Along the same lines as "What I Would Do If I Were Prime Minister", "Women Are Like A Union", and "The Guide to Being Totally Awesome", if any of you even remember those, and written around the same time for humorous effect, comes these.

Not sure how I didn't drudge them up along with the other sh*t I eventually reposted here a few years ago (which I intended to link again in this thread but can't find, maybe I have to repost them again ~_~), but meh. Was looking for something else I wrote a long time ago and found this thread by yours truly.

Good times.

Enjoy~

======================
What Summer Taught Me

Hey hey hey!

Yet another summer has come and, like the action of coming, gone fairly quickly and left us all unfulfilled and flaccid. And, as such, lives have been lost, wasted, gained and made into other things. We've all grown, just a little bit, and we've all become a little wiser.

Except me.

Yes, another glorious sun-filled couple of months have passed and I think I know even less than when I went into it. I spent the majority locked in a cell lovingly furnished with black paint and odd-looking clothes, silver jewelery and a computer that glows red. On the rare occasion I DID go outside, to be with other people natch, the real world scared and confused me.

While all the other boys and girls were busy playing hoops, going to box socials, learning the forbidden joys of cocaine and whatever the f*ck else it is normal kids do these days, I was wasting away in my room, growing paler and veinier by the minute. The one thing summer grants me is a reprieve from stress, the stress I get from the school I just graduated, because of test tensions and the sorts of people I interact with. I was never good at making friends, and just as you can get a sh*tty job because you have no skills, I got the "minimum wage" chicks flocking around me and causing me no less than murderous strife that my ulcers call them mommy.

As a prelude to the main whatever the f*ck I'm talking about, I'll give a quick profile of a RANDOM SAMPLING of these people:

Tyler: Moody, confusing, hard-to-keep-up-with as a motherfuck. Essentially, a person like me who weighs twice as much and a few fuses popping in his head at any given minute. The way Tyler's brain was wired you could hear wires snapping and fuses blowing. His logic center was, I'm convinced, a random number generator. He knew not what he liked, but what he didn't like and that was pretty much everything that was something.

Allan: OH GOD OH HOLY GOD NO sh*t NO f*ck OH f*ck

Imaginary person number 1: A charmer, much like a used car salesman working on commission is. Could have any guy she wanted but somehow got confused and chose me. How she could trick herself into this I'm not quite sure, but it happened and she's not backing down. Has a... thing... for me now, I believe. Sheee wannnts meeeee.

Imaginary sister number 1: This dame, closely related to me, somehow forgot my name about three years ago and consequently substitutes it for a random word from a bank consisting solely of: Freak, cigarette, fatass, loser. Relies on her shrill voice to get whatever she wants and throws a fit when she doesn't. Expects a sports car for her 16th birthday and doesn't take well to critisism.

Matt: Henceforth known as "That Guy", That Guy is simply some dude I know with a rather prolific life, as he is referenced a lot by people I know. For example, "You know That Guy that got drunk at Chris' party and fell off the balcony and broke his neck?" or "Oh man, there was That Guy who flipped his dad's truck in the field when he was drunk and f*cking crushed the thing, and he's in hospital.". I know a few "That Guys" but can't seem to remember if they're currently alive or not right now.

Anyway, that's just a random roster of various characters I've known or do still know.

"BUT LONE," you say, "WHY DO YOU CONTINUE TO HANG OUT WITH THESE PEOPLE? SURELY YOU CAN IDENTIFY A BAD INFLUENCE! ALSO I LIKE PAINT CHIPS."

The thing here is, a lot of stuff in life is unavoidable. Unfortunately, so are a lot of people. You can say "stay away" til the cows come home but it's not going to change a god damn thing.

So this is the part where I swear a lot and try to pass it off as comedy gold while reiterating to you, valued reader, that your life is better off than you think. Kicked out of your house, broke, futureless and sucking dick for quarters? No worries! Some white male teen from an upper-middle class family in the middle of a rich Canadian province had a bad girlfriend experience! Totally lollin' all the way to the bank!

It seems that people don't understand that while I rarely apply logic learned in life, I do learn lessons from this stupid sh*t I get myself into. I just rarely ever speak of them. Why? Usually due in part to court orders in which I have to swear before God and country I will never ever do fill-in-the-blank again under penalty of horrific torture. Also because nobody asks.

But because I'm so cuddly and generous, I'ma share my insights with you! You see, this summer has proven quite fufilling even though I did spend the entirety of it either fleeing from bugs or holed up in a bunker looking up fertilizer bomb instructions on the interweb.

WITHOUT FURTHER ADO

Scenario 1: The Job

I held a job for about a month and some this summer, all through July. I was a computer repair techie, which meant that I got to cut myself on sharp computer electronics and pray to the mafia that the f*cking things would work after I essentially closed my eyes and beat it with a small wrench.

This job, of course, brought in the entry level kids of the computer world, the dregs none of us other folk who can run MS Paint without destroying some crucial startup .DLL ever talk about. People who somehow thought that a computer repair company could figure out why they weren't getting their faxes, or why Sympatico kept dumping their connection. I was a jack of all trades that month, from photocopier repairman, to telephone patcher, to hitting on the secretary girl.

What was most memorable about this job is that I pretty much had it made. Highspeed internet connection 8 hours a day, access to restricted areas in places I had to fix computers, mindless working while the CD Burners did their thing. Then the company folded and I was laid off because I was too expensive to keep on. The building is now empty and up for sale.

Lesson Learned: Everything I touch will inevidably fail.

