What's going on here?
I checked into PoF recently and have had the most bizarre string of occurrences.
First, I had several messages from a dwarf. (little person? short gal? What's the PC term nowadays?) And it wasn't some sweet, well thought-out letter or anything. Just "i want to be ur woman.' No joke. And that was the third message from her, all essentially saying the same thing. What the hell?
Second, I get hate mail from some random chick in buttf*ck Iowa. I posted my fake entry (this one) and she claimed I obviously hated women, was a closet gay, and -on my 43rd birthday- would buy a blow up doll with, and I quote: "with big tits and a penis that you can order right off your internet. lol"
And the best part is that she's looking for a guy with a sense of humor. Good luck in your search, Sensitive Suzy.
Then, to top it off, I get a cherry on top. The third message is from- get ready- a DUDE. What? Huh? What happened? Where am I? I double checked and, sure enough, he's on there looking for dudes. I thought maybe he was confused (apparently he is, but not the way I meant).
And his message?
"Come to Peoria."
Right. Let me just gas up my never-mobile.
Fuckers.
Caleb out.
Tweet
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Entry 80: GIMME ALL YOUR MONEY!!!
A bit intense, eh?
Well, I've decided to join a fund-raiser for cancer and such. Here's the link:
If I raise $600 I get to jump out of another airplane. And I really want to. And if I raise more than that, they'll give me a parachute.
So what can I do to entice you to donate to the cause? Let's break it down:
1. Guilt. If you don't donate $15 to me, then you love cancer.
2. Shame. After all the enjoyment you've gotten from my blog, you won't reciprocate with a measly $16?
3. Begging. Come on please!? Please? I really need it- cancer really needs it- come on, be a pal!?
4. Long-winded mathematical explanations of its feasibility. Okay, $600. That's doable. If I get $17.64 from each follower I'll have hit my mark. If I get just .09 cents or so for every time you click on my blog, I'll be there by September. If one of you pledges all $600, I'll kiss you on the mouth.
5. Bribery. If you donate enough money, I'll do you a solid. Hard to say what exactly, or how much you have to donate to get it, but you know me- I'm pretty reasonable and willing to, uh, do stuff.
6. Threats. Seriously- I work with all IT nerds. If I find that you don't donate at least a small amount, I'll have them find your IP address and come to your house with a brand new beautiful kitten. Then, months later, when you're in love with your kitten, I will sneak into your house in the dead of night and punch you in the face.
7. Ask nicely. Okay, I don't even know how to begin with this one. Lame.
I suppose that's all I got really. I personally like #1 and will be using it as my campaign slogan for the next month. Let's see if we can cure cancer, save boobs, and push me out of a plane, eh?
That being said, I'm on a quest to find a greasy BLT. I've been inspired.
Caleb "doesn't love cancer" Shreves
PS I've secretly employed an 8th tactic to entice you to donate. I've turned this post into a minefield of links to the donate page, but ONE of the links is to pictures of baby kittens. You'll never find it unless you click them all! Brilliant! Tweet
Well, I've decided to join a fund-raiser for cancer and such. Here's the link:
If I raise $600 I get to jump out of another airplane. And I really want to. And if I raise more than that, they'll give me a parachute.
So what can I do to entice you to donate to the cause? Let's break it down:
1. Guilt. If you don't donate $15 to me, then you love cancer.
2. Shame. After all the enjoyment you've gotten from my blog, you won't reciprocate with a measly $16?
3. Begging. Come on please!? Please? I really need it- cancer really needs it- come on, be a pal!?
4. Long-winded mathematical explanations of its feasibility. Okay, $600. That's doable. If I get $17.64 from each follower I'll have hit my mark. If I get just .09 cents or so for every time you click on my blog, I'll be there by September. If one of you pledges all $600, I'll kiss you on the mouth.
5. Bribery. If you donate enough money, I'll do you a solid. Hard to say what exactly, or how much you have to donate to get it, but you know me- I'm pretty reasonable and willing to, uh, do stuff.
6. Threats. Seriously- I work with all IT nerds. If I find that you don't donate at least a small amount, I'll have them find your IP address and come to your house with a brand new beautiful kitten. Then, months later, when you're in love with your kitten, I will sneak into your house in the dead of night and punch you in the face.
7. Ask nicely. Okay, I don't even know how to begin with this one. Lame.
I suppose that's all I got really. I personally like #1 and will be using it as my campaign slogan for the next month. Let's see if we can cure cancer, save boobs, and push me out of a plane, eh?
That being said, I'm on a quest to find a greasy BLT. I've been inspired.
Caleb "doesn't love cancer" Shreves
PS I've secretly employed an 8th tactic to entice you to donate. I've turned this post into a minefield of links to the donate page, but ONE of the links is to pictures of baby kittens. You'll never find it unless you click them all! Brilliant! Tweet
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Entry 79: Caleb At 13,500 Feet!
Groundlings,
I jumped out of a mother-fucking plane!
No, that's pretty much the story. I faced fear unimaginable, nearly shat myself, and hurled towards the earth at 130+ miles per hour (that's like 27 million meters for you weird metric people) until I landed safely.
As you knee-crawl your way to the open door of a plan, strapped to some dude with a couple harnesses, and watch people falling off the edge of a plane... holy shit. That last second where you are looking out and can see the ground (miles below!) and you know that you are about to be next... that's the most fear I've ever felt in my life.
But, as soon as you're out and falling, it's the best freakin' feeling ever! I would love to post some pictures and a link to my video, but I left my stuff in The Johann's car and he is currently meeting with the Taliban to negotiate the end to the war. He says he'll compromise by letting them keep their beards if they all agree to grow mullets.
Speaking of, here were a couple of my favorite Johann quotes from the carride:
1. We were talking about "squirters" (look it up, but its NSFW) because a girl I went to high school is one. This led to the phrase (I think by me) "I don't think I'm okay with Beaver-froth." To which Johann replied, "It's good for numbing the whiskers."
2. There was a car parked off the road in a ditch, sideways, in the weeds, with lawnchairs piled on top of it. Very strange. I notice that Johann saw it too and said "Johann- did you see that? What the hell?" And he said "Yeah... it's good Friday." First off, no it's not. Second, even if it was how would that explain things? Cripes.
I have a lot of stories from this weekend, but honestly there must have been something about skydiving that turns you epic because I had 3 consecutive nights of epic-drinking and could barely function yesterday. No, wait, I can barely function today, so yesterday was something altogether different.
And when I got home Saturday guess what I saw sitting on a chair outside my front door? My flask. I hoped that he could go skydiving with me, but oh well. Now I'll just have to do it again! I already bought my next ticket, so I'm thinking October. Anyone in?
Caleb "I jumped out of a plane- what'd you do?" Shreves Tweet
I jumped out of a mother-fucking plane!
