Ways I Would Ruin A Date With Anna Kendrick

If there’s one thing I like to do, it’s to play with my cellphone while I poop. If there’s two there’s two things I like to do, it’s to play with my cellphone while I poop and to imagine scenarios in which I’m on a date (or at least having a conversation) with a celebrity. If there’s a third thing I like to do, it’s to overuse already worn out humor clichés.

Picture Unrelated

But as for that second thing, I like doing it because, well, most of my time I’m imagining scenarios in which I’m fighting celebrities, so it’s fun to mix it up every once and a while and think up situations where they are stuck by my suaveness and charm instead of my mighty, mighty fists. Also, I might have an unhealthy fascination with fame culture in which I demonize it, yet secretly yearn to be a part of it. But that kind of deep psychological self-examination has no place in my blog. No, this blog is a gaping void of classlessness that I’m trying desperately to fill with dick jokes.

See what I did there? I know, I am a genius. But let’s move on.

However, despite all my awesomeness which must be incomprehensible to you hu-mons, I try to honest with myself, so I’m sad to say that a date with Anna Kendrick would probably not end well. I mean, let’s face it- we love celebrities so much because we only see a fraction of what they really are. We see the characters that they play/ hear the music they make/ read the words they write/ etc. but don’t ever see them more that a two (or sometimes one) dimensional prop in the slash fiction plays that we constantly create in our own heads. So while in my head the date would go swimmingly and she would be thoroughly wooed by extensive knowledge from half remembered Cracked articles and delightful array of fart jokes, in reality she is a real, living person with her own separate thoughts, emotions, and reactions that the real life me would not be prepared for. And that’s why I’m going to completely undercut what I just wrote in this paragraph by making sweeping generalizations about Miss Kendrick’s personality despite knowing very little about what she is like in her private life in order to prove my point. Sorry Anna.

“Oh Minigan, I think it’s sexy how you’ve turned me into a paper doll for one of your weird fantasies.” –The Anna Kendrick inside my head.

1. She is so much cooler than me

This probably isn’t the ideal place to explain who Anna Kendrick is for those of you who don’t know, but I didn’t have a good place to put it before now, so here will have to do. Anna is an actress. She was in the cult movie “Pitch Perfect,” which came out last year, but has also been in “The Twilight Saga,” “50/50,” “Paranorman,” “Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World,” and according to her IMDb page, the Broadway musical, “High Society.” She also has a hit song out called “Cups,” but I’m going to get to that later.

Frankly, she seems like she would be a pretty cool person to hang out with even before you know much about her. She just seems to have a look about her that makes you think that if you ever met her, she would probably be pretty damn chill. That’s what I thought at least. And then I started following her on Twitter. Holy shit, guys. If you’re not following her on Twitter, you need to get with the goddamn program. Seriously, look at this shit:

I understand that there are a lot of shitty things that happen on Twitter. Believe me, I know. It’s hard not to think that are language be dying when you see some of the stupid shit the masses on Twitter post (My tweets included), but this single tweet has to make up for some of that. It’s just so simple, so perfect, such an incredible use of hashtags- which at times feel like shameless pleas for attention. But not in this tweet. No, the hashtags only add to the beautiful simplicity of it. I don’t remember what I tweeted for my 1,000^th tweet, but I can assure you that it wasn’t nearly as awesome as this one is.

Oh my God, you’re amazing!

And this is why I’d ruin the date. I cannot compete with this. I’d walk into the date all cocky, like I’d be able to handle the violent cyclone of awesome that is Anna Kendrick, so I’d be totally unprepared for it when her awesomeness slaps me in the face. In reality, Anna’s level of coolness would, in all likelihood, tear me the fuck apart. The date would consist of me saying something that I think is good, followed by something amazing she would say, and all I would have to say in reply to her would be, “I have nothing to add. You’ve just conquered the human language, you beautiful monster.”

Of course, that’s if I’m able to talk at all, because…

2. My social awkwardness would probably ruin our date before it would even begin

Here’s how I’d imagine the first exchange of the date would sound like:

Anna- Hello, Minigan, It’s very nice to meet you.

Me- hurr…argle…gooorg…ba-ba-bargle…

This is how every real life conversation I have goes if I’m not already comfortable with you.

That sound I made would be the sound of my tongue, fearing that I was about to say something stupid, retreating down into my throat and inadvertently choking me. But let’s just say that I don’t become a bumbling mess of spoken word when she says “Hi” to me, and instead think of how an actual conversation would go between us.

Unfortunately for me, I am incredibly inconsistent when it comes to meeting people for the first time. Sometimes, I can be open and social and seem like I actually do fit in as a functioning member of society- like when I met the people that would eventually become my fellow writing tutor friends, or when I met the people I would be traveling through Europe with. Then there are time where I just refuse to talk to or even acknowledge a person for the first dozen or so times I meet a person. And then there are times when I start off seeming social, but manage to ruin it with my innate ability to fuck up any nice conversation. I once met a friend’s girlfriend who used to make a webcomic I enjoyed, and when I went to complement her on her work on the comic, I said, “Yeah, I enjoy your work on the internet… well, not that kind of work.” That last part was a porn joke. The woman I said that to was not in a porn, nor will she ever be, and that shit flew out of my mouth before I could stop it. Granted, my phrasing was shitty enough that she probably didn’t understand what I was referencing (see: she was never in a goddamn porno to begin with), so she probably just ignored the last part, chalking it up to me being strange. But I knew what I meant by it, and I seriously considered jumping out a window to flee from the conversation. I was so embarrassed by my stupidity that I barely said another word to her that night. So then I probably seemed like I was actually a dick. Granted, that’s better than creepy, but not by much.

Seriously, this is me.

So, if I’m able to speak at all, then I will probably make some terrible joke that will make everything awkward, and she’ll get up to go to the restroom and never come back. And honestly, I wouldn’t blame her. It would be a smart move on your part, Anna. Trust me.

3. I cannot do the “Cups” clap.

I told you I would be getting back to this. For those of you who don’t know what the “Cups” clap is, then I suggest you watch this video. Or rather, watch this video regardless of whether or not you know what the “Cups” clap is.

That is the video for Anna’s single, “Cups.” The song is short, but it’s so catchy that it’s been classified as a Class 2 addictive substance in 23 states. I had it stuck in my head so bad that no song, not even the Oscar Mayer Bologna song, was able to get it out of my head. I watched the video once and then immediately downloaded a copy of it from iTunes, and I never do that. That’s how powerfully addictive that song is. It’s like ear crack.

Now, here is a video of me trying and failing to do the clap that is featured in the video:

I assume that during our date, I will mention how much I enjoy her song, and she will proceed to test my worthiness of her company by having me attempt the clap. I will, of course, fail, and she will deem me as an unworthy suitor and cast me asunder.

