Getting My Appendix Removed - A More Needle Filled Adventure Than A Lindsay Lohan Biography

I wrote most of this in my notebook the day after the surgery when I was out of recovery, like a boss. I was bed ridden the entire day and I needed something to distract me while I had trouble peeing. This is that.



The title's a little longer, but whatever. Like Peter North, it gets the job done. So I had my appendix removed yesterday, and like everything else that happens in my life, it deserves to have a story written about it. I would have written about the time I lost my virginity, since that was an ordeal, but I promised your mom that I would be discrete. Here's how I got my appendix taken out. A story that proves the human body shares qualities with pressure grenades.


The story begins on my goddamn day off. The day I booked off, in fact, because as Murphy's Law states, these things can't happen any other time. I can't even have the satisfaction of vomiting on something at work. For shame. It was around 8:00 or 8:30 after I had essentially eaten a bowl of beans, when I had me one hell of a stomach ache. I was sure the stomach ache and beans were linked in some fashion. Felt like a Scottish marching band was using my stomach as a drum, or that I'd just eaten a quesadilla laced with dead bird. Either way, I felt like a bag of ass. Also, I don't know if this is the drugs talking right now, but I just realized that humans resemble bag pipes in a lot of ways. We're awkward looking bags of air with tubes sticking out, and we make funny noises when someone squeezes us.


Anyway, I believe it was around three in the morning when I was wide awake and decided, to hell with it, it's vomit time. Normally I will do anything to avoid vomiting, like how my girlfriend will do anything to avoid watching Dragon Ball Z with me, but it had to be done. Luckily I keep a picture of my ass crack on me at all times, so vomit was induced quickly. Problem was, I still felt like dead rain barrel squirrel afterwards. The rest of my sleepless night was full of more vomiting, ceaseless chest pain and only somewhat successful bowel movements. I shat out a green pebble the size of a ping pong ball at some point, that was funny.


Eventually it was morning and I felt like Kurt Cobain, post mortem. I had a sip of tea, then buried myself in my pillow to sort of sleep. I woke up with a sharp pain slightly above my love hammer, meaning I was either still sick, I was about to start pissing wasps, or I had rolled over one of my balls in my delirium that I would barely classify as sleep. At some point I decided to watch Fringe to take my mind off of things, but that was a stupid idea. When you're focused that show can be hard to follow. I had just spent the night clogging the toilet with my internal organs. I thought I was fucking hallucinating. All I remember was that someone got shot and I didn't care, and then someone got crushed by a car via telekinesis. That was awesome. Instant raspberry yogurt.


A little while later my girlfriend came over, and not long after that, the pain had migraded to the lower right quadrant of my mid-section, which is one of the many imminent self-destruct areas in your body. So my mother, who became tired of my repeated screaming, decided it would be best to take me to Emergency at Grey Nuns hospital. I'm not sure why the hospital is named Grey Nuns. Why would a nun be grey? Do some world views fall in a grey area? Is there a difference between grey and gray? I'm confused. Anyway, as the roads in Edmonton are in similar condition to Stalingrad circa 1945, the drive to the hospital was about as pleasant as dental work on the eyeballs. But, we arrived, and thus began the day of waiting. I may have waited longer to lose my virginity.


First, we waited in line in Triage, amongst people who didn't look like they really needed to be there (sorry), and others who looked more deserving of medical attention than myself. Like the lady who looked like the letter "C". Completely bent in half and barely shuffling herself around in her jogging attire. Diagnosing her must have been easy. Something inside this woman has exploded. Operate now, please.


After waiting in line in Triage, we were then sent to admission. For those who aren't familiar with how hospitals work, when you go to admission, you're essentially granted permission to sit in an uncomfortable chair for several hours while people ignore you. As movies would have us believe, medical attention is instantaneous, when it usually isn't. It involves waiting and lots of paperwork, and if that paperwork gets lost, be prepared to wait forever.


2 and a half hours later and I was moved to a room marked "Patients Only", which is another room largely designated for more waiting. While I was waiting, I was told to provide a urine sample. For future reference, if you are headed to the hospital, hold in your piss. It's highly probable that someone who probably dreamed of doing more with their life will want to examine your urine. If you pee before you leave the house like I did, you get to drink shitty Dasani, which I'm sure is made of sea water, and wait until your bladder feels like filling up and emptying again. I somehow managed a decent squirt, like if you put a piece of tape over one of those peeing statues. A lady comes up to me a while later and says, "Your urine sample was inconclusive. You need to provide another one." What? That doesn't make any fucking sense.


Lady, my dick looks like a shrivelled bean right now. I have no fluid left in my body. I distinctly remember peeing with my dick, what did I do wrong? Did someone mistake the sample for apple juice? They didn't explain shit to me, they just handed me another cup and walked away. This time, I ignored their meticulous instructions of first peeing, stopping, peeing in the sample, holding again, then peeing the rest in the toilet. Y'know, because everyone can gauge how much they have to piss with such precision. Those instructions are more complicated than going down on a vagina. So I mustered what few drops I had left and just peed it all into the cup. Take that, you bastards. Way to ruin a perfectly good batch of pee. May I just say, that it's incredibly funny handing someone a tiny bottle full of your urine.


Then my piss was never spoken of again. Later on, a guy calls me into a room and says he's going to give me some medicine. If you are like me and dislike needles, should you find yourself in a hospital, let me mentally prepare you. When someone tells you that you're getting medicine, they're about to stick a needle in each of your arms. The first needle I got was a shot of anti-inflammatory, I assume because my appendix resembled a balloon, and the other was supposed to help with nausea. Hilariously, it only made me nauseous. My temperature also skyrocketed, and then just as quickly dropped again. I was having a fantastic day thus far. Also, this is completely unrelated, but my hands smell lovely right now, my gosh.


Then a lady came in and took my blood. If I wasn't already well-versed in having my blood taken, in my state of mind at the time, I probably would have thought she was a vampire. No, instead she was just a woman with a needle, who no doubt took my blood to stockpile it for the eventual clone wars. Then another lady came in and stabbed me with more needles. I felt like a pin cushion, or more appropriately, a dart board, because I could have sworn the last needle she put in my arm left her hand for a moment. She threw it from a short distance. She was good enough to not throw it at my neck though. Best to look on the brightside.


Then, after hearing more nothing forever, a guy comes in and says, "I'm going to hook you up to an IV." By this point, it's a miracle I wasn't dead. I hadn't slept in almost 24 hours, I hadn't eaten anything since the day before, my system was full of drugs, I had several viles of my blood taken, and my appendix could very well have been on the verge of bursting that exact moment. I asked what the purpose of the IV was, since again, no one was telling me anything. Do I need the antibiotics because my appendix will be fine afterwards? Is it simply a good idea that my body be hydrated intravenously? Do I need surgery or not? I guess hospital staff don't like when you ask questions, because the man went away after my barrage of questions and never came back. Sometime after that I also got an x-ray for no reason at all. I hear those are great at detecting soft tissue damage.


At the time, I felt really stupid for essentially refusing medicine that was critical for my health at the doctor's recommendation. But in retrospect, the guy that was going to do my IV, did it for another man instead about an hour later. I eventually got an absolute sweet heart nurse who took extra care in finding a suitable vein to jam the IV in to, which she did, mid left arm. The dude nurse didn't. I noticed that the guy he helped, his hand was covered in a lot more blood than it was before. A substantial amount, in fact. He had a bandage on his hand, fucking soaked in blood. Guess that dude nurse totally missed the vein, or forgot to remove the barbed wire from his syringe. Either way, dodged that bullet.


So I sat there for another couple hours until I was sufficiently drugged up. Then, after the bag of salt water or medicine or whatever was empty for about 20 minutes, the other dude nurse in the room finally decided to stop pretending to do paper work, came over to me and said, "We're leaving this in your arm over night." I was convinced it was a needle that he left in my arm, despite him telling me otherwise. I was terrified the rest of the night and kept my arm perfectly straight. Worst part was, that asshole taped my arm so thoroughly, he essentially turned it into an eventual wax job. Thanks, man. I don't need hair anyway.


I woke up the next morning experiencing a sensation akin to rigor mortis in my left arm, and also my penis, but I interpreted that stiffness differently. My body hadn't betrayed me and bent my arm against my will during my sleep. Quite the opposite, in fact. I felt like I could have punched through a brick wall my arm was so stiff. I decided not to and showered instead, because I smelled like hospital and vomit. My mother had to wrap the area where my IV was in saran wrap before I could shower, which was funny because if you didn't know, wet saran wrap looks like a used condom. Try it sometime. Now, that morning, I was scheduled to have myself a CT scan. It's a shorter version of CAT scan that means the same thing, just with different words that doctors pretend to understand.


Before you get a CT scan, you need to fast for at least 12 hours, which is something certain people consider to be a legitimate substitute for exercise. So I enjoyed some water and headed off to the hospital to have more of my blood taken immediately. Five fucking vials of it. The first day it was two or three, I can't remember, but today, it was five. WHY?! What the hell does anyone need with five vials of blood? Is the blood being used in a cult ritual? Just take the whole fucking arm.


After the oddly humourless woman robbed my body of precious fluid, I was sent to a really weird looking section of the hospital for my CT scan. The walls were bright pink, and then just as quickly went back to turquoise. I found myself in a room with an enormous television watching the show, "Kelly and Michael". I guess Regis has retired, so now that smokin' hot ass mama Kelly is working with that dude who I think used to play football and pretends to be important. He's the guy in the next picture with the gap between his teeth that looks like the demilitarized zone between North and South Korea, who looks like he wants to die almost as much as Ron MacLean on Coach's Corner.