Scenario 2: The Motorcycle

I had pretty much made up my mind once the gas prices in Canada hit (85 cents a litre average), I was going to be getting a motorcycle. Small, reliant and efficient, plus they look badass and they're great for city driving which is what I'll need since that Oldsmobile is two steps away from just jettisoning its gastank on the freeway and colliding with the back tires of a transport truck.

So I had one all picked out and everything and had saved up enough money from previous and my job to afford it, plus insurance. I was talking to my father about it and the conversation went a little something... like this:

Me: Say, Pops, wonderful day, isn't I? New tie? Hey, while I was taking the liberty of polishing your new red truck with the blood of virgins pure, I was thinking, can I get that motorcycle I've been working for soley on my own accord?

Father: No.

Me: But pops! I've already worked out all the paperwork and insurance information (let me refull your coffee for you there), and all I really have to do is just write the check to the bike shop and it's all mine!

Father: No motorcycle! Back to toiling in the fields for you, insolent cur!

So, yeah. Essentially the reason was that it's "unsafe". However, that leads into my next scenario.

Lesson Learned: All my dreams will be crushed before they have a chance to be fufilled.

Scenario 3: The Car

I drive an 88 Oldsmobile, made in 92. (88 is the model number I guess). It's maroon red, and was bought used in 98. It has a leather interior, a tape deck, and DOESN'T f*cking WORK.

Essentially, the electronic system got f*cked somehow back in 2000. The power windows in the back refused to respond to controls, and the arial could no longer retract when the car turned off. Oh, then the air conditioning died.

It was alright, as long as you were either the driver or shotgun, because if you were in the back, you f*cking melted, especially in the summer. It gets criminally hot as all cars do, but with no air and no window movement the back becomes more of a punishement than anything else.

Then the keys were turned over to me. First thing that happened was the remote broke. My fault, I jumped into the lake with the keys in my pocket. Trunk, lock and unlock stopped working. Alright, whatever.

Then I got t-boned by some old hag piloting what may have been the Death Star, and some panelling fell off. I pounded out the dent and reaffixed the panelling.

Then I rear-ended a guy when I missed the brakes and accidently stepped on the oversized (for the "senior" demographic the car was built for) accellerator. His car was okay, my front was f*cked. Apparently, the Oldsmobile corp likes to build their cars out of motherf*cking PLASTIC. Yay them! Some more pounding and the front was more or less alright.

Then, as a result of said rear-end, the front license plate fell off. So did the holder.

Now, in Canada, you need two plates. One on front, one on back. So I had to pay 20$ to have the old set invalidated and a new pair given to me.

Then my tires blew out. Gravel (we have a gravel driveway about 350 yards long) had got lodged inbetween the rubber and the hubcap and had been, basically, cutting a groove into the tires whenver they turned. Do you know how f*cking expensive car tires are? HOW ABOUT A f*cking FOURSOME OF THEM?

Then someone keyed my car. Not once, not twice, not thrice, but about SIX f*cking TIMES. All the way around.

Then the cup holder broke.

Also, the anti-lock brakes have shorted out and no longer work as advertised.

Oh, and the battery died yesterday.

That car is the equivalent of a racehorse with two broken legs that's refusing to lay down long enough to get shot. Plus, it's too expensive to have either all fixed or replaced, because it's used and still driveable. Once the transmission goes, it's being f*cking scrapped. f*ck cars, but I <3 My Deathmobile, which will undoubtably become my coffin on wheels at some point when it encapsulates me in a plastic bubble on the side of the 401, wheels still spinning, on fire, at the bottom of a ravine.

Lesson Learned: My fate is sealed by a small red towncar.

Scenario 4: The Exodus

Being as I am a graduate and most of my friends are too, that means the next step for them is university and/or college of some description. Unfortunately, most of these institutions of acedemia are spaced far and wide across the county, which by extension means these people have to move.

So this summer I had to say goodbye to a lot of friends, who have moved on to other places. This means I get phone numbers to call; a lot of them don't have internet access for some reason.

Of course, when all your friends live long distance from you, so means that you're calling long distance to talk to them. Pair that with 7 cents a minute, and you're getting phone bills 2 inches thick.

Then your parents see it.

Oops, gotta catch a bus.

Lesson Learned: Your friends will bankrupt you.

Scenario 5: The Outdoors

I have a bad skin problem that effects my shoulders and back, making them all cysty. Now, I have medication for this and it works, yes, but it has the side effect of making my skin hyper-sensitive to UV light. And what produces UV light and cancer and rainbows? The sun. That big bright thing outside that taunts me and my delicate pale, pale skin. Unfortunately, at some point, I would have to go outside.

I have SPF 80 suncreen, no lie. It's to keep my meds from turning my skin into an EZ Bake oven. I slather it on til I'm white and greasy, like an Italian albino.

Guess what? It doesn't work.

HOO EEE.

A record 10 minutes spent outside imprinted onto my skin a wifebeater, my sunglasses, my watch and the ball beads from my dogtags. They were white, the rest of my upper body and head were BRIGHT f*cking RED. Not like, just got caught masturbating by your grandmother and priest red blush, but red like, if I wandered into traffic, cars would stop instead of trying to hit me.

I resolved early on to stay indoors. I've lost a few shades of pale so now I'm "snow white" according to the colour chart, but whatever. I'm not peeling my skin off and I'm not covered in cysts. I'm just a loser.

Lesson Learned: Outside is scary, and dangerous.

Scenario 6: The Argument

At some point in late August, I ran across a small girl who didn't take kindly to me describing a satanist, which essentially was, "If they're in highschool, they're not a satanist". Of course, the wisdom of a 15 year old should far outshine that of mine and she threw a fit. Not only was she a "Satanist", but she was "bisexual" and a "furry". She was really a "wolf" and knew someone who's boyfriend was a "vampire".

