The wonders of Xbox Live account creation

(I wrote this in the summer of 2010, so Halo 3 is long gone for me, as well as the account I made. Just FYI.)


So, I play Halo a bunch, mainly Halo 3 multiplayer, though I haven't been playing very much recently. You see, Halo and I have an off and on relationship. Sometimes it will entertain me and keep me happy for a couple months, then other times, it bores me. Now is one of the latter times. Turning on my console and actually having to try against my opponents, while my teammates are either beating their controllers to death with hammers or trying to eat them, is not my idea of fun.



You paid for a subscription to stand still and lose constantly... Cool!



I was taking a break from Halo for awhile, and decided to buy Team Fortress 2 for a friend so we could play that sexy ass game together. Sadly I realized too late that my computer is a useless bucket of asscrack and has randomly decided not to run the game properly anymore, despite running it flawlessly only days ago, so I can't play with him until I fix this fucking garbage for the ninth time (I've been counting). But for my generosity, my friend paid me back with a subscription for a three month account on xbox live. I can't game on the PC for awhile so I said, "Fuck it, might as well play Halo." So here I am making a new account.

Getting a new account on xbox live is wonderful. Instead of actually having to concentrate somewhat and strain my genius brain while I'm playing, I can fire up my xbox anytime I want and play against people who have no idea what they're doing. Actually it's less "playing against" and more along the lines of a complete ass kicking. Mowing down an entire team is a great stress reliever. There's something disquietingly satisfying about completely outclassing someone and ruining their day online. I don't get a lot of opportunities to be cool.

The only problem is actually getting there. At least it was today. I've never had any problems with account creation until today. Microsoft lead me into a false sense of security, then struck with increasingly bizarre and creepy methods.

　
My gamertag is available, but isn't...
First I check to see if the gamertag I want is taken. I go to the xbox website and Bungie, do a search, nothing comes up. Excellent. I begin making my account. First, you need an e-mail address to sign up for xbox live. I made one prior to this stage, so I was well prepared. I typed it in, thinking of all the extremely loud, stupid children I would soon have ready access to slap around (which would be worrisome on a medium besides the xbox), but was told my e-mail address was invalid. No spelling mistakes, nothing wrong with my password, but my credentials were invalid. What the fuck does that mean? Is my name and birth date unacceptable or something? Granted, I sign up for just about everything as Antonio Banderas, so I guess that could raise some questions.

I shrugged it off, made a new e-mail account and started making the account again. Having now put the previous incident behind me, I was punching in my account anxiously. It worked, and it was now time for me to join xbox live. "Cannot create windows live ID." That message was more confusing than a woman giving birth to a bucket of icecream. I cannot create a windows live ID, when I just punched a valid one in? What the balls is this?

So I made a third e-mail account, this time imagining putting an axe through my television if this one didn't work. Magically it worked, after I somehow managed to make THE EXACT SAME E-MAIL ADDRESS. How does that even make sense? Whatever, I'm getting the account, it doesn't matter. I type in my desired gamertag, only to see this message: "The gamertag you have chosen is already in use on xbox live."

Now you're just being a dick, Microsoft. You too, Bungie. You bastards must have lied to me over your website, then you paid someone to make my account during your absurd account creation process. Thankfully you're all bitches and are unaware that the lower case "L" looks exactly the same as a capital "i", so I was still able to get my gamertag, more or less. Suck it, losers.

　
Invalid existence and code
I could stomach the multiple invalid e-mail addresses, then things just started getting weird. Remember earlier when I jokingly asked if my age and name were unacceptable? Turns out that was actually a valid question, and Microsoft's reply was, "Haha, fuck you." So I just finish punching in my gamertag, and for some reason I'm asked to supply my age again. I type it in and was promptly rejected by xbox live for having an invalid age. I'm not even kidding. Invalid age. How can that be? 21 isn't an invalid age, it's a real number. I'm certain I'm old enough to join xbox live when there's 12 year old children who can join. I decided to type my date of birth in again, the exact same way, and it worked.

My xbox accepting the validity of my age coincided with the arrival of the icecream man driving slowly down my street. I dared not look out the window for fear of seeing a giant serpent driving a little yellow buggy, staring back at me with red, empty eyes. Ok, so my xbox is haunted. Whatever, I've made peace with that, I'm still getting my account, goddamnit. At long last I begin punching in the subscription code, which is a tedious 25 characters long.

"This code is invalid."

Xbox is kind enough to delete the code when it fails, so I had to type it in again just to see if I made any errors, only to have it flash the invalid message again. What happened afterwards is a matter with the proper authorities, but it's possible that I might have strangled several children to death and committed arson. It's a little blurry.

I eventually did get the account to work, which meant I had to go through the entire subscription process again. What was really creepy is that everytime I repeated the process, I was given a completely different starting screen each time. It made no sense. Then when I finally did punch in the code, I was taken to another screen and had to give more of my information to xbox, some of which was frighteningly personal. Stuff like my name and age. Again. You motherfuckers, Microsoft.