That's the face of a man who hates himself

God I would fry an egg on Kelly's ass. What a sexy bitch. Thank you for giving me boners when I stayed home sick from school as a kid, Kelly. Anyhow, if you find yourself going in for a CT scan one day, I'm here to give you fair warning. It sucks balls. While you're sitting there waiting, a lady will walk in with a paper cup the size of a 7/11 Big Gulp full of mysterious liquid and tell you three things. One, drink it. Two, do it quickly. Three, she will say something similar to, "It's mostly sort of water." Then she'll just disappear. You will actually never see her again. Her entire purpose for being is to give you a cup of shit and tell you to drink it. We really are trusting of our medical professionals, aren't we? She could have handed me a cup of paint thinner for all I know.


Now let me tell you the secret behind fasting for a CT scan. It's not because eating or drinking will disrupt the scan, no. I'm 100% confident it's because you won't have anything to throw up after you drink that filth. What they essentially tell you to drink is a giant cup of plastic mixed with toilet water. It was absolutely revolting. The other kid in the room with me must have been dreading drinking that shit, because I was coughing and gagging. Every last drop was suffering. Then I gave my cup back to some other lady at a desk, waited for a little bit, then got called down for my CT scan.


But, as I should have known, when you're called down to anywhere in a hospital, the first thing you're going to be doing is waiting. So I sat with an annoying old couple while I waited for my scan. I sat there for what felt like an hour until someone called me into the room. The whole time I was thinking to myself, "Why did I have to drink that plastic shit so quickly if they were just going to make me wait?" While I was sitting down though, that lady I saw the day before in Triage, the one who was bent in half in agony, was being wheeled around on a stretcher. She waved at me. I waved back. It reminded me of Wallace and Gromit.

A sweet little asian lady then lead me into a room and said, "You need to watch this video before you get your scan." The video outlined exactly what was going to be happening in my CT scan, clearly believing that this scan is more dangerous than it actually is. The biggest issue surrounding a CT scan is this dye they inject into you that's used to map spots on organs. Sometimes people have bad reactions to this dye, like nausea, vomiting, or dying. This is something that a person could just tell me, not this monotone asshole on the TV. After that, I was directed into the scanning room, and this lady walks up to me with another cup of that goddamn plastic water. "We need a little bit more of this in your system." Oh, so now it's instantaneous. I don't need to wait for rapture for it to spread through my system. Wonderful. So I drank the melted grocery bag and laid down on an extremely comfy table, my god, while the nurse injected the dye into my blood stream.


She told me, "You will start to experience a warm sensation, and you will feel like you wet the bed." Sure enough, a couple seconds later, I felt like I had opened a dishwasher mid-cycle and jammed my head inside, and it really did feel like I pissed myself. It was really pleasant, actually. I'm surprised people don't piss themselves more often. It's so warm (I didn't actually piss myself). Then they stick you inside a giant donut and a lady tells you to hold your breath and stuff. Really, it's a big ass donut.

Then your kidneys soak up the dye almost instantly, marking the first time in my life where I've fully appreciated my kidneys, so you're good to go and wait some more while they analyze the scan. Typically you're getting your chest scanned when you get a CT scan, so you have the pleasure of still not being able to eat or drink anything while you wait for results. For an hour. Joyous. I'm not sure if it's ever expressly explained why you can't eat, but what I do know is that this process could loosely be considered torture at this point. I did learn something interesting while I waited in Triage some more. There are three distinct sections of the middle of your body.


I used to refer to the whole thing as my chest, as every layman does, but as I discovered, it is indeed split into three different sections. Chest, stomach and abdomen. They also fall into their own categories of severity. There's a sign in Triage that reads, "If you are experiencing chest pains, you are permitted to skip the line." This is important, because if you walk in there with a stomach ache, they will tell you to fuck off to the back of the line. If you tell a doctor that you are having chest pains, they generally interpret that as, "Your heart is about to explode" and medical attention comes immediately. If your abdomen is bothering you, that's not terribly worrisome. So long as your appendix hasn't turned septic, most doctors assume you are just struggling to take a crap. And unless you have a bullet in your stomach, like I said, enjoy the back of the line, you pony bitch. I drew a diagram to illustrate this better:

So over an hour later, a nurse struggled to pronounce my name somehow, and I was lead back to Patients Only. I'm sure there's a proper name for that room, but I can't be bothered to remember what it could be. Unwanted Accupunture Victims would be most appropriate, because when I entered that room again, the barrage of needles was astounding. I got more shots in my arms and sweet jesus, they took more of my blood. The amount of blood they drained me of at this point roughly equates to a small child. I felt like that nazi dude at the end of The Last Crusade.

Should have moisturized, bro

Come to think of it, they may have just taken my blood. I'm not sure anymore. The amount of needles at this point has sort of blurred in my mind into one giant harpoon. They did hook me up to an IV again, that I remember, because I sat there for another hour or so watching a show called Cake Boss. I think a better title for the show would be, "Asshole Makes Cakes", as it's more honest. The host is a complete prick douchebag from New Jersey who pretends to be in The Godfather 90% of the time, yells a lot for no reason, and generally takes cake making far too seriously. You bake and design sugary sponges for a living. This isn't fourth down in the fucking Super Bowl. Take it down a notch, Don Corleone.

Nice cake, asshole

Then after waiting some more, and mustering the dumbest answers I possibly could for some nurse's questionnaire, I was summoned into a room with a doctor and a surgeon, at long last. The surgeon was quick to confirm what I already knew, I was going to have surgery. Kinda figured, since I was talking to a surgeon. Took them along enough to get around to saying it. They said it would be happening later in the evening, and simply told me to sit tight until they called me down. No problem, I'm already well versed in doing that. The look on the surgeon's face after he broke the unsurprising news to me was weird. He looked at me with such dismay and said, "I'm sorry" and paused dramatically afterwards. This isn't Grey's Anatomy, boy. Am I gonna die or something? How bad are you at your job that you have such little confidence in yourself? I'm not scared of surgery. I'm more frightened by your enormous math teacher mustache. Felt like I was in a German porn movie.


Just to go back to the questionnaire for a moment, I wasn't entirely honest with you. It was just one really dumb answer. She asked me my name and birthday, marking the 83rd time I answered those questions for some reason. Either hospital staff are extremely forgetful, doubt my credentials and/or existence on this plain of reality, or need to constantly check if I'm still lucid. Then she asked me, "How much do you drink in a week?" Keep in mind, I don't drink alcohol, so when someone asks me how much I drink, I interpret that question very differently than the average person. I answered, "I don't know. I don't really keep track. Is a lot a good answer?" I didn't realize it at the time, but the shocked expression on her face was very justified. I followed up a second later by saying, "I drink at least four glasses of water a day..." The look of relief on her face looked like she'd just found Jesus. She said, "No no, I mean how much alcohol do you drink?" I replied, "Oh. None. I don't drink." She then began to laugh her ass off for the next 30 seconds. In fairness to me, she could have phrased that question better. To be unfair, I'm an idiot.


Then, in uncharacteristic fashion, a nurse called my name like half an hour after my brief meeting with the surgeon and said, "They're ready for you now!" Damn, that was oddly fast. I had hoped to use the time before the surgery to mentally prepare myself for it. Then they called me down, and although I consider myself a brave and exceptionally manly person, and despite being in a positive mood, I'll admit. In that moment, I was scared shitless. Literally. Some dude told me to get naked and put on a robe, so I went to the bathroom and pooped. My fight or flight response was leaning more to the flight path, as I immediately began plotting escape routes and excuses I could spin to get out of the surgery. But like kisses from grandma, there was no escape. So I exited the bathroom, laid down on the stretcher thingy and was wheeled off to the surgical wing. Though it did feel kinda cool having someone wheel my naked ass around, I must say. Hospitals kind of do a bad job at making you feel like you're not going to die.


Once I got to the wing, slightly curious if I'd just flashed everyone on the way, a really nice nurse gave me a blanket and said, "The anesthesiologist will be along in about 15 minutes." Although a blanket is what Yoda was wearing before he died (spoiler alert), it was so wonderfully warm, I didn't care. Felt like she put my feet in a microwave. Then she put a shower cap on my head and walked away. Then the anesthesiologist came along and essentially said, "I'm going to drug you." Again, kinda figured, since you're essentially a drug dealer, but it's good to know medical professionals can describe what they do. It instills confidence that they know what they're doing as well. Then my girlfriend came in, and what a sight that must have been for her. Fucking shower cap on my head, tube in my arm, old blanket on my feet, piece of shit robe on me that looked like umbrella material, disgusting facial hair, and more pale than a masturbation addict. All that's missing is a missing leg and bleeding eyeballs. On reflection, I should have said "Hey sweet cheeks." Fuck.


Then I said goodbye to my mom and girlfriend and got wheeled into an extremely bright room filled with people with masks on, who would be removing a piece from my unconscious body in a few minutes. Man, if the hospital setting hadn't been well established by this point, that would be a really creepy sentence. I then lifted myself off the stretcher and on to this tiny ass table, absolutely flashing the dude pretending to do work infront of me. I also noticed there was some young looking nurse looking at me and smiling. She was wearing a mask, but I could tell. I'm also pretty sure I went to high school with her. I don't know how I could tell, but I could. Damn, what's with all these people my age making more money than me? Fuck you, I can beat Halo 1 in under an hour and twenty minutes. Bet you guys can't. Suck it.


Anyway, then a really nice lady asked me to hold out my arm, so I did. The anesthesiologist walked up, and I swear to god, just tapped my IV. He didn't stand there for a few seconds and carefully inserted a needle or something. He just walked up and tapped it. There was no way to make that sentence not sound dirty. Less than five seconds after, the ceiling appeared to start moving up and down. A lady put a mask on my face and the anesthetic guy said, "You should be feeling light headed." I'm not sure how I was supposed to answer him with a tube on my face, but indeed I was. 10 seconds later and I was gone. I don't even remember a fade to black. Just cut to black. BAM. Out. Damn that shit works fast. I potentially could have just died, and I didn't care at all.