AYE DIOS MARIA

Calling a socially inept chick out isn't exactly an honourable thing to do, but once stupidity mounts like that it becomes a civic duty. Of course, her little friends jumped in and defended these actions, saying that just because they're only 15 that doesn't mean they don't know what's what. One chick called me a homophobe because I made a comment that boys should probably not look like chicks if they can't help it. I gave up and won the argument, while they got pissy. Them's broads fer ya!

Lesson Learned: I should never have faith in humanity.

Ever.

Scenario 7: The Mother

Not mine, but Imaginary sister numer 1's. Although not technically part of the summer, it still carried an important lesson that would help me through the next few months.

Here's what you shouldn't do. You shouldn't think about a girl who's insane. You shouldn't try and be friends with her. You shouldn't try and contact her. You shouldn't try and see if you can reason with her mother. You shouldn't go to their front door. You shouldn't wait around when they're disappearing to call the cops. You shouldn't make eye contact with these crazies. You shouldn't let them email you later. And you sure as sh*t shouldn't dally around when you hear a shotgun pump click.

Lesson Learned: RUN motherf*cker

Scenario 8: The Stupid

I did a lot of stupid sh*t during the summer. The sun fries my brain. I:

Jumped in a lake with electronic keys, my leather wallet, a leather and aluminum belt, and a Tootsie Roll in my pockets.

I tried to dry out my wallet on a heater and subsequently melted my driver's license.

Let a guy trick me into buying two of the same shirt

Forgot to cash in about 200$ worth of debt owed to me by said people who left

Tried to see the result of milk + Dr. Pepper tasted like

Nearly destroyed my car

Drove without legal license plates

Socially isolated everyone I know by living far, far away

Scared a chick who likes me by saying I was packing up at the end of summer

Swam directly after a couple gallons of chlorine were added to the water

Tricked a hotel into giving me guest privledges despite the fact I wasn't

Run into Allan's friends

Had it all

But in the end

It doesn't even matter

Endangered a car full of people

Endangered the life of another car full of people plus my passenger

Saved the world

And I think I might have lost a computer that was brought into the shop when I was working and never heard from the customer again.

Didn't write Lone Rants.

Lesson Learned: I'm f*cking awesome.

So, in conclusion, I DO learn me up lessons that life invariably has me force myself to teach. However, I choose to blatantly ignore all these lessons and live in my own little reality where everything is great and I rule and nothing is as it seems.

In summary, I believe this picture does capture the end of Lone's summer well:

[image lost to the ages]

Actually, on second thought there, that picture may be a wee bit too masturbatory.

And on third thought, I think those last two words summarize my summer better than I could have hoped.

Oh well.

BRING IT ON WORLD
======================


======================
Scenario 8: Expanded

Being that I am a teenager, I find myself seeing people in increasingly bad situations that have taken a turn for the worst due to adolescent bravado, that is, the infalliable invincible immortal vibe most teens think they're in tune with.

In my case, I'm just really f*cking stupid.

I recognize that the slightest provocation could send me to the ICU once the ambulance crews get around to picking up my mangled, twisted body, after they finish their poker game or whatever. However, this doesn't seem to register. Each and every day I stare death in the face, b*tch slap it, and f*cking run my pansy ass in the opposite direction.

Some of this sh*t you've heard before. Some of it's new. I'm sure all of it will make you go "what the f*ck" in regards to my mental clarity. All will be surprised I'm still alive enough to be standing here today writing this sh*t out to you. Perhaps it will at least shed some insight as to those dents in the back of my skull.

A lot of people say I get what's coming to me, reading Lone Rants. "YOU DO THIS TO YOURSELF BLARG BLARG" they scream, mustering energy to get their cheeto-covered hands to their semen-stained keyboard. "YOU ARE AN IDIOT".

Rarely.

I will concede that I do bring things on myself through stupidity but most of my exploits are hardly that. So, let's take a dive into the exploits that ARE!

Stupidity is as stupidity does, as the saying goes. It takes a special breed of person to really push the limits every day and still expect to get away unscathed. As is, it takes an even more special person to pull it off. Now, I'm not one for bragging or candor, but I don't think I'm too off the mark when I say I'm the most incredible person ever. Also, pictures.

Par example!

Let's jump right into Stupid Thing #1, and that would be my driving habits. As I've mentioned before, I drive a maroon 1992 Oldsmobile 88. It's got around 180,000 km on the odometer, gets about from here to the end of the street on a tank of gas, handles like a Sherman tank and generally is a coffin on wheels.

I couldn't <3 it more.

Now, being a relatively new driver, also a teenager, I'm prone to do those reckless things. No, I'm not talking about mounting a spoiler the size of a football goalpost onto the back of my trunk, but rather the whole how of my driving. I drive really recklessly, I'm a danger to myself and others, I find traffic laws to be more of "suggestions", and I rarely pay attention to the sirens.

Stupidity Fatality: Endangerment of Life

So it should come as no surprise when I say that people refuse to step foot inside my car after taking a ride with me any more.

Consider Moranda. A short, tiny french jewish girl who is scared of her own shadow and squeeks. Very timid and shy, she only got into my vehicle with a lot of "chemical persuasion". Once she woke up, she found herself strapped in shotgun on I-5. I was driving about 150kmh.

The speed limit on the highways is generally 100.

It also doesn't help that I keep my windows down, blare Mona Lisa Overdrive (the music from the Highway scene in the Matrix), and dodge inbetween giant transport trucks with meter and a half high wheels.

So when my passangers look out the window beside them and see in person a tire higher than their head inches from the side view mirror, they don't tend to take it too well.

