What the Newest Harry Potter Movie and Jay Leno's Chin Have in Common (SPOILER ALERT!!!!)

For those of you who are stupid idiots and didn't notice the words "SPOILER ALERT" in all caps in the title, I'll reluctantly do it again but just know that you can't expect people to just put up with your colossal idiocy for the rest of your miserable existence. So here goes.

SPOILER ALERT!!!!!!



I think it's important to mention before I begin this post that I am the biggest Harry Potter nerd in quite possibly the entire world. To any of you who plan to comment on this post claiming that you are a bigger Harry Potter fan than me, I can't wait to bludgeon you to death with a glass paperweight, suck all of the blood from your body, chop you up into little pieces, and send each piece to different major cities all over the world, but also I will keep your head as a trophy to put on my mantel.

Harry Potter got me through my childhood, teaching me that bullies can be overcome with a simple Stunning Spell and that frogs are actually okay to eat, as I had been arguing for years, because they are made of chocolate. Harry was my only friend, my closest companion, my Savior and Example. I cringe to think of where I would be today without the magical aid of Harry Potter. Probably shivering in some abandoned alleyway, wrapped in a coat I made from bird feathers and shouting unintelligible threats at kids who danced around and threw little stones at me, laughing and calling me "Bird Man."

So you can understand why I felt a little betrayed when the movies came out and really just strayed absolutely from the books. Almost as betrayed as I felt when I found out that babies are made by sexual intercourse, not in Easy-Bake ovens, like my parents told me. And so when I saw the last movie, and it somehow managed to fall below my very low expectations, I felt the need to make this list of ways that the movie totally failed. So here goes.



-In not a single one of the Harry Potter movies has Charlie Weasley made an appearence, save for his face seen in a photograph of the Weasleys in Egypt during the third Harry Potter film. What happened to him? Are we supposed to just accept his disappearence without asking any questions? What is this, 1984?
-They have abandoned Dobby ever since the second Harry Potter film, even though he made an appearence in every single book except the first and third. He saved Harry on a number of occasions, and the reason that they became to close was because they did so much for each other in the six years that they knew each other. In the movies, they brought Dobby back after ignoring him for the past four movies, only to kill him off. And why did Harry cry so much? He barely knew him. The movies just weren't fair to Dobby, who was one of the biggest heroes of the books. They just wanted to bring him back to show off the special effects, those sons of bitches.
-At the end of the last film, when Harry sees Lupin appear from the resurrection stone, he mentions Lupin's baby. Actually, that's very strange, because at no point in ANY of the Harry Potter movies did either Lupin or Tonks or anyone actually tell Harry that they were to have a baby. In the first part of the Deathly Hallows, Tonks tried to tell him, but Moody cut her off. So how did he know? Is Harry Potter in fact the mother of the baby?
-As in all of the Harry Potter movies, when the Polyjuice Potion is consumed in the last film, their voices remain the same. What's the point of the Polyjuice Potion if your voices are still the same? That's like getting a sex change but refusing to shave your beard off.
-Why did Griphook not let them out of the vault? Goblins aren't evil, they're just sort of selfish. In the books, all he did was steal the sword back, which is what they promised him in the first place, in reality intending to cheat him. The directors were being just plain racist against goblins.
-When Harry finally met up with the rogue Hogwarts students in the Room of Requirement, he immediately asked for their help instead of refusing to let them participate, as in the book. This was an important episode, as it taught Harry that the struggle against Voldemort was bigger than him, and that he needed help. He couldn't do it alone. Plus, he had a huge ego problem and that motherfucker needed to get off his goddamn high horse.
-Why does Voldemort's army suddenly consist of three bajillion Death Eaters? There aren't that many wizards in the world. The ultimate struggle between the good guys and the bad guys at Hogwarts, although significant and very intense, is not like a battle between the Ancient Romans and the Persians. And why was that snatcher leading the army? It's because the directors have a soft spot for familiar faces, and are all too willing to grant a totally insignificant character another role in the next movie. Even if the aformentioned insignificant character is an ugly-assed motherfucking dick face. No offense to him, of course.
-Why didn't the Gray Lady tell her story? What's up with that? She was just weird in the movie. It was like she was on her period, not like she had a dark and mysterious past that was too hurtful to share with Harry Potter.
-How could they possibly not kill Wormtail? That was one of the most important parts of the seventh book. Wormtail, who has been a spineless coward his entire life, is suddenly considering risking his own neck to save Harry. How can you just leave that out? Bitches.
-WHY THE HELL IS CRABBE BLACK???
-Harry told Ron and Hermione that he was planning to turn himself in. The reason he did not do so in the book was because he wanted to be absolutely certain that he was going to sacrifice himself in order to kill Voldemort, and he didn't want Ron and hermione to stop him. Plus, even if they knew he needed to in order to kill Voldemort, they never would have let him do it. And even if they did, Ron would at least hug him first. Geez. What are you guys? Robots?
-Voldemort asking who wants to join him and who doesn't. That wasn't in the book. And it just didn't work. Most importantly, Malfoy wasn't supposed to go back to Voldemort. The whole point that that didn't happen in the book was redemption for Draco Malfoy's character. He didn't turn good, but he was at least supposed to show appreciation to Harry for saving his life. As you can see in the third picture of this post.
-Why didn't everyone party once Voldemort died? In the book I pictured it like a massive rave. It talked about how everyone wanted to touch Harry's face and his penis and it went on for what seemed like days and days. In the movie it was like the equivalent of a fifth grade soccer team winning a single game. They were like, "So, we really got him, didn't we, Harry? That was nice."
-Harry was supposed to use the Elder Wand to mend his own wand, not break it in two, heave it over the bridge, and look back at Ron and Hermione with this expression on his face like "WHO WANTS SUMMA THIS?!"
-Voldemort was just not scary enough. And I don't mean that like I think they should have done better the special effects or anything. The way they handled his character was just embarrassing. This is a wizard who has killed many people, built most of his following based on his intimidating and powerful disposition, and is planning to live forever. Not some pushy guy who was born with mild physical deformities who everyone feels uncomfortable around.
-The movie was photographically and aesthetically very beautiful, but it wasn't at all very creative or artistic in its presentation. They had a lot to work with, but it wasn't anything truly praise-worthy. It would be like if your wife asked you what you wanted for dinner and you answered "I don't know how about chicken" and three minutes later she dumped an uncooked chicken on your lap.
-There were too many explosions and fancy wand magic. Maybe if they had focused more on the fact that the movie they were making was an enormous lump of dog poo poo. I was about to use the line "the movie they were making sucked some serious dick," but I had to change it because I got sued by one of my followers' moms for using too much profanity. She told me I wasn't supposed to say who, because I had already proven myself to be irresponsible.
-The comic relief was improperly incorporated into the film. Who else is sick and tired of Ron wiping specks of food from Hermione's chin. Or Seamus Finnigan making things explode? They even messed up the timing in the scene where Mrs. Weasley calls Bellatrix Lestrange a bitch. It was all just really tacky. Like wearing a Dr. Seuss hat to a fancy dinner party. Or making a Holocaust joke at a synagogue. Or Michelle Obama sucking on her husband's pinky while he's trying to make an important speech.
-They totally ruined the kiss between Ron and Hermione.
-When Harry saw Ginny, why didn't they immediately start making out and maybe move onto some over-the-pants heavy petting action? They're going to get married, for God's sake. And they're teenagers. Instead he was just like, "Oh, hey, Ginny. How've things been?" And she's like "Pretty good pretty good. How's your life?"
-The new Dumbledore, as he has always been, is profound and moving only in the way that it is mind-blowing how un-Dumbledorish he is. Just because he has a long white beard doesn't mean he's Dumbledore. The scene with Dumbledore at King's Cross in the new movie was yet another disappointment.
-When his parents and Sirius and Lupin and Tonks came out of the Resurrection Stone, it was all very icy and emotionless. I didn't like it at all. I spit at that scene.
-The epilogue was all right, but they neglected to make it magical and inspiring. They certainly failed to make Harry, Ron, and Hermione look like fully-grown adults, and their children looked just like the stars of a preteen version of High School Musical. As we saw them through the window chatting away in their little compartment, it looked like a TV commercial for Harry Potter World, one that ended in the words "Experience the world of Harry Potter."


