Sunday, March 27, 2011

Lame

   As with all conversations involving siblings, I have been called many things. The top two being homosexual - fashioned tactlessly by at least one brother - and lame - which is wielded by both my sister, and strangely enough my mother (I say strangely because she is actually lame. Like can't move. Irony.)
   Now, both of these claims are just plain incorrect. I have been known to be attracted to females, and also have been seen with at least one on several occasions. Besides, I have terrible sense of interior design.

   For example.

   More importantly however, I am most certainly not lame. I am, as they say on the streets, the "Coolest Cat on the block." Although I'm uncertain of the spelling of 'cat in that phrase - 'cat' or 'kat' - I'm totally certain it's totally true. I am publicly known for doing many things, like crime fight, crime start, and dragon-slaying, none of which are uninteresting hobbies


   Poser.

   If you are amongst the most privileged people that do know me, you fully understand the words that I have written; you know that with the most indomitable, undeniable and non-ignorable attitude, the world bends to my will. and if you disagree with that, you can at least agree that it throws me a bone on a regular basis. I would say that, if I am anything, I am an evolving human, having my psyche and spirit mesh and mold in tune with the cosmos, and becoming nothing but a winful being, one of good - nay - great fortune.



   Yet another poser. (That's right, I'm better then you Sheen!)


   I'm especially more interesting then this thing.

   Just show you I'm not at all lame, watch the following video. This was based on the true story of my non-lame-itude.



   That is how I my Mondays roll.


   

Saturday, March 19, 2011

Crazy

   This is kind of short post this week, as I make a response to those that have been talking about my sanity - or my supposed lack thereof. First off, I would like state that being ‘crazy’ these days is rather underwhelming. To call someone crazy doesn’t really convey any real sense of pure impulsiveness or a lack of sanity. I mean, you could go to just about any college party, and see that one guy that everyone says is crazy; “Dude, he’s so crazy, he did keg stand and held it all by himself for thirty seconds! Righteous!”

   That person isn’t crazy, he is a leading candidate for psoriasis.

   Now, I have never been that guy. I may be known for threatening a friend’s family and home, but what’s a little fear between friends? I mean,  I’m certain that you all have that one friend that you have threatened with murder at least once. Maybe even twice.

   Along with the ’being crazy’ thing, I have also received several claims that state I am some form of lunatic. After hearing this, I began to think about what it means to really be a lunatic. I mean, I wanted to out some historic background to the word. Really give it a face.


   This face maybe?

   Or this?

   I really got into the word. I wanted to know if there was any chance I actually was a lunatic. I mean, it couldn’t be too bad - the word sounds kind of fun - Lunatic. HA! So, I researched the roots of it, really examining what it meant and where the word came from. Moonstruck and one under the influence of the moon were some of the biggest points I gathered. And suddenly, it hit me; my last name was the key. 

   Lopez is a Spanish surname, which has roots in the word Lupus, which is wolf. Wolf as a word has root in Luna, which means moon or one of the moon. Thus, the accusation was correct, but not in the way that one would suspect. I am a lunatic. My family members are lunatics. My ancestors are lunatics, and they named themselves. So, I thank the people that claim me such - you have inadvertently rationalized my place in my own family tree.

   (Note: A wolf is NOT a bear)



   This guy doesn't count though, mostly because he looks like he doesn't have the pack mentality.

   Since this realization, I now understand that today usage of the word ‘lunatic’ and it being used that same as ‘crazy’ is completely wrong. By calling someone a lunatic, you are just equating that person to me and my family. Please don’t do that without our consent - we don’t random people showing up to our family reunions. As for the crazy thing, well, you must have some form of hard evidence to prove this beyond a claim to lunacy, which is mine by birthright. 

   Like I said, what’s a threat of arson between friends, right? It’s not insanity, it’s a nice, warm, elevated form of expressed friendship.


   Right, friends?

Sunday, March 13, 2011

A Role Model

   So, I recently become employed, the job consisting of me assisting several authority figures and being around small to teen-aged children. Because of the children, I was told to attend an hour long orientation, so to show my employers that i would not do bad things, such as touch said small children, nor be a tempting piece of meat to the older, middle school, bitchy children.
   While I knew the closest thing to physical contact I would ever give a child under the age of ten is a swift kick to their whiny ass, it is understandable why this orientation was happening; the term "soft as a baby's bottom" loses its worth when you're supposed to teach babies. However, one of the many simple rules immediately ruled me out as a competent employee. 

   "Be a role model for the children. Let them see you and want to say 'I want to be him/her when I grow up.'" After hearing that, I began to reflect upon myself, asking what kind of person I am.


   I immediately realized I was disqualified from the job. Whether my employer knew it or not.

   I have been called a leader, role model, good influence, etc, by several parents and authority figures. As much as that is supposed to be a compliment, all that proves is that parents never talked to their child(s) about me and the dumb things I am known to regularly do. I am not a role model, nor should I be treated as a model for one's lifestyle. 