Oh, and the problem with the code was the very last digit. A "B" that looked exactly like an 8. So not only did Microsoft creep the ever-loving shit out of me, but kind of made me hate myself. I say "kind of" because the subscription codes are always so fucking small and the font looks like if I tried to write with my left hand after leaving it in the freezer for several hours. But it's all over now, and now I'm going to play the shit out of Halo. If you decide to play on xbox live and get your shit handed to you by "i iove Sushi", I say you send that person hateful messages, because I have no idea who that is. The type of person who delights in making your online experience miserable and humiliating, that's terrible.

The bathroom in Earls Restaurant is retarded

I miss being a kid. Everything during those years of my life was powered by simplicity, naivety, or sometimes a complete disregard for my well being, but that's a different story. Earls was very simple when I was a kid. It was a restaurant populated by giant women with enormous boobies who would bring me chocolate milk, and I seriously thought it was the only place on the planet that sold chicken fingers and fries. Not much has changed over the years. The women at Earls still have boobies big enough to lose your pet gerbil in, and they still bring me chocolate milk, which eventually makes me pee. My relationship with Earls has never fluctuated until recently when I had to use the bathroom there. Now it's like if Oprah suddenly grew a dick on her forehead. You just couldn't look at her the same way ever again.

I never realized this until I found myself in the bathroom at Earls, but I seriously never use public bathrooms. Ever. It's not simply because most public bathrooms have poop splattered on the wall opposite of the toilets, or because I hate it when there are at least five to ten free urinals, and some guy decides to use the one directly beside me, I just never have to pee or go number two when I'm out in public. No, that delight is usually reserved for my brother's bathroom in the basement. But this trip to Earls was different, it couldn't be avoided. Why you ask? I caught a stomach bug a couple weeks ago and I've been taking frighteningly huge shits ever since, at least two or three times a day. Big, loud, stinky ass bowl fillers. If you'd like a mental picture, the next time you go to the bathroom, imagine an upside down giant jellyfish in your toilet:

So I'm with my girlfriend one night, which is as much uncommon as it is weird, because I spend all my time listening to Led Zeppelin and eating. I'm not sure how she fits into my life exactly, although this does provide an explanation as to who keeps making out with me and massaging my feet while I play videogames. I don't know too much about her, but apparently she gets hungry sometimes. I know, I think it sounds made up too, but in any event, common etiquette dictates that I'm obliged to feed her. The thing is, common etiquette to me is kicking my neighbour's cat into a tree, so this particular day I was like, "Fuck it, let's go to Earls." So we find ourselves in the restaurant when my ass feels like it's on the verge of opening a vent to hell, so I head for the bathroom. The problems with the bathroom presented themselves immediately, before I even stepped foot inside it. Also, before you ask, my girlfriend is with me purely for my charm.

First of all, I couldn't find the damn thing. I knew what general direction to go in, namely towards the sign that said "Washrooms", but as I rounded the corner, I found myself staring directly into the kitchen. I paused for a moment after the entire kitchen staff stopped what they were doing to look at me, like I'd crossed some sort of forbidden boundary, when I noticed some stairs leading to the basement. I looked over at a server just to make sure, and she reassured me in her forced annoying squeak voice that I was actually headed to the bathroom. She sounded like she was trying to talk after just eating a lemon while sitting on a cold toilet seat, or attempting to communicate with a squirrel. I wanted to tell her how creepy and unnecessary that voice was, but my ass was in DEFCON 1, so I darted down those stairs as fast as I could.

The journey took a little longer than I expected because I was walking in that awkward about-to-take-a-shit way that looks like you're trying to walk in a potato sack, but when I finally reached the bottom of the stairs, suddenly everything got cold. On reflection this was probably because I was in the basement, but the tiny lobby I was standing in gave this inscrutable feeling of unease, and this feeling of being utterly alone like suddenly waking up in Silent Hill. To my left was two doors, one unmarked and the other a janitors closet. I stared at both half expecting to hear someone whispering "help me" just before the door knobs started shaking and the walls started bleeding. Thankfully they didn't.

At last I made it to the bathroom. The only trick now was to actually get inside. I've never considered opening a door to be a difficult task before, but the door leading inside was like the fucking gates of Minas Tirith. I started kicking the heavy ass thing to try and get it open, half expecting to hear cheers of relief from anyone clearly trapped inside. At that moment I realized I was sweating profusely, likely from the enormous strain of keeping my ass clenched tighter than a snare drum to contain armageddon for a few moments longer. When I finally did get the door open and stepped inside, it was like a gateway to another dimension. As soon as it shut, two things occured to me. First, the room was completely sound proof, meaning the people in the restaurant above would mostly be spared from the forthcoming onslaught, and secondly, oh fuck, am I going to be able to get out of here?