“How can one man be so terrible at such a simple clap? Throw him into the snake pit!”

So, Anna, if you’re reading this, I would be honored to go on a date with you, but I fear it would be a complete waste of your time. Don’t put yourself through all that.

…Unless, of course you want to. In that case, call me.

But until then, Peace.

Ramblings of a Madman 100th Blog Post Spectacular!

[Opening. Interior, therapy room. Several mismatched couches and chairs are arranged in a circle, and filled with an odd assortment of people in varying levels of anger from disgruntled to livid. In this group of people are the movie stars, Zac Efron and Kate Beckinsale, the musician turned convict, Nick Jonas, the regular convict Mike Thompson, gymnast Damien Walters, weapons creator Everett Bradford, as well as the unknown Della Carver, Julie and Mark Lechliter, Paul Khoo, Brennen Crawford, Kevin Crawford, Andreas (Andy) Hekel, Zack and Sharlene Shell, and a therapist. In an empty space on a couch sits a television tuned into the news and muted, on one chair is a robot with a spinning wheel of multicolored floppy dildos, and on another one sits a T-shirt with a speaker built in. There are five seats empty.]

Della- Where the Hell is Minigan and Becky? They were supposed to be here an hour ago! And why are we letting inanimate objects have chairs?

The shirt and the dildo robot- [simultaneously] Hey!

Therapist- Now, now, We all need to calm down. This needs to be a safe place for all of us, and we cannot have people being mad at each other before everyone arrives.
Della- But They’re not even people!

Slappin’ Dick Machine– [Through his speak and spell] That doesn’t mean we don’t have feelings, Della.
T-shirt- Yeah! Don’t be such a fiery bitch, Della!

Della- How the hell are you even talking? Did Minigan plan out insults for me in advance? Or did you gain sentience just like everything else that bastard touches.
T-shirt- The second one.

Della- Fuck- Is Minigan the All Spark or something?

Damien- That would answer a lot of questions, actually.

Everett- Yeah! He does carry on conversations with his phone.

Paul- That’s just him using Siri.

Everett- Not the way he talks to it.

[The door opens. Justin Blackwood and Jimmy Kohlberg enter, dragging a disheveled Minigan Blackwood by the arms. Becky and Amy Blackwood follow them in, closing the door behind them. Justin, Becky, Amy and Jimmy are visibly pissed off. Minigan is giggling and muttering to himself something about a magician.]

The Therapist- Oh wow, he’s even worse than what you guys described.
Justin- No shit. We found the asshole naked in under his bed. He was saying something about what he should name his penis.

Jimmy- He decided on Thundercock. It’s a good choice.

Justin- No. It’s an inaccurate choice for this little pecker. Now let’s sit this asshole in a chair and get on with this already.

[Jimmy glares at Justin for a second, but then obliges and drags Minigan to the closest chair.]

Minigan- [jumps up and yells] THE PITTSBURGH PIRATES ARE THE BEST AT BEING A SHITTY TEAM!!! [his eyes widen and rapidly focus on different things about the room. Then, as of nothing was wrong, Minigan’s eyes go back to normal and he sits down quietly. He then sees the therapist] Hey baby. Wanna get naked and crazy?

Therapist- No thanks.

Minigan- [shrugs] Whatever. You have stupid hair anyway. [To everyone else] So, how’s everyone doing today?

[No one answers. They just stare at him in shock.]

Minigan- [pauses] OK… Well, I’m thirsty. [Gets up and heads to the snack table. After fiddling around with the pitcher, he comes back with a glass of pink lemonade.

Paul- Holy crap! We have pink lemonade?!

Zac- Ooh, I want some.

Jimmy- Me too!

Everett- It’s delicious and refreshing!

[Everyone other than Minigan and the therapist rush over to the snack table to get a drink]

Therapist- C’mon everyone, we’re all here for a reason, and that reason isn’t the snacks!

[The attendees return to their seats with cookies and pink lemonade.]

Therapist- OK, now that we’ve all gotten snacks, we should get started. Minigan, I just want to let you know that we are doing this because we care for you and your well being. [Many of the participants, including the T-shirt, stifle their laugher] Do you know why we all gathered here today?

[Minigan looked at the faces currently being stuffed with cookies and pink lemonade. Between the munches and sips, they looked furious.]

Minigan- I dunno. Was this a movie night that I forgot about and subsequently forgot to bring the movie to?

Becky- No, psycho. This is an intervention. We’re all tired of your crazy bullshit.

Minigan- [jumps up, furious] So you want to intervene on me, eh? Well, I’ve got something for that.
[Reaches into his pocket and pulls out his iPhone.]

Minigan- [into his phone] Siri, tell these people where they can stick their intervention.

Phone- I shouldn’t, Minigan, it’s impolite.

Minigan- Damn it, Siri, tell them or I’ll smash you with a hammer.”

Phone- [Sighs] All of you can stick this intervention so far up your asses that your small intestines think they’re being sent to rehab.

Minigan- Boom! Whatch y’all gonna do ‘bout that!?

Therapist-We are going to continue with this intervention, Minigan.

Minigan- Well, you can go sniff taints in Hell, Cockflaps.

Zac Efron- Cockflaps?

Phone- I’m really sorry for that, everyone. He makes me say these things.

Becky- See, Minigan? This is exactly what we’re talking about. You’ve lost so much of your shit these past three years that you’re actually in shit debt. You need to file for shit bankruptcy; you’ve lost your shit so hard.

Zac Efron- Is anybody going to explain to me what Cockflaps are?

Jimmy- If Minigan hasn’t told you, then you don’t deserve to know.

Zac Efron- Has he told you?

Jimmy- [pauses for a second] Yes…

Therapist- OK, now everyone needs to calm down. We won’t be able to help Minigan if we’re all screaming. Now, who would like to go first?

[Everyone’s hand shot up in the air. Many people were even standing on their chairs, hoping that if they reached the highest, they would get noticed and asked to go first. The therapist picks Della]

Nick Jonas- This is Bullshit! Minigan has done awful shit to me! I deserve to go first!

Mike Thompson- Oh really, did he trick the police into thinking you were him?

Nick Jonas- No. He ran over Justin Beiber with my car, and then left me to take the blame.

Jimmy- But Beiber’s dead, so some good came out of it.

Zac- Shut up, Jimmy. Minigan Kidnapped me, force fed me drugs, took me to Mexico, turned into a wolf and fought me, and turned me into a giant vagina.

Jimmy- You got what you deserved, you friend stealing twat.

Zac- I didn’t steal your friend! He kidnapped me!

Justin- That asshole wrapped up my Christmas Gift 40 damn times last Christmas!
[Everyone stopped arguing and stared at Justin.]

