Monday, May 30, 2011

It's So Hard to Say Goodbye--Especially If Your Tongue Got Bitten Off By a Vampiric, Mongolian Street Prostitute

July 2nd.

That is the date I will be returning from the almighty Lone Star State. Hopefully I will bring back plenty of souvenirs, perhaps a newly discovered inner racism, sunburned ankles, and the words "Don't Mess with Texas" branded onto my hindquarters. Meanwhile, I need you guys to be here waiting for me. I really will need you. I'll have been forced to survive on a diet of Subway sandwiches, deer corn, and expired soy products--which we will be bringing from home. (Have you ever tried to explain the word "vegetarian" to a Texan? I don't advise it.) This also means four Texan church services, which are often violent and bloodthirsty--occasionally involving the sacrifice of an African American baby to a wild fighting bull.

I'll feel hungry, lost, and confused, and I really need you guys here to support me. Mark it down on your calendars. Write it on your foreheads. Tell your friends. Tell your family. Facebook it. Tweet it. Live and breathe The Nerd Archives. Name your children after The Nerd Archives. Buy some of our Nerd Archives merchandise, which can be found on our website and purchased on Amazon.

On a different note, I think I ought to apologise for my last post. I had spent all of Monday afternoon in a state of absolute depression, hiding in my closet, sobbing, and sipping antifreeze from an old tennis shoe I found under my bed. To clarify, the aforementioned antifreeze was already in the tennis shoe. It is very effective for moisturizing the soles of your feet. Try it before you judge.

By the time I wrote the post, I was delirious--foaming at the mouth and having political debates with my cats, (which we are considering renaming to Meow Zedong and Karl Minx, playing on the Communist theme). I am sorry if the last post frightened you or caught you off guard. I'm also sorry I didn't find time to respond to your comments, which I found amusing, although unremarkably so. I'm barely finding time to write this post. We leave tomorrow morning and I haven't packed. And I haven't made up my mind about posting a real profile picture of me, so please do tell me your opinions. Especially if you can do so in French, Spanish, German, or Norwegian.

To sort of neutralise the last post, I thought I'd write a post today that is at least 92% true. Which I haven't done in a long while, so I'm a little nervous.

Yesterday a bunch of friends from my old school and I went to Six Flags White Water, along with a newborn baby who just sort of followed us around everywhere, crawling on his hands and knees and gurgling noisily. One of them is moving to North Carolina over the summer, so we thought we would all get together one last time before he disappeared from our lives like a soap bubble that's sexually attracted to toothpicks.

White Water is a Six Flags water park, for those of you who don't know. Or for those of you who are big ugly stupid heads who can't put two and two together to figure out that Six Flags White Water is an amusement park involving water slides. The White Water in Atlanta has really dull life guards, but we amused ourselves by hitting on the lady life guards.

On top of one of the intertube rides, right before the little traffic light turned green, I said to a female life guard, "Have you seen the movie Sleepless in Seattle?" She said, "Which one is that?" I said, "You know, Meg Ryan? Tom Hanks? Directed by Nora Ephron?" She said, "No, I haven't seen it." I said, "Watch that movie, and then meet me on top of the Empire State Building."

Another time, we walked up to another life guard--a brunette--who really was stunningly attractive. I put on my brand new, designer sunglasses for extra dazzle. (I usually don't wear them in public, because I look so amazing that everyone thinks I'm Tom Cruise, and I'm swarmed by hundreds of teenage and college girls--even more than usual.) We walked up to her and introduced ourselves and I said, "You know, I think it's really brave what you do. Risking your life for total strangers and everything? It's amazing." She muttered thanks and kept looking at the pool. I added, "Can I have a kiss?" She told me to get lost, but I think she was just playing along. We had reached an understanding.

Have I told you about how I cut my hand on a glass ceramic piece I did for Ceramics class a couple of years ago? It was an accident, but there was a lot of blood, and now my whole family thinks I'm cutting myself. When I went on one slide at White Water, the cut opened up again and the blood was all over my hand and the water.

Since it was too good of an opportunity to pass up, I sucked on the wound to stop the bleeding. I then let all of my friends try, along with the newborn baby who was accompanying us. I'm not into that vampirism stuff or anything, but I can understand why some people are. You know?

After we had all quenched our thirst, at least until the next nightfall, we rushed to the First Aid station and I asked for a band-aid. Instead, they sprayed it with what the guy there called "Spray-on Band-Aid." I think he was pretty stoned. I went to the restroom to scrub off the blood, and the janitor saw my hand and asked me if I was okay. I said yes and told him I had been to the First Aid station. He asked me they had given me the spray instead of a real band-aid. I told him yes. He then went to talk for ten minutes about the economy and its impact on the band-aid industry, saying multiple times "What has this nation come to?" and discussing his vision of a future in which citizens of all colour and creed could access any amount of band-aids they needed whenever they saw fit. It was starting to get really boring listening to him, and he didn't look like he was going to end the discussion anytime soon, so I hit him with a shovel and ran off to join the rest of the guys.

One of the best parts was riding the Cliffhanger, one of the tallest/steepest water slides in the Southeast. It wasn't really too scary, especially because there were three eight-year-olds in the line behind us, but it was freaky when you sat on top of the slide and you can't see your legs and you're all like, wow, where'd those things go? I needed those. I told the life guard, "I'm kind of nervous. Can you tell me it's okay and I have nothing to worry about?" She said, "It's okay and you have nothing to worry about."

