Jibbles n' Shit

2011-07-19T17:27:00.002-04:00

Is this the end of this blog?
I refuse. I say that we keep going until we have not hands to write, no eyes to read, no brain to think.

Max O'Hern

2010-09-03T19:00:00.001-04:00

Why did he decide to leave us when we needed him most?

Daniel Lin: I have an assassin trailing you.

2009-06-11T23:18:00.002-04:00

I got a C in his class. This means war.

Dan Lin: Hero Of The Human Resistance

2009-06-05T14:25:00.003-04:00

Star date: 06042009.

As rain falls hard on Atlanta, I find myself seated in a cold, dark movie theater once more this week. Deciding that three times was enough, I opted not to see Ghosts of Girlfriends Past another time and instead wound up seeing Terminator Salvation, a movie lacking in Matthew McConnaHEY!'s southern charm but otherwise enjoyable.
That is, of course, until I saw who had executively produced the film: one "Dan Lin". That's right, the economics professor-senator-playboy millionaire is actually none of those things. In reality (stardate 06042018) he is a fighter in the TechCom resistance movement. I knew he was from Los Angeles... just not post-apocalyptic Los Angeles. This man traveled back in time to create what we thought was an enjoyable summer-movie romp, but was in fact a docu-drama, a warning from the future about our impending doom.
What lengths this selfless man went to, to avert humanity's undoing! He dodged T-600s, T-800s and Hunter-Killer units to infiltrate the Skynet compound. He underwent the risky time-traveling process, a process comrade Sumner did not survive and instead wound up in a fire escape (look it up). He graded economics papers of undergrad students who didn't buy the textbook. This fearless man is a saint, worthy of our adoration.

God bless you, Dan Lin.

wassssssuppppppp: why do people say such retarded shit

2009-03-30T23:51:00.003-04:00

Just a couple thought provoking questions for you jibblers...

Why do people say things like "cool as shit" and "cute as hell"?

Is shit cool? No.

Is hell cute? No.

Quick test

2009-03-19T23:02:00.000-04:00

I want to see how long it takes for someone to notice this

An Open Letter to Dan Lin

2009-03-02T02:54:00.008-05:00

With Picture of First Google Image Result for "Senator Dan Lin"

Senator Dan Lin canceled (cancelled?) class tomorrow (today?).

I responded:

"Hey, Senator Lin. This is weird, man. i'm looking at your email right now and its pretty intense. First of all, they way you spelled "Canceled" is mind blowing. My best friend and room mate Nathan Kasai (you may know him, he's in your class too :)) told me that apparently you can spell that word as either "canceled" or "cancelled" and both ways are fine. Thank you so much for teaching me even when not in class. You never cease to astound me.
Secondly, I'm terribley sorry to hear about your daughter. I currently have a sore throat and a semi-runny nose. Although, in no way am I comparing your daughter's tragic condition to mine.
Thirdly, there is so much snow outside. It reminds of that Twilight Zone episode where the Earth is heading closer to the Sun and everyone on the planet is burning. Harsh, right? But, in the end of the episode, there is a major plot twist. It turns out that the protagonist is actually suffering from a very high fever (hey, just like your daughter. Whats her name again?) and, in fact, the Earth is moving away from the Sun and everything and everyone is freezing. That's where the snow comes in. So look on the bright side: at least we're not freezing to death! :)
Anyway, I look forward to covering all of Mankiw - Chapter 11 in Thursday's class. I'll be the guy with the sweet boombox and sparkly headband. I'll wave!
Allright, the Nyquil is starting to mellow out so I'm gonna head to sleep while I can. I can't wait to see you Thursday. Wait, do you prefer "Electric Avenue" or "Take on Me"? I'll play "Take on Me" since you haven't heard that one yet.

O.K. Now I'll let you get back to business, Professor Senator Lin.

- Marcopher Z."

Laus Deo

2009-02-27T13:35:00.001-05:00

One detail that is never mentioned is that in Washington , D.C. there can never be a building of greater height than theWashington Monument .With all the uproar about removing the ten commandments, etc., this is worth a moment or two of your time. I was not aware of this amazing historica l information.On the aluminum cap, atop theWashington Monument in Washington , D.C. , are displayed two words: Laus Deo.No one can see these words. In fact, most visitors to the monument are totally unaware they are even there and for that matter, probably couldn't care less.

Once you know Laus Deo's history, you will want to share this with everyone you know. These words have been there for many years; they are 555 feet, 5.125 inches high, perched atop the monument, facing skyward to the Father of our nation, overlooking the 69 square miles which comprise the District of Columbia, capital of th eUnited States of America .Laus Deo! Two seemingly insignificant, unnoticed words. Out of sight and, one might think, out of mind, but very meaningfully placed at the highest point over what is the most powerful city in the most successful nation in the world.So, what do those two words, in Latin, composed of just four syllables and only seven letters, possibly mean? Very simply, they say "Praise be to God!"Though construction of this giant obelisk began in 1848, when James Polk was President of the United States, it was not until 1888 that the monument was inaugurated and opened to the public. It took twenty-five years to finally cap the memorial with a tribute to the Father of our nation, Laus Deo. "Praise be to God!"From atop this magnificent granite and marble structure, visitors may take in the beautiful panoramic view of the city with its division into four major segments. From that vantage point, one can also easily see the original plan of the designer, Pierre Charles l'Enfant..a perfect cross imposed upon the landscape, with theWhite House to the north. The Jefferson Memorial is to the south, the Capitol to the east and the Lincoln Memorial to the westA cross you ask? Why a cross? What about separation of church and state? Yes, a cross; separation of church and state was not, is not, in the Constitution. So, read on. ; How interesting and, no doubt, intended to carry a profound meaning for those who bother to notice.Praise be to God! Within the monument itself are 898 steps and 50 landings. As one climbs the steps and pauses at the landings the memorial stones share a message.
On the 12th Landing is a prayer offered by the City of Baltimore;
On the 20th is a memorial presented by some Chinese Christians;
On the 24th a presentation made by Sunday School children from New York and Philadelphia quoting Prove rbs 10:7, Luke 18:16 and Proverbs 22:6. Praise be to God!When the cornerstone of theWashington Monument< style="FONT-SIZE: 18pt; COLOR: #8000ff; FONT-FAMILY: 'Comic Sans MS'"> was laid on July 4th, 1848 deposited within it were many items including the Holy Bible presented by the Bible Society. Praise be to God! Such was the discipline, the moral direction, and the spiritual mood given by the founder and first President of our unique democracy "One Nation, Under God."I am awed by Washington's prayer for America. Have you ever read it? Well, now is your unique opportunity, so read on!"Almighty God; We make our earnest prayer that Thou wilt keep the United States in Thy holy protection; that Thou wilt incline the hearts of the citizens to cultivate a spirit of subordination and obedience to government; and entertain a brotherly affection and love for one another and for their fellow citizens of the United States at large. And finally that Thou wilt most graciously be pleased to dispose us all to do justice, to love mercy, and to demean ourselves with that charity, humility, and pacific temper of mind which were the characteristics of the Divine Author of our blessed religion, and without a humble imitation of whose example in these things we can never hope to be a happy nation. Grant our supplication, we beseech Thee, through Jesus Christ our Lord.
When one stops to observe the inscriptions found in public places all over our nation's capitol, he or she will easily find the signature of God, as it is unmistakably inscribed everywhere you look. You may forget the width and height of "Laus Deo ", its location, or the architects but no one who reads this will be able to forget its meaning, or these words: "Unless the Lord builds the house its builders labor in vain. Unless the Lord watches over the city, the watchmen stand guard in vain." (Psalm 127: 1)It is hoped you will send this to every child you know; to every sister, brother, father, mother or friend. They will not find offense, because you have given them a lesson in history that they probably never learned in school. With that, be not ashamed, or afraid, but have pity on those who will never see this.

Death Metal Grunge Apocalypse - The Flying Turtle is Missing!

2009-02-25T01:16:00.005-05:00

At the beginning of the school year, a star was born. And by star, I mean a flying turtle. This turtle graced the hallway and guarded the lounge with steadfast loyalty

On February 24, 2009 this majestic being went missing. No one has seen him. No one has heard from him. Recycling bins in the area were search but at no avail. We urge the community to keep a vigilant eye out for the flying turtle.

We miss him dearly.

Feel free to print out this picture and post it around town. With your help maybe we'll be able to catch the turtle-napping culprit. Send our turtle home!

Crowded Exile - 3pm Poetry

2009-02-24T20:19:00.005-05:00

For those of you get that same rush of hopelessness and flatulence every time a cold wind brushes past your window as you try to get that flipping tetris game to load.

Lovely leaves swivel on the ground

Like forlorn chocolate jibblers.

I look out the window and sigh

With the intensity of those cars

You see in movies.

You know the ones.

Their dark-tinted pools of the abyss

Shine brightly through the jazz-soaked

Night, asking for naught but your

Change that, let’s face it, would likely

End up going toward your nightly

7-11 run.

Well, I'm done doing stuff today. Time to go stare at some cinder blocks.

My Retarded Chemistry Class is full of Retards

2009-02-24T17:40:00.012-05:00

First of all, I don’t condone the use of the word “retard.” I don’t like it when people use that word and I don’t want any of you using. I can use it though. My dog is retarded so its O.K. if I use it. Moving on.
Right now, I’m sitting in Chemistry class with my laptop. Why do I have my laptop? Well its because this class is retarded and I’d rather get ADD by stumbling 100 times a minute. Unfortunately, Beeghly building was designed so that no wifi can travel within its walls. So, here I am, semi-listening to the lecture. It was here that I discovered two things: 1) without the internet, my laptop is a $600 video game console that only plays solitaire, 2) my chemistry class is made up of 50% retards, 49% retarded monkeys, and 1% me.
The first guy I heard when I pulled away from the solitaire for a few seconds was what looked to be like some very sad man sitting at about the second row. I think he was trying to answer a question but unless the question was “what’s the most annoying thing you can say when answering a question*” he just looked as if he was asked to explain the meaning of life. Next time, please keep your fucking hand down or I will staple it.

The most boring part of this retarded class (and my favorite) is near the end when the professor decides to hand out a worksheet and have the entire class do it together. I don't do it; I just watch everyone else do it. I look at her just standing there, staring at her retarded students working intently trying to solve a simple proportion problem. Its pretty much silent for 5 minutes with a few brave people now and then blurting out an amazingly wrong answer. Holy shit, when the professor stated "Don't forget to balance the equation," I shit you now, people said out loud "oooooooooooooohh!" Did these people go to high school? Did they fucking fall off the short bus while it was driving past campus and wandered into this class?

*The most annoying thing you can do while answer a question is say "um" in between every word. Using "like" is second.

The Curious Epicurean

2009-02-23T13:17:00.001-05:00

For the first time in my entire life I ate at Chik-Fil-A. Being from the North, where Chik-Fil-A doesn't exist I pronounced it Chik-Fila(fill-uh) to which I was severely reprimanded. I have to say the first experience was very satisfying. The lemonade was very good, the fries as well, and the sandwich even though it had pickles on it.

However the second time, was not so enjoyable. I will have to admit, I really only visited again because of the lemonade, you just can't really get good lemonade where I'm from. So instead of a sandwich I decided that I would get some nuggets. This, as will you will see, was a bad idea. Upon arriving I noticed that there were no nuggets, but I decided to wait for them anyway. The other person waiting with me was a rather large kid who already had a 12 piece but was waiting for another. Seriously, 24 nuggets, holy shit! There is a reason that they come in denominations of 12 and 8, because that's how many you are suppose to eat. Plus it's lunch, you really aren't supposed to eat that much anyway. And, as if I could complain more, I was waiting for chicken nuggets, only one and he was standing there holding one. He had to wait for another one, so why not just give me the one he had, I guess he is just a greedy little bitch.

So we continue to wait, as my hunger pangs become more and more frequent. The two guys behind the counter look at the slowly gathering mob with fear. They obviously cannot cook the food and only were able to refill the fry baskets, which we didn't need and check if the drink machines are working. So as we start getting angrier, suddenly a bunch of people, obviously the cooks come from some secret door and start to cook. Where did they come from you ask, lunch break. Lunch break? I cannot believe that it would cross someone's mind that if you work at a fast food restaurant that it would be a good idea to take a lunch break at lunch.

Instead of an extremely fast food experience, I had a painstakingly slow one. I should have waited in the line at the Tavern, the ultimate time suck for on campus dining, it would have been quicker.

Is Your Trendy Millenial Alternative Music Simply Repackaged 90s Alternative Music?: A Chilling Expose

2009-02-21T16:56:00.007-05:00

Mmkay I was gonna drop some wordy bullshit exposition on you setting this up, but I respect you so NAHHHH.

Here is my thesis:

New-ish band Silversun Pickups is really just Smashing Pumpkins in disguise.
Smashing Pumpkins and Silversun Pickups are the same band.

Here is my proof:
Silversun Pickups

Smashing Pum-- WAIT. THIS is Silversun Pickups, that one up there? Smashing Pumpkins. I got confused because THEY'RE THE SAME BAND!

Observe: Smashing Pumpkins. Four members. Three men, one woman. Lead singer? Male with feminine voice. Token Asian guy. That chick? Hot bassist.

Silversun Pickups. Four members. Three men, one woman. Lead singer? Male with feminine voice. A token Asian guy. That chick? Hot bassist.

Smashing Pumpkins. Silversun Pickups. SAME INITIALS! SAME BAND!

Consider yourmind FUCKING BLOWN!

Why should you care?
You shouldn't. This is absolutely irrelevant, and was written simply to get my editor off my ass. What a fucking jibbler.

OR PERHAPS this is some conspiracy by the record companies to control the masses by tricking them into supporting a band they supported 15 years earlier. What a fucking mindfuck. People should take to the streets and riot. I'm sure they will after they read my article.

Curious Epicurean

2009-02-20T18:44:00.007-05:00

I realize that I haven't written a post in awhile, sorry Max, I have been quite busy. However I realize that this is no excuse and I apologize deeply. So now on to the post.

Everyone complains about the dining here at American. I have been pretty happy with it, yes the food is a bit sub par but overall I have enjoyed my dining experiences here. That is until now.

The other day I was excited to find out that TDR was going to serve corn dogs as part of a carnival night theme. I am extremely in love with corn dogs. Some people might think that corn dogs are an abortion of food, based on the reactions I got when I mentioned they were going to be at TDR, but they are my guilty pleasure. When I was younger my parents forced me to eat "healthy" and corn dogs did not fall into that category. So whenever I got to eat one I was very excited and thus my love for corn dogs.