After that I noticed there was only two stalls, meaning Earls clearly underestimates how badly their food makes people have to shit, and a single urinal. What the fuck is the point of having only one urinal? So the guy waiting behind me can pee on my leg or in my cupped hands? Great thinking, Earls. Although there was a garbage can conveniently placed right beside the urinal, which could serve as an effective urinal in desperate situations. But I wasn't there to shit in the urinal as some people do, I was there to melt a toilet bowl, so I looked to the stalls. I still wasn't sure if there was actually someone in the bathroom with me, or as I would have called him, my unfortunate poopmate. Both of the stall doors were closed, but they were so ridiculously low to the ground I couldn't see underneath them, so I was in the awkward situation where you're not sure if you should knock on the door, or bend over until you see a pair of shoes or a stream of piss that's suspiciously missing the toilet. I looked underneath because I have no shame and saw nothing, so I walked into a stall.

As I mentioned before, the door was very low to the ground, which makes those stalls an ideal fall out shelter for a zombie apocalypse (I think), or more realistically, ensures that some asshole won't lock them from the inside and crawl back out with his dignity intact. The door was also the size of the door leading inside the bathroom itself, so it was nice knowing that unless someone was extremely determined to see my half naked ass, that is, willing to smuggle a trampoline into the bathroom, no one was going to look over the wall. But if someone or some thing casually did, at least I'd know for sure I was going to die. It was at this point that I finally looked at the toilet.

The bowl itself was moderately sized. Small enough to ensure that your ass won't gradually sink in, but if you got an erection it would most certainly touch the cold inside of the bowl, which feels weird. Never go poop when you have a boner, ladies. Anyway, it was almost as low to the ground as the stall door, so who ever designed that bathroom has somehow managed to go his or her whole life without taking a shit. As soon as you sit down your knees are practically right up to your face, so if you happen to squeeze hard enough you'll end up peeing on your own chin. But before I sat down I looked inside the bowl, because that's just what you're supposed to do, and I saw a tiny puddle of water at the bottom. At first I was pleased that water wouldn't splash up on my balls, but then I wondered how this toilet was going to survive. I took comfort in the fact that I wouldn't have to deal with it, so I sat down.

The massacre that took place immediately afterwards was I'm sure responsible for the death of at least one person by radiation poisoning. Either the next person to use the bathroom (at this point it could have been considered a bog), or the person who was forced to clean it. They say second hand smoke is deadly, but the stink that my ass produced was unlike anything I've ever imagined. I wasn't aware my body was capable of something so horrifying. The stench could have choked a full grown horse to death. I'd be very surprised if the bathroom wasn't excavated at least 50 feet deep then filled with cement to ensure that nothing could rise from that accursed land. I began to worry at some point if I could be criminally charged for disturbing the peace or extensive property damage.

The initial fart was so mighty it was like the coming of rapture. Somehow I managed to bring the tiny puddle of water in the bowl high enough to splash my balls after all, and dramatically raise the temperature as well. The colossal force my ass produced may have also created a tiny wave pool at the bottom of the bowl. The initial poop was like the Jericho Missile from Iron Man. During the atrocity, I was half expecting someone to come downstairs to check and see what was making the entire restaurant shake, and I was curious if the smell managed to waft up through the ventilation system and started choking the people sitting at the tables directly above me.

After I was done, I looked down to admire my handy work. What I saw is best described as a giant brain made of steaming poop that appeared to be breathing. I laughed like the sick bastard I am then went to wipe my ass. The damn toilet paper holder dispenser thingy was a foot off the ground so I kept on having to reach way underneath it, and because public bathrooms insist on using that thin ass paper which I'm sure is designed purely to get poop on one of your fingers, I kept accidentally tearing off tiny sheets of paper. They always put those things on so fucking tight too, so you end up clawing at this roll of paper like a cat for half a goddamn hour and getting next to nothing. Waiting for a raccoon to run by to wipe your ass with would be more effective.

After that ordeal was over and my butt was nice and clean, it was time to flush. I half expected the toilet to pathetically try and flush all of that terror down the drain then die, like a small child attempting a 500 pound deadlift. This part was so bizarre, frightening and goddamn hilarious all at once. What the toilet did first was push the mound of poop a little higher, effectively smearing it all over the inside of the bowl, but then holy shit bricks did it flush that motherfucker. It flushed the whole thing at once with such force, you could probably flush an xbox down that thing. Of course after that things got far less funny.

Some genius decided it was a good idea for the stall door to open into the stall, but the stall was so damn small I had to back up until I was standing over the toilet (which at this point made me extremely nervous) before I could finally walk out. When I did, I debated whether I should wash my hands or do what I usually do and rub my hands on someone's face and laugh. Just kidding, hygiene is awesome and manly, so I walked over to the sinks. There were two sinks which I guess is an appropriate number for such a small bathroom, but not for an entire restaurant. I have four sinks in my house. Two more men could wash their hands at once in peace on my property (three if you include the garden hose), even if one sink usually has old underwear in it, dead spiders or paint brushes. You suck, Earls.