We went to my place and did guy stuff until about 4 in the morning, like eat pizza, talk about our penises, watch Dallas play Miami in basketball while I compared the players to zoo animals, ("Guys, who's that? Who's the one holding the ball right now? Oh, LeBron James? Yeah, I know him. Heh heh, he's pretty tall. Like a giraffe. Who's that guy with the whistle? Oh, the referee? Yeah, that makes sense. It explains why he's wearing the black and white shirt. Like a zebra."), watch the movie 1408 and add the word "motherfucker" to the end of all of Samuel L. Jackson's lines because they just didn't sound right without it, play some basketball ourselves, do each other's hair, experiment with our sexuality, listen to music, have mud wrestling matches, and share stories of the multitudes of girls we've had sex with. (Me: "Guys, what are you talking about? What do you mean by 'third base'? Like in baseball?")

Doubtless to say, all of us woke up this morning with no pants on and pounding headaches from blood loss, which resulted from failed attempts to pierce each other's ears. It was all good fun, though, and we said goodbye to our friend who's moving to North Carolina, and got my dad to take a really adorable picture of all of us wearing identical polka dot pajamas.

I better go now. A giant rabbit named Frank is tapping me on the shoulder so apparently he wants something. I also need to pack for my trip to Texas, which will need to involve a lot of sobbing in hysterical frustration and eating whipped cream from a bowl to calm myself down.

In the meantime, mark down July 2nd in your calendars, keep blogging while I'm gone, vote on my poll, and maybe check out my new blog Death is like a lemon, which can be found on the sidebar at your convenience.

I'll miss you all so much! Well, most of you.

That Blond Guy

Sunday, May 29, 2011

A Play I Wrote Loosely Based on Clue, a Major Motion Picture, Integrating Quotations from a Number of Novels Written by Stephen King

The following is a genuine dialogue shared between Christopher (That Blond Guy), a paranoid schizophrenic hamster named Kenneth, the Brave Little Toaster, General Pierre Augereau, Kermit the Frog, Paris Hilton, Marvin the clinically depressed British robot, and a ham and cheese toastie. The aforementioned individuals are sitting down for supper at a dinner party in an old mansion.

Christopher: Dinner is served. You will find your names beside your places. Please be seated.

The Brave Little Toaster: Is this place for you? (Pointing to the head of the table)

Christopher: Oh, indeed, no, sir. I am but a humble butler.

The Brave Little Toaster: Oh, okay. What exactly do you do?

Christopher: I buttle, sir.

Kermit the Frog: Well, what's all this about, Christopher? This dinner party?

Christopher: Don't be afraid, we'll make it out of this mess. It's a love story, baby, just say yes. Oh oh.

Paris Hilton: What's that supposed to mean?!

Marvin: What's anything supposed to mean? We're going to die, aren't we?

Christopher: No need to worry, Marvin. I am merely quoting Taylor Swift.

The Brave Little Toaster: I much prefer Jessica Simpson myself. The heart of country music lies in the golden prairies of North Texas, not Pennsylvania. May I offer you a biscuit, Miss Hilton?

Paris Hilton: Sure, I'll eat anything.

Kenneth: Baby, can you dig your man?

Kermit the Frog: Is that seat for our host? (Points to head of table.)

Christopher: No, Kermit, that seat is for our seventh guest, the ham and cheese toastie.

The Brave Little Toaster: I thought the ham and cheese toastie was our host.

Paris Hilton, Kenneth, and Kermit the Frog: So did I!

General Pierre Augereau: Moi aussi!

Marvin: What's everybody talking about? Who's the ham and cheese toastie? Oh, well. It's not worth the bother. Nobody ever tells me anything.

Christopher: Everything will be explained later. Why don't you all go ahead and eat while the food still warm. Would anyone care for some more soup? Perhaps another helping of mashed radishes, Kenneth?

Kenneth: Kenneth isn't here, Wadsworth. My name is Tony. Redrum.

Christopher: Ah...well...the toastie should be arriving any minute now.

Paris Hilton: I'm bored. Who wants to do me?

General Pierre Augereau: Pas moi, je vous remercie. Peu de gens savent cela, mais je suis réellement une femme.

Kermit the Frog: I think I'll pass as well, thanks.

(Door bell rings.)

Christopher: Alas, that must be the toastie.

(Exits the room. Silence ensues.)

General Pierre Augereau: Quelqu'un ici parlent français?

(No one answers.)

General Pierre Augereau: J'aime verge.


General Pierre Augereau: LOL.

Kermit the Frog: Wait a minute. Are you saying all of us live in Washington, DC?!

The Brave Little Toaster: Who said that?

Kenneth: I know your name! It's Barlow!

Kermit the Frog: And all of us, one way or another, earn a living from the government?!?

Paris Hilton: I don't think any of us do. What are you talking about?

Kermit the Frog: Wadsworth, where are you? I demand to know why you brought us here!!!

Kenneth: He's a ghost. HE'S A GOOD GHOST. He was sent TO WARM US.

Marvin: My God, I'm in a house full of lunatics. Do me a favour and kill me now.

(Christopher and the ham and cheese toastie enter the room.)

Christopher: Ladies and gentlemen, may I present the ham and cheese toastie...

Ham and cheese toastie: What are they all doing here?

Christopher: Eating dinner. Do sit down.

Paris Hilton: Look here! I demand to know what's going on. Why have we all been dragged here to this horrible place?

