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Sunday, October 16, 2011

Lonely on a Wednesday Night

 *Author's Note: The protagonist in this story represents no one in particular.

I’m driving down a busy road.

It’s been a long hard day.

I pass a KFC on my right. I’ve always hated KFC. Their marquee is advertising something about a 27.99 BUCKET OF CHICKEN! or something completely ridiculous like that.

Some jerk cuts in front of me. I give him the finger.

A couple minutes later, I have to screech to a halt because some guy is crossing the road, very slowly. I give him the finger.

At some point, I pass Zion’s Bank on my left. Ah, good ol’ Zion’s Bank. The guardians of my income. I give it the finger.

There’s a party going on on Main Street. I love parties.

I pull over immediately and jump out. Then I start dancing.

People, who are standing around talking and drinking, turn and look at me. “Uhhh,” says the nearest guy, not sure what to think.

I cease dancing, then go and party it up.

“Hey everyone!” I exclaim. “What’s goin’ on? Party huh? I love parties! Yeah! Woo!”

Some girl rolls her eyes, and goes back to talking to her floozy friends. Or is it possible that she is the floozy, and her friends are actually not floozies at all? I ponder this. Then I resume partying.

“Woo!” I scream. “Party!”

“Ow!” moans some guy. “You stepped on my foot you moron!”

It turns out he’s talking to me. Yes, I stepped on his foot.

On purpose.

Then he’s looking at me. He’s got a beer in one hand. And a gun in the other.

“Oh, I stepped on the poor baby’s foot!” I say. Pretty soon, people start gathering around, like a fight is about to ensue. Which it most definitely is.

He points his gun at my face. “I think you should probably leave this party,” he says. “Before somebody gets shot. Like you.”

“All right, all right,” I say. Then, without warning, I karate chop the gun out of his hand with lightning speed.

Then I jump on him and start slapping him. We tumble to the ground. Cheers erupt from the crowd that has gathered around us. A few seconds later, he has me with my back on the ground, and he’s pummeling my face.

Nobody pummels my face.


Except this guy apparently. Because he is doing it, right now, at this precise moment.

Then I kick him in the groin. “Ohhh!” he cries, and falls backwards, clutching his crotch. “YEAH!” cries a rather deep voiced gentleman in the crowd. Then a cop shows up and tells us to break it up. And they kick me out of the party. “Forget this,” I say. “I hate this stupid party.”

Where to next? I suddenly feel like mixing it up at Menchie’s Frozen Yogurt. It’s my favorite Frozen Yogurt experience. By this point, it’s about 2:30 AM. Hopefully they’re still open.

Thank goodness, they are! The store is crowded with college students. “Hey, watch this!” I say to a beautiful blonde girl, and then I stick my head under the yogurt machine spout, open my mouth, and pull the lever. Yogurt pours into my mouth. Some kids laugh.

“Hey, knock it off punk,” says the store employee. “Or I’ll ask you to leave.”

“Oh yeah?” I ask. “Well maybe I’ll ask you to leave!”

I check the crowd of students. Nobody laughs this time. Some girl rolls her eyes, then resumes talking to her floozy friends. Or is it possible that…

“FOOD FIGHT!” I yell, then I open the topping container of peanuts and start throwing them at everyone. We all have a good time, until the cops show up.

“Get out,” says Officer Jones.

“Who, me?” I ask.

“Yes. Get out.”

“All right geez,” I say. “I hate this stupid place anyway. I’m never gonna mix it up here again.”

It’s now 3 am. What is there to do on an early Thursday morning in this town? Suddenly, I get a phone call.

It’s my friend, Russ.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” I say.

“Big game.”

“At this time? Really?”

“Ohhh yeah. Oh baby yeah. We’re watching pay-per-view wrestling. Get over here. Now.”

“Aww sweet,” I say.

I go to Russ’s house. He’s there with a couple of my buddies. They’ve got some beers. “Have a beer!” says Russ, handing me a beer.

