Saturday, August 30, 2014
Thursday, August 7, 2014
Don't Think You're a Cannibal? What One Dr. Says WILL SHOCK YOU!
When asked if he thought there was a chance that most people could probably be cannibals a real Dr. had this to say:
"I don't know, I guess it's possible" - Real Dr.
There you have it - it's possible that you are probably a cannibal according to one real Dr.
"I don't know, I guess it's possible" - Real Dr.
There you have it - it's possible that you are probably a cannibal according to one real Dr.
Tuesday, February 25, 2014
405
A Memoir by Smits
I shift my weight slowly back and forth from one foot to the other. My eyes are wide open, unblinking, yet I see nothing of my surroundings. The only thing occupying my mind right now is this third and final squat attempt. My heart is racing. I take deep, deliberate breaths in an effort to calm myself.
"Load the bar to 390 and set the monolift to number 13 for Stephen. Kyle is on deck, Jake is in the hole, and Jason is four out."
My heartbeat surges despite my attempts to assuage the pounding in my chest. I start putting my belt on and try to shift my focus to something other than my vital organs. I remind myself how fast and light my warmup attempts were and that I crushed my first two attempts. This is mine.
As I chalk up my hands I hear the clang of the monolift hooks being closed. The meet director comes over the loudspeaker again: "And that is a good lift. Load the bar to 405 and set the monolift to number 14 for Kyle . . ."
No more time to think. It's fight or flight.
I focus all of my mental faculties on exactly two words: Speed and Tension. There's no use trying to recall every cue that I've used during training to target weak points and execute the perfect rep. This is game day. There are no style points. You either squat the weight or you don't. Months and months of training have ingrained the proper mechanics into my muscle memory. Now's the time to just be a fucking savage.
I grab a handful of chalk with my left hand and toss it into the palm of my right. The familiar feel of magnesium carbonate caked onto my hands brings me a little bit of comfort.
“The bar is loaded.”
I walk out onto the platform and face the crowd for the third time. I don’t look at anyone. My focus on the task at hand is complete. I don’t even speak to the head judge when he asks if I’m going to be walking the weight out of the monolift. I just shake my head to indicate that I won’t be.
My face is expressionless as I place my hands on the barbell. Middle fingers go on the rings like I’ve done for literally thousands of repetitions back in the gym. Hands set, I thrust my head under the bar and search for that sweet spot just above my scapulae where I want the weight to rest. The skin on this spot is callused and discolored from all the times it bore the weight during my hour and a half long squat days. I place my feet directly under the bar - a little bit wider than shoulder width and toes pointed slightly out.
Everything in place exactly how I want it, I take a huge breath deep into my diaphragm and lift the bar off the hooks with conviction. It brings me great confidence to lift the bar like this. I’m sending the message that I own this weight. I expel all the oxygen out of my lungs with a long exhale.
The head judge drops his hand and yells out the command, “Squat!”
I take another deep breath, deeper than the last, and hold it while consciously contracting every muscle in my body - the valsalva maneuver. My contracted glutes bring my hips in perfect alignment with my spine and my elbows torque forward after firing my lats. My back is now utterly rigid.
Muscular tension radiating throughout my body, I begin the descent. First the knees and hips unlock at the same time. Next I push my hips back and incline my torso forward so that the bar stays precisely over the middle of my foot. I continue downward into the hole until I feel my hamstrings and glutes stretched to their full lengths. This is the signal I’ve been waiting for.
In one infinitesimal moment in time, I reverse the direction of the bar with a violent drive upward with my hips. The fact that my spine is rigid allows this force to be transmitted to the barbell. Initially I move quickly upward, but then I hit the wall, the sticking point midway between the top and bottom of the lift where I must grind the weight up with every ounce of testicular fortitude I can muster.
My hips have done their work. My quads kick in to bring me back to the same position I started. I try to push my head back so that my torso returns to it’s upright position. Time ceases to exist. The crowd is cheering me on and my back spotter is screaming in my ear right behind me, but in this moment I don’t hear anything. It feels like I’m moving a millimeter an hour. I close my eyes, bear my teeth, and grind, quads firing quite literally like they never have before this attempt. This is 20 pounds more than I’ve ever squatted in my time on Earth.
Finally, I feel my knees lock back into place and I am standing erect facing the head judge again. He yells out the final command, “Rack!” and I place the bar back onto the monolift hooks. My face is beat red and my eyes are bloodshot from the pressure generated during the attempt as I turn around to see the judges’ verdict. I made it through the attempt, but it still must be determined if the crease at my hip joint descended lower than the top of my patella.
Three green lights flash across the board, indicating that my attempt was deemed GOOD. I have been officially judged as a 405 pound squatter!
I big, toothy smile breaks across my face as I walk off the platform to celebrate with my wife and fellow brothers in iron. I set the goal to squat 405 four months ago. Now after several months of focused training, four days a week, between an hour and a half and two hours per day, I have reached my goal. It is a positively euphoric feeling.
-
Several hours later, I have finished my first powerlifting competition, going 9 for 9 in my attempts and setting personal records in each lift. I am riding the highest of highs. One that can only come after months of delayed gratification via waves of doubt and disbelief that I could reach my goals, and difficult training sessions when I didn’t feel like leaving my apartment to go to the gym. But then a funny thing happened.
As I drove home my feeling of accomplishment started to fade away. I thought to myself, “Now that I know I can add about 30 pounds to my squat in 3 or 4 months, I should be able to squat 430 or 435 by March.” The pure happiness I had felt in the moments after that last squat attempt had already vanished as I began dreaming about what I could accomplish at the next meet. Before the sun had set on my grueling four month journey to 405, the sound of that number no longer brought me the same level of happiness as it did only a few hours ago.
Such is life in the iron world - a self-imposed Sisyphean existence. My frame of mind doesn’t allow for long stretches of comfort. By bed time I hear the iron calling me out again. This journey has no end.
I shift my weight slowly back and forth from one foot to the other. My eyes are wide open, unblinking, yet I see nothing of my surroundings. The only thing occupying my mind right now is this third and final squat attempt. My heart is racing. I take deep, deliberate breaths in an effort to calm myself.
"Load the bar to 390 and set the monolift to number 13 for Stephen. Kyle is on deck, Jake is in the hole, and Jason is four out."
My heartbeat surges despite my attempts to assuage the pounding in my chest. I start putting my belt on and try to shift my focus to something other than my vital organs. I remind myself how fast and light my warmup attempts were and that I crushed my first two attempts. This is mine.
As I chalk up my hands I hear the clang of the monolift hooks being closed. The meet director comes over the loudspeaker again: "And that is a good lift. Load the bar to 405 and set the monolift to number 14 for Kyle . . ."
No more time to think. It's fight or flight.
I focus all of my mental faculties on exactly two words: Speed and Tension. There's no use trying to recall every cue that I've used during training to target weak points and execute the perfect rep. This is game day. There are no style points. You either squat the weight or you don't. Months and months of training have ingrained the proper mechanics into my muscle memory. Now's the time to just be a fucking savage.
I grab a handful of chalk with my left hand and toss it into the palm of my right. The familiar feel of magnesium carbonate caked onto my hands brings me a little bit of comfort.
“The bar is loaded.”
I walk out onto the platform and face the crowd for the third time. I don’t look at anyone. My focus on the task at hand is complete. I don’t even speak to the head judge when he asks if I’m going to be walking the weight out of the monolift. I just shake my head to indicate that I won’t be.
My face is expressionless as I place my hands on the barbell. Middle fingers go on the rings like I’ve done for literally thousands of repetitions back in the gym. Hands set, I thrust my head under the bar and search for that sweet spot just above my scapulae where I want the weight to rest. The skin on this spot is callused and discolored from all the times it bore the weight during my hour and a half long squat days. I place my feet directly under the bar - a little bit wider than shoulder width and toes pointed slightly out.
Everything in place exactly how I want it, I take a huge breath deep into my diaphragm and lift the bar off the hooks with conviction. It brings me great confidence to lift the bar like this. I’m sending the message that I own this weight. I expel all the oxygen out of my lungs with a long exhale.
The head judge drops his hand and yells out the command, “Squat!”
I take another deep breath, deeper than the last, and hold it while consciously contracting every muscle in my body - the valsalva maneuver. My contracted glutes bring my hips in perfect alignment with my spine and my elbows torque forward after firing my lats. My back is now utterly rigid.
Muscular tension radiating throughout my body, I begin the descent. First the knees and hips unlock at the same time. Next I push my hips back and incline my torso forward so that the bar stays precisely over the middle of my foot. I continue downward into the hole until I feel my hamstrings and glutes stretched to their full lengths. This is the signal I’ve been waiting for.
In one infinitesimal moment in time, I reverse the direction of the bar with a violent drive upward with my hips. The fact that my spine is rigid allows this force to be transmitted to the barbell. Initially I move quickly upward, but then I hit the wall, the sticking point midway between the top and bottom of the lift where I must grind the weight up with every ounce of testicular fortitude I can muster.
My hips have done their work. My quads kick in to bring me back to the same position I started. I try to push my head back so that my torso returns to it’s upright position. Time ceases to exist. The crowd is cheering me on and my back spotter is screaming in my ear right behind me, but in this moment I don’t hear anything. It feels like I’m moving a millimeter an hour. I close my eyes, bear my teeth, and grind, quads firing quite literally like they never have before this attempt. This is 20 pounds more than I’ve ever squatted in my time on Earth.
Finally, I feel my knees lock back into place and I am standing erect facing the head judge again. He yells out the final command, “Rack!” and I place the bar back onto the monolift hooks. My face is beat red and my eyes are bloodshot from the pressure generated during the attempt as I turn around to see the judges’ verdict. I made it through the attempt, but it still must be determined if the crease at my hip joint descended lower than the top of my patella.
Three green lights flash across the board, indicating that my attempt was deemed GOOD. I have been officially judged as a 405 pound squatter!
I big, toothy smile breaks across my face as I walk off the platform to celebrate with my wife and fellow brothers in iron. I set the goal to squat 405 four months ago. Now after several months of focused training, four days a week, between an hour and a half and two hours per day, I have reached my goal. It is a positively euphoric feeling.
-
Several hours later, I have finished my first powerlifting competition, going 9 for 9 in my attempts and setting personal records in each lift. I am riding the highest of highs. One that can only come after months of delayed gratification via waves of doubt and disbelief that I could reach my goals, and difficult training sessions when I didn’t feel like leaving my apartment to go to the gym. But then a funny thing happened.
As I drove home my feeling of accomplishment started to fade away. I thought to myself, “Now that I know I can add about 30 pounds to my squat in 3 or 4 months, I should be able to squat 430 or 435 by March.” The pure happiness I had felt in the moments after that last squat attempt had already vanished as I began dreaming about what I could accomplish at the next meet. Before the sun had set on my grueling four month journey to 405, the sound of that number no longer brought me the same level of happiness as it did only a few hours ago.
Such is life in the iron world - a self-imposed Sisyphean existence. My frame of mind doesn’t allow for long stretches of comfort. By bed time I hear the iron calling me out again. This journey has no end.
Friday, February 7, 2014
Once More, Unto the Breach: Fez-isms, Speak Like the Sexual Satch, Yahmsayin?
by Louis "Satchel" DiFez
Before we begin, let us venture deep unto the breach of my mind. We need something to set the mood, so go ahead and press play.
Ohhhh yeahhhhhh. Uhhhhhhhh.
Let me preface this whole article with one simple, unmistakable fact: I am a weird person. I make funny mouth noises, I have strange thoughts, and I will say literally anything that I am thinking. I am a weirdo, and I have no problem admitting that.