It's not just on the freeway. I tend to play a lot of "HAY LOOKOUT" dodging with a passenger screaming all the way. One day I will wipe out and blow us all to hell.

CAN'T WAIT.


Stupid Thing #2 comes in the form of a riddle: What has two legs, brown hair, wears a suit, an ID badge and denies access to public areas, areas also accessable by f*cking police and the people that own the areas? A: Me.

Stupidity Fatality: Impersonating an Officer

This happened a while back and stupidilty naturally followed course. Looking like I do on a "dressy" day you're liable to see me looking like some Allgemeine officer or other black-clad military figure. Hair slicked back, squarish federal sunglasses, sharp tunic, pants, the boots, belt, sometimes a riding crop, and of course, the requesit poker faced sneer.

Accompaning a lady friend to the washroom in a mall one day dressed in something of the above. As she disappeared I waited outside, with my arms behind my back thus straightening my posture. The result was something a little imposing I do believe.

So it should have come as no surprise when various groups of women thought I was blocking access to the women's room despite not standing in front of the door.

"Can we get in there for a minute please? It's really urgent; we'll be quick."
"Hey why's the washroom closed?"
"Is there a bomb?"

et CETERA

This happened other times at other places, and an idea took seed.

So it took a rather incredible leap of stupidity to assume I could pass for a federal agent in Canada.

I made myself an FBI ID and a general purpose stereotypical-looking ID and got those plastic ID holders that clip onto your pocket, donned a black suit and sunglasses and a cell phone ear bud. I wore the general ID and went to a mall and stood in front of the Men's washroom.

It didn't take long for people to show up, having to go real bad. I guess I'll get mine in hell, because denying people washroom is something that karma would met out as a kick in the balls for every hour you've been alive. They'd look confused, sometimes a little scared, but none of them went in the washroom.

"Sorry sir," I'd say. "This area is restricted."

And they'd wander off for the other washroom on the other side of the mall.

That went well till the manager showed up.

On other occasions I'd wear the FBI tag and suit and wander around and just, well, do my own thing without much regard for the law and see if anyone would buy it. Common sense says no, because a 19 year old kid in a suit and a f*cking FBI badge wandering around, getting into a movie theatre without being checked for ticket, getting behind stages at events, etc. raises a few flags.

But common sense isn't.

Often times I COULD get through a movie, backstage at minor events, or into generally "no-public" areas by holding my ear piece and mumbling about something or other. This was okay until attention was raised that I was somewhere I shouldn't be, and I was wearing US Federal Identification. Caught impersonating a SPECIAL FEDERAL AGENT.

You can only do one thing then: f*cking hide.

I'll probably do it again though.

Sorry, no picture. I'm thtupid.


Stupid Thing #3 is something I think we can all identify with. How many times have you been in a social situation and someone says something that has such an obvious scathing comeback to it, and without thinking you blurt it out, only to be met with shocks and horror and mouths agape?

Don't worry, we all have. My mistake is that I do it every single f*cking time.

Stupidity Fatality: Loudmouthed insenstivity

I have a penchant for Your Mom jokes. Not the "Yo momma so fat!" sh*t, but if someone were to say "Boy, that really wore me out!" I'd naturally quip "That's what your mom said last night!". These instances are numerous in a day, and being around people who generally share the same type of humour, you grow to expect a certain safety.

It seems not everyone finds it funny.

Here are three seperate events:

1) Sitting in a hall talking to a friend, some chick he knows wanders up and plops herself down and starts whining as women are prone to do. Not 5 minutes into her little spiel she said something that ended to the tune, "And it was very easy."

So, yeah, I says "LIKE YOUR MOM!"

Well!

"How DARE you talk about my mother that way! If you knew my parents, you'd know they're having a tough time right now!"

The irony being, of course, I'd still have made the joke.

"You're such an asshole!"

Well excuse the f*ck out of me, doll. Anyway, she stormed off in a fuss. Delicate dew-dropped flower she was, she couldn't resist flipping me off before hand. What a happy person.

2) In physics class last year, this kid behind me was running his mouth to the obvious distaste of the class. At some point he said something along the lines of "And then it had to go harder."

Says I, "THAT'S WHAT YOUR MOM SAID".

You could have heard a pin f*cking drop.

I was confused. These were the people with this sort of sense of humour. Someone beside me tapped me on the shoulder and whispered in my ear.

"Uh, Lone, uh, his mom died of cancer."


3) Not really a scenario per se, but various people I should not have made your mom jokes to:

-The school admins

-My engineering teacher

-My mom

-My sister

-Alex (who has a black mother)

-Zoe when her mother was in the next room

-Pretty much most of my friends when the above was true

-To my friend three rows below me during a noise lull in school mass

-Police officer

-Guidance councellor

-Me



So! There you have it! I relish stupidity, in fact I live the f*cking thing. I'll never claim to be innocent on the above claims, but everything else is off. In conclusion, one day you will know me as "Oh, Lone from the NEWS Lone".

Then again, that's what my guidance councellor said of me.

"Yeah? That's what YOUR MOM said".
======================


======================
Day After, Year Before

Well it happened again. Do you care? No! Will you read this? Probably! Do one of us have brain damage? ME THINK SO!

With the end of summer and graduation some two months before, life has finally begun for all the youth of today.
Wait, no, what the sh*t am I saying? We're all off to college, for harder work and even less payoff. We can't even socialize as much unless your name happens to be Van Wilder and you just plain f*cking rule.
*checks name* Well, I failed in one category. And no, it wasn't the "plain f*cking rule" part.