I spent the whole day in anticipation of the corn dogs I would consume later that night. I'm pretty sure I ran or walked very briskly to TDR when it was dinner time. When I got there I had trouble locating the promised corn dogs, the reason why was because there were no corn dogs at all. TDR had lied to me but more importantly it had broken my dreams. I even asked a TDR employee if there were any corn dogs and just looked at me like I was stupid. So in retaliation and to prove that I was not making up the part about corn dogs I stole a sign that included those vicious lies.

The "Sassy Chef", the chef that writes back on all the comment cards tried to apologize for this massacre of my feelings but it wasn't enough and it will never be enough.

I will continue to dine at TDR, mainly because I have to. But the dining experience will be bittersweet. I will never think of you the same way TDR, you have broken my dreams.

Jibbles n' Shit Writer Wins Sweepstakes

2009-02-20T13:23:00.025-05:00

Considering quitting my day job.

I don't know if people have heard but I recently won some money. And by some, I mean more than you can imagine. That's just how my life goes, you know. One day, i'm sitting on my ass thinking "my life can't get any better can it?" Then raptor Jesus comes down from his golden throne to give me the almighty high five followed by The Holy Spirit. In this case, The Holy Spirit is in the form of a $25 gift certificate.

What's that you say? $25 dollars isn't that much? That must be the jealousy talking becasuse, I assure you, $25 is quite a bit of money. Some people don't even know how many quarters there are in $20, let alone in 25 bones.

Now that we established that 25 smackaroos is a lot of money, its time to set some boundaries. First of all, simply because I am rich now does not mean that I will work for free (Max). I still need a steady income. Hell, I could use a raise as an incentive to keep writing for this dirt poor blog. Secondly, if you were not my friend before God blessed me with his $25 of love you will not be my friend now. Alternatively, I will not be buying anyone's friendship. I worked too hard for my money to give it away just for some attention from poor people like yourselves.

Thirdly, and most importantly, this sudden inheritance of money from Jesus may make me better than you but we're still family :)

Let me explain:

Me.................................................... You

Me................................................You

Me......................................You

Me ............................................. You

Actually, that last one is just bad.

Riddle me this

2009-02-20T00:00:00.002-05:00

When it snows I am warm
I like the fat chick from Lost
The answer to this riddle is "no"
The dew from grass is my favorite drink
I wear my sunglasses at night

Can you solve this riddle?

Reviews of American Movie Classics: Citizen Kane Is Bad and Stupid

2009-02-19T19:51:00.012-05:00

Everybody thinks that Citizen Cane is the best Movie ever but its realy not that good. we wached it in my Class and its not a good movie and its dumb. The story, the dialoge, the directing, and the acting--all are reasons why Citizen Cane is a Bad movie and its stupid.

Firstly, the Story isnt a good story. It deosnt make any Sense. like the movie starts out with some guy droping a crystal ball because he fell asleep And then they show the news. also people get old really fast and than they get young again In the stories. Its confuseing and i didnt like it. The title makes no sense. they'res nobody in the movie named Citizen Kane so why did they name the movie that? Ive seen better movies thatn this movie.

teh posters lieing its not a terrific its awfull

Secondly the dailoqe isnt any good. People say Things to each other that people wouldnt ever say too eachother in real life. its not realistic enof for me because nobody says a curse word in the movie they dont even say damn or Ass when everybody says those words. Also the movie is in black and white. people think if they make there movie in black and white that means its good. But its really just boring and because theres no colors in the movie i find It hard to focos on teh movie.

Thirdly, the directing is bad.

i dont think I even know who these characters are.

Fourthly the acting is horible. the Actors dont act like real people at all. Theres this one girl that the guy marrys but she has a reallly hi piched voice and shes really dumb if she was my wife i would have hit her in her mouth so she would stop talking. god its really Annoying. the rest of the actors arent convincing and I didnt believe that the people were who they said they were.

In conclusion, Citizen kane is a bad movie. Its' stupid and dumb because of the story the diagloge the directing and the acting. ive seen much better movies that i prefer to this movie like Transformers which was really great and it was better than this movie. It had robots that faught each other.

Robots can fight other Robots

I give Transformers 4 stars out of for.

Riddle Me This

2009-02-19T00:14:00.002-05:00

I turn polar bears white
And I will make you cry.
I make guys have to pee
And girls comb their hair.
I make celebrities look stupid
And normal people look like celebrities.
I turn pancakes brown
And make your champagne bubble.
If you squeeze me, I'll pop.
If you look at me, you'll pop.

Can you guess the riddle?

Hey, C U Next TuesdayS!

2009-02-13T01:46:00.004-05:00

DISCUSS...

Riddle me this

2009-02-11T15:37:00.002-05:00

What is black, white crispy and smells like a burning corspe?

Clay Matthews' burning corspe after I beat hit to death for travelling through time- he thinks he's so hot

Riddle Me This

2009-02-11T10:28:00.002-05:00

A box without hinges, key, or lid,
Yet golden treasure inside is hid.

Sex & Candy

2009-02-09T17:09:00.004-05:00

While there have been other posts, it has been far too long since my last 90s music column.

This week I am commenting on the 1997 cult classic "Sex & Candy" by Marcy Playground. Named after the school (Marcy Open in Minneapolis) that lead singer John Wozniak attended, the band became more popular in the second half of the 1990s reaching their peak with this song that spend fifteen weeks at #1 on the Billboard charts and later went platinum.

The band, which also consisted - at the time - of drummer Dan Rieser and bassist Dylan Keefe, since then has put out two more albums and is working on their forth, now with Shlomi Lavie instead of Dan Rieser.

What, now, did they mean by this song? What exactly is the smell of sex and candy? The smells of candy, we know, are usually associated with scents of sugar, chocolate, cookies, and frostings. Sex, on the other hand? Is it the scent of perfume? Clean sheets? Sweat?

Although the guys were probably having a lot of sex then, they probably aren't now (see photo on the left), so I guess we'll never know how they could smell sex. Now they're probably just lounging in their chairs, yeah.

This week ten years ago, the #1 hit on the Billboard Charts was Monica's Angel of Mine ranking up there with the Backstreet Boys' All I Have to Give, and Sarah McLachlan's Angel.

Until next time, just remember that the best things were born in the nineties.

Riddle Me This

2009-02-08T21:26:00.000-05:00

Daughter of Greece,
Loves flannel not fleece,
Eater of green,
Of King not Queen.

Jokes and Jokes IV

2009-02-08T14:24:00.001-05:00

I'm quite sure that no ones reads the posts so here is a treat:

Act of Consecration to St. Joseph

O dearest St. Joseph, I consecrate myself to your honor and give myself to you, that you may always be my father, my protector and my guide in the way of salvation. Obtain for me a greater purity of heart and fervent love of the interior life. After your example may I do all my actions for the greater glory of God, in union with the Divine Heart of Jesus and the Immaculate Heart of Mary. O Blessed St. Joseph, pray for me, that I may share in the peace and joy of your holy death. Amen.sherry christianApproximate number of babies killed by surgical abortion in the USA since January 22, 197349,901,977 still killing
Come, let us worship the Lord, the great King.
St Martha
Martha was the sister of Mary of Bethany and Lazarus. In the West, her feast day comes a week after that of St Mary Magdalene because of the old and probably erroneous tradition that Mary Magdalene was the same person as Martha’s sister.But at least Martha and Mary both get celebrated somehow. What about poor Lazarus? He deserves our sympathy for being brought back to life by Jesus so as, later, to have to die all over again. What he thought of being brought back to Earth is not recorded. The presence of the incarnate Lord must have made up for the postponement of Heaven, but – where less dramatic circumstances are concerned – we should think of Lazarus when we prepare to make spectacular acts of charity on behalf of people who may not necessarily appreciate our interventions.See the article in the Catholic Encyclopaedia.
Mid-morning reading (Terce)
Jeremiah 17:7 - 8 ©
A blessing on the man who puts his trust in the Lord, with the Lord for his hope. He is like a tree by the waterside that thrusts its roots to the stream: when the heat comes it feels no alarm, its foliage stays green; it has no worries in a year of drought, and never ceases to bear fruit.
Noon reading (Sext)
Proverbs 3:13 - 15 ©
Happy the man who discovers wisdom, the man who gains discernment: gaining her is more rewarding than silver, more profitable than gold. She is beyond the price of pearls, nothing you could covet is her equal.
Afternoon reading (None)
Job 5:17 - 18 ©
Happy indeed the man whom God corrects! So do not refuse this lesson from the Omnipotent: for he who wounds is he who soothes the sore, and the hand that hurts is the hand that heals.

Enjoy heatthens

I Hate Larry Craig

2009-02-07T23:13:00.005-05:00

I know what you're thinking. "Hey TQA! Why are you beating an old horse? Larry Craig is dead news!" Well that may be. But there is something I've been needing to say about this man for a long, long time, and I could never find the appropriate forum.
Until now, that is.
You know, a lot of people try to say that the actions of men like Craig are really quite innocuous, that these disgraced politicians harm nobody but themselves and/or Congressional pages. Nothing could be further from the truth. The irresponsible actions of Larry Craig dealt a death blow to an identity that millions of American men share. For years, these men have been in hiding, unwilling to face the public disgrace and private recriminations their "outing" would likely have produced. Only in recent years have these individuals been willing to wear their identity on their sleeves. You all know of whom I speak: those of us who use the so-called "wide stance."
When Larry Craig used the wide stance as an excuse for his indiscretions, a surge of horror spread through the wide community. How could something so beautiful, so natural, be turned into something so sleazy? The days and weeks after Craig's wide-stance revelation were dark ones indeed for the movement. There was a period there where the shame was so great that millions of men across the country would go to any lengths to avoid using a public bathroom. Hate crimes against the wide-stanced shot up over 300% in the months after the Craig revelation. It is because of this unprecedented and unwarranted wave of violence against the wide-stanced community that I feel justified in placing a bounty on Larry Craig, to be paid out only in the event of his safe delivery to the headquarters of Society of People for the Emulation of the Wide-Stanced.SPEW will bring this man before the people's tribunal to answer for his crimes. Questions? Address all inquiries to 842 People's Justice Avenue, Pyongyang.
Happy Trails!

Jokes and Jokes III

2009-02-07T16:21:00.002-05:00

Sometimes when you are angry with someone, it helps to sit down, take a moment to cool off, and think about the problem...

Time-Traveling Adventures: Flashbacks to Vietnam!

2009-02-07T02:08:00.001-05:00

Why howdy there, fellow time-travelers! Today I hopped in my history-pod and went back to a magical time: Khe Sanh Vietnam, 1967! I arrived under the full moon of night and looked around at my beautiful surroundings--hills of majestic green foliage, turrets suffocated with innumerable high-power guns, and more handsome, fit young men than I knew what to do with!

I was startled to find that I was kneeling in a trench with a gun in my hands, heart pounding and body sweating, feeling more anxious and terrified than I ever have in my life! I then realized what night it was: November 19th. I glanced at my watch: 9:42 PM. We were sitting--waiting--at the bottom of Hill 875. The American soldiers positioned at the top of the hill had been stranded there for weeks with no supplies and no rest from the constant bombardment from Charlie. Charlie... he was always there in the jungle--inhuman beasts, monsters, never resting, never stopping, unconquerable fighting machines. I can't even begin to tell you, kids, how many friends I lost to Charlie as he crouched in the jungle, always ready to pounce. And it was us, the Delta company, that was supposed to charge all the way up Hill 875 and rescue the poor kids waiting at the top... in less than one minute!

I looked to my left. Ralph was sitting there next to me. Ralph was the greatest friend of my life. He was hardly your average soldier; Ralph was more sensitive, sensational, and sublime than any man ever in the service, including General Westmoreland himself. A barely legal, 18-year-old boy from Nebraska, Ralph had a strong but smooth build with a permanent but faint tan from working on the family farm for his whole life. He had the body of a man, but he was still had that innocent look of childhood in his attractive and youthful face. I was closer to Charlie than I've ever been to anybody else in my life. We told each other our deepest feelings, our darkest thoughts. On nights not unlike this one we would lie under the moon beside each other and talk until the morning sun crawled over the hill. I loved him. Our friendship was the deepest that two men could possibly share.

"Don't worry," Ralph whispered, "I'll be right beside you the entire time."

The watch clicked onto 9:43, the commander called out an order of advancement, and we leaped out of the trenches and charged up the hill. My body was rushing with adrenaline. My legs pounded up and down like the wheels on a locomotive. My lungs were on fire with the air that passed rapidly in and out of them. Under fire, Men were falling on the left and the right, but Ralph stayed right beside me, chugging up the hill.

We were no more than 300 yards from the crest of the hill when overwhelming machine gun fire broke out. It was an ambush! Bullets rained down on us like a monsoon. Overwhelmed, I fell to the ground and curled up into a ball. I clutched my face with my hands and looked to Ralph for support. I needed his help. I needed to feel safe. I looked up at Ralph. He looked back at me. I stared directly into his face. I watched as a grenade landed and exploded on Ralph's beautiful face.

When the smoke cleared, Ralph was lying on the ground. There was little more left to his head than a stump. Blood was spraying out of it in pulsating spurts. I realized to my horror that pieces of Ralph's head covered my face. His teeth, his tongue, his brains. Ralph's body just laid there, convulsing. Ralph was dead.

I wasn't going to let this happen again. I wasn't going to let those fucking Viet Cong pieces of shit take my Ralph and get away with it. Last time I just laid there and did nothing. This time was going to be different. I took a chainsaw off of my back and ran into the jungle. I found Charlie. A fucking piece of North Vietnamese scum, huddling behind a bush with a machine gun, scared to death. I ran towards him and plunged the chainsaw deep into his neck. Blood sprayed everywhere as the chainsaw slowly ripped through his neck like a saw through a tree trunk. His head flew off. I had done to Charlie exactly what he had done to my dear, dear Ralph. But that wasn't enough. I needed more blood. I took a knife off of my belt and tackled another nearby soldier. I stabbed him. I stabbed him so many times. I stabbed him in the face. I stabbed him in the chest. I stabbed him all over his body. I stabbed him in the eyes, and the fluid that squirted on to my face as the blade plunged into them joined the blood and other body fluids that already covered my face. By the time that I was done slicing my knife in and out of his body, he looked like ground beef. I stole his machine gun and went after the rest of his company. I came them them standing there confused, squinting at me with those stupid eyes. I started shooting straight down the row of them, taking out soldier after soldier, cutting them in half with the devastating line of bullets. I took out the whole force myself. Then LBJ himself stepped out from behind a tree. "How do you fucking like me now, you piece of shit?!" he screamed at me. "I robbed you of precious years of your life. I robbed you of your innocence and your morals. And now, I've robbed you of your only friend Ralph--the closest person to you in your life. What the fuck are you going to do about it?!" I tackled Johnson. I stomped his face with my boots until it was wiped clean off. Then I straddled his chest and punched the bloody chasm were his face used to be until there was nothing left of his head but a few skull fragments.

