Fun Facts [Don't Believe Them]

Hello, my loyal readers.  I apologize, firstly, for neglecting this cluster-fuck of nonsense I call my blog.  Give me some credit, though, I am on a one-post-a-week diet [could be more annoying, could be less annoying].  Not that any of you could care less, but I have been busy studying for the LSAT [yes, I do other things than tweet, listen to music, and beg for your readership].  For those of you who don't speak acronym-ology, I forgive your ignorance [Law School Admission Test]. 

That's enough about me, let's talk about me, me.  I was thinking the other day [my usual segue] about some random facts I've come across in my life, be it on Twitter, Google, or under the cap of a Peach Tea Snapple [Yum!].  A lot of these facts are useless and to be honest with you, pretty fucking erroneous in my opinion [my opinion supersedes yours].  I'm the king of useless and erroneous facts however, so I absorb that shit like a pair of Depends on your grandmother [commence 3 minute vomit break].  For instance, one "fact" read something like this: "Only 2% of the world's population possesses green eyes."  Fun fact about me #1: I have green eyes.  So I'm special right?  I'm finally unique in society?  No [ah, shucks]. 

You see, "Eye Color" [all of this is by pure assumption, by the way] is most-likely documented when a child is born, say, on a "Birth Certificate".  Well, what about those millions of children who are born undocumented in Africa, Asia, and Africasia?  Exactly.  They probably have brown eyes in the first place [it's not racist, it's a fact] so they are automatically discounted from the "population" in the aforementioned "fact" because they, as well as their eye color, are undocumented.  In all reality, the "2%" is just a sample of a sub-sample of a sample's sub-sample.  Get what I'm saying here?  It's not really a fucking fact. 

The next "fact" I read [and I'm not double-checking these] was something like: "At night, the average person falls asleep within 7 1/2 minutes".  Really?  Fun fact about me #2: I don't fall asleep within 7 1/2 minutes.  It takes me fucking days to fall asleep. I'm talking for-ev-er [Squints' voice from Sandlot].  I started writing this post on Tuesday night and I've been up since.  And again, who is recording this experimental data and putting it on the bottle caps of delicious Snapple treats?  Is there a tiny man in your room [yes] watching you sleep, with a miniature stopwatch in hand?  Every time you lay down for bed [or is it, "lie down"?] --"Click"-- there goes the data retriever man watching you.  Shit! You didn't actually fall asleep --"Click"-- restart timer.  Seriously, how do they get this information? They make it up, that's how.

Here's another brilliant one.  I just went to UberFacts' twitter page to find one that really chapped my ass: "Left-handed people die, on average, 9 years earlier than right-handed people." Fun fact about me #3: I'm right-handed, bitches [sorry I'm not sorry, southpaws].  Don't get me wrong, I'm sure there is statistical evidence that can prove or disprove this "fact".  But, c'mon! Is there really a person working in every morgue, every hospital, and every coroners' office checking two boxes: "Handedness" and "Age at Expiration"?  Probably not.  And if for some reason you, God bless your soul, are employed in this sort of field, mark me down for "Right" and "32". 

I realize it may be difficult to understand my sense of reasoning here [or lack thereof].  Even so, I've come to the conclusion that with my unique green eyes, my abnormal insomnia, and my lifespan that is nine years longer than yours, I'm not really all that special.  Except for the FACT that I have a blog and you just wasted 10 minutes of your day reading it [GOT 'EM!]!

HAPPY FRIDAY, FRIENDS!

      

Society: You're a Crazy Breed

Think of an animal that begins with the letter 'I' [Yes, you].

Next, think of a country that begins with the letter 'D'.

Don't peak.

I said don't peak!

Ok, now that I know you're thinking about an iguana in Denmark, let's get started. If by chance you were thinking of an Indochinese tiger in the Dominican Republic, stop reading National Geographic and start reading this. I saw that trick in a movie called Biutiful. The title, Biutiful, is an awful Spanish spelling of the English word, "beautiful". This has absolutely nothing to do with what is to follow, but I digress [Digress spelled ADhD in Spanish].

Yes, as a matter of fact, I did create this image [Thanks to Google, Microsoft Paint and photographic piracy]

As I was saying, television is ridiculous these days. You can't watch five whole minutes without being bombarded by boner-inducing pharmaceutical commercials, inundated by imbeciles like Binder and Binder, or guilt-tripped by an old man telling you that, "a penny-a-day feeds a family of 8 in Africa" [Yeah, with pennies]. A penny a day doesn't even feed a dead dog in Africa, dumb ass.