(These kids are thinking, We're about to become SO famous. I can't wait to start my own show on Disney channel and post pictures of myself smoking pot on Google.)

The last movie seemed to recognise, "Everyone already knows how the book ends. So why try?" And they consequently ended up focusing on all the wrong things. Still, I think I'll surprise you all by also posting a considerably shorter list of all of the things that I did, grudgingly, like in the newest movie. Mm hm, I can tell you're really surprised by the surprised look on your faces. BAM. Suck my dick. Yeah. So here goes.

-I loved the scene in the Pensieve. It was very artistic and beautiful, I'm amazed to find myself saying. In the first part of Deathly Hallows, I fell in love with the animation scene despite the fact that I didn't love the rest of the movie. It was the same for the scene with the Pensieve in the last film.
-Snape's death. I think they changed that for the better. The fact that he actually looked at Harry and told him that he had his mother's eyes demonstrated such a profound transformation of character that I could not help but weep. Finally he recognised the Lily in Harry rather than just the James in him. I think they handled it all masterfully.
-I've always thought that Evanna Lynch has done a fantastic job as Luna Lovegood. I say this partly because it is true, but mostly because I have the hots for Evanna Lynch. I would have never thought that reading the books, but watching the movie and seeing Lynch as Luna Lovegood never fails to get me extremely aroused. And it made me angry that that sonofabitch Matthew Lewis ended up getting her at the end of the movie. She was supposed to be mine. Clearly we are both ideal members of the Master Race. It is our duty to wed and give birth to beautiful Aryan babies in service to the Fatherland!


(This is me sidling up for a kiss and Evanna promptly stepping backward.)

So what is the thing that the newest Hary Potter movie and Jay Leno's chin have in common? Well, unlike what seems like the rest of the entire world, I am left unimpressed by it. BUT, as in the case of Jay Leno's chin, I harbor a secret appreciation and love for it which I must compensate for by complaining furiously.

Concerning the blogging survey named Nicolai, I am just going to go out and say that while many of your answers were intensely amusing, you all failed profoundly at it. You were SUPPOSED to post it on your own blogs and then tag several of your followers, who would go on to tag their followers with it and so on and so forth until it was all over the web and the traffic for the Nerd Archives TRIPLED and I would become famous and write my own book filled with memoirs. So far NOTHING is going according to plan.

Thank you for your time.

Movie quote of the day: "This is Sammy Davis Jr. Jr... She is Grandfather's Seeing Eye bitch." -Alex, Everything is Illuminated

Cheers,
That Blond Guy

My Blog is Finally Carbon Neutral, Bitches!!!!