However, I feel as if my good friends have no idea what I am saying most of the time. Or if they do know what I am saying, they have no idea what I actually mean. Oddly enough, I usually have no idea what I mean either, until I sit down and think about it. I have made it my goal to not only illuminate you on what I say and what it means, but for me to personally reflect on the crap that I say and what it really means to me.
Thus, I give you my baby: Fez-isms.
Example: Let’s go hunting for the ladies tonight, yahmean?
Example: “Dude, she looked so hot that I blew it real quick, yahmsayin?”
Example: “I’ma put the team on my back, doe.”
Example: “Hey man, check out that jawn over there. She got that big ol’ booty.”
Example: “Hey, you tryna fux wit dinner tonight?” “Yeah brah, does 6pm sound good?”
Example: “Dude, how many beers did you drink last night?” “Like 69, brah.”
Example: “Yo how excited are you that it’s Friday?” “Ohhhh, it makes me so veinyyy.”
Example: “Finally being able to go out every weekend gives me the thickest of Bonair’s!”
Example: “Are you gonna drink some beers tonight?” “Yarp.”
Example: “Are you gonna drink some jawn-drinks tonight?” “Narp.”
Example: “What up, brah?”
Example: “I sucked at golf today.” “Me too, man, I smell ya.”
(correctly pronounced boo-kah-key) was actually pronounced “buh-cake.” Stupid . . . I know.
Example 1: “Dude, I heard you and Molly hooked up!” “Yeah bro, straight up bukkake salad errwhere, yahmean?"
Example 2: “I gave her the sweet bukkake salad last night like BLLLAAAAAGGGHHHHH!!! All over the place, baby!”
Example: “I poop out the bung.”
Example: “My loins tingle in anticipation of tonight.”
I also like to use Olde English (O-E baby!) words, such as: Ye, Thy, Doth, Mine (as in mine own), etc. Welp, that’s about it for now. The single most important factor in using my Fez-isms is: embrace the weirdness. Also, it is important to give credit when credit is due, i.e. the Bonair’s with Dr. Funkteets. Lastly, all words can be used in conjunction with others, and obviously this is highly encouraged. As I develop more weird phrases/words, I will surely post them at once.
Good luck, I hope they work out for you, and may the jawn be wit you, doe.
Before we begin, let us venture deep unto the breach of my mind. We need something to set the mood, so go ahead and press play.
Ohhhh yeahhhhhh. Uhhhhhhhh.
Let me preface this whole article with one simple, unmistakable fact: I am a weird person. I make funny mouth noises, I have strange thoughts, and I will say literally anything that I am thinking. I am a weirdo, and I have no problem admitting that.
However, I feel as if my good friends have no idea what I am saying most of the time. Or if they do know what I am saying, they have no idea what I actually mean. Oddly enough, I usually have no idea what I mean either, until I sit down and think about it. I have made it my goal to not only illuminate you on what I say and what it means, but for me to personally reflect on the crap that I say and what it really means to me.
Thus, I give you my baby: Fez-isms.
Yahmean
Contraction for “do you know what I mean?”Example: Let’s go hunting for the ladies tonight, yahmean?
Yahmsayin
Contraction for “do you know what I am saying?”Example: “Dude, she looked so hot that I blew it real quick, yahmsayin?”
Doe
Word substitute for “though”Example: “I’ma put the team on my back, doe.”
Jawn
A female, particularly of ample attractiveness.Example: “Hey man, check out that jawn over there. She got that big ol’ booty.”
 |
| "Yeah, I got that big ol' booty." |
Fux wit it
It actually doesn’t mean what you think, but it also can mean exactly what it sounds like, depending on its usage. Normally, I intend it to mean “Do you want to do this specific thing?” However, it can mean exactly what it sounds like, fux’n wit it, fux’n on them jawns, yahmean?Example: “Hey, you tryna fux wit dinner tonight?” “Yeah brah, does 6pm sound good?”
69/69 style
It is clearly referencing the best sensual position. 69 is also the best number, other acceptable numbers are 6.9, 6969, or anything ending with 69.Example: “Dude, how many beers did you drink last night?” “Like 69, brah.”
Veiny
From the movie “Waiting” where it is used in the context of the bat-wing scrotum and it is exclaimed, “Ohhh, it’s so veinyyyy!” Generally, veiny is a positive thing, kind of like loins, which will be covered shortly. Anything that you’re excited about can be veiny, and also, anything that is appropriately literally veiny may also be veiny as well.Example: “Yo how excited are you that it’s Friday?” “Ohhhh, it makes me so veinyyy.”
Bonair’s
My personal favorite, it means exactly what it sounds like: boner. However, I did not come up with this. The one known as Dr. Funk devised its name. The story goes as follows: while in Spring Mills, PA for a weekend, Funk was laying with the First 1st Lady of the KeyPAP, Troltits. As I lay in bed, I heard him speak tenderly to the Trol, “I have Bonair’s disease.” I immediately began crying laughing, as it was the funniest thing I’ve heard in a while. This was inserted instantly in my everyday vernacular. However, it became modified, which I will take credit for. Acute Onset Bonair’s is the blood flow type, as caused by a jawn. Chronic Bonair’s is of the morning variety, usually due to bladder backup. For more information on Bonair’s, check this out. Lately, I have been using it in conjunction when I am excited about something, I say that it gives me “the thickest of Bonair’s.”Example: “Finally being able to go out every weekend gives me the thickest of Bonair’s!”
Yarp
Yes (said in a vague pirate accent) – taken from the movie “Hot Fuzz.” If you have not seen this movie, you should definitely be all up in that.Example: “Are you gonna drink some beers tonight?” “Yarp.”
Narp
No (said in a vague pirate accent) – again, from “Hot Fuzz.”Example: “Are you gonna drink some jawn-drinks tonight?” “Narp.”
Brah
Substitute for “bro.” One of your boys.Example: “What up, brah?”
 |
| "Nothin's up, you stupid sumbitch. And that's the bottom line!" |
I smell ya
Substitute for “I understand what you are saying.”Example: “I sucked at golf today.” “Me too, man, I smell ya.”
Bukkake Salad
Probably my newest and not frequently used. Blowing a hot, sticky one and/or a multitude of bukkakes. For those of you who do not know what a “bukkake” is, go on the tremendously educational Urban Dictionary and check it out for yourself. Fun fact: in my younger days I thought “bukkake”(correctly pronounced boo-kah-key) was actually pronounced “buh-cake.” Stupid . . . I know.
Example 1: “Dude, I heard you and Molly hooked up!” “Yeah bro, straight up bukkake salad errwhere, yahmean?"
Example 2: “I gave her the sweet bukkake salad last night like BLLLAAAAAGGGHHHHH!!! All over the place, baby!”
Bung/Bunghole
The anal sphincter, the entrance to the brown highway, the butthole.Example: “I poop out the bung.”
Loins
For the most part, I mean it as my reproductive organ. However, it can mean any part of your body.Example: “My loins tingle in anticipation of tonight.”
I also like to use Olde English (O-E baby!) words, such as: Ye, Thy, Doth, Mine (as in mine own), etc. Welp, that’s about it for now. The single most important factor in using my Fez-isms is: embrace the weirdness. Also, it is important to give credit when credit is due, i.e. the Bonair’s with Dr. Funkteets. Lastly, all words can be used in conjunction with others, and obviously this is highly encouraged. As I develop more weird phrases/words, I will surely post them at once.
Good luck, I hope they work out for you, and may the jawn be wit you, doe.
Sunday, February 2, 2014
Terry Cakebread: Human, Part IV
My name is Terry Cakebread and this is the fucking story of my life.
Previously: Part III
“Damn, what are they feeding you, you stupid piece of monkey garbage, you shit bigger than a horse at a golden corral.”
I did not know where he was getting these phrases but he said them with such conviction I swear he could channel the spirit of Stone Cold himself.
He looked at me and said, “I got the matches if you wanna watch some ass whoop'ns.”
For the next two weeks Stone Cold ET and I watched WWE matches all day long. His favorite wrestler by far was Stone cold Steve Austin and I think I offended him once when I showed some slight admiration to his least favorite wrestler, The Rock. When I told him that the Rock would become much more popular than Stone Cold he told me, “Those other humans must be twice as stupid with half the balls as you, you bag of monkey shit.” He knew my name was Terry, but mostly I was various forms of monkey shit. Stone Cold ET was infatuated with the hulking physiques of the wrestlers in the movies. Most of the people on his planet were frail beyond comprehension because of the lack of physical work they had to do. I showed him how to do some basic muscle building exercises like pull ups and pushups. Because his body was so unaccustomed to physical work it began to respond very rapidly, much more rapidly than any human would expect. After just two weeks he had a body that would rival the Ultimate Warrior’s! In that time he told me that the other aliens were impressed with humans’ ability to achieve beyond their means and intended to find out what it was that helped us do so, and that to figure it out I would likely be killed. I could tell that he was upset by this. We were actually having a lot of fun watching the matches together, and I found Stone Cold ET and his hatred for the Rock to be hysterical.
ET came storming into the room muscles blaring with a makeshift pair of jean shorts and a bad replica of Steve Austin’s vest.
“I think I can save you, you no good sumbitch. If I send you back in time I think I can get you back to Earth.”
I knew that even though Stone Cold ET was retarded on his planet that he was much smarter than I was. I also knew that time travel into the past was impossible.
“Stone Cold ET, you can’t time travel into the past. Even if you could how would you know where to send me?”
“Stop flappin’ your gums and listen to me you stupid sack o’ monkey goddamn sumbitch. I said we can send you back in time, just because your dumb ass didn’t figure it out yet don’t mean it can’t happen. And as for that other stuff, those guys already got all that figured out about when you left and where you came from. You had a calendar, and clocks and shit in the ship, we ain’t no stupid piles of wastewater like yourself.”
Perhaps Stone Cold ET was smarter than I was giving him credit for. The accent made it nearly impossible to assume otherwise. I started to have some hope but it was dashed by the thought that if they did have time machines they would likely be heavily guarded. The chances that two idiots, by their standards, could hatch a plan to get out seemed impossible. I voiced this concern to Stone Cold ET.
“You think you got it all figured out don’t you, ya stupid S.O.B. but did ya ever stop and think for a minute? This place is heavily guarded, on the outside. You are what they are guarding you dumb pile of monkeys ass. We are inside, we have a one way ticket to the time machine.”
“What do you mean we?”
“I’m the toughest S.O.B. to ever walk the light of day on this fucking planet and they treat me like some dumb pile of monkey shit like yourself. I’m hitching my wagon and coming with you to Earth. WHAT? I said I’m comin’ with you to Earth. WHAT? I said I’m comin’ with you to Earth, and that’s the bottom line.”
I did not see Stone Cold ET for the next two days. He was busy setting the time machine for October 2014. I wanted to go back to that day when I watched the time travel documentary. Hopefully I would be able to push myself in a more fruitful direction. I sat in that room skeptical that the plan would work and hoping that Donny and Cher didn’t have me killed by then. The last month was probably the best month I had had in the last fourteen years. I spent it with a special needs alien who had an affinity for role play but I figure he was probably the best friend I’ve ever had.
“What are these cans for?” I asked.
“What’s the matter? You ain’t never seen a god damn beer before you pussy?”
“Beer? You know how to make beer?”
“Just shut up and have at it boy, you’re gonna need your strength.”
