I spent too long on this post. ROI is tanking

So I finally figured it out. The secret of blogs. It's so obvious, I should have known from the start. Attempting to placate the masses with failed attempts at humor is a fool's errand. The real money lies in...

~ ~ ~ Crafts! ~ ~ ~

So, in an attempt to become the Lord of the Blogs, I have thus forth verily set my hand to crafting epic crafts of epicness! Forsooth! My first creation!

I call this stroke of genius... Tissue Jug!

As anyone who has ever drank any liquid from any vessel can tell you, the consuming of libations may often result in the dribbling of beverages down the chin onto the garments of the imbiber! Well, maybe not anyone can tell you that. I certainly can. Anyway, I have crafted a modest device that will allow immediate rectification of chin dribblings! Tissue Jug! You don't even have to pull the tissue out! Just bury your face into that glorious paper of tissue and all your facial shortcomings* will be wiped away! No more pesky paper towels, no more wishy-washy washcloths. Just Tissue Jug. Alright, that's a craft. Next...

The Office Horn!

Sometimes in an office setting, you need a horn. When people are talking about the Sarah McLachlan concert they went to over the weekend, and you are trying to work on a big merger, or whatever people with normal jobs do in an office, wouldn't it be nice to just toot on your horn to let people know it's time to get back to the grindstone? Here we have it, The Office Horn! Or, El Horno de la Oficina, as they say Down South! What? No one says that Down South? And horno means oven? How the heck do you say horn? Cuerno? Well that just sounds terrible. New craft!

It's the Cuerno of Who Gives a Crap

Sorry about that. I get a little frustrated when names don't work out. If you already made one, I guess you could put flowers in it or something. Whatever. Anyway, there is my brief foray into crafting. More to come, if I feel like it. Actually, this was pretty exhausting. In fact, I know I'm not gonna feel like it, so Lord of the Blogs will have to go to someone else. Probably my sister. She redesigns furniture and stuff which you can see here. 

If you need blueprints for any of my designs... then you are worse at crafting than I am, and I weep for America. And anywhere that speaks Spanish, for the obvious miscall on the horno debacle.

*disclaimer: Tissue Jug is not responsible for prepurchase facial shortcomings, nor the removal thereof.

Staind's Most Popular Song

So I think about computers. A lot. Too much. And the other day I was wondering why, whenever there was an evil murderbot threatening to exterminate mankind, the hero never thought to make a situation where the machine would have to divide by 0. Every math student knows that division by 0 is undefined, but when you try to do division by 0 with a computer it often causes an error. Try it on your calculator. Chances are, you'll get some equivalent of "Error" on the screen. If the program running the murderbot doesn't check for this, it will probably crash the system. So if you are ever in this situation, and the murderbot decides to have a verbal standoff with you, here is a handy script:
You: What is your evil plan, you bad bot!?
MB: TO TERMINATE ALL HUMANS
You: And how do you plan to do that, you dastardly device!?
MB: MAKE A GRID OF ALL INHABITED AREAS, AND MURDER LOGICALLY
You: And how will you go about dividing the area into grids, you sinister synthetic!?
MB: EASY. TAKE THE AREA OF THE LAND AND DIVIDE IT BY...
You: Zero??
MB: ERROR.
Explosions and so forth ensue, the world is saved, the masses cheer your name and whatever.

Speaking of murderbots and scripts, I once started to write a musical about murderbots. Specifically, a murderbot that catches the Empathy Virus, and before his system is able to quarantine and purge it a hidden registry key gets created which causes the kernel to run a 'feelings' system call before he murders. (This may not be entirely correct, because I sort of slept through my Operating Systems course, but it's close enough. Plus I have to give people something to fight about over the internet). Normally a murderbot that catches this virus is terminated, but because his systems check came back normal and his murder quotas were some of the highest ever he was deemed fit to continue by the murderbot council. He then goes on a quest, to reformat his OS so that he may aid and assist humans of all shapes and sizes, and thus break free from his murderous purpose.
Disney stopped answering my calls so it didn't really get anywhere unfortunately. I mean, we are talking about an untapped market here. So much potential! And a good lesson too. Plus it's a musical! You can take any old garbage and set it to music, and it becomes an instant hit!

So anyway, I hope the NSA doesn't have some sort of limit on the number of times the word 'murder' can be used in a blog, because then I would get flagged big time. IT IS SATIRE NSA FOLKS! PROTECTED FIRST AMENDMENT SPEECH I HOPE. And I'm getting into that weird rambling zone where my ideas just sort of barf onto the keyboard and aren't very coherent, so yeah that shall be it for now.

RANDOM FACT
I talked with the NSA for a while at a career fair. They said the pay wasn't very good, at least for linguists.

healthy living

So lately I've been trying to not turn into a gelatinous blob, and it has been going fairly well. As in, I'm not yet in blob form mostly. But daaannng it has not been easy. As a person who pretty much his whole life never had to worry about what he eats or how much he exercises, trying consciously to be healthier has been a real battle. I've learned that I am addicted to:

1. Juicy burgers
2. Juicy sodas
3. Sitting down
4. Lying down
5. Drowning my sorrows in sugar and fat
6. Yelling at strangers to "Stop judging me!" as I smear strips of bacon across my face

So yeah, it was getting pretty bad. But I've been trying to adjust my diet by cooking more at home and eating more fruit and stuff as snacks, and so far it's working, albeit I'm hungry almost all the time now.

My next step is to find workouts for people who don't work out. And I don't mean that machine that straps a band around your waist and jiggles the fat around, I mean real workouts that start slow. I asked my little bro to send me a workout plan, and the first exercise on there nearly gave me a heart attack, and I was sore for a week afterwards. Of course, he thinks it's fine because he has the body of a Norse god and the energy of a... Norse god. Whereas I have the body of a computer nerd who sits typing all day and the energy of the Mountain Dew I drank 4 days ago.