No, that's pretty much the story. I faced fear unimaginable, nearly shat myself, and hurled towards the earth at 130+ miles per hour (that's like 27 million meters for you weird metric people) until I landed safely.
As you knee-crawl your way to the open door of a plan, strapped to some dude with a couple harnesses, and watch people falling off the edge of a plane... holy shit. That last second where you are looking out and can see the ground (miles below!) and you know that you are about to be next... that's the most fear I've ever felt in my life.
But, as soon as you're out and falling, it's the best freakin' feeling ever! I would love to post some pictures and a link to my video, but I left my stuff in The Johann's car and he is currently meeting with the Taliban to negotiate the end to the war. He says he'll compromise by letting them keep their beards if they all agree to grow mullets.
Speaking of, here were a couple of my favorite Johann quotes from the carride:
1. We were talking about "squirters" (look it up, but its NSFW) because a girl I went to high school is one. This led to the phrase (I think by me) "I don't think I'm okay with Beaver-froth." To which Johann replied, "It's good for numbing the whiskers."
2. There was a car parked off the road in a ditch, sideways, in the weeds, with lawnchairs piled on top of it. Very strange. I notice that Johann saw it too and said "Johann- did you see that? What the hell?" And he said "Yeah... it's good Friday." First off, no it's not. Second, even if it was how would that explain things? Cripes.
I have a lot of stories from this weekend, but honestly there must have been something about skydiving that turns you epic because I had 3 consecutive nights of epic-drinking and could barely function yesterday. No, wait, I can barely function today, so yesterday was something altogether different.
And when I got home Saturday guess what I saw sitting on a chair outside my front door? My flask. I hoped that he could go skydiving with me, but oh well. Now I'll just have to do it again! I already bought my next ticket, so I'm thinking October. Anyone in?
Caleb "I jumped out of a plane- what'd you do?" Shreves Tweet
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Entry 78: Two-Fer Thursday!
Yes, you get back-to-backers today!
Last night I was out with The Johann.
He tells a girl that they might be on the same flight out of town this weekend, because he (and I, though I'm not actually going) is going to Afghanistan.
When asked about Afghanistan, he claims that it's "customary" to wear short, short, short denim shorts with the pockets hanging below the cutoff point. And that you need a pocketful of change ($4.45 to be exact) to ward off the Taliban, because they really like $4.45.
Also, you're supposed to grease your chest up and bring a spyglass. When you step off the plane you're to stop, pull out your spyglass, and scan the horizon for Taliban.
Oh, and also bring a nitelight he says.
Later in the evening, a girl (hammered) tells me that she's on Team America for sprinting. I call BS. She stands firm.
Fast forward to five minutes later, shoes and socks off, with someone standing at one end of the (busy) street with their arms up. Yup, we had ourselves a footrace, which I'm proud to report that I won handily- despite her early start.
Then I conned girls into buying me beer.
Success.
Caleb "won a footrace" Shreves Tweet
Last night I was out with The Johann.
He tells a girl that they might be on the same flight out of town this weekend, because he (and I, though I'm not actually going) is going to Afghanistan.
When asked about Afghanistan, he claims that it's "customary" to wear short, short, short denim shorts with the pockets hanging below the cutoff point. And that you need a pocketful of change ($4.45 to be exact) to ward off the Taliban, because they really like $4.45.
Also, you're supposed to grease your chest up and bring a spyglass. When you step off the plane you're to stop, pull out your spyglass, and scan the horizon for Taliban.
Oh, and also bring a nitelight he says.
Later in the evening, a girl (hammered) tells me that she's on Team America for sprinting. I call BS. She stands firm.
Fast forward to five minutes later, shoes and socks off, with someone standing at one end of the (busy) street with their arms up. Yup, we had ourselves a footrace, which I'm proud to report that I won handily- despite her early start.
Then I conned girls into buying me beer.
Success.
Caleb "won a footrace" Shreves Tweet
Entry 77: Best Chick Profile Ever
No, seriously- read the title.
My friend, in an act of utter despair over sheManigans, has changed her online profile to perhaps the best I've ever seen.
Guaranteed to work!
Here it is:
Apparently, it doesn't really matter what I write about myself on this site. So here's how this online dating stuff has gone so far:
My profile: "I'm sarcastic, slightly cynical and not very feminine."
Emails I receive: "Your profile was so cute and sweet, I'd like to get to know you."
My response: "Really?! WTF??!"
My profile: "Cubs fan!"
Emails I receive: "I love the Cardinals. Cubs suck!"
My response: "Please drive your VW (no doubt you drive a VW) off a pier now."
My profile: "I love to read. I truly enjoy literature."
Emails I recieve: "You sem intalgent Ilikey samrt grls. We need date somtyme."
My response: ".........." (That's right. They don't even deserve a response.)
Well, Tha...Tha...That's all folks.
Not bad, right?
It has to work.
Caleb out.
PS after I post this I think I'll ask her permission to post it. That's Caleb-style. Tweet
My friend, in an act of utter despair over sheManigans, has changed her online profile to perhaps the best I've ever seen.
Guaranteed to work!
Here it is:
Apparently, it doesn't really matter what I write about myself on this site. So here's how this online dating stuff has gone so far:
My profile: "I'm sarcastic, slightly cynical and not very feminine."
Emails I receive: "Your profile was so cute and sweet, I'd like to get to know you."
My response: "Really?! WTF??!"
My profile: "Cubs fan!"
Emails I receive: "I love the Cardinals. Cubs suck!"
My response: "Please drive your VW (no doubt you drive a VW) off a pier now."
My profile: "I love to read. I truly enjoy literature."
Emails I recieve: "You sem intalgent Ilikey samrt grls. We need date somtyme."
My response: ".........." (That's right. They don't even deserve a response.)
Well, Tha...Tha...That's all folks.
Not bad, right?
It has to work.
Caleb out.
PS after I post this I think I'll ask her permission to post it. That's Caleb-style. Tweet
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Entry 76: Chicks Aren't Much Better!
Companeros,
As you know, I've taken many an occasion to rip on the dating world and especially the antics of men on dating sites. Read this if you've forgotten.
I realized I had Fox-newsed it up and forgotten to provide any balance on the issue. So I present to you the profile of someone who messaged me on PoF. Without the picture (though the blurry photo of her in skank-attire appeared to be attractive).
"about me: im sexy i have a great body im looking for a handson guy athletic ho likes to play or full around an very hadsom.and im also like to exsercise alot .i like to play with man.i also like to do anythin."
Lots to go off of there, right? "Handson guy athletic ho" is pretty good, as is "i like to play with man.i also like to do anythin" Nice. That really covers all your bases. Here was her idea of a first date:
"i would anythig he wants an maybe talk and have a little fun and full around"
Yup. Anything I want. AND maybe (maybe) talk. Sounds ideal!