I took a swig of the “beer” or from what I gathered a liquid he managed to get to look like beer. Fortunately Stone Cold rarely actually drank his beer, he just dumped it all over himself so I followed suit and was thankful for his wasteful ways. Stone Cold ET started trying to get me pumped up to take down the other aliens. This was our day and I knew that Stone Cold ET was getting fired up because he started mixing The Rock’s catchphrases with Stone Colds when he spoke.
“This is it you sack of monkey shit, we are gonna open up a can o’ Whoop Ass on them jabronis out there. We only have about fifteen minutes before they send the guards in after us if you smell what Stone Cold ET is cooking.”
“I think I’m ready. So you’re going to lead me out into the room and say we have a problem, then we ambush them?”
“Hell yeah, let’s get going, Earth better get ready cuz I’m gonna open up a can on its candy ass.”
We walked out into the hallway trying not to look suspicious. This was hard to accomplish considering we were wearing matching outfits. I drew stares from every alien we passed by but I did my best to look like Stone Cold ET's captive. We entered a large room filled with technological advancements I can only dream about to this day. ET motioned in the direction of the time machine and I saw it. On the outside it looked very plain, like a polished white box with nothing on it. The room was filled with other aliens. There must have been fifteen or twenty of them. I started to get nervous. I waited for Stone Cold ET to give the signal. He called Cher over. He did not speak because the language of the aliens is unspoken. He only used his crude Stone Cold speech with me. Without warning Stone Cold ET lifted his stubby little right leg off the ground and buried it into Cher’s midsection. Cher’s hair flew around his face as he bent forward in pain. Without hesitation Stone Cold ET had Cher’s head on his shoulder and delivered his first and most devastating stunner. Cher was knocked out cold and flew to the floor. Stone Cold ET stood up with his head flying side to side in a frenzy spraying spittle everywhere as he gave two glowing middle fingers to anyone he could see. This was our subtle signal. I sprinted toward Donny and heard alarms going off all around me.
Shit our time is running out.
I got to Donny and leveled him with a rock bottom. It was euphoric as I felt the power of my legs driving him into the ground. I was alive! I narrowly avoided disaster because Stone Cold ET saw that I used the move of his arch enemy and was not amused.
“You do that to one more of these here jabronis and I’m gonna open up a can on your ass.”
Noted, I moved around the room leveling aliens with DDT’s and piledrivers. I could see down the hallway armed aliens rushing toward us. Our time was running out. I looked across the room and saw Stone Cold ET delivering another devastating stunner to our rivals. He got up, pulled his alien beer out of his pocket, and began dousing himself with it, waving his free middle finger in the direction of the armed gaurds. Stone Cold ET was living his dream. I ran to the time machine and yelled for Stone Cold ET.
He threw me a beer and shouted, “Take that to remember me you hard headed sumbitch, I’m gonna open up a can on these guards to give you some time. I got it set for Earth already, just do what I told you and don’t flap your gums at me no more.”
Stone Cold ET was right, we didn’t have time. He ran to the first guard into the room and gave him the stunner. He lowered his face to within an inch of the unconscious alien’s head wielding dual middle fingers and said as spit flew everywhere, “This here is for my friend Terry, who believed in me unlike you ungreatful sack of monkey candy ass jabroni sumb–”
The second guard leveled a blast from his weapon that blew Stone Cold ET’s head clean off of his body. As his body fell to the floor his middle fingers still burned bright white at the tips, his spirit refusing to surrender. I closed the door to the time machine and heard a loud bang hit the wall. I had tears in my eyes and could barely compose myself. I followed the instructions given to me by Stone Cold ET and the machine began to move as I traveled back through time to a place I thought I would never see again.
Previously: Part III
8:00 AM day 18 with the Aliens
I was dreaming that I was on top of the Hell in a Cell and the Undertaker was about to throw me 20-feet to the table below. I tried to stop it but his strength was too much, I felt my center of gravity float as I plummeted to the earth.“Damn, what are they feeding you, you stupid piece of monkey garbage, you shit bigger than a horse at a golden corral.”
I did not know where he was getting these phrases but he said them with such conviction I swear he could channel the spirit of Stone Cold himself.
He looked at me and said, “I got the matches if you wanna watch some ass whoop'ns.”
For the next two weeks Stone Cold ET and I watched WWE matches all day long. His favorite wrestler by far was Stone cold Steve Austin and I think I offended him once when I showed some slight admiration to his least favorite wrestler, The Rock. When I told him that the Rock would become much more popular than Stone Cold he told me, “Those other humans must be twice as stupid with half the balls as you, you bag of monkey shit.” He knew my name was Terry, but mostly I was various forms of monkey shit. Stone Cold ET was infatuated with the hulking physiques of the wrestlers in the movies. Most of the people on his planet were frail beyond comprehension because of the lack of physical work they had to do. I showed him how to do some basic muscle building exercises like pull ups and pushups. Because his body was so unaccustomed to physical work it began to respond very rapidly, much more rapidly than any human would expect. After just two weeks he had a body that would rival the Ultimate Warrior’s! In that time he told me that the other aliens were impressed with humans’ ability to achieve beyond their means and intended to find out what it was that helped us do so, and that to figure it out I would likely be killed. I could tell that he was upset by this. We were actually having a lot of fun watching the matches together, and I found Stone Cold ET and his hatred for the Rock to be hysterical.
8:00 AM day 42 with the Aliens
“Wake up you floating pile of monkey turds, I got an idea!”ET came storming into the room muscles blaring with a makeshift pair of jean shorts and a bad replica of Steve Austin’s vest.
“I think I can save you, you no good sumbitch. If I send you back in time I think I can get you back to Earth.”
I knew that even though Stone Cold ET was retarded on his planet that he was much smarter than I was. I also knew that time travel into the past was impossible.
“Stone Cold ET, you can’t time travel into the past. Even if you could how would you know where to send me?”
“Stop flappin’ your gums and listen to me you stupid sack o’ monkey goddamn sumbitch. I said we can send you back in time, just because your dumb ass didn’t figure it out yet don’t mean it can’t happen. And as for that other stuff, those guys already got all that figured out about when you left and where you came from. You had a calendar, and clocks and shit in the ship, we ain’t no stupid piles of wastewater like yourself.”
Perhaps Stone Cold ET was smarter than I was giving him credit for. The accent made it nearly impossible to assume otherwise. I started to have some hope but it was dashed by the thought that if they did have time machines they would likely be heavily guarded. The chances that two idiots, by their standards, could hatch a plan to get out seemed impossible. I voiced this concern to Stone Cold ET.
“You think you got it all figured out don’t you, ya stupid S.O.B. but did ya ever stop and think for a minute? This place is heavily guarded, on the outside. You are what they are guarding you dumb pile of monkeys ass. We are inside, we have a one way ticket to the time machine.”
“What do you mean we?”
“I’m the toughest S.O.B. to ever walk the light of day on this fucking planet and they treat me like some dumb pile of monkey shit like yourself. I’m hitching my wagon and coming with you to Earth. WHAT? I said I’m comin’ with you to Earth. WHAT? I said I’m comin’ with you to Earth, and that’s the bottom line.”
I did not see Stone Cold ET for the next two days. He was busy setting the time machine for October 2014. I wanted to go back to that day when I watched the time travel documentary. Hopefully I would be able to push myself in a more fruitful direction. I sat in that room skeptical that the plan would work and hoping that Donny and Cher didn’t have me killed by then. The last month was probably the best month I had had in the last fourteen years. I spent it with a special needs alien who had an affinity for role play but I figure he was probably the best friend I’ve ever had.
8:00 AM day 44 with the Aliens
Stone Cold ET came bursting into the room in his usual fashion. He was sweating profusely, I think. I don’t really know if they sweat or not. It seems equally probable that he was just taking his Stone Cold act to a new level. He even tried to smash a ridiculous looking knee brace onto his little nub of a leg. He threw me a bag. In the bag was a black vest with CAKEBREAD 3:16 written crudely in some make shift glitter on the side. There was a pair of cutoff jean shorts in there as well. As I got dressed in my apparent uniform I noticed some cans in the bottom of the bag.“What are these cans for?” I asked.
“What’s the matter? You ain’t never seen a god damn beer before you pussy?”
“Beer? You know how to make beer?”
“Just shut up and have at it boy, you’re gonna need your strength.”
I took a swig of the “beer” or from what I gathered a liquid he managed to get to look like beer. Fortunately Stone Cold rarely actually drank his beer, he just dumped it all over himself so I followed suit and was thankful for his wasteful ways. Stone Cold ET started trying to get me pumped up to take down the other aliens. This was our day and I knew that Stone Cold ET was getting fired up because he started mixing The Rock’s catchphrases with Stone Colds when he spoke.
“This is it you sack of monkey shit, we are gonna open up a can o’ Whoop Ass on them jabronis out there. We only have about fifteen minutes before they send the guards in after us if you smell what Stone Cold ET is cooking.”
“I think I’m ready. So you’re going to lead me out into the room and say we have a problem, then we ambush them?”
“Hell yeah, let’s get going, Earth better get ready cuz I’m gonna open up a can on its candy ass.”
We walked out into the hallway trying not to look suspicious. This was hard to accomplish considering we were wearing matching outfits. I drew stares from every alien we passed by but I did my best to look like Stone Cold ET's captive. We entered a large room filled with technological advancements I can only dream about to this day. ET motioned in the direction of the time machine and I saw it. On the outside it looked very plain, like a polished white box with nothing on it. The room was filled with other aliens. There must have been fifteen or twenty of them. I started to get nervous. I waited for Stone Cold ET to give the signal. He called Cher over. He did not speak because the language of the aliens is unspoken. He only used his crude Stone Cold speech with me. Without warning Stone Cold ET lifted his stubby little right leg off the ground and buried it into Cher’s midsection. Cher’s hair flew around his face as he bent forward in pain. Without hesitation Stone Cold ET had Cher’s head on his shoulder and delivered his first and most devastating stunner. Cher was knocked out cold and flew to the floor. Stone Cold ET stood up with his head flying side to side in a frenzy spraying spittle everywhere as he gave two glowing middle fingers to anyone he could see. This was our subtle signal. I sprinted toward Donny and heard alarms going off all around me.
Shit our time is running out.
I got to Donny and leveled him with a rock bottom. It was euphoric as I felt the power of my legs driving him into the ground. I was alive! I narrowly avoided disaster because Stone Cold ET saw that I used the move of his arch enemy and was not amused.
“You do that to one more of these here jabronis and I’m gonna open up a can on your ass.”
Noted, I moved around the room leveling aliens with DDT’s and piledrivers. I could see down the hallway armed aliens rushing toward us. Our time was running out. I looked across the room and saw Stone Cold ET delivering another devastating stunner to our rivals. He got up, pulled his alien beer out of his pocket, and began dousing himself with it, waving his free middle finger in the direction of the armed gaurds. Stone Cold ET was living his dream. I ran to the time machine and yelled for Stone Cold ET.
He threw me a beer and shouted, “Take that to remember me you hard headed sumbitch, I’m gonna open up a can on these guards to give you some time. I got it set for Earth already, just do what I told you and don’t flap your gums at me no more.”
Stone Cold ET was right, we didn’t have time. He ran to the first guard into the room and gave him the stunner. He lowered his face to within an inch of the unconscious alien’s head wielding dual middle fingers and said as spit flew everywhere, “This here is for my friend Terry, who believed in me unlike you ungreatful sack of monkey candy ass jabroni sumb–”
The second guard leveled a blast from his weapon that blew Stone Cold ET’s head clean off of his body. As his body fell to the floor his middle fingers still burned bright white at the tips, his spirit refusing to surrender. I closed the door to the time machine and heard a loud bang hit the wall. I had tears in my eyes and could barely compose myself. I followed the instructions given to me by Stone Cold ET and the machine began to move as I traveled back through time to a place I thought I would never see again.
