Because I was the sexiest man alive, I managed to knock myself out twice in one day, and because I did this, I couldn’t drive. I had to wait for my mom to come pick me up while I watched everyone else in my class leave in their cars. Just call me Captain Lady-Killer. No… the ‘captain’ made me seem like a murderer instead of a sarcastic, self-deprecating dork.
Some things in life are really f*cking creepy, but no one seems to notice. They’re everyday, innocent-looking little things. Why aren’t more people creeped out by these? Because of the government, of course. I’m going to tell you what they won’t about the following creepy objects:
Bobble Heads: You get a bobble head for your desk at work. At first, your bobble head seems like your friend, nodding “yes” to everything you say, providing a listening ear. But as your relationship grows, you realize it nods “yes” to things like, “I forgot to turn in my expense report– I’m such an idiot!”, “Do I look fat today?”, and “Have you been talking shit about me?”. As it turns out, the bobble head you thought was your BFFF is actually your best frenemy and a social climber. The bobble head relocates to someone else’s desk and nods “yes” while that person points at you and snickers. What a bastard of a bobble head. Just when you get over feeling hurt, you work late one night and see that the bobble head is on your desk, watching you, constantly nodding. Every time you look away and look back at it, it’s inched closer to you. Finally, it bobs one last “yes” and attacks you with a chainsaw. (more…)
I wrote this, most likely on some kind of sugar high the day before it was due, for part of a writing “packet” I had to turn in as my final when I took a creative writing class. It’s loaded with marching band references most people won’t understand, and if some people with marching band experience read this, they might not find it terribly accurate.
The bus pulled into the Canon ISD Stadium at 8:00 am for the Canon Marching Band Festival, but Mr. Avery wasn’t letting us get off yet. Most kids were asleep. Megan and Adair were sitting behind Chase and me. They were both listening to Megan’s pink iPod and they kept kicking the back of our seat to the beat. I knew they were listening to “Party in the USA” because I could hear it. I wished they would quit it; my back was staring to hurt.
“Miley Cyrus sucks,” I said.
“Yeah,” agreed Chase, “but she’s kinda hot.”
I frowned. To me, Miley Cyrus looked like she was ten. “Gross.”
“Charlie, did you just say Miley Cyrus was gross?” Megan gasped, poked her little black-haired head up over our seat and yanked the headphones out of her ears.
“What about Miley?” Adair shouted over the music only she could hear.
“Miley Cyrus is a famous singer and actress. She even has her own clothing line. I’m pretty sure that makes her cooler than you two losers.” Megan stuck out her tongue at us through her purplish lips.
“Not for long!” Chase got excited. “Not when our band gets discovered!”
It wasn’t much of a band. It was Chase, our Mexican pal, Ricky Martinez (Ricky Martin when we felt like being mean), and some guy named Jed he met at the bowling alley who was like thirty years old. One day Chase told me I was the manager and since then I’d been going to his house every Sunday night for band practice. So during every practice, I ate my weight in Cheetos while sitting on Chase’s couch and watching the band, or “Attack of the Weasels,” play Guitar Hero, the real instruments lying in the background untouched. I’d stopped going recently, though, because Jed was starting to creep me out. I thought he’d been going to Chase’s house to hit on his mom, but it was starting to seem like he was more interested in Chase.
You know how naggy moms tell you to be home by midnight, because nothing good happens after 12:00 a.m.? Well, I disagree with that entirely.
Plenty of great things happen after 12. Sex, drugs, alcohol, late-night burritos and burgers– All these things are very healthy. What you really need to watch out for is what goes on past 7 a.m. No good happens between the hours of 7:00 a.m. to 12:00 p.m. Here’s why:
…Unless you count DayQuil.
1. I sang to my boyfriend’s cat, Shadow. I sang him a ballad entitled “Shadow” to the tune of Frère Jacques. The lyrics consisted of “Shadow, Shadow, Shadoooooooow”.
2. I performed a questionably seductive* dance with a small bottle of apple juice in the middle of Kroger.