCK VOWELS I HATE VOWELS SO MUCH!...take a shot.):
yhyh lol

Me (Channeling my inner Dr.Cox/James Woods):
Okay, see that right there? "yhyh?" That took just as many button-presses as it would have taken you to spell "Yeah." which is an actual WORD, as opposed to a random gathering of letters which is what you have. In the interest of saving time, you decided not to move one finger over a key, which saved you no time at all.
 
Her: (Comparing me to her favorite Spice Girl):
lol see you am posh lol

Me (Mad as hell and not going to take it anymore):
ARE! ARE! "You ARE posh!"
Me (Throwing up a white flag):
Ok, I'm sounding rude, I realize.

Her (Is the room spinning yet?):
lol

Me(SNEAK ATTACK!):
Just explain to me what the appeal is in typing as though your parents never taught you the English language. Are you really in such a hurry that your words can't use vowels 80% of the time?
Me: (Realizing that the enemy is too dumb for the tactic to be effective.)
Let me shorten this...WHY???
 
Her (C'mon people, you get this by now.):
lol

Me(Crying a little inside):
...Yes, I see. "lol" That explains everything.

Her (Attempting a truce, in the same way a chainsaw attempts peace with a tree by having a dull blade.):
sorry look im spelling it right nw lol but im going im abit k bab

Me(Second American History example!):
Imagine if people actually spoke like this. Paul Revere would have rode into Boston yelling "da Brts am comn! da brts am comn!"
 
Her(...fuck it. No.):
lol

Me(Am I funny to you? How am I funny? Do I have a big red nose like a clown, here to amuse you?):
Are you actually laughing out loud? Do I really make you "lol?" Or do you just put that as a response because you have nothing else to say? Because I don't think I'm all that funny.

Her (Wait...what?):
you am swer dwn

Me(...wow.):
Okay, see I have no idea what you are trying to say there.
 
Her(Jesus Christ, I've met fetuses with better grammar.)
yeah you am funny

Me(After typing the mystery phrase "you am swer dwn" into Alta Vista Babel Fish, therefre crashing its server):
"I am sewer drown?" "I am slower down?" WHAT DOES IT MEAN!
 
Her(In case you didn't catch it the first time.):
yeah you am funny

Me:(That's it, I'm done.)
Also, ARE! ARE GODDAMMIT ARE! YOU ARE FUNNY!!!
Me (Losing it a little):
I AM...You ARE!
Me (Here I go):
1st graders get it.
 
Her(missing the point. Surprising, I know, as she usually seems so astute):
lol im goin nw bab
Her(My god, she's not even in the same time zone as the point. They're on different continents!):
tra xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Me(Still losing it!):
Let's make this simpler and remove pronouns!
Me (Not expecting her to get it):
Me Tarzan...you moron!
 
Her(Living down to my expectations):
what

Me: (breaking a little):
Talking like Tarzan...He doesn't use "Am" or "are"
 
Her(I wonder...Is she trying to communicate with me? Is she in trouble? Have they removed most of the fingers, as well as the part of your brain that makes words? WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN?):
tra babe xxxxxx

Me(Weeping for the future):
I weep for the future.

Her (Dude, you are so wasted! I mean you gotta be! Hey, what is that? What are you drinking? Give me some of that):
lol

Me(Without faith in humanity):
*shoots self*

KA-BLOCKED!!!

(By the way, if you think you survived the drinking game, bear in mind her screen name was this: ima tipton party bab 4lyfe w the bois wa lol)

That's...that's not language. Those aren't words. 4 is not a letter. Linguists will find this text centuries later, and my blog will be the Rosetta Stone bridging the gap between our old, archaic proper language with all the thees and thous, and the language of the the future, in which all of humanity will talk like brain-dead fuckwads.

So, after eight hours of being led on tours through Wal-Mart, a place I've been nearly every day of my life, I'm still not entirely sure what my job is. You'd think that I'd get, "Here's a box, here's where it goes, go unload it." But NOoooooooo....We played board games and went on scavenger hunts.

"But Marty, that sounds like fun!" You may say, but it's fun in the sense that some people use the term "fun and educational!" meaning not very fun at all, and educational in the sense that I might need to re-educate myself above a third-grade level due to the amount of innocent, happy functioning brain cells which were brutally and needlessly murdered by training videos.

Hopefully today, I'll be able to step out on the floor and do some work, or maybe there will be more fun and exciting Adventures in Wal-Mart Training.

Warning: RANT AHEAD!