Speaking of dead dogs, how sad are those ASPCA commercials [See what I did there?]? Yes, you know exactly what I'm talking about. The commercials where Sarah McLachlan is monotonously droning in the background about being "in the arms of an angel" while pictures of maliciously treated dogs and satanic cats tirelessly fade in and out. We live for those commercials. We loathe them, but love them; we dread them, but desire them; we want them, but want to be weened from them [Sorry, tangents...].

This is what is fucked up about our society: we will inevitably watch those goddamn animal cruelty commercials with tears streaming down our cheeks but when a commercial comes on about a starving child in Afr... CLICK ["I was planning on switching the channel back anyways."-everyone]. Those starving African children commercials are heartbreaking, don't get me wrong. But, no one, I mean absolutely NO ONE, wants to sit through those commercials [Exceptions: Mother Theresa, my mother, Princess Diana, and Angelina Jolie]. And it has nothing to do with our lack of desire to "give back" or our "xenophobic views of the world", but more so to do with the fact that we, as an American society, hate feeling guilty.

What I'm trying to say here is we'll gladly sit on a channel and get a little teary-eyed watching Bruno and Princess whimper and pant on the screen because we don't feel guilty. We know we didn't do that to Bruno or Princess [Michael Vick did.]. But God forbid we listen for a millisecond to the instructions of this senile, eighty-year-old white man on how to donate money to starving African children, because he's making us feel guilty. Hang on, Mr. Spokesperson of Saving the World. I need to finish this Costco bag of pizza flavored Combos before I lick the pizza flavored Combo dust off my fingers, fumble around in my lazy boy for the remote, and put my SONY Digital Dolby surround sound on mute. Just so I don't have to feel guilty. Feeling guilty yet? [Me neither.].

Eddie Vedder said it best when he said it best, "Society, you're a crazy breed." Damn right we are. We're a crazy fucking breed, Eddie. That's just it, though. We are a breed. We are a breed of well-to-do Earth citizens that hate feeling guilty about being well-to-do Earth citizens. And you can't forget, we love our animals over here [This is America, bitch]. Who's to say Eddie Vedder wasn't hinting towards our society somehow being an ancestral relative to an undisclaimed breed of dog? Maybe that's why we can relate to them so much. Maybe that's why we change the channel on those "penny-a-day" commercials but marinate in our own tears during the ASPCA ones. Ever think about that?

No?

Me neither. I just needed a way to tie all this shit together.

Happy Hump Day.

Irony Isn’t so Ironic Sometimes

First of all, I’m going to go ahead and assume everyone understands what the definition of “irony” is before I get started here. Secondly, I’m going to assume that everyone has heard of or is familiar with Alanis Morissette’s polar-opposite-of-ironic song entitled, “Ironic” [It Isn’t Fucking Ironic]. This song absolutely bothers me. Like it bothers me in a way that it shouldn’t really bother me [You’ll see why].

Have you ever taken the time to listen to these lyrics? [Probably not]. Well, I have. And let me tell you, there is nothing ”ironic” about the shitty, god-forsaken life Alanis Morissette is singing about. Let’s start with dissecting some of these lyrics [Brace yourselves, I’m about to get abrasive].

“An old man turned ninety-eight/he won the lottery and died the next day”. Wow. Way to set the tone for the most depressing song ever, Alanis. But is it really, ironic? [No]. Wouldn’t it be ironic if, ”An old man, turned ninety-eight/met his son for the first time and died the next day”? Or perhaps it would be ironic for, “A baby boy, 8 pounds 2 ounces in weight/born two hours ago and died the same day”? No. None of these things are ironic. They are all just fucking awful, helpless situations and I can’t believe you made me think such terrible thoughts, you satanic Canadian.

Another blatantly non-ironic lyric that Alanis wrote: “It’s like rain on your wedding day/a free ride, when you’ve already paid”. Hmm, let’s think again here. Is she writing about irony or the absolute shittiest possible things to happen to a human being in one day? There is zero irony in a rainstorm ruining one of the happiest days of a person’s life. At the same time, there is absolutely nothing ironic about paying for a ride and learning later on that it was, in fact, free. These are just a series of unfortunate events that rarely happen to anybody except a nappy-haired, washed-up, 90’s alternative singer [Yes, you, Alanis].