Look, I can be skanky and all, but this crosses some sort of boundary for me. And, to top it all off, here is her basic info. See if you catch the best part!
am Seeking a
Man
For Hang Out
Do you drink?
No
Marital Status:
Single
Profession:
teacher
Smarts:
N/A
Do you want children?
Does not want children.
Do you do drugs?
NoDid you question the "no" to drugs? Close. Did you love that under 'Smarts' she had 'N/A'? Yes, that was a good one. The best however? Catch it? Profession. TEACHER!!
Best. Classroom. Ever.
So ladies, remember: men don't have a monopoly on ridiculous profiles!
And yes, we're going out next week. Planning on "fulling around" and maybe (I said maybe) talking. You know- see how it goes.
Cripes.
Caleb "is she serious?" Shreves
Monday, August 16, 2010
Entry 75: Maybe Caleb Needs A Helmet
Buckaroos,
I used to think that I had a good handle on all of the things I had left to do in the, uh, bedroom. I knew what had been done, and what had not been done, and what I still wanted to do. Apparently there may be some hidden things on the "haven't done yet" list that I didn't know about.
Lights on or off? I don't have a preference myself, but they happened to be off- very off- during a weekend tryst with a lady friend. I should have been forewarned of impending danger since I had already managed to burn a massive blister on my index finger the night before, but alcohol-confidence is definitely a two-edged sword.
In a mildly awkward attempt to move from standing to laying on a bed, I managed to crack my LF's head with my own. Pretty bad. Bad enough that she had a headache the next day. (Hey- I play rough. What can I say?)
Not satisfied with results of my skull-thickness test (read that how you will), I then outdid myself. I was throwing myself wholeheartedly into some serious sport fucking (use that term if you want) and had this poor girl pretty much most of the way off the bed.
I'm getting there.
I'm getting there!
I'm about there!! And!!! RIGHT at the moment of "there," my head comes down violently, right into the corner of my dresser. Briefly knocking me out. Briefly.
Now here's what is weird. You know how sometimes two competing feelings can cancel each other out? Well that's what happened in this situation. As incredibly painful as it was, I didn't even really register the feeling as pain. I didn't realize that an orgasm is actually that distracting. How far could that go? Could you set me on fire at the moment? What about a kick in the nuts? Who knows. What I know is that I thought I had gotten away scot-free and she would never know, but I wanted to go check myself out just in case.
So I got to the bathroom, look in the mirror, and see my entire face covered in blood. Now THAT is some serious sex action! In fairness, the cut itself wasn't that bad. Someone told me that facial injuries just have a tendency to bleed more, but still- when you get done in the sack and see yourself covered in blood, that's something memorable!
I hadn't escaped though. The girl, wondering what I was doing, came into the bathroom. I had to explain the situation and check to make sure I hadn't covered her in blood. Because, in general, bleeding in the bedroom is not good.
To her (credit?), she laughed her ass off at me. And yes, this is the same girl that laughed her ass off when I toppled like a tree in the forest in my own hallway.
Time for me to get a helmet?
Caleb "it's not even that noticeable" Shreves Tweet
I used to think that I had a good handle on all of the things I had left to do in the, uh, bedroom. I knew what had been done, and what had not been done, and what I still wanted to do. Apparently there may be some hidden things on the "haven't done yet" list that I didn't know about.
Lights on or off? I don't have a preference myself, but they happened to be off- very off- during a weekend tryst with a lady friend. I should have been forewarned of impending danger since I had already managed to burn a massive blister on my index finger the night before, but alcohol-confidence is definitely a two-edged sword.
In a mildly awkward attempt to move from standing to laying on a bed, I managed to crack my LF's head with my own. Pretty bad. Bad enough that she had a headache the next day. (Hey- I play rough. What can I say?)
Not satisfied with results of my skull-thickness test (read that how you will), I then outdid myself. I was throwing myself wholeheartedly into some serious sport fucking (use that term if you want) and had this poor girl pretty much most of the way off the bed.
I'm getting there.
I'm getting there!
I'm about there!! And!!! RIGHT at the moment of "there," my head comes down violently, right into the corner of my dresser. Briefly knocking me out. Briefly.
Now here's what is weird. You know how sometimes two competing feelings can cancel each other out? Well that's what happened in this situation. As incredibly painful as it was, I didn't even really register the feeling as pain. I didn't realize that an orgasm is actually that distracting. How far could that go? Could you set me on fire at the moment? What about a kick in the nuts? Who knows. What I know is that I thought I had gotten away scot-free and she would never know, but I wanted to go check myself out just in case.
So I got to the bathroom, look in the mirror, and see my entire face covered in blood. Now THAT is some serious sex action! In fairness, the cut itself wasn't that bad. Someone told me that facial injuries just have a tendency to bleed more, but still- when you get done in the sack and see yourself covered in blood, that's something memorable!
I hadn't escaped though. The girl, wondering what I was doing, came into the bathroom. I had to explain the situation and check to make sure I hadn't covered her in blood. Because, in general, bleeding in the bedroom is not good.
To her (credit?), she laughed her ass off at me. And yes, this is the same girl that laughed her ass off when I toppled like a tree in the forest in my own hallway.
Time for me to get a helmet?
Caleb "it's not even that noticeable" Shreves Tweet
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Entry 74: Walter The Mean-Spirited Koala
Nature Lovers,
Today I am going to introduce you to a colleague, Walter the mean-spirited Koala. He's been begging to write something and-
Give it to me now! Is this keyboard on? Yeah. There the words are. Hi! Hello everyone!
Sorry about that. I wasn't DONE with the introduction yet, so anyway. This is Walter and he's
Fucking awesome! Your keyboard days are over. Move along. I will be typing the rest of this blog. Maybe I can make it not so gay for you? Because I read several of your posts and man, I've got to tell you, you suck at life and writing. Don't you all agree? His writing is like trying to poop out a lampshade. Maybe you should go back to work as a gas station attendant.
You know Walter, you said you were going to be nicer than usual today.
I also lie like a motherfucker! And you're too stupid to know better. I could tell you to lay in front of my car and that I wouldn't run you over, and you would do it. But you know I would hit the gas. Then I'd probably go buy beers and celebrate your death.
Wow, you are extra mean-spirited today.
No, this is about normal for me. If I was extra mean today, I would not have pulled out so early from your mother.
Hey! Leave mom out of this or I'll rip your koala nails off.
You couldn't fuck with me. I know karate. I'm from Asia, remember? Anyway, I had something serious to write about today and your constant whining has made me forget. You should just be quiet from now on. And by now on I mean forever, because what you say is always retarded. I thought we were going to make a video? Are you too cheap to buy a video camera? How will people know what I look like? They can't even hear my accent.