Christopher: The reason all of you are here is because you're all being blackmailed.

The Brave Little Toaster: That's ridiculous. I'm not being blackmailed. I've never done anything wrong in my life.

Christopher: Oh, is that so, Brave Little Toaster? Is that so? Is it safe to assume that there's nothing wrong with anyone in this room? False! I'll have you know that this room is occupied by the wife of a senator who has been accepting bribes, a doctor who has taken advantage of one of his lady patients, a widow who has emasculated and killed four husbands, a prostitute, a colonel who has purchased that very same prostitute, and a homosexual!

Paris Hilton: May I ask a question?

Christopher: Yes.

Paris Hilton: Who's the homosexual?

Christopher: Kermit the Frog.

Kermit the Frog: Guilty as charged!

Christopher: The point is that you are being blackmailed because some might consider you all to be thoroughly un-American. The person blackmailing you just thought he might make a bit of money off of it as well. What's more American than that?

Marvin: America. Don't talk to me about America.

The Brave Little Toaster: So who is the ham and cheese toastie?

Christopher: Oh, haven't you guessed? He's the one blackmailing you!

Kermit the Frog, Paris Hilton, the Brave Little Toaster, and Kenneth: WHAT?!

General Pierre Augereau: Curses sur votre délices en croûte.

Marvin: Oh, give it a rest, would you? I'm feeling exceptionally depressed, in case any of you were wondering. But of course you weren't.

Kenneth: All I wanted me was a little cornbread! All I wanted me was a little cornbread!

Paris Hilton: Let me at him! I'm gonna sock him in the face!

Ham and cheese toastie: WAIT! You could kill me. Or, when I turn out the lights, you could kill Christopher here, and none will be the wiser. What do you say? Are you going to kill me or him? Expose yourselves to the public, or let your secrets die along with Christopher. You choose.

(Lights go out.)

(Sound of gunshot.)

(Manical laughter.)

(Hip to Be Square, by Huey Lewis and the News)

Christopher: What?! Everybody's dead.

Marvin: I'm not dead.

Kenneth: Everyone's dead except for you and me, Christopher. Now we can spend the rest of together forever. I'm your biggest fan.

Marvin: I said I'm not dead.

Christopher: It's not too late, Kenneth. Go to your closet and pray. Ask to be forgiven.

Marvin: Oh forget it.

Kenneth: It's the angels, Todd. Can't you see them?


Thanks for reading. I hope you liked it. Please vote on my new poll and come back as soon as possible to read my next post, which is going to be super awesome, because I'm leaving for Texas on Thursday.

Also I'm thinking about changing my profile picture to a real picture of me. What do you guys think? Would that be lame?

That Blond Guy

Thursday, May 26, 2011

I Am Joe's Discoloured Left Ear Lobe

I don't know how many times I've told all of you this, but I have terrible allergies. During the early parts of March and the third week of April, when my allergies are at their worst, I don't even go outside because I would very literally suffocate. If I get stung by a bee, my face swells up so much that I can't see because my eyes are just tiny little slits. When I'm around cats, I sneeze so much I sometimes faint from exhaustion. I'm allergic to peanuts, crawfish, most spices and seasonings, some shampoo and soap products, strawberries, wild blackberries, and even potatoes.

One time I was moping around in my bedroom, basking in my own self-pity and loathing God for putting me on this earth. What was the point of even living anymore if I couldn't pet kittens or eat peanut butter jelly sandwiches? If I couldn't go outside during the month of March and had to wear a full bee-keeping suit throughout the months of May and June?

I asked this of the rector after Church last Sunday at Confession.

"What's the point of living?" I asked in desperation.

"You think you're in pain?" He said mockingly. "You don't know pain. If you want to see real pain, go swing by the old folk's home by St. Benedict's Methodist on 44th Street. Then you'll see real pain."

And I did. Of course, I didn't tell them that I wasn't really old and crippled, so they just thought I was one of them. I played Bingo with them, and I watched the vintage romance films, and I line-danced, and I ate dinner at 5:15 and went to bed at half past 7. And I loved every minute of it. For the first time in years, I didn't feel like I had any allergies at all. I was truly happy.

That was until was until one warm Spring afternoon when we were having a Frank Sinatra sing-along party complete with Frank Sinatra himself. Or at least a picture of him. I think we were halfway through the second verse of Can't Take My Eyes Off You when I spotted it from across the room.

It was a penguin. An Emperor penguin by the looks of it. And it clearly was not a senior citizen.


I was so infuriated. What was that penguin doing there? Everyone could see it wasn't an elderly person, and in fact it wasn't even a person at all! It was a penguin! I marched right over to it and seized it by its little penguin throat.

"Penguin, you big fake, get out. This is the one real thing in my life, and you're wrecking it. You big tourist. I need this. Get out. You're clogging my sinuses."

The penguin, of course, refused. I thought we could work out a deal. I could stay at the home Mondays through Thursdays, and it could get Fridays and the weekends. It refused to budge--stubborn little bastard. I started coming less and less, and eventually I stopped coming altogether. I couldn't play bingo. Not with the penguin there. Watching me.

And that's when I met Taylor Burton.