At first I wanted to complain about the height of the counters, because a man of average height could easily take a piss in one without having to stand on a box or the tips of his toes. But then I realized that this was probably designed with children in mind, which is understandable. Kids are all smelly fuckers, they should learn to wash their nasty ass hands, or just stick to manual labour in cramped spaces. Now, the faucets were controlled by motion sensor. Motion sensors are cool. They let the police know when random people are walking through your home so they can show up and beat them with sticks, and you can understand why public places use them in their bathrooms (so some asshole can't leave the tap on) despite all the inherent problems (do you get hot or cold?). I have no problem with motion sensors, unless they don't fucking work, as was the case with these faucets. You've probably experienced this before. You put your hands under, then about three seconds later the water shuts off, so you wave your hand again to get a couple drips, then it shuts off again, like the tap is just finishing taking a piss. Then you wave your hand again and nothing happens, so you keep waving progressively faster and faster as your rage rises, until it looks like you're furiously masturbating over the sink.

While I was doing this I spotted the paper towel dispenser. The fact that there was only one was stupid, but what made it worth mentioning is that it was in the strangest spot imaginable: directly beside the sink, imbedded in the counter. It wasn't in a case or anything, it was just sitting there. Strange that the designers of that bathroom went to the trouble of preventing anyone beyond the extremely determined from flooding the sinks or pissing on the toilet paper, but someone could easily ruin all the paper towels if they wanted to, and take an upper decker shit I suppose, but that's a different story. Although come to think of it, this does provide an explanation for the pathetic water pressure in those sinks. You'd have to be determined to ruin the paper towels as well. Not as determined as you'd have to be to flood the sinks, mind you, but there would have to be clear intent. Or you'd just have to be a dick.

As I discovered moments later when I reached for a paper towel, the party never stops at Earls. The bundle of paper towels detached itself from the holder and fell into the depths of the counter the second I touched it. I say "depths" because I didn't actually hear a thud when the bundle hit the floor. It's like it fell into an abyss, Gandalf style. I backed away from the counter slowly and looked for something else to dry my hands with. Thankfully there was another hand-drying apparatus at my disposal, also known as a hand dryer. It was controlled by motion sensor as well, but it had no markings telling you where to place your hands to turn it on, so I was awkwardly feeling around this thing with uncertain hands. Wait, was I talking about drying my hands or my first experience with vagina? I can't remember.

Now, I've never had a good experience with a hand dryer before. They either blow boiling steam on your hands or air that's as cold as witch titty, neither of which do a particularly good job of drying your hands, not to mention they're fucking loud. Why do they have to be so fucking loud?! I appreciate approaching a simple task like drying your hands as intensely as possible, but some of us just like having dry hands and having our hearing remain intact. There's a reason why I don't dry my hands by sticking them infront of a jet turbine. Partly because I enjoy hearing things, but mostly because I don't have access to a jet. If I did have access to a jet there would be different things on my mind.

Hand dryers have always been something to be avoided for me, there was no good reason for me to utilize this one, but by this point in time I was fully aware that I wanted to write an article about this bathroom. I knew using the hand dryer would be a painful and demeaning experience, but I'm committed to my writing. I wouldn't have been able to get this far knowing that I didn't exploit every inch of that bathroom, so I waved my hand under that fucker for about ten minutes until it turned on.

Now I've never been in an active warzone before, but I feel the experience of having that dryer turn on is best compared to standing next to a dense cluster of explosives then having it detonate. At least in terms of severe hearing loss and temporary loss of basic motor functions. My limbs remained intact, although I couldn't feel my hands because the air that was just shot at them made it feel like I'd held them in buckets of icecream for several hours. I was sure I remained standing through the ordeal, but I did lose the ability to hear for a brief period of time, and during that time I realized that this would probably contribute very little to this writing, and that I hate myself. Might as well have just used my fucking pants. Also, why the fuck does the garbage can look like a laundry basket?

After I'd managed to open the door that was seemingly glued shut and released the vile stench that was trapped inside with me, I started the faster and far less strenuous journey back upstairs and casually returned to my table, uncertain if the smell of my bathroom excursion was following me around and suffocating everyone around me, like I was a black hole made of fart and everyone around me was too close to the singularity to escape. No one seemed to be passing out on their food though, so I suspect I was ok in the area of smell. Appearance was a different story because according to my girlfriend, I was showing signs of blood poisoning and hypothermia. From her description I seemed to have lost a dramatic amount of weight, I was sweating, I was slightly pale and my hands were extremely cold. I had also suddenly become paranoid of the sound of sirens. We left a few minutes later.

Just to clarify, this bathroom is located in the Earls on the University of Alberta campus. I may not be remembering all of this accurately, so someone should eat there and confirm everything I've written today. I myself plan to just shit on the side of the building on my next visit. Although come to think of it, while I still stand by the title of this writing, the act of discharging waste in public restrooms is kinda fun. I don't know why I've avoided it for so long, I should do it more often, or I could just shit in your bathroom for a nominal fee. It would be a memorable experience for the both of us, plus the exorcist you'll probably need to hire.

