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
Monday, May 30, 2011
It's So Hard to Say Goodbye--Especially If Your Tongue Got Bitten Off By a Vampiric, Mongolian Street Prostitute
Posted by That Blond Guy at 12:40 PM