Newgrounds.com — Everything, By Everyone.

1.) Get a piece of fruit. These fruits can range from anything as humble as an apple to something as interesting as a pomegranate. My personal choice is a banana with few brown spots and absolutely no green tint. An overly brown banana is suffering from necrotizing fasciitis and will infect anyone in contact with it. A green banana is nauseous and will puke into your mouth as you eat it.

2.) Proceed to the nearest computer with iTunes. Once on, open iTunes. Hum a soft jingle or play muzak inside your head as the window opens.

3.) Insert a Modest Mouse CD into the computer. Wait for the computer to read the disc. Modest Mouse is the preferred choice, but choices such as She and Him, Foo Fighters, Jamie Cullum, and The Fray are acceptable as well. Take into consideration whether or not the artist sucks badly, not much, or barely breathes.

4.) Select the first track of the album.

5.) Peel, cut, or prepare to bite into your piece of fruit. Preferably, bob your head in tune to the music as this is being done.

6.) Start to eat your piece of fruit. After each bite, continue to nod your head at the computer. A computer is very insecure and will start to wonder whether or not you are still listening. Nodding acts as visual confirmation.

7.) After finishing your piece of fruit, wait until the entire album is finished. It is impolite to leave your chair/seat/floor/corpse while the artist is performing. Please show courtesy by waiting until an intermission or the end.

Yesterday, I played at a small school charity event for Autism Speaks. Admittedly, there was a small turnout (only three teams of six and a few extra players), but it was fun nonetheless. Because we were playing SPEEDBALL.

I'm not sure what's with my obsession with this game, but I absolutely love it. It's a mix of football, soccer, and basketball combined. It's a non-contact sport. With contact! What's not to like?

Usually, I'm the goalie for my team. I'd say I'm a decent goalie. My friends call me the Great Wall of China every time we play. Though it's not all fun and games guarding the net. Often I find myself being hit in the face. And chest. And nether regions.

Future children aside, I love it when the ball is loose in my area. Kicking, sliding, diving, I do anything to get that ball. A few times I was almost nailed in the face with a sneaker, and my fingers have been stepped on more than once. But all's fair in love (a pseudonym for speedball) and war.

I somewhat surprised when my friends prefer basketball in gym rather than speedball. This game is the reason why PE became fun. One of the juniors once told us:

"If you don't like speedball, then you're with the terrorists!"

Wipe your feet on the way out of my mind.
Socks
#85

I'm holding a brownie in my hand. It's a little while before dinner, and I am holding a delicious brownie in my hand. Everyone in the house has had a brownie only a few minutes before, and the urge to eat the brownie before dinner is overwhelming.

The thing with me is that I have a conscience. A BIG one. That means I keep my elbows off the table, say "please" and "thank you" often, and don't "sweets" half an hour before dinner. But there's a brownie here. Right now. In my hand. And I really want it.

I made the brownie from a box. It's nothing special. Pillsbury. Box. One hour of preparation, half an hour of baking. In fact, I'll probably kill myself via food poisoning if I eat it knowing my cooking skills. Maybe the eggs I used were maybe probably might be bad. But a brownie's a brownie, with it's moist out-of-the-oven goodness and its chocolate flavor.

So I put the choice in your hand reader! Decide whether or not I'll eat the brownie by posting in the comments below. Voting ends in an hour.

...
...
...

Screw it.

Wipe your feet on the way out of my mind
Socks
#85

My sister discovered something nasty in the fridge today. Can you guess what it is? Because if you can't and you read the article title, please consult your local ADD specialist.

Anyway, there's nothing worse than discovering bad milk. Except maybe the fridge that keeps on spoiling it. In the past five months, the milk's gone bad about six times.

On one occasion, I had the misfortune to actually pour sour milk into my cereal and didn't realize what happened until I ate the cereal and started to drink the milk. I hate mornings.

Another time, my mother discovered that bad milk does not mean inedible milk. Yogurt anyone? And for the record, she's right.

So far, I've discovered two forms of bad milk: the glop and the sour. Usually, it's the glop form for my family.

The worse thing is that it was practically the last thing for my family to drink besides water. But let's face it. It's water. Two hydrogen atoms connected to one oxygen atom.

I guess we'll survive until the next shopping trip. Probably next week. Crap.

This is a shorter post than usual, more or less because I have a pounding headache right now.

Wipe your feet on the way out of my mind.
Socks
#85

My physics teacher is an idiot.

Today, my class received the grade for a poster assigned last week. Out of ten points, I think only one kid in my class received the full ten.

Let's start from the beginning. She assigns the poster on Wednesday, giving us a "treat" instead of making us outline a section on the periodic table and the different groups. She shows us how she wanted the thing to be formatted, with eight columns for each group (transition metals, groups III-XII, fit in one column).

The next day, we work on our posters in class. She then decides to change a few things from the original layout that she went over with the other classes, but it wasn't too bad. However, some suck-up handed his project in early, and it looked pretty darn good. The bad news for us was that the teacher was now grading EACH project according to that one. So now we're working on our projects, trying to get ours to look as good as the "standard," when I notice that we need nine columns, not eight. I tell each person at my table this revelation, and we all either erase all the information we already wrote down (around two groups worth) to make room for the other column or redraw the entire frickin' layout on the back, wasting the half the period on this.

So now it's Friday, and everyone hands in their completed poster. To me, each one looked alright, definitely deserving at least an eight out of ten.