I know that all of you think that I am just a just a dull, lifeless grump who lives alone in a grimy apartment, eats microwave dinners, and watches the show Cold Case Files, but I'm actually none of those things. (I don't eat microwave dinners because I'm worried if I eat too many they'll make me grow a third ear from radiation.)



I am actually very passionate about a great number of things, like cats and stamps. And when I put my mind to it, I can become seriously dedicated to a cause. One such of the aforementioned causes which I can become seriously dedicated to is the environment. Well, I'm no vegan whale-lovin fanatic who lives in a house made of salt and uses biodegradable eating utensils made from corn husks, but I try my best to do my part. I do the little things that add up over time and then really make a difference. Like an army of angry, anarchist smurfs.

So when I heard about this movement to have Carbon Neutral blogs, I thought: Hey, I'm a smart guy. I'm conscious of the environment around me. I like polar bears. So why not make my blog Carbon Neutral? (I don't know how exactly planting trees is related to saving the polar bears, but the important thing is that it fits into the equation somehow and also polar bears are absolutely adorable as long as they're not trying to eat you.)



And I decided to make my blog Carbon Neutral. It's really simple. All you have to do is write a post about the movement, add the button to your blog, e-mail them a link to the post, and then they plant a tree for you in some national forest somewhere where there are undoubtedly a multitude of dying polar bears.

It's really not hard to do at all. It took me about a month to get around to it because I've been sick with cholera ever since I ate that half-finished Chick-Fil-A sandwich I found on the ground of a parking lot last June. But now that I'm finally doing it, it's very easy and you really have no excuse not to do it. So go do it right now. Please. And also, look at my new button!



Finally, I know that I promised to do an angry rant on the newest Harry Potter film today, but I'm going to have to let that wait until next post because I'm so excited that I finally did the Carbon Neutral thing.

If you haven't voted on the newest poll, please do so within the next three minutes. If you haven't completed the Blogging Survey Named Nicolai, which can be found in the post below this one, please do so ASAP. I'll be watching you.

It's also worthy of mention that I've finally made a blog list on the sidebar of some of my favourite blogs in the whole wide world, which I want EVERYONE to check out regardless of how cool you are. If you're not on the list, it's probably because I hate you or because you don't comment on my blog enough, but it also might be because it just slipped my mind. If you think you deserve to be on the blog list, just tell me and I'll either laugh in your face or apologise profusely and then add you onto it.

I was also EXTREMELY disappointed to find that NOBODY followed my link in the last post to the Tribute to Doodlers page on Almost Out of Ink , a fabulous blog by the blogger Peace Love and Sharpies, and came back to tell me how amazing my drawings are. At first I was really hurt and felt betrayed, but then the pain subsided into a sort of dull, throbbing ache and I got over it. ALTHOUGH if you happen to be in the mood to make somebody's day, I wouldn't protest if you did so now.

Wink wink.

Cheers,
That Blond Guy

A Blogging Survey Named Nicolai

TO SPECIFY FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO ARE STUPID HEADS, THIS BLOGGING SURVEY IS TO BE COMPLETED ON YOUR BLOG!!! NOT IN THE COMMENT BOX!!!

1) Please state your name for the record?

2) If you were a penguin, on the other hand, what do you think your name would be? Hypothetically speaking, of course.

3) Would you consider your ears to be smaller than average, average, larger than average, or freakishly large?

4) Are you more of a Beatles or an Elvis fan? (If you answer the latter, please proceed to go set yourself on fire and then die in a hole.)

5) Have you ever killed anyone? If so, did you do it with your bare hands?

6) If you could use any fruit to describe the size and shape of your head, what fruit would you use?

7) Is there any famous person you'd go gay for? Please state their name. This question is, of course, purely for academic purposes.

8) If you had the choice, would you rather go to space, meet Paul McCartney, scuba dive in the Pacific Ocean, or sleep with Carmen Electra?

9) How long have you had your blog? What made you start one?

10) What is your weirdest phobia?

11) Do you believe in God?

12) If you could start a collab. blog with any four bloggers, which ones would you do it with?

13) If you were trapped on a desert island with the same four bloggers you mentioned in the last question, which one would you eat first? With which one would you procreate?

14) What's your favourite 80's movie?

15) What kind of music do you listen to?

16) Imagine that you open your bedroom closet one day and suddenly a portal opens up. You can't see what is at the end of the portal, but there is a totoro inside it motioning you to follow him. Would you go inside, even if it might mean you'll never come back?

17) If you're a woman, do you find facial hair on men attractive? If you're a man, do you find facial hair on woman attractive?

18) Do you like babies?

19) What's the most violent thing you've ever done to an inanimate object?

20) What's the most embarrassing thing that's ever happened to you?

21) Do you think the world will end in 2012?

22) Have you enjoyed this survey? Be honest, now.

23) Are you following The Nerd Archives? If not, DO YOURSELF THE FAVOUR OF DOING SO NOW.

I'm tagging everyone who reads this post with this survey. I also call to attention the new poll on the right sidebar. I'd also like to congratulate Bookish.Spazz for probably being my only follower who has completed the homework assignment, which can ALSO be found on the right sidebar. You can all learn from her. Bitches.

I'm also super-excited to say that PeaceLoveandSharpies put up my drawings on the Tribute to Doodlers page on her blog. And that's great, because now you guys can go look at them and then come back and tell me how much you love them! Isn't that fantastic?

Also, my beard is gaining some volume now and is starting to get insufferably itchy. I was worried that even though I've been working on it for a couple of weeks now, it would still be invisible because I'm so blonde. Fortunately, it's starting to turn red. Which is awesome, because now you can see it and I look way older. I just went to Yoforia and got hit on by the cashier who was at least eight years older than me and absolutely gorgeous. For realz. And this happened even though I was wearing my favourite Cookie Monster t-shirt. I wish I was joking about the t-shirt. I'm not, though. I'm wearing it right now.