   One key point behind this argument is a phrase that is regularly used within my own home - as any new readers will eventually realize, my family are bad people - "Full Bore, or No Bore! None of that T-Bore Shit!" Now, some (few) have spent ten of minutes trying to unpack and understand said phrase, but only a choice (dumb - correction, cursed) sum have actually come to a full understanding of it. It means all or nothing, a full and unquestioning sacrifice, for better or worse, to the goal ahead of you. Even if you really, really, don't need to take on the task, or even have the ability to take the time to think it out, you just do, and don't (can't) stop until you win it the challenge makes a bitch of you. In fact, I think - I don't know - that the whole 'T - Bore' part means don't think.

   Yup, you don't think about charging at this thing when it's moving at you full speed. You just hope that you can stop it despite when someone says you can't. Or, more annoyingly, that 'you won't' be able to stop it. It is that lack of faith that's disturbing.


   Above is an example of 'No Bore.' Pathetic.


   Above is a great example of someone being 'Full Bore' when crossing the street. Not Pathetic.

   Needless to say, that isn't the kind of thinking that should be allowed near children of an impressionable age. Unless the parents of said children want their kid(s) to be actually awesome, no parent would want my kind of influence over their respective children.

    By the time I walked out of my orientation, work approved and ready for what assignment they give me, I also realized how much I would never be that much needed role model. That and how much a Gin and Tonic would be tasty, but that realization did nothing to help my cause. 


   Note: Pictured above is the real reason teacher's have a special 'teacher's' edition of your textbook. Timmy found alcoholism too soon because of this. My bad.

Saturday, March 5, 2011

A Bear

So, the basic premise of this blog is to give the populace a greater understanding of what I am by determining what I am not. I hope this initial post is as entertaining to read as it was for me to write.

   For some odd reason, there has been a sudden upsurge of people considering me to be a bear. Honestly, I don't know how it has grown so out of control, but I am here to prove once and for all that among all things that I am not, a bear is at the top of the list.

   Let's look at some facts. First and foremost, I am totally not genetically related to them, for they are within the following nomenclature:
Kingdom - Animalia
Phylum - Chordata
Class - Mammalia
Order - Carnivora
Family- Caniformia
Genus- Ursidae

   While I, a human being, have a differing nomenclature starting at the Order classification. I am derived from Primates. Not some… well, bear.

   This is the evolutionary process my ancestors went through.

   Besides, scientifically speaking bears are more related to Pinnipeds - fin-footed mammals. Fucking seals, man. There's no possible way I'm related to a seal. I mean, I’ve threatened to club so many of them, I’m pretty sure I’m on whatever the sea-lion equivalent of America’s Most Wanted. I’m at least on some walrus’s watch list.

   If that is not sufficient enough proof, let’s look at the following dietary facts.


   Above, you will see my most favorite of favorite foods, the magnificent pie. It is my belief - and hopefully yours too - that this sweet baked ambrosia can cure anyone of any aliment when ingested in the appropriate amounts. In fact, human kind can be completely sustained by pie and pie-based foods. Wars could be abated by the crusty hands of divine dessert, this perfect pastry.


   Meanwhile,bears eat the following:

 




   My diet however, consists of the following:






      


                          +

   Now, while there are some very, very basic similarities in the diet, they should be overshadowed by the glaring differences. Note that I do not eat twigs and, if possible, would rather enjoy my baby in a pie format.

   If that has proved nothing, allow me to move on to seasonal habits. Being in Upstate New York, I realize that there are five seasons: Summer, Ball Sweat Summer, Pre-Winter, Ball Hurt Winter, and then finally Post-Winter. Now, a bear - which I am not - goes through a hibernation-like state during the winter. As you may be able to tell, it is still very much so winter, and I have definitely written this. I am not asleep. I am quite awake. I may nap, but who won’t or already hasn’t napped today? Either way, I do not hibernate, nor do I enter a hibernation mode during the winter months.

   More importantly is the preface to any kind of hibernation bears enter. You see, bears have this tendency to start stocking up on high-fiber foods, such as grass, twigs, leaves, and several other things that one kid in first grade ate for a nickel. This is to help "plug up" the digestive track, allowing more time to less, without the interruption of excrement. Needless to say, if I were to put myself through anything like that, my Pre-Winter season would lose a lot of the precious writing in the restroom time, where many of my better ideas are born. Although I never have had an enema, I wouldn't 'sticks and twigs' to be the medical reason I'd get my first.

   If that has done nothing to sway you, let’s look at some basic anatomy.

   This is a bear.
    Vicious.

   This is my basic anatomy.



   Well, that's at least the sign I look for when I need to use the restroom.

   I have hair. Hair does not mean fur. I don’t even have claws. Though claws would be pretty sweet; along with wings and a prehensile tail, but I have none of those things. And before the argument is proposed, The following are completely mathematically sound:

This



                                      =/= This :








The bear does not equal the male figure. See below for further proof.

                      


                             =/=




(As a note, the person pictured there is not me either, but I'll discuss that in a future post. (He and I do share the same name though, so it still counts. (sort of.)))

And finally, not only am I not this bear:


But, I am certainly not a Pokemon bear. Most definitely not.

If my well researched, highly empirical proof has not shown my total and complete lack of bear-hood, I’m certain nothing will. However, to those of you that have finally seen the error of your way, you are forgiven. Just don’t let it happen again.