A weeks or so since my last trip to the old folks' home, I was at a local bar, telling the bartender "Hit me with another one, Lloyd" every time my glass was empty, and the bartender kept saying, "Buddy, I've told you a hundred times. My name isn't Lloyd. And I'm gonna call the cops if you don't put some pants on." And then there was Taylor. He was sort of a rugged-looking guy with a wild look in his eye and a smart mouth. He told me stories about waiting tables at fancy restaurants and peeing in the soup, splicing images of giant penises and vaginas into the movie Bambi, and making bar soap. I liked doing all of those things, so I figured Taylor would be a good guy to hang around.

I asked him if I could crash at his place since mine was infested with poisonous mushroom spores that lead to lung cancer and then death. He said sure, but first he wanted me to do him a favour. I said sure, what?

He wanted me to tickle him.

What, I said. You want me to do what?

Tickle him, he said, totally serious. I say isn't that a bit gay? He says it's only gay if I think of it as gay. I tell him he's making me a bit uncomfortable. He says, you know what's uncomfortable? Sleeping on the concrete floor with a cardboard pillow behind the dumpster at Denny's because you got nowhere else to go. It's my choice.

So I tickle him. I start under his arms and then move all over his torso He cackles madly and says, "No, stop it!" but I keep tickling him. And you know what? It's the best feeling in the world. It made me feel freer than I've ever felt before in all of my life. And after I'm done, I let him tickle me.

After a solid three quarters of an hour of intense tickling, we head toward his place. It's a big old boarding house which Taylor rents for an insanely low price because of all of the people who died there before he moved in. I have to sleep in a room without air-conditioning, and the mattress I sleep on gives me terrible back aches, but it's okay because I know that next Saturday night, I'll get to tickle again. And I'll get to be tickled.

Three weeks later it's not just the two of us. It's us and about three dozen other guys ,and all of us are in the basement of the same bar that it all started out in. And I stand there with my hands in my pockets and watch as Taylor walks through the room and talks to all the guys.

"The first rule of Tickle Club is that you do not talk about Tickle Club.

The second rule of Tickle Club is that you DO NOT TALK about Tickle Club.

If someone says stop or goes limp, the tickle fight is over--even if they're faking it.

Only two guys to a tickle fight.

Only one tickle fight at a time.

No shirts or shoes. Only pajama pants.

Tickle fights will go on as long as they have to.

If this is your first night at Tickle Club, you HAVE to be tickled."

During my first month at Tickle Club, I must have tickled at least fifteen different guys for probably about half an hour each. Sometimes it would get out of control, but the whole time guys were yelling and screaming and shouting for it to go on. Tickle Club was becoming a huge success. More and more people showed up every time, until there were easily a hundred guys in the basement of the bar at Tickle Club.

Sure, I still went to work and drove at the posted speed limit, but I was enlightened. I was a Zen Buddhist, bitches. I was a member of Tickle Club.

Then one day the phone rang halfway through breakfast. Taylor's in the can, so I go ahead and pick it up. What do you know, it's the penguin. It says it's just swallowed the whole canister of Xanax. It probably wasn't a real suicide thing, just a cry for help. But it thinks it's going to die, and it wants me to come and watch. I roll my eyes and leave the phone hanging.

Little do I know that Taylor would later pick up the phone and think that the penguin's life was worth saving, so he would rush over to the hotel where it stayed and whisk it back to our place. The penguin told him that Taylor needed to keep it up all night because if it fell asleep, it could die.

And they certainly did stay up all night, making wild and passionate love for hours and hours in the upstairs bedroom where Taylor sleeps. I had to plug my fingers in my ears to keep myself from hearing, and when I fell asleep, I dreamed that I was humping the penguin. I had to shake myself awake and go get a hotel room, because I couldn't stand it anymore.

As the days passed by, the penguin hung out more and more at our house. Strangely enough, I would rarely catch Taylor and the penguin in the same room at the same time. It was the game the two of them played. Just like my parents. And so that became the cycle. I would go to work and come back to find the penguin and Taylor in the same house, avoiding each other, and then at night they would have loud, rough sex. Saturday nights, I would go to Tickle Club with Taylor and stumble home feeling like a new man.

After a while it got more and more popular. Taylor started setting up Tickle Clubs in other bars, and I started hearing about Tickle Clubs being set up in other cities. Chicago, Seattle, New York, Philadelphia, Houston, Sacramento, Miami, etc. At breakfast one morning, Taylor decided that we would either have to disband Tickle Club or take it up a notch. It was then, during breakfast, that he came up with Project Take-Over-the-World.

The morning after that one, I peered out the window and spied a guy standing out on our porch wearing a black suit and red tie with a suitcase in one hand. Taylor pointed tom him and said, "Go to tell him that I don't like his tie. Just make sure he gets off our porch." So I went out and told him he had a horrid tie and to get off our porch before I called the police. He just stood there, looking at the ground. I told him his mother was a hamster and even hit him with a broom. I grabbed his suitcase and started licking it, but he just stood there.

He stayed there for three days, and after three days, Taylor let him in and said, congratulations, he's a member of Project Take-Over-the-World. More and more guys started appearing on our porch, and it was then that I figured out that Taylor was building an army.

More and more guys came to live in our basement and making plans with Taylor to take over the world. I hardly saw Taylor anymore, because he was always running around doing stuff for Project-Take-Over-the-World. The penguin still stopped by a lot, so we had some good talks. But soon I got creeped out living in the house alone with all of the space monkeys and a penguin, so I decided to go find Taylor.