I saw the last Harry Potter movie just a few hours ago, so you guys should know what this means. I, being LITERALLY the biggest Harry Potter fan on the blogosphere, am preparing myself to go on the longest, angriest Harry Potter rant you have ever witnessed. Brace yourselves, and don't bring any babies with you to the next post. I'm scared about what might happen to them.

Cheers,
That Blond Guy

Part 3 out of 3 of a Very True and (I Might Add) Fascinating Tale Which Clearly Fails to Capture the Precious Attention of Olivia

I had for three days been under the clutches of the wicked, incurably insane Anabelle Walker, and what I really missed most was my toothbrush. I've never even really liked my legs anyway. I was already thinking about just getting some new ones. And the thumb? Who really needs thumbs? You know who doesn't have two thumbs? Christian Bale. That's a fact.

Sure, every once and a while I got a little bothered by the I Got the Hungries. Sure, my stomach hurt. Sure, I thought I was at one point passing a kidney stone. Sure, I had a fever from morning till evening every day I was there. Sure, I knew I was staring death in the face and there was a very slim chance I was about to escape this. But what I missed most of all was my tooth brush. My breath was just awful, I tell ya. And it was starting to get embarrassing. Not that I cared too much what Anabelle thought of my breath, but the impression I make on people is very important to me. And I badly needed a toothbrush.

I suggested this to Anabelle on the morning of the fourth day.

"Anabelle?" I asked softly as she entered the room with some new pills. "Do you think it's possible that you could bring me a toothbrush? I'm just worried about cavities."

She just stared at me blankly. The darkness was behind her eyes again. Very calmly, without saying a word, she turned around and walked back out of the room.

When she came back in, several minutes later, she was holding a pair of rusty, old pliers.

"You're worried about cavities, huh, Mister Man?" she said, smiling slightly. "WELL HOW ABOUT I JUST TAKE OUT EVERY ONE OF YOUR COCKADOODIE TEETH?!"

As she advanced rapidly, I tried to decide if the case was worth pursuing further or if I should just forget about it now. By the look in her eyes, I decided she really was prepared to go medieval on me, and I decided--reluctantly--that it was a lost cause.

I said the one thing that could have possibly diffused the situation without risking my life or my pearly whites.

"Anabelle, wait!!!" I shouted. "I love you!"

She paused, then, and look confused. She looked as though she was daring to hope, but afraid to have her heart broken. I knew that look. It's the same look I wore on my face the first time an advertisement popped up on the side of the web page informing me that there were singles in my area who wanted to meet me.

"Really?" she asked cautiously.

"I love you, Anabelle. And I always have. It's always been you."

Her face lit up as she smiled. "I feel the same way, Christopher. I think the time has come. Tonight I'm going to put on my Liberace records. Oh, the house will be so full of romance! We'll have a candle-lit dinner, I'll fix meatloaf, everything is going to be perfect. Then I'll load my gun with the bullets. One for you. One for me."

"What about Dennis, the goldfish?" I asked, laughing nervously.

She blushed. "Dennis? Well, no. I, well, I sort of ate him," she said hurriedly, before adding, "Oh, Christopher, tonight is going to be so perfect. I knew this was how it was going to end all along. God, I love you so much."

Then she stood up to leave. Halfway to the door, she paused, turned around, and smiled again. "I have a surprise for you, this afternoon, if you think you're going to be up for it."

I forced a smile. "I can't wait."

She grinned and left the room, closing the door softly behind her. I waited a few moments to make sure she was gone, and then flashed the bird at the door. (And by "the bird," I mean my middle finger.) I wasn't about to die. But I didn't have to worry. I had a plan.

I spent the rest of the morning and the early part of the afternoon working out the kinks in my plan, getting less and less confident that it was going to work but at the same time coming to terms with my fate with quiet acceptance. If this plan failed, I would die. That's all there was to it.

To my surprise, the door flew open at a little past noon and a tall, young policeman stood in the doorway, wearing sunglasses and with his hands on his hips. I nearly had a heart attack, but was immediately flooded with relief. I sat up in my bed.

"Officer, thank God you've rescued me!!! She's crazy! Anabelle Walker is crazy!!! She's been keeping me here against my will!!! Now get me out of this hell hole!!!"

He remained untroubled, smiling eerily and staring at me behind his sleek, designer sunglasses. I stared at him for a moment in confusion. Then he seized his sunglasses and tossed them to the side of the room.

"Did somebody call...Officer Nasty?" he asked, beginning to shake his hips and dance over to me from across the room.

As realisation dawned on me, I was filled with horror. I shook my head over and over again. "No. No no no no no. NO!!!!" I said.

He held out one hand to calm me and used the others to unbutton his shirt. "Please, don't worry, sir," he said in what I assume he thought to be a tough cop's voice. "I'm certified........IN SEX."

Just as he tossed aside his shirt and moved his hand toward his zipper, Anabelle crept up behind him and tapped him on the back. He turned around, and for the first time, I looked upon Anabelle Walker with relief.

"Just a minute, Leonard," she said.

"Officer Nasty," he corrected her, fingering his handcuffs idly.

"Christopher, I'm sorry, I should have explained," she said as I stared in disbelief at the both of them. "This is the surprise!"

"I don't understand," I admitted.