Then two seconds later I woke up to a lady asking me, "How are you feeling, Scott?" My first thought was, "How do you know my name?" My second thought was, "I wonder who that nurse was in the surgical room..." Then I replied, "I feel like I'm on drugs, so quite pleasant, thank you." She giggled, then I went back to sleep, and immediately woke up in recovery. My first thought there was, "How the fuck did I get here?" My second thought was, "I wonder how many people have seen my dick today." I could tell I was still on drugs, because my mom and my girlfriend didn't walk into the room after I woke up, they glided into the room, as if on a conveyor belt. I giggled. I don't remember the conversations that took place afterwards, just that I probably sounded really stupid during them.


I was really looking forward to sleeping after my mom and girlfriend left. I was completely exhausted. Naturally the drugs wore off moments after they left, so I was wide awake. Damnit. Shortly after, a really sweet nurse with a wonderful Ukrainian accent walked in with a tiny bag marked "Bath" and said, "Time to wipe yourself down!" Sweet. This should fulfill at least two fantasies at once. The scary Russian sounding nurse lady cliche didn't even occur to me until several hours later she was so nice. I will say that if our roles were reversed in that moment, that probably would have sounded creepy. "Time to your wipe yourself down! Yeah, slower." Gah. Then I got confused. Wipe myself down? What the hell is she talking about? I shit myself during the procedure, didn't I? I realized what she was referring to when I lifted up my robe. I appeared to be covered in red spray paint. A little alarming at first, I thought I was covered in blood, but it was just antiseptic. The base of my dick was red as well, confirming my suspicion that several people saw my junk today, and someone touched it as well.


After failing to get the bulk of the antiseptic off, the nurse ordered me to go pee because she was leaving soon. Apparently she was very confident in my ability to pee. She handed me a tiny bucket-like contraption that fit in the toilet bowl that measures how much you pee, and away I went. It was this moment that was very eye opening for me. I went to get out of bed, and I couldn't fucking move. I didn't have the capacity to try harder either. I was just kind of stuck there. The nurse eventually freed me from my mattress prison, and I went pee. It was glorious. Painful and strenuous, but glorious. I nearly filled that little bowl thing. She then instructed me to leave it there. Poor lady. I can't imagine that was very pleasant to deal with afterwards. Then I got back in bed and she said, "I'm going to give you a shot before I leave." Hey! One more for the road, why not? She gave me a shot of blood thinner, meaning if I accidentally cut myself on anything, I would look like I just got injured in a Tarantino movie, and I would bleed out instantly. Not really, but that's what I imagined would happen.


Thus began the night of agony. No one told me that laying down was a bad idea, so naturally I tried to lay down. People tend to do this when they want to sleep. Should you ever get surgery done on your abdomen, here's some advice. Don't lay down for a while. You won't be able to breathe, you'll be in an enormous amount of pain as the painkillers wear off by the time you want to sleep, and you also won't be able to get up. I also hadn't eaten anything in 24 hours, so my stomach was growling and gurgling like a hungry volcano on the verge of eruption. Then my shoulder started hurting like crazy. It didn't make any sense. I was also pinned to the bed, until I discovered that I could raise the bed via remote control. Sat myself back up, and savoured the next hour of ceaseless shoulder pain and my stomach trying to eat itself and die.


The best word to describe my sleep pattern that night would be "erratic". I'd sleep for five minutes, then for half an hour, then for five minutes again, then for exactly 18 minutes. I know, because there was this obnoxiously loud clock in my room. All that thing needed was a bird shooting out of it and every few seconds and a strobe light to make it more absurd. I have to emphasize it. This thing was LOUD. Felt like someone was clapping in both of my ears every second. Maybe I was going insane at this point, I don't know. Soon enough, however, my roommate's snoring drowned out the clock extremely well, so I had the pleasure of now struggling to sleep next to a malfunctioning go-cart. Every now and again he'd choke on his snore, so he'd snort like a pig for a few seconds, then snore even louder, as if achieving a higher decibel of snore would abate the choking hazard. The guy also let out a raunchy fart in the bathroom at around 4 in the morning that shook the door.


Then at around 6 in the morning when I woke up from another 10 minute increment of whatever my body was doing that slightly resembled sleep, I got up to pee again, then a nurse came into the room to check on the old bastard sleeping next to me. Then she brought me cranberry juice, which didn't taste like cranberry juice at all, and it was delicious. I was so happy to finally have something in my system other than drugs, water and surgical instruments. Then I walked around Recovery for a while before discovering the kitchen. The nurse said I could make toast, so I made a slice and went back to my room. That was the most amazing piece of toast I have ever eaten. It could only have been more delicious if Kate Beckinsale walked in and buried my face in her breasts.


Afterwards I finally introduced myself to my roommate, and this guy was made of balls. I noticed he had a HUGE cut on his neck, and before I could ask him what the hell happened, he told me the story. "Well, I was on the fuckin' golf course, and this fuckin' piece of calcium broke off into my brain. So I drove myself to the doctor and he looked me dead in the eye and said, 'I can fix you, but I could fuckin' kill you.' They fixed me up and I've been here since friday. I better get to leave today, I need to work on my swing. This coffee tastes like dogshit." He started telling more stories of how he visited Africa, how he met his wife on a golf course and banged her somewhere in the trees (not kidding), and how he has seven children, one of which he described to me as, "a fucking asshole". He later said to me, "When do they serve breakfast in this fuckin' place? Worst bed and breakfast ever. HAHAHAHAHA!!" This man, was insane.


Then a nurse came in and took my blood, just what I like for breakfast. I would like to go back to the hospital after I recover and ask someone how much of that blood was actually needed. Afterwards I was sitting in bed, still enjoying my cranberry juice and water, when a doctor came in with a pack of students, marking the fourth different doctor I had dealt with in two days. He looked like the Old Spice guy though, which was cool. I think I may have disappointed him though. He asked me stuff like, "Can you move? Can you pass gas? How is your pain?" I said I walked around Recovery most of the morning, I farted earlier, and my pain was non-existant. He looked so sad, like he wanted there to be something wrong with me so his students could learn something. Instead, they just learned that I'm awesome and heal like Wolverine, so they should feel priviledged instead, ungrateful shits.


Not too long after, breakfast was served. Up until this point, I had been very friendly with all of the hospital staff, and they seemed to mostly pretend to like me. So this dude walks in with my food and I asked him all cheerfully, "What's on the menu today?" He just looked at me with such disdain, like he wanted to stab me to death, mumbled something, set the food down and walked away. He didn't give my roommate Kenneth anything though, so I immediately heard, "Where's my fuckin' food, cocksucker?" I'm pretty sure the guy heard him too, considering he was just outside the door grabbing the extra plate.


Now, I expected hospital food to resemble airplane food. I don't know if airplane food has changed since I last flew somewhere like 13 years ago or something, but I remember it being similar to uncooked egg white mixed with snot, with cheese and a sausage on top. I also expected it to be primarily yogurt and jello. Not at all, in fact. Hospital food is just awkward. They gave me two extremely adorable tiny slices of toast that were bleach white, a tiny omelette that was an absolutely perfect rectangle, looked indistinguishable from a sponge, an enormous cup of coffee, probably something else that I can't remember, and a tiny cup of apple juice that honestly looked like a urine sample.

I managed to fall asleep after breakfast, which was absolutely wonderful. Then my mom and brother woke my ass up like half an hour later, damnit. But it was ok, because a sexy hot mama nurse came in to give me more antibiotics, and another shot of blood thinner. Her ass pressed against my arm at some point, that was awesome. After my body finally absorbed the last of the medicine, it was finally time to remove that fucking IV and send my ass home. Naturally, removing the tape was extremely painful, but it seemed to be hurting the nurse more than it was me. She kept wincing and saying, "Ooh! I'm so sorry! Ow! Ow!" Lady, it's not your fucking arm. Just yank the damn tape off, don't be a baby. Then she had to clean my belly button incision, which was disgusting. I felt bad for her. At some point during this process, Kenneth was able to go home. His wife escorted him. I looked at her when they were leaving and thought, "I know things about you..." Thank you, Kenneth, for making my stay in Recovery entertaining, and for pretending to be deaf while that sexy nurse asked you questions. He also asked her, "When can I work on my swing?" He was totally talking about his dick. You sly dog, Kenneth.


Now I'm at home, only just now fully realizing that they essentially pulled a finger out of my belly button with a pair of tweezers. Gnarly. I had hoped they would let me keep the appendix in a bag afterwards so I could throw it at someone, but the bastards probably threw it in the garbage instead. Wasted opportunity... So yeah, that's how I got my appendix taken out. Kind of scary how my body randomly decided to shut down on me like that. Stupid body. At least I finally get all that time off from work I've wanted. I now intend to live out the next month of my life as a vegetable. A naked, constipated vegetable. Oh, and the thing that was in my arm that whole time, was in fact not a needle. It was a little flexible plastic tube thing that looked like a tiny worm, which means that I'm an idiot.

A Bunch of Shit That Happened in 2012 - Year End Review









Happy New Year, you fucks! It's that time of year when kids the world over have to, yet frequently forget to write "2013" on all of their stupid assignments, I suppose in a constant effort to remind their teachers that it is in fact the new year. It's also my favorite time of year, when at least three people you know vow to visit the gym more often to get in shape. I'm not sure what stops people the entire year prior, but what I do know for sure and look forward to is watching them all fail miserably within a month. I cheer for the ones that make it to mid-February.

I've never cared much for the new year, personally, because I'm awesome and there's nothing wrong with me. However, there were a lot of news stories this year that caught my attention, and I've realized that the new year yields an exciting opportunity to make fun of a massive amount of shit, which I love to do. You'll notice that I titled this piece, "2012 Year End Review", which means it's likely to show up on Google eventually and piss off someone's parents. So, without further ado, here's a bunch of stories from 2012. I'll start with the end of the year, with the most disappointing apocalypse ever.


Mayan Apocalypse

What a fucking shambles this was. Only a handful of unmedicated people believed this was actually going to happen. Everyone else, including myself, knew this was total bullshit from the beginning. However, when the winter solstice came about, admit it. It crossed your mind. Then nothing happened. The world wasn't swallowed into oblivion, we weren't encompassed by a ball of light and transcended into a higher form of consciousness, and a giant bear from space didn't eat the planet. So I guess Earth rules, and ancient man had no grasp of the modern world. Really, who would have thought. On the subject of apocalypses though.