Well, we can make a video. We'll have to go get a camera and a microphone setup. Maybe youtube it.
Maybe nevertube it because you are a lazy piece of shit. And cheap. You make clothes out of used ketchup packets to save money. Do you know how fucking hard it is to type with Koala fingers? Get me one of those dragon things.
You mean dragon speak? Like cripples and retarded kids use?
Oh, very funny. The clever joke man tried to insult me. That reminds me of a joke I heard today. I queer guy goes into the gay bar and- oh wait, you were there, I don't have to tell you.
Good one.
No great one, jagbag.
Jagbag?
That's you. A bag full of jags. It's basically dickhead, retard, and cocksucker all rolled into one. Fits you great.
You know what, this is stupid. I should never have agreed to this.
Well you did and you have to post it now. I bet your readers will all say 'give us more Walter! He's way more entertaining than that pussy shit Caleb posts." Then I will change the name of this blog to "Walter tells it like it is."
Yeah, that'll go over well. Sorry about Walter everyone, I'll try not to let him post anything anymore. He's
Fucking awesome!
Shut up Walter! You're just a dick of a koala.
Another good one. You're on a roll now.
(Sigh.)
Well, anyway, I'll catch you all later. And if you have a video camera or microphone, let me know because Walter won't shut up about making some sort of recording. He claims he's going to lay down 'tracks'- whatever that means.
CALEB
Is he gone? Ha! Sucker. He always falls for the sleeping koala trick. Koalas don't actually sleep, everyone knows this. Did you see in the news this week about that guy who flipped shit and left the airplane? He took beer with him, too, which is awesome. I hope it was good beer though and not that Pabst Ribbon shit. I drank that once and shit all over the place. They should call is laxative juice because that's pretty much what it is. Maybe I should put some in Caleb's coffee in the morning. That would be hilarious. Anyway, I got to go now. There are some girls who are supposed to be coming over, but you never know with them. They're not too hot anyway, so I say probably no big loss if they don't show. Be nice to play with boobies though. I always like that. Maybe I'll go play some of the rap music- girls always seem to like that shit. I don't get it though. I thought gangsters were Italian not black guys. Maybe they never seen scarface. If anyone writes something, write 'Caleb is a giant dickweed' or something. That would be hilarious too. Okay, bye for now. Tweet
Today I am going to introduce you to a colleague, Walter the mean-spirited Koala. He's been begging to write something and-
Give it to me now! Is this keyboard on? Yeah. There the words are. Hi! Hello everyone!
Sorry about that. I wasn't DONE with the introduction yet, so anyway. This is Walter and he's
Fucking awesome! Your keyboard days are over. Move along. I will be typing the rest of this blog. Maybe I can make it not so gay for you? Because I read several of your posts and man, I've got to tell you, you suck at life and writing. Don't you all agree? His writing is like trying to poop out a lampshade. Maybe you should go back to work as a gas station attendant.
You know Walter, you said you were going to be nicer than usual today.
I also lie like a motherfucker! And you're too stupid to know better. I could tell you to lay in front of my car and that I wouldn't run you over, and you would do it. But you know I would hit the gas. Then I'd probably go buy beers and celebrate your death.
Wow, you are extra mean-spirited today.
No, this is about normal for me. If I was extra mean today, I would not have pulled out so early from your mother.
Hey! Leave mom out of this or I'll rip your koala nails off.
You couldn't fuck with me. I know karate. I'm from Asia, remember? Anyway, I had something serious to write about today and your constant whining has made me forget. You should just be quiet from now on. And by now on I mean forever, because what you say is always retarded. I thought we were going to make a video? Are you too cheap to buy a video camera? How will people know what I look like? They can't even hear my accent.
Well, we can make a video. We'll have to go get a camera and a microphone setup. Maybe youtube it.
Maybe nevertube it because you are a lazy piece of shit. And cheap. You make clothes out of used ketchup packets to save money. Do you know how fucking hard it is to type with Koala fingers? Get me one of those dragon things.
You mean dragon speak? Like cripples and retarded kids use?
Oh, very funny. The clever joke man tried to insult me. That reminds me of a joke I heard today. I queer guy goes into the gay bar and- oh wait, you were there, I don't have to tell you.
Good one.
No great one, jagbag.
Jagbag?
That's you. A bag full of jags. It's basically dickhead, retard, and cocksucker all rolled into one. Fits you great.
You know what, this is stupid. I should never have agreed to this.
Well you did and you have to post it now. I bet your readers will all say 'give us more Walter! He's way more entertaining than that pussy shit Caleb posts." Then I will change the name of this blog to "Walter tells it like it is."
Yeah, that'll go over well. Sorry about Walter everyone, I'll try not to let him post anything anymore. He's
Fucking awesome!
Shut up Walter! You're just a dick of a koala.
Another good one. You're on a roll now.
(Sigh.)
Well, anyway, I'll catch you all later. And if you have a video camera or microphone, let me know because Walter won't shut up about making some sort of recording. He claims he's going to lay down 'tracks'- whatever that means.
CALEB
Is he gone? Ha! Sucker. He always falls for the sleeping koala trick. Koalas don't actually sleep, everyone knows this. Did you see in the news this week about that guy who flipped shit and left the airplane? He took beer with him, too, which is awesome. I hope it was good beer though and not that Pabst Ribbon shit. I drank that once and shit all over the place. They should call is laxative juice because that's pretty much what it is. Maybe I should put some in Caleb's coffee in the morning. That would be hilarious. Anyway, I got to go now. There are some girls who are supposed to be coming over, but you never know with them. They're not too hot anyway, so I say probably no big loss if they don't show. Be nice to play with boobies though. I always like that. Maybe I'll go play some of the rap music- girls always seem to like that shit. I don't get it though. I thought gangsters were Italian not black guys. Maybe they never seen scarface. If anyone writes something, write 'Caleb is a giant dickweed' or something. That would be hilarious too. Okay, bye for now. Tweet
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Entry 73: The Bank Teller
Citizens,
Last week I accidentally left my debit card in the ATM machine near where I work. I went today to the bank nearby to see if they had collected it there.
I approached the young lady working at the bank counter who, though cute in a pancake sort of way, seemed very sad and unhappy. I explained that I lost my card and asked if she could check. She did. When she came back (with my card) I asked:
"How are you today?"
Her: "Fine."
Me: "Good. 'cause you look like your dog died or something."
Her: ::silence::
Me: ::blank stare::
Her: "No, I'm just tired today I guess."
Me: "Oh. Okay. 'Cause I've seen more cheer in videos about the Holocaust."
Her: ::blank stare::
Me: "Well, see ya later!"
These are the conversations of my life. A gentle wake-up call or a vastly inappropriate insult? You decide!