I flew to Tickle Clubs all over the nation asking if people had seen Taylor Burton. I didn't even have to look for the Tickle Clubs anymore. Every guy you saw on the street it seemed like was a member of Tickle Club. They were everywhere. But nobody seemed to know where Taylor was. They said they had never heard of him and winked at me. It was the same thing every time. No, they had never heard of Taylor Burton. Wink.

Finally I arrived at one abandoned bar and there was a guy there cleaning empty glasses and whistling to himself. I asked him if he knew about Tickle Club and if he knew the whereabouts of a certain Taylor Burton. He said, "What do you mean, sir? You are Taylor Burton."

And it was then that I realised that this whole time, Taylor has been me and I have been Taylor. We're different personalities sharing the same body.

The bartender left the room to use the restroom, and then I saw Taylor standing there, behind me. He told me all about how when I fell asleep, he would go around and do stuff. He told me that it should be okay as long as I do what he says, but if I don't, then there will be trouble. He told me about his plans for Project Take-Over-the-World. He said he had found a giant stereo the size of New York City, and he would turn it up all the way and play a lullaby. Everyone in the world would be able to hear it, so they would fall asleep--EXCEPT for the members of Project Take-Over-the-World, because they'd be wearing ear muffs. While everyone was sleeping, he would take over the world.

I told him that it didn't matter what he wanted to do. I wasn't going to let him take over the world and I certainly wasn't going to let him control me. He told me he wasn't going to let me stop him, and I figured there was only one way to solve this. I told him, let's have one last tickle flight. If I win, you call off Project Take-Over-the-World. If he wins, I'll eat a smoothie made out of really gross stuff like mustard and mayo and olives and peanuts and stuff--anything he could fit into a blender.

He said no way. I say, "What's wrong with you? Are you chicken?"

"What did you call me?" he says.

"Chicken," I repeat, careful to make my ch sound short and pronounced, just the way my speech therapist had been instructing me to do for years.

"Nobody--nobody calls me chicken," he says, furious.

So then we have the tickle fight. It's a pretty intense fight, and at several instances it looks like he might come out of it as the winner. But finally I pin him down and really get him good by the feet, so I triumph.

He shakes my hand and says congratulations reluctantly, and then I shoot myself in the mouth with a gun so that he dies. Or at least, the reader thinks he dies. We can really never be sure.

So that's what I did last weekend. How are you guys?

That Blond Guy

Friday, May 20, 2011

I Gave Her my Heart and She Gave Me a Pen

Well, school is over. Since I really am just as much of a nerd as I tell you, I don't go to any actual parties at the end of the school year. And if I ever did get asked to go to a party, I would politely decline, claiming that I had previous engagements, and then proceed straight to the nearest restroom, bawling my eyes out for the next fifteen minutes in the bathroom stall because I'm such a coward. And then I would go to the local tattoo parlour and get the word "COWARD" tattooed onto my chest because I'm so ashamed of who I am. But then I'd regret it because I'd have to be one of those weird guys who wears a t-shirt in the water when he goes swimming.

I know all of the ladies out there will hate me for this, but me and two other guys made a bet about who could get a girlfriend first by the end of the year. I hope you don't think that, just because of this, I'm one of those guys that talks about women as if they were race horses. I think it's stupid when guys do that. Race horses don't have breasts or hot asses, so it's just not the same at all.

The first one got turned down, I think, but he was in too bad of a mood to tell me about it, so I have no idea what happened. I don't think it went well, though, because he told anyone who asked him about it to fuck off. When a friend of his asked him to sign his yearbook, he wrote, "Hey, I don't know if you hold the same opinion, but I think this year sucked. Anyway, I guess it was cool talking to you."

The second one got more politely turned down by a girl who happened to be one of my sister's best friends, saying that she only wanted to be friends with him. He told her in a very calm and collected manner that this was perfectly all right, until something snapped in his mind and he started shrieking that he was a vampire and trying to bite her.

I waited until yesterday, the last day of school, and approached my woman the one time I found her alone at the student lounge. I said,

"Hey, since it's the end of the year, I just thought I'd tell you that I think you have beautiful eyes."

Before she could respond or even make a surprise face, a guy walked right up to her who is easily eleven times as popular as me. He's on the football, baseball, and wrestling team. He hangs out with guys who could get me killed with the snap of a finger. (They wouldn't literally kill me by snapping their fingers, but the snapping of their fingers would indirectly lead to my death by firing squad.) He's taller than me, cooler than me, and far more good-looking. (I drew little hearts around his picture in the yearbook.) And he walked up to her and said, "Hey, what are you doing over the summer?"

They then went on to talk for several minutes about their summer plans, leaving me standing there, humiliated and increasingly uncomfortable. He then said goodbye, she replied goodbye, and she walked off. She didn't look at me or acknowledge me in any way. I called out after her to have a good summer. She didn't turn around. I then murmured goodbye quietly to myself and waddled away.

So that's where Carpie Diem gets me. I guess it's Karma for the fact that I made such a stupid deal with those two guys. Insant Karma's gonna get me. It's gonna kick me in the head. I better get myself together, or soon I'm gonna be dead!!!

I sort of redeemend myself, however, at the Honor's Banquet, which is what I think all of the students, parents, and teachers consider to be an idiotic and agonisingly long award ceremony. I think our principal is the only one who likes it, because he takes pleasure out of touching children's hands.

But I was glad that I went, overall, because I was recognised for being the Best Poet of the high school from 2010-2011 for the poems To the Leaves and Your Smile, The Homeless Man, To Be a Shadow, and The Lands Behind Closed Eyelids, all of which can be found on my new page on PoemHunter. I also got a $200 prize.