8:00 AM October 15, 1980 Cincinnati, Ohio
Stone Cold ET was close. His calculations were a little off but in the grand scheme of things it was a pretty incredible feat. He managed to set the machine for a distance countless light years away in a time that had long since passed and only missed by 27 years and some miles. Nonetheless I was back on Earth but in a time that I knew nothing about. I thought that I was probably going to be done with the whole time travel idea and decided I would leave my mark on the world through my other passion, entertainment. No one would ever have known I lived most of my life as Terry Cakebread in the near future. They would only know me as Steve, the name I took to honor my best friend. Two years later the Movie ET would come out where Spielberg made that impossibly lucky guess as to what the aliens in that distant planet would look like. Then again maybe that guess had a little bit less to do with luck than I thought.Saturday, February 1, 2014
Terry Cakebread: Human, Part III
My name is Terry Cakebread and this is the fucking story of my life.
Previously: Part II
Do they have hair?
The long haired ET was carrying some of the food that was left on my ship and a bottle of the whisky. They must have assumed I needed these things to survive. He dropped it off next to me and walked out. This daily routine would go on for the next 2 weeks. At least I was drunk.
Sometimes two or three would come in at a time and stand around me. They looked like they were communicating with each other but they never made a sound. I was always uncomfortable when they walked into the room – who knew what they were planning to do with me. They mostly just brought me my food watched me eat it and left. There were three different aliens that tended to me and the only thing that I could distinguish them by was their hair. The one with the long black hair I nicknamed Cher, then there was one with a Donald trump sweeping comb over (Donny), and the standard bald ET. The bald ET was the one who got the daily honor of removing my shit from the corner of the room every day. I wondered if their hair was a sort of status symbol. I wondered a lot of things while I was in there, but mostly I was just drunk.
I opened my eyes. My head was pounding, I think I drank a little more than usual the night before.
Did Cher just talk to me?
“What did you say?”
“We would like to speak with you.”
How could they know English? There were many people on earth who couldn’t speak English and these people were certainly not from Earth.
“How do you know my language?” I asked Cher.
“It was quite difficult really, there are a lot of concepts that are foreign to us, like names and mathematical concepts. We were able to learn your language by watching your videos and reading your books and notes.”
“You learned my language by watching WWE and reading my notes?”
“Yes we did.”
“You definitely don’t talk the way they do on WWE.”
Cher gave a meaningful expression, I think, and said, “We were able to use the words and their context in the videos to cross reference your dictionary. This way we were able to learn the whole of your language and not just the dialect employed by your WWE.”
I was done; they could do what they wanted to me. What was I going to do to stop them? They figured out the English language in two weeks by watching wrestling with a dictionary that they presumably didn’t know how to read. They probably learned how to read from those goddamn signs. I couldn’t outsmart them. ET was definitely not the most physically intimidating specimen that I had ever seen but I still had no hope of overpowering them. In the last fourteen years I had achieved never before seen levels of skinny fat that would be appalling to most humans. I would have to just sit there and let them run their experiments on me.
“You have come an incredible distance with such crude technology.”
“My ship is crude? I spent years and years developing the most advanced spaceship ever seen on earth!”
“Yes, I understand but your people have very limited intelligence. Our kind don’t actually have to do calculations as you call them, we just understand math, or the convention of math that you on earth have created to understand certain things. It really is remarkable how humans were able to develop such a convention to allow them to understand what their limited minds cannot grasp. It would almost seem to require a higher intelligence to work with so little. What a paradox that is, isn’t it? Anyway your ship is very rudimentary but we are very pleased that it worked as well as it did. I’m sure deep space travel must have seemed nearly impossible to your kind.”
This was amazing, these people looked at me like a chimpanzee who found a way to pass high school with nothing but sign language and a diet of bananas, and everyone knows you can’t open a beer bottle with a banana.
“What do you call this planet?” I asked. Cher looked frustrated that he had to explain these things that he had already made clear, but he was talking to a fucking monkey after all.
“We do not have names. We just recognize things as they are. This is why we do not have spoken communication. We can look at each other and know exactly what the other desires us to know.”
I felt so stupid at this moment. I thought that this must have been what it felt like to know me back on earth. I discounted everything anyone else said to me in favor of my own theories. I talked down to everyone else and ejaculated my superiority all over the face of anyone who came to near my greatness.
Cher spoke again, “We do have one question for you. What is the purpose of this WWE?”
“It’s just entertainment for humans.”
“Yes, we were able to gather as much, but what is the function of entertainment?”
“It doesn’t really have a function, it’s more so that the audience can take a break from your functions.”
Cher looked confused for the first time.
“What about your fucking hair?” I blurted out, after all I had some questions of my own.
“Our hair is just that, hair. It distinguishes us, physically, from one another.”
Cher glanced at the others and they all turned to exit. I was left alone in the room once again.
“Wake your goofy ass up you stupid sumbitch.”
I must be dreaming
“I thought I made myself clear, I said wake your dumb ass up you stupid sumbitch for I hafta open up a can of Whoop Ass on your ass. They got me in hear cleaning up your goddam monkey shit again, and I got a few words to say to ya.”
It was ET and he was talking in a completely accurate impression of Stone Cold Steve Austin’s voice. He sounded angry, but I don’t know if he intended to.
“Why are you talking like that?” I asked.
Stone Cold ET was acting like a maniac. He was strutting around me swinging his arms back and forth with power in his stride.
“Let me tell you sumthin, and don’t you go flappin’ your gums while I’m talkin’ to ya. You see I’ve been watching that WWE that they have been talking soooo much about. You know it’s been causing quite a ruckus on our planet.”
“It has?”
“Shut up and listen when I’m talking to ya, I thought I warned ya ‘bout flappin’ those gums when I’m talkin’.”
ET was in a frenzy at this point, he had his hands on his knees and his face about an inch away from mine as he spoke to me.
“They keep yammerin’ about this entertainment thing you were talking about because they can’t understand the concept. I tried to talk to them about it but they just think I’m some stupid sumbitch who don’t know his ass from a hole in the wall.”
“Who can’t understand it? Cher?”
“Who the fuck is Cher?” ET bellowed as spittle covered my face.
“That’s a name I made up for the guy with the long black hair, the other one is Don, and I imagine I’ll be calling you Stone cold ET from now on.”
“Stone cold ET? Hell, you know what you sack of monkey shit, I think I like that. You’re god damn right that’s my name and that’s the bottom line. Like I said those ass wipes have been yammerin’ about this entertainment thing and they reckon I ain’t smart enough to help them. That’s why they got me in here wiping your shit outta the corner cuz they say I’m not much smarter than the god damn human. I think they might be right because I get it, I get entertainment. I got to watchin’ those big ol’ musclemen in that ring and couldn’t get enough. That Stone Cold is one tough S.O.B. and I decided I was goin’ to be just like him. If anyone wants to stand in my way of that then I have two cans of Whoop Ass I’ve been dyin’ to open up on ‘em.”
I didn’t know what to say. Here was an alien. A real goddamn alien that looked like fucking ET from the movie! And he was acting like Stone Cold Steve Austin. This was actually happening to me.
“What are they going to do to me?”
“I reckon you got about a month in your time before they split your ass to timber to figure out what makes you tick. Until then they will probably just run some tests on your ship and try to figure out which side of the Mississippi you came from.”
Stone Cold ET was clearly mixing phrases and confusing me in the process. What I did gather was that I had about a month to live on this planet before I was a dead man.
“Stone Cold ET, do you think you can bring in some of those matches to watch the next time you come in?”
“You're god damn right I can and that’s the bottom line.” His head was bobbing wildly side to side as he spoke. He started to walk toward the door.
“Stone cold, I have a question.”
“Then spit it out, or are ya too dumb to talk?”
“Did your people ever hear of Jesus?” I asked.
I don’t know what in the Christ you’re talkin’ about boy. What’d ya say ET? What? What’d ya say ET? What? Boy, you better not be getting smart with me or I’ll knock that stupid little smile clean off your face before you can count to two, and that’s the bottom line.”
“Yeah, I figured you didn’t.”
Stone Cold ET strutted feverishly toward the door and slammed it shut as he left. I liked him.
To be concluded . . .
Previously: Part II
8:00AM Day 2 with the Aliens
I sat in that room staring at the door waiting for it to open. This was exciting for me, when you have been sitting in the same room where nothing happens for fourteen years straight, staring at a door waiting for an alien to bust through wasn’t so bad. I sat watching the door for eight hours until it finally opened. ET looked like he was wearing a long black wig, I think it was just his hair.Do they have hair?
The long haired ET was carrying some of the food that was left on my ship and a bottle of the whisky. They must have assumed I needed these things to survive. He dropped it off next to me and walked out. This daily routine would go on for the next 2 weeks. At least I was drunk.
Sometimes two or three would come in at a time and stand around me. They looked like they were communicating with each other but they never made a sound. I was always uncomfortable when they walked into the room – who knew what they were planning to do with me. They mostly just brought me my food watched me eat it and left. There were three different aliens that tended to me and the only thing that I could distinguish them by was their hair. The one with the long black hair I nicknamed Cher, then there was one with a Donald trump sweeping comb over (Donny), and the standard bald ET. The bald ET was the one who got the daily honor of removing my shit from the corner of the room every day. I wondered if their hair was a sort of status symbol. I wondered a lot of things while I was in there, but mostly I was just drunk.
8:00AM Day 15 with the Aliens
“We would like to speak with you.”I opened my eyes. My head was pounding, I think I drank a little more than usual the night before.
Did Cher just talk to me?
“What did you say?”
“We would like to speak with you.”
How could they know English? There were many people on earth who couldn’t speak English and these people were certainly not from Earth.
“How do you know my language?” I asked Cher.
“It was quite difficult really, there are a lot of concepts that are foreign to us, like names and mathematical concepts. We were able to learn your language by watching your videos and reading your books and notes.”
“You learned my language by watching WWE and reading my notes?”
“Yes we did.”
“You definitely don’t talk the way they do on WWE.”
Cher gave a meaningful expression, I think, and said, “We were able to use the words and their context in the videos to cross reference your dictionary. This way we were able to learn the whole of your language and not just the dialect employed by your WWE.”
I was done; they could do what they wanted to me. What was I going to do to stop them? They figured out the English language in two weeks by watching wrestling with a dictionary that they presumably didn’t know how to read. They probably learned how to read from those goddamn signs. I couldn’t outsmart them. ET was definitely not the most physically intimidating specimen that I had ever seen but I still had no hope of overpowering them. In the last fourteen years I had achieved never before seen levels of skinny fat that would be appalling to most humans. I would have to just sit there and let them run their experiments on me.
“You have come an incredible distance with such crude technology.”
“My ship is crude? I spent years and years developing the most advanced spaceship ever seen on earth!”
“Yes, I understand but your people have very limited intelligence. Our kind don’t actually have to do calculations as you call them, we just understand math, or the convention of math that you on earth have created to understand certain things. It really is remarkable how humans were able to develop such a convention to allow them to understand what their limited minds cannot grasp. It would almost seem to require a higher intelligence to work with so little. What a paradox that is, isn’t it? Anyway your ship is very rudimentary but we are very pleased that it worked as well as it did. I’m sure deep space travel must have seemed nearly impossible to your kind.”
This was amazing, these people looked at me like a chimpanzee who found a way to pass high school with nothing but sign language and a diet of bananas, and everyone knows you can’t open a beer bottle with a banana.