Caleb "Seriously- the Holocaust sucked" Shreves Tweet
Last week I accidentally left my debit card in the ATM machine near where I work. I went today to the bank nearby to see if they had collected it there.
I approached the young lady working at the bank counter who, though cute in a pancake sort of way, seemed very sad and unhappy. I explained that I lost my card and asked if she could check. She did. When she came back (with my card) I asked:
"How are you today?"
Her: "Fine."
Me: "Good. 'cause you look like your dog died or something."
Her: ::silence::
Me: ::blank stare::
Her: "No, I'm just tired today I guess."
Me: "Oh. Okay. 'Cause I've seen more cheer in videos about the Holocaust."
Her: ::blank stare::
Me: "Well, see ya later!"
These are the conversations of my life. A gentle wake-up call or a vastly inappropriate insult? You decide!
Caleb "Seriously- the Holocaust sucked" Shreves Tweet
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Entry 72: Caleb's Funeral
Cats,
I wanted to address something today that I've drunkenly spouted off about before, but never really hammered down any specifics on.
Theoretically, and not to be morbid, but what if I die? Somali pirates, Zombies, Wasps; there are many dangers out there that a young buck like myself could face and potentially die from.
So first off, don't be all creeped out or anything. I'm not planning on dying, and I don't see any foreseeable reason I might (other than the fact that I might go skydiving in a couple of weeks. That could go wrong I guess.) in the near future.
But I do want to address the "what if," because there is no way I'm having a regular old lame funeral where everyone goes to the sad house and listens to soft classical music while weeping over a picture of me sitting on a casket. No way. Lame, awkward, and counter-productive. None of which would honor the spirit of my life.
Instead, I want a joyous celebration of fun and gaiety. Yes, gaiety. I'm still working on some specifics, but there are a few must-haves that I can already tell you about. So if I'm offed in the near future, please use this (seriously) as a reference for the type of shenanigans I want to happen.
First, no funeral homes. They're fine if you like Quaker-somberness and lots of tissues, but not for me. Instead, I want mine somewhere fun. Not necessarily a bowling alley or a skatepark, but maybe at a cool bar or outside in the country somewhere.
Second, I definitely want alcohol- lots of it, and free. Use the expenses saved by foregoing the funeral home to provide keg beer (Bud Light, Coors Light, PBR, Guinness, Stella, and Sapporo at the least) to all guests. Also, liquor should be served by a professional bartender.
It's fine if people want to say things, but I want the funny and interesting stories told. Tell of our adventures, stories, and good times had. Make fun of me if you want, roast-style. Which would be ironic because I want roasted; by cremation.
This is a definite: I want my ashes collected into thimble-sized containers and offered to anyone who comes to the funeral. With these ashes, I would like whoever takes them to plant me with a new tree. Somewhere cool please. Ideally I would like to see Caleb-trees all over the world!
This reminds me of a funny story Cledus tells: he says he wants all the ladies to take his ashes and put them in their douches, then "run me through one last time." My kind of guy!
Beyond this the possibilities are endless. I think live music would be appropriate- maybe a salsa band- as well as someone playing some recordings of me (anthem, trumpet, etc.). If it's feasible, maybe find a stand-up comic that I admire or a musician I really like. I would love to have Nick Swardson come to my funeral and do a 30 minute stand-up routine.
I know that, if I died, there would be some sadness. That's fine. But I want the focus to be on the good stuff while I was here! Read some of my blogs, show some embarrassing photos of me from Facebook, and auction my stuff off if you want.
I'm serious. I don't want the usual funeral experience. Since I'll be dead I really won't care, but if anyone disobeys this I promise I will come back and make noises in the night and rattle your cupboards as I haunt you.
Oh, and if I turn into a zombie, make sure you sever my head and shoot me twice through my zombie heart. Don't take pity on me if I attack you, because I will be a remorseless zombie that needs put down. That much is for sure.
Okay, that's all I got for now. If you have any additional suggestions for a kick-ass fun funeral, let me know!
Caleb "I'm probably not going to die soon anyway" Shreves Tweet
I wanted to address something today that I've drunkenly spouted off about before, but never really hammered down any specifics on.
Theoretically, and not to be morbid, but what if I die? Somali pirates, Zombies, Wasps; there are many dangers out there that a young buck like myself could face and potentially die from.
So first off, don't be all creeped out or anything. I'm not planning on dying, and I don't see any foreseeable reason I might (other than the fact that I might go skydiving in a couple of weeks. That could go wrong I guess.) in the near future.
But I do want to address the "what if," because there is no way I'm having a regular old lame funeral where everyone goes to the sad house and listens to soft classical music while weeping over a picture of me sitting on a casket. No way. Lame, awkward, and counter-productive. None of which would honor the spirit of my life.
Instead, I want a joyous celebration of fun and gaiety. Yes, gaiety. I'm still working on some specifics, but there are a few must-haves that I can already tell you about. So if I'm offed in the near future, please use this (seriously) as a reference for the type of shenanigans I want to happen.
First, no funeral homes. They're fine if you like Quaker-somberness and lots of tissues, but not for me. Instead, I want mine somewhere fun. Not necessarily a bowling alley or a skatepark, but maybe at a cool bar or outside in the country somewhere.
Second, I definitely want alcohol- lots of it, and free. Use the expenses saved by foregoing the funeral home to provide keg beer (Bud Light, Coors Light, PBR, Guinness, Stella, and Sapporo at the least) to all guests. Also, liquor should be served by a professional bartender.
It's fine if people want to say things, but I want the funny and interesting stories told. Tell of our adventures, stories, and good times had. Make fun of me if you want, roast-style. Which would be ironic because I want roasted; by cremation.
This is a definite: I want my ashes collected into thimble-sized containers and offered to anyone who comes to the funeral. With these ashes, I would like whoever takes them to plant me with a new tree. Somewhere cool please. Ideally I would like to see Caleb-trees all over the world!
This reminds me of a funny story Cledus tells: he says he wants all the ladies to take his ashes and put them in their douches, then "run me through one last time." My kind of guy!
Beyond this the possibilities are endless. I think live music would be appropriate- maybe a salsa band- as well as someone playing some recordings of me (anthem, trumpet, etc.). If it's feasible, maybe find a stand-up comic that I admire or a musician I really like. I would love to have Nick Swardson come to my funeral and do a 30 minute stand-up routine.
I know that, if I died, there would be some sadness. That's fine. But I want the focus to be on the good stuff while I was here! Read some of my blogs, show some embarrassing photos of me from Facebook, and auction my stuff off if you want.
I'm serious. I don't want the usual funeral experience. Since I'll be dead I really won't care, but if anyone disobeys this I promise I will come back and make noises in the night and rattle your cupboards as I haunt you.
Oh, and if I turn into a zombie, make sure you sever my head and shoot me twice through my zombie heart. Don't take pity on me if I attack you, because I will be a remorseless zombie that needs put down. That much is for sure.