Overall, I think it was a pretty good year. I got really buff, I got a new girlfriend, I won the lottery, and I met Dustin Hoffman. Oh, wait. None of those things happened. This year SUCKED.

At least Jesus was with me all the way through it. Thank God for Jesus.

That Blond Guy

P.S. To those of you wondering, I HAVE been responding to your comments.

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

You Know, Obese People Have Really Great Calves

They're walking around like little planets with their own moons and gravitational pull, and everywhere they go, people are turning their heads away in disgust. Looking at them for very long may make you feel a little sick to your stomach, but if you look a bit harder, you'll notice that they really do have fantastic calves. People who are morbidly obese, especially, have calves that are to die for.


Get it?

This day has actually been a decent one. This is my last week of school, so I'm totally pumped. Like a bike. (That's just been pumped up.) They even had ice cream at the ampitheater for any student who was willing to give the Dean of Students a kiss on the cheek in return for a Klondike bar. What would I do for a Klondike bar?

...I don't want to talk about it.

Somehow I also managed to get straight A's this semester, which I'm pretty happy about it. I thought I had a B or a C in English, so I don't know how in the mad mad mad mad mad mad world I scraped an A. I think my English teacher thought I was going to kill myself, so she was doing her part to save me from doing myself in. I don't know what gave her that idea. Maybe the fact that I write "I want to kill myself" on the backs of all my tests and doodle pictures of people with screwdrivers in their heads on my desk.

I've also been reading and re-reading and memorising this poem by William Hughes Mearns which opened for the movie Identity with John Cusack:

Yesterday upon the stair
I met a man who wasn’t there
He wasn’t there again today
Oh, how I wish he’d go away

When I came home last night at three
The man was waiting there for me
But when I looked around the hall
I couldn’t see him there at all!
Go away, go away, don’t you come back any more!
Go away, go away, and please don’t slam the door

Last night I saw upon the stair
A little man who wasn’t there
He wasn’t there again today
Oh, how I wish he’d go away

Isn't that the creepiest thing you've ever read? Even creepier, I think, than Christopher Walken doing a dramatic reading of Lady Gaga's Poker Face.

It freaks my brother out of his mind. When it's dark and late at night, I go into his room and start whispering the poem in a barely audible, childlike British accent. He gets really worked up and says, "What's that? Who's there? Is that Christopher?" And I answer, "No, this is a cow. I'm a cow. And I'm going to eat you." Don't ask me why, but it really freaks him out. I guess he doesn't like cows.

They're also passing out issues of our school's literary magazine, and I have one poem and one short story in there. They also completely disregarded the drawings and page layouts I submitted, but it's okay, because I've banished them to the corn fields and they won't be bothering me no more. I also turned one of them into a giant Jack in the Box, but that sort of came back to haunt me, because those things scare the fuck out of me.

She said hello to me today. Which is, I think, a first. Usually, I'm the first to say hello. Even though I sort of whisper it. From my hidden spot in the bushes.

My friends have sensed that I've been seeming a bit depressed lately, so they suggested that I start reading FML, because they know how much pleasure I take out of witnessing other people's pain. But you know what? They're just too depressing. I'm used to My Life is Average, which is a branch off from FML that's far less obscene and disturbing, so I was totally shocked when I read FML.

1 out of 10 stories are genuinely hilarious, like this one:

"Today, my 5 year old nephew showed me green martians he'd made with his new Play Doh set. I smiled and said, "Wow! Now, how about some blue martians!" He looked at me and replied, 'How about some blue shut the fuck up!' FML"

But the rest are so depressing and shocking that even I have trouble reading them. They're like, "Today my dog died, I found out that my twin sister is pregnant with my husband's baby, and I got AIDs. FML."

And then all of the comments are just like, "HA!" or "that sucks." How do people take pleasure out of reading those? Ironically, though, I did feel much better by the end of it. I think it was because, by that time, I was pretty drunk. I even taped myself shaving my head and posted the video on YouTube. It's a bit embarrassing, but I'm getting tons of hits, I never have to worry about head lice, and I sold my hair for, like, almost $90!!!

I can't believe that almost a year and a half has passed since I started this blog. Sometimes I think back to my old self and wonder, Where did he go?

Then I remember that I'm an ogre, and I ate him.

That Blond Guy

Friday, May 13, 2011

I'm So Angry I Could Chop You All Up into Little Pieces and Spoon-Feed You to Hannibal Lector, Who I Keep Chained Up in My Basement

Today has been such a bad day. It was such a bad day, I got home from school, went upstairs to my bedroom, took the pillowcase off of my pillow, and covered my head with it in frustration. Then I cheered up a bit, because I thought I must have looked pretty cool, so I ran downstairs and scared my brother and sister, shouting "I'm the pillowcase boogie man! Booo!" It was a pretty good gag, but then I rememebered how depressed I was and got depressed. I ate a lot of cheez puffs then, because I thought it would be cool if I could get a big enough potbelly to stick my entire fist between the pockets of fat in my stomach. Then I got really full and started crying, but I kept eating more because I couldn't stop. Then my sister walked in with a camera and started taking pictures of me eating cheez puffs and crying, so I cried even harder and eating more and more cheez puffs. Now the pictures are all over the web. It's a huge mess.