7 Positive Strides I Could Have Taken Today, But Didn't

I came across a good quote earlier today: "It does not do to dwell on dreams, you forget how to live." I don't often remember my dreams much less dwell on them, with the exception of that one dream where I was fighting zombies and had a flying rhino, so I completely agree with that quote. It does not do to dwell on dreams. You need a take charge attitude in life. If you want something, you just reach out and grab it, a lesson that could potentially land you a kick to the balls and a jail sentence. But I do believe in taking charge of my life, or at least I did...
　
You see, I had the day off work today, so I planned to seize this day, this opportunity, to take positive strides in my life, to make my life better. Something had definitely lit a fire under my ass, but sadly forgot to fill the cauldron, so I ended up squandering the entire day doing absolutely nothing. It was a little disgusting, to be honest. If only I had been able to summon any enthusiasm today, I could have:
　
7. Went for a bike ride
There are a number of convenient activities that one can engage in to get in shape. You can pick up a sport like soccer, basketball or volleyball where all you have to do is run around and either kick, pound or throw balls. You can also go jogging, which is basically just walking a little faster than normal. At that point you have no excuses for not trying something to get in shape, excusing the generally absurd clothes you have to wear and perhaps extreme allergies. But none of those activities I listed actually matter, because the best one ever is also the one I enjoy the most: biking.
　
This summer it was my intention to make an upstanding effort towards getting in better shape. I'm not a big tub of goo or anything, but the winter usually makes me feel like one. After a few weeks of rigorous biking, I'm happy to report success in my endeavour. After biking every day and eating healthier, I find myself to be more energetic, I'm falling asleep easier, and good god, the shits I'm taking? Terrifying, and strangely buoyant. Now, when you set your mind to something, it's a good idea to keep determined and sternly refuse to flounder. So after playing soccer on sunday and biking on monday, I wanted to keep the streak alive by going for one long ass bike ride this morning.
　
What did I do instead?
I slept in like a goddamn cow, or some other animal that sounds lazy. I slept so well and for so long, I'm pretty sure I could have been pronounced legally dead. The thought of having to get up, put some pants on, make and eat breakfast, brush my teeth, go outside then go biking for a few hours, it was too much. I didn't even get as far as making and eating breakfast. Simply having to put pants on put me off the idea immediately. There was also definitely a point in there somewhere when I scratched my ass.
　

6. Registered for upgrading courses
It's amazing how times and people change. For example, I actually garnered enjoyment from school when I was a kid. I enjoyed going, I enjoyed the atmosphere, and I enjoyed feeling superior to everyone else because I already played three sports, played two instruments, had a mild understanding of C++ and Calculus, and I wrote a book. Granted, it wasn't a very good book, it was based off of my lego creations, but a book nonetheless. Incidentally, I may have also enjoyed cocaine.
　

Cake is awesome too. Just throwing that out there

It was right around the time junior high hit when I started experiencing withdrawal issues at not having recess anymore, and the little hairs manifesting around my nipples were more interesting than school. The math equations at that stage had more than three numbers, and that just didn't fly with me. Then when high school hit, you could have simulated my existence just as well by poorly drawing a face on a plank of wood, much like the rest of the student body, with the exception of people on school teams, those shaved-legged cunts. Well the first two years were fine, I just stopped going in grade 12 because it was a pointless bullshit year.
　
If you're wondering why, well first they wouldn't let me in to two courses despite having the required prerequisites. When I asked why, it was like trying to hold a discussion with a flock of pigeons that'd been huffing nitrous oxide. Then my guitar teacher would leave 10 minutes into the class and never come back, my teacher for another course didn't exist, and finally, my social teacher talked about conspiracy theories every single class instead of teaching the course. He once brought up that fake story about subliminal messages being used in movie theaters, and when the audience was flashed pictures of popcorn, suddenly everyone got hungry or something. I raised my hand and suggested that maybe people just like eating popcorn at movies, then he insulted my heritage infront of the entire class. We were supposed to be studying ideologies... People are so surprised when I tell them that I hate school.
　
But a year and a half after high school, I felt I was ready to finish my courses. I simply had to head into the city to register, and today was the perfect day to do it. It's summer, and it's one of the rare days that it's actually warm, so women walk around in skirts and tan their titties and stuff, it's awesome. Nothing could go wrong.


What did I do instead?
I'm sure it would have been a fulfilling endeavour, but I'm afraid that I was still too busy refusing to leave my bed. You'd think I would be more open to getting up after I farted in my own sheets twice, but my bed was abnormally comfy. It didn't want me to leave. I think it wanted to have sex with me, which is probably the plot to some japanese manga, come to think of it. Or maybe it's because I'm so used to sleeping on tires. Eventually I did get up, and I'm fairly certain that right when the bus that I could have been on was leaving, I was taking a huge piss in my toilet. A frighteningly long one too. I could have drowned my neighbour's annoying cat with my urine. I rationalized this decision later by telling myself that going pee was more fulfilling than getting my life back on track, or rather, unfulfilling! BAH HAHAHAHA! Get it, because I'm peeing? Sorry, I'll stop.