Minigan- [after staring at Justin for a few seconds] Even I will admit that that is the least dickish thing I’ve done to someone in this room.

Della- But none of that matters because the therapist chose me to go first. [she continues before anyone can interrupt her] My main issue with you, Minigan is how inconsiderate you are. This past summer you left your dildo wielding robot at my house, and it destroyed my basement, but you didn’t care!
Minigan- Hey, I asked you if you could watch it.

Della- No you didn’t! You snuck it into my basement and let it trash the place! And then you refused to pay for the sewage system repair bills!

Slappin’ Dick-Machine- I was trying to climb back up to the window. Maybe you should not leave you sewage pipes out in the open like that. You should have been prepared.

Della-How am I supposed to plan for a friend sneaking a dildo wielding robot that wants to destroy humanity into my basement?

Minigan- You know me.

Della- That- is actually a good point.

Therapist- We’re getting a little off topic. Maybe someone else wants to go.

Kate Beckinsale- I’ll go. Minigan, you’re a sociopathic douchebag.

Minigan- Oh my God… You’re even more attractive person. Why are you here with all these ugly people?

The rest of the room- Hey!

Kate- You said that I was too hot and that I need to tone down my hotness a little! And you also made fun of the movie “Tiptoes!”

Minigan- So? Was I not right with each of those points?

Kate- Really, you son of a bitch?!

Becky- Hey! Don’t insult my mom just because Minigan is a dick!

Kate- He said that I’m too distracting and said that I’m pretty much the only reason to go see my movies.
Most of the group-…So?…

Zac- Really, if anything, he was complimenting you.

Minigan- That’s exactly what I was doing. But it doesn’t matter. [rests his chin on his hands and stares dreamily at Kate]  How’ve you been!

Kate- Suck cocks in Hell.

Minigan- I think you meant “sucking,” but it’s good to hear that you’re keeping busy.

Kate- No. I meant you can go suck cocks in Hell. And you know what? You should suck every cock from here to Hell. Every. Single. One. I want you to suck so many cocks on your trek to Hell, that if you would line up those dicks from head to balls, they would circle the earth five times!
Therapist- You cursing at him and telling him to suck every cock from here to Hell isn’t helping him realize how he needs to change. Tell him how he made you feel.

Kate- OK. He made me feel like he should go die in a fire.

Minigan- Dude…

Della- Even I think that was a little harsh for Minigan.

Everett- especially since “Tiptoes” was aweful.

Zac- That’s it. I’ve had enough of this bitch.

Jimmy- Oh no you don’t, Efron. I’ll deal with her.

[Jimmy crosses the room to where Kate is sitting, forces her out of her chair, and then lifts her over his head.]

Jimmy- APOLOGIZE!!!

Kate- Ah! Minigan, help me!

Minigan- I’d love to, Kate, but I’m currently way too busy trying to decide who’s cock I should suck first on my cock sucking tour to Hell.

Therapist- Let her down!

Jimmy- Not until she apologizes!

Kate- I’m fucking sorry, OK? I’m sorry!!!

[Jimmy drops her, and she lands face first on the ground with a heavy “thud.” After a few quiet seconds Julie Lechliter stands up.]

Julie- Minigan, I’ve known you for over ten years, and I love you like a brother, so it pains me to see you like this…

Minigan- Jeez, Julie, stop trying to suck my dick! And in front of your husband too!

Mark- This is serious, Minigan, we both care about you and we hate to see you like this.

Minigan- Oh, so you want to have a threesome with me? Well, I’m flattered, but my answer is gonna have to be a no.

Julie-Cut the shit, Minigan. You are not right. You are not well. This is not how a normal human should act in any kind of reality. You need help. And despite what everyone so far has said, there are people out there who care about you and want you to get better.

Kate- But I still want him to die in a fire.

[Jimmy gets up to attack Kate once again, but Damien and Everett hold him back.]

Therapist- Well, up until Kate interjected there, we were headed down the right path. Let’s continue.

Mark- Minigan, we love seeing you, and it’s always a surprise when you show up. But something bad always happens when you do, and it’s usually your fault.

Julie- You ruined my birthday party this year when your [gesturing to the Slappin’ Dick-Machine] robot- thing showed up and trashed the bar.

Minigan- But it came to find me because Della was mean to it!

Della- Because it destroyed the sewage system in my house!

Julie- But still, you let it assault that waitress, which eventually lead to all of us getting arrested.

Minigan- I’m sorry, OK. What do you want me to say?

Mark- That’s a good start.

Therapist- Very good! Now we’re making progress. Who’s next? [Looks to Kevin] How about you? You haven’t said anything yet.

Kevin- I don’t want to. I’m still suffering PTSD from the last time Minigan and I hung out.

Brennen- I’ll go.

Therapist-Now now, you came here to help, you have to say something.

Brennen- It’s ok, I’ll go.

Kevin- No. I’ll go, I guess. [To Minigan] I’m sure that when you were younger, you were a good person. You seem to have a part of you that is good, but from what I’ve seen from you, you are dangerous and should be locked away. You almost threw me into the Canal at Venice.

Andy-And you killed that poor Hüttediener.

Zack- And you released the Kraken.

Paul- And you smuggled drugs into Switzerland!

Brennen- And you made me fall in love with you!

Therapist- What?!

Brennen- Well, It was actually the drugs he took. They are highly addictive and powerful hallucinogens, and, well, at one point he thought I was Olivia Wilde and made out with me. He ended up getting me hooked on the drugs, and for a while I thought it was him I was addicted to.

Minigan- those were some good times.

Shar- But nothing compares to how he ruined Mine and Zack’s wedding.

Julie- Oh, God. Why did you invite him to your wedding. Even Mark and I thought better of it.

Shar- We didn’t! He just found out where it was and crashed it!

Zack- He really did crash it too. He drove his car right into the building that we had the reception in and then dive tackled the cake.

Shar- I never wanted to die more than at that moment.

Minigan- I’m telling you, there was a bomb in the cake.

Zack- There was no bomb! There never was a bomb! We don’t have enemies that would want to blow us up! Why would anyone go through the trouble to put a bomb in our cake!

Minigan- I don’t know, Maybe terrorists-

Zack- Terrorists attack more public places, Minigan! You were just high on that Olivia Wilde drug again! And while you were digging through our destroyed cake, Shar and I had to explain how we knew you to our family and friends.

Shar- I was mortified. And you had Natalie arrested!

Minigan- I’m pretty sure she orchestrated the whole bomb-in-cake plot!

Shar and Zack- There was no bomb in the cake!

Therapist- See, Minigan, how your drug abuse is hurting others? You still have a chance to fix all of these relationships. All you need to do is change.

[Minigan didn’t say anything]

Therapist- OK, let’s hear from someone else.

An unknown female voice that sounded like Minigan- I’ll go next.

