April_29 - MY VACATION IN HELL
Well, I'm back from my sabattacle in hell. That's right, VIRGINIA! Let's start from the top.
Day 1
We leave. We leave three hours late. We stop at Roy Rogers in New Jersey and get some dinner. In the car were all my dad's tools, my mother, father, my sister, my brother, me, and the dog, Gus. In the front were my parents, in the middle, my sister and I, and in the back was my brother and the dog. The dog was a fun passenger, in that he farted every four seconds. But he didn't want us to hear the sound of the gas hitting the leather seats, so he would stand up and release the nerve gas into the air for the unsuspecting family to inhale. The suburban turned deathtrap would then be filled with the neurotoxin and make the family feel as if they had an Alien-esque creature trying to escape from their torso.
Day 2
We went to Target and I got shoes. Highlight of the day? Sleeping.
Day 3
Easter Sunday. 4 20. My cousin and I walk to the & Eleven which happens to be 6 miles away. She complains about not having brung her weed. We find a rolly chair on the side of the road and hilarity ensues.
Tomorrow: The "leave day" turned "delay from hell."
April_12 - My nutso mother
Tonight, my mother. My mother was born 10 years and 10 days after my father. My mother is very concerned with our grades. And by ours, I mean mine. To the extent that at the counseling session where you set up your schedule for next year, she demanded that each and every class was AP. If I didn't meet all the prerequisites, well she was sure the counselor could go around that.
Apparantly she has a fear of her children being homosexual. Anything has its sexuality questioned. For example, I go to blockbuster video with her to rent a videogame. The first question: "IS THIS QUEER!!???" When we were shoe shopping, she refused to buy me shoes because "They're queer." When we were pants shopping she told me I couldn't get a pair of pants "because they're queer." Apparantly, wearing steve madden shoes or boot cut pants will make me queer.
What my shirts will have on them if she doesn't protect me.
Also, if my father wasn't at the house, we'd be living off of fruit loops and half and half. Her cooking abilities are limited to picking up two containers of classic marinara at Villa Italia and heating it up, and even then she manages to burn the pasta. The reason for this is that she has more important things than cooking, like Mary Kay. It's so important that if a female ever treks into my home, she corners them and tells them about the Mary Kay opportunity. Thanks mom. She also cannot be on time for ANYTHING. We can wake up as early as we want (not that we ever have) and still be late. Recently, rather than coming upstairs and actually waking us up, she's began to just yell "wake up" and then get in the shower. May I mention that she does this at 7 IN THE MORNING and that the ride to school is 10 minutes, I have an 8 year old sister, I have to shower, and the late bell rings at 7:35. Can you imagine any sort of on-timedness? No. No you can't. In fact, just writing about her made this rant three days late.
April_09 - My nutso father
Today I shall go deeper into the rich background from which I was formed.
My father, or as some of you may know him as you have seen on the big screen, "American Psycho," was born in 1646 in Savannah, Georgia. Being about 357 years old, he's unaware of the advances of technology outside of obnoxious cameras. So any videogame takes around 15 to minutes to beat. If you play it for any longer than that, well, you're just replaying it over and over in order to make your sibling's life a living hell! Why would you do something so incredibly mean to your brother?! Also, in his world, anybody who isn't of British, Scottish, or Irish descent and now lives in the United States is unable to drive, learn, talk, or do any other activity requiring any sort of motor skill. German women are world reknown for their strong odor, and their husbands are all now in Columbian drug rings, and there is no such thing as Peruvians, Argentinians, or anything other South American nationality, as anybody south of Texas is Mexican.
According to Professor Dad, black people should be banned from employment, however, there should be a law that says that all black people must be employed at all times. I don't know how this is possible, but then again it's possible to both burn and undercook rice. He refuses to buy any diamonds for my mother because the prices, as you may or may not know, are a plot by the Jews to get back at all the years of persecution. My father, the equal rights activist.