“What do you call this planet?” I asked. Cher looked frustrated that he had to explain these things that he had already made clear, but he was talking to a fucking monkey after all.
“We do not have names. We just recognize things as they are. This is why we do not have spoken communication. We can look at each other and know exactly what the other desires us to know.”
I felt so stupid at this moment. I thought that this must have been what it felt like to know me back on earth. I discounted everything anyone else said to me in favor of my own theories. I talked down to everyone else and ejaculated my superiority all over the face of anyone who came to near my greatness.
Cher spoke again, “We do have one question for you. What is the purpose of this WWE?”
“It’s just entertainment for humans.”
“Yes, we were able to gather as much, but what is the function of entertainment?”
“It doesn’t really have a function, it’s more so that the audience can take a break from your functions.”
Cher looked confused for the first time.
“What about your fucking hair?” I blurted out, after all I had some questions of my own.
“Our hair is just that, hair. It distinguishes us, physically, from one another.”
Cher glanced at the others and they all turned to exit. I was left alone in the room once again.
8:00 AM day 17 with the Aliens
I was sleeping, dreaming about a life back on earth when I heard a loud voice calling toward me.“Wake your goofy ass up you stupid sumbitch.”
I must be dreaming
“I thought I made myself clear, I said wake your dumb ass up you stupid sumbitch for I hafta open up a can of Whoop Ass on your ass. They got me in hear cleaning up your goddam monkey shit again, and I got a few words to say to ya.”
It was ET and he was talking in a completely accurate impression of Stone Cold Steve Austin’s voice. He sounded angry, but I don’t know if he intended to.
“Why are you talking like that?” I asked.
Stone Cold ET was acting like a maniac. He was strutting around me swinging his arms back and forth with power in his stride.
“Let me tell you sumthin, and don’t you go flappin’ your gums while I’m talkin’ to ya. You see I’ve been watching that WWE that they have been talking soooo much about. You know it’s been causing quite a ruckus on our planet.”
“It has?”
“Shut up and listen when I’m talking to ya, I thought I warned ya ‘bout flappin’ those gums when I’m talkin’.”
ET was in a frenzy at this point, he had his hands on his knees and his face about an inch away from mine as he spoke to me.
“They keep yammerin’ about this entertainment thing you were talking about because they can’t understand the concept. I tried to talk to them about it but they just think I’m some stupid sumbitch who don’t know his ass from a hole in the wall.”
“Who can’t understand it? Cher?”
“Who the fuck is Cher?” ET bellowed as spittle covered my face.
“That’s a name I made up for the guy with the long black hair, the other one is Don, and I imagine I’ll be calling you Stone cold ET from now on.”
“Stone cold ET? Hell, you know what you sack of monkey shit, I think I like that. You’re god damn right that’s my name and that’s the bottom line. Like I said those ass wipes have been yammerin’ about this entertainment thing and they reckon I ain’t smart enough to help them. That’s why they got me in here wiping your shit outta the corner cuz they say I’m not much smarter than the god damn human. I think they might be right because I get it, I get entertainment. I got to watchin’ those big ol’ musclemen in that ring and couldn’t get enough. That Stone Cold is one tough S.O.B. and I decided I was goin’ to be just like him. If anyone wants to stand in my way of that then I have two cans of Whoop Ass I’ve been dyin’ to open up on ‘em.”
I didn’t know what to say. Here was an alien. A real goddamn alien that looked like fucking ET from the movie! And he was acting like Stone Cold Steve Austin. This was actually happening to me.
“What are they going to do to me?”
“I reckon you got about a month in your time before they split your ass to timber to figure out what makes you tick. Until then they will probably just run some tests on your ship and try to figure out which side of the Mississippi you came from.”
Stone Cold ET was clearly mixing phrases and confusing me in the process. What I did gather was that I had about a month to live on this planet before I was a dead man.
“Stone Cold ET, do you think you can bring in some of those matches to watch the next time you come in?”
“You're god damn right I can and that’s the bottom line.” His head was bobbing wildly side to side as he spoke. He started to walk toward the door.
“Stone cold, I have a question.”
“Then spit it out, or are ya too dumb to talk?”
“Did your people ever hear of Jesus?” I asked.
I don’t know what in the Christ you’re talkin’ about boy. What’d ya say ET? What? What’d ya say ET? What? Boy, you better not be getting smart with me or I’ll knock that stupid little smile clean off your face before you can count to two, and that’s the bottom line.”
“Yeah, I figured you didn’t.”
Stone Cold ET strutted feverishly toward the door and slammed it shut as he left. I liked him.
To be concluded . . .
Friday, January 31, 2014
Terry Cakebread: Human, Part II
My name is Terry Cakebread and this is the fucking story of my life.
Previously: Part I
The whole mission started to seem pointless to me, I thought about how it would feel before I left on this mission and assumed I could deal with it better. The thoughts were abstract then – this was real. No one would ever feel as alone as I felt. There was no hope that I would ever see another human for the rest of my life. I tried to distract myself by doing the work that I intended to finish. I became overwhelmingly distraught by the fact that no one but myself would ever benefit from the advances I made, and that during the thousands upon thousands of years that passed on earth since I left many people probably discovered far more than I could realistically do in a lifetime. I thought I could deal with these feelings since I had always been a loner.
I tried for two days straight without sleep or luck to find someone who would listen to me. Late on that second day I saw a vivacious blond woman in a pantsuit walking by me as I tried to plea my case with an official who was having none of it. She must have pitied me because she came over and asked what I was trying to do. If my social skills left something to be desired for the average person, then they were virtually nonexistent when talking to a beautiful lady like her. I couldn’t look her in the eye and attempted, without success, not to look her in the chest either. The best I could do was go full blown nerd on her and show her what I had been working on at school. She was very impressed by my work and agreed to let me intern at the research and development department at NASA, even with my limited schooling. Ms. Bosomchest changed my life and it would be a long time before I watched WWE again.
These nobodies in all honesty were lucky that I took my talents down to NASA in the first place. During the first two weeks I was there the scientists tried to give me the most tedious jobs that no one else wanted to do. But my genius could not be contained; I had an appetite for answers that could not be satisfied. I would stay at the headquarters day and night working on my own theories by myself, inspired by all that was going on around me. By the time I started showing the others what I was working on, people started to take notice. The fact that I did not have any letters after my name or a degree to fall back on stopped holding me back when people started to listen to what I had to stay. I began to work closely with Ms. Bosomchest on a daily basis. She was one of the smartest women in the whole world but the stuff I was working on was much too difficult for her to grasp. She did the small stuff for me and allowed my mind to concentrate on making real progress.
She became infatuated by me, by my dismissal of her flirtatious attempts, and my sheer intellectual dominance of any room I was in. When I was stumped I used her, she became my WWE. She fancied that we were in a relationship at the time but she was the only one connected. Thinking back about her would be one of the worst things about flying out here in space. I had someone who wanted to be part of my life, who wanted to share what I had to offer and I just used her for my own advancement. I thought no one could ever be enough for me, that my only chance to be happy would come from within my own mind. That is why I was the only one to volunteer for this mission. That is why I knew I could handle it.
I was wrong.
I also brought on this trip a huge stack of notebooks. I preferred to write out my calculations by hand, my mind just worked better that way. I filled those notebooks, mostly, with pictures of penises or peni as I like to pluralize it. If I thought that another human would read my life story I might have left that part out, but since I doubt highly the possibility that anyone will ever know about Terry Cakebread I see no reason not to be honest about the whole thing. At some point during the trip the subject of the penis, particularly my penis, the last, final penis, or the lone penis, as I referred to it, became infuriating to me. It became very symbolic of my life. It, like my life, really had become useless since this whole trip began. It would never get to do what it was designed to do or accomplish its purpose. It was an endless reminder that I was lonely and it fucking mocked me. I would awake each day with acute onset of Bonair’s disease, and find it staring me in the face. Other times it would just hang there depressed, making me depressed. But mostly it was just there, being useless, the way I was just there being useless.
I tried to draw other things. I tried to draw Bob Marley but it just looked like a penis with dreadlocks. Motorcycle perhaps? Penis with wheels. Watergun? I think you see where this is going. This day was just like any other, I was drunk like many of the days before lying in my living room amidst a floor strewn with pencil drawings of peni. The fact that it was December 25, on the ship was just an abstract measurement. It wasn’t Jesus-mas back on earth and it didn’t feel much like Jesus-mas here either.
Just then the ship started to shake.
The artificial gravity of the ship was disabled and I was floating in my ship. I was incredibly drunk at the time and I thought I might be hallucinating. Suddenly I flew up to the front of the ship and was knocked unconscious. When I woke up I was no longer in the only place I knew for the last 14 years. I was in a dark square room that smelled like thai food, by myself. I often had dreams of being outside of that goddamn ship but I could tell that this was no dream, something had me. The only way I could have been taken out of that ship and still be alive would be if aliens abducted me. I wondered what they would look like, what they would do to me. Then the door at the far end of the room opened.
ET
He looked like fucking ET. I thought that I might be killed but at least I would get to see what aliens really looked like. But no, I get abducted by aliens that look like fucking ET. Spielberg , nice fucking guess, thanks for ruining my day.
“Wheres Alf?”
It didn’t answer me. It just walked around me staring silently. I felt my butthole tighten up, everything I’ve ever read about aliens tells me that they are going to stick something up my ass, and Spielberg already guessed right once today. He pulled out a long wand.
He's going to stick that up my ass.
He waved the glowing light over my body like a metal detector. I didn’t move, I’m not sure If I could have moved or not, but I didn’t. Then when he was done ET walked out of the room without making a sound. I sat there dumbfounded. I didn’t know what to think. At least they were probably going to kill me, that would be ok. But what if they just kept me as a test subject? That’s what humans would have done.
Fuck.
To be continued . . .
Previously: Part I
8:00 AM October 31, 2052 Ship Time (ST)
It had been eight years since I left Earth. I was not getting nearly the amount of work done that I anticipated up to this point in my travels. Being this deep in space, and the fact that I am was smarter than nearly all other humans, gave me an incredible advantage over any other scientist of my caliber, of which there are few. I assumed I would be disproving modern theories of the universe handily by now, the way string theories and M theories of the past were dismantled. The truth was that I was flying at near light speed, warping the very fabric of time, and as I did years were flying by on Earth. My friends and family were all dead by now and unless humans started to colonize other planets or sent more people out like me, then I was likely the last one of my kind: a lone human, hurtling through an infinite void, alone.The whole mission started to seem pointless to me, I thought about how it would feel before I left on this mission and assumed I could deal with it better. The thoughts were abstract then – this was real. No one would ever feel as alone as I felt. There was no hope that I would ever see another human for the rest of my life. I tried to distract myself by doing the work that I intended to finish. I became overwhelmingly distraught by the fact that no one but myself would ever benefit from the advances I made, and that during the thousands upon thousands of years that passed on earth since I left many people probably discovered far more than I could realistically do in a lifetime. I thought I could deal with these feelings since I had always been a loner.