My plan is to go to the library more often. "Well that's a stupid plan, Austin!" you say ignorantly. Verily no, I reply, because the school library is full of pretty girls, like all the time. As I sit in the library, either being pitied or stared at in disgust (due to the bacon grease I forgot to wipe off my face), I should be sufficiently motivated to get a rock hard beach body (or at least a less soft nerd body). Or maybe find a nerd girl who can overlook my physical deficiencies, in which case mission accomplished anyway.

FACT OF THE DAY:
I am no longer Chancho. He retired.

Going nutz!

Sometimes, when I'm sitting at my desk working alone, I suddenly realize I have had "Miami" by Will Smith stuck in my brain on repeat for hours... and it's proof that I'm going insane. It isn't even the whole song, not even the whole chorus, but it repeats, endlessly, in the background of my mind jams. I don't even know all the lyrics of this little snippet of chorus, but it's there. Rambling around in my skull.

I've been trying to decide what insanity actually is. Whatever it is, this is close to it. I remember reading Joseph Heller's "Catch 22" and having a hard time following because everything in that book reads like a crazy person wrote it. And in fact, insanity is the theme of the book! So, it was probably intentional.

Some whackadoo said something about how if you think you are insane, then you probably aren't (actually, I think that was half of the "Catch 22"). I don't think that's true, necessarily. Everyone shows a bit of crazy here and there, and I'm sure we are all perfectly aware of it. Putting toothpaste in the fridge? Been there. Pants on backwards? Been there too. Eat an entire pizza to Cindy Lauper's "Time After Time"? Yup. I think these little episodes are the things that keep us sane. If everything went as planned, no bumps, hiccups, moldy cheeses or faceplants, it would be weird. Like the matrix. You'd start seeing black cats everywhere and have deja vu and run around screaming about glitches and the keymaster and what have you. Padded cell vacation coming up!

Anyway, I forgot where I was going with this, or maybe I've already gotten there. I'll just leave you with the stirring words of a great philosopher poet, who wisely once said:

"Party in the city where the heat is on all night blah blah til the break of dawn. Welcome to Miami, bienvenido a Miami. Party in the city where the heat is on all night blah blah..."




PROFILE STATUS UPDATE:
Favorite Fridge Snack: String cheese. Then toothpaste.

Amazingnessity

I'm working on some really brain bending stuff right now, so I thought I would take a break and share both the greatest and most terrible thing I have ever seen.

Everyone needs to watch this:

Great song... but oh my gosh, probably the worst music video ever. You need to watch until at least the 4 minute mark. hahahaha. I love it!

Now that I am done LOLing in the computer lab (people are starting to stare, as is the case when anyone LOLs in public), time to get back to work. Later!

Random junk

I've got a serious problem.

I can't stop listening to electro-pop. And Creed.

Maybe this is one of those "First World Problems" I hear so much about on social media. You know, the ones that say something like, "Waited 7 minutes in the drive-thru line at Burger King. Car temp went from 70 degrees to an uncomfortable 73. hashtag, firstworldproblem" Or something like that. I don't know what the kids are talking about these days. Besides electro-pop.

Actually, I do know what the kids are talking about. Justin Bieber. Take Facebook for example. It seems like the people my age group (and older!) don't use the 'Like' button as much as some of the younger people do. At least I tell myself that when something legitimately funny that I post only gets 2 likes and some dumb crap by Justin Bieber gets 15 gajillion likes. "OMG white skinny jeans 4 orphans." Click and like. Who cares if you are on Oprah, Bieber?? Huh? Get a haircut. No, Bieber! Not that one! A normal haircut. That's better.

I forgot where I was going with any of this. I went through a phase a few weeks ago where all I listened to was Creed's greatest hits, and I think that did something to my brain. I also mumble half the things I say, and my singing voice has gotten significantly huskier. It really made things interesting last week when I was singing along to Britney Spears' greatest hits (not her actual greatest hits. Just the ones I think are great). Britney would have sold a million more albums if her voice was an octave deeper.

Alright, well I think I wasted about 12 potential blog posts with the content in this one. Sorry bout that. Had a big test today and I pretty much studied all night for it. Tune in next time for when I talk (complain?) about how much I complain.

A little about me:

I complain. A lot.

Movie title scene

Scene: Dimly lit smoky bar, empty except for one man facing away. He's got a bottle and a shot glass. Two suits walk in and stand behind him.

"What do you want?" Jim Trawler growled at the two men in the dim light of the empty bar.

"The government needs your help, Mr. Trawler." The taller of the two men spoke crisply.

Trawler continued to stare at his glass.

"It's President Dixon. Your father."

"My father? When has he been my father? I've made it so far without his money, and without his name. And I prefer to keep it that way. Leave me alone."

"He's been kidnapped."

"So send some of your 'Secret Service' goons to go get him."

"It isn't that simple, Mr. Trawler."

Trawler spun around. Scars marred his face, one cutting across his nose and another dragging under his eye.

"Well, then, simplify it, and get outta my face!" The hatred flashed in Trawler's eyes as he barked at the men.

"Jim," the shorter, older man whispered. "The kidnapper is your half-brother."

Jim turned back to his glass, and drained it in one swift motion.

"Alright." He muttered. "But we do things my way."

The door crashed open with a loud bang, revealing a shapely silhouette.

"I wouldn't be too sure about that, brother."

Jim groaned. "You brought her here?"

"Jim, the president's daughter has every right to be here as you do." The older man stated matter-of-factly.

"Time to find a new bar."

One father. Three siblings. 2 hours of jaw-dropping heart-stopping action!

The Illegitimates

Coming straight to DVD near no one