Then today happens. Almost everyone receives between three to six points. The teacher tells us that she wanted extra information from the section about each group. She then goes on to tell us that we needed to include hydrogen, even though that wasn't in an actual group (the textbook said that it's too "special") in the spaces and to add the last group (noble gases) many of us not at my table forgot to do.

This would've been fine, but the teacher:
A.) Showed us to do the poster with only the information in a green box in the reading,
B.) Neglected to tell the rest of the class to add another column, and
C.) Didn't tell anyone to include hydrogen.

A few of my fellow classmates had enough balls to point out these facts. Two were sent down to the principal for "disrespect" (which I somewhat agree with). She also stubbornly said that she told us to add extra information, she told us to add an extra column (none of which she did with our class), and that we should've known enough to add hydrogen. Being the "kind" teacher she was, she added a point to everyone who didn't include hydrogen.

Now, this teacher isn't too bad of a person. In fact, she's actually pretty cool when she isn't teaching. But isn't that the point of a teacher, to be a good teacher? To me, she fails at this. In fact, thirty-five out of the forty-five minutes of the period was spent on a debate that got nowhere.

Anyway, this was just to blow off some steam.

Wipe your feet on your way out of my mind.
Socks
#85

Violation.

Let's start from the beginning.

I started playing rec. lacrosse somewhere around March-April. I'm okay for a guy who's only been playing for two months. Occasionally, the coaches put me in whenever one of the better guys (no, I'm not afraid to admit that I do suck a little) needs a breather or gets a penalty for a loose-ball push/slashing (which happens often, so I do see my fair share of action).

Anyway, last game I go in when we're one man down (meaning there's one less player, usually a midfielder, on the field due to a penalty) for attack. Since attack can't cross the middle of the field, I'm waiting for the ball to come. A opposing player shoots and our goalie blocks the shot, winds up, and lobs the ball toward the center. Being on the goal's left side, I start to move back to the other team's goal. However, another opposing player knocks the ball out of my teammate's stick, so I have to go and chase it.

I scoop the ball only to be knocked by the other team. The ball goes loose and I go after it. However, another opponent comes up to me.

Then it happened. An opponent tries to scoop up the ball by going between my legs.

Not wanting the other team to gain possession, I kick the ball away, and the guy moves his stick up.

Let me paint you a picture; the guy is moving his stick back and forth wondering why it won't move while I'm dancing up and down trying not to have my own balls crushed.

There wasn't a penalty (technically, he didn't do anything wrong) and I got off the ride very quickly, but right now I feel somewhat... violated. Try having someone wave his stick (lacrosse stick, gutter-heads) back and forth between your legs.

Good thing I had my cup on, or there would've been a bigger problem.

Wipe your feet on the way out of my mind.
Socks
#85

"Why?"

"Because."

"If..."

"No."

"And?"

"Never."

"What?!"

"Yeah."

"If..."

"Can't."

"Aw."

"Yup."

"Please?"

"Wait."

*GASP*

"See?!"

"Oof!"

"Quiet!"

"Well..."

"Maybe."

"Yeah!"

"But-"

"Woo!"

*Silence*

"How about..."

"No."
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Wipe your feet on the way out of my mind.
Socks
#85

To start this, a quote from Taxi Driver (I haven't actually seen the movie, but the quote's pretty popular):

"You talkin' to me? You talkin' to me? You talkin' to me? Then who the hell else are you talkin' to? You talkin' to me? Well I'm the only one here. Who the f*** do you think you're talking to?"

So who are you talkin' to? Because in a one-sided conversation, there's only one person talking, and that person ain't you. Posting is already one-sided, so why would you be talkin'?

If you don't have anything to say don't say it. Seriously. It's noise pollution. Don't even dare start talkin' now. Because if you start talkin', who the hell are you talkin' to?

I ain't talkin' now. Who talks while typing? That's the point: have letters do the talking for you. Stay silent, click the keyboard, and watch in amazement as a split-second later, letters appear. If you wanna start talkin', talk when this post ends. And when you have someone to talk to.

Because if you don't:
"Who the f*** do you think you're talking to?"

Wipe your feet on the way out of my mind.
Socks
#85

Yes, we've all heard that Mentos put into Diet Coca Cola fizzes and foams and makes this huge tower of fizzy cola. But what would happen if, after you put the Mentos in, you screwed back on the cap fully -- assuming that you could do that quickly enough.

My hypothesis is that the pressure from the CO2 being released that quickly would either:
A. Force the cap to spin off at a high speed, or
B. Make the whole bottle explode, which is quite unlikely.

Today at school (Well, after. I had to stay to work on a project), I posed the idea that a bomb could be fashioned from this idea. He rejected it. Immediately. Maybe it was because I said using a water balloon would do the trick.

Otherwise, maybe using a stronger piece of material that is still pretty elastic would make an effective explosion.

Wipe your feet on the way out of my mind.
Socks
#85

Last year, my friend and I were on a field trip to see Shrek, the musical (Yes, it was a pretty good play), making up games on the way. One of these games was how many ways you could say different words. For example, one of the subjects was "poop." Together, we came up with 15-20 ways.

The ones I remember:
Poop (of course)
Poo
Crap
Shit
Droppings
Whitewash
Diarrhea
Chocolate
Manure
Pellets
Dung
Shiz
Feces
Excrement

How many ways can you name?

Wipe your feet on the way out of my mind (Seriously, it's dirty in there this time).
Socks
#85