8:00 PM September1, 2027 ET
I stood at an intersection in Washington D.C. I looked around me and couldn’t help but think that the nation’s capital was not all that I thought it would be. Everyone around me looked so dirty and poor. The fact that I was standing at the intersection attempting to hitchhike in my only suit, a blue suit I bought in 10th grade which was fashionably small at the time, and a bright red computer backpack did nothing to quell my nerves. I did my best to comb my otherwise messy brown hair into a respectable order because I had the biggest interview of my life that day. When I say interview I mean I was just going to show up at the NASA headquarters and start asking people questions. I may have been a genius when it came to math and physics but when it came to people, I had no idea what I was doing.I tried for two days straight without sleep or luck to find someone who would listen to me. Late on that second day I saw a vivacious blond woman in a pantsuit walking by me as I tried to plea my case with an official who was having none of it. She must have pitied me because she came over and asked what I was trying to do. If my social skills left something to be desired for the average person, then they were virtually nonexistent when talking to a beautiful lady like her. I couldn’t look her in the eye and attempted, without success, not to look her in the chest either. The best I could do was go full blown nerd on her and show her what I had been working on at school. She was very impressed by my work and agreed to let me intern at the research and development department at NASA, even with my limited schooling. Ms. Bosomchest changed my life and it would be a long time before I watched WWE again.
These nobodies in all honesty were lucky that I took my talents down to NASA in the first place. During the first two weeks I was there the scientists tried to give me the most tedious jobs that no one else wanted to do. But my genius could not be contained; I had an appetite for answers that could not be satisfied. I would stay at the headquarters day and night working on my own theories by myself, inspired by all that was going on around me. By the time I started showing the others what I was working on, people started to take notice. The fact that I did not have any letters after my name or a degree to fall back on stopped holding me back when people started to listen to what I had to stay. I began to work closely with Ms. Bosomchest on a daily basis. She was one of the smartest women in the whole world but the stuff I was working on was much too difficult for her to grasp. She did the small stuff for me and allowed my mind to concentrate on making real progress.
She became infatuated by me, by my dismissal of her flirtatious attempts, and my sheer intellectual dominance of any room I was in. When I was stumped I used her, she became my WWE. She fancied that we were in a relationship at the time but she was the only one connected. Thinking back about her would be one of the worst things about flying out here in space. I had someone who wanted to be part of my life, who wanted to share what I had to offer and I just used her for my own advancement. I thought no one could ever be enough for me, that my only chance to be happy would come from within my own mind. That is why I was the only one to volunteer for this mission. That is why I knew I could handle it.
I was wrong.
8:00 AM December 25, 2058 ST
Four years ago my “internet” went down. The whole thing was wiped out. The only thing that I had left was 24 hours worth of my most recent activity. This amounted to 24 hours of WWE wrestling videos. I also had a few books on the universe, a dictionary, and my notebooks full of unfinished theories and calculations. I used none of these things anymore. I had been on this ship for fourteen years. I was in another galaxy so far from earth it is impossible to comprehend the distance in your mind and I couldn’t even summon the enthusiasm to walk over to the windshield and look out. I tried to watch WWE sometimes but just seeing other people on TV, people I knew were dead, and a species that died long ago was just too depressing. Mostly I drank and drew pictures. I brought along 70 bottles of whisky, one to celebrate each potential year on the ship on New Year ’s Day. I only had five bottles left.I also brought on this trip a huge stack of notebooks. I preferred to write out my calculations by hand, my mind just worked better that way. I filled those notebooks, mostly, with pictures of penises or peni as I like to pluralize it. If I thought that another human would read my life story I might have left that part out, but since I doubt highly the possibility that anyone will ever know about Terry Cakebread I see no reason not to be honest about the whole thing. At some point during the trip the subject of the penis, particularly my penis, the last, final penis, or the lone penis, as I referred to it, became infuriating to me. It became very symbolic of my life. It, like my life, really had become useless since this whole trip began. It would never get to do what it was designed to do or accomplish its purpose. It was an endless reminder that I was lonely and it fucking mocked me. I would awake each day with acute onset of Bonair’s disease, and find it staring me in the face. Other times it would just hang there depressed, making me depressed. But mostly it was just there, being useless, the way I was just there being useless.
I tried to draw other things. I tried to draw Bob Marley but it just looked like a penis with dreadlocks. Motorcycle perhaps? Penis with wheels. Watergun? I think you see where this is going. This day was just like any other, I was drunk like many of the days before lying in my living room amidst a floor strewn with pencil drawings of peni. The fact that it was December 25, on the ship was just an abstract measurement. It wasn’t Jesus-mas back on earth and it didn’t feel much like Jesus-mas here either.
Just then the ship started to shake.
The artificial gravity of the ship was disabled and I was floating in my ship. I was incredibly drunk at the time and I thought I might be hallucinating. Suddenly I flew up to the front of the ship and was knocked unconscious. When I woke up I was no longer in the only place I knew for the last 14 years. I was in a dark square room that smelled like thai food, by myself. I often had dreams of being outside of that goddamn ship but I could tell that this was no dream, something had me. The only way I could have been taken out of that ship and still be alive would be if aliens abducted me. I wondered what they would look like, what they would do to me. Then the door at the far end of the room opened.
ET
He looked like fucking ET. I thought that I might be killed but at least I would get to see what aliens really looked like. But no, I get abducted by aliens that look like fucking ET. Spielberg , nice fucking guess, thanks for ruining my day.
“Wheres Alf?”
It didn’t answer me. It just walked around me staring silently. I felt my butthole tighten up, everything I’ve ever read about aliens tells me that they are going to stick something up my ass, and Spielberg already guessed right once today. He pulled out a long wand.
He's going to stick that up my ass.
He waved the glowing light over my body like a metal detector. I didn’t move, I’m not sure If I could have moved or not, but I didn’t. Then when he was done ET walked out of the room without making a sound. I sat there dumbfounded. I didn’t know what to think. At least they were probably going to kill me, that would be ok. But what if they just kept me as a test subject? That’s what humans would have done.
Fuck.
To be continued . . .
Thursday, January 30, 2014
Terry Cakebread: Human, Part I
My name is Terry Cakebread and this is the fucking story of my life.
There was only so much I could do – my mind was racing in a thousand different directions and on October 15, 2014 at the age of 7, I found my purpose. I was browsing my parents Netflix account as they slept. I typed science into the search bar. My mind was so absorbed with science at the time that I had already read my entire science book cover to cover by the second month of the school year. I was now moving on to documentaries. I moved the curser slowly past a number of movies. Sometimes I think about what would have happened if I didn’t make the random selection that I did. Maybe I would have developed an interest in the subject afterward, as I like to think, but maybe my life would have been a lot god damn better if I would have skipped this movie. The curser landed on Into the Universe with Stephen Hawking. In the next month I watched and re-watched the entire series a total of four times, but one episode piqued my interest more than any other. I watched the episode on time travel every night that month and during the course of my lifetime I must have watched it a couple hundred more times. I used to have dreams of traveling to far off galaxies and planets in a single lifetime, living out sci-fi fiction in real life. When you are 7 years old anything seems possible and I was from a long line of dreamers. I would chase that dream for the rest of my life.
My parents were sobbing, proud but distraught. I knew that this was the last time I was ever going to see them and they knew it too. The image was tough to get out of my mind. I thought of my girlfriend too, a voluptuous blond by the name of Veronica Bosomchest. I could still envision the tears streaking down her face and neck to be swallowed up by the deep ravine of her ample bust. She was inconsolable. I had to bite my lip hard to keep myself together and if there was any time that I ever needed to keep myself together it was now. If time travel was like the movies these goodbyes wouldn’t have been so hard. There would be an old man running around like a lunatic screaming, “Plutonium!” and warning me not to bang my mom. But there was no old man and no one was telling me not to bang my mom. The reality of time travel bordered on melancholy, to say the least. I would be accelerating my space ship for seven and a half continuous years, and at the end of that time the ship would be travelling very near the speed of light. When a person travels near the speed of light, time slows down in the spaceship for reasons that only I and a handful of other human beings can understand. Everything still feels the same on the ship but for each hour that passes on the space ship many more will pass on earth, so many more, in fact, that my family, friends, and even the entire human race, would all perish long before my journey would be complete. Once that space ship took off I would have nowhere and no one to return to. I would be alone, in space, the last of my kind.
“You ready, Terry?” I heard coming from the inside of my helmet.
“I think so.”
“Good luck Terry, we all hope this works.”
“Thanks for the fucking confidence.”
I hastily turned off the speaker in my headphones and initiated the launch sequence. Within moments the ship was moving and I began my travel through time.
I had prepared for this moment for many years. Even before I ventured onto the spaceship, I knew that this moment of “singularity” as I liked to call it, would come. My chest started to tighten up, it felt like I had a cinderblock on my chest. I could not breath, I sucked desperately at the air and even wondered if the spaceship had been breached. I never had such extreme feelings of anxiety before. I was able to slow my breathing after about ten minutes or so before the panic attack finally subsided. I felt totally drained. I sat there in a living room that looked no different than any other living room on earth, condemned to a life of solitude. I was too distraught to finish my calculations for the day or do any reading, so I did what I always did when depression set in. I watched professional wrestling. Due to amazing advances in computer storage capacity I was able to have the entirety of the internet at my fingertips even though my communications with the earth were terminated. I would not, unfortunately, be able to receive any new information placed on the internet since my communication with earth ceased. The touch screen wall of the room changed as I heard my voice shout out reflexively “Play the Undertaker match from Hell in a Cell 1998.” I found myself suddenly immersed in a screaming crowd, where a seven-foot giant of a man was about to toss his seemingly lifeless opponent twenty feet to his demise. The wretched opponent fell to the earth demoralized as the crowd erupted. I felt normal again.
I started using WWE to self-medicate my depression in college. I started college at Penn State University for aerospace engineering. I was going to change the world. Depression started to set in for me over my coursework. My classes seemed so easy and trivial at the time. I was not making the advancements I wanted to make and was going nowhere near the goals that I set for myself. To combat this I started to spend most of my time in the library by myself, learning on my own. I spent most of my nights that first semester trying to figure out a way to create a power source that would sustain the acceleration of a spaceship for years on end, because I felt that this would be the limiting factor for deep space travel. I thought I was on to something when I imagined a wireless power source at a distance from the ship, very similar to the way the wireless charger worked for my cell phone at the time. But I still had to find a way to create the astounding amount of energy necessary.
My classes were only getting in the way. It was bullshit. I was doing all the work, learning on my own and I had to pay them to get in my way. Just so I could get a piece of paper that said I didn’t fuck up a lot. I was smart, smarter than any of those has-been’s who were my teachers. The thoughts of the injustice of it all often clouded my mind and I began to see what my parents thought of this whole “society” thing. I started to watch some WWE in my apartment to clear my mind. There was/is something about those spandex tights, poor story lines, and terrible acting that captivated me. The melodrama of it all called to me like the pied piper called to his rats. I found that after a small WWE binge I could solve problems that had been plaguing me easily, and my creativity was through the roof. With the help of professional wrestling I began to progress my theories in leaps and bounds, and had almost no time for my school work. I had to drop out, and I did drop out after just a year and a half. There I sat many years later twelve hours deep into a WWE binge with no intentions of stopping, traveling into the future.
To be continued . . .