Zombie House

I'm not sure if this was 2011 news, but it makes the list anyway because someone has a zombie proof house. Did you see this thing? Sweet jesus.



The only security flaw is that it's not located on the moon. That fortress looks more zombie proof than Iron Man. Am I the only one who wants to throw a rock at it just to see what would happen?

The "God" Particle - Higgs Boson

At long last, the Large Hadron Collider has done something useful, and we've discovered the "Higgs Boson", a particle that gives certain matter in the universe, mass. I hate science, so I'm assuming this is significant to a lot of people who went to school for a long time. I'm not sure why they decided to call it the "God" particle, given the whole keep God out of science thing. What I find really amusing about the Higgs Boson, however, is that while it was made official, particle physicists are speculating that it could be an entirely different particle. So really, they discovered nothing. But it sounds cool, right? Joe Incandela, one of the spokesman for the people who discovered the particle, had this to say on the matter (hehe), "It's kind of profound." I suppose it kind of maybe is, Joe.

Pictures of DNA and Dark Matter were taken

Oh what an exciting year for science. Apparently, some people managed to take a picture of DNA, as well as a picture of Dark Matter, rounding off a potentially uninteresting Instagram profile. DNA is really small, so taking a picture of it is cool. I can understand why it's impressive, but I don't know why someone would try so hard to do it. It's a lot like mastering the yo-yo. Dark Matter is the stupid name that uncreative scientists gave to this shit in space that's apparently making the universe expand. Dark Matter is a lot like a vagina to a good scientist. They have no idea what it is. But, they took a picture of it, and then everyone got drunk at the christmas party.

Self-Driving Cars

Remember those stupid cars that could park themselves? You know, that feature that absolutely no one needed? Well, now cars can drive themselves. Look it up. The vehicle designed entirely for pranks. I'm not sure how it works, but I do know that the vehicles have gotten in a couple accidents, so the technology is still a ways- oh wait, those accidents happened when people drove them... Well, that's embarrassing. Way to suck, people. While we're on the subject of Skynet:

Microsoft patents the Holodeck

It's likely not true, but if it is, holy shit. We're getting closer to immersive Star Trek technology! Too bad it's Microsoft spearheading the design though. I can only imagine the irritating install and buggy software updates that don't work. Then they'll start releasing new versions of it on a yearly basis. Holodeck Vista. That's when mankind will have reached the pinnacle of decadence, when we start complaining about our glitchy Holodeck technology. The best part will be when porn industries pick up on the technology, projecting fuckable images on to every surface in your living room. Personally, I would set it up in my front foyer and project a giant dick out the front door. That's when only the most dedication of Jahova's Witnesses wake my ass up in the morning.

Mind-Controlled Robots

Apparently, actual mind-controlled limbs are in the works. The idea is to get paralyzed people walking again using their minds. I don't know the science behind the device, but I guess the brain sends signals to the device by some means, and you're able to move. It's very cool technology, but I feel that there could be some problems with the technology. Just the other day I was at work, saw a baby in the restaurant and thought, "I would like to punch that baby." Everyone thinks something like this at some point, don't lie. Our brains are weird fucking things sometimes. That begs the question, what happens to the limb when those thoughts come about? How strong is the arm? Is there an emergency shutdown in the event of an accidental choking? Have these people ever watched Terminator, for fuck sakes?

The diamond planet

On a sparkly note, a planet made entirely out of diamonds was found somewhere in the cosmos. It's like 8000 light years away or something, which makes it the perfect metaphor if your fiance ever starts bitching at you.

Curiousity

The Curiousity Mars Rover, so named for its bi-sexual tendencies, landed on Mars at some point this year that I can't remember, because the old Viking craft that landed there in the 70's was gay. The mission was a lot like that experiment we all did where you throw an egg off something and have to make it land safely, but in large scale. Because NASA is balls, Curiousity landed safely on Mars, and is now wheeling around searching for water, and will hopefully not get stuck in a pot hole anytime soon.

Voyager 1 strolls out of the solar system

Remember the Voyager satellite? That adorable probe floated out of the solar system this year, baffling scientists the world over. I can only assume that it's partying now while giving Earth the finger.

The Olympics

The Olympics made headlines this year, mainly because it's just the Olympics, where we all have to pretend that sports affect our patriotism. I only wanted to mention the Olympics on this list because of the fucking stupid logo:



Did you know that the awkward shapes are actually "2012"? Nobody knew that, because it was a terrible design. Did you also know that the logo is someone getting a blowjob? Or is it someone getting butt sex...? Probably both. There were other stories from the Olympics, like that frowning girl who became a meme, how Micheal Phelps is a bitch, how Usain Bolt is still fast as fuck, how the Olympic village was a giant orgy (it wasn't), and how the pre and post shows were awful, but no one really cares. Not even the Queen cared. Did you see her face? She looks like a goddamn UFC fighter that got farted on.



The NHL Lockout

While we're on the subject of sports, I'll mention the NHL lockout that's still awkwardly going on into the new year. Apparently hockey players are stupid and greedy as fuck. I don't know all of the drama surrounding the lockout, but what I do know is that it's all about money, which is funny, because the players are losing money by not playing. Way to be counter productive, you toothless morons. I hope your multi-million dollar lives are plagued by misery after this lockout.

Spain owns everybody at soccer

If you're not familiar with soccer, it's a form of entertainment in Europe that involves kicking a small leather ball and riots. Spain won the European championship this year, its third in a row, making Spain the most successful team in the history of soccer. What makes this story truly special, however, is that Spain beat Italy in the final, and italian people are great fun when they lose. The excuses are truly inventive, but they all hover around a central concept: the skill of the other team contributed nothing to the loss. Italy was injury ridden, and that's why they lost. With all the diving that the italians do to get cheap wins, eventually they were actually going to get injured. Can't just keep tempting fate like that, man.

Christine Sinclair

In an effort to make female soccer entertaining and relevant (I'm sorry, but it's true), the United States totally fucking cheated at the olympics to win it all. I didn't watch the game between Canada and the US, but I heard that it was made of bullshit, which made a woman by the name of Christine Sinclair exceptionally mad. Then she got suspended. I assume this is a big deal.

Lance Armstrong

Lance Armstrong, the man who rewrote the phrase, "Balls of steel" to "Ball of steel", fell from grace this year and was stripped of all seven of his Tour De France titles. Apparently the guy was on drugs the entire time. Lesson be learned, children. Everything great in life is achieved by substance abuse. My question is, how did he get away with it for so long? Did no one that whole time think his pee smelled just a little bit weird? I would argue that he was taking medication for the whole one testicle thing, but whatever.

Felix Baumgartner

Just to be that guy, he didn't really jump from space. He fell. Still pretty goddamn cool though. Dude broke the sound barrier and all of his organs didn't rupture and he didn't implode (regrettably). He was essentially a squishy meteorite. Now we all know the extremes man will go to for pussy.

The Rise of E-Sports

Yes, E-Sports is a real thing, and it's on the rise. Nerds compete for real money at real tournaments playing videogames, and the winners take away more than you and I do in a year. I felt it warranted a mention this year, because I think there was a tournament held in a game called League of Legends, and the prize for first place was like 2 million fucking dollars or something. 2 million dollars! This proves that videogames are only a waste of time if you suck balls at them.

SOPA and PIPA

Remember those fat assholes who tried to steal the internet? Well, after an enormous outrage at the idea, the bills weren't passed, so the internet remains free and awesome. Except I've heard that they passed some sort of bill recently that prohibits illegal downloading, so they sort of won. I still upload Halo videos to youtube regularly, and no one has fined my ass, so I guess I'm not a threat to national security. MegaUpload was though, apparently. I never used it, but I guess they stole shit, so their website got seized by the FBI. Go visit MegaUpload now. It's awesome. I think they're all in prison now too, proving that the justice system has its priorities in check.

Blue Ivy

I've unintentionally been grouping all of these entries in different categories. Sports and science, mainly. I wasn't sure how to transition into celebrity news gracefully, so I decided to do it awkwardly, with the most awkward name ever. Apparently, Jay-Z and Beyonce had a baby, and named it Blue Ivy. Beyonce's ass remained the same size throughout the pregnancy, and I suspect they will name their second child The Riddler. Blue Ivy? Really? I doubt the child of Jay-Z and Beyonce will struggle in life, but that really is a stupid fucking name.

Lindsay Lohan remains a giant ugly bitch

Ah, Lindsay Lohan. Professional cunt and serious contender for top result on Google search for "crack whore". Look at her. She looks like a fucking out house with botox:

She did a whole lot of shit in 2012 that involved drugs and car accidents, but my favorite story was when she stole a necklace. Lindsay, why would you steal a necklace...? Are you retarded? I'm really tired of her making headlines. It's not even funny anymore. It's just pathetic. We get it, you're an idiot, Lindsay. Has anyone considered that the best therapy for her would be a good old fashioned ass kicking? I'm surprised it hasn't happened yet. Shia LaBeouf got his ass kicked for being a douchebag. Lindsay Lohan is far worse. Someone slap that bitch, or put her on MXC. Picture that for a second and tell me that wouldn't be a beautiful work of art.

Kristen Stewart totally cheated on Robert Pattinson

Kristen Stewart showed some form of emotion in 2012, and cheated on Robert Pattinson with the director of Snow White and The Huntsman. How COULD YOU, Bella? Cheating on Edward like that. Robert Pattinson is an ugly bitch, I'll grant you, but how could you ever shamelessly promote the last Twilight film like that? It was totally to promote the movie, come on, are you kidding me? But, if headlines are to be believed, Kristen and Robert have thankfully made up since the cheating scandal, and are still living together, making me believe in true love.