In other news, Comic book Artist Michael Turner died yesterday at age 37, following a battle with cancer, and now an internet previously dedicated to loudly yelling how much he sucks, (which, for the record, was a LOT) is suddenly pretending we was a legend. Don't misunderstand me, I feel bad about Turner and his family, because 37 is way, way, too young, but at the same time I find myself irritated by the hypocrisy that the world has regarding the opinion of dead people's work. It's not like Heath Ledger, where you just didn't stop to think about the amount of talent he had until he died, because people very clearly HAD thought about the amount, and decided it was negligible, if not non-existent, until now, whereupon those same people declare him a master. It's just hypocrisy, and it irritates me. (/rant)

WALL-E is amazing. Just....go see it. Now. Once again, you will be stunned at just how good those PIXAR guys are at telling a story.

I always find it so amusing when parents try to take interest in stuff their kids do, and aimiably fail.

Last night, while watching The Incredible Hulk, after I explained to my dad that the character on screen was Iron Man, my dad said, "Oh, okay. So does this mean that by the end of the year they'll have a Justice League movie?"

I didn't bother to correct him.

You who are leaving soon, (Stephanie and Chris) Don't.
You who have left and hate it, (Roxanne, Will if he ever hears.) Come back. Yes. I command it.

Seriously, guys. I realized today that my oldest friend in the world won't be here for my 20th birthday. Or Murphy's. And that sucks.

Sometimes, with being married, my education job, and comparing myself to my mother, I feel more grown-up than I am. Then I look at people I love leaving, and I realize, I'm not ready for it. I'm not ready to go, and I'm sure as hell not ready for you guys to. This is why I've kept my plans in the air, because I'm happy how I am, and I don't know if I can step out of the comfort zone. But I mean, with my friends gone, my comfort zone is less...comfortable.

So I've got my immediate life, my wife, my home, Trench, and that's staying the same, and that's wonderful. Then there's my extended life, which you are all a part of, which I've taken for granted, and which is now leaving. And I hate it.

And the kids! I can't even get started on the kids. I have a schoolful of kids I adore, and...I've seen them grow up so much in the past school year, I just feel like I should be there to see them get older. I want to see my fifth-graders graduate from eighth grade, I want to be there. And if I leave, I'll miss it, and if I stay, by that time, my favorite first-graders will be fifth graders, so then....

I actually don't want to leave teaching long enough to earn my teaching degree.

It's funny, as a kid, Chris can tell you, all I wanted was to get out of Siskiyou County. Now I don't want any of us to leave.

So don't. Who cares about Universities, right? It's just a bunch of crap other people think we should know. Why do I need a piece of paper telling me whether or not I'm a teacher? Or that Stephanie's an artist? Or that Chris is a speaker? Or that Roxanne is...whatever it is that Roxanne does. (See? I was wrong to take it for granted! Come back and I'll make sure I take the time to find out!)

So...don't? Please? Roxanne, I can introduce you to Stephanie. She can help you open your bakery. And Chris, you can handle the manga and table-top games at my store(OUR store)? Yeah? Maybe? And we can play frisbee and Smash Bros, and go randomly see movies?

Figured it was worth a shot.

I'm not grown-up enough for you guys to be.

So, after making a comment on my Wii, I decided to try typing an actual post on it. If it doesn't suck, mayhaps I will try to update more. Probably not though, because it requires an entry to be up on the living room TV screen, and that bugs me for some raisan

So...What's new since I last updated? If you know me, you already know about all this. Murphy and I have been amazingly happily married for four, almost five months. I still work with kids, and now Murphy does too sporadically. We moved into a two-bedroom apartment with Trench, so now I do grown-up things like pay rent and do taxes and grocery shop. I am domesticated, hear me vaccum. (At Midnight. Like Hannelore from Questionable Content. Because fuck the people upstairs. Fuck them and their lousy music and their constant creepy loud sex. Fuck them.)

This is seriously how I think. "You've woken me up to Alien Ant Farm's sub-par cover of Smooth Criminal for the last time! Feel the wrath...or the irritation, at least, of my Bissel Lightweight Bagless, you sons of bitches and hos! MWA HA!"

So yeah, Murphy and I are doing alright, although I'm a little sick of the assumption people make that since we're so young, she must be preggers. I feel like in four months, when she doesn't pop out a baby, people are going to be confused and dissapointed.

As a sign of our domestication, a parent from the school that we're not too fond of bought us a blender. It's name, I shit thee not, is the Black & Decker Crushmaster 4000. Seriously. I have yet to try it out, but with a name like that, I am assured the blender does not fuck around.

I want to see a movie, but nothing interesting's playing, except maybe Vantage Point, which I'd rather watch on DVD. I know Murphy wants to see The Other Boleyn Girl, but I'm not sure where or if it's playing. Any suggestions? I just bought 30 Days of Night and Justice League: The New Frontier. They're both comic book movies, but I can reccomend 30 Days to anyone who wants a good horror movie in which *SPOILER ALERT* Josh Hartnett punches through a vampires friggin head, and New Frontier is only for people who really love comics.