"Christopher, I understand that I, as a woman, am unable to fulfill your physical needs. I do love you, and I understand that if you are of that persuasion, then I am willing to do anything to make you happy. So that's why I hired Leonard here. I figured that I might as well give you that pleasure on your last day on earth," she said.

Finally I began to understand, and I was filled with fury.

"WHAT THE FUCK!" I yelled in frustation, before I could stop myself. "WHY DOES EVERYONE THINK I'M GAY?!"

The pair of them stared at me in confusion. "You're not gay?" Anabelle asked slowly.

"No, I'm not gay!!!!" I said furiously.

"Oh," Anabelle said. "Well, this is going to make dinner awkward."

And it was awkward. After leading a disappointed Officer Nasty AKA Leonard from the bedroom, she left to go fix dinner. It only took about fifteen minutes, actually, and so she helped me into the wheelchair and wheeled me out into the dining room, where there were two plates, a candle, and a pair of wine glasses.

After Anabelle said grace, I put my napkin in my lap and hesitantly began to eat. It was meatloaf, as promised, along with a side of applesauce and carrot sticks. We ate in silence for a few minutes until Anabelle finally poured the wine. It was all going according to plan.

"So," I said finally, clearing my throat. "What do you do in your free time? When you're not, you know, chopping off my legs and stuff?"

"Well," she said, taking a sip of wine. "I used to kill a lot of babies..."

I glanced up.

"...but I'm trying to cut down on that," she added.

I seized this as an opportunity for dinner conversation. "So is it, like, exclusively babies that you murder or is it, like, a combination of babies and adults?" I asked, taking another bite of meatloaf and trying my best to look intrigued.

"That's a good question," she said. "It's pretty much a combination of the two. In fact, most of the people I've brutally murdered are adults. I only killed the occasional baby during my career as a nurse. It's been two, maybe three years since I've actually killed any babies."

Another minute or two passed in silence. Anabelle had finished her glass of wine. I, on the other hand, hadn't taken a single sip from mine. Although I was nervous and scared, I eventually decided that it was time to carry out the final part of my plan.

"Anabelle, I'm afraid your time is up," I said, trying to sound as bad-ass as possible.

With that, I picked up my glass and threw the wine in her face.

"TAKE THAT, BIOTCH!!!!!!" I screamed.

I was seized by dread as I watched the wine splash on to her and nothing happen. She just grabbed her napkin and started sponging it off of her face and clothes. Oh, shit. This was NOT going according to plan.

"What'd you do that for?!" she demanded.

"Well...I...I was hoping you'd melt. That was sort of the plan," I admitted.

"Melt?" she asked, angry and confused. "Like the Wicked Witch of the West?"

"Yeah," I said, feeling foolish. "Kind of like that."

She dropped the napkin on the table and threw her hands up in despair, sighing heavily and shaking her head at me.

"You know, Christopher, I think it's best if you just go," she said frustratedly.

"Just go?" I repeated incredulously. "Really? You're just going to let me go?"

"Yes," she said. "At first I thought I really loved you and that it would be cool to make a suicide pact with you and die in your arms, but then I met you and you turned out to be a bit of a weirdo. You freak me out. And you shouldn't take that likely. You are really weird."

"Oh," I said. "Sorry."

"So I think it's best if you just go," she said, motioning to the door. Stunned, I stood up to leave. I started to walk out the door before I turned around.

"Hey, are you busy next weekend?" I asked nervously. "Maybe we could hang out or something."

"I don't think that's a good idea," she said sympathetically. "I really don't think you're my type. Let's just be friends."

I blushed furiously and stuffed my hands quickly into my pockets, feeling childish and idiotic. I walked out the door, said goodbye, and watched as she shut and locked the door behind me. I walked a little down the road, flagged down a cab, and rode the rest of the way back to Atlanta. And that was my weekend.

Even though I know that Anabelle Walker is out of my life, I still think about her sometimes. Namely when I can't reach orgasm. It took me a while to realise it, but Anabelle was really the only woman who has ever really paid attention to me. And, now that I think about it, I'd give two legs and a thumb to ANY woman who offers her love to me.

And so here I am, telling you my story, and staring at the moon. Somewhere out there, I know, is Anabelle Walker. I know it's likely that we'll never meet again, but I guess all I can do is bite back the tears and keep telling myself that there are other fish in the sea.

But I will never forget the days I spent with Anabell Walker.

THE END

_____________________________________________

Well, that's the end, folks. I hope you enjoyed hearing my story and can fully appreciate what I've been through. I can assure you that every word of it is completely true.

I better go to bed now. I just watched My Sister's Keeper and literally cried throughout the entire movie. I'm not even joking. I was crying in the first ten minutes. I'm dead serious. That is the saddest movie I've ever seen. I hugged my Winnie the Pooh pillow for at least forty five minutes after it ended. Finally it started to get uncomfortable, and politely requested that I leave.

I will say, though, that the poll has ended and I was very disappointed to have lost to Daniel Radcliffe by one vote. I feel betrayed by everybody here.

I also had an idea. Maybe I should write a blogger survey! If I did that, would you guys do it and send it on? Or is that a stupid idea? Am I really stupid? Do you guys think I'm pretty? I'm worthless, aren't I?

Cheers,
That Blond Guy

Part 2 out of 3 of a Story That Is Not Way Based on Stephen King's Best-Selling Novel "Misery"

Twenty-six hours had passed since the moment I regained consciousness and met Anabelle Walker, but it seemed like an eternity, especially because I was so drugged up. Turns out that she had more in her medicine cabinet than "Anabelle's Happy Pillz." In the day since I had woken up, she had fed me enough Tylenol, Zoloft, and Vagisil to tranquilize a wild stallion. Which, according to the tattoo I got on my chest last month, is exactly what I am.