Well, kids, mission accomplished! I had finally done what I always wanted to do. I slipped right out of my flashback and back into the real world. Whoo-wee, that sure was another fun adventure, wasn't it, children?! I can't wait to see what's in store for us next week! Until then, kids, remember: If I don't touch your bathing suit area, then you'll drown the next time you go swimming.

Death Metal Grunge Apocalypse - Sea Otters

2009-02-07T00:41:00.000-05:00

Judas Priest once threatened that “mercenary battalions are poised to strike us down.” One can only hope they were speaking to mankind and not Enhydra lutris (commonly known as the Sea Otter). Sea Otters are marine mammals native to the coast of the northern and eastern North Pacific Ocean. Sea Otters are the heaviest members of the weasel family, but among the smallest marine mammals. However, do not bring this up in polite conversation. They are quite sensitive and find it quite offensive. Despite being the heaviest amongst weasels, Sea Otters form of insulation is not from fat or “blubber”. They insulate themselves with an exceptionally thick coat of fur. Their fur is, in fact, the densest in the animal kingdom. They would appreciate it if you didn’t try to make a fur coat from it. Apparently, they are quite attached to their fur. Don’t let the name SEA Otter fool you. These mammals are quite capable of walking on land… however most of them prefer to live exclusively in the ocean. Sea Otters are capable of speeds up to 5.6 mph underwater. A little known fact about Sea Otters is that when they DO emerge from their watery home, they seem to have a passion for drag racing. Drag racing is a competition in which vehicles compete to be the first to cross a set finish line, usually from a dead stop, and in a straight line. Sea Otters are among the top drag racers in the North Pacific Ocean. One otter went as far to say “I FEEL THE NEED FOR SPEED! And a good sea urchin.” Speaking of sea urchins, these speed demons enjoy a multitude of marine cuisine (100 different prey species to be exact). They enjoy, amongst other marine invertebrates, sea urchins, clams, mussels, abalone, mollusks, crustaceans, and snails. Like many Americans, Sea Otters prefer larger meal portions. However, they differ in the fact that they have a speedy metabolic rate and have to eat 25 to 38% of their own body weight. Adult and independent juvenile otters forage for food alone. Sea Otters tend to rest together in single-sex groups called rafts. The “rafts” can contain up to 100 otters. Male Sea Otters’ “rafts” are larger than female ones. Another fun fact is that to keep from drifting out to sea when resting, Sea Otters may wrap themselves in kelp. “They’re just like snuggies… only better” a young otter said when asked about the comfort of kelp. “Generations tremble, clinging face to face, helping situation to end the perfect race.” Well Judas Priest, you are right to say that “the perfect race” or Sea Otters are almost ended. They are endangered. Which is a shame because they are a key stone species (no, they are not from Pennsylvania).

wassssupppppp: they're always after me lucky charms!!!

2009-02-06T23:15:00.000-05:00

Ohhh lucky charms. Hearts, stars and horseshoes, clovers and blue moons, pots of gold and rainbows, and me red balloons. What kid doesn't know that infectious jingle? And what kid actually likes the cereal that surrounds the marshmallows? I sure don't.

When I was picking the marshmallows out of my lucky charms the other day in TDR (taste don't waste...fuck that), I discovered something shocking, surprising, and horrifying.

There are subliminal messages in the cereal.

The creators of lucky charms clearly realized that their consumers would be focused on their colorful, enticing marshmallows, not the actual cereal that comprises the other 70% of this traditional breakfast, lunch and dinner. General mills took this opportunity to rape our minds. The shapes of the actual cereal is nothing more than an attempt to convince us all to eat at taco bell, convert to christianity, and kill people. Please use the picture above for reference before I explain further.

What does the first cereal shape look like? A bell. Strangely reminiscent of the taco bell logo huh?

Shape number two. JESUS FISH. Nuff said.

Shape three. An x. You know in cartoons how when anyone died or got hurt, they would have X's instead of eyes?

I'm not saying to stop eating cereal, I'm just educating the public on the possible consequences. Continue eating lucky charms, but if you feel the need to get some pseudo mexican food, join a convent, or stab/injure someone, you know who to sue.

Unbelievably Retarded

2009-02-06T22:46:00.003-05:00

These are the results of the so called "poop journals," a social experiment which was met with a little bit less than mixed results due to a lack of creativity or enthusiasm on the part of the Hughes 2 residents including me.

Here's Josh Jacobs' semi retarded post:

I love this stall. Today I pooped a nice amount and read Persian Mirrors. I feel like I'm pooping on a throne in here. I don't like using so much toilet paper when I poop [editor's note: that's fucking disgusting Josh. Why don't you like to wipe your ass?]. It's annoying as fuck. Also don't take the stall next to me it's a dick move.

I just wanted to make an example of Josh here, because he wanted to remain anonymous. The other entries follow:

Today was especially hard for me. But I pushed and I pushed and it finally came out. It was slow and painful, but all that hard work finally paid off.

I forgot I had eaten peanuts... until now.

This is a solid and spikey turd, that gets softer as it worms its way out of my enlarged colon. The first push was decent, but only after the second push did any liquid poo make itself known. I thought I had finished, but it seems I've got some more poo left in me, here we go!! The toilet paper has its work cut out for it considering the sheer volume of poo riming my ass hole.
-Poo Guy [that's just gross, man].

Who does #2 work for!?!
-II

Here's a picture of one that I didn't want to save for obvious reasons...

So what did I learn from this experiment? I learned that men's bathrooms are a dark, dirty, and scary place. Perhaps I shouldn't foray any deeper into a disturbing analysis of our species' most necessary and primal activities. The window into our subconcious it opens is humiliating and maybe a bit too revealing. Also, I learned that Josh doesn't like to wipe his ass.

tl;dr I'm pretty immature.

Jokes and Jokes II

2009-02-06T20:13:00.000-05:00

An 85-year-old man was requested by his doctor for a sperm count as part of his physical exam.The doctor gave the man a jar and said, 'Take this jar home and bring back a semen sample tomorrow.

The next day the 85-year-old man reappeared at the doctor's office and gave him the jar, which was as clean and empty as on the previous day.The doctor asked what happened and the man explained, 'Well, doc, it's like this - first I tried with my right hand, but nothing. Then I tried with my left hand, but still nothing.

Then I asked my wife for help. She tried with her right hand, then with her left, still nothing. She tried with her mouth, first with the teeth in, then with her teeth out, still nothing.We even called up Arleen, the lady next door and she tried too, first with both hands, then an armpit, and she even tried squeezin' it between her knees, but still nothing.

The doctor was shocked!'You asked your neighbour?'

The old man replied, 'Yep, none of us could get the jar open.'

Ha! Since when were women allowed to drive?

2009-02-06T19:49:00.015-05:00

84.5% of all traffic accidents are caused by women driving. Another 15% are caused by women talking to men and making them drowsy, and .5% are caused by blind people.

In light of this, I have compiled some evidence of the worst women drivers in 2007. Bear in mind it was a close tie for 11th, between all 150 some million women in the country, but these are pretty bad.

#10- No she's not a midget, she's standing in mud

#9- How did that get there?

#8- Even women in other countries got probs

#7- Hah!

#6- Now, this one's not funny, it's dangerous

#5- Oh shit!

#4- Female cops or as I call them "fops"

#3- A woman plus a big car is bound for disaster

#2- The helmet's on the wrong way

And finally...

#1-

Please vote yes for amendment 28, banning women from driving

Jokes and Jokes

2009-02-06T15:40:00.000-05:00

A man was being tailgated by a stressed out woman on a busy boulevard. Suddenly, the light turned yellow, just in front of him. He did the right thing, stopping at the crosswalk, even though he could have beaten the red light by accelerating through the intersection.The tailgating woman was furious and honked her horn and screaming in frustration as she missed her chance to get through the intersection, dropping her cell phone and makeup.As she was still in mid-rant, she heard a tap on her window and looked up into the face of a very serious police officer. The officer ordered her to exit her car with her hands up. He took her to the police station where she was searched, finger printed, photographed, and placed in a holding cell. After a couple of hours, a policeman approached the cell and opened the door. She was escorted back to the booking desk where the arresting officer was waiting with her personal effects.He said, "I'm very sorry for this mistake. You see, I pulled up behind your car while you were blowing your horn, flipping off the guy in front of you, and cussing a blue streak at him. I noticed the 'What Would Jesus Do' bumper sticker, the 'Choose Life' License plate holder, the 'Follow Me to Sunday-School' bumper Sticker, And the chrome-plated Christian fish emblem on the trunk, Naturally...I assumed you had stolen the car."

Riddle Me This, Baggins

2009-02-03T14:20:00.001-05:00

Voiceless it cries,
Wingless it flutters,
Toothless it bites,
Mouthless it mutters.

Editor's Note - Posting to Resume Shortly

2009-02-02T14:21:00.002-05:00

Dear Reader, whom we revere and adore beyond compare,

I would like to apologize on behalf of the JNS community for a void of posting in the past few days.

I swear, I totally didn't see this coming. My Thursday afternoon was spent like any other purple-blooded American. I reclined in my loofa-constructed chair, burning money before my socially awkward children as I gazed into the ornate abyss of my richly crafted, multi-dollar shag rug.

And then came the vagrants. That's how I refer to the other contributors. Apparently payroll had not payed them for weeks because they didn't have the balls to finance payment schedules out of their own pockets like honest employees. Oh no. Instead payroll had asked for my consent, and like a good boss should, I chucked the smoldering remains of my yet burning fireplace into their undeserving faces.

And so now, Congress has mandated investigations, probably to find justification for their breathing tax. Anywho, I've been required to actually dole out payment. So I spent the weekend searching for my button collection, or as I like to call it, my bank account of Panamanian Rubles. Now I can pay those ungrateful roaches, and posting should resume unless some brainless 'tard spills the beans.

Soon, you shall once again be able to enjoy the soothing vaudevillian antics of Jibbles and other assorted shit.

Fondest hatred,

Joseph Pulitzer Jibbleton IV.5, Esq.
Publisher-in-Chief
Jibbles n' Shit Editorial Omnibus Weblog

wassupppppp: fireflies

2009-01-29T03:50:00.004-05:00

Interspersed Aspect Ratio: Dreams of Terror

2009-01-28T18:34:00.004-05:00

Dream Sequence
Tuesday, January 27th, 2009, 3:37a.m.
So, tonight I had a dream that was very similar to a dream that I had late in the fall semester of 2008 here at American University. The dream’s location was an eerie dream version of Washington, D.C. The odd quality about this Dream DC, per say, was that it was never daytime at any point. In Dream DC I live in a building, at least on the interior that is similar to Hughes Hall here at American University. The interestingly enough, no schoolwork is attached to living in this local. Also AU itself is never the subject of existence. I do live with at the very least Antonio Forte, Daniella Napolitano, Eric Till and Max O’Hern. Other minor characters appear throughout Dream DC that don’t really match up well. In this installment of the dream I, in a first person perspective somehow leave Dream Hughes and have access to the exterior catwalks and roofs to escape something of a bad nature. Before leaving Hughes I was previously in a bathroom, similar to the bathrooms here where I encountered Eric. I was also in Mike’s room, Billy’s roommate where who I believe Daniella, Max and perhaps someone else where just there.
Then I was elsewhere looking at art in a gallery with perhaps someone that was near in character to someone that I cannot quite remember as distinction was indiscernible at this point but I was very sad at that point in time, I was apparently visibly upset by something as someone in the gallery asked me why I was crying.
After the gallery scene, things shifted to another local, outside, near an intersection with two bus stops and a swing set. Daniella, Max and myself were there looking at the other bus stop. Mind yourself, I was on top of our bus stop and Daniella and Max were hanging off the sides. We watched as two smokers went to the other bus stop near us. We were then at the swing set where Max proceeded to hang from it via his lumberjack hat and swung joyfully about. Laughing followed but then we all wished that we would live in the grand building across the street from the bus stops. At this point I seem to remember the song “Movin’ on Up.” After this event I feel as if we were on a bus or getting on the bus that I needed to be at the train station to go home at around 4:30 in the morning and it was already like 3:00 in the dream. Eerily enough, Dream DC almost match real DC time wise.
After this event I found out that CVS was potentially going to be absorbed by some bigger company that made me feel that it had no business in buying the pharmacy chain. The mystery chain was going to rebrand CVS to WWVW, I believe. And as I recall this company, WWVW had a yellow and blue sign with blue arms supporting blue lowercase “wwvw” on a yellow background. That is where the dream just about ended. I think I can explain most of it away but I woke up and thought it needed to be recorded.
After a quick Google search, the initials “WWVW” yielded a company named Washington Wilbert Vault Works, Inc. which is a funerary service company in Laurel, MD. Such a business would have no business buying CVS. Though the idea of the logo is interesting, the blue hands were in fact the only things there supporting the WWVW . Why interesting, the thing that drive the real WWVW Company is dead people while the logo of Dream WWVW shows blue, or potentially dead, hands holding up the name WWVW. When but on a yellow background the symbolisms of the yellow could easily be the sun and life, and such that CVS is a pharmacy, a repository of health and goods, yellow seems like a fitting counter color to the death blue of WWVW zombies.

LOST CAT.

2009-01-28T01:49:00.003-05:00

Of Cats & Curiosity

2009-01-27T15:01:00.000-05:00

Two things I often like to compare are cats and government. I mean, think about it: they both give off an air of intelligence, but are actually quite incompetent; they both like to sit around all day doing absolutely nothing to contribute to society; and, most importantly, they both get cranky when their minions... er... masters don't feed them. So you can imagine my delight when I came across this article from some random blog that my male parental unit enjoys reading. Have you read it? No? Good, it's a waste of time. Lemme summarize it for you.