She claimed that she only kissed Rupert Sanders, but you can totally see him going down on her in the pictures. It's awesome. His head is all the way in there. Kristen Stewart, literal hat. Unless she has a dick, which could be possible. Am I the only one who finds it weird that Kristen took way more flak than Rupert for cheating? The dude was married with kids. Some teenage girl doing her best impression of plywood, cheating on a guy who looks like one of the hyenas that killed Mufasa, portraying bland characters from shitty literature, is considered worse? Makes sense to me.

The Avengers and The Dark Knight Rises

These movies make the list of top stories for being fucking awesome. They will likely not make the list of contenders for Academy Awards, because the academy is stupid and only likes dumb films that no one has ever watched or heard about, like The Artist. In fairness, they don't have a, "Movie That Gave Me A Stiffy" category at the academy awards, so I suppose it's fair. They have to leave them out of all the other categories, otherwise they'd clean fucking house. The awards will go to Meryl Streep and whoever plays someone disadvantaged or gay. I don't lie.

Johnathan and Charlotte on Britain's Got Talent

So apparently, at some point on Britain's Got Talent, this guy and girl walked out on stage:



We soon found out that he was essentially the male version of Susan Boyle with roughly the same voice. Dude sings all high pitched and opera-like, it's fucking awesome. It made headlines because he's shy, looks weird and is over weight. Wow, I guess large people have talent too. That's amazing. You know, I never imagined that could be possible. Next we're going to see some skinny kid with glasses sing and win the hearts of millions. Then, a woman will be talented at something. Just stop me when this starts sounding condescending.

Facebook buys Instagram

I guess this was a thing that happened. I didn't hear about it. Probably because I only use Facebook to talk about my balls, and I don't even know what Instagram is. Seriously, I have no idea what Instagram is. Some kind of theory that opposes the whole conservation of energy thing I imagine. To my narrow understanding of Instagram, it's a haven for people who enjoy taking shitty photos and blurring them, and Facebook bought it. So if you've ever wondered why people are using hashtags (#) on Facebook, that's probably why.

Facebook goes public

I guess this was also a thing that happened. This explains the enormous amount of people whining about privacy issues on Facebook. I've been told that this was big news and deserved a spot on this list, so here it is. There's a lot of things that happen when a company goes public, all of which I don't understand, and will never endeavour to understand. What I do know is that Mark Zuckerberg lost a fuck tonne of money thanks to his lame ass initial public offering. Dude lost like 8 billion dollars. Now he only has about 10 billion dollars to his name. What a fucking loser.

Smallest Frog discovered

Awwww:



This discovery does beg the question though. How many of these have we stepped on before? Also, this is totally photoshop. I'm throwing that out there.

Lonesome George

For those who don't know, Lonesome George was a giant tortoise who lived on an island, who passed away in 2012. He was the only one left of his kind, and never got laid. I'm not sure why all the other species that went extinct in the last decade failed to gain notoriety. Fuck them, I guess. Poor fucking turtle.

Honey Boo Boo

Honey Boo Boo makes it on the list for so beautifully displaying what happens to children if they invade your stash of cocaine. Honey Boo Boo is a six year old beauty pageant participant, because I guess those still exist to make women hate themselves at an early age, and is also a national treasure to americans. She gained notoriety for being over weight and competing in competitions that are largely skinny and bitch oriented. She also might be insane, which is cool. Part of me desperately wants to hate her for some reason, but the family is actually kind of adorable, so me and Honey Boo Boo are chill. Mainly because she's not a known giver of fucks.

Transgender banned from beauty pageant

While we're on the subject of beauty pageants, remember that transgender who was banned from competing in the Miss Universe contest? Something I didn't know existed before this story went viral. The Miss Universe contest, not transgenders. I'm aware of the existence of Thailand. Anyway, Jenna Talackova was born a man, but went under hormone therapy and the knife to become a woman. Then she was banned from the Miss Universe contest. I don't know what rule the judges referenced for that one, but I'm pretty sure it doesn't exist. Come on, like this is actually a punishable offence. She's a woman. Get over it. She's far more convincing than Lana Wachowski. Yeesh.




Beastie Boy, Adam Yauch, MCA, passed away at 47

Forever Intergalactic. Rest in peace, MCA.

Whitney Houston passed away

I'll be honest. I had no idea who Whitney Houston was before she passed away. I'm sure I heard her sing at some point, but I never put a face to the voice. Since I had no idea who she was, I suspected she was actually good, unlike other female artists like Britney Spears and the forehead monster, Rihanna. Sure enough, I looked up Whitney Houston on Wikipedia, and goddamn. That was one talented woman. The Wikipedia article is such a buzzkill though. It's this enormous list of achievements, then in conclusion, "She drowned in the bath as a result of her extensive cocaine abuse." Wikipedia isn't big on dignity, I see.

Neil Armstrong passed away

This still seems like a giant hoax, moreso than the moon landing itself. Neil Armstrong can't die. The guy walked on and likely jiggled his junk on the moon. He's immortal. Armstrong passing away is like Optimus Prime dying. It's just not right or possible. But, the man really did pass away. One of the most important figures in all of history. If you notice a slight change in the seasons in the coming years, it's because Neil Armstrong's balls aren't affecting the tilt of the planet anymore. Rest in peace.

Sally Ride passed away

Neil Armstrong's death largely over shadowed the death of Sally Ride. Lack of equality also played a large role, let's just be honest. She was the youngest person to ever travel to space, and also the first woman to ever go to space. She went higher than that high-altitude balloon with the camera on it, making her more awesome, but only just, admittedly. Sally Ride, the only woman on the planet who could upper cut you with her titties. Rest in peace.

The Miama Cannibal

There was really no way to gracefully include this on the list, so we'll just do it now and get it over with. It was like any other beautiful, sunny afternoon in Miama, Florida. Until a nude Hannibal Lector approached a homeless man on a causeway, engaged in brief polite, albeit awkward conversation, then proceeded to literally eat the man's face. This went on for a while until someone finally shot the fucking guy dead. It was speculated that the cause of the attack was the result of bath salts, which turned the cannibal, Rudy Eugene, into a zombie. Then a toxicology revealed that he was only on marijuana. So I guess weed makes your face delicious. Who knew. My question is, what ever happened to just being fucking insane? He HAS to be on drugs to be crazy?

James Cameron travelled to the bottom of the ocean

To be specific, the bottom of the ocean in this case means the deepest spot, the bottom of the Mariana Trench, also known by its unofficial titles of asshole of the planet, and best hiding spot ever. This is also the same James Cameron who directed that shitty Titanic movie, and the sufficiently underwhelming Avatar. Supposedly the man is an explorer when he's not making films, and custom built a submarine-like capsule to travel to the bottom of the ocean in an effort to discover Cthulu, or the remains of Leonardo DiCaprio.

Sadly all the dive yielded was some soil samples. But fucking badass soil samples. Mount Everest would fit inside that thing, as well as almost 30 Empire State Buildings. Why anyone would be eager to fill Marianas Trench with skyscrapers is beyond me, but it puts it in scale nicely. Now because James Cameron is made of balls, he intends to repeat the dive multiple times. Should the capsule suffer a hull breach, provided if buoyancy matters at that depth, James should float up in a ball several months later.

Costa Concordia

Mankind, having learned nothing from the Titanic, built this big motherfucking boat called the Condordia. So named to express the wish to keep harmony, unity and peace between European nations. What happened next was a cruel and unfortunate metaphor, as the Condordia struck a rock, then tipped on its side like a drunken prom date. How do you hit a rock in the middle of the goddamn ocean? You'd think that would be an easy target to miss.

Fraud in Quebec

Quebec, still having not separated from the rest of Canada, was eager to capture national attention this year in the hopes of remaining relevant, with a series of scandals. I don't know all the specifics behind the scandals, but apparently there was a bunch of money reserved to help the country out of economic downturn, and I guess that money ended up in the hands of certain companies and individuals instead. I can only imagine that they saw the success of Enron executives and thought it would be fun to try. Good thinking, guys. Your insults toward the rest of Canada are perfectly justified. Enjoy your low tuition, cock weasels.

The Presidential Election

On November 6th, 2012, was the 57th presidential election. I know this, because Halo 4 was released on the same day, and because Wikipedia said so. The election pit Barack Obama against the unfortunately named Mitt Romney. The man named after a vagina sadly couldn't realize his dream of treating an entire country like a chequing account, and got his ass handed to him by Obama, proving that americans may not be entirely stupid. Just saying. You guys kind of suck. You almost voted a 72 year old man and a doped up milf to lead your country. Though come to think of it, that would have been kind of cool.

Mitt Romney largely lost the election for his hate campaign against Sesame Street star, Big Bird. Romney, eager to weed out enemies, foreign and domestic. This lost him the crucial adolescent vote, tipping the votes in favour of Obama.

Greece riots

There was a bunch of shit that happened in Europe in 2012. Stuff happened in Syria, Burma and Egypt. Important stuff, I'm sure, but the only country that caught my eye was Greece, when the country erupted in protest against raising taxes for austerity measures. Austerity is basically taking away your shit in an effort to reduce a deficit. The Greek populace didn't take kindly to this, and took to the streets nakedly with weapons and tear gas. It's fair to assume at least one person was naked during the protests.

The riots actually began in 2010, but they've sort of been ongoing. You'd think people would eventually find something better to do, like say, working. I assume that the Greeks still aren't convinced that the recession is a real thing.

Gay marriage legalized

One of the biggest stories this year was Washington legalizing gay marriage. The story was second only to Washington also legalizing marijuana. So now gay people can get married and high as balls at the same time. I assume the inclusion of marijana to the realm of legality was to lessen the blinding effects of gay people macking on each other to overly conservative assholes. What's the big deal about gay people marrying each other anyway? Because the bible hates gay people? Maybe we should introduce a legislation where religious people can't marry each other, because their way of life arbitrarily conflicts with people with superiority complexes. It makes perfect sense, doesn't it?