Under normal conditions, the unbelievable doses of this medication she was giving me, coupled with my critical condition, would have instantly killed me. Fortunately, I built up an unbreakable tolerance against all three of these drugs during my brief but intense OTC drug addiction back in February. (Did you know that you can smoke Benodryl?) Thanks to that, the drugs just left me in a state of pleasurable numbness.

Anabelle came into my room three times in that twenty-six hours. The first time occured only fifteen minutes after she first left it. She rolled in a tiny, ancient, black-and-white television on a little cart, along with two ice cream sundaes and some more of my pills.

"I thought we could eat some sundaes and watch a movie together, Christopher!" she said hopefully, maybe even a little nervously.

"Well, that sounds great, Anabelle," I said gently. "You're so considerate."

She blushed a little and quickly handed me my sundae. After watching me take a few bites, swallow my pills, and force an appreciate smile, she stood up and put in the VCR, which turned out to be An Affair to Remember.

After she got it started up and sat down beside me, she took a few bites, I took a few bites, and then she started smearing the ice cream all over her face and arms. When I cast a startled, sidelong glance at her, she laughed loudly and said, "Look, Christopher! I'm a snowman."

I gave a terrified little chuckle and turned back to the movie, not knowing else what to do but hope she wasn't going to ask me to lick it off of her. She was probably one of the ugliest women I'd ever met: fat, masculine, and smelly. So it was all the more repulsive for me when she pretended to yawn and then slipped her arm around my shoulder.

It was all I could do to sit and suffer in silence when she ran her fingers through my hair and slid her tongue into my left ear.

The second time that she came to visit me was a few hours later, at what I assumed was dinner time. Her mood was drastically different. Somehow she had shifted from the cheerful, energetic personality she had adopted during the first visit. She was instead distant and removed, with a blank expression on her face. For dinner she brought me a raw egg on a plate.

"Here's your dinner," she said, placing it absently on my lap, causing pain to surge through my legs once again.

"And also, I brought you this," she added without emotion, holding up a enormous, dead rat by its tail. "You can have it now if you like, or I can just keep it for you right here." And she laid it gently on the floor.

"Anabelle, are you okay?" I asked, petrified.

In answer, she grabbed her bottom lip between her thumb and forefinger and started twisting in until it bled. I watched her helplessly, paralyzed with fear. She didn't stop there, either. She unbuttoned her blouse in front of me, removed it, and ate it, sucking it up like a noodle of spaghetti. After her blouse, she went on to eat her humongous bra, her plaid skirt, and my underwear she had been wearing, all of which she sucked up with relish, slurpling noisily, with the same expressionless look in her face.

As she stood before my bed, stark naked and hideous, her eyes finally seem to adjust a little and land on mine.

"No. It's the rain. Sometimes it gives me the blues," she finally managed.

I neglected to mention, out of fear, that it wasn't raining outside. She continued talking.

"I have a gun in my upstairs bedroom. Sometimes I think about using it. Loading it with three bullets. One for you, one for me, and one for my pet goldfish who I named after Dennis the Menace, because I think he has a sort of mischevious exprssion on his face."

"No, Anabelle!" I said hurriedly. "It's not time yet. We should at least wait until the end of the month, shouldn't we? Suicide pacts should NEVER be carried out in the month of July. It's just bad luck."

"I suppose so," she sighed. "In that case, I think I'm going to go to my Laughing Place for a while. I don't know when I'll be back, but I think I should handcuff you to the bed and stick a rag in your mouth for good measure." She went on to do both of these things, without saying a word. The rag was disgusting and almost made me vomit, and she really shoved it far into my mouth, so far that I worried about choking.

After a moment she paused and said, "I really do love you, Christopher. Your underwear was delicious. Better than any I've ever had."

With that, she left. All of this occured in the first three hours of the aforementioned twenty six hours. She was gone for, I later figured out, around twenty three more hours. My stomach panged so painfully with hunger and my body hurt so profoundly that I thought about just swallowing the rag so that I could finally die and let it all be over with. But something kept me going.

I started drifting in and out of the darkness again, forgetting who I was, and all I could remember was Anabelle's terrible, ugly face. I did seriously consider letting myself choke on the rag, but in the end, I just didn't do it.

When she finally did come, I heard the car door slam loudly, and I awoke from my deep sleep. My stomach was stinging with hunger, my throat was dry and digusting, and my body hurt all over. I lay there in delirious fear as I listened to her throw open the front door and storm through the hallway toward my room.

She exploded through the bedroom door, marched up to me with a livid expression on her face, and tore the rag from my mouth.

"YOU DIRTIE BIRDIE!!! YOU COCKADOODIE LITTLE BRAT!!! HOW COULD YOU?!" she screamed. "HOW COULD YOU KILL MISERY CHASTAIN?"

I was sincerely puzzled. "Anabelle," I said. "Who is Misery Chastain?"

She paused and looked thoughtful. Evidently she had not considered this.

"I guess I don't know," she said finally. "But I'm still going to cut off your legs and left thumb, Mister Man."

I won't trouble you guys with the details, because I know that's not what you're here for. But I will tell you to imagine the most excruciating pain you've ever felt, multiply that by exactly six and a half bajillion, and then imagine that pain being administered to you by a young Kathy Bates. That, folks, is what I had to go through while Anabelle Walker lopped off my legs and left thumb with an axe.