So, embarking now on the however-many-years-of-hell chock full of the wisdom I gained over the summer I wake up and have a very effective day of greatness, henceforth known as: The First Day of College.
Similar to the summer behind me, I have many people following my ever so smooth bumbum all day long as I trail from class to class, late every single time because the campus is several buildings large all conveniently labeled "A1" "B2" and "C3".
My question is what the crap happened to making sense? Are we in the Twilight Zone here where nothing is as it seems?

... Wait, yes we are. I established that at the end of my summer. Well, with the coming of this first day, once again comes lessons that life forces me to learn, even though I'd sooner be dragged kicking and screaming by a couple men three times my size in white coats into oblivion. Behold once again as I share my endless knowledge with you, because I will probably forget and not give a damn come tomorrow.


Scenario 1: The Electronics

With the beginning of a new school year comes one daunting thing that every hormonal teen fears more than a mom on PMS pissed off about fill-in-the-blank: waking up at normal times. You know, those loud annoying machines we call alarm clocks. They come in all shapes and sizes, and noises, but they all have one thing in common: they all fail to work if you're not used to waking up earlier than 3pm.

So, here's what probably happened. As I was tossing and turning, eyes shaking like a can shaker thing, probably dreaming about wonderful sex with a beautiful female body that for some God forsaken reason has Abraham Lincoln's head on her shoulders, the alarm clock goes off. I shoot up much like a sapling on Viagra and whack at my screamer of an alarm clock with the nearest blunt object I can find until it shuts up, then lay back down thinking "I'll get up as soon as I get a few minutes of resting in my warm bed and reflecting on the senseless destruction I have just dealt".

Oh, you know what, just to spite me, my brain put me back to sleep. I am thus late for my first class after waking up and looking at my clock, finding a drumstick snapped in half, both parts sticking out of a sparking piece of electronic man-made monstrosity. Knowing it will be of no use to me, I throw on the nearest clothes I can find and walk out into the kitchen. Half asleep, I grab some poptarts, shove them in the toaster, and sit on my computer and catch up on what I may have missed the night before.

As I was sitting at the computer, still half sleep, I am shot into awareness by a piercing loud noise coming somewhere from the upper left area of my vision. I see flashing, and think "Oh man, the angels have finally come to get me." That dream is crushed when I start smelling smoke. Probably my smoke detector, then. Wondering whats setting it off, I look around and see smoke coming out of my toaster. Also some light blue colored flame.

Hot damn, my toaster set my breakfast on fire. I'll have to go hungry.

Lesson learned: Becoming Amish is my only salvation.


Scenario 2: The Garage

As you well know, my car will be my destruction. Having recently been smitten by three pieces of electronic me-hating machines, I approach The Beast with caution. Once again slightly below the "awake" mark, I reach in my pocket for my car keys and realize I don't f*cking HAVE THEM. They must still be in my door. So, I walk back up stairs and grab my keys (which did happen to be in my door) and walk back down to the car, wearily again. I repeatedly click the "Unlock" button on my controller and finally remember I fried it a month earlier. God dammit, I have to exert the effort to insert the key and turn it. Keke, I said insert.

Once I open my door, I step inside and sit in the seat. Turning on the car goes.. remarkably, fine. No problems. I think "Hmm.. maybe my car wont try to murder me and frame the mafia today." I sit back, and then the damn chair shoots back. Dammit, I just broke the thinger that holds the seat in place. *adds to the list of things to set on fire*

I am now one step closer to driving up Deathdrop Cliff and driving this thing off the top, then noticing that I'm supposed to get out before it goes off the cliff. Oops.

Anyway, I now have to sit up under my own strength while I drive. Remind me never to commute somewhere. Ever. I will die from strength-exertion. As I back up the car and turn the 100some-odd degrees to face the garage door, I trip the censor that opens the door. The door open up good, meaning electronics don't completely hate me, yes. I sit and wait for it to open. It stops just over half way. However, it is enough for my car to get out. I'm content. As I make my way out of the garage, the antenna snaps off because of the garage door not opening all the way. GOD DAMMIT. This means I cant even vibe to my second-choice radio station that only plays good stuff on Thursday nights, but I listen to it anyway. Well. Now I get to drive my small red towncar sitting under my own strength, hating the fact that I'm in complete silence aside from the un-ignorable glass shattering melody coming from my engine.

Since I'm already late and my toaster set my poptarts on fire, I decide to hit up Tim Hortons for a coffee instead. I drive up to the window and order my English Toffee, then move ahead to the pickup window. I hand over my money and grab my drink, and stick it between my legs. (No cupholder; broken) Ooo, toasty. Off to school.

Lesson learned: My life is a puzzle. A completed puzzle that is dangling off the edge of a table and falling apart.


Scenario 3: The Parking Lot

Being almost an hour late now, I drove into the parking lot of the school and looked for a parking space. Any parking space. Noticing now that parking a car at a college is much like trying to find a place to lock up a bike in a Highschool with 200 people who ride bikes when there is only 1 place to do it (which is only about 2 meters long), I get annoyed and look some more.

About 10 minutes goes by, and there are NO parking spaces. Even the spaces marked "NO PARKING" and "Disabled Persons" are taken, even though the cars in "Disabled Persons" are obviously not owned by disabled people, as a disabled person CANT f*cking DRIVE. So, I give up and go park at a church down the road and walk back to the school. I take a seat by the office and sift through my bag for my school ID which I'd received in the mail the month before, I pull it out and notice that there's a Junior Mint melted all over it. Well, note to self: don't open a box of Junior Mints and empty it into your bag as an attempt to smuggle food into a movie theater. I rush to the bathroom and clean it off with the sink, probably contaminating it with Mono in the process. Hopefully no kids will want to use my ID as a chew toy. Better keep it in my locker so I don't get any ideas >.>

So, I hand the ID over to the secretary and get a locker assigned to me after explaining why I'm almost an hour and 15 minutes late for my first class. She hands me my locker combo and I stumble around looking for my locker, which leads to the next scenario..