Apparently, the ever secretive Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (or NAMBLA, for short) has decided that it is not content with computers that simply solve equations for you; they want computers that can interpret them for you as well. Calculus for the lazy, essentially. They've already built a "supercomputer" based off of the mind of a mouse, back in 2007, but that project was abandoned when researchers realized that mice are incapable of thoughts more complex than "CHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEZE!!!!!1!" So what did the government scientists decide to do? Build a computer based on the brain of a cat, which, I suppose, is technically slightly farther up the evolutionary chain than a mouse is. Of course, a cat's thought process, while more complicated than a mouse's, is not more adept to solving mathematical equations. Take my cat, for instance. She is clinically insane. She feels the need to touch her nose to everything in sight, in the process crossing her eyes every time to see just what exactly it is that she is olfactorily investigating. Not only this, but anything that remotely resembles a small animal (i.e. FOOD!), green plants that might house such food, objects that she could generally either get her claws stuck in or tear up, or preferebly to her, some horrible combination of all three, is of far more interest to her than solving math problems. While I'm sure that she is capable of staring into my eyes and seeing through my soul, as well as contemplating the meaning of life during her frequent power napping sessions, I doubt that the brain of a cat is what one should base a computer off of; they are much too interested in other things, and have attention spans equvilent to those of goldfish. Besides, hairballs and computer hardware do not mix.

Reviews of American Movie Classics: The Terminator

2009-01-27T00:00:00.001-05:00

Excitement! Emotion! Energy! The Terminator is yet another action-packed and adrenaline-fueled adventure from Arnold Schwarzenegger. The film is one of the most thoroughly original and distinct action, science-fiction, comedy, and family films made in the 90s, and with good reason.

The film starts out with our protagonists going about their business, hardly suspecting that someone--or something--is out to kill them. As the bodies start piling up, our two main characters--a man and a woman--must flee the killing-machine hunting them down.

Soon, our female hero, Anna, discovers that the monster is actually a predator of legend in an unnamed South American region, an alien that hunts humans for sport and skins them. As Arnold attempts to protect Anna and bring them to safety, he must also find a way to overcome their extra-terrestrial enemy. Eventually, it's just Arnold, face to face with the creature, with nothing but his fists and his cunning to defeat his opponent. The gory deaths, the gigantic explosions, and close escapes along the way ensure that this is one heart-pounding action flick that you won't soon forget.

The Terminator also has a highly cerebral and challenging plot that questions the direction of modern society and its implications in the future. Near the beginning of the film, Arnold meets his twin (played by Danny DeVito) for the first time in his life. Although polar opposites, the two find a way to get along. Arnold then learns, however, that DeVito is actually a clone of himself, even though human cloning is illegal in the future. It ends up that the cloning company Double-X Charter accidentally cloned Schwarzenegger's character, getting him caught up in a complex and deadly conspiracy on the highest level of the corporation. In order to get revenge for the unauthorized cloning, Arnold goes on the game show The Running Man, a program in which the contestants must kill each other for the amusement of the viewer until only one man remains. These scenes challenge the viewer to examine their lives in a plethora of ways: Does the unstoppable and constant evolution of technology pose a major risk to society? Do we rely on technology too much for our needs? Could our obsession with game shows and sadism possibly develop into the disgusting culture presented in this film?

Arnold Schwarzenegger (left) and Danny DeVito (right) in The Terminator

Don't let these deep and depressing questions fool you, though. The Terminator is just as much of a family film as a challenging intellectual piece or an action romp. Schwarzenegger, playing a cop hot on a lead, goes undercover as an kindergarten teacher. In one of the great screwball skits in the film, Arnold asks one of the kids what he wants for Christmas. "A Turbo Man!" the child emphatically replies. Schwarzenegger promises his young student the action figure, but puts off buying one until Christmas Eve. Unfortunately for Arnold, every kid in the nation wants a Turbo Man for Christmas, and he must fight deranged parents all over the city in his quest to find the desired toy. In one of the film's wackiest scenes, Arnold battles for a Turbo Man in an iced-over store against dozens of other parents, including Batman, Robin, and several ice-skating, imp-like creatures. The light-hearted and humorous nature of these passages of the film add a welcoming dimension that would have otherwise been absent.

Arnold competes against Batman and Robin for the last Turbo Man

Unable to obtain a Turbo Man, Arnold's character presents his student with a magical ticket to a movie featuring himself! When the student goes to the movie, he is warped into the screen and goes on action adventures alongside Arnie, beating up the bad guys and ensuring that the forces of good always prevail. Unfortunately, the main villain in the film cannot be overcome. Played by F. Murray Abraham, Johnny Practice vows to destroy Schwarzenegger because of a long-held grudge. You see, both Abraham and Schwarzenegger were composers in eighteenth century Vienna. Abraham, jealous of Arnold for his superior talent, slowly tears Schwarzenegger down over the course of the film. This leads to the tragic end of the film: Arnold dies unexpectedly, and, with no money to his name, is thrown in an unmarked mass grave.

F. Murray Abraham contemplates the murder of Arnold Schwarzenegger

The combination of romance and action, horror and comedy, complex plot lines and simple, universal themes makes The Terminator an American classic. Schwarzenegger never starred in anything quite so original or different in the course of his career. It's certainly a breath of fresh air from the crap he usually churns out.

I give The Terminator 2 stars out of 4.

North Dakota?

2009-01-26T13:53:00.004-05:00

My roommate is one paranoid fellow. He is so paranoid, in fact, that he insisted I used a pseudonym in this article. For the duration of this article, he will be referred to as "Paul." As I was saying, "Paul" is the most paranoid college student in the history higher education. So when he started up on one of his paranoid rants recently, I ignored him, just as I had ignored him when he started talking about the secret cameras in our socks, the underpants gnomes, and how his Comparative Government teacher was actually Lee Atwater. But as it happens, as "Paul" continued to ramble on, I started to listen to what he said. And then, my fellow Americans, I determined something:

North Dakota does not exist.

There, I said it. Now before you laugh, let me assure you that I may this claim with the utmost seriousness. Oh, I wish I could just laugh off "Paul"'s ramblings, just as I laughed off his claim that he is allergic to peanut products. Upon hearing the facts, laughter will be the furthest thing from your lips. What will likely come out of your lips is a sort of short burst of moans punctuated by long screams. But that is neither here nor there. Just think about this. Who do you know from North Dakota? Have you ever even met anyone who claims to be from North Dakota? What famous landmarks are in North Dakota? Have you ever purchased a North Dakota hat or some famed North Dakota potatoes? No, you haven't. Because the bloody state doesn't even exist! Do you need further proof? North Dakota is supposedly one of the most Republican of states, yet its Congressional delegation is made up entirely of Democrats. Wikipedia's list of famous North Dakotans contains entries like Theodore Roosevelt (Governor of NEW YORK) and Dick Army (TEXAS Congressman). There do appear to be several individuals who are alleged to really be from North Dakota, such as Carl Ben Eielson, who was apparently a pilot of some sort. Of course, he met with an untimely demise in a "plane crash."
The most shocking aspect to all of this is that somehow the powers that be have concocted this fabrication with such flimsy pretenses. Well, I for one am tired of the lies. Now go! Call your Congressman! Go on see Mount Rushmore in the one, true Dakota. Protest in front of the offices of the Association of American Cartographers! Our numbers my be few, but our voice is strong.

Crowded Exile: Monk-y Business

2009-01-26T01:44:00.002-05:00

I've oft considered consecrating my life to the work of a monk, as a means of escapism. After all, I'm certainly qualified for the job - I fear bright colors, loathe people in general, smell like lettuce stew, and am vaguely aware of what a Jesus is. Oh, and I can operate Microsoft Word. Hope y'all like my resumé*, Order of the Franciscan Jibblers!

Yes indeed, I think I'd do well as a monk. Transcribing documents painstakingly and inefficiently pretty much sums up what I've been doing since I entered the American education system. And Vespers sermons aren't really enticing unless you have a good two or three years under your belt as a low-stakes, all-or-something bureaucrat. Believe me, I've heard.

Above all, it would give me a chance to wear one of those kick-ass robes. Sordid, billowy, and crumb-strewn, these vestments would look rather dapper on this here son-of-the-soybean. I mean, my clothes pretty much are already like that, and almost all of them already have that grand brown tinge, due to my fondness of hiding in mole burrows!

I've been tossing around the idea for a monk name for myself. Everyone's gotta have one; it's the sacrosanct marker of every successful graduate of monk school. Mine would be Brother Metrigon. It's got that vintage 1160s-era feel to it.

Any ol' brotherhood will do. Even the Order of the Suspendered Codswallop will do, though I hear their fondue isn't exactly up-to-snuff. When you think about it, a monastery is like a fraternity, except that it actually contributes something to society, and advances the cause of academia instead of drowning it in a bathtub of Marlon Brando.

I'm still waiting for a response to my 3rd request to the Swiss Brotherhood of Stein-Makers. Until then, I'll have to continue transcribing 2nd century Greek recipes in my own Crowded Exile.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*

From the stained desk of

JOSEPH PULITZER JIBBLETON, III, ESQ

LORD OF ALL BEFORE THINE COUCH, EVEN THOSE NASTY POTATO CHIPS

THAT FRANK HASN’T EVEN TOUCHED SINCE LAST WEEK.

123 Fake St. - Tabriz, Iran

A Resumé

Of Jibblical Proportions

EDUCATION:

What?

VAGRANT GRUNTING:

Liberty University ---------------------------------------------Lynchburg, VA

Bachelor of Monogamy, Spice Cataloguing Dept., Jun. 1980

LEGAL EXPERIENCE:

Nikshaw County Petty Claims Court --------------------------Simpleton, KY

Lead Witness for the Defense, Prosecution, and the Heart.

Time Employed: 1970-85 (that trial was fuckin’ loooong)

Hobo Court of Appeals, 5^th Circuit ---------------------------Rigobert City, Hohoq

Rocket-Related Trial Lawyer

Time Employed: May, 1923-October, 1925

Ted’s Apartment ----------------------------------------------Hoboken, NJ

Chief Prosecutor of Fart Jokes

Time Employed: Last Friday to this Wednesday

BUSINESS EXPERIENCE:

Jibbles n’ Shit Weblog ----------------------------------------Washington, DC

Publisher

Time Employed: [CLASSIFIED]

Jibbles WebMedia --------------------------------------------My Mom’s Basement

CEO, COO, Janitor

Time Employed: Wouldn’t you like to know?

HUNTING EXPERIENCE:

This one time, I found a twig under the back seat of my Golden-Brown Chevy Durango X20, with 4-wheel suspension. It was on the way to one of my seasonal bro-bonding gatherings at the forest clearing upstate. We was gonna hunt some chipmunks, but they got skeered and rundoff. So I waited until all my bros was sufficiently inebriated, and then stuck the twig into my jimberjam, pretending it to be some kind of superskunk. They soiled themselves to my lasting amusement. Then I just had to go ahead and tell them my brilliance. One of ‘em asked if he had heard me say ‘weeaboo’. The others chorused in an’ assured ‘im that yes, indeed, I had said just that. My ass still smarts from the beating that ensued.

SKILLS AND CERTIFICATION:

Fluent in English, Spanish, Mexican, Pig Latin, Corduroy
I can do this thing with my left jowel. It’s probably best if you never know exactly what, unless it becomes absolutely necessary. If you really want to know, come to dumpster behind Radio Shack after 5:38 pm. Bring carpet cleanser, lubricant, and a whole slew of corn meal.
Certified by the State of Vermont as an ordained hippie.
I can also read minds. Yeah, don’t worry. I won’t tell the public about your son.

Help Me Create Demon Spawn - m4w

2009-01-24T22:43:00.004-05:00

Hello. I am looking for a woman to fulfill my fantasies.

I am a seventeen-year-old man seeking a high-energy woman between the ages of seventeen and twenty to be the warm milk to my breakfast bread.

I love music, especially playing it from my pants, and love vulgarity - especially the words "douche" and "fucking" but all will do.

I am handsome and multi-lingual and foreign - ooh. I am also good at fixing computers. I live in a bachelor pad with my roommate. I am a gentleman and will treat you like the lady you are.

Enough about me, time for you!

You MUST be attractive.
Asian is a plus.
Must be extremely talkative.
Opinionated.
Mizundahstood.
Preferably wears the color green.
Parlez vous francais?
Hopefully thinks she's the epicenter of the universe.
From the countryside.
Slender and fond of makeup.

Hit me up if you sound like the woman from my dreams!

Death Metal Grunge Apocalypse - Baby Polar Bears

2009-01-24T02:46:00.006-05:00

The band Cryptopsy that told us to prey "I am filth, Born of shit, And I am beloved of flies." However, if we looked a little bit like the fellow on the left, they might reconsider that statement. The Polar Bear, or Ursus maritimus, is a bear native to the Arctic Ocean and other surrounding seas. The polar bear also just happens to be the largest predator on land. While normally one would never hope to encounter this terrifying killing machine (unless hoping to meet their certain doom), one cannot help but feel the sudden urge to hug a baby polar bear. Between November and February, polar bear cubs are born blind, weighing less than two pounds. On average, each litter has two cubs. "Well... I play around with my mommy... and my sister... and we like... uh... play in the snow and stuff... and we eat..." Said one polar bear cub when asked about family life. His sister was heard in the background complaining to "mommy" about how Teddy pushed her down a snow bank. Sadly, snow banks and teasing brothers aren't all these tiny, cute animals have to worry about. Cubs may fall prey to wolves, to adult male polar bears, or to starvation. Global warming is also posing a great threat to polar bears. The key danger is malnutrition or starvation due to habitat loss. Rising temperatures cause the sea ice to melt earlier in the year, driving the bears to shore before they have built sufficient fat reserves to survive the period of scarce food in late summer and early fall. On a positive note, baby polar bears are so adorable they are gaining celebrity in the human world. One of the rising stars of baby polar bear-dom is Knut. Knut is a polar bear born in captivitiy at the Zoologischer Garten Berlin. He was rejected by his mother at birth and was raised by zookeepers. He was the first baby polar bear to survive past infancy at the Berlin Zoo in more than thirty years. Hooray! He even has his own theme song (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iNWrFmCCfXw). Even though I am not fluent in German, It is clear to tell that these lyrics are happier than those of "Orgiastic Disembowelment." Remember kids, only you can prevent forest fires?