After it was over and she left, I sat there, weeping and screaming at God. I had to get out of there, I thought desperately. One way or another, I was going to escape the clutches of Anabelle Walker. That, or die trying.

TO BE CONTINUED


By the way, readers of The Nerd Archives, I'd like to remind the new readers of the blog to check out my other blog, Death is like a lemon, which can be found on the top of the page. I think you'll find it quite, how you say, enjoyable. I've recently written a poem series on the lake I stayed at this summer, so if you're into poetry, do check it out.

Also, everybody please look at the top of the right sidebar to notice 1) the homework assignment I've given all of my readers for this week which I expected EVERYONE to complete by next Monday and 2) my newest poll, which you should vote on promptly. If you'll look a little lower, you'll notice I changed my profile picture. I was aiming for sexy and mysterious, but ended up with something in between deeply disturbed and inexplicably furious. Don't make too much fun of me, okay?

Cheers,
That Blond Guy

Part 1 of 3 of a Post Dedicated to Simon, Which is What I've Named the Little Brown Mouse Living in My Bathtub

Well, I'm back. I had a wonderful time, but it really is a relief to be back home where my race car bed and all of my toys are. I had to go six days without my furby, because my mom made me leave it at home. First there was a lot of screaming and crying, and then there was just silence. I think the silence was the worst.

I bet you guys didn't even miss me. Don't try to deny it--I know you all hate me. I know you had a huge party together that I wasn't invited to. You probably talked about me too. Behind my back. I've heard you whispering. Plotting to steal something. Plotting to kill me in my sleep. DON'T TRY TO DENY IT!!!

I really did have a strange last few days. A day after I wrote the last post, I was driving around in the mountains of North Carolina in my maroon 1975 chevy camaro when all of a sudden the roads were starting to get very icy. The snow started to come down REALLY heavy so that I could hardly see. This was strange considering it was the middle of July, but these are the kinds of things that happen when you take as much acid as I do.

At one point I reached down for my stash of chocolate cigars, which I only dip into when I'm feeling really stressed out, and then before I know what's happening, the car is sliding off the road and then down is up and up is down and there's excruciating pain erupting all over my legs and I'm screaming but I can't even hear myself scream and then there's just darkness.

Absolute. Darkness.

I can't tell if minutes or hours or days or weeks past, but I drifted in and out of consciousness for what seemed like an eternity. I never came out of the darkness, and I couldn't remember who I was or where I was.

When I did wake up, the first thing I noticed was the pain. My head rang with sharp pain, my arms were sore and stung terribly, I felt as if I had rocks sitting in the bottom of my stomach, and worst of all was the pain in my legs. Without even looking at them, I could tell that they were broken in numerous places. It was torturous. I looked down and saw that I was lying down in a single bed with a heavy quilt coming all the way up to my chin. I was in a small, modest bedroom with a single window and a single door.

The second thing that struck me was that the room was filled with hundreds pictures of ME. Posters, newspaper clippings, framed photographs. It shocked me so much that I wondered if I wasn't still dreaming, but the pain was real enough to convince me otherwise. There the pictures were, though, clear as day. Staring back at me.

Just before I was going to shout and find out what the hell was going on, the door opened and a woman bustled in, maybe in her late thirties, holding a tray with a bowl of soup and an apple. She was squat, with short brown hair and a square, plump face. She couldn't me any taller than 5'3, and she was almost as wide as she was tall. She was wearing a plain brown skirt and a white cardigan sweater. As she set eyes on me, her face instantly brightened and she offered me a big smile.

"Oh, you're awake! Well, it's about time. I was worried that I'd gone and let you reach the point of No Return, if you know what I mean. Here Christopher Kennedy, author of The Nerd Archives, literary genius, ends up on my very own driveway, sent by the Lord Almighty Himself, and I go on and let him die. And that couldn't happen, Christopher. It couldn't, because I'm your number-one fan."

I stared at her in confusion. "Where am I?" I croaked, surprised at how weak my voice was.

She smiled at me again. It was an unnerving, strange smile. "Why, you're in the very home of Anabelle Walker out in Cashiers, North Carolina."

I still didn't understand. "What happened?" I asked. "Why am I here?"

"What? You don't remember?" she said, setting down the tray on the bedside table and putting her hands on her hips. "Well, the roads were pretty icy, and you got in this big oogie car wreck. Thanks to God, I happened to be passing through, and I just happened to see you. Of course, I couldn't believe that Christopher Kennedy was on my street--I'm such a huge fan of your work--but I got you in my old Cherokee and to the house and got you warmed up and now you're just fine, aren't you?"

I squirmed by legs a little bit in answer, and pain shot through them like bolts. No, I was not fine. I was gonna fucking die, for God's sake, if I didn't get help soon. Also, a re-run of Dancing With the Stars was on that night, which I still hadn't recorded. I shivered as I thought about what would happen if I missed that episode.

"Anabelle, I need to get to a hospital very soon," I said desperately.

Her face darkened immediately. Her eyes went out of focus and it was if she was a walking zombie. There was a terrifying, dark emptiness behind her eyes that seriously scared me.

"No hospitals," she said absently but firmly. Then she brightened a bit and her eyes slid back into focus. "Besides! I'm a registered nurse. I'm taking great care of you. You get to eat a little something five times a day, and I've been giving you two of these pills every four hours to make all the pain go away."

She reached into her sweater pocket and pulled out a little canister with a sticky-note stuck on that read, "Anabelle's Happy Pillz." I could see even through the opaque, yellow plastic that it was filled with not pill capsules but small round pebbles. Which would have explained the pain in my stomach.