Okay, that's all I got for now. If you have any additional suggestions for a kick-ass fun funeral, let me know!
Caleb "I'm probably not going to die soon anyway" Shreves Tweet
Monday, August 9, 2010
Entry 71: Urine-Luck Happy Scampi
Cooters,
(Shit! Said I wasn't going to use that word!)
Er, Pooties,
There. That's better.
Interesting bit of news today. Apparently a lot of people take prozac, then a lot of people poop and pee, then that poop and pee gets into water supplies, and then shrimp (and other aquatic life) consume it. Awesome, right?
It's not all good news though. These happy-scampi shrimp get fucked up on this drug and act crazy. They go to the light, which like any good movie plot is not a good idea. Instead of dying and going to heaven though, these shrimp are just leaving themselves open to being eaten by light-dwelling predators. They're also doing babies all wrong and not eating right. But they seem really happy and indifferent about things.
Is it just a dosing issue? I'm curious. If I gave you way, way, way too much prozac would you yourself start to not care about getting eaten by sharks? That seems good and bad in equal measure. On the one hand, you've eliminated a fear and can live a fear-of-getting-ate-by-shark-free life. On the other hand, if you didn't care about getting ate by a shark and put yourself out there, you're more likely to, you know, get eaten by a shark.
I'm anti-getting-ate-by-a-shark so I don't know how to weigh in on this issue.
On a related (but not) note, I lost something this weekend and have been rageful about it. I'm 95% sure someone took it, but there's still some slim possibility that I misplaced it. Either way, I'm still mad about - even just typing about it.
I also put my first practice LSAT test score together... 76/100, which equates to about a 162. And that's not taking all the sections together, either! I need to go from missing 24 to missing 2 or less in a short period of time. Sigh.
Hope everyone had a good weekend. I finally destroyed the Zerg in Starcraft 2, but the last mission took me 8 tries. If only I had that dedication to studying.
Later, Taters!
Caleb "Ultimate Terran Zerg-killer" Shreves Tweet
(Shit! Said I wasn't going to use that word!)
Er, Pooties,
There. That's better.
Interesting bit of news today. Apparently a lot of people take prozac, then a lot of people poop and pee, then that poop and pee gets into water supplies, and then shrimp (and other aquatic life) consume it. Awesome, right?
It's not all good news though. These happy-scampi shrimp get fucked up on this drug and act crazy. They go to the light, which like any good movie plot is not a good idea. Instead of dying and going to heaven though, these shrimp are just leaving themselves open to being eaten by light-dwelling predators. They're also doing babies all wrong and not eating right. But they seem really happy and indifferent about things.
Is it just a dosing issue? I'm curious. If I gave you way, way, way too much prozac would you yourself start to not care about getting eaten by sharks? That seems good and bad in equal measure. On the one hand, you've eliminated a fear and can live a fear-of-getting-ate-by-shark-free life. On the other hand, if you didn't care about getting ate by a shark and put yourself out there, you're more likely to, you know, get eaten by a shark.
I'm anti-getting-ate-by-a-shark so I don't know how to weigh in on this issue.
On a related (but not) note, I lost something this weekend and have been rageful about it. I'm 95% sure someone took it, but there's still some slim possibility that I misplaced it. Either way, I'm still mad about - even just typing about it.
I also put my first practice LSAT test score together... 76/100, which equates to about a 162. And that's not taking all the sections together, either! I need to go from missing 24 to missing 2 or less in a short period of time. Sigh.
Hope everyone had a good weekend. I finally destroyed the Zerg in Starcraft 2, but the last mission took me 8 tries. If only I had that dedication to studying.
Later, Taters!
Caleb "Ultimate Terran Zerg-killer" Shreves Tweet
Friday, August 6, 2010
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Entry 69: I Do What I Want
No, seriously- I do.
I've been pressured into writing today, so I'm going to be grouchy about it.
I set a challenge for myself that I hadn't really publicly shared very much, but I think if I do share it I might be inclined to stick to it.
I'm going to take- and ace- the Law School Admission Test (LSAT). Lofty goal, I know. Do I want to be a lawyer per se? Not really, but I have always wanted to take this test to see how I'd do.
It's kind of an aptitude test, and one that requires no outside knowledge. That's the good news; the bad news is that it's fucking HARD and the time they give you is barely or not enough to even get to all the questions. Perfect scores are rare- like, 1 in a 1000 rare.
Too high of a goal? I don't know. Why do it? Ego? Probably. Maybe I just thrive on challenges. People climb mountains right? It's not like they left something there ("Where's my PSP?") and have to go back and get it. They just get there, look around, say "yup." and go back down. Whoopity doo.
So, this is my mountain. I've taken some practice tests and realize that I'm woefully unprepared. I am- optimistically- sitting at around the 160 level (it scores from 120-180) and the difference between even 5 points is tremendous. This is going to take actual work and effort.
AND, for some reason my brain went into a time warp and I thought I had 245 thousand years to study. Turns out it's more like 2 months. Whoops. I have practice tests and the interweb, but most rich kids seriously getting ready for this test plan a year in advance and have courses and tutors and other whatnot.
I gots a $10 practice test book and Google. Hmm.
So there, now it's out there, and if I take the test and score below a perfect 180, you all can tell me what a failure I am.
Actually, you'll probably say "oh gee Caleb- don't worry about it! You did great and could do even better if you wanted. Plus it's not like you're going to law school or anything. Don't be so hard on yourself!" You would all say that because you are all lame. I'll have to take up hard-ass duties myself. I'm always my best taskmaster.
Vaguely dirty? Perhaps.
Caleb "probably going to drink Guinness tonight" Shreves
PS 69!!! Tweet
I've been pressured into writing today, so I'm going to be grouchy about it.
I set a challenge for myself that I hadn't really publicly shared very much, but I think if I do share it I might be inclined to stick to it.
I'm going to take- and ace- the Law School Admission Test (LSAT). Lofty goal, I know. Do I want to be a lawyer per se? Not really, but I have always wanted to take this test to see how I'd do.
It's kind of an aptitude test, and one that requires no outside knowledge. That's the good news; the bad news is that it's fucking HARD and the time they give you is barely or not enough to even get to all the questions. Perfect scores are rare- like, 1 in a 1000 rare.
Too high of a goal? I don't know. Why do it? Ego? Probably. Maybe I just thrive on challenges. People climb mountains right? It's not like they left something there ("Where's my PSP?") and have to go back and get it. They just get there, look around, say "yup." and go back down. Whoopity doo.
So, this is my mountain. I've taken some practice tests and realize that I'm woefully unprepared. I am- optimistically- sitting at around the 160 level (it scores from 120-180) and the difference between even 5 points is tremendous. This is going to take actual work and effort.