Kate Middleton pictures released

Oh dear me. Kate Middleton, the Duchess of Cambridge, supposedly has titties and someone took a picture of them while she was on vacation. I'm not sure why the person who took the picture isn't receiving as much flak as she is. That seems more disturbing to me. Is this just because she's part of the royal family now? Fuck them. They're completely irrelevant in society today, they wear stupid hats and their duties are entirely ceremonial. Catherine has all the right in the world to whip her titties out if she so pleases. It's not as if she received bukkake for money or something.

My only complaint is that she didn't get naked infront of me. That is one sexy lady, my god. Way to go, prince Harry Potter or whatever the fuck your name is. I would show her my union jack in a goddamn hurry. Then after I'm finished with her, I'd mack on that sexy ass queen.

Grumpy cat

If you're familiar with the internet at all, you're likely aware of its obsession with cats. There's trash cat, physics cat, ninja cat, serious cat, etc. etc. And then, sometime this year, the greatest cat since hover cat took the internet by storm. Grumpy cat. It's awesome. The thing looks like fucking Mr. Magoo:



Rest assured. This cat hates your ass, and as someone pointed out, does an excellent impression of Jeremy Renner in The Bourne Supremecy.



Gangnam Style

Prior to this song, Korean Pop music was a feared and largely misunderstood subspecies of music. And then, seemingly out of nowhere, Gangnam Style hit the airwaves and won the hearts of millions. It began as a way of trolling people, then it got absurdly popular. Over a billion people have watched the video on youtube, making it the most viewed video ever. Soaring above that bullshit Call Me Maybe song, and Justin Bieber. It's been called the greatest song ever, which I thought was a little misguided, because the best song ever, Macarena by Los Del Rio (bet you didn't know the name of the artist), has already been made.

Gangnam Style is particular noteworthy for its ability to drive people on to unstable furniture and dance, allowing the rest of us to delight in watching other human beings in tragedy.

Giant eyeball found on Florida beach

And now, for the greatest what the actual fuck story of the year that you didn't hear about, and possibly of all time. The title tells you everything you need to know. A giant eyeball washed up on the shores of Florida.



Apparently the eyeball belongs to a sword fish, but that's only half the story. The question that needs to be answered is, how the fuck did it wash up on shore? I like to think that the ocean says to itself once in a while, "This is going to fuck with someone. Let's throw it at dry land." The other theory is an alleged murder on the set of Spongebob Square Pants.

　

And that's all I care to write right now. I look forward to 2013 when a giant fanged penis washes up on the shores of Vancouver. It's nice when stories write themselves.

9 Terrible Things I Did When I Was A Child

There's a saying that goes, "Children are the greatest gift in life", coined by someone who obviously never dealt with children. It's a sentiment entirely lost on the children in question, who are all held bent to do as many terrible things as possible in their brief youth. I was no exception. I misinterpreted that statement as an invitation to cause mayhem. Creative destruction was my gift to the world. In my youth I was adorable and innocent, and part time ballistic missile. Here are nine contributions of mine to making the world a more harassed place to live:

　

　

9. I stole someone's Oreos

When I was a screamy little baby, my family and I lived in an old haunted house near Bonnie Doon. I have four distinct memories of growing up in this house as a baby. One, we used to have a fort in the backyard that you could only get on top of via a rope that would puncture your skin because it was literally made of bee stings. Two, I remember eating Froot Loops in the kitchen one morning, cheerly madly and throwing several loops at my mother's face. Three, you had to walk up about 4000 steps to reach my front door. I have other obscure memories like how our yard looked like Chernobyl, and how I used to throw pebbles at my annoying neighbours, but my fourth memory is about the day I stole someone's Oreos.

Eventually we moved out of that house to the house I'm living in now, but for whatever reason, every summer for several years we would go back to our old house and clean up the yard. I guess my parents rented the place out to people who didn't have the capacity to do so. So one day we were there cleaning up, and one of the strange, ugly people who occupied a space in the house was talking to my parents. While everyone was distracted, I decided to go exploring and found myself in this man's basement suite. I remember his life was similar to that of a mental patient, in that he appeared to be living out his life in just this one room. I don't think he had a bathroom because I remember he had yeti-like qualities and smelled like sewage. There was definitely a bathroom in the house somewhere, but it was probably full of spiders and the souls of the indians buried underneath the house that we had angered for living there.

He had a couple couches, an enormous TV, and a table in the middle of the room. The table is the important detail because on top of this table was an open package of Oreos. It never occured to me that these cookies could be caked in disease. What did occur to me is that taking them would be wrong and that I shouldn't do it, mainly because the package was still reasonably full, so if I ate any, the guy would notice. But when you're a child, being considerate to other people rarely ever stops you from doing anything, so I started eating them. I was just standing there, eating the food that this man was probably living off of and just admiring his room. Then something happened that sent me into panic mode. My mother called me.

The problem was that I was midway through Oreo number two. I knew if I didn't respond immediately she'd come looking for me, and when your parents come looking for you, you're in trouble no matter what you're doing. If I responded immediately I could make the excuse that I was just exploring the house, which indeed was partially true, so I decided to dispose of the Oreo the only way I knew how - by spitting it behind this man's couch and walking upstairs. It seemed most convenient to me.

I went upstairs to my mother, who did seem a little upset that I was exploring places I shouldn't, but to her it seemed like I was doing just that, so she shrugged it off. When we were leaving, I saw the dude go back downstairs. I still imagine him to this day, noticing his supply of Oreos being dramatically lower than it was previously. I only ate two, but I smuggled several more out of the house. In an act that was oh so childish in that it was clever and disgusting at the same time, I concealed the Oreos inside my underwear. When I got home my balls were caked in Oreo dust, but it didn't matter. The heist was a triumph.

The best part is that I don't even like Oreos that much. I didn't even end up eating the Oreos I took home. I just threw them in the garbage when I got home, which means that I am an asshole.

　

8. I deleted all the files on my mom's computer

There is a rule when you're a child. When someone tells you not to do something, you instantly make it your goal in life to do that very thing. They don't tell you obvious shit like, if you find a needle on the street, don't jam it in your eye or eat it. Generally you know what's truly horrifying when you're a kid and you stay away from it. But when someone tells you not to do something, they bring attention to it, so you're immediately interested in it. They're always so enticing too. My parents told me stuff like, don't throw stuff at your brothers, wear a helmet and don't smash glass bottles. Do you have any idea how many glass bottles I've smashed over the years? I probably threw them at my brothers, and I don't even know what a helmet is.

Computers were always fascinating to me when I was a kid. Computers back then were far different than computers today. Monitors were enormous cubes and weighed roughly as much as a car. There used to be these things called "floppy discs" that you would have to insert into the computer tower. The old floppy discs were the size of a plate, and you actually had to lock them inside the computer. Keyboards were only slightly more advanced than typewriters. Mice also had balls and were fucking impossible to use. Some computers were outfitted with a mysterious "turbo" button. To this day I'm certain my computer would have rocketed into the sky if I had pressed that button. If you were cool you also owned something called a "Joystiq", a name I later adopted for my penis.

But, the important detail of this story is that computers back in the day ran on an operating system called "MS DOS". There was no Windows back then, at least until 1994 I think. MS DOS was entirely keyboard based. Instead of clicking on your C: drive in Windows, you manually had to type in C:\My Documents\ExtensivePornStash\Lesbians to locate your files. There was a particular command that completely fucked up your computer, or at least that's what I thought it was doing. All I remember seeing when I typed it in was the monitor turning into The Matrix in fast forward. My best guess is that it listed all the files on your computer, or performed some kind of primitive system scan. Either way, at a certain point, you had the option to delete absolutely everything on your computer. I believe the command was something like "/ff", then later it would simply say, "DEL: YES/NO".

I became fixated on this strange command, largely because my parents told me never to play around with it. So one day I was in the office with my mother. She was talking on the fax phone, a machine I still don't understand to this day. In other words, she wasn't paying attention to me, so I started fucking around with her computer. I remember typing in that command, and soon, the delete option appeared on the screen. All I can remember is being extremely curious. I wanted to know what happened if I pressed DEL. Perhaps it was the knowledge that something was absolutely going to go wrong that enticed me. It never occured to me that I was just about to cause temporary havoc in my mother's professional life.

I don't remember the moments immediately following my decision to press "DEL", which probably means my mother knocked me out with the phone. All I can remember is the aftermath. I have this picture of my mother in my head, a range of emotions clashing in her head. Utter disbelief that her child would do this to her, sheer panic, wanting to strangle me and love me at the same time. She eventually did get all her files back somehow, so the disaster was brief. Strangely, I never typed that command in again. It disappeared from memory immediately following that event. After that I focused my malcontent into gaming, and became amused at my ability to crash the network whenever my brothers wanted to play videogames with each other. Haha.

　

7. In mindless rage, I attacked someone with sand

In your life, there are facts about yourself that you cannot change. All you can do is accept and deal with them. Me personally, a long time ago, I accepted the fact that I have arguably mild anger issues. I came to peace with this somewhere inbetween trying to club someone to death with a ski, and once threatening to fuck someone's entire head. But there's always that lingering question, when did this all start for me? I distinctly remember when my violent tendencies were thrust into the world. It was in response to an attack.

I don't remember exactly how old I was. I would say three or four. I was in some playground that I don't remember, and the neighbourhood asshole was there as well. I'll just say his name was Daniel. A child bred purely to be mean and cruel. An appropriate mental picture for the word "hellspawn", right after Amy Winehouse. He started picking on me while I was playing, which was fine. I didn't pay too much attention to it. Then at some point he started trying to kick and punch me. Remember, I'm just a child. Not shitting my pants is new to me. I have no concept of fighting, so I'm not sure what the appropriate response was. Then he gave me a hard shove and I hit my head on a metal bolt. Hard. It really hurt.