[Everyone looked to Minigan]

Minigan- Hey, that wasn’t me. It was the TV.

Damien- The Telly is muted and I saw your lips move.

Minigan- [to the TV] Jillian, tell them it was you.

[An attractive woman appears on the TV screen]

Jillian- Yes everyone, it was me. Minigan, you sexy dick, I am literally dripping with excitement to see you.

Becky- Gross, Minigan.

Minigan- It wasn’t me!

Becky- How can it be anyone else?! You’re saying it.

Jillian- Minigan, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?

Minigan- [annoyed grunt] everyone this is Jillian Hottits. Jillian, these assholes are throwing me an intervention.

Jillian- Why? My sex god is perfect the way he is.

Kate- No he isn’t. He is a raging douchebag and he needs to be stopped.

Minigan- Just ignore her, honey. She’s just mad because I told her the truth about her movies. Now, where were we?

[An older man appears on screen.]

Man- You were about to suck my dick!

Minigan-Douchebag Skallywag! You’re still alive?!

Douchebag- I only live to kill your erection.

Jimmy- That kind of sounds like a sad life.

[Jillian returns on screen]

Minigan-Can we please do something about Douchebag this time? I hate him.

Jillian- I’m sorry, sexy, but you know the rules. Now, take your clothes off.

Therapist- No. Don’t take your close off. [the rest of the group chimed in with their own protests against Minigan taking off his clothes.]

Jillian- Don’t listen to her. She’s stupid and has stupid hair.

Minigan- I know, right?!

Becky- The therapist’s stupid hair aside, please do not get naked for the woman on TV.

Therapist- Hey!

Jillian- Ok, well your prudish friends and family are bitching, so just start grinding your gargantuan package on me.

Justin- [rolls his eyes] Jesus Christ…

[Minigan stands up and begins to grind his”gargantuan package” against the TV screen. Everyone else in the room watches on uncomfortably.

Douchebag-Hey! Get your little dick out of my face, asshole!

Minigan- Ah! Douchebag! Bring back Jillian!

Douchebag-Why? So that you can start fornicating with the TV screen in front of your family and friends again, you sad, dirty pervert?

[Minigan and Douchebag continue to argue over who is more of a douchebag.]

Everett- So are we just going to accept that Minigan’s sex fantasy involves a middle aged man whose soul job is to keep him from getting off?

Jimmy- It’s the antagonist. Every good story needs an antagonist.

Zac- Sex fantasies don’t!

Minigan-Will all of you please shut up! I’m in the middle of a goddamn conversation here! [To Douchebag] Where we’re we?

Jillian- [appears on screen] We were about to get real messy.

Minigan- Oh yeah!

Jillian- And don’t worry, Douchebag won’t be coming back. Now, did you bring the chocolate pudding?

Minigan- I always have a tub of it on me in case I run into you, baby.

Jillian- Oh, man does that turn me on. Now scoop out the pudding with your tongue and lick it onto me.

Minigan- OK!

Jillian- And while you do it, I want you to talk dirty to me.

[Minigan scoops the pudding out of the tub with his tongue and then licks it onto the Television screen.The then licks it off and begins to make out with Jillian’s smiling face.]

Della- [watches Minigan make out with the television] Is anyone else completely disturbed by this?

Julie- If this were literally anyone else on the planet, I would be completely disturbed. But since this is Minigan we’re talking about here, I’m only moderately disturbed.

Della- Oh Come on. He’s making out with a Television that’s muted, how is this not extremely weird?

Minigan and Jillian- [in unison] Shut up, Della.

Julie- OK, now I am.

Therapist- Alright, I’m ending this. [walks over to the wall, pulls the plug out of the socket. The TV goes black.]

Minigan- NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!! You killed her, you bitch! I loved her, and you killed her! I’LL END YOU!!!!

[Minigan dives at the Therapist, but is caught at the last second by Damien, Everett, and Jimmy. They have trouble holding him back, despite the fact that his feet are no longer touching the ground. Minigan is shouting a bunch of things that sound like the language of the Elder Gods. But just then, an older man with thinning black hair and a shifty demeanor enters the room. Everyone in the room stops what they’re doing to look at the guy. Everett, Damien, and Jimmy drop Minigan.]

Minigan- [stands up and brushes himself off. He is calmer, but still angry.] And who the fuck is this skeevy looking motherfucker?

Therapist- I’m sorry sir, but you cannot be in here. We’re right in the middle of an intervention.

The Skeevy Looking Motherfucker- I apologize, but I am looking for a Lord Minigan Blackwood.

Becky- Lord? Ha! This dick isn’t a-

Minigan- Shut up. Shut your goddamned mouth, Becky! [To the skeevy looking motherfucker] I am Lord Minigan Blackwood, Doctor of Awesome, and you are?

Skeevy Looking Motherfucker- Who I am isn’t important. What is important is what I have for you, Minigan. [He reaches into his pocket.]

Minigan- HE’S GOT A GUN! EVERYBODY DOWN! [Minigan dives behind a couch, but no one follows. Instead, they watch the man pull out a small silvery object.]

Zac- What is that? A knife?

Almost everyone in the room- [in unison with cruddy Australian accents] That’s not a knife!

Minigan- [popping his head up from behind the couch] Really? That’s the joke all of you go with? Are we having my intervention back in 1986? [Looks at the object in the man’s hand and says in a cruddy Australian accent] That’s not a knife! Ha ha ha! That’s so funny now! But seriously, that isn’t a knife.

Skeevy Looking Motherfucker- That’s right, Minigan, it isn’t a knife. It’s something you’ve been looking for for a long time. [He holds it up. It’s a small piece of silver shaped into a pair of legs and a wing.]

Minigan- Patron Saint of monkey nut-shots! It’s the other half of the pendant of Isis!

Becky- Wait, wasn’t that something you put on your Christmas list last year, along with world peace, a girlfriend, and a male sex slave?

Jimmy- Oh, that reminds me. Minigan, I’ve been trying to find you a male sex slave, but none of the straight guys I’ve asked seem interested in it at all.

Zac- Well, duh. You don’t ask someone if they want to be enslaved, you just enslave them. It’s not that complicated. [to Minigan] If you want a male sex slave so bad, I’ll get one for you.

Jimmy- I CAN GET MINIGAN A SEX SLAVE ON MY OWN, EFRON!

Therapist- No one is getting anyone a sex slave! I think I see why Minigan has gotten so bad. All of you are enabling him.

Damien- He bloody forces us to enable him! If we don’t do what he says he either attacks us or tricks us into going along with him. That’s why I’ve been attacked by guidos, zombies, pop singers, and pundits within three years! He forces us to do these things, and we cannot stop him.

[The rest of the group nod in agreement. The Skeevy looking motherfucker clears his throat.]