5. Learned how to drive
Driving is an invaluable skill that makes your life more convenient, just slightly ruins the environment, and unintentionally promotes laziness. It's a skill that I probably should have invested time in earlier in life, so that when I eventually charm the right woman with my ceaseless arsenal of stale jokes, I won't have to enlist the services of my mommy to take us to the movies, or take the bus with weird smelling hippies and drunken homeless people. However, for the past few months, I've been studying the driver's handbook relentlessly, dead set on taking and passing the learners exam, perhaps even violating it slightly in the process.
　
I felt I was as prepared as I'm ever going to be, and this morning was a wondrous opportunity to just go in and get it done. I was going to be in the area anyway after registering my courses, why not go for it? That is also question I encourage men to think of while they're making out with sexy ladies, minus the registering courses bit. And when I say that I was in the area, I mean that the registry is literally 30 seconds walking distance from the school, so the only excuse I could have had to skip out on that would be if I got shot or attacked by a mob of women. All signs pointed to yes. If I had opened a fortune cookie, it would have slapped me in the face and screamed, "fuck yeah!" That is the best joke I've come up with today.


What did I do instead?
If you've been paying attention thus far, you may remember how I was going to the bathroom instead of going to school. When the thought of taking the learners exam came into my head, if I remember correctly, that is about when I treated myself to a bowl of cheerios so big, if I had any kind of decency in general, nevermind the decency to share, realistically I could have fed about 10 people. But I didn't. I poured that bowl and shamelessly ate all those sexy cheerios all by myself. It's not that driving isn't important to me, it's just not important today. Unless my hypothetical girlfriend who wanted to see a movie today was prepared to carry me, or show up at my house with a saddle on her back, I reserve the evening for microwaved spaghetti and Halo.


4. Met a nice girl
For a guy like me, it's difficult to meet women. I work in a kitchen, so I don't interact with customers often, and I hate going out to the bar. That doesn't open too many doors. However, I've been in a good mood lately, feeling pretty good about myself. I'm staying in shape, making money, eventually going back to school despite the set back this morning, and hey, if there's a law against being handsome, guilty as charged. So I had all the confidence in the world today. It was my day off, why not go out and shamelessly hit on girls? I'm sure nice ones exist somewhere, and I'm sure I could get one of them to fall in love with me.


What did I do instead?
Nothing, really. That confidence I mentioned earlier, I just used it to line up sick no scopes in Halo 3. A good, normal excuse would be that the promise of bear mace and getting a boot in the testicles detracted from the idea of flirting with women slightly, but no. I'm more honest and realistic. I think that since I now wash dishes and make appetizers in a restaurant, the only thing I have to do now is move into my mommy's basement and the ladies will simply come to me. Then I just proceed from that point.


3. Wrote a hit song
Have you ever just been sitting in your house alone, all manner of inspiring, extraordinary ideas racing through your mind, but you can't seem to pinpoint exactly what it is you want to do, and you forget to write shit down, so you just sit there doing nothing and eventually all that adrenaline has been leeched from your body and you hate yourself? Story of my life. But today was different. Rather than let my grandiose ideas and energy go to waste, I decided to channel it and focus it on music. I've been playing guitar since I was four, and I do enjoy writing from time to time, why not combine the two and write a hit song?
　
It's not hard to write a song. Think about a girl that pissed you off once, write two paragraphs about how she's a bitch and repeat a certain line over and over again for the chorus. Bingo. Blink 182 only used about five chords for the entirety of Enema of the State, I'm sure I can handle writing one song. With a catchy beat and deep lyrics, I would soon be having sex with ladies on top of my enormous money pile, because people don't write music for any other reason, except acquiring drugs.


What did I do instead?
I watched Mantracker. It was off the hook! Mantracker did all this dramatic stuff like closely examining irregular debris in the forest to gauge the direction his victims went in, then he chased down this poor woman who felt it was a good idea to run through an open field. The man has a goddamn horse, lady. What were you thinking? Then he caught her partner and gave his ass the beatdown in the middle of the forest. Hahaha, he fell down then tried to get back up, then fell over again and Mantracker shut him down, "Had enough, bitch?" The dude was obviously gay too, which made it a little bit more funny. And to think I used to think this show was retarded! Needless to say, I forgot about the song fairly quickly. Besides, Justin Timberlake already stole my idea for Rock Your Body, so what's the point?
　

My beautiful eyeball fucking hollowed out lite-brite cube... Damn you, Justin!

2. Wrote a best selling book
You may have already guessed that I enjoy writing a little bit and think I'm extremely funny. You've also probably figured it out by now that I had the whole day off. Maybe it's because I've mentioned it about six times now. Pay attention, asshole. So after failing to make myself leave my house, I had nothing to do all day. Normally I just sit around coming up with knock knock jokes, but why not employ this time to a useful end, like parlaying my satirical, offensive writing talents into a best selling book? I've written books before, it aren't that hard. It can't possibly be that difficult to assemble a best seller in a single day. That bitch Stephen King does it all the time.
　

What did I do instead?
I filmed my music video to "Sucks To be You" by Prozzak. There's always the possibility that I could somehow become a professional writer some day, so I will be getting paid to horrify you. If that ever happens, I figured it would be wise to have a video sitting around of exactly who any potential future employers will be dealing with.