"Anabelle? Have you been giving those to me? Those aren't pills. Those are rocks!" I exclaimed.

"No, these are pills," she said. "See? Look at the label."

I decided not to argue. This bitch was clearly seriously crazy. I didn't want to mess with her. The consequences might be disastrous. Besides, I had just noticed something else I thought I might bring up.

"Anabelle, where are my clothes?" I asked, suddenly aware of my nakedness below the sheets.

"Healthy people wear clothes," she said mildly. "Sick people get to wear their birthday suits. Like little babies. Hear that, Christopher? You're my little baby."

As she leaned down to spoon-feed me the soup, I noticed by chance the thin white band sticking out of her plaid skirt. It was Calvin Klein.

"Anabelle," I asked slowly. "Are you wearing my underwear?"

She turned beet-red and straightened. She got the blank look in her eyes again.

"Healthy people wear clothes," she repeated absently. "Sick people wear their birthday suits."

She brightened again and smiled a little, bending down once more to feed me a mouthful of soup. (It was chicken noodle, and actually quite delicious.) "Have I mentioned I'm your biggest fan? I've read all of your material. Sometimes I stay up all night just reading and re-reading your posts. I just love them, Christopher."

"Yeah, I see the posters," I said delicately.

"Oh, you noticed them?" she said, as if there weren't half a million of them staring at me from every spot in the room. "I hope you like them. I never dreamed you were ever get to see them."

As she fed me my third spoonful of soup, my legs twinged painfully and my stomach wrenched horribly. Out of desperation, I whispered urgently, "Anabelle, I really need to go to a hospital."

Her face did not darken this time. She just smiled, sat down on the bed, and stroked my hair. "You're not going to go to a hospital. You're miles from even the nearest house. You're just going to stay here with me, my darling. Just you and me. Forever."

I stared at her face in terror as she leaned in and kissed my cheek.

"I love you," she said, and then left the room, leaving me alone with my stunned silence.

I laid there for minutes in horror and panic and dread, and then I pulled out a crossword puzzle, figuring that if I was going to be stuck, crippled, in the house of a total maniac for the next few months, I might as well keep my brain healthy.

TO BE CONTINUED


Cheers,
That Blond Guy

Whenever I Have Trouble Going to Sleep, I Play Tapes of Children Crying, and Then I Miraculously Drift Off to Sleep

That's a true story. Now before you get the chance to digest that and become profoundly disturbed, I think I'll share a poem with you. It's a beat poem, really. Sort of a think piece, I guess you could say. In retrospect, it's about the human condition.

Ode to the Mildly Attractive College Student Who Played Briar Rose in an Amateur, Rock 'n Roll Rendition of Sleeping Beauty Performed At a Local Outdoor Theater

When you floated onto that stage like
A lilac riding a draft of autumn air
The humming spotlights ignited in your eyes
A moonlight blue, peering under a roof of
Thick and inky mascara, the expensive kind
As my eyes fell upon you and happened to suspend there
I felt a little something flutter in my stomach
Something bordering indigestion and half-hearted sexual interest
I did notice you could theoretically be described as attractive
Your eyes, sapphire stones, sparkled like a
Plastic cup full of flat sparkling water
Forgotten on a foldable lawn chair under the Mississippi sun
That is to say, they do not possess
An exceptional amount of sparkle
But, as sparkling eyes go, they
Are more sparkly than the average eyes
Your skin is sun-kissed and quite smooth
Like the bare, bald shins of a Columbian fisherman
Is that tan real? If so, I'm relatively impressed
All in all, I suppose you really are rather pretty
Your brief section in the Cast Biography pamphlet says
That you currently attend the University of Texas
That's interesting--my mother went there
Did I say my mother? I meant my ex-girlfriend
I'm not really the type of guy who talks about his mother a lot
I'm not really the type who talks about ex-girlfriends either
I just happen to find you attractive and
I guess I feel a little nervous--and bewildered to have found
Such a jewel of an actress in the glowing hills of West Texas
Yes, I have found the play to be entertaining so far
The jokes are a little weak and I suspect the plot
Was the result of a Monday morning acid trip
Involving the artistic consultation of an 8-year-old girl
The whole thing would be far more interesting if you
Performed without any clothes on
Perhaps lathered in peanut oil and French kissing
A hot brunette wearing a solid red bikini bottom
Although I suppose that would be rather misplaced
At a family establishment, especially this one
Well, finally, the play has ended
Everyone around me is leaving, swarming
Not unlike a colony of fire ants seeking refuge from
The icy water of a bright green garden hose
Alas, I alone must remain here in the theater
All this talk of peanut oil and French kissing has
Given me a massive erection
Looks like I might be here for a few extra minutes
Perhaps I will ask for your name, your phone number
See if you are busy this weekend
On second thought
Perhaps not.

I'm going to be gone for the next week. I've been invited to spend the next seven days hanging out at Elton John's flat in London, and I'll be unable to blog, considering I'll be so preoccupied experiencing all of the music and performing sexual favours for him.

While I'm gone, please read the post below this one if you haven't already, vote on my newest poll, and comment on this post promising to marry me. If you don't want to marry me, that's okay, I'll just hate you for the rest of my life.

Now here's a picture of Halle Berry in a bikini:



Didn't think I'd follow through with that, did you? Now you HAVE to keep reading my blog.

I'll miss you guys. Try not to accidentally eat your own heads while I'm gone, okay?

Cheers,
That Blond Guy