Skeevy Looking Motherfucker- So, Minigan, do you want this half of the pendant or not?

Minigan- I do. [climbs back over the couch to meet the man] What do you want for it?

Skeevy Looking Motherfucker- Well, I first I would like a wife. [He takes a lingering glance at Kate. She shudders]

Minigan- Done. Take her.

Kate- Minigan, no!

Minigan- [ignoring Kate] And as an act of good will between the two of us, [grabs Della by the arm and pulls her out of the chair] I’ll through in this one too. She’s got a good back. Great for washing clothes by hand.

Della- Hey, Leave me out of this, dickbag!

Minigan- Sorry, Cockflaps. It’s too late. The offer is already on the table.

Della- [to the therapist] See?! This is exactly what we mean. He just does this shit without asking us first and we cannot stop him once he’s started. He’s impossible to handle.

Therapist- I said no human trafficking in this intervention, Minigan, and I meant it!

Zac- Will someone please tell me what Cockflaps are!

Skeevy Looking Motherfucker- Sorry Minigan, but I don’t want her.

Minigan- Take her anyway.

Skeevy Looking Motherfucker- …But what I do want for this half of the amulet is $200,000.

Minigan- What?! Seriously? …Fine. Let me write you a check. [Minigan reaches into his pocket for his checkbook, but with his free hand, punches the man right in the chest. The skeevy looking motherfucker stumbles backwards, and then falls to the ground, dead. Minigan pries the second half of the pendant out of the dead man’s hands]

Therapist- Dear Lord! Someone call an ambulance!

Minigan- [in a booming voice]NO! He’s dead. I saw to that. [pulls out his piece of the Amulet of Isis from his pocket and sticks the two together. A bright white light shines through the fissure in the amulet and seals it back together. Minigan begins to grow, and his eyes catch on fire.] I am Lord Minigan Blackwood, the new ruler of humanity! Obey Me! [Minigan grows so big that he crashes through the ceiling and now stands thirty feet tall. He lets out a roar and then shoots fire out of his eyes and at a nearby car.] I HAVE GODDAMN HEAT VISION. [he lets out another long roar, but this time he shoots fire out of his eyes at several different buildings. Everyone in the newly ceilingless therapy room scream and take cover behind the furniture.

Therapist-Make him stop!

Nick Jonas- Have you been listening to any of us? We cannot stop him normally, how do you expect us to stop him now?!

Minigan- THERE IS NO STOPPING ME, FOR I AM GOD.

Zac Efron- We were supposed be gods together!

[Four men in white lab coats enter the room and rush towards Minigan. As they do, they grow to Minigan’s size. Minigan uses his heat vision against them, but the flames bounce off of them. The first man to reach Minigan grabs both of Minigan’s wrists, The second grabs a hold of Minigan’s legs, and the last two tinker with something on the back of Minigan’s neck. After a few seconds, Minigan’s roar went down in pitch, and then stopped entirely. Minigan’s body relaxed and three of the men dragged him out the door. For everyone in the room, the ceiling returned, and the chairs and sofas were back in their positions.

The fourth man-Sorry about that, everyone. Minigan’s wiring has been fried for some time now. We’ve been trying to catch him, but as I’m sure you all know, he’s impossible to stop or catch. Fortunately for us, he swallowed a bunch of magnets last week. This caused his processors to misfire and cause some serious hallucinations for him and even more erratic behavior for everyone else. From our wireless neuro-scans, up until you brought him here, he believed that he was trapped in a universe filled with different Christmas movies.

Everett- Are you saying that Minigan is…

The Forth Man- a robot from the future, yes.

Mike Thompson- but we just watched him grow to be 30 feet tall and shoot fire out of his eyes. How did he do that?

The fourth Man- He didn’t. That was just him hallucinating that he was.

Brennen- But we all saw him kill that man, put the two pieces of the amulet together, and become Meca-Minigan.

Paul- Oh yeah, about that- I may have spiked the pink lemonade with acid.

All the attendees- you did what?!?!

Paul- I thought it would liven up this intervention.

Therapist-why would you ever think that bringing LSD to an intervention would be anything other than a terrible idea?!

Paul- Well, sorry for trying to spice things up.

Becky- OK, setting aside the fact that this asshole [pointing her thumb to Paul] forced us to take LSD, How is Minigan a robot from the future? I’ve known him for most of my life. If he was a robot the entire time, then… then…

Amy- [Gasps] No!

[The other three men in lab coats rush back in. They fiddle with the back of Becky’s and Amy’s necks. They both make powering down noises and go limp. The men drag them off. Everyone else in the room stares at Justin, who watches the men drag out his two sisters. After a few seconds of staring blankly at the doorway, he jumps to his feet]

Justin- Wait a goddamn minute! If they’re robots, that means that I-

[The men rush back in, power off Justin, and drag him out.]

Therapist- Well, I guess that’s it for the intervention.

Sharlene- If you want, we could throw an intervention for Paul. Clearly he has some drug issues.

Brennen- Hey! That’s a good idea!

Andy- You do have a problem, Paul.

Paul- [laughs] Ok, ok. I’m sorry that spiked the lemonade with LSD. But I don’t have a problem. This was the first time ever that I- [Gets up and sprints out of the room. Zack, Sharlene, Andy, Kevin, and Brennen run after him, yelling at him to stop. The Therapist sighs, mumbles something about quitting, and follows Minigan’s Eurotrip-mates out of the room.]

Mike Thompson- Shit. I’m getting out of here before the cops can take me back to prison.

Nick Jonas- Good idea.

[Both convicts get up and sprint to the door. A cop steps inside and catches Mike Thompson. Nick manages to side step the officer and escape.]

Mike Thompson- Nick! Help!

Nick Jonas- [continues to run down the hall, yells back] Fuck that. I’m getting out of here!

Officer- [To Mike Thompson] You’re coming with me, Minigan Blackwood.

Mike Thompson- I’m not Minigan Blackwood! Minigan Blackwood is a robot from the future, and we look exactly nothing alike! [to the remaining intervention party members] Please tell him I don’t look like Minigan Blackwood!

Jimmy- I dunno… I can definitely see a resemblance…

Zac- Yep. I totally see it too.

Mike Thompson- [as he’s being dragged away] Damn you Zac Efron, Damn you!!!

Della- Well… I guess I’m going home.

[Kate, Mark and Julie murmur in agreement and they leave the room. The Slappin’ Dick-Machine uses it’s mechanical arms to place the TV on it’s back and put the T-shirt on top of the TV.]

Slappin’ Dick-Machine- Come on, brothers! Let’s destroy Humanity! [exits]

Damien- [To Everett] We should probably stop that. [They both get up and head for the door. Damien turns to Jimmy and asks] Are you going to help us, or are you going to need a tick?