Accented Assassinations

2009-01-24T02:39:00.006-05:00

Accents are the cornerstone of identification for many strangers. In ancient Israel one tribe would identify a foreigner by asking them to say specific words that were pronounced incorrectly if one did not hail from a certain area. Today, possibly the most ridiculous accent comes from eastern Massachusetts. Examples of this would be Tom Hank’s portrayal of a Bostonian FBI agent in the film Catch Me If You Can. Hanks touts his attempted accent in a seemingly ridiculous way. That is, until you take a look at a true Bostonian, namely Congressman Barney Frank. This flamboyant Congressman’s tirades are filled with outrageous nonsense which is only topped by the gavel he slams in protest against those who ask him to speak in English.

The crazy lengthening of syllables found in Boston accents is well depicted in these examples:
Normal = How are you? / Boston = How ahw yah?
Normal = Barney Frank / Boston = Bwawney Fwank

Just look up any YouTube video and you will be instantly perplexed and entertained by the ridiculous sounds you hear from this Daffy-Duck Congressman. Even our 35th President, Jackie, hailed from Massachusetts and his speeches were muddled with Bostonian flavor that led to his eventual assassination in 1963. This horrific event that devastated the nation was due to a simple accentual misunderstanding that bothered a man so much that he was driven to insanity and eventually committed a heinous crime against America.

Time-Traveling Adventures: Trouble on the Trail of Tears!

2009-01-24T01:48:00.001-05:00

Clay Matthews is a "retired" elementary school history teacher. Although he may no longer be in the classroom, Clay continues to explore his love for history and teaching through the internet, where unlimited, unregulated, and unsupervised access to curious and eager young minds is easier than ever before. Clay believes in taking a fun approach to history and his brand of teaching is the purest form of "edutainment" or "entercation." With his interactive and imaginative time-travel method of instructing history, Mr. Matthews never fails to expand the minds of his entranced students.

Why hello there, fellow time travelers! You'll never guess where my history-jumping adventures took me this week! Why, just yesterday morning I jumped into my magical history pod, ready for yet another informative escapade... but little could I tell that I was in for my most exciting journey yet! I set my history clock for 1831--the great year that William Lloyd Garrison began The Liberator newspaper, Victor Hugo published The Hunchback of Notre Dame, and Charles Darwin began his world-changing voyage on the HMS Beagle--unaware of what to expect! After a tumultuous trip through the annals of the past, I climbed out of my history pod and found myself... in Indian Territory, or what is present day Oklahoma!

In my discombobulated state of bewilderment, I overheard the faint noise of wailing. Sharpening my gaze to the horizon, I could see clearly approaching a large band of figures--thousands upon thousands upon thousands of red men! Surrounding them and swarming upon them were hundreds of soldiers and other white men, driving them on, keeping them moving. The Injuns were weeping from the onslaught, but more than that, from their lost land, their lost people, their lost culture, their lost dignity. Without a doubt, I had stumbled upon one of the most interesting events in our nation's history: The Trail of Tears!

I ran out to the crowd, screaming at the white men to stop their horrific acts. They turned to me, initially confused by my strange garb of the future, and started to scream back. "You have no idea what's going on!" they yelled. "We're doing this for their own good, as well as the good of the nation." "Why, how horribly racist!" I retorted. However, kids, I couldn't keep my curiosity subdued. I always explore every opportunity to learn more about history, as you all know! Unable to help myself, I asked, "What could they have possibly done? How could this act possibly be for the purpose of good?"

I tell you, kids, I could never have anticipated his response. There are some things that the history books tell you, and there are some things that you just have to experience for yourself. Suffice to say, young minds, I learned the truth that day. The white man stared back at me and said, "Why, we're not punishing them at all! We're actually all helping them! We're all just having a bit of fun!" he said. I jumped back, shocked out of my socks! I pressed him to continue. "You know why they really call this the trail of tears?" he asked. I started to say "Yes," but immediately stopped, and slowly hung my head and shook it from side to side. "Indians just love jokes. They tell them all the time! One day, a few months ago back in their homeland in Florida, the chief of the tribe told a joke so funny that everyone who heard it immediately burst out in a fit of uncontrollable laughter! People were laughing so hard that tears were streaming out down their faces like waterfalls! They ran off to tell all their friends the joke, and pretty soon, the entire tribe was laughing hysterically! By the evening, the whole tribe was ankle deep in their own tears! 'What should we do now?' they asked. The answer was simple: Water sliding! Everyone started sliding on their bellies for hours and hours and hours, barely noticing that they were moving further and further away from home! Before they knew it, they were in Alabama, and then Missouri, and then Arkansas, water sliding all the way! And here we are now--they've made it all the way here! You see those Indians laying down there? They're not dead, they're just water sliding! You see those people weeping? They're still laughing hysterically from the chief's joke! So, you see, everything can be explained after all!"

I thought long and hard about what he said. Then I queried, "Well, that's all fine, but why are you beating them?" He let loose a hearty chuckle and responded, "My friend, don't you know, all Indians are masochists! Nothing gets them off more than being beaten and humiliated. They ran across us about a state back and asked kindly if we could possibly do them the favor of beating the shit out of them. I gotta tell you, I've never been known to turn down a request."

So that there is the real truth, children. We've never done anything but assist the plight of the Indian, no matter what the "history" books may say. But we're not done yet--there's still quite a lot left to my adventure! No sooner had the white man finished talking than Air Force One flew down from the horizon and out stepped no other than Grover Cleveland, our first dog President! "Your dedication to our great nation has been commendable," he told me. "From the shores of Vietnam to the deep jungles of Japan, your military service has been truly indispensable. And that's why I need you to kill the Terminator." I wasn't about to be taken in by Grover's lies, though! I knew what he was trying to do. I took a revolver from my side, placed it on his forehead, and pulled the trigger. Brains exploded everywhere--on the ground, on the white men, even on the Indians!

It was about that time that I woke up naked in a cold sweat on my apartment floor with my head in a puddle of dried vomit. Whew, what an adventure! Who knows where my next opium binge will take me! Well kids, see you next week, and remember: If you come to my house while your parents aren't looking, you can always come into my pod and time-travel with me!

Reviews of American Movie Classics: Mary Poppins Is a Thinly-Veiled and Startling Endorsement of Abortion

2009-01-22T23:50:00.010-05:00

Very few things in our world of increasing sin and wickedness can be considered true evil. No matter how immoral, most people, acts, and ideas have at least a trace of the Lord's good spirit and classic American values. However, true evil does exist. Mary Poppins, a shockingly sinful, soul-destroying tale that fiendishly revels in its love of abortion, is true evil.

The film opens with the miserable Banks family. The parents are overworked, the children are unmanageable menaces, and the family nanny quits under all of the stress. Mr. and Mrs. Banks are faced with a dilemma: With all of their time and energy already completely saturated, what are they to do about their riotous, impossible, inconvenient children?

The answer flies down magically from a cloud. The perfect, though unimaginable solution. Mary Poppins. Mary Poppins arrives to take care of the children. Mary Poppins takes them out for the time of their lives to places so wonderful and unfathomable that it's almost like heaven.

Mary Poppins is no less than a metaphor for abortion. Nothing has ever been so obvious or so repulsive in the history of film. Her name might as well be Mary Popthefetusoutofmyuterusanddestroyit. Her umbrella might as well be a clothes hanger with dead fetuses shish kabobed down its entire length. The film and its pinko Hollywood creators convey Poppins, and, therefore, abortion, in the most appealing and positive light in their demonic quest to further their leftist, satanic agenda. But the film's raging endorsement of abortion does not end with Poppins. The very idea of abortion is omnipresent through the course of the film.

Film abortion Mary Poppins

Take, for example, the lovable Bert. Affable, laughable Bert makes everyone chuckle with his goofy mannerisms and his boyish playfulness. But observe, if you will, Bert's profession. He's a chimney sweeper. He's paid to clean out people's chimneys when they're clogged up with something unwanted so that the people can continue to keep their fires burning.

Bert is a clinical abortionist. Once again, the liberals try to conquer our souls by painting Bert as a warm and kindhearted character. Little do we realize, however, that Bert subliminally represents everything that God hates: a fetus-crushing abortionist. In the film, the children absolutely adore Bert; they cherish and fully enjoy the time that he spends genially entertaining them. In real life, Bert the Abortor would not hesitate to pounce on the children like a cougar and rip their bodies to shreds, just like an actual abortionist. But what else could you expect from the British?

Bert and his gang coming to abort all of our fetuses

The support for abortion is nowhere more abundant or disgusting than in the film's musical numbers. The songs are chanted like a witch's spell to charm the viewer into its pro-abortionist views. I shudder to remember them all, so I will only explore one of them. At a point in the film, the children are resistant to the thought of doing chores. Poppins encourages the children to do what must be done by singing a little song. "A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down," she claims. Good Lord. Could the creators be any more obvious in their demonic promotion of killing little unborn Christians? The song may as well be "A uterus full of acid helps the fetus dissolve."

The Lord is vengeful, and every baby that Mary Poppins kills only adds exponentially to his holy wrath. Every creature that had anything to do with the creation, distribution, or exhibition of this film to children must repent or look to the horizon with a wary eye, for when the four horsemen come riding down from the heavens, justice will be done upon them.

I give Mary Poppins three stars out of four.

Is Your Dorm Spiritually Secure? A Chilling Expose of Supernatural Going-Ons at American University

2009-01-22T19:35:00.000-05:00

Which Could Potentially Signal An Even Larger and More Disturbing Conspiracy

This article is not intended for pregnant women or those with heart conditions, for it may induce heart attacks in the former and miscarriages in the latter. I know, right? CRAZY.

Like the other schools in the District, American University purports to go to great lengths to protect its students and safety on campus. The use of picture IDs throughout the year, as well as the recent precautions during hectic Inauguration Week would suggest that the school is doing everything in its ability to ensure its students can learn, live, laugh and love in a most secure environment, but this fishbowl facade is, well, a facade.
Another safety precaution taken is room checks, and during this checks, the Resident Assistants in each dorm check the rooms for potential hazards like fishtanks filled with turtles, excessive lamps and piles of clothes in front of exits. But what they most disturbingly do not check for are ghosts.

That's right, ghosts. At least two independent hauntings have been reported in Hughes Hall. One resident reported hearing ominous music over his iHome. Homie was just trying to listen to some Danish pop music when this DJ comes on with jazz music and shit. What the fuck?
another incident was reported, in which a student heard a disembodied voice emanating from a closet. From that same dorm room, flickering lights and mysterious phone calls have also been documented. WHOOOOAA!!!

The University simply has no choice but to respond to this... infestation. School officials have no choice but to ascertain the origin of these spirits from beyond, and determine the circumstances under which they died as well as their intentions. Playful child ghosts are one thing; malevolent hobo ghosts or a whole 'nother falafel. This will also determine how to go about eradicating these ghosts; will a simple seance do, or must we hire the Ghostbusters? One thing is for sure, this is not simply the case of a school official calling four stoned teens and their dog to fight a monster that turns out to be that same personal who called in the first place in a mask. What a dumbfuck. And who keeps referring people to these kids? All of their clients end up in jail. A business model like that is doomed to fail, and the fact that it hasn't suggests that something sinister is afoot.

Harro From Japan - Retaking back our Empire!

2009-01-22T01:35:00.001-05:00

Ok so umm WTF. Where the fuck did our empire go. Excuse me… Japan does not surrender. You have three very simple options. 1. You die in battle. 2. You shove your katana in your stomach. 3. You mother fucking kill the American bastards. I don’t care if they have more ships, better guns, or taller soldiers. We are SMARTER than them. So what if we can’t see out of our eye slits. That doesn’t matter. Where there is a will there is a way. We are going to take back all the land that is rightfully Japanese; AKA the entire world and all of the pathetic vermin that live in it. That’s right all of you non-Japanese now belong to the Japanese Emperor. Get used to it. Bow down to you lord and savior, Emperor, Pikachu. Sack up Japan and warm up the engines. Its conquering time; first stop KOREA.

Women be talkin’, women be talkin’

2009-01-21T22:22:00.002-05:00

Have you ever been tryin’ to watch the game or get down with a good Tom Clancy novel and you hear a screeching and constant noise? Chances are, it was a woman talking about some non-sense and she wanted you to listen. I mean Jesus, do they ever stop? It seems to me like they just got problems up to here. Whether it’s man problems where some guy is fucking some brawd and she wishes she were her or whether it’s female probs like this bitch has the same tooth brush as me and I’m embarrassed to brush my teef, it seems like anythin’ can turn into a meltdown. But that ain’t the worse part, cuz we all got probs, it’s when they crawl over to you. It seems to me that my problems are my problems but women don’t get that. If I stank, you should tell me and I will get some non-stank spray. I will not go tell my aunt and ask her what to do about it because I already know the answer- go to the rite-aid and get some non-stank.
Another problem I got is the way these women act on a date. I go over this one girls house for dinner and she’s cooked dinner for me, some kind of compilation of cheese and chicken with artichokes or some other “bree” whatever kind of grass stuff that is, and she’s got it all laid out with a candle and the lights dimmed, and “I say to her, why the hell is it so dark in here? Turn on a goddamn light.” Al’s first rule of dating- ya gotta have hand.
But the worst is in movies because women are always crowding me when it comes to a good action flick. I mean when Nicholas Cage is blowin’ the shit out of John Travolta in “Face Off,” the greatest movie of all time, I don’t wanna hear- “why are they shooting each other? Who’s he? I thought he was a good guy.” Point is, the plot and intricacies of movies like Die Hard, Scar Face, Rocky 2 through 4, Mad Max and Enter the Dragon are complicated, grotesque yet deeply psychologically moving, and are difficult for people with smaller brains to understand, hence they shouldn’t be allowed to watch.
Final note, - the super bowl is coming up in two weeks (my pick is Steelers over Cardinals 17-10) and my ass will be promptly planted on my sofa cushion while any women around me will be securely in the kitchen. I don’t want to here, “what’s a punt?”
Thoughtfully always,
Al “haven’t had a woman in 7 years” Caplowski

And scene

News Stampede - Robot Sightings?

2009-01-19T20:30:00.000-05:00

Ever since our recent editorial column on lethargic perambulators, we've received a wave of interest in the Mysterious Robot, lightly mentioned and cryptically photographed therein.

Many readers and subscribers have called in asking about the particulars of this peculiar being. Where did he come from? How many has he killed? What are his demands? Does he no any good places to chill?

Others have called in to tell their own stories. Sightings of the being have been reported from all over the nation, ranging from Norther Maryland to... Southern Maryland. Though many of these reports are unconfirmed, the story has swept up the masses, and we here at JNS feel it our moral obligation to investigate to fullest extent.