Lesson learned: I need a Vespa.


Scenario 4: The Black Hole

Throughout all my Highschool years, my bag served one singular purpose. Things go in, they do not come out. I once lost a text book in there, as well as a project for science class that was worth some 30% of the grade. Things like this were repeated week after week, causing my bag to be dubbed The Black Hole. I'm actually quite surprised I found my ID in there.

As I stumble through the hallways looking for my locker with the number "C3P0", I get giddy as I realize I can finally ditch my bag. Finding that there does not seem to be any pattern to locker numbers, I get frustrated and run around the halls screaming "Wolf" at the top of my lungs. Thank god I was only in the locker section where nobody could hear me. Thoughts of calculated murder run through my mind, the future purpose of these rooms perhaps? After another 15 minutes of running around looking for my locker, I finally start to see a pattern.. the first two digits of the locker number refer to the building ID. Lockers starting with A1 are in building A1, B2 lockers are in building B2 and so on.. I still have no idea what the second two digits mean. Maybe they're just for fun and I got lucky with a Star Wars locker number. Oh man, where is That Guy when you need him? He's probably scarfing down McDonalds chicken nuggets at the moment. What a bastard.

I now walk over to building C3 with the thoughts that go something like this:

Mind: What the hell is up with these building names?
Me: I don't know, ask the administration.
Mind: Why did you reply to yourself in voice?
Me: I like paint chips.
Mind: Lets go to the administration. *half of the body jerks the opposite direction*
Me: What the hell? *other half keeps going in the normal direction*

*epic Man vs Self conflict ensues*

I find my locker, and happily toss my bag in there and grab all my books. Then I notice the surrounding area f*cking wreaks. I reach in my locker and there's something moist in the back. EwwwwwWWWwww.
I grab a piece of paper and pick the moist object up and pull it out, looking at it. From the looks of it, its mold that is growing on mold which is growing on a really old sandwich that was never dealt with. Don't they check these lockers anymore? Yuck.

I immediately get to graffiti tagging my locker and sticking a mirror up in it, and setting up a shoe rack for a barbie while I'm at it. Why not, right?

I shut it and go on my way.

Lesson learned: Schools need a help document, complete with control f capability.

Scenario 5: The Thinking Casque

I'm going to skip over the part about trying to find the class I'm late for. It was fairly similar to the Quest for The Black Hole, only it involved more people watching me as I stumble passed doorways dropping books on my feet and screaming random obscenities at the top of my lungs.

My first class of the year was Philosophy, which was well under way and, non-surprisingly, about halfway over. Standing outside the door, I listened carefully at what was going on. Sounded like a debate was going on, a debate about animal rights and fur clothing. As I open the door and waltz like I'm square dancing, everybody stopped and stared at me. As an icebreaker, I said "I put myself in animal's shoes every day. God bless leather." My sense of humor was not much appreciated, so I walk over to a corner of the room while sobbing from my failed attempt at humor. My life purpose was just shot to pieces by a bunch of liberal wieners. You'd be sobbing, too.

Anyway, shortly after that, the little debate was over. It was then on to the next and final thing for the day (technically my first, they've obviously had several weird debates today). Guess what it was? We were going to play United Nations!

Due to the immenseness of the entire thing, there was a page system implemented. If you needed a letter delivered to another country's delegates, you just wrote on the back of the letter on the paper with the destination delegate written plainly, and some kid pulled from the cafeteria would take things where they needed to go.

So, of course, I felt the need to abuse this.

I started off slow at first, just testing to see what could be done.

"Dear America. I <3 you. Do you <3 me? Yes/No. Love, China"

The American delegate was sitting fairly close to China's scrumptious female delegate and I had a fairly good vantage point to watch his eye bulge out of his red-rimmed glasses. I saw a note get passed to China, and she apparently had no idea what was going on.

Dear Poland: Germany's planning on invading you at lunch. Russia's biting me. Love, Czech Republic. Ps, send sausage"

Couldn't see much beyond an uncomprehending shake of the Polish delegate's head since I sat behind him. This was getting fun. I sent a series to Russia:

"Dear Russia, in our country, you watch television. How is it in your country?"

Hur hur hur

"Dear Russia, how's that Berliny wally thingy coming? It's keeping out the Mongolians, right? We have a bad Mongolian problem. Love, China"

Hur hur hur

"Dear Russia, why did Stalin wear knee boots while Lenin's were much shorter? Because during Lenin's time, Russia was polluted only up to ankle."

Hur hurrrrrr hurrrrrrrrrrrr

"Dear Russia, you are illegally parked. You have 30 minutes to move your car gag"

OGM TEH FUNEH.

This one went to the front:

"Nobody's talking to you, Albania"

I sent that once every 20 minutes or so. Eventually they got fed up and angry enough that they sent a message to Mexico asking them to knock it off. Mexico was thoroughly confused. Monaco laughed.

"Hey Germany. Wie geht's? Send over some wienerschnitzel, please don't invade us."

"Dear China. North Korea was making fun of you to the Americans on break. Know that you've our full support in case anything need 'happen'. ~Russia"

"England, your fly's undone. ~Ireland"

Blah blah.

But THEN I started getting letters dropped in front of me. Over the course of the hour, I collected about 20 slips of blue paper notes after sending out maybe 75-90 of them. Often, you'd just write on the same note and send it back and it'd go back and forth until the paper was full.