No, I'm lying. And I know I shouldn't lie, because I saw that Veggie Tales episode where the little asparagus girl told a fib and a fib alien landed on earth from outer space, and every time she told a fib it got bigger and bigger, until it was bigger than the entire city. Then, actually, they figured out that it was edible and fed the entire continent of Africa along with Southeast Asia. But it didn't taste that great, either, so lying is still bad, I think.

I mean to say that my day was not as bad as I made it sound. There were good things and bad things. I'll tell you about the bad things first so we can get them out of the way. Like eating green beans before your ice cream.


1) At an elementary school reunion last night, I was really looking forward to seeing a girl I've always really liked, but she couldn't make it because she had exams. I never get to see her otherwise because she's my sister's friend but not too good of a friend so it would be awkward if we hung out but also I never get to see her walking around the house in pajamas because they never have sleepovers. So instead I went home and carved a figure of her face out of a bar of soap, and we talked for a while, and then eventually we kissed. It was nice: kissing without it having to lead anywhere.

2) My friend has a gigantic crush on this girl at school, but he's so nervous he can't even talk to her. Me and another friend finally coaxed him into sitting at a table with her and her friends during lunch, but it didn't go well. At one point, they started mock-bickering in front of this girl and her friends, and I, feeling the need to explain to her that they were just joking, said, "Don't worry about it. They're just joking. They're good friends." Friend #2 misheard me and thought I said that they were each other's only friends, so he retorted by saying, "What the heck do you mean?! We're your only friends!" Now, I do have more than two friends from school. I like to think I have a fair amount of friends. But considering I'm really insecure, pretty shy, and a bit of an outsider, it really offended me when he said this. I'm very sensitive--even though other guys may joke about crying at the ends of sad movies, I actually do. So it stung a good deal. I'm pretty mad at him and am plotting how to get back at him and make him feel guilty.

3) I promised myself that I would make a move on at least one girl at some point today. I struck up a conversation about our favourite types of bugs with the Jewish blonde girl in my science class, but her friend tugged her away after fifteen seconds to go do girlie stuff like...eating cooties. Or something. With another girl, I decided to use the short-and-sweet pick-up line, "I want you," to win her over, but the only time I saw her she was surrounded by a herd of cattle. Cows freak me out, so I couldn't possibly approach her. And now I'm really depressed.

4) I'm uber-frustrated because all of the gadgets that are supposed to go on my sidebar still refuse to remain on my sidebar, instead choosing to lurk down at the bottom of the page. It's like trying to nail a pint of apple juice to the wall. You nail and nail and nail, but no matter what you do, it always splashes down to the floor. Then you find yourself on your hands and knees licking it up like a kitten.

5) I'm not going to be able to exempt all of my exams, which means an extra week of school. I don't mind taking exams. I love taking exams almost as much as I love line-dancing and hunting for pictures of Stephen King's penis on Google Images. But an extra week of exams also means I can't fly to outer space with a good friend this week like I promised him.

6) I was reading a book today. I had been reading for about twenty minutes when all of a sudden I couldn't turn the page. I don't know why. I just couldn't. I then looked down and realised that I didn't have any arms or legs. They were just gone. So that sucks.

7) I found out today that my current girlfriend is a man. HOW COULD YOU, CHARLES?!?

8) I accidentally beat up a homeless man and left him bleeding on the sidewalk. Now the police after me and I have to hide in the refrigerator for probably the next few days. I'm texting this post from a banana.

9) I died.


1) I was walking along the sidewalk today after school and a gaggle of giggling teenage girls walked up to me and asked me how old I am. I told them. They told me that they liked my hair and left. I chased after them for a bit, and I did tear off a piece of one girl's skirt, but mostly the episode was just important for my self-esteem.

2) Halfway through science class today, this guy asked me jokingly if once I died, he could have all of my stuff. I told him laughingly that if that was supposed to be a joke, it was the worst joke I ever heard, and he should go to hell. Another girl asked me if I died, could she have my hair? I asked her what she wanted to do with it. She said she would make it into a hat and wear it every minute of every day. I suppose that could be interpreted as slightly creepy, but it's really rather flattering, don't you think?

3) I currently have 106 followers on The Nerd Archives. I'm happy and everything, but now I want more. Let's make the push for 200. What do you say, guys? The Nerd Archives: Facebook it? Tweet it?

4) I got an A+ on my math quiz. I guess cheating, um, helps.

5) I learned how to count to twenty in Norwegian. I've been showing practically everyone I know. I'm not even joking. It's really starting to annoy people. I'm getting a bit obsessive too. I wrote the numbers on all of the walls of my bedroom in sharpie, and I've been told I murmur them in my sleep.

6) I've been working out for the past couple of months and I think it's really showing. None of my shirts fit anymore, and I can't feel it when people punch me in the stomach. My neck is finally wider than my head, and I can lift up the backs of small cars on my good days. I can't touch my hands together, though, and it hurts to fall asleep in a reclined position. I've had to sleep standing up for...I don't know how many days now.

7) I got a hand-written note back from Markuz Zusack, author of The Book Thief and I Am the Messenger. It's been an entire year, but it was totally worth it. He drew a smiley face at the end right next to his signature. I think I've fallen in love.

8) I had sex with a vampire pirate chick.

9) I was lounging around campus at school one day when I saw a girl and a guy working on homework on a bench together. The guy looked hung up over a math problem or something, so he dropped his textbook on the lap of the girl. She protested and shouted, "Hey, don't give that to me!" And I was hit by a sudden wave of inspiration: that would make a great anti-AIDs campaign!!!