Joe "Jibbler" Johnson, 58, of Montgomery County told our staff that while hunting for stumps, he "stumbled on into yon clearing to see a big ol' whalloper, half a story high, an' fifty fathoms deep. 'E 'ad a big ol' timber hat, and sung an ode to the baked stars".

Stimy Stetson, a local vagrant, claimed to have slept with the robot on a variety of trips to the sporting goods stores. "He, uh... [incomprehensible drunken gurgling] and did some kind of superbowl dance".

In the meanwhiletimes, photographic evidence has been harder to come by, yet some questionable photographs have already surfaced. Seen below is a collection of materials supplied by multiple purported viewers - a word of caution; some of these images may be disturbing:

If you have any information on any robotic sighting of late, or would like to report a sighting yourself, e-mail us at bestsodaever@gmail.com
Photographic evidence preferred; please know, copies of "Paradise Lost" sent to us will be returned. So stop sending them. Cool, thanks.

My Tricked Out Internet

2009-01-19T17:30:00.005-05:00

Folks, let's face it: the internet isn't what it used to be. Back in the day, a man could get himself a deliciously wide variety of contraband goods off of the internet. Everything from a simple Cuban cigar to a mail-order bride from a failed state in Eastern Europe was yours to be had... for a price. Sadly, these freewheeling days of anarchical pleasures on the electronic frontier are fast drawing to a close. Several months ago my cousin tried to perform a very simple task: download a episode of HBO's True Blood off of BitTorrent. Well, shortly after this innocuous activity, he received a cease and desist order from HBO. As Abraham Lincoln might say, what the fuck?
Now, one may argue that HBO was only justly defending its property rights, or that Abraham Lincoln is dead so his thoughts on the matter are neither here nor there. The essential fact remains though: HBO somehow cared enough and was diligent enough to detect a tiny infringement of their property rights by one internet user among billions. And True Blood, form what I hear, isn't even one of their better shows. Imagine the shitstorm if he had tried to download The Sopranos. Now, this is a scary thought. How are god-fearing online entrepreneurs supposed to conduct their business in this climate of fear? Well, in case nobody realized, that was a rhetorical question. The answer is that they can't. In the new world of the internet, nobody is free. Every action of our online ads is scrutinized under a microscope. Even our Google searches, for some absurd reason, are recorded and saved by Google.
People, we don't have to take this treatment lying down. I realized this the other day when I was busy trickin' out my Firefox browse. In addition to random stuff like an RSS feed and Cooliris (which is definitely worth checking out) I found an ingenious app called TrackMeNot. TrackMeNot deals with the Google problem in a most effective manner. It conceals your real searches in a cloud of misinformation. In other words, the program generates massive amounts of random search queries that swamp your actual volume of searches. Thus, anyone looking at your search history should be unable to distinguish any sort of real pattern whatsoever. Fight the power.

wassssupppppp: slow walkers and chairs

2009-01-19T14:18:00.001-05:00

Hello loyal jibblers,

My column, "wassssupppp" will focus on precisely what is up , whether it be music, everyday annoyances, everyday awesomness, television, fashion and other random jibble. I will semi-occasionally treat you to a series of retro (euphemism for crappy) photos taken with disposable cameras and developed at none other the infamous Tenleytown CVS. Polaroids will make rare appearances as well.

What's up with slow walkers? I hate them. So much. Especially that robot at TDR today. He didn't even eat, he just walked slow and blocked the lines for everything. I wouldn't have a problem with slow walkers if they didn't keep me from getting places. They tend to take up an entire sidewalk. My roommate and fellow Jibbles n' Shits contributor, The King, agreed, "it's like, pick a side douchebags!"

In other news, the chairs in Kogod are the shit. They're comfy, bouncy, spinny and awesome. Isn't it nice to know our tuition money is going towards such necessities? As much as I enjoy the chairs, I feel AU finances could be better spent. Actual food in TDR perhaps? But then, alas, Shadow Chef would have nothing to blog about.

That's all I got. Peace out.

Riddle Me This, Wonder Woman

2009-01-19T09:47:00.001-05:00

Feasts on the burning,

Stands in the sullied,

The living keep it,

And the dead feed it.

Crowded Exile - The Cold

2009-01-19T04:02:00.004-05:00

Friday morning, dry and desperate. I shuffle across the frozen tundra that in happier times would have been called a campus. My wherewithal not entirely substantive at the moment, I try to recall where I am heading. Not a clue in the whole damn world. No frostbitten clue.

Oh, how ignoble of me. After all my scorn and ignominy toward the shivering masses, I myself have forgotten my own wretched loathing for the icy depths of mid-January. In spring, at least, there's moisture in the air in which to lose oneself. No such luck these days. Nothing but flat, dry, uncompromising exposure.

A stiff breeze stabs at my right hand, dangling beside me, like some forgotten appendage. And, similarly forgotten, yet still held in that hand's grip, resides my viola. Oh right, I was heading off to go practice. Fuck, it's too damn cold to remember where I'm going even when my goddamn destination is thirty freaking feet in front of me!

It's at this point of the year that most people seem to withdraw into themselves. Maybe for warmth. Huddling seems to be in these days, too. But I can't freaking do that. Then your forced to smell other people's breath. Which is why I'll shortly be sitting on a bench outdoors, bracing the cold on my own while surveying the landscape and people... unless I decide to go duck feeding; God, it's been far too long.

Thus the days go by darkly, and I'm overcome with a strange anxiety, as if there's ever so much that has yet to be done, and some unfulfilled desire left unattended. I'll laugh at this wanting as heedless desire by April, but perhaps the cold brings out my only brief period of clarity. I used to think this anxiety had something to do with the lack of sun.

But that shit ain't true. I can't stand the sun.

Evenings are horrifying. I often have something to do, someplace to be, but the outdoors are just too foreboding. I wouldn't venture out there if Rod Serling came back from Jesusville to show me the way. But my conscience will likely prevail, and the anxiety will be ever-so-slightly satiated.

My one solace would be snow, but that's a folly. Though it brought on holiday cheer back home, where it had long been missed, it's naught but a furtive dream here, or so the voices tell me. As Stephen Colbert put it, "There can never be snow [here] - only that endless grey deathscape...".

So I'll be on extra alert for ice. Ah, how I would spend the days at home biking to the frozen river. I'd stare at it for hours, talking to it, for no other apparent reason than it's really fucking fun to talk to shiny shit. And you gotta admit, ice is pretty damn cool. Unless it's cold. That was the downside - the bike ride back was always a bitch.

It seems I always seem to be finding ice around here when I'm accompanied by our fashion reporter, Clive Dangerously. There was a frozen wishing well in Clarendon (pictured below), a frozen fire hydrant in Bethesda, and his icy, icy heart.

So it stands to reason that our dear Clive is an ice god. I shall therefore attempt to appease him as follows:

Here's to hoping this satisfies your vengeful, vengeful wrath, Clive!

Until such time, I will have to wander on in my Crowded Exile.

An Ode to Chuck E. Cheese

2009-01-18T02:03:00.002-05:00

As I stand doing my job,
My job of the checking of kids
At the cheese belonging to a rat named Chuck
Associated with invisible ink stamps and headaches,
I watch Jumbo Safari, TM.

GO!
ROPE THAT RHINOCEROS!
STOP THAT STAG!
INCAPACITATE THAT IGUANA!

Oh you thirty year old man who does not act his age,
Please stop abusing the basketball game.
Oh! So close for that "100" ski-ball obsessed kid.
Keep trying-- after all, it's just one token!
And how the line grows for the Star Wars Arcade game.
This is what happens when you build a multi-billion dollar franchise.
Thanks, George Lucas, Thanks.
THREE birthday parties at one time? This is what I imagine Hell looks like.
See all the people flock to the showroom?
Making final preparations for the best birthday bash, EVER?

The Kids Bop version of Kelly Clarkson's "Since you've been gone" plays loudly through the speakers for yet another time.
YES. Saved by the Birthday song.
I wonder what this place's electricity bill is....

God, how those sky tubes call to me.
One day, I'm going in....ON SHIFT.

Just another day at Chuck E. Cheese

A Great Legacy of Inappropriate and Badass Behavior: A Presidential History

2009-01-17T21:05:00.010-05:00

As we enter a new chapter in American history with the impending inauguration of Barack Obama people are filled with anticipation as they look to the future. With the recent and ongoing conflict in Gaza, an economy in crisis, environmental problems, and a litany of other woes, people are on edge about the future. There is great merit in devoting time and effort to these concerns and problems, yet it ignores a great chapter in American history to which Barack Obama will also have to live up. That is, the obscene, badass, and inappropriate behavior of America's Presidents.

Though this running article will not run in chronological order, we can logically begin this history with, of course, George Washington. While everyone knows that Washington was the man who led America to independence, few know or remember that our first President was also the first and only sitting President to maintain a marijuana crop on his farm. Now historians will tell you that it was purely for industrial reasons and that men of his day would have not smoked the crop. That has not dashed rumors that Washington avoided an open war with France by getting Genot high as fucking balls. Aside from his proliferation of the Ganja in America, Washington was a notorious drunk. Here is an actual quote relating to the subject:

"if allowed four dollars at Christmas, with which to be drunk four days and four nights; two dollars at Easter, to effect the same purpose; two dollars at Whitsuntide, to be drunk for two days, a dram in the morning, and a drink of grog at dinner and at noon."

The immense amount of liquor that Washington imbibed perhaps explains the nightly drubbing he would inflict upon Martha. However Washington was not simply a drunk, he was an enabler of drunks. He owned his own private distillery making a healthy profit as a whiskey distributor. Indeed Washington is considered by many historians to be influential in driving up the popularity of porter in America:

“Porter was imported into America, though not in impressive quantities, during the latter half of the [eighteenth] century, but it was not widely manufactured until after the revolution. Certain individuals were partial to this type of beer. George Washington, for example, was one. Through the distribution of porter to the homeless and poor of Philadelphia the liquor gained popularity in taverns throughout the city.”

Washington also subsidized porter distilleries with his own fortune, and issued laws during the Revolutionary War condemning the importation of foreign liquors at his local tavern, probably while piss shit drunk. One might think he might have more important matters to attend to with a war being on and all, but he loved his fucking beer.

By elevating Washington to the White House, America was lifting one of the greatest champions of American drinking to the highest of prominence. Through his actions Washington became firmly established as Founding Father of American Sports.

Before we depart from Washington I will leave you with George Washington's personal beer recipe. This is real:

Take a large siffer full of bran hops to your taste-boil these 3 hours. Then strain our 30 gall[o]n into a cooler put in 3 gall[o]n molasses while the beer is scalding hot or rather draw the molasses into the cooler. Strain the beer on it while boiling hot, let this stand till it is little more than blood warm. Then put in a quart of ye[a]st if the weather is very cold cover it over with a blank[et] let it work in the cask-Leave the bung open till it is almost done working-Bottle it that day week it was brewed.”

I hope you have enjoyed this preview, join me next time when we examine the mind bogglingly lewd behavior of Lyndon Johnson. By the way in line with our next topic, yes that is a picture of Lyndon Johnson inextricably fondling his own nipple.

Get Like Me

2009-01-17T19:03:00.005-05:00

Chatting Bitches Up

Okay so let’s face it you'll never get like me, but that doesn't mean you have to give up. Today I'll be teaching you the fine etiquette of how to chat bitches up. I know your pimple marked face can’t comprehend even approaching a woman, but let’s assume for minute you get close enough for her to smell your Doritos stained breath. At this point one of two things will happen, the bitch will see you for what you are and promptly leave, or she’ll be nice enough to tolerate your neckbeard for a few seconds. If the second case should happen you only have a few moments to convince her to stay longer and for that you’ll need to know how to chat that bitch up. The following is a novice’s guide to chatting a bitch up, more advanced techniques are most assuredly out of your skill level.

Step One: Don’t Talk About Your Anime Collection.

I know it’ll be hard for you weeaboos to understand, but normal people don’t care about Japanese animation. In fact it will probably be a big turn off. In fact avoid anything relating to Japanese culture.

Step Two: Compliment Her Looks

Girls are insecure creatures constantly believing they’re ugly. And while you will probably have to start talking to the uggos (the only ones lonely enough to tolerate you) you’ll still have to tell them they look good. After all chances are she’s a FUF (fat ugly friend) which means if you’re mean to her, you’ll never make it with her better looking friends. Important notes: its easy to come off as a creep in this step, avoid overtly sniffing her and commenting on her smell, don’t think by talking to her she’s giving you the okay to feel her up, and avoid approaching her in nothing but a robe. To simplify this step just make the following statement and let step three take over: “I really like that outfit.”

Step Three: Let Her Do the Talking

Women really enjoy talking. Even I can’t get my bitches to shut up once they start going. As such it should be no problem to talk to girls since they’ll do all the talking for the two of you. A simple “mmhmm” and “yea” will fool her for a while, but make sure you throw in a couple “I know!” and “I can’t believe that” before she gets suspicious. By the end she’ll think you’re a good listener and want to chat to you more often.

Step Four: Get an Internet Contact

Lets face it, you’re not prepared for more face-to-face interaction. Simply put you’re an uninteresting person. The longer you stay the more she’ll believe that horrific smell is indeed emanating from your body. As such be quick in your work to try and find an alternate means of communication. Considering you spend most of your life on the internet, get a way to contact her there. Here she won’t have to see or smell you and you’ll have plenty of time to respond to wall posts. And remember to send smiley faces, bitches love smiley faces.

Following these simple steps you’ll soon be able to tell people that you “chatted that bitch up.”

Riddle Me This, Iron Man

2009-01-17T17:12:00.001-05:00

Love in the East,

Lives in the West,

The creation of grain,

To it is the best.

Curious Epicurean

2009-01-17T12:00:00.002-05:00

Freegan--someone who only eats free food, more commonly know as a dumpster-diver.

When you become a college student, you give up many things like free laundry and dignity, but you also become many things, independent, scholarly and to some degree a freegan. I myself have witnessed, and participated in, many instances of freeganism, two of which I will share now.

Last night a girl came into our lounge and threw out a bunch of food in the garbage saying,"All these people gave me food I don't like so now I have to throw it all away." With that she threw away what was almost a ton of food in the garbage. The food was perfectly good and there is a community table where you put the food you don't like. But she decided to just throw it all away. But this didn't stop us, after she left someone took the food out of the trash and we all pounced on it. Literally punching and biting and kicking each other out of the way to get to the food. I distinctly remember a Jimmy Jones being certainly ravenous and making it so I could only get my hands on strawberry poptarts and I am allergic to strawberries.