Something awakened in me in that moment. My pain was suddenly replaced with what I can now clearly describe as rage. My crying ceased immediately, and all I wanted was to inflict pain on Daniel. I hunted him down, red in the face, my tiny non-existant muscles bulging, stomping everywhere I was going, which must have looked extremely cute to all of the parents surrounding the park. They must have thought my gorilla impression was adorable. What happened next was far from cute.

I remember finding Daniel swinging on the monkey bars. I walked up and punched him straight in the dick. Prior to that first punch, I really had no idea how much agony getting punched in the balls caused. Instinct simply told me it was a vulnerable spot. Daniel fell off the monkey bars into the sand below, where I leaned down and slapped him in the face. Once really hard, then I started flicking his cheek and pinching his ear. I was going for the humiliation factor. Then something snapped. I abandoned all compassion. Something in me was telling me to feed him sand, so that's exactly what I did. I sat on him and started shovelling sand into his mouth. It wasn't that much sand, I didn't want the guy to choke to death, I just found the thought of him having sand in his mouth for the next few years to be extremely funny. So I went hour glass style on his ass, got a fist of sand and slowly began pouring it into his mouth. When he closed it, I realized that you can make a person's life miserable from so many angles with sand.

I started dumping it up his nose. When he covered his face I started pouring some in his ear and in his hair. He managed to roll on to his stomach, despite the fact that I was sitting on him, which would have been an iron clad defense had I not noticed he was wearing baggy pants. I lifted up the back of his pants and started whipping sand in his underwear. I could tell he had given up at this point because he was laying motionless. Either that or he was dead, which is when I realized burying things in sand is kinda fun, so I started burying his head in sand. It was at this point my mother realized exactly what I was doing, raced over to me in horror, picked me up and got me as far away from Daniel as possible.

Then the memory just ends for me. Cuts of black. I just sort of proceeded from that point as a violent person. But that didn't make sense to me. How come I didn't receive any discipline? Years later I asked my mother what happened, and she said she put me in the car, went back to talk shit to Daniel's father, then she took me out for icecream. Apparently, prior to the sand massacre, she threatened to chop Daniel's head off if he picked on me anymore that day, so she wasn't phased much when I eventually lost my shit and gave him a beating. She described Daniel as "a runty little jackass shit" who "deserved a good whalloping" for "being such a little pony shit".

So I learned a valuable lesson that day. My mother is a badass, and icecream rules. I would say that the fact that I was genuinely amused during that senseless beating is concerning and sadistic, but seriously, jamming sand up his ass was brilliant.

　

6. I threw a rock through my neighbour's window

In the last story, that was the first time I discovered violence. In the stories before that I guess I learned mischief and thievery, respectively. In this one I became familiar with the concepts of stupidity, obliviousness, getting in a fuck tonne of trouble, and disappointment. I would say this is the first time I really got in trouble. Prior to this age, everything I did could be classified as disgusting things babies do. But this time, I was in my right mind.

When I was a kid, I had a grumpy old man neighbour named Walter. Walter used to have this giant, yellow sheet of plastic on a 45 degree angle from his house. I don't know what was under it. Maybe gardening tools or something. I guess he couldn't fit them in his garage, which he used primarily to burn plastic to poison the earth (seriously), and where he kept the rest of his tools to torture small children (probably). Whatever purpose that yellow sheet served, this one night it was the most fascinating thing to me. Now, at the side of my house is a bed of rocks. Its intended use was a bathroom for my dogs, but my dog Curly at the time was far too content shitting in my mother's garden to care, so I essentially had an absurd cache of potential ammunition.

I quickly became obsessed with picking up the rocks and tossing them on to the sheet. I honestly can't remember why. Even if I did, I'm not sure if it would make sense in our adult minds. I guess I enjoyed the noise. Probably not as much as Walter did. Maybe I made it a challenge to knock the rocks off of the sheet, or see how many I could get on there at one time. Perhaps I enjoyed how the rocks bounced. Perhaps a little too much...

Directly above the yellow sheet was a window. Everyone can see where this is going. I certainly didn't. I was utterly oblivious. Walter even came outside to tell me to be careful at some point, and I completely ignored him. I just kept tossing my rocks until eventually, a rock went sailing through his window. I remember having this odd sinking feeling in my stomach when it happened. I didn't know what it was, but I knew it was bad. When you're a child, the concept of "responsibility" is not something you typically embrace. If you were anything like me, the only option in unfavourable circumstances was trying to conceal potential evidence, and pleading innocence. I thought, maybe if I could get the rocks down, Walter would think his window simply exploded for no reason. When I realized I was too short to climb the fence, I decided to just go back inside and pretend like it didn't happen.

But then of course, a few minutes later, it all went to hell, like doing jumping jacks after extensive indian food. It wasn't just that my parents were angry at me, they were disappointed. That's just so much worse. I remember afterwards I would gaze longingly at that yellow sheet, wanting to throw things at it for some reason, but I knew terrible things would happen if I did. So I decided to take up hockey instead and slap shot street hockey balls at Walter's fence. Sometimes they would go into his yard, so my brothers and I would invade his property and fuck up his grass trying to get them. Walter's obsession with burning plastic to make us miserable is kind of justified, come to think of it. Still, I don't know how that window broke. I didn't whip the rock at it. It took a little bounce and practically hopped through his window. What a weak ass piece of shit. I guess you could say that I was framed. Oh ho ho ho!

...

　

5. I broke my brother's Ninja Turtle Helicopter

I'm addressing my childhood friends with this next statement, and everyone else who grew up in the 90's. When we were kids, didn't we have the best fucking toys ever? Not to mention the best cartoons. We had it made when we were kids. Except me, of course. My brothers always got all the best toys. I got all the shit they broke and the lego pieces they didn't need. Thankfully when I was a child I was gifted in the art of creativity, deception and good timing. All important skills to master when you steal shit. I stole Batman toys, those awesome lego pieces that spun, and I stole a Light Bright board. I don't think my brothers were too broken up about that toy going missing. I'll admit, it wasn't my most distinguished theft, but certainly the most dazzling in the right hands. But there was one toy that I was never, ever to touch. It was my brother's prized possession. It was his Ninja Turtles Helicopter.

It was the coolest fucking thing on the planet. It didn't shoot missiles out of the front. It shot boxing gloves. It also had secondary missiles at the back that looked like screaming turtle heads. It was a complete mind fuck of awesome. I wasn't to touch it because I was a kid. I senselessly broke everything I touched. The bulk of my toys quickly became decapitated, multiple amputees. I was a little altered dose of serotonin away from being a serial killer. Even my mother out lawed me from playing with the helicopter it was so valuable. But, I'm an asshole, so naturally I got my hands on it anyway. Before proceeding to the next paragraph, I'd like to make a quick note of the under current of sexual innuendo. Completely unintentional.

Anyway, I don't remember how it happened. All I remember is that batman couldn't stabilize the aircraft and had to suffer a crash landing on the concrete slab that was our backyard at the time. I don't remember the extent of the damage to the helicopter, nor the beating I suffered afterwards at the hands of my brother and my mom. All I remember was the helicopter was impossible to repair, and I felt so horribly guilty. I think that's the most guilt I've ever felt in my entire life. The guilt was so potent, it has stuck with me to this day. I feel awful just thinking about it. Though now I'm curious why the helicopter couldn't be fixed. Did I somehow vaporize some of the parts on impact? Was this before the inventions of glue and China? At least batman made it out ok.

　

4. I took a piss in the library at school

My rebellion towards education started at a young age. I was among a group of troublemakers held bent on causing as much mischief as possible, because seriously, flirting with danger is just the greatest thing when you're a kid, and a boy. The area of the school that was the focal point of our ceaseless rampage was the library, because come on, how could it not be? It's such a tediously structured area. The books are arranged in alphabetic order in different categories, everything is clean and organized, you're not allowed to run or be loud or wander off. You just sit your ass down and read a book. How is that fun for a child?

It started out somewhat harmlessly, with someone tearing part of a page out of a book. Not the whole page, just the number of the page or the chapter name, so the next person to pick up the book would be tormented not knowing what the name of the chapter was that he or she was reading. It became a bit of a competition after a while, seeing who could do the funniest or worst thing. I started moving the massive stuffed dog that was our school mascot around the library when no one was looking, which I thought was the funniest shit ever.

There were other stuffed animals in the library as well, and we'd arrange them in suggestive ways, or take the shell off of the turtle and put it on Arthur the bear. I think there was also a way to shove Arthur's head up the turtle's ass, so we did that a lot. I think someone eventually picked their nose and put it inside a book. But as with any competition, there is always someone looking to raise the bar to heights never before imagined. This is where I came in.

One day I found myself face to face with an iSpy book with a heavy bladder. I don't know what possessed me to do it. Perhaps hatred towards iSpy. Maybe it was my insatiable need to experience danger at all times. Whatever the reason, all I can remember is concealing myself in a corner of the library, holding the book with one hand, my dick with the other, and pissing all over it. I didn't put it on the ground, because I knew when the stream of piss made contact with the book, I would draw attention to myself. I also never told anyone I did it. I simply left it on the ground and walked away. I knew if I told anyone, I would be ratted out, which means I didn't do it to impress anyone. I did it just to be an asshole.

The book was eventually discovered in a puddle by one of my classmates who shrieked in disgust, bringing immediate attention to the attack. The culprit was never found, because no one would confess, and the attacks stopped, leaving me champion of the library. At least so far as I know. Someone has probably taken a dump inside a book by now and stomped on it with both feet.

　

3. I ghost rode my bike into someone's car door

There were a lot of crazes in the 90's. Among them were Pogs, crazy carpets, GT Snow Racers, and ghost riding your bike. Ghost riding was probably trendy long before my group of friends and I picked up on it, but for a while there, it was the thing to do. For those who somehow don't know, ghost riding your bike is when you hold your bike up, take a running start, let the fucker go and see how far it can go before falling over. It was one of the most irresponsible things to do with your bike, as there isn't a circumstance where you can't damage it in some capacity, but that was part of the appeal. Setting your bike free, watching it soar down a hill or up the street was so tranquil, but true amusement came from watching it crash into something, whether that was the ground, a person or an object. You always think there's no risk with activities like this. Not once did I think that my bike would eventually collide with something extremely expensive.