On TV they’re watching what looks like Wrestlemania. Large muscular men in speedos are grabbing each other and throwing each other around and slapping each other’s chests. “YEAH!” we all shout as the slapping continues. Then somebody gets thrown out of the ring and falls through a table. “YEAH!” we all shout again, pumping our fists. Then they do “HELL IN A CELL,” where they’re in a cell. A cell of hell. Some guy falls 100 feet off the top of the cage and breaks every bone in his body. He looks dead. “YEAH!” we all shout again, holding up our beers.

“YEAH!” I shout again. Then I shout it over and over and over again.

“All right man, calm down,” says Russ.

“YEAH!” I shout. Then I get up and throw my beer against the wall.

“Whoa,” says Russ. “Just calm down.”

“YEAH!!!” I shout again, then I pick up Russ and throw him through the coffee table, shattering it and spilling beer everywhere. He lays on the ground unmoving.

“Dude!” yells my other buddy Tom. “What is your problem man?”

“YEAH!!!” I shout again, and then I do a flying elbow drop off the couch onto Russ’s lifeless body.

“DUDE!” cries Tom. “CHILL OUT!”

“YEAH!!!” I shout again, and then I pick Tom up and suplex him into the pool table. He writhes around in agony on the table.

“All right man,” says my other buddy, Flint. “You need to just get out. You’ve lost it man.”

“YEAH!!!” I shout again, and then I pick up Flint and powerbomb him through my grandma’s favorite rocking chair, shattering it into several pieces. Finally, they’re all subdued. Every one of them.

“YEAH!” I shout, holding up a beer.

“WHO CAN STOP THIS MONSTER KANE?!” cries an announcer from the TV as Kane chokeslams somebody into a water tank full of great white sharks. “GOOD NIGHT!!!”

I go home that night. But I go home knowing that nobody is gonna boss me around anymore. Because I’m cool. And I’ve got a beer in my hand.


Wednesday, October 12, 2011

Beauty in the Desert

And then I ran away because there were bees, and I hate them.

The end.

Thursday, October 6, 2011


It was one of those days. You know, where the sun is shining brightly upon you, warming you with its gentle rays of love, and then for some reason, it's raining at the exact same time.

"Just one of those days," said Carl. He was wandering the streets of St. George, aimlessly, since his car had just broken down only days before. Then, outside Steve's Tire and Oil on 600 East, he saw a girl walking who he thought he knew, and then he realized that that was because she looked like a character from 7th Heaven. And then he realized how embarrassing it would be to tell anybody that he used to watch that show.

He suddenly forgot that he was still staring at that girl, until somebody tapped on his shoulder. Turning around, he stood face to face with a hick.

"You stop lookin at my girlfriend!" said the hick, pointing his finger into Carl's face. "I sawed you lookin at 'er!"

"Oh, my mistake," said Carl. "She looked like someone I knew, but then I realized she just looks like somebody from TV."

Suddenly, the Rapture happened, and both the hick and his girlfriend disappeared. A car without a driver veered off of St. George Boulevard and struck Carl, knocking him to the ground. Fortunately, the car had only been going 5 miles an hour because it was one of many old people who frequently drive up and down the city's busy roads at extremely slow speeds. It doesn't matter though, because the old person went to heaven.

Carl, however, did not. He was left behind.

Therefore, there can be no further story, since Carl had nothing to live for. If he wasn't raptured, well, by golly, God didn't like him, so what was the point of doing anything remotely interesting that would make for a good story? He pondered this heavily, and then eventually walked home, where he lived out his days watching Spike TV and eating his endless food storage supply of tomato paste.

The End

Tuesday, October 4, 2011


Use the following theorems to solve the problem:



Solve this problem: At x bowls of lucky charms, Holden will be kept full for a reasonable amount of time, preferably longer than one hour. Solve for x.

Answer: x cannot be solved. This is the equivalent of dividing by zero. Therefore, no matter what number x is, Holden will never be full. The problem is an impossibility. Lucky Charms, despite their utter goodness and delightfully nummy marshmallows, really do not even exist. Your brain is playing a trick on you. It is as though you ate something delightful in a dream, but there is actually nothing there. CURSE YOU LEPRECHAUN! CURSE YOU LUCKY CHARMS!