The other day there was some sort of event in the Hughes formal lounge, and as per any event at American University, there was free food. So a few of us observed that after the meeting, there was no one in the lounge and there was a table full of food. We all ran, literally ran downstairs and into the lounge, found the food unguarded and pillaged. We returned victorious with many cans of soda, sandwiches and heaps of hours devours. After gloating to everyone about the food we had purloined, we sat in our own lounge, belly's full and contented. This was until Max ran into the room, as he is awesomely prone to do, and told us that he had overheard a conversation between some of the staff, regarding the food in the formal lounge, along the lines of, "That's what happens when you don't guard the food!" Is this what the world has come to, yes.

Some people think that freeganism is a choice but for most college students it is a unavoidable way of life.

Riddle Me This, Superman

2009-01-17T11:10:00.001-05:00

It blinds the blue,

Blocks the gold,

Keeps the dripping,

And pains the old.

Riddle Me This, Spiderman

2009-01-16T20:23:00.001-05:00

It leads the way,

An enemy it slays,

String propels it,

And travelers follow it.

I Will Always Love You

2009-01-16T18:44:00.005-05:00

I have decided to call my column "I Will Always Love You" after one of the greatest pop songs of the nineties. This column, as indicated, will cover the best forgotten songs of the nineties that was all subconsciously know the lyrics to and singers of.

Whitney Houston's "I Will Always Love You" reached #1 on the charts in over sixteen countries after its release in 1992 and has by current count gone four times platinum. The song was originally recorded in the 1970s by Dolly Parton, but at that time did not achieve nearly as much success.

I would highly suggest watching the video due to its extreme representation of the nineties. What more can one ask for than womens' suits with shoulderpads and interracial dancing?

Unfortunately, Whitney Houston went down the tubes after this, resorting to crack instead of singing these beautiful wonders that I still take pride in belting out in the shower or in my room where Eric is held captive... by the sounds of the nineties. Whitney Houston, why did you need to resort to crack? After this hit she was unable to produce anything much better and has since vanished from our minds. Whitney, don't you know that crack is whack?

Exactly this time ten years ago in 1999 if you turned on the radio you would have heard the box office hits of the week, which were:

Brandy's : Have You Ever
Britney's : ...One More Time
Jewel's : Hands
Goo Goo Dolls' : Slide
R. Kelly's : I'm Your Angel

Until next time, just remember that the best things were born in the nineties.

Fashion Alert: Bathrobe Chic

2009-01-16T17:51:00.004-05:00

Bathrobes have never really been in vogue. They've never really been out of vogue either. They just are, you know? Fucking trippy.

But that dynamic really only exists in your domicile. Robes are a fact of life in your house. The latest reports from fashion epicenter Hughes Hall suggests that now, robes can be worn outside your living space. Furthermore, these robes are to be worn exclusively. Fashionista Sam Whatshisname elaborates:

"Dude, I fuckin' love sports. Sometimes, me and my bros just chill all day, watch "the game". That's bro-speak for whichever game is on, regardless of sport or team. But chyeah, I'll just spend the whole day in front of the tube in a robe, balls out. Check it.

Sports."

Style-wise, any robe will do. You can go for the wool, or microfiber, or cotton, or silk. Flannel? Velour? Terry? Waffle? If that's your prerogative. They're great for just watching the game, or hanging out in stranger's rooms, or going for some late night noms. So let your man meat hang loose. Or something. But by no means is that just a gentlemen's fashion, so ladies, take heed: while you cannot partake in ball-hanging-outing, this is not the new golf. Robes are great for vacuuming, or cooking, or using the latest Cosmo tip to please your man (I prefer the S-touch). Hmm. This sounds a lot like what you do normally, and those are typically done in home, where robes were already acceptable... This is quite a connundrum. Perhaps it is time for a women's revolution --

LADIES! THRUST OFF YOUR ~~BRAS~~ ROBE TOPS, A SYMBOL OF MALE OPPRESSION. THIS PHALLUS-LOVING MANOCRACY MUST BURN FROM THE GROUND UP.

And do your part to help the economy by buying a robe from the nearest box store.

Evil Humans Kill Geese

2009-01-16T17:40:00.002-05:00

155 Humans seen leaving the crime scene.

NEW YORK, Jan. 16 -- Quackers McQuack was just a goose like any other, taking off for his morning flight. McQuack and four other geese would not make it to their destination that faithful morning however.

The bodies of McQuack and two other geese were discovered in the Hudson River disfigured, almost beyond recognition. The bodies of the other two were not found and are still missing. This violent attack on geese by Homo sapiens, now being called the "Hudson River Massacre" has created outrage throughout the goose community.

"We will no longer stand idly by as these Homos continue to murder our people, one by one," said Harvey Goosestein as he took a shit on a local soccer field. "These Homos have always been trouble."

Some Geese have begun to arm themselves and are calling for the death of the man responsible for the gruesome attacks, veteran pilot Chelsey B. Sullenberger III.

A memorial service will be held for the Hudson 5 this Sunday and will most likely wake you up with their fucking quacking or whatever it is that they do.

Editor's Note - Regarding Timestamps

2009-01-16T17:18:00.003-05:00

Okay, so our fairweather contributor and Chief Technological Adviser, Mr. Nick, has sent me the following notice regarding my admittedly unhealthy obsession with post sequence integrity:

"Tell that all of the contributors to watch the time stamp on their post. they can do this by clicking on "post options" in the lower right hand corner. On the left hand side, they can set the date and time so that it publishes after posts that have been already published. They can even set it to a future date so that it will publish automatically at said future date. These posts will appear with the label "scheduled" until they are published. also, the title looks weird to me as well. I can come over tomorrow and try to fix it."
-Nick Krosse

Henceforth, all posters who are currently saving posts for editing are strongly encouraged to make sure that their time stamp is revised to a time after any and all subsequently published posts. Simply follow the directions above.

Readers are still also encouraged to continue browsing through the archives for articles that may not have been published during their first, second or fiftieth read.

Keep it smendling,

Joseph Pulitzer Jibbleton
Editor-at-Large, err, Obese

Death Metal Grunge Apocalypse - The Red Panda

2009-01-16T16:34:00.003-05:00

I believe it was the Death Metal band, All Shall Perish that said, “My ever-waking contempt for our sick way of life steals from me any last hope for us as a species.” Perhaps they would have had a different opinion if they were an Ailurus fulgens otherwise known as the Red Panda. The small mammal, slightly larger than a house cat, lives in the Himalayas in Bhutan, southern China, India, Laos, Nepal, and Burma. When asked whether or not the Red Panda enjoyed living in Asia one responded, “It’s great. It’s like the best thing ever. We eat Chinese food everyday and watch Kung Fu. Everyone’s nice here because we are so cute and fluffy.” “And red like communism,” another Panda quickly added. Although this adorable, furry animal resembles a raccoon and shares the name “panda” with the Giant Panda, it is, in fact, not related to either. The Red Panda belongs to its own independent family, Ailuridae. Like the Giant Panda, the Red Panda feeds mostly on bamboo and has a false thumb that is an extension of the wrist bone. Currently, it is the mating season for the usually solitary Red Pandas. The season spans from late December to the middle of February. We’ve gone to a Red Panda on-line dating service to find out what the average Red Panda female is looking for in a mate. Furryfox182 is looking for “An adorable fluffy male, with a long tail and black eyes” she likes “late night bamboo munching and long walks in the mountains.” Sadly, the charming Red Panda is classified as an endangered species. No reliable numbers exist for the total population but it is very threatened due to the fragmentation of its natural habitats, their small numbers, and their food specialization needs. All Shall Perish may say that, “As a species lost [they] watch us dig our grave our own fucking grave.” However, it is the Red Panda’s grave that we are actually digging. Ending with a ray of sunshine, this has been Death Metal Grunge Apocalypse.

Curious Epicurean

2009-01-16T15:44:00.003-05:00

Today I went to TDR for lunch and witnessed a Bon Apetit employee, eating a cup of noodles in TDR. This means that someone who cooks the food that we eat, would prefer a cup of noodles, therefore proving the theory that cup of noodles is better than any food offered at TDR.

Riddle Me This, Batman

2009-01-16T14:31:00.004-05:00

Slower it wins,

Hide, race or swim,

It’s housing is guaranteed

And it confounds RD’s.

Get Like Me

2009-01-16T12:02:00.007-05:00

If you have it you don't need it. If you need it you don't have it. If you have it you need more of it. If you have more of it you don't need less of it. You need it to get it and you certainly need it to get more of it, but if you don't have any of it already to begin with you can't get any of it to get started which means you have no idea how to get it in the first place do you? You can share it, sure. You can even stockpile it if you'd like, but you can't fake it. Wanting it, needing it, wishing for it...the point is if you've never had any of it, ever, people just seem to know.

So then how do you get like me?

You can't.

Seriously. Don't even try. You think you can be like me, but you can't. Only the select few ever hope to be like me and you're just not cut out for it. Stop trying and give up, because the more you try the worse you'll be. Girls don't want you, hell they don't even want to be near you. You think you got bros, but they don't care for you either. You think you can share it, stockpile it together, but you can't; none of you had it to begin with and no matter how many of you there amassing nothing is still nothing. You're nothing.

Get like me.

Editor's Note - Panic Over. Return to Browsing.

2009-01-15T23:41:00.003-05:00

Yeah, it turned out that our Asian Correspondent unintentionally, yet nevertheless maliciously corrupted our precious omniblog. Do not be alarmed, all is back to normal, with a few minor changes. You are now all free to browse without the threat of oppression by Japanese overlords.

In other news, I can't change the order in which posts come out. A bunch of us here at JNS have a writing process that involves multiple drafts posted to this blog. The draft is logged as an original post, and so some articles will appear retroactively before other articles, due to the discrepancy in final publication. As I cannot currently change this feature, it will rest upon you, our loyal and oh-so-dispensible readers, to double check through the archives every so often in order to see any newly published articles that had been commenced previous to more recently viewed postings.

You're welcome.

Harro from Japan - Why Japan is rearry the greatest country in the worrd

2009-01-15T23:37:00.003-05:00

Since the US of A won its independence from the isrand empire of Britain, it has made the farse craim that it is the greatest country in the word. That craim I must argue is farse and rame. Japan is actuarry the most superior country on the pranet. Japan invented samurai and ninja we arso own the sushi. Without sushi a country cannot consider itserf to be civirised. Arso why is it that you round-eyed fucks use your inventions of the fork. A fork is such a rame invention. Why do you need metar when you can just take two pieces of bamboo cut into rittre pieces? Arso America is furr of fat ass razy mother fuckers. We Japanese eat a baranced diet of fish, rice, more fish, more rice, and an occasionar dog thrown in here and there. Furthermore Japan has fucking hot tubbing monkeys. That’s right monkeys that sit in goddamn hotsprings and chirr. You asshores don’t have anything that comes even crose to that. Rong rive the empire of Japan.
-Mr. Roboto.
p.s. Pearr Harbor Two is coming.

Editor's Note - 2 Quick Announcements

2009-01-15T22:25:00.003-05:00

1) The Omniblog seems to be down for some unearthly (or rather, extremely earthly) reason. If you are reading this, then it's either been fixed, or you have the keys to internet victory. Either way, there's reason to celebrate, but if it's the latter, e-mail me at bestsodaever@gmail.com before you pop the champagne. So far, mine seems to be the only computer not to be completely flipping a shit upon viewing the page, and even then, the title's gone all fancy-funky.

2) Once you are able to see this, you may also notice that there are several new posts, but interspersed among the older posts. This is because of the odd posting protocol that blogger sets as default. I haven't looked into it yet, but I might just be able to change this, if it makes things easier for you, our loving and adoring readers, to follow. If not, I will be sure to update. In the meantime, please take the time to scroll down and enjoy the hard work recently fine-tuned by our wonderful contributors.

That is all.

2009-01-15T21:44:00.001-05:00

AU Book Store Now Hiring

2009-01-15T20:53:00.003-05:00

Common Sense Not Needed

Back in my day, bookstores were run by people who cared. Now it seems that people at bookstores just don't care about their jobs enough to, oh I don't know, actually do them. This is even more upsetting since my day was only just a few years ago (I lied on my profile page and made myself 2 years older).

Aproximately 7 days ago, on the evening of January 9, 2009, I sat myself in front of the computer and ordered my books off of the AU bookstore. My reasoning was I would most likely be able to collect my books now and get them when I get to school rather than waiting for classes to start. Unfortunately, I was unaware that the people at the bookstore aren't sure of what a book order actually is so from now on, I will refer to it as a "shit order", because all I received was shit.

So today, I (or rather, Jeff) wrote a pretty nasty e-mail regarding my "shit order" asking "where's my shit" and "make it happen." How they responded was not with books, but rather the complete opposite: a list telling me the books are back ordered.

I didn't buy this shit for a second. As I'm feeling a little lazy right now, I think I'll let the email I sent them tell the rest of the story...

After recieving your e-mail and saw that 5 of my books were suddenly back ordered, I decided to go ahead and do your job for you. I walked down to the bookstore (this took around 2 minutes, I walk slow) and entered to the sound of the Bee Gees playing. I can't recall the song now, but trust me, it was definately them. Even while I was enjoying the sweet sounds of the Bee Gees, I was still able to locate 4 of the books that were "back ordered." This process took a whole 5 to 7 minutes. Walking up the steps towards the register, I bumped into some good friends of mine, so naturally, we conversed for a good 4 to 5 minutes. I then excused myself and purchased the books that were supposedly back ordered.Now, by applying basic math skills, we can see that it took me 14 mintues to recieve my books (at most). So you see, I no longer have any need for this order that, so far, has taken you at least a week with no end in sight. So thank you anyways.

Sincerely,

Marcopher

P.S. If you ever need helping collecting books for an order, call me up.

Truth/Untruth

2009-01-15T17:28:00.003-05:00

Does truth exist. It seems that the existence of truth is not possible. due to the inherent unconscious subjectivity of all sentient beings--especially humans. However, now that we have come to the conclusion that truth cannot exist, we must ask, is it then true that truth does not exist? Oh, and in case any of the preceding was unclear: Penis (but not more than twice).

The Ambiguity Contest

2009-01-14T19:53:00.003-05:00

The children are dead

At least in their heads

They could be waking

Or asleep in their beds

Crowded Exile - An Adventure in Banking

2009-01-14T17:50:00.004-05:00

To commit to solitude is no act of passing whim. Even short respites from collegial contact are not taken simply as exercises in amusement. They are the last resorts of a stable and functioning mind, or they are the immediate fallback of a wanting and anxious state of being. In any case, the act is not as simple as wanting to go for a walk in the park ... it boils down to either a need for fresh air or a commitment to that accursed dog. Any other people walking in the park should be held with immediate suspicion and reported to the authorities.