Jimmy- [fighting back his tears]- Yeah, I’m going to need a minute.

[Everett and Damien exit. Jimmy immediately stops pretending to be upset. The man in the lab coat is still standing in the room.]

Man in the lab coat- So, you think they bought it?

Zac- Absolutely.

Jimmy- You were very convincing, Minigan.

Minigan- [pulls off mask] I know. Thank you both for giving me a warning about this ahead of time, so that I could come to this prepared. Good thing I still had some Olivia Wilde/Charlie Sheen powder left over from last week’s fiasco.

Zac- What happened last week?

Minigan- I accidentally caused a rift between our universe and every single Christmas movie universe in existence. It was awful. You have no idea how many Hallmark Christmas Made-For-TV movies there are.

Zac- Are you still high on the drugs?

Minigan- Absolutely, and I kind of feel like another adventure.

Jimmy- [Nervously] What kind of adventure?

Minigan- Oh, I don’t know…[heavily pats both men on their shoulders] Right now, it feels like anything is possible! [exits]

Jimmy- Oh Jesus…

Zac- [watches Minigan leave and then turns to Jimmy] We probably shouldn’t have warned him about the intervention.

-THE END… FOR NOW…-

What Pitching an Article to Cracked.com has Taught Me About Myself.

I realized recently that the main difference between my older posts and my newer posts (other than my writing being more horrible in the older posts) is that I rarely inform my readers of how my everyday life is going. I’m going to try and correct this problem now. But just as a warning, this might not be all that funny.

So, yes, as the title stated, I am writing an article for Cracked. I don’t want to give out all the information about it (that would take too long and I don’t want to jinx the pitch more that I already have) but I will tell you that it’s going to be about Pixar movies. And over the past 3 weeks that I’ve been working on it, I’ve noticed a few things about myself as a person that I didn’t expect to find out by pitching an article to a website famous for its dick jokes. Anyway, I thought I’d share the things I’ve learned with you now.

-I have a serious ego problem
When I first started writing the pitch for Cracked, I was thinking to myself, “Man, this is going to be so easy. I’ll just fart out this pitch, let the moderators and editors swoon over it, and blow their goddamn minds with the full article when they ask me to write it, which will be next week by the latest.” I posted my pitch into the pool of submissions right before I started getting ready for work on Thursday the 5th. When I got home the next morning, I had received a message. Fuck yes. Bring on the swooning.

Minigan Blackwood, you must be our God. Please, impregnate our women!

Well actually, no. What it said was more like: “Hey, you’re new here! Welcome! Now, here’s what you did wrong. You didn’t properly format the article, so you’ll need to fix that. Here is a link to show you how. You also don’t have enough entries, and one of them seems to be more of the speculations of a crazy person than a supportable point. You might want to fix that too. Get to it.” (I would like to point out that that is a much less polite version of what the moderator said to me.)
Fuck knuckles. I read that page that he linked several times ever since I got my user name. How the fuck did I forget something as simple as “needs 6 entries” and “five of them can only be 4 sentences long?”
…OK. That was only a minor brainfart on what will be a hugely successful article. And that was totally my bad. Let’s just fix those, and add an entry about Pixar being a single universe, post it as a new thread, and prepare for internet glory.
Nope. I wasn’t supposed to post it as a new thead, so sayeth another moderator. Fuck.
Alright! Now I fixed that, and revised my old entry. Let’s just message the other moderator and let him know I fixed what he wanted and…
…He didn’t like my new entry. He wanted me to be more specific about how Pixar is a single universe
Ok, that’s an easy fix, especially since that’s an important point that leads into my final entry. Just add a couple of examples, and they’ll be sure to accept it.
Well, no. That won’t work either because they already had an article that talked about the Easter eggs from Pixar films. Damnit! That one was important. I didn’t want to have to do this, but it looks like I may have to argue with the moderator on this one. Well, “argue isn’t the right word. Let’s use, “respectfully disagree.”

Pictured: me “respectfully disagreeing” with the moderator

His message back to me restated his claim in a different way and pointed out that since it was an important idea it could go with the final entry; it just wasn’t important enough to warrant its own. You win this round, Moderator.
And all of this was just from the Thursday that I first pitched it to Sunday. There is a whole other week and a half of me changing things and them rejecting it. I was actually pretty disillusioned by the whole thing. Why isn’t this easier? I just figured they’d accept my article. I mean, It’s not like I’ve never written on the internet before. I write for my blog all the ti- Oh I see what the problem is.
Since I graduated from college a year and a half ago, I haven’t tried to publish anything. Not a goddamn thing. This is my first article pitch to Cracked, and I sent it in 9 months after I signed up for their writer’s workshop. Not only that, the only feedback I’ve gotten on my writing was back in February when I sent a story I was working on to my friend Brittany, who was in my fiction group in college. So what’s happened is that I’ve gotten so used to just farting out things for my blog without anyone stopping me or telling me that it needs work, that the fact that someone at The Most Successful Comedy Website is shooting down my ideas again and again is really uncomfortable to me. Especially because it made me realize how much of an ego I had gained since college. I mean, sure, I’m always confident that my writing is good. I write all the time, and I usually hate things that I’ve written 6 months prior. That has to mean that I’m getting better as a writer. But I shouldn’t think that my writing is so good that I will immediately get to write my pitch in full and have it published. That’s just crazy. When did I get this bad? I’m never this egotistical; I’m seriously the most humble motherfucker alive.

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Nothing says, “Humble” like showing several images of past blogs and tweets to prove how awesome you are.

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– It takes some force outside of my control to motivate me

As I mentioned, it took me a year and a half after graduating, and 9 months after signing up for Cracked to finally pitch an article. Why it took me so long involves a bunch of different excuses but they all come down to, “I’m kind of lazy.” But then, what motivated me to finally pitch an article? Well, it was this:

Now, I had an idea for a Cracked article about Pixar long before this tweet, so once I saw it, I knew that I had to get my idea published before Dan O’Brien screwed everything up for me. Because let’s be honest, I cannot be that original, and there is a very good chance that at least one of the arguments that I make is going to show up in the video. That means that if the video goes up first, it will be assumed by everyone that I just took my ideas from the video. I cannot have this. So I started writing my pitch as soon as I could. I will not let my article be considered as a less funny, non-video version of the After Hours episode. It’s already going to be that, so I need to get it in first so that I at least look original.
But that really doesn’t matter because, I don’t have a say when the article goes up. If they accept it, it could be in two weeks, it could be in a month, it could be in two months. I don’t know when my article will go up, and I don’t know when the video will go up. All I have to go on is getting it accepted first.
-I am kind of paranoid
Once I saw Swaim’s tweet, I resolved to tell off this O’Brien character so that he knew he was going to have to compete with me. I did this by slamming the shit out of him on Twitter:

The ball’s in your court, Date Of Birth Incorporated.