AND, for some reason my brain went into a time warp and I thought I had 245 thousand years to study. Turns out it's more like 2 months. Whoops. I have practice tests and the interweb, but most rich kids seriously getting ready for this test plan a year in advance and have courses and tutors and other whatnot.
I gots a $10 practice test book and Google. Hmm.
So there, now it's out there, and if I take the test and score below a perfect 180, you all can tell me what a failure I am.
Actually, you'll probably say "oh gee Caleb- don't worry about it! You did great and could do even better if you wanted. Plus it's not like you're going to law school or anything. Don't be so hard on yourself!" You would all say that because you are all lame. I'll have to take up hard-ass duties myself. I'm always my best taskmaster.
Vaguely dirty? Perhaps.
Caleb "probably going to drink Guinness tonight" Shreves
PS 69!!! Tweet
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Entry 68: Bartholomew L Jenkins III
Teamsters,
Bartholomew L. Jenkins III... (his "white name" as he calls it).
Jenkins is nearly as funny and ridiculous as I am, gorgeous to women
(I've actually seen chicks stumble into doors when he's around), and the
most talented young musician I know. Which is saying a lot because I
know a LOT of talented young musicians (jazz major, remember?)
He puts hot sauce on everything from bomb-burritos (purchased from gas
stations at 2:30 AM usually) to vanilla ice cream.
He was my roommate for half-a-decade. He liked to have loud sex with
his girlfriend in his room, then come out with a goofy grin and
high-five the rest of us (usually sitting around studying (read: playing
Halo))
He would put Noxzema on his face (he's black) and sneak-attack people from
hallways and doorways. Once when a few of us got home we found him
face-painted and crouched on the kitchen table with a hand-made spear in
his hand, shouting African tribal sounds at us.
He got into a Nair phase once and went progressively from his chest,
arms, back, to his junk. One day he came out of the bathroom with a
sexy Zoolander-style walk and a ridiculous look on his face, not
speaking- just strutting. We tried to guess what it was all about until
it finally dawned on me.
"Jenkins- did you Nair your butthole??!"
Jenkins: ::Big smile::
We used to get so f'ed up playing gigs that we could barely stand for
the last set. He had a habit of never wanting to quit and would hassle
people (me) into going to Happy Chef for waffles at 4 in the morning.
One time I repeatedly refused to go along with a waffle trip and he
banged on my door singing random nonsense songs and chanting. After a
minute of silence, he was back at the door and I started hearing a soft
thumping sound.
"Caleb.... Caleb.... Mr. Tubesock wants to get waffles... Caleb..."
"Jenkins? Is your wiener in a sock, banging against my door?"
Dear Lord.
That wasn't the end of Mr. Tubesock, either.
We made quite a team, the two of us. It was rare for us to hang out and
not be laughing constantly, which is pretty remarkable considering we
saw each other literally every day.
We also share some mental and emotional issues, and understand and
relate to each other. Maybe that's one reason we get along so well.
I -literally- have a million stories of Jenkins and of Jenkins+me, and I
realized today that I hadn't introduced you readers to him yet. Problem
rectified.
Speaking of rectified, Jenkins is the only person on the
Earth who hears and loves all forms of sexual innuendo more than I do.
He has a habit of holding water bottles (or anything phallic-shaped)
near his crotch and then dropping them on your shoulder (or putting them
next to your face and telling you to turn). He then looks at you and
says "Fa-donk."
I don't see him as much anymore since he is going to Grad school in New
York, but I wish I did. He rocks. And if you're in New York, you owe
it to yourself to hear him play. He really is an incredible jazz
musician!
So be ready- more stories of Jenkins to follow!
PS One of my favorite tricks of his was be-fouling the bathroom (he
really had some stank in him) and then convincing The Nerv he left his
keys in there. You can predict what happened next. What you couldn't
predict is Nerv falling for it repeatedly.
"Hey, Nerv? I think you left some, uh, documents in the bathroom."
Caleb "Jenkins calls me 'Cable'" Shreves
Bartholomew L. Jenkins III... (his "white name" as he calls it).
Jenkins is nearly as funny and ridiculous as I am, gorgeous to women
(I've actually seen chicks stumble into doors when he's around), and the
most talented young musician I know. Which is saying a lot because I
know a LOT of talented young musicians (jazz major, remember?)
He puts hot sauce on everything from bomb-burritos (purchased from gas
stations at 2:30 AM usually) to vanilla ice cream.
He was my roommate for half-a-decade. He liked to have loud sex with
his girlfriend in his room, then come out with a goofy grin and
high-five the rest of us (usually sitting around studying (read: playing
Halo))
He would put Noxzema on his face (he's black) and sneak-attack people from
hallways and doorways. Once when a few of us got home we found him
face-painted and crouched on the kitchen table with a hand-made spear in
his hand, shouting African tribal sounds at us.
He got into a Nair phase once and went progressively from his chest,
arms, back, to his junk. One day he came out of the bathroom with a
sexy Zoolander-style walk and a ridiculous look on his face, not
speaking- just strutting. We tried to guess what it was all about until
it finally dawned on me.
"Jenkins- did you Nair your butthole??!"
Jenkins: ::Big smile::
We used to get so f'ed up playing gigs that we could barely stand for
the last set. He had a habit of never wanting to quit and would hassle
people (me) into going to Happy Chef for waffles at 4 in the morning.
One time I repeatedly refused to go along with a waffle trip and he
banged on my door singing random nonsense songs and chanting. After a
minute of silence, he was back at the door and I started hearing a soft
thumping sound.
"Caleb.... Caleb.... Mr. Tubesock wants to get waffles... Caleb..."
"Jenkins? Is your wiener in a sock, banging against my door?"
Dear Lord.
That wasn't the end of Mr. Tubesock, either.
We made quite a team, the two of us. It was rare for us to hang out and
not be laughing constantly, which is pretty remarkable considering we
saw each other literally every day.
We also share some mental and emotional issues, and understand and
relate to each other. Maybe that's one reason we get along so well.
I -literally- have a million stories of Jenkins and of Jenkins+me, and I
realized today that I hadn't introduced you readers to him yet. Problem
rectified.
Speaking of rectified, Jenkins is the only person on the
Earth who hears and loves all forms of sexual innuendo more than I do.
He has a habit of holding water bottles (or anything phallic-shaped)
near his crotch and then dropping them on your shoulder (or putting them
next to your face and telling you to turn). He then looks at you and
says "Fa-donk."
I don't see him as much anymore since he is going to Grad school in New
York, but I wish I did. He rocks. And if you're in New York, you owe
it to yourself to hear him play. He really is an incredible jazz
musician!
So be ready- more stories of Jenkins to follow!