October 31, 2044 Earth
The clock read 7:55 AM, as I double-checked the wall of endless switches and monitors that covered the inside of my spaceship. I could not concentrate on what I was doing despite the potentially morbid consequences of my lack of focus. This was essentially my funeral – it was a day that I knew, and hoped, would come since I was seven years old. I was an incredibly gifted child if I do say so myself. I could always breeze through math problems that gave others difficulty and my ever expanding interest in all things science put its splendors easily within the reach of my mind. When I was in second grade my teachers implored my parents to move me up to a more difficult grade or at least sign me up for advanced classes. Let’s just say that my parents were not endowed with the same intellectual gifts that I was. My parents were two bleeding heart burnouts, who would not allow me to be brainwashed into placing importance on the things dictated by society. This is why I remained in the second grade. I remember, at times, attempting to hide my intellect from them so they would not think that I was being too absorbed into “the system” that they fought so hard against.There was only so much I could do – my mind was racing in a thousand different directions and on October 15, 2014 at the age of 7, I found my purpose. I was browsing my parents Netflix account as they slept. I typed science into the search bar. My mind was so absorbed with science at the time that I had already read my entire science book cover to cover by the second month of the school year. I was now moving on to documentaries. I moved the curser slowly past a number of movies. Sometimes I think about what would have happened if I didn’t make the random selection that I did. Maybe I would have developed an interest in the subject afterward, as I like to think, but maybe my life would have been a lot god damn better if I would have skipped this movie. The curser landed on Into the Universe with Stephen Hawking. In the next month I watched and re-watched the entire series a total of four times, but one episode piqued my interest more than any other. I watched the episode on time travel every night that month and during the course of my lifetime I must have watched it a couple hundred more times. I used to have dreams of traveling to far off galaxies and planets in a single lifetime, living out sci-fi fiction in real life. When you are 7 years old anything seems possible and I was from a long line of dreamers. I would chase that dream for the rest of my life.
My parents were sobbing, proud but distraught. I knew that this was the last time I was ever going to see them and they knew it too. The image was tough to get out of my mind. I thought of my girlfriend too, a voluptuous blond by the name of Veronica Bosomchest. I could still envision the tears streaking down her face and neck to be swallowed up by the deep ravine of her ample bust. She was inconsolable. I had to bite my lip hard to keep myself together and if there was any time that I ever needed to keep myself together it was now. If time travel was like the movies these goodbyes wouldn’t have been so hard. There would be an old man running around like a lunatic screaming, “Plutonium!” and warning me not to bang my mom. But there was no old man and no one was telling me not to bang my mom. The reality of time travel bordered on melancholy, to say the least. I would be accelerating my space ship for seven and a half continuous years, and at the end of that time the ship would be travelling very near the speed of light. When a person travels near the speed of light, time slows down in the spaceship for reasons that only I and a handful of other human beings can understand. Everything still feels the same on the ship but for each hour that passes on the space ship many more will pass on earth, so many more, in fact, that my family, friends, and even the entire human race, would all perish long before my journey would be complete. Once that space ship took off I would have nowhere and no one to return to. I would be alone, in space, the last of my kind.
“You ready, Terry?” I heard coming from the inside of my helmet.
“I think so.”
“Good luck Terry, we all hope this works.”
“Thanks for the fucking confidence.”
I hastily turned off the speaker in my headphones and initiated the launch sequence. Within moments the ship was moving and I began my travel through time.
8:00 AM October 15, 2047 Earth Time (ET)
I had been traveling on my long tube of a spaceship for three years. The spaceship was similar in size to a fairly large ranch style house but the design was heavily influenced by the principles of aerodynamics for obvious reasons. The ship was equipped with a very advanced gravitational simulator so that I would not float from one end to the other for the rest of my life. The only thing that separated this from a regular house was an enormous pantry at the rear, built to hold 70 years worth of food riddled unrecognizable with preservatives, and the front of the ship that contained an elaborate control panel and a window betraying the fact that I was actually hurtling through space. There was also an exercise room to help me stay in shape but I figured that if I was going to be eating food that was supposed to last for the next 70 years, that the exercise room was not really going to help me all that much. I would spend most of my days back then trying to figure out difficult equations that might help me determine more about the universe, reading, or having video meetings with my mission directors in my living room. I also had the pleasure of having regular video contact with Ms. Bosomchest two times per week, where she would provocatively pretend that she hadn’t forgotten about me yet. I played along with her rouse, and I was well aware of it being a rouse, after all I am the super genius flying through fucking outer space. This day was the day, however, I calculated that my speed would not allow my communications to function properly. I attempted to tune in to my standing appointment with Ms. Bosomchest and my pants were already shortening by about a ½-inch at this point if you know what I mean. I was not surprised when I did not get the pleasure of seeing the bountiful Ms. Bosomchest on the screen as I assumed that I wouldn’t. What did hit me was unexpected.I had prepared for this moment for many years. Even before I ventured onto the spaceship, I knew that this moment of “singularity” as I liked to call it, would come. My chest started to tighten up, it felt like I had a cinderblock on my chest. I could not breath, I sucked desperately at the air and even wondered if the spaceship had been breached. I never had such extreme feelings of anxiety before. I was able to slow my breathing after about ten minutes or so before the panic attack finally subsided. I felt totally drained. I sat there in a living room that looked no different than any other living room on earth, condemned to a life of solitude. I was too distraught to finish my calculations for the day or do any reading, so I did what I always did when depression set in. I watched professional wrestling. Due to amazing advances in computer storage capacity I was able to have the entirety of the internet at my fingertips even though my communications with the earth were terminated. I would not, unfortunately, be able to receive any new information placed on the internet since my communication with earth ceased. The touch screen wall of the room changed as I heard my voice shout out reflexively “Play the Undertaker match from Hell in a Cell 1998.” I found myself suddenly immersed in a screaming crowd, where a seven-foot giant of a man was about to toss his seemingly lifeless opponent twenty feet to his demise. The wretched opponent fell to the earth demoralized as the crowd erupted. I felt normal again.
I started using WWE to self-medicate my depression in college. I started college at Penn State University for aerospace engineering. I was going to change the world. Depression started to set in for me over my coursework. My classes seemed so easy and trivial at the time. I was not making the advancements I wanted to make and was going nowhere near the goals that I set for myself. To combat this I started to spend most of my time in the library by myself, learning on my own. I spent most of my nights that first semester trying to figure out a way to create a power source that would sustain the acceleration of a spaceship for years on end, because I felt that this would be the limiting factor for deep space travel. I thought I was on to something when I imagined a wireless power source at a distance from the ship, very similar to the way the wireless charger worked for my cell phone at the time. But I still had to find a way to create the astounding amount of energy necessary.
My classes were only getting in the way. It was bullshit. I was doing all the work, learning on my own and I had to pay them to get in my way. Just so I could get a piece of paper that said I didn’t fuck up a lot. I was smart, smarter than any of those has-been’s who were my teachers. The thoughts of the injustice of it all often clouded my mind and I began to see what my parents thought of this whole “society” thing. I started to watch some WWE in my apartment to clear my mind. There was/is something about those spandex tights, poor story lines, and terrible acting that captivated me. The melodrama of it all called to me like the pied piper called to his rats. I found that after a small WWE binge I could solve problems that had been plaguing me easily, and my creativity was through the roof. With the help of professional wrestling I began to progress my theories in leaps and bounds, and had almost no time for my school work. I had to drop out, and I did drop out after just a year and a half. There I sat many years later twelve hours deep into a WWE binge with no intentions of stopping, traveling into the future.
To be continued . . .
Wednesday, January 22, 2014
KeyPAP Expressions: A Superfecta of Haikus
by Louis "Satchel" DiFez
Winter Lust
Pulsating, her hands run down
Graze my bulge, Bonair's
6:28 AM
Throne, without a king
Strewn over the clear abyss
Calm thyself. Now, poop.
Feeding Time
The table is set.
Succulent smells fill the air.
Fried shitty foods. PAUNCH.
One Pump
Enter the darkness
Cavernous slit of pleasure
Love explosion . . . moan
Sunday, January 12, 2014
16 BuzzFeed Article Ideas You Never Thought Would Make You LOL
After recently experiencing an alarming rise in blood pressure due to the amount of BuzzFeed links seen popping up on Facebook, Smits finally saw the error of his ways and embraced the new cultural phenomenon. If everyone loves BuzzFeed, it can't be so bad right? So what if it's just a cesspool of stolen images and shallow content, is it illegal to reminisce about your childhood or think cats are cute? I don't think so!
After dedicating several of his precious minutes on Earth studying the content of the popular website's top articles, Smits now believes he has what it takes to become a BuzzFeed "writer." That's right, ye olde readers, a few minutes is all the time it takes to be good at something. Malcolm Gladwell and his 10,000 hours can drink my grundle juice.
KeyPAP encourages our readers to vote for your favorite article idea by writing in the comments section below. If you choose the winning article, Smits will personally deliver you a swift kick to the cunt!
16 Reasons A Show You Watched A Couple Times During Your Childhood But Barely Remember Makes Your Generation Way Better Than The Current Generation
Remember that you enjoyed watching reruns of Growing Pains or Step By Step when you were a little kid? Yeah, those shows were way better than today's shows. I said it, so it's true.
22 Ways Being a [insert common profession here] Makes You Better Than Everyone Else And They Had Better Appreciate You Now
The only thing Facebook-addicted nurses and social workers like more than helping others is making sure everyone knows they're helping others.
25 Sluts You Probably Contracted Syphilis From If You Went to [insert large university here]
Thank you, JuicyCampus
14 Of The Cutest Cat Faces
Sad, happy, confused . . . it doesn't matter, the single female 30 and 40somethings will eat this shit up faster than you can say "spinster."
9 Reasons Why [insert celebrity here] Is Seriously The Best Person Ever
Did you fantasize about thrusting your meat stick through Angelina Jolie's beef curtains when you were a teenager? Did you know she adopted a shit ton of little black babies? She was hot and appears to be a good person based on what Us Weekly writes about her. BEST. PERSON. EVER. Don't worry, I'll be sure to upload every hard nipple/pouty lip photo of her you ever jerked off to.
11 Ways Liking [Insert poular generagtion y children's movie here] Makes You Unique
Remember Toy Story? I fucking loved that movie when I was a kid! Since it was popular and taught us moral lessons which seem to trouble the world now, it makes me super unique. Wait . . . what were those morals again? Let me Google them real quick.
101 Recycled Memes I Found On The Internet But Didn't Cite
I collected every meme my "friends" ever posted on Facebook, and put them into this article. It was a lot of hard work saving each file.
An Elderly Woman Walked Into The Grocery Store To Buy Peanuts, But You'll Never Guess What Happened Next
Hinting at an ironic twist? Check. It doesn't even matter what happened next. She could have just paid for the peanuts and walked out of the store. As long as you get a picture of an old broad with a bag of peanuts in her hands and post the link on Facebook, we get more traffic. That's all that really matters in the end. Gotta pay the bills, homeboy.
69 Of The [Greatest or Worst] Things That Could Possibly Happen to a[Teen/20something/30something] from [insert state or city here]
Are you a 19 year old dude who grew up in Pittsburgh? What if they made the Squirrel Hill Tunnel a couple feet wider so that every shitty motorist on the Parkway didn't get claustrophobia at the tunnel approach and slam on their breaks . . . wouldn't that be the BEST GOD DAMN THING EVER? Fuck, I'm getting a half-chub just thinking about it.
The Most [Inspirational/Disturbing] Video You'll Ever See About Cat Vaginas
Women love cats and men love vaginas. It's biology, idiot. "But how could a video about cat vaginas be inspirational?" Exactly . . . *click*
500 Cats That Will Make You Go LOLZ
Cat pictures with cute captions that someone else wrote. It's spinster heaven and that lifestyle is totally in these days.
17 Reasons All Men Should Act More Like [insert effeminate, submissive, diffident male character from popular '80s, '90s, or 2000s sitcom]
e.g. Ross or Chandler from Friends, Robert from Everybody Loves Raymond, Carlton from Fresh Prince, Corey from Boy Meets World, etc.
41 Facts About You That Make You Just Fine The Way You Are
Forget that New Year's resolution to lose 20 lbs, don't you know that beauty is on the inside? Also, please don't look at my next article.
The 20 Hottest Actresses Of All Time But Forgot About . . . Until Now
This article doesn't even require a single written word, just stolen pictures of a few actresses showing sideboob or rock hard nips. Genius!