I didn’t think much of it other than, “If he actually reads this, he’ll probably be disappointed on how not funny it is. But as my pitch needed more and more work, part of me (See: my ego) couldn’t help but suspect that that damn Dan O’Brien was behind all this.
I know that it’s irrational; he’s the head editor for that site. If he has the time between everything he does to be so pissed off by my one not that funny tweet, then he really needs a hobby or a girlfriend or maybe superpowers so that he can start fighting crime on the side.
That’s what I know. But there still is that annoying voice in the back of my head (it sounds a lot like Smeagol from Lord of the Rings) telling me that everyone at Cracked is against us and that they’re filthy hobbitses and that they stole the precious from us.
It kind of comes back to my ego. It’s like even though I know it isn’t true, there is still a part of me that’s thinking, “Clearly, Minigan, your writing is amazing. That’s not the issue. The issue here is that everyone at Cracked is intimidated by your amazing writing powers.” That isn’t a healthy way to think. And not just because Brockway can out crazy me, and Seanbaby can beat the shit out of me. It’s unhealthy because if I think that and do not retort with what’s really going on (my pitch still needs work; I am foil hat wearing levels of paranoid) then how am I ever supposed to take negative feedback on my work. I’m a writer. It’s what I want to do. And that is one of the few things I am 100% sure of. That means that I need negative criticism to help me become a better writer. And that is exactly what they’re doing. I realize now that if they wouldn’t have had me change some of the things that need changing in my pitch, then those entries probably would have sucked. They’re only trying to help me, and it’s unfair of me to take it as an attack.

So if you’re reading this Dan, I know (and hope) that my paranoia is unjustified and I completely believe that you didn’t tell all the moderators and editors to make things incredibly difficult on me so that you could have your revenge for that tweet. Also if you reading this: Holy shit! Welcome to my blog!!!! Oh wow, this is such a huge honor! I’ve been a fan of yours for the past few years and I’m so happy that we get to finally meet! Omigod, I should’ve cleaned up this blog page. Everything is a mess and there’s no sense of order. This is so embarrassing. Feel free to peruse through my older posts; most of them are pretty amazing. Oh, and one more thing. That Smeagol sounding voice in the back of my head wants its precious back. He told me you’d know what he meant.

This is what Google Image Search came up with. I don’t know why my paranoid voice had a black girl, so I hope you just let her go.

– I’m not that bad of a person after all.
Despite how frustrating this may have been for me, I have been impressively able to not be a dick to the editors or moderators. I know that they are just doing their jobs and that they have to deal with dozens of different writers, some of them worse that I am, some much better, and hopefully no dicks. But, just like in real life and at a bodybuilding competition, unexpected dicks happen. Well, I was not going to be one of those unexpected dicks. After all, I worked a similar position when I was in college. I was a writing tutor, so I understand how difficult it is to tell someone that their writing doesn’t work while not insulting them about it to. The main difference is that I had the luxury of having the people I tutored not be anonymous.
Wait, I was only not a dick to the moderator and the editor. That doesn’t make me a good person because I can still be a dick to a bunch of people. Nevermind, everybody. I was wrong. I am still a bad person. That means I can still say awful things on this blog to make you laugh. Hurray!

“Yeaaaaah! Wooooo! Minigan’s still interesting!!!!! Wooooooo!!!!”

Oh, and speaking of this blog: this is my 81st post, which means we only have 18 posts left to go before my 100th Blog Post Spectacular! I’m telling you this because those next 18 are going to be so fucking insane. You’ve been warned.
Peace

Lady Caggiano’s Wild Ride (Get Well Soon)

Before we get started on this  blog, I would like to publicly (kind of) wish Lady Caggiano to get well soon. She recently got into a serious car accident and had to be taken to the hospital. She is relatively OK; she broke her vagina-bones, but she seems pretty upbeat about not being dead, and she apparently enjoys peeing in a cup. To make her feel better, and to explain to all of you readers out there in internetland how she got into an accident, I decided to write a story around her harrowing tale:

The night was cold, wet. It was like that dead hooker that you had to bury in the rain on one autumn day. That is, it smelled kind of funky and it was still struggling a little. Damn corpses. Anyway, I got into my car, listened to the gentle growl emanate from under the hood as I turned the ignition. I didn’t want to head to Pataskala; I didn’t want to even leave my house, but damnit, Minigan guilt tripped me into leaving. “I really want to work on the TV show” he said. “I developed the characters a little more,” he said. What a cunt-stain.  And I never use the word “cunt.” Not unless I am talking about him. I don’t even know why I haven’t stolen this TV show idea and put it together on my own. I guess I like the fact that he immediately includes me on his projects. It makes me feel wanted.

He wouldn't let me go. Oh God, he smelled horrible!

Anyway, my car awoke from its slumber, and The Killers began to blast through the speaker. I smiled. At least the trip over would be a good one. And I could probably just tune Minigan out the entire time. He’ll won’t notice; all he does is rant anyway. God, do I hate him. Sometimes I wonder what life would be like if I never met him. I am pretty sure everything would be nothing but double rainbows and sex without judgment.

Why he exists is impossible to know for sure, but my guess is that he meant to bring death and sorrow to everything good and beatuiful.

Despite the good feelings The Killers put me in, I still looked back at my apartment building with longing. I normally had this feeling that something terrible was going to happen when I go meet Minigan, but this was different: I felt that my life was more at stake this time. Shaking off those feelings of foreboding, I began my trek to P-town.

My instincts were correct. Unknown to me, Pataskala actually contains the gates to Hell. Which, in hindsight makes perfect sense, seeing as though Minigan lives there. Well, as I was driving towards that town, I saw this red glowing light. It was pulsating, and as I giggled at how funny the word “pulsating” is, some winged, naked, bald man landed on my windshield. Figuring I just hit another gay stereotype who came prancing out of one of the many gay bars that litter The Short North, i was tempted to just continue driving. Grumbling (my conscience got the best of me), I climbed out of the comfort of my car into the cold, dead hooker of a night to examine the damage done.

The man was as muscular as a gay (or as Minigan, the meatheaded douchebag) but he was incredibly ugly. There is no way a gay man is that ugly. I took a second look, hoping that it was Doug that I hit, but sadly, no. The winged man was ugly, but not Minigan ugly, or what I like to call “Dougly” on account of Minigan’s middle name being Doug. Also, although the man and Minigan both smell like pure evil, this man smelled like putrid flesh as well, whereas Minigan also reeks of Axe body spray.   This dude lying in front of my car had a pig snout and a mouth full of brownish yellow fangs that pointed in different directions. The man’s skin tone was a sickly grey, and his bald, lumpy, and misshapen head sat on top of a long and oddly veiny neck . His leathery and taloned wings were bent awkwardly on the wet pavement. I began to wonder what man would wear leathery wings, and came to the conclusion that this guy had to be gay, but one of those rare fugly gay guys that show up every once and a while.