"To: Rwanda
From: Germany

Hungary?
It's a country.
I know but why should I care?
Because Rwanda is lonely. Where the hell is Rwanda?
No clue, I failed geography, well, 67%
God, it's just not ending! SEND WEHRMACHT FOR HELP
lol"

Here's one from an old childhood friend who saw me in the crowd:

To Rwanda
From Iceland

Hey Lone!

I'm super busy right now with this resolution! It's crazy! I don't know what I am doing! It's nice to see you!

~Pam

Pam called me fat in grade school. She also towered over me at 5'4''. Now I tower over her at 6'. No word on corpulence.

Since I sat halfway in between Rwanda and Saudi Arabia, they got a lot of my notes. They were just passed over to me:

"To: Saudi Arabia
From: Norway

hey Saudi Arabia, very nice the matrix this is sweet. very unique good luck."

Yeah.

I should point out here that I was wearing a black suit when I entered but relinquished my jacket to our Mexican delegate who was less than presentable at the time. I wore my trench instead of a jacket, and for the day got about 15 different matrix-themed comments. Most were "Help me Neo!" when security chased down the Canadian delegate, a few "Mr Anderrrrrrrson"s, and "omg matrix *swoon*" fun.

Saudi Arabia got this note from Kenya:

"Awwww... ya I think he was the guy beside me at Timmy's... he was very polite he asked when lunch ended. Though @ first I was a little bit scared of his appearance. Gone already tho. I dunno but he seems nice.

But kind of scary"

So I wrote to Kenya saying "I'm not so scary once you get to know me." She freaked out that I could apparently "sense" her writing.

Poland came into play:

"To Rwanda
From Poland:

the matrix has you!!! [LOL]"

Way to go, sport!

I got hit on by India, Sierra Leone and The Dominican Republic:

"Kathryn ask the guy to your left if he's single. I think he's the one. (Neo). <3, very single India"

"Hey trenchcoat guy, can I get a pic of u @ break? I think ur cute" She had a digital camera and yes, she got a picture of me.

"Hi. I think your hot."

Then I got the start of a long note campaign with Monaco with this out-of-the-fucking-blue message:

"To Rwanda
From Monaco:

guy in trenchcoat:

ppl are saying you got a handjob during the first part... is that true???"

Seriously.

I have no idea where the f*ck that came from, and I was the only delegate in the entire chamber with a trenchcoat. My reply was simple:

"To Monaco:

What.

~Rwanda"

"F.Monaco:

ppl are saying you got a handjob! Was it good??"

!

"T.Monaco
F.Rwanda

What the hell are you talking about? WHO said that? What sort of question is that? Don't ask me that sort of thing, doll."

And reply:

"Then don't do it in public! it was a teacher that said it I'm so sure he made it up."

Guh

"I have no idea what you're talking about, love"

"I love it when you call me that."

Wuh

"No, seriously, what are you talking about?"

"YOU! Got jerked off before first break!! Everyone's saying it!"

Muh

"! Who the hell is 'everyone'?"

"Everyone from my head"

Zuh

"Your head is f*cked up, sweetcheeks."

"lol. I was told it so I asked. I just heard something thats all"

Fluh

And for the record, there were no handjobs. None for me, at least.

I was sad to go what seemed so early.

I wrote one last note before I left.

"Nobody's talking to you, Albania. ~Serbia"

Then I left.

Lesson learned: Teachers underestimate disaffected youth. Remember that, kiddies.


Scenario 6: The Hotdog Stand That Could

Holy crap, one class down and its lunch time! ... Wait, since when do colleges have lunch break? Yeah, its not actually lunch break. This is just a stupidly long break between my Philosophy class and my Chemistry class. Damn timelines, so disorganized. You'd think a hamster runs across a number pad to come up with the times for each class.

Anyway.. the cafeteria has random goodies for sale on shelves, labeled with numbers. You have to grab a number and walk over to the counter, hand it over through a small hole in what is probably bullet and sound proof glass, then get your food out of a small dispenser like that of a mailbox's opening. It's Christmas in a Juvenile hall, man! And I'm getting curry! Taking hold of my slightly cold mush, walk over to a table I do. I wouldn't be surprised if these tables get washed by somebody who has a runny nose 24/7, because there's small hardened round bits all over the table.

Across the cafeteria, I hear a few girls talking about stuff. I gather that they are all female rights activists. Note: if you're male, avoid female activists at all costs. They will wear you down like aqueous HCl on a wooden table.
This happy little bit of advice, I happily ignore and slyly walk my way over to the table to enjoy a round of tea and crumpets with sophisticated women. Or something to that effect.

Almost immediately, they start b*tching about how I'm "invading their privacy" and that I need to "back off or they call the police". What the hell? Damn feminist activists and their snobbyness. My next words went something like "Yeah, I'm over here now." as I walk back toward my table and sit down to enjoy my runny goodness in a bowl. Why did I just think of a runny nose? ... Why did my nose just get runny?

Lesson learned: All women are locusts.


Scenario 7: The Atomic Hair Bomb

Shoving myself into what may as well be the "Shove 30 people in a Beetle" classroom, I learn quickly that this is a do-what-you-want chemistry class, and you get graded based on what you do. Oh, the possibilities. *faints*

I immediately think "Hair dye". I want to make myself a silver hair dye using chemicals available in the room.
Well, blond and black doesn't translate well to silver, and I don't know of any paint or dye that will do that without actually meaning "platinum blond", so I turned to my chemistry textbook.