I'd like to conclude this post with an apology for the infrequency of the posts as well as my inconsistency in commenting on your blogs. I'll definitely work to fix these problems, just make sure that until then you keep reading The Nerd Archives and telling me how awesome I am.

And finally, to the girl who taught me that there is such a thing as a soul mate and such a thing as a pitiless God, I hope you know that not a day goes by that I don't think of you.

That Blond Guy

Friday, May 6, 2011

Surveys Make Me Hot in My Pants, But Not in a Sexual Sense--Whenever I Take a Blogger Survey, I Stick a Warm Enchilada Down my Jeans to Stay Alert


Is your name on Blogger your name in real life? If not, what letter does your real name start with?
Oh, yeah. Sure. "That Blond Guy" is my real name. No, it's not, actually. I was being sarcastic. God, do you even think before you speak? Did your mama drop you on your head when you were born and then feed you stupid pills until you were seven-years-old? Do you still sometimes buy stupid pills from the pharmacy because your ignorance makes you feel safe? Do you harbour painful, repressed memories about your mother? Now, how does that make you feel? Oh, and my name begins with a C.

Astrological sign?

If there was a huge 'Blogspot Get-Together' where all bloggers were meant to come together and meet in real-life, would you go?
This is actually a pretty cool question. Congratulations, mysterious blogging-survey robot monkey who wrote this. Actually, that would be pretty chill. I would go if it was in a cool city. And everyone who reads my blog would shake my hand and pretend to be interested in me, but then they would go off and talk to each other and leave me shuffling my feet with my hands in my pockets in the corner of the room. But that would definitely be very interesting to meet everybody.

Have you ever rejected someone?
Never. I'm usually the recipient of rejection.

If so, was it harshly?
Um, did you hear what I just said?

Did they cry?
Are you even listening to me? Hey! Look at me! (Claps hands twice.) Eyes on me, buddy. Are you listening to what I'm saying? I've never rejected anyone.

Have you ever tried a cigarette?
No, and I have to say I think smoking is the stupidest thing ever invented. Absolute, scathing hatred of smokers is hereditary on my dad's side of the family, and so I don't associate myself with people who do smoke. I don't talk to them. I don't look at them. I don't even acknowledge that such a thing as smoking exists. I think it's ridiculous. It's bad for the earth, it's a surefire way to get lung cancer and other diseases, and it's just infuriating to people around you who don't smoke! Do you even think about the people around you when you pop that wretched thing in your mouth with the car windows rolled up and the heating system on high? How can you be so selfish as to smoke? Be more respectful of yourself and other people.

Have you ever been high? If so, on what?
Oh, now that's a different story.

What are six things you find attractive when in the opposite gender?
En) Blonde hair, blue-eyed, and Jewish. Yes, it's a real thing. And it's awesome.
To) Funny and has a sense of humour, but can't be funnier than I am. Yes, I have confidence issues.
Tre) French name
Fire) Intelligent and well-read, yet not sickly and pale
Fem) Weirder and even more out of it than I am
Seks) Tallness and physical strength. I want a woman who can wrestle me into bed

What are five things you find extremely unattractive in the opposite gender?
Oh, it's down to five now? Okay, then.
Eins) Being a Republican, fundamental Christian, or a Libertarian
Zwei) A fan of the Jonas Brothers, Miley Cyrus, Taylor Swift, Justin Bieber, or anyone in modern music who's even remotely mainstream/targeted for younger audiences. (Hint hint: twelve-year-old girls with social problems
Drei) Manners of speech that resemble that of a cheerleader or Valley Girl--a girl's vocabulary is actually very important to me. I wish I was joking.
Vier) Mustaches hair, severe acne issues, or unibrows
Funf) Popular

Answer only if you have a sibling: If your sibling wasn't your sibling, do you think you'd ever find him/her attractive and go out with him/her?
This question is too disturbing for me to even acknowledge its disturbingness.

Would you ever eat a caterpillar?
You say that like it's a crazy thing to do.

If yes, why?
I like to hear them squeal before I bite down.

If no, why?
How about I push you to the ground, kick you in the ribs, and then bake your head into a chocolate pecan pie? Wouldn't be so easy for you to write all of these stupid survey questions then, now would it?

Would you rather kiss a random stranger on the street of the opposite gender or tickle a random stranger on the street of the opposite gender?
Is impregnating her an option? Because you didn't include it.

Would you rather throw up on stage or fart on stage?
I thought so. The person who wrote this survey is nine.

Would you ever sneak out of the house at night?
I wouldn't have to sneak. My parents are pretty chill. My dad's an educator and my mom's an Episcopal priest, so I have it easy.

Do you think this survey was weird?
Yes, and I hate you.

Did you find it enjoyable?
No. I'd much prefer spending my time doing better things. Like watching paint dry...and then licking it off before it gets the chance to.

Which five bloggers will you be tagging to take this survey as well?
I'll test out some of my newest readers to see if they have what it takes to be a reader of The Nerd Archives. Let's go with Gabi, Vice Versa, The Militant Working Boy, Elle Barosin, and Lemons Don't Make Lemonade.

I also challenge any blogger who reads this post to incorporate the word "penis" into thier next blog post, no matter what it is. I did it in mine, see? Although I usually manage to do that in every post anyway. In fact, it's not a challenge. It's an order. I'll be watching you.

That Blond Guy