One day I was infront of my friend Alfred's house and we were ghost riding my bike around his street. I remember it like it happened yesterday. On my last attempt, I ghost rode my bike so beautifully, so aimlessly, so majestically, it's as if time stood still. Time also stands still during a catastrophe as I discovered. Moments after releasing my bike, I watched it glide directly into someone's car door. My bike back then was extremely heavy too, and somehow mid-ghost ride, it gained a frightening amount of momentum, so when it bashed into the door, it didn't leave a little scratch or a dent. It left a fucking crater. I practically had to tear the bike out of the side of the vehicle. I remember being so petrified at what just happened, I was frozen in place, until I heard someone down the street yell, "HEY!" There was no escaping this. It's the end of the world.

Then something bizarre happened. I just walked away. I told Alfred I was going home, and I just went home, ate a bologna sandwich and watched TV. At a certain point I remember hearing the doorbell and I peeked upstairs to see who it was. My mother was talking to some random man at the door, so I shrugged it off. Eventually she came downstairs and said this exact sentence to me: "There was a man at the door who says you slammed your bike into his car." It wasn't a question or an accusation. It was a simple statement, punctuated by the evil mother stare, which is designed to instill fear and subsequent confession out of children. I remember I looked up at her, said no and shook my head acting confused.

That's it. My mother dropped the issue and it was never spoken of again. I suffered no disciplinary action whatsoever, and as far as I can tell, my parents weren't forced to pay damages to this man's vehicle. I still have this image in my mind of this man walking up to his car, only to notice an enormous section of the door being a lot further into the vehicle than it should be, and simply having to deal with it. I broke his car and he had to take care of it entirely by himself. Fuck, if I had known I wouldn't get in trouble I would have just thrown my bike at it.

　

2. I ran away from an old lady once

This is a two part dick move of mine. It began on an afternoon out with my old friend Mat. Mat and I were walking around the neighbourhood eating chocolate or something, when we turned on to a different street and noticed two construction signs up on the sidewalk. The sidewalk was being repaired by people who weren't there working in the middle of the day. There were pylons that seemed to stretch forever, all strangely meticulously set up in order to keep the sidewalk safe from parked cars and wandering feet.

I'm curious if there are people out there who actually think this is what pylons are good for. Pylons are only good for being kicked and stolen, and the only things they stop are traffic, when you arrange them in the middle of the road. This is a lot like how laws are in place, but they don't stop people from shitting on your car or eating your face at three o'clock in the afternoon. People used to build walls to stop people from walking on their shit. Then sharpies were invented. Pylons are the sad leftover, gay orange excuse.

So naturally, Mat and I booted over every single pylon and knocked over every sign. These are things everyone does once in their life. Mat went home immediately after, so I went home myself, which happened to be through ground zero. As I was walking, some old haggard woman walks up to me and starts telling me to pick everything up. She lived in the house directly beside the pylon massacre, so I guess she had reason to be upset. Mainly because she was really old. Old people are angry creatures. I know I'll be an angry bastard when I'm 80 and I have to tuck my balls into my socks. I'll be the guy sitting on his front porch throwing jars of his piss at children.

Anyway, I distinctly remember thinking, "Why should I?" Setting up pylons is the only thing people in the trades actually do, excuse me for getting them to work a little. It was my duty to boot those pylons over, not my job to pick them up. Mat kicked over far more pylons than I did anyway. When I refused to do it, she started asking me piercing personal questions. "Where do you live? Who are your parents? What's your phone number?" I told her that I didn't know anything, except that I lived on the moon. Have you ever seen Scooby Doo? Sometimes it's the old person in the lizard suit who stole the gold and threw the guy off the cliff. I don't want this lady to know where I live.

Then I began to consider who this woman was. I had no idea, so it stood to reason that she had no idea who I was, thus had no way of tracking me down. She was also extremely old and likely couldn't run very fast, so I decided to book it mid-sentence. I remember her yelling, "Come back here!", but I didn't. I ran my ass off, and I laughed my ass off. I also remember stealing a pylon and promptly booting it into a tree, rugby style. Talk about adding insult to insult. After a few seconds I turned around to notice that she didn't bother chasing me at all, so I laughed at her and then just walked home. Sickening, yes, but a victory nonetheless.

Now that I'm older and realize the error of my ways, I'd like to extend my apologies. I'd like to, but I'm still not sorry, and that lady is probably dead. My only regret is that I didn't manage to snag a second pylon to keep as a trophy.

　

1. I threw a spear at someone

Just to clarify, I hated this person, and the spear in question was a make-shift spear I crafted out of a broom. Originally I considered a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire, but that seemed a bit overkill.

When you were a kid, do you remember being friends with random people for a short period of time, then never seeing them again? I certainly do. I can think of at least ten people I was good friends with at some point who I ended up hating, or lost contact with, or in this rare circumstance, stopped being friends with after I threw a spear at them. The friend I'm referring to, I'm just going to call him Trevor. Trevor was an asshole.

I was over at Trevor's house one day with one of his friends from out of town. We were playing Final Fantasy or something, I can't remember. All I remember is that my character had blue hair, a sword the length of the Bering Strait and I beat cows to death a bunch. At a certain point in the day, Trevor and his friend became bored and decided to start beating the shit out of me. After attempting to suffocate me to death with a pillow, they threw me outside without my jacket and shoes, then went the extra mile to stomp on my bike and roll it into a giant prickly bush. They locked me out of the house as well. It was raining.

I walked home after that, and Trevor's house was a fair ways away from mine, about 30 minutes walking distance, so it was a journey at age 9. My mother was less than pleased when I walked up to the house freezing cold, dripping wet with a broken bike and no shoes. I would say that Trevor's parents were equally upset, but his mother was a raging alcoholic, and I'm pretty sure his father actually lived in a tree. My dad ended up retrieving my stuff from Trevor's house. How Trevor walked the earth a normal person ever again after that ordeal, I will never know. All I was told upon my dad arriving home was that I was forbidden to see Trevor again.

Now, I suspect my parents had their suspicions that I was plotting swift, terrible revenge that day, given that I was a sick child in that regard. At a certain point in my childhood, my brothers cut their shenanigans out, unless they wanted to wake up bald and locked in their rooms while I pissed under the door. I only ever managed one out of three, sadly. But I don't think my parents could have predicted what happened soon after, nor did Trevor and his friend. It was a severe oversight. My capacity for twisted revenge is endless.

Behind Trevor's house was a badass hill, and at the bottom of that hill was a prickly bush made of nightmares and the broken dreams of children. What kind of stupid bush grows at the bottom of a hill? It was also routinely filled with extremely aggressive wasps, just to dot the exclamation point of horror. Those fucking things lived through the winter. Bears don't even bother to do that, goddamn. Also, at a certain point in this paragraph, I'm not sure if I was describing the bush or the hair in the crack of my ass.

Anyhow, one day Trevor came up with a great idea. He would have his imaginary father build a ramp, which he would place by the bush. He would then ride his bike down the hill at top speed, hit the ramp and clear the bush. There's already a lot of things that can go wrong with this. Someone could roll their baby into the path of your bicycle, for example. Not a lot of people expect a spear flying at them to be a legitimate concern. After the industrial revolution, it's fair not to be overly worried day to day. Spears are dead weapons technology. But that day, it was Easter. If I've offended someone's personal beliefs with that joke, I apologize. I cross my line of decency from time to time, it lets me know I still have one.

So the big day finally arrived. Trevor had gathered an audience for this endeavour, me and three others people. I had of course disobeyed my parents wishes to never see Trevor again, and Trevor made the grave tactical error of believing me to be his friend. Trevor and his friends began hauling the ramp out to the field while I stayed behind, found an adequate broom and stomped off the broom part. I now had an amusing penis extension and spear. I don't think his parents cared too much that I broke their shitty broom. The worst they could have done was thrown a bottle at me or attempted to haunt me, respectively. I stood by as they set up the ramp, then it was time. Trevor ordered us to stand back, not even curious why I had a spear in my hand, and he began his rapid descent down the hill.

My goal was simply to throw a spear at his bike, the objective being to get the spear stuck in the spokes of his tire. This way the wheel would jam and the bike would flip over, either launching Trevor a significant distance, or burying him a few feet in the ground. I never considered exactly when I should throw the spear. I wasn't sure of my accuracy either, having never thrown one before. But the moment I released the spear, was a moment of absolute clarity and focus. It sailed through the air majestically. An absolutely perfect throw. The spear failed to jam itself in Trevor's tire, of course, that would have been fucking ridiculous. But the sight of a jagged piece of wood soaring at him and simply colliding with his bike was enough for him to lose control and get body slammed into the heart of the prickly bush.

Strangely, I don't remember much of what happened after. I remember Trevor eventually managing to claw his way out of the gnarled mess of unwanted accupuncture and run home covered in angry wasps. Then I went home and had a sandwich. His mother had enough alcohol to disinfect the porcupine that was now her son, but I can only assume that looking at junipers causes him severe discomfort to this day. As for Trevor's friend, I dealt with him separately. I won't go into detail, but I will say that he suffered greatly at the hands of a grenade made of leaky, baked dog shit. Yes, it was as horrible as you are imagining it.

　

　

To end this article, I found this quote about growing up. "We grow neither better nor worse as we get old, but more like ourselves." In that spirit, I'd like to pose a question. At what age does it become inappropriate to kick someone in the head? What's the cut off age for that? It's cool when you're a baby, but then at a certain point it becomes an issue, or something you get idolized for doing. I'm asking this because if I'm becoming more like myself as I grow older, a grizzly sequel to this article is sure to follow. I'd like to kick someone in the head to push my material in the right direction. I'd like to discuss whether dropkicking someone in the neck would be grounds for leniency to an arresting officer, since the head wasn't specifically targetted. Perhaps I'll play this one by ear.