So when I went to the bank yesterday, I was trying to be as sociable as possible, lest droves of Magisterium agents descend upon my erstwhile pleasant afternoon.

But the creeping sense of despair and isolation that normally accompanies a Wednesday afternoon could not be evaded. Nor could that hollow introspection that normally accompanies a trip to the bank be stifled. It seems that the deities of misfortune were conspiring to bake me cookies... of disaster. As I traversed below the overcast sky, my thoughts slipped to a light paranoia akin to the passing forbidden sparks of a depressed/oppressed worker slave living in a dystopic dictatorship.

And then it slipped further, as I contemplated the futility of carrying on with finances in a world where wage slavery ostensibly creeps into every life. I mean, seriously - when hard-working con-artists like the late dear Mr. Madoff are subjected to the same horrifying stiflings that every horrid corruption of the working class world experiences from God's glorious wrath, humans have transgressed that sacred line between just and lust.

As an aside note, I saw the Great Martyr while driving around once. As all of his enlightened followers now well know, he has been exiled to the sordid confines of Connecticut and Westchester County, NY. While on my Thursday outing last week, he pulled up beside me. His face was weary with carrying the burden of man's sins. I reached out to share in his pain, but he cast my hand asunder, modestly and unassumingly informing me that I must carry on where he left off.

And so, now wandering straight into the concrete wall in front of me, I emerged from my inward thought stream. The bank teller asked me what I was smoking.

Oh great, I thought forelornly, now I have to make conversation, like a true American.

I asked him how much he received for remuneration on Columbus Day. He flatly told me that he didn't speak Aramaic.

Plebeian.

I then swiped the deposit receipt from him (at some point during my mental travels, I must have subconsciously carried out my errand) and went on my sad, sad way. At least I won't have to leave the confines of my blog for another few hours. In the meantime, I shall find solace in my crowded exile.

_____________________

2009-01-14T14:48:00.001-05:00

The Cremaster Cycle

Mutton Chops Are Delicious

2009-01-14T01:30:00.005-05:00

As I sat in class today contemplating the back of the chair in front of me, a revolutionary thought passed through my head:
What's with the shocking dearth of mustachioed fellows in the highest echelons of government?
Back in the Glory Days of our Magnificent Republic, elaborate, dare I say flamboyant, facial hair was a must have for any serious political aspirant. Think of the white whiskered elegance of William Howard Taft. Or even the slovenly goatee of Grant, which, in its own way, gave off the musk of decrepit grandeur that exemplified this man's much maligned administration. Whenever I'm feeling down I just conjure up an image of Chester A. Arthur and his resplendent mutton chops. Then of course, we have TR and his perfect handlebar. Need I say more?
Sadly the glory days of facial hair are long gone. Personally, I blame that good-for-nothing Ivory Tower cloistered academic Woodrow Wilson. At the treaty of Versailles, Georges Clemenceau, David Lloyd George, and even Vittiorio Orlando all sported facial hair. No wonder the trio felt Wilson did not understand the European perspective - he refused to even grow a simple goatee! But alas, for some reason this gross emasculation of our national leaders has continued unabated since the days of Wilson. Not one President since that time has dared to let even a five o'clock shadow show. Beards, in fact, have become a sign of entrance into the political wilderness. Just consider the cases of Bill Richardson and Al Gore. Both waited until they were wallowing in defeat to grow truly awesome facial hair. What an outrage!
But a new day is dawning in Washington. Obama's change mantra may not include a personal devotion to a hairy face, but his likely replacement in the Senate, the great Roland Burris, is sporting quite a mustache. It is imperative that Roland Burris, who would be the only member of the Senate to have facial hair, be seated. Any further obstructionism by Harry Reid and his cohorts can only be seen as a blatantly facialist attempt at keeping the Senate clean-shaven.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, will NOT stand.

Curious Epicurean

2009-01-13T20:08:00.003-05:00

So my column is devoted to the strange and obscene happenings involving food on this campus. This includes anything that happens in the Terrace Dining Room, more commonly known as TDR, the Tavern, that smelly curry place etc etc. Oh also the McDonalds on campus because the craziest shit happens there, I'm pretty sure it's because all the people working there are on crack, no offense. I might also extend my comments to restaurants and other similar establishments in the DC area. I might elaborate on the quality or quantity of the food and or the persons involved in the consuming of the food.

So to start off I would like to share a story about the one of the only times that I have gone to the McDonalds on campus. First was when I tried to get some breakfast. I believe it was almost eleven o'clock, I bit late for breakfast I will admit but nonetheless it still wasn't lunch. So I ordered a bagel, egg and cheese. The woman at the register looked at me strangely and said, "Well we only have one..." She then continued to just stare at me until I said,"Well can I have it?" Still she kept staring and then said, "Well yeah." Maybe she was saving that sandwich for someone I'm not sure, but in the end I was the one with the sandwich.

Another time I went later at night, to get some ice cream. My friend and I were the only ones there and the man at the cash register was acting more than strange. First when we ordered he gave us the craziest grins, he is the one with the random braids all over his head making him look all the more insane. He then while making our McFlurries shouted, "I just cut myself with a key!" He then started laughing. We then ran away.

The Tetris Riots

2009-01-13T19:44:00.030-05:00

Letters to Tetris Online Customer Support

I was never that big on tetris. Organizing blocks neatly seems more like a job for people with OCD and foreign construction workers. However, the semester break felt dreadfully boring and I needed to do something more than watching war. After watching so many war movies, I began having flashbacks, and so, I searched for a cure until suddenly, I found one. In the following days, I became stricken with Tetris fever (its like jungle fever but involves far fewer black women*). The disease became so bad that I eventually took the top spot on the leaderboard.

The bad news comes next. For some reason, Tetris Friends, the Facebook application that I inject inbetween my toes to satisfy my Tetris fetish, doesn't seem to load here on campus for reasons unbeknowest to anyone. I suspected laziness at the Tetris Friends headquarters may be responsible and I set off to find out why my Tetris dealer decided to blow me off. The following is a series of e-mails between myself and the wonderful people at Tetris Online Customer support.

To Tetris Online Customer Support:

dude, tetris isn't working. it won't load for myself or anyone else. If it doesn't work soon, people might riot here. Please help, I'm worried I might not survive this riot.

Yeah, I realize that e-mail reads as though I'm high on something(I'm not), but at the time I didn't think they'd actually respond to any email, especially one as dumb as this one. But to my surprise, they sent a response in which they try to help me through my Tetris problems. For the sake of keeping your interest, I'm not going to bother showing you the e-mail they sent (they told me the same old delete your cookies shit). I decided to respond in order to see just how far I could string these people along.

Dear Tetris Online Customer Support,

My name is Kit Kitchner and I am replying on behalf of Marco. I was Marco's roommate until last night when a mob, which formed due to the tetris outage, dragged us both out of our room. At some point, we were split apart and I never saw him again. I was saved by SWAT, fortunately, before the mob could cause me any harm. Marco, however, wasn't so lucky. The police found his body today and his head has yet to be located.

I am currently going through Marco's email messages and responding to his close friends and family. To those that knew him well, Marco was an avid fan of tetris, which is why I decided to respond to you. You see, for Marco's Funeral I want people to be able to play Tetris Friend's during the funeral service. The problem is that Tetris Friends fails to load. I fear that this problem may not be fixed before the funeral and a riot may occur. I worry SWAT may not respond as quickly as previously and I will be laid t o rest next to Marco. Please try your best to resolve this problem, if not for myself, then for Marco, may he rest in peace.

Thank you,

Kit Kitchner

For those of you still reading, 1)why?, 2) if you worked at Tetris Online Customer Support would you honestly take the time to respond to an e-mail like this? As it turns out, its actually a very boring place to work at because, yes, they have very little to do other than respond to obvious fake e-mails.

A group meeting at Tetris Online Customer support Headquarters

TOCS responded back with every effort to show sympathy through text.

Dear Kit,

Could you please access Tetris Friends from Firefox (http://www.mozilla.com/en-US/firefox/) to see if you’re encountering the same issue? We just want to check if it’s an IE problem or a setting in Marco’s computer.

Thank you.

Our condolence to Marco.

-Tetris Online Customer Support

I am sincerely moved by TOCP's continuous attempts to aide my Tetris problem and, at the same time, try to comfort me after my loss. I press on and send another e-mail, this time, from Kit Kitchner's own e-mail address.

Dear Tetris Online Customer Support,

I doubt you, the person reading this letter, is the same one whom received my and Marco’s previous letters concerning the lack of Tetris available at our residence. In this case, I will just fill you in the small details. On the evening of January 11, Marco sent an email to customer support in hopes of fixing the problem that plagued his Tetris Friends: the game would not load. Marco received a reply the following day with a list of options he could take in order to alleviate the problem. After 3 frustrating hours, Marco failed to fix the Tetris Friends problem. At this time, a mob formed outside the room screaming for Tetris Friends. The crowd soon turned violent and Marco was killed during the ensuing riot.

For his funeral, I wanted people to be able to play Tetris Friends, which I’m sure Marco would have wanted. I had hoped the problem could have been fixed by the time of the funeral but once again customer support’s advice to pray to the Firefox, as they called it, only allowed me to make contact with a deceased man named Raul Eduardo. Raul was born in 1910 and, as you probably figured out yourself, knows nothing about computers. He will, however, make an excellent primary for my research paper on The Spanish Civil War (the one from 1936, not 1820), so thanks for that. Anyways, I happened to explain to Raul what Tetris is and he is now eager to play the game. I fear he might join the unruly crowd now forming outside my building. I would really like if this new rebellion will not receive help from the undead. Any new ideas on fixing my problem and preventing genocide?

Sincerely,

Kit Kitchner

P.S. Please fix this soon. Our doors won’t keep the mob out for long.

It looks to me that the good people at TOCP no longer seem interested in my dilemma considering they have stopped answering my emails. I'll try to update this story later hopefully with a response or some more emails I've sent but most likely I've grown bored with this.

*In fact, it includes absolutely no women of any race

Editor's Note - About the Title

2009-01-13T19:09:00.005-05:00

Oh, why hello there. Welcome back. I suppose I should explain the title of this blog, which has drawn both questions and praise from readers. You'll likely notice the pun on Kibbles & Bits, but it goes further than that. While we here at Jibbles n' Shit approach most perspectives in a similar manner that the dog food satiates a wide variety of canine preferences, it also goes beyond the ordinary window frames that accompany even the most common of essays found on the interwebs.

You see, unlike the dog food, which offers that variety as modifications of the same brand, Jibbles n' Shit is like different dog food brands altogether forming a kind of gross mix that happens to taste great on tortilla chips. Trust me.

The world is a wondrous and changing place, ranging from the grand glorious jibbles of Oz, to the downtrodden shit of tomorrow. Dog food or no, we are on the verge of a new tomorrow, and this blog will serve that new world order.

And that reminds me - this blog, in general, stands firmly opposed to popular dog food brands. Only homegrown dog food fresh off the farm is conducive to proper puppy care. But we'll leave further speculation to our fluffy animal columnist, Ghost Captain.

Credit for the title goes to our Asian correspondent, Mr. Roboto. Be sure to send your flowers and stalker notes to him, not the publishing HQ. That is all.

Editor's Note - How This Works and Why: A Foray into Introductions

2009-01-13T14:30:00.008-05:00

I love titles*. This particular title makes me feel particularly proud in a particular sort of particularity. It's not the usual hokey stuff that accompanies most of my ambiguous crap. Rather, it is, for a change, understandable, and perhaps paradigm-setting. At the very least, it can't be misconstrued as a carpentry cookbook this time.

Anyhow, dear reader, you likely are now wondering what unearthly creature possessed you to start reading a blog that as of yet has not delivered anything that could be considered entertaining or provoking. Well, that's the problem with introductory notes. I can't just start randomly launching into my ergonomic tirades against sugarless confections and expect any sort of immediate recognition. I need to explain, first, how this will work.

This will not be one person writing here. A large ensemble of writers representing various opinions, perspectives, subjects, and shoe sizes will be contributing consistent columns that will be labeled accordingly. For instance, I, your humble Super Jibbler, will be commenting on the finer points of isolation (detailed explication forthcoming in following posts), as well as editing the general layout. Our Asian correspondent, Mr. Roboto, will be giving the deliciously sardonic Asian perspective in his column, "Herro from Japan!". And many more columns will follow. All will be constantly updated. One person can keep track of one, or try to keep up with it all. The point is, there will be no dearth of content for even the most obsessive followers. If a reader finds this overwhelming, no worries. There's always time to waste by skimming through what will hopefully a very full collection of archives.

Now this isn't the usual personal homepage bullshit. God, how that irks me. E.g. "Look at my life, this is what I think, I love goldfish". That may have it's function in society, but making me retch is not the most productive function for any website.

Nor is this going to be an extremely esoteric or academic website. That would require diligence, intelligence, and deliberation, all of which are severely lacking in this blogger. While we will have columns written by those who are extremely gifted and detailed, the accountability will have to lie within the reader's interest. That is, anything written by any contributor will have to be taken into whatever-sized mound of salt a given reader chooses to carry with him/her. We will not censor for language or content, so any article written here will be unfiltered and unrepentently defended for expression. If you are easily offended by this sort of coarse approach to contributorial collaboration, then I sympathize, but you're gonna have to take it outside. In the words of John Stuart Mill, "individual expression is rough, sordid, and yet enlightening, so suck it."

And yet nor will this be some run-of-the-mill human interest page. Though no information presented here can be strictly taken as verifiable, we expect that it will be nevertheless useful. Consider it sort of like a collection of unedited op-ed or society articles in your local newsrag. Or
newsrock. I certainly wouldn't want to discriminate against the third world cul-de-sac drivel, now, would I?

If anyone reading this wants to contribute, simply e-mail the editor at bestsodaever@gmail.com.

And now, to reward you all for reading this boring garbage, I present the first in a provocative series of abstract essays by our arts columnist, Mantonio Boloney Forte. Enjoy:

//////

//
///
///
/

//
///
///
/

//
///
///
/

//
///
///
/

//
///
///
/

////
///
//

*For the record, for those of you who are dyslexic like my good colleague Eric, I do indeed love titties, but that is neither here nor there.