1. Hell, I could have done my laundry
Clean clothes are like the garden hose, they're both nice things to have around when you get dog shit on you somehow. On the days that I work, I don't have time to do laundry. First I sleep in, then I eat cereal, then I play videogames for several hours, then I shower, then I refuse to do laundry, then I go to work. Cut me some slack, it's a demanding schedule. But there was no schedule today, because I had the day off wor- oh come on. I had the whole day infront of me to pick up my laundry basket, walk downstairs, and throw my shit in the laundry machine. It practically does all the work for me.

What did I do instead?
I just didn't do my laundry, so I have to continue wearing this underwear for the next two days, because I don't plan on doing my laundry tomorrow either. Wait a minute, why didn't I go out and meet a girl today? I'm irresistible. So what do I plan on tomorrow? Pressing my ass against my front window to see how many people notice sounds like a good place to start.

Incase you're wondering, yes, I made that all up for the sake of comedy, to congratulate myself in about the weirdest way possible. You see, I actually did do all that stuff today, minus meeting the nice girl part. Psh, women. Misleading the innocence with their disingenuous emotions, who needs them? Incidentally, I'm still not gay.

5 Current Events That I Don't Care About

Since the only memories I have from childhood involve me being awesome and making out with hot chicks, I can't narrow down exactly when I made the conscious decision to not care about current events that didn't involve me. All I knew when I was a kid was that the news is boring and I have cartoons to watch. Not a lot has changed since my childhood. Nowadays the only energy I'm ever determined enough to expend is to play videogames, examine the lint that sometimes collects in my bellybutton and scratch my ass a bunch. You could say I'm lazy, but I just can't bring myself to care about current events, especially because they pose no threat to me, and without a clearer understanding of who will be impressed.
　
Not knowing anything about current events doesn't exactly hinder your social abilities. All my friends and I talk about is our farts. Our conversations wouldn't be more lively even if we all cared about shit like The Gold Standard or trade tariffs. Wait, are those even current events or just things that sort of exist? Anyway, a lot of people lately have been trying to convince me that the current events at time of writing are a big deal, often hysterically, and scold me for being an uninformed, dick-brained asstard. It's been happening so much lately, I've been forced to write an article venting my completely reasonable frustrations. Here's a list of current events you can stop bugging me about:


5. Korea and China
So apparently Korea and China are two of the biggest issues of the present day, which surprises me. Where the hell is Japan? Is no one bothered by all the robots and all that tentacley porn madness? Are people just desensitized now, or did Godzilla finally eat the country? Whenever people complain to me about asian people, I'm accustomed to hearing only three things. The food they ate last night was the greatest thing they've ever eaten, but made them hate themselves shortly after consumption, asian drivers are the most god awful drivers on the face of the planet, until someone puts their pet bear behind the wheel, and finally, I just got my fucking ass kicked at StarCraft. I actually don't know anything else about asian people, so Korea and China being a problem lately is extra confusing, especially because people can't even explain exactly why they're a big deal, so I decided to look into it to see what all the fuss is about.
　
After my tireless research of watching an episode of Holmes of Homes, I learned that China is one of the biggest issues nowdays because they make all our stuff faster, cheaper and don't treat their workers right or something, and are supposedly taking over the world. I would say I don't care, but it's more like I don't mind. Someone else can care about that. Korea is a big deal, or more specifically, North Korea is the problem, because it's baseball bat shit insane and is now a nuclear power. Hysterical people tell me that I should be worried about how they are poised to use these weapons, and I don't even care about that. Even if the koreans were stupid enough to launch a nuke, why would they aim it at canada? It'd just freeze a couple miles above the surface and plop pathetically to the ground. Then I'd walk up to the dead shell and fuck it.
　
I guess I could read a book and learn exactly why China is such a big deal, but c'mon, reading? Who has that kind of time?


4. The Large Hadron Collider
I happened upon a story about something called The Large Hadron Collider one day, and decided to read about it because I thought it sounded stupid. Also because the person who brought it to my attention seemed to be in such an enormous panic, I was forced to assume he set himself on fire or woke up next to a panther in the morning.
　
The article was peppered with fancy scientific jargon, which I've always wondered if scientists even understand themselves, or just use big words a bunch to try and get laid. Hey, scientists are kinda like me! Anyway, I didn't understand absolutely everything, but basically this collider is a giant ass machine that will give us fascinating insight into the mysteries of the universe. It's also literally named, which disappoints me. Scientists came up with a word that's like 400 characters long. You're telling me you couldn't think of a cool name for this machine? I got one for you: The Colossal Matter Fucker. Tell me that isn't awesome. I swear, I should be a highly paid humour consultant.
　
Anyway, I have no problem with advances in humanity's understanding of the universe, so I thought it was interesting. It was a good read, but then something happened. Well first they turned it on and it broke, so hahahahaha, but that's not what I mean. People happened. With every new advancement in science or technology comes hysterical people, and this was no exception. It's like when companies upgrade their software. Odds are the bulk of the employees hate it, and the only coping mechanism is screaming madness. Now imagine potentially rewriting the fundamental laws of the universe. I don't see the big deal either, but some people care about this kind of stuff.
　
People weren't even worried for a good reason. People were worried that this machine was going to create a black hole that would suck up the earth and kill us all in an instant. Whether there was science to back up this concern is beyond me. Even if there was, why would you ever be worried about such a thing? That sounds fucking cool! Come on, guys. The world isn't going to end when they turn it on, settle down. If it actually does? Well, fuck.