PS One of my favorite tricks of his was be-fouling the bathroom (he
really had some stank in him) and then convincing The Nerv he left his
keys in there. You can predict what happened next. What you couldn't
predict is Nerv falling for it repeatedly.
"Hey, Nerv? I think you left some, uh, documents in the bathroom."
Caleb "Jenkins calls me 'Cable'" Shreves
Good call, Kayla! Had to dig this one up. 2004? 5?
Tweet
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Entry 67: Punches, Shooting, And Dreams
A-Team,
I feel like my original promise for the direction of this blog has been neglected. When is the last time I told you about something cool you need to try or do? A cool new product? I'm going to offer the explanation of a 2 month bout of extreme alcohol intake and offer you a few things of interest in this post.
First, UFC 117. Some of you out there might not be interested in watching sweaty men mash each others faces for 2 hours (though I'm sure others of you out there would be VERY interested) but let me assure you that even the most non-violent Prius-driving hippie would enjoy a good UFC fight if given a chance.
They're fun, and the fighters are so good now that it barely seems like a pummeling. More of a strategic game of body-chess that involves fists instead of knights, elbows instead of rooks, and you win not by checkmate but by out face-punching another man. Okay, poor analogy, but you get the drift.
Key thing to watch for on Saturday? (btw that's when UFC 117 is happening) The fight with Anderson Silva versus some-guy. Many of you will know what it is to appreciate pure, artistic, and even beautiful skill in any endeavor. Best janitor, best painter, best dancer; best anything! It's great to watch a person at the top of their field. That's Silva.
He's so much better than any other fighter out there that I would actually consider a 2 on 1 match. That would be more fair. But he's gotten into some trouble with the UFC owner for his attitude in the ring. Noone really has the courage to come at him, so he kind of dances around the ring kicking legs and begging the other guy to hit him. So there's some drama for ya.
He's so much better than any other fighter out there that I would actually consider a 2 on 1 match. That would be more fair. But he's gotten into some trouble with the UFC owner for his attitude in the ring. Noone really has the courage to come at him, so he kind of dances around the ring kicking legs and begging the other guy to hit him. So there's some drama for ya.
Let's see... you gamers out there? Starcraft 2! I'm sure you already have it, but if you don't; get it. It took Blizzard 11 years to make the sequel and- while frustrating to wait- it was totally worth it as they have crafted a beautiful game. I teared up when I first saw a squad of marines firing their rifles at some zerg critters. Ahh... beautiful.
Last, some movies. Inception is fucking awesome. I realized after watching it how long it had been since I had seen a really good movie in a theater. I like most movies, and enjoyed many of the recent blockbusters, but this one was the best in years. Plus; Leo! So hot right now.
Speaking of Leo, also go watch Shutter Island. Great, great movie. A movie with a twist that you can see but still twists you when it happens. That make sense? No? Then go watch the movie and you'll know what I'm talking about.
Okay then- I think you're caught up on cool stuff. And if you haven't bought a Keurig or subscribed to The Week yet... shame on you!
Caleb out.
Tweet
Monday, August 2, 2010
Entry 66: The Suspense Is Killing Me!
McFriends,
If you've been paying attention, you've already gleaned the fact that I don't like wasps, wind, or zombies. Allow me to add one to the list:
Suspense.
I hate suspense.
Ever seen a Jack-in-the-box? (no, not the restaurant) The windup toy that you turn the crank (yes, 'crank' is on the word list) on while it plays some ridiculous song ("pop goes the weasel") until, at some random time, a clown head jumps out of the top of the box with a loud popping sound.
I hate that thing.
You turn it and you can hear the grinding gears inside, just waiting to spring out a clown-head of death, with "ba dop ba dop ba-doppity dop, ba dop ba dop ba dee-dop..." coming out of some Satan-spawn music machine, thinking "Just fucking come out already! Do it! DO IT!" But it never does until you let your guard down. How does it know?
It's possessed.
So I don't play that game, and I don't like any game like it, and don't want to be in the same room with some blubbering idiot child with a look of foolish delight on their face (wtf? Delight?) until their clown friend comes out- just to say "hi kids!" Ha ha! What fun! Not.
What else constitutes suspense as I'm defining it?
Popping balloons. I hate people popping balloons even more than a jack-in-the-box. That "squeeky-squeeky" sound as air is mashed from one side to the other while some hooligan prankster is trying to smash it. Even poking them with pins isn't as bad as someone deliberately crushing them until they pop.
Don't like it!
There's also a weird (read: sick) game that people play at parties sometimes. It's a base with a flashing light and 4 metal joysticks that people hold onto. When the light stops flashing, you have to press the button on the joystick and the last person to do so gets an electric shock. Good luck getting ME to play that game.
[in college one night my roommates were playing that game (I was safely locked in my room) and they had the great idea of hooking it up to their sacks. Darwin anyone?]
And finally, I have a great new video for you to watch. It's 'suspense' as I'm defining the term, but it's also equal parts terrifying and cute. Check it out:
Ninja Cat Tweet
If you've been paying attention, you've already gleaned the fact that I don't like wasps, wind, or zombies. Allow me to add one to the list:
Suspense.
I hate suspense.
Ever seen a Jack-in-the-box? (no, not the restaurant) The windup toy that you turn the crank (yes, 'crank' is on the word list) on while it plays some ridiculous song ("pop goes the weasel") until, at some random time, a clown head jumps out of the top of the box with a loud popping sound.
I hate that thing.
You turn it and you can hear the grinding gears inside, just waiting to spring out a clown-head of death, with "ba dop ba dop ba-doppity dop, ba dop ba dop ba dee-dop..." coming out of some Satan-spawn music machine, thinking "Just fucking come out already! Do it! DO IT!" But it never does until you let your guard down. How does it know?
It's possessed.
So I don't play that game, and I don't like any game like it, and don't want to be in the same room with some blubbering idiot child with a look of foolish delight on their face (wtf? Delight?) until their clown friend comes out- just to say "hi kids!" Ha ha! What fun! Not.
What else constitutes suspense as I'm defining it?
Popping balloons. I hate people popping balloons even more than a jack-in-the-box. That "squeeky-squeeky" sound as air is mashed from one side to the other while some hooligan prankster is trying to smash it. Even poking them with pins isn't as bad as someone deliberately crushing them until they pop.
Don't like it!
There's also a weird (read: sick) game that people play at parties sometimes. It's a base with a flashing light and 4 metal joysticks that people hold onto. When the light stops flashing, you have to press the button on the joystick and the last person to do so gets an electric shock. Good luck getting ME to play that game.
[in college one night my roommates were playing that game (I was safely locked in my room) and they had the great idea of hooking it up to their sacks. Darwin anyone?]
And finally, I have a great new video for you to watch. It's 'suspense' as I'm defining the term, but it's also equal parts terrifying and cute. Check it out:
Ninja Cat Tweet
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