Well tonight he was nice enough to come home and ask me to open outlook express to see his email, like always, to see how much monkey porn printer cartridges spam mails he got today. I don't really care, because he does it every day, and gets the same emails from the same spammers every day. Maybe I should send them a friendly email congradulating their perserverence. So I open Outlook and he says "Get off the computer." Now, usually he frowns upon kicking me off the computer just to check the mail, for god knows what reasons, considering I always get off the computer when he checks his mail. So my mother comes in and asks me to wash the dishes which everyone knows I hate as much as Colleary's class. So I'm still a little moody, as some may notice, and I got apeshit when I find the sink is full of coco-puffs. So I storm upstairs and tell my brother that if he puts any food in the sink again, I'll rip his eyes out. Well within four and a half seconds my father is screaming at me for acting like I'm too good for touching soggy disgusting food and that the reason it's there is because you can't pour wet things into the trash. Well, daddy, last time I checked, half chewed YANKEE FUCKING POT ROAST is not a liquid.Well it's good that I have Martin Luther King Jr. here to tell me that nobody in our family is too good for something like that and that we're all equal. Thanks dad, I'd be lost without you
I'd like to thank Kas for being there when my real dad wasn't.
April_08 - The First Entry / Hewlett Packard's Hell Child
So today I come up with the brilliant idea that I should do something in order to redirect the rage at artist's block into a more positive means. Shaving the armpits of French women wasn't very productive, as every hair shaved away was replaced by two more, much like small children or the heads of a hydra, so I went with plan Number 2 and made a site about my life. My mother suggested that the first entry be about the time that the dogs were going at it and got stuck together, but I said that I couldn't reuse that, considering it's in my blog. Well this is my new super-blog where you get to see pictures. Yes. Super blog. In addition to being super it also has magical pop-up ads! These aren't any pop-ads, no, they're magic ones. Yes, straight from the humid jungles of Afghanistan, imported pop-ups. They have the magic ability to drive your computer batshit insane, and thus driving you, the reader, batshit insane. According to mother dearest, my text is mean. I swear, they're French, they don't have hearts. Geez. I mean, they're on the other side of an ocean, if we were in England or somewhere she could smell the cheese she wouldn't say I was being mean. I'm not telling domestic violence jokes or anything (What do you tell a woman with 2 black eyes? NOTHING! She already heard it twice!) So I've come to the conclusion that I'm not being, I'm being truthful. Much like my mother, who's been having this huge fit over her hair turning green in the shower. LIKE NOBODY ELSES HAIR TURNS GREEN. And it's not even green. It's this faint hit-by-car leprechaun remains that have been sitting on an Arizona highway for 2 years sorta green (for those of you who have lived on Long Island a little too long, that's not very green).
If I hear another word about green hair I'm gonna end up like the computer, who has completely been assimilated to being a New Yorker in that it seeks any and all success or happiness and eradicates it. Jumping Jesus on a Trampoline, any sort of smile makes this computer freak out. Unlike normal computer freaking out, which would be freezing, or the blue screen of death, this hellspawn will one-by-one cause illegal operations to programs that are adept in emitting any sort of entertainment. KaZaA apparantly is what Army troops are to Hippies. Only hippies shoot flowers, not evil freezy errors that make you wish that dude you had a Dell. What a cool photoshop I made, whoops, that's a little too high on quality for Mr. Adolf Packard here, so it's time for .psd genocide.
This thing came with a CD-R drive. So I'm guessing that the drive originally would do what it did when you told it to. Well Bastard Machine didn't like that, and now goes apeshit if you even look at any CD Burning Program's icon. Playing MP3's on here is probably as effecient as having an orangatan assemble an MP3 player out of coconuts and guitar strings. The only edge as far as kindness this computer has on the "Red Queen" computer from the movie Resident Evil is that it doesn't have a voice, especially a small British girl who can't pronounce half the things she has to say. In addition to having the computer freak out and having the monitor invert and sporatically disabling the volume controls, I have my brother and father who download anything that looks nifty. Luckily they haven't been exposed to BonziBuddy, or I would have bloody well killed myself. They're "MP3 Finder" spyware has this nice feature which redirects any 404 to a nice search page, which will help you find what you need assuming you were looking at zulu monkey ear sex in Yugoslavia starring Bessy the Cow and Max "Slot Machine" Power.
One theory on the source of Computer Evilness is the room that it is contained in. The walls are blood red. According to many reliable sources, red walls slowly drive you insane. However, this computer quickly stomps out this theory, as it has been a homicidal hell machine ever since we got it. It used to be connected to our computer over a network, well, this other computer had a baseball screen saver which would make loud obnoxious sound effects. That other computer now is almost inoperable even after a system recovery. Leaving it on overnight, I once found that it had frozen at 3am. If I was running KaZaA, this might be possible. No, I was running NOTHING. Hewlett Hell Monster KILLED THAT BITCH. The moral of the story is this: have a better back up plan to shaving French women's armpits than making a website. The end.