So, there's our first Wii-blog post. That wasn't that bad. I might do more. I'm attempting to force myself to write anything more often in hopes that this year, maybe finally I'll do something with ideas I've had for years. I'm even entering the COS writing competition, which is scary. Is anyone else doing that? If so, let me know. Of course, I say this now, but Super Smash Bros. Brawl comes out next week, so after that, all bets are off.
-Laterness.

Oh...
QotD:
Annoying girl interrupting Chris and I's conversation: "Lost? Did someone say Lost? Are we talking about Lost? What about Lost?"
Me: "Yeah, I sat through it last night to watch the new Iron Man trailer."
*Cheers and applause burst through the hall*
Girl: Oh.
(OOOOOOHHHHHHHHH.......OUCHBURN!!!!)

 

So, apparantly my plan to update this journal more often than my old one, is a failure.

I really want to get back into comics. I haven't written in awhile, but there's a lot of ideas I want to get back to.

The next few months are going to go by really fast. I can't help but shake the feeling that I'm standing at the precipice of a lot of changes all at once, and I'm a little scared.

Fortunatly, I have my amazing girlfriend, and the best friends in the world.

As some of you may have heard, I offended someone so much recently in class that they snapped and threatened me with harm. At the time, I thought it was funny. Now, I'm kind of scared. Remember the guy who freaked out and punched a trash can and started a fight from my old journal? Well, he's back. And he's got something to prove, and I made a joke about his tendency to talk about off-topic things to make himself seem smart. And he threatened to, quote, "slap the piss out of me." He was completly unstable, and now he's gotten himself kicked out of class. The man's bark is worse than anything, but it's a fear. Especially since there was another campus shooting recently. If this guy snapped, would I be on the list?

Anyway, happy news. Jeremy, Murphy and I might have a shot at a duplex in Yreka, and I've been watching all of the first season of Heroes which I got for my birthday.  I'm happy.

Right now, Murphy's attempting to dye her hair closer to her normal color. Meaning, she has to bleach it first. Meaning, in about an hour, Murphy will be blonde. I'm not sure how I feel about it, but I've got a feeling I'll want to hold back the laughter in order to not get punched.

The other day, we watched Peter Pan at work. Peter Pan is a horrible movie. It's incredibly violent and racist. There's even a song, "What makes the Red Man Red?" It's amazing how it sneaks by with a G rating, when we could get in trouble for showing PG-rated Madagascar because one of the animals makes a fart joke.

QotD:
Jon: (My boss) Okay, what year did the American Civil War start?
Jordan:(Dumb 6th grader) 1989!
Me: Wow, Jordan. Wow.

Sometimes I love my job. Sometimes I hate my job. Sometimes my job confuses the hell out of me.

The fifth graders I work with were completly done with their work the other day, and I told them I didn't care what they did, as long as they were quiet about it. Ten minutes later, I had eight kids sprawled out on the floor staring up at the celing. Some of them grabbed books and lay down, one lay down under the table and stared at the underside, and the all just lay there quietly. Jonathan, (my boss) walks in...

Jon: What are they /doing?/
Me: I have no idea.
Jon: Are they done with their work?
Me: Yeah.
Jon: ...Okay. (leaves)

And then there are some days, like yesterday where I have to remind myself that you can't hit other people's kids...

Oh wow, I totally just caught one of the guys in the computer lab looking at porn. Like, I look up and glance on the screen off to the side of me, and go. "THOSE are tits!" Weirder yet, it was on his /flash drive./ Meaning he deliberatly looked through the porn photos on his flash drive for this. Wow.

Our assignment for English 1C was to make an advertisment featuring a celebrity selling something they wouldn't be thought of to sell. (The example was Tommy Lee selling soy milk.) I have in fact, made two. One is Kenny McKormick selling life insurance. The second, funnier one, comes from my girlfriend's hilariously twisted mind. Kermit the Frog selling bacon.  See, I love Kermit, but I hate Miss Piggy with a passion. Here was my slogan:

Jimmy Dean Bacon: Step off, Swine-skank!

Which I thought was funnier than:

Jimmy Dean Bacon: Kermit is in the Pigsty.

Because I imagined that being "In The Pigsty" would be like being "In the closet" for those who sleep with pigs.

Terrence: Why Kermit, you're such a pig fucker.
Kermit: Oh, gee, Terrence, why did you call me that?
Terrence: Well, let's see, you married and fucked a pig!
Kermit: I did not! That was a movie! Miss Piggy and I have a strictly professional relationship! WHAA-AAH-AHH-AH-AH!(That was Kermit's freak out noise. That's where he runs back and forth and waves his arms wildly.)

Why do they let me around children?

I actually recieved my certificate saying the board of education recognizes me as completing the "rigorous standards, as evidenced by assessment, to assist in the taching of rading, writing, and mathematics as mandated by the No Child Left Behind Act of 2001." 

Suck on that, educational system! I am a symbol of authority, and I teach the future of America! (And if that isn't an argument for education reform, I don't know what is.)

I should sleep more.