Wow, Just Wow
This is a nauseating phrase parotted by those in exasperation over a controversial topic. If I just use the phrase as the title and put a picture of someone like Barack Obama or Bill O'Reilly in the link, I'll be sure to get like a zillion pageviews!
If You Don't Like This Video You Don't Have A Soul
Everyone wants to be "liked" (lulz). I'll just use a title that plays on their insecurities and link to some emotional video like Kony 2012 or a Dove fat chick commercial.
Thanks for reading, everybody. Let me know which ideas you like best!
After dedicating several of his precious minutes on Earth studying the content of the popular website's top articles, Smits now believes he has what it takes to become a BuzzFeed "writer." That's right, ye olde readers, a few minutes is all the time it takes to be good at something. Malcolm Gladwell and his 10,000 hours can drink my grundle juice.
KeyPAP encourages our readers to vote for your favorite article idea by writing in the comments section below. If you choose the winning article, Smits will personally deliver you a swift kick to the cunt!
16 Reasons A Show You Watched A Couple Times During Your Childhood But Barely Remember Makes Your Generation Way Better Than The Current Generation
Remember that you enjoyed watching reruns of Growing Pains or Step By Step when you were a little kid? Yeah, those shows were way better than today's shows. I said it, so it's true.
22 Ways Being a [insert common profession here] Makes You Better Than Everyone Else And They Had Better Appreciate You Now
The only thing Facebook-addicted nurses and social workers like more than helping others is making sure everyone knows they're helping others.
25 Sluts You Probably Contracted Syphilis From If You Went to [insert large university here]
Thank you, JuicyCampus
14 Of The Cutest Cat Faces
Sad, happy, confused . . . it doesn't matter, the single female 30 and 40somethings will eat this shit up faster than you can say "spinster."
9 Reasons Why [insert celebrity here] Is Seriously The Best Person Ever
Did you fantasize about thrusting your meat stick through Angelina Jolie's beef curtains when you were a teenager? Did you know she adopted a shit ton of little black babies? She was hot and appears to be a good person based on what Us Weekly writes about her. BEST. PERSON. EVER. Don't worry, I'll be sure to upload every hard nipple/pouty lip photo of her you ever jerked off to.
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| It's working isn't it? |
11 Ways Liking [Insert poular generagtion y children's movie here] Makes You Unique
Remember Toy Story? I fucking loved that movie when I was a kid! Since it was popular and taught us moral lessons which seem to trouble the world now, it makes me super unique. Wait . . . what were those morals again? Let me Google them real quick.
101 Recycled Memes I Found On The Internet But Didn't Cite
I collected every meme my "friends" ever posted on Facebook, and put them into this article. It was a lot of hard work saving each file.
An Elderly Woman Walked Into The Grocery Store To Buy Peanuts, But You'll Never Guess What Happened Next
Hinting at an ironic twist? Check. It doesn't even matter what happened next. She could have just paid for the peanuts and walked out of the store. As long as you get a picture of an old broad with a bag of peanuts in her hands and post the link on Facebook, we get more traffic. That's all that really matters in the end. Gotta pay the bills, homeboy.
69 Of The [Greatest or Worst] Things That Could Possibly Happen to a[Teen/20something/30something] from [insert state or city here]
Are you a 19 year old dude who grew up in Pittsburgh? What if they made the Squirrel Hill Tunnel a couple feet wider so that every shitty motorist on the Parkway didn't get claustrophobia at the tunnel approach and slam on their breaks . . . wouldn't that be the BEST GOD DAMN THING EVER? Fuck, I'm getting a half-chub just thinking about it.
The Most [Inspirational/Disturbing] Video You'll Ever See About Cat Vaginas
Women love cats and men love vaginas. It's biology, idiot. "But how could a video about cat vaginas be inspirational?" Exactly . . . *click*
500 Cats That Will Make You Go LOLZ
Cat pictures with cute captions that someone else wrote. It's spinster heaven and that lifestyle is totally in these days.
17 Reasons All Men Should Act More Like [insert effeminate, submissive, diffident male character from popular '80s, '90s, or 2000s sitcom]
e.g. Ross or Chandler from Friends, Robert from Everybody Loves Raymond, Carlton from Fresh Prince, Corey from Boy Meets World, etc.
41 Facts About You That Make You Just Fine The Way You Are
Forget that New Year's resolution to lose 20 lbs, don't you know that beauty is on the inside? Also, please don't look at my next article.
The 20 Hottest Actresses Of All Time But Forgot About . . . Until Now
This article doesn't even require a single written word, just stolen pictures of a few actresses showing sideboob or rock hard nips. Genius!
Wow, Just Wow
This is a nauseating phrase parotted by those in exasperation over a controversial topic. If I just use the phrase as the title and put a picture of someone like Barack Obama or Bill O'Reilly in the link, I'll be sure to get like a zillion pageviews!
If You Don't Like This Video You Don't Have A Soul
Everyone wants to be "liked" (lulz). I'll just use a title that plays on their insecurities and link to some emotional video like Kony 2012 or a Dove fat chick commercial.
Thanks for reading, everybody. Let me know which ideas you like best!
Friday, January 3, 2014
KeyPAP Perspectives: Milk Is Weird
by Dr. David Funk
In this edition of the KeyPAP perspective series we will be taking a closer look at Milk, and I will show you why milk is in fact, Weird. Unfortunately for our regular readers across the globe I will be restraining myself, with no small effort, from using the salty language that you all are accustomed to. For this I apologize, but I feel that this message must be suitable for the masses. As for why salty language is not suitable for the masses, well that is a topic for future perspective series articles, but I digress.
Many young children have been encouraged to drink their milk regularly so that they will grow big and strong. Regular Milk consumption has been encouraged to help form strong bones. In practice, however, it has been observed that not only is milk bad for your bones, and a poor source of calcium for the body, but that it may actually increase your risk of fracture. That, of course, is not what this article is about. If you would like to learn more about why milk may be detrimental to your health then click here. This article will be focused on the less important yet more entertaining issue of how weird milk is and why everyone ignores it.
The first point I would like to make against cow’s milk is that this is what a cow looks like:
It is truly a filthy disgusting animal. When most people think about cows they think of the black and white cartoon drawing of a cow on their milk carton. It is some abstract thought that they associate with milk, like a logo. A cow is not a logo, it is a real, huge, smelly, gross animal with machines sucking liquid out of a smelly swollen veiny pouch between its legs. That should be enough to help you understand that milk is weird but I shall continue.
Milk itself is not weird when used for its real purpose. When babies drink their mother’s milk it’s awesome. The mother produces the perfect food to help her baby grow, a food completely designed for babies with the perfect amount of nutrients, immune boosting bacteria, and the like. It’s really incredible. What blows my mind is that people, at some point, decided that we should start drinking cow milk, designed for baby cows. This must have seemed preposterous the first time someone drank it. I have to believe it was in some sort of survival scenario. Over the years it seems that humans have not even made a valid attempt to make milk any less weird. It’s stored in a waxy cardboard box for god’s sake. Even crazier is the fact that human milk is now considered more disgusting than cow’s milk. Think about it, if you let your child go over to his friend’s house and his father said, “well for breakfast we gave them some cheerios with some organic breast milk” I think that father would probably have charges pressed against him. He would be considered a sociopath if not a borderline criminal because he offered your child milk from a human instead of a fat corn fed anonymous cow from god knows where.
Do you know where human milk comes from? It comes from the most publicized, shown off, and obsessed-over part of the female body. But it is somehow considered disgusting to the general public (to be clear, I am not in favor of drinking breast milk as an adult; I’m just highlighting the fact that it should definitely seem less weird than drinking cow’s milk). I dare you to go to a farm, find a cow, take a big whiff of its essence, and look it straight in the udders. Then say, "I’d like to drink whatever liquid leaks out of that!" Now human milk is for babies and jokes in movies. I saw a movie where a man drinks breast milk by accident and in the TV version of the movie that part was cut out! He drank it from a glass and all they did was say it was breast milk and they cut it from the movie. Hypocritical? Maybe if you have ever seen a commercial with The Rock's upper lip smeared with the remnants of whole milk or watched an Indianapolis 500.
In conclusion I hope that you have come to understand that cow’s milk is weird and that no human should ever drink it. I would be lying if I told you that I am never going to drink cow’s milk again, but I will at least feel ashamed of myself when I do. And that, I think, is better.
In this edition of the KeyPAP perspective series we will be taking a closer look at Milk, and I will show you why milk is in fact, Weird. Unfortunately for our regular readers across the globe I will be restraining myself, with no small effort, from using the salty language that you all are accustomed to. For this I apologize, but I feel that this message must be suitable for the masses. As for why salty language is not suitable for the masses, well that is a topic for future perspective series articles, but I digress.
Many young children have been encouraged to drink their milk regularly so that they will grow big and strong. Regular Milk consumption has been encouraged to help form strong bones. In practice, however, it has been observed that not only is milk bad for your bones, and a poor source of calcium for the body, but that it may actually increase your risk of fracture. That, of course, is not what this article is about. If you would like to learn more about why milk may be detrimental to your health then click here. This article will be focused on the less important yet more entertaining issue of how weird milk is and why everyone ignores it.
The first point I would like to make against cow’s milk is that this is what a cow looks like:
It is truly a filthy disgusting animal. When most people think about cows they think of the black and white cartoon drawing of a cow on their milk carton. It is some abstract thought that they associate with milk, like a logo. A cow is not a logo, it is a real, huge, smelly, gross animal with machines sucking liquid out of a smelly swollen veiny pouch between its legs. That should be enough to help you understand that milk is weird but I shall continue.
Milk itself is not weird when used for its real purpose. When babies drink their mother’s milk it’s awesome. The mother produces the perfect food to help her baby grow, a food completely designed for babies with the perfect amount of nutrients, immune boosting bacteria, and the like. It’s really incredible. What blows my mind is that people, at some point, decided that we should start drinking cow milk, designed for baby cows. This must have seemed preposterous the first time someone drank it. I have to believe it was in some sort of survival scenario. Over the years it seems that humans have not even made a valid attempt to make milk any less weird. It’s stored in a waxy cardboard box for god’s sake. Even crazier is the fact that human milk is now considered more disgusting than cow’s milk. Think about it, if you let your child go over to his friend’s house and his father said, “well for breakfast we gave them some cheerios with some organic breast milk” I think that father would probably have charges pressed against him. He would be considered a sociopath if not a borderline criminal because he offered your child milk from a human instead of a fat corn fed anonymous cow from god knows where.
Do you know where human milk comes from? It comes from the most publicized, shown off, and obsessed-over part of the female body. But it is somehow considered disgusting to the general public (to be clear, I am not in favor of drinking breast milk as an adult; I’m just highlighting the fact that it should definitely seem less weird than drinking cow’s milk). I dare you to go to a farm, find a cow, take a big whiff of its essence, and look it straight in the udders. Then say, "I’d like to drink whatever liquid leaks out of that!" Now human milk is for babies and jokes in movies. I saw a movie where a man drinks breast milk by accident and in the TV version of the movie that part was cut out! He drank it from a glass and all they did was say it was breast milk and they cut it from the movie. Hypocritical? Maybe if you have ever seen a commercial with The Rock's upper lip smeared with the remnants of whole milk or watched an Indianapolis 500.
In conclusion I hope that you have come to understand that cow’s milk is weird and that no human should ever drink it. I would be lying if I told you that I am never going to drink cow’s milk again, but I will at least feel ashamed of myself when I do. And that, I think, is better.
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