And don’t tell me “the good advice, that you just didn’t take” is ironic [Because it just isn’t]. If one chooses to not take ”the good advice”, then God bless them. That is completely up to their own discretion. And that "traffic jam, when you’re already late" bullshit? You should have thought to leave the homeless shelter a little bit earlier, Alanis. What about the “ten thousand spoons, when all you need is a knife”? How about a fork. You can’t eat anything with just a knife [Idiot].

Ok, maybe I am the one lost in translation here. Maybe Alanis does have some legitimate irony in her lyrics. But for the love of mankind could you at least cheer it up a bit? Am I correct in saying that “irony” is a literary device used to show humor in a revealed outcome that is contrary to what originally was expected? [Yes, because I fucking dictionary.com’d what “irony” is]. Still, she must have missed her scheduled time to take those happy pills because these lyrics make me want to head-first swan dive off of the 3rd floor balcony at Sigma Chi [Bro shout out]. So next time, Alanis, please don’t call it “Ironic”. Just call it, “I’m Having a Shitty Day and Writing About All of the Shittiest Shit that Could Happen to A Shitty Person Like Me”. Thanks [You’re welcome].

Author’s Note: This piece was entirely out of left field. Which is kind of ironic [don’t you think?], because I tend to be more favorable to right field. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoyed my cynicism, sarcasm, and overall distaste for Alanis Morissette and her music. If I can withstand my ears bleeding and restrain myself from smashing my head through a coffee table, I might write a piece on Nickelback [Ha! I’d rather get stuck in a traffic jam, when I’m already late].

Nothing as It Seems

I don’t exactly know why I am creating a blog. I have no special interests, no strange story, no real talents to be quite honest with you [Whoever you may be]. I very well could be writing this for myself to look back on in 5 years and say, “Really, Brian? Really? What the fuck were you thinking creating a blog, Brian?”. Then again, maybe in 5 years I’ll be professionally blogging for some professional blog-blog and at that point I will pat myself on the back and flick you all off [Definitely not going to happen].

My influence for the [ ]’s by the way [they’re called brackets] is from a book I once perused called I Am America and So Can You by Stephen Colbert [If you are reading this, you are certainly capable of reading that]. In said book he uses the margin to add witty comments and euphemisms to sort of mock himself. I don’t know how else to describe them nor do I really care to but the bottom line is they are funny to me so they will be funny to you [Nod head in agreement].

Let’s begin. As a sophomore in high school, my Composition I teacher read a story of mine [that’s what composition teachers do, I guess]. The assignment was to write a descriptively descriptive story. We [me, us, my class] were to use multiple adjectives and adverbs to really convey our point and bring the story to life. Really, most kids just Thesaurus.com’d adjectives and adverbs but their stories still sucked. Except for mine [I know, easy on the italics] [[I know, easy on the brackets]].

See, on the feedback I received from anonymous Composition I teacher, [You will find out why she is anonymous] anonymous Composition I teacher gave me a 100% and a note. The note read, [Comma here, right?] ”I have never given a 100% in my whole career as a teacher, but your story was truly emotional and one of the best I have ever read. You have a great talent and I thank you for sharing with me this work of art.” Ok, maybe that’s not exactly what she wrote, but fucking close. And keep in mind she was about my age at the time and had been teaching for maybe 2 years [So, not exactly a whole career]. Nonetheless, that bitch gave me a 100%. Fast forward 4 years or so. I come to find out this Composition I teacher [Who so happened to be my favorite teacher after that A+] was involved in a sexual relationship with a student. FUCK! All my writing credibility was lost. Or at this grand juncture was it found? [Credibility most likely lost and/or never existed].

I’ll let you, the reader, decide. Whoever the fuck you might be. Maybe you’re my friends. Maybe you’re strangers. Maybe you’re anonymous Composition I teacher. Maybe you’re my mom [I hope it’s not you, Mom].

Side note: Mom, if you are reading this, I apologize for my language, I owe $5 dollars in the "Swear Jar".

Psych! There is no "Swear Jar". And if there is one, I’m not paying SHIT!

So there it is. There’s my first blog post. I don’t know where to go from here. Do I shake your hand for reading? Perhaps an awkward one-arm hug? Just stay tuned, I’ll be funnier and more grammatically correct next time.