3. Swine Flu
Sweet jesus people refuse to shut up about swine flu. I read about it in passing when it first surfaced, and didn't even make it halfway through the story before deciding that clipping my toenails or doing my laundry was more interesting. What I didn't know at the time is that the story had resulted in a pandemic, and I would soon hear and see nothing but swine flu panic everywhere I went. I was hearing stories of people being quarantined, they were shutting down schools left and right, including mine, people were wearing masks all over the city and they almost shut down the fucking University of Alberta.
　
I didn't see a reason to worry, so I just enjoyed my week off school. I took to being cooly detached from genuine concern, and lo and behold, it served me nicely, because from what I can tell, that initial senseless fear and panic is over and people don't really care about swine flu anymore. Sadly there are still people out there who haven't been informed that it's not a big deal anymore, so I'm still hearing shit like, "It's sweeping the planet!" or "There's no cure!"
　
For those that are still convinced that swine flu is a serious problem, consider this. I could go to the trouble of organizing and making sense of the many scattered facts and figures about swine flu, just to see if it's actually dangerous. I could compare the casualties of swine flu to say, regular flu casualties, or alcohol, smoking and car accident casualties per day, just to show you the massive difference. I could, but at what point will you realize that there are bigger problems out there than swine flu? Take precautions if you feel you must, but don't throw yourself into a panic, and certainly don't bother me about it. I don't care about these things for a good reason.
　
What people should be concerned with is the odourless, incurable plague that has already swept the planet. It's called Facebook. People update that shit from their phones... God help us all.


2. The Global Recession
I remember a time not too long ago where my life was a cavalcade of sunshine and happiness, then when I, when we all least expected it, BAM, we were plunged into economic crisis. It was the result of a financial crisis. There was a rapid increase in valuations of property, then there was some deregulation of real estate mortgages, then some other stuff happened that I'm too lazy to explain, and investment and commercial banks across the globe suffered enormous losses, some even on the verge of bankruptcy, then there was a bailout or something?

I'm not sure if any of that is accurate, in order or if I missed anything. Doing actual research isn't my cup of tea. I have pockets of information on what happened after everything, but a figure that should tickle you a little is the 20 million jobs that have been lost. A legion of lazy teenagers, not being paid to do things slowly and wrong.
　
Of course, that's a figure that should tickle you, and when I said my life was a cavalcade of fun things in the first paragraph, I should have said that it hasn't changed. I've been quite content through this whole crisis ignoring it completely. People kept telling me that the economic crisis was horrible, and I just kept agreeing with everyone, without a clear understanding of the scale of it all. I could have solved that problem by doing some light research or watching the news, but if you've been paying attention through this article, you've probably figured out that I don't care about anything. What, will the world's problems suddenly be solved in a 20 year old man writing a satire article starts caring about stuff? My contribution to society is urinating on public property, stop bothering me about this goddamn recession. Also, I have a job so haha, eat my ass.


1. 2012
This one disgusts me. It's stupid, it shouldn't even be a current event. Swine flu makes more sense than this. So apparently there's this calendar that's going to "run out" or something on December 21st 2012, resulting in cataclysmic and apocalyptic events that will rip the earth apart and kill us all, and recently this has become a bit of a concern for a lot of people. Like, a ridiculous amount of people. People who I suspect can't be sexually satisfied until they read about the end of the world. What is so attractive about this subject anyway? What the fuck did the earth ever do to you?
　
This calendar thing doesn't even make sense. There's so many questions left unanswered. How exactly will a calendar running out be the catalyst for... whatever it is that's supposed to rip our planet apart? Come to think of it, what exactly is supposed to rip our planet apart? Meteors? Storms? Earthquakes? A black hole? Bears? I don't think this is ever really specified. Furthermore, since I live in Canada, will the world end over in Europe before it ends over here? They'll be in December 21st before I am. That's straight up cruelty right there.

What we have here is a classic case of incredibly vague apocalypse theory. As a general rule of thumb, if you have no scientific evidence to support what you're saying, that tends to invalidate everything you're saying. You'd be surprised how long I can keep verbally kicking 2012 in the balls, but I can sum up my feelings towards 2012 rather quickly. Remember back in 2000 when the world ended? Oh that's right, because it fucking didn't. How is 2012 any different? Some people with no understanding of the modern world wrote it on a piece of parchment hundreds and hundreds of years ago? Is it so hard to admit that people who lived years before us believed in some really stupid shit?

It's just a bunch of gullible, paranoid, superstitious idiots thrown into a panic for no reason. Nothing is going to happen in the December of 2012. I guarantee it, and certainty is a rare commodity. But go ahead, take all the necessary precautions you want. I'll be the guy sitting here in January 2013, laughing my ass off. Unless the world actually does end, inwhich case, I'll see you in hell, won't I?

Now stop bothering me about all this shit. My hands are tired from strangling people all the time.