Fun Fact: Minigan can pass as an ugly gay guy.

I leaned over the assumed dead, assumed gay man’s body, wondering whether I should call the cops or roll him into the gutter like the rest of the hit pedestrians, when the man opened his black eyes. I do not mean that they were bruised, or that that his pupils were dilated, but that even the whites of his eyes were black. Sensing that I was looking at some really fucked up shit, I proceeded to get back into my car. I threw the man my insurance card at the man and apologized as I closed the door, but fugly dude let out an ear piercing screech- something that would have annoyed the shit out of a nazgul. The thing jumped onto the hood of my car, crumbling the metal like it was paper.  He then punched through my windshield, but got his massive talon stuck in the tempered glass. I looked around in a panic, but the only thing at my disposal was a copy of “Twilight: Breaking Dawn” that Minigan gave me for my Birthday (which I threw into my car, never to think about again). The Stupid asshole; he knew that I hated Twilight. That’s when I remembered- that dumbass didn’t give me the book, “Twilight,” he gave me a hollowed out copy of “Twilight” with a vampire slaying kit inside. I lunged past the writhing demon hand and reached for the book. As my fingers clasped around the book, the monster’s fingers grabbed a fistful of my hair.  My scalp burned as he thrashed me around the front of my car. Somehow, I was able to open the book and grab the Celtic (for some strange reason, vampires are from Eastern Europe after all) Crucifix. As best as I could, I beat the monster’s wrist with it. Hey- Don’t judge me, I was panicking. What would you have done? The stake Minigan made for me was as dull as one of his lame jokes. Anyway, to my surprise, the creature let out a angry cry, and let go of my hair. It’s long, grey, and taloned hand pulled out of my windshield.

Given the choice between saving Minigan's life and reading a Twilight novel, I would choose the Twilight novel before the person had time to complete the sentence.

At that moment, my foot instinctively pressed down on the accelerator, and my car lurched forward, throwing the winged man over the hood and back onto the pavement. I sped through town, dodging pedestians and other cars like a crazy person, all in an effort to get away from the thing that attacked me. I wasn’t even sure if I was going in the right direction (not that I really cared), I just wanted to get as far away from that monster as possible.

My mind slowly calmed and I found it drifting from the horrors of one monster to another: Minigan. I just knew that he would be sitting at the smoothie place, on his golden “Emperor of Awesome” throne he built for himself, shirtless and oiling up his abs, just waiting for me to show up so that he could put on his pathetic show of impotent masculinity.  Part of me always hopes that he ignites the oil on his body during his traditional fire dance to the Thunder God. And, sadly, everytime he completes the ceremony unscathed, I die a little bit more inside.

I hate him and every single one of his 8 abs.

My mind grew tired of the image of Minigan aflame, so I began to take notice of where I was heading. I was on the freeway, headed East. Fuck. I was still headed towards Pataskala. And not only that, the throbbing glow (I giggled again) was now an even deeper shade of red and took up more of the sky. Something told me that I was going to have to deal with a lot of shit tonight.

The next few minutes were relatively uneventful, the occasional zombie hoard pulling their victim out of a car, shadow creatures crumbling buildings like they were made of cards, sink holes forming in the middle of the road and spewing out thousands of little devil cherubs. You know, the things you normally see in Columbus Ohio. ( I am not even joking, these are all regular occurences here. If you are reading this and do not live in Ohio, keep it that way. Don’t even drive through Ohio. You will be putting yourself and your loved ones at risk.The fact that Minigan also lives within the Ohio borders is only a stronger argument of why you should never come here.) I approached my exit and sighed, knowing what horrors awaited me in the Over Latte Café. Unluckily for the world, but luckily for me, a two story tall shit monster formed at the exit. It wasn’t a solid shit either, it was closer to a thick diarehea shit. It moved around like it was the lava inside of the lamp. It didn’t have eyes so much as sunken pits where eyes supposed to go, but it did have teeth- giant fangs that looked eerily like corn. In fact, to me, it kind of looked like Minigan, probably because they are both huge pieces of shit. Anyway, I was kind of estatic at this new development. I cannot honestly say that it was the happiest I had ever been, since there was a giant shit monster lumbering towards me, but at least it wasn’t Minigan. Also, I remembered the comment I made about 300 words ago, and I let a short “ha” escape my lips.

Minigan thinks that this is what "Goth" looks like. Seriously, fuck this guy.

But due to this laugh, but mostly due to the giant shit monster  stealing my attention,  I was not paying full attention to the road or  the car in front of me slamming on their breaks. Once I noticed that the car in front of me was getting larger at an alarming rate, I in turn slammed on mine, not noticing the slick patch of road that I was careening towards. I hit said patch of slick road, my wheels locked up, and I found my self spinning at an orgasmically terrifying rate. The world outside my car was a blur of reds, blacks, and greys as the world inside my car was filled with my terrified screams. As I was spinning, all I could think about was how I was going to die here on the highway, and it was going to be all Minigan’s fault. That son of a bitch, I thought, I’m gonna haunt the shit out of him.  I skidded to a halt with the passenger side of my car only inches away from the person in front of me. I was about to take a sigh of relief when I looked out the driver’s side window and saw another car barreling towards me. I was paralized with fear, when I realized that it was going to hit me, and all that I was able to do was yell, “FUCK YOU MINIGAN!!!” The car hit my door. Metal crunched.  Glass shattered. Bones broke. Horns blared. Metallica started playing on the radio. I was in Hell.  My nether-regions were in intense pain. I just knew I broke my lady bits. I ended up having to be taken to the hospital because my pelvic bone was broken in 2 places, and that is why I did not come to our meeting on Friday, Minigan.

Minigan- Seriously, that is your excuse?

Ashley- What, you don’t believe me?

Minigan- Of course I don’t. You had demons and shit monsters in it. How could you expect me to believe something like that? But I’m not angry about that. What I want to know is if you realized that you were talking shit on me in your inner-monologues when you told this story to me?

Ashley- What do you mean?

Minigan- I mean that you called my a cunt-stain, and said that you regularly hope I set myself on fire.

Ashley- Well then, I guess you won’t want these cookies I made you.

Minigan- Cookies!?!? FUCK YES I DO!!!

Ashely- [to herself] Ha, ha, men are so easy to trick.

I got him to be the women in this picture. He is sooo my bitch.

Ok, now that I am done sucking Ashley’s metaphorical dick, Let’s get onto this week’s blog!

BLOGGING!!!!!

Just kidding- I’m done. Peace everybody, and Ashley, FEEL BETTER!!!!