Zinc Oxide should do the trick or set me on fire trying, I figured, so I researched on TEH INTARWEB what the hell has zinc oxide in it. Calamine lotion, it turns out, is like, 20% Zinc Oxide by volume, so I tried a strand test.

Turned my hair pink.

What else? Sunblock. Got some of that.

Disappeared.

Last on the list, baby diaper rash creme. Specially, Desitin. I got a container of that and some blue-black hair dye, did my hair all black and rubbed that sh*t in nice and good. Fortunately, my chemistry was right on this time and nothing inadvertently exploded.

The result?
Think Kuja from FF9.
Course, my teacher threw a fit, suggested in all seriousness that I'm f*cking "psycho" or "crazy" or "mentally deficient" because my hair's silver. Oh well. My mom will probably be more worried about what it'll do to the septic system when I wash it out eventually. I think I'll just wipe it off with my special towels.

Unfortunately my chemistry isn't that good and apparently zinc oxide and whatever the f*ck hair's made out of form chemical bonds on a molecular level.

Oops.

Lesson learned: My genius is only outdone by my lack of researching abilities.


Scenario 8: The Uprising


Luckily for me, my first day of college only involved those two classes. I get to go home now, and come back for 3 more courses on Thursday. Rinse lather repeat.
On my way out of the school, I ran into this really nice girl who decided to help me pick up my stuff because I tripped over a tile in the floor. Damn janitors don't know how to do their jobs. Anyway, we get to talking, and end up walking in the general direction of my car, talking all the way.
Once we reached the car, I opened up the front door and tossed my stuff inside (We'd hit my locker on the way) and then shut the door. We stood behind my car talking for a few more minutes. Though not right behind, about 4 feet behind. As she was walking away, I decided to stand there and stare at her rear. While I was doing this, my car started backing up. Though I didn't notice. My car hit me, and passed right over me as I laid there under the passing car. It kept rolling and smashed into a light pole.

On the plus side, I got laid.

.. By my car.

Lesson learned: Girls aren't just locusts. Girls = pain.

I am from this moment on, gay.


I learned some cool stuff about myself.
There really isn't much I can say now, so I'll just tell you what this day taught me about who I am:

I am a rebellious homosexual Amish genius with voices in my head and long silver hair.
======================

Would it help to know that I laughed when I read that part?


I do so enjoy analogies and observations on random everyday things written with such scathing humor. It was quite entertaining, Stythe.

.... Sorry. Lone.

I, for one, found this a very entertaining read. It's almost as if your life is some kind of strange TV show. Though I do feel pretty bad your summer was so... undesirable.

hum.

vespa.

Hey, they're cool.

Also, glad really old content can still be enjoyed. ^_^

Actually, I remember you when you got a bike (I'm assuming it was, in fact, a bike and not a vespa)... and then when you were planning to sell it. If that ever went down, what are you driving now?

yeah they really are cool. i want one myself tbh (not now, since driving anything smaller than a car in the UK is like yelling 'hey hitting me with your car will create lovely splash effects you should definitely try'). but after my current contract ends, sure.

roll on April.

It was indeed a bike. This bike, to be exact:



Sold it and then moved. The transit system here is cool enough that I don't really need a vehicle, so I'm not driving anything right now. Still have my license, though, so it's always an option.

It should also be said explicitly just in case anyone here didn't quite catch it: everything written in the original post is fictional.

you are fictional.

Actually, I thought this stuff actually happened... albeit exaggerated to a fairly good extent. But this is C+++ so, fail on me for that.

*dances out with top-hat and cane*

*phlogiston*

From first post:



HOLY TIT BALLS I FOUND IT.

... in a totally unexpected place, I wasn't even looking for it. A friend of mine posted it on her Xanga in 2004 because she thought it was funny.

My addition to a dating website:

-------------------------------------------------
Welcome to Reki's profile!

Reki has good points.
1) I won't judge you because I don't care enough to listen.
2) Good chance I won't drug your drink
3) Also good chance I won't steal your wallet and ID only to make several major purchases on your favored credit card
4) I don't wet the bed often
5) Spontaneous combustion only happens to me every other half hour

Intrigued? Good! I like things, too! Everybody likes people who like things!

Like, kittens, even more with Ranch dressing. I also like the following activities:

Sitting, not moving, being stationary, sleeping, not being accused of sexual harassment (ladies, I'm looking at you), not being accused of being a Nazi wherever I go due to idiots making idiotic comments about idiotic things that their idiotic brains couldn't possibly comprehend.
Oh, and bunnies.

Still reading? Sexcellent! I can also accomplish certain tasks.
For example, I can speak English.
I can also dye my hair without it looking like a vein that carries blood.
I can throw things at various other things.
I can do simple tasks when written out on pieces of paper, but make sure you write legibly. I've seen "take out the garbage" written as "Steal my car and drive across provincial borders to a safe house until the heat on me dies down" more times than you can count.
Also, I can make you feel good.*

* - Lie.

Serious applicants need only apply. Phone pranks are welcome, because I don't get enough phone calls as is.
None of the following may contact me under any circumstance:
Smokers
Druggies
Hippies
Ravers
Smelly Hawaiians
Drinkers
You
Anybody with insane notions like "going outside" or "socializing"
People who like air
People who like carbon-based life
Femme-men
Cybernetic Hitler clones OR Stalin clones
People
Animals
Inanimate objects

So, in conclusion, please call me if you do not apply to anything above. On call 24/7 to help you feel that your life is something no better-off than a collection of lies and wasted opportunities compounded into a downward spiral of manic depression and overall patheticness.

Remember: Reki, for when you can afford losing even more dignity.

That's a great profile. If I ever get the wild feeling to post a random profile, I'm going to steal this.