Monday, September 26, 2011
"AAAAAAAA! 11 days until what?" you ask.
"TERROR!" I reply in the spookiest manner.
But until October 7, which will officially kick off Frightening Fridays 2011, I know you will want to tickle your spooky bone by revisiting some of these spine-tingling tales of terror from Frightening Fridays past.
Who could forget Terrifying Evil Clowns of Terror?
Or the Gourmet Zombie Brain Eater?
And what about The Impolitely Accused Witches of Salem?
I know you still like awake at night fearing The Babysitters Who Go Check Out That Mysterious Noise Alone Club.
If that's not enough terror, maybe try out A Very Depressing Tale of Lost Hopes and Dreams.
Definitely don't read The Flying Dutchman in 2010 right before bed.
And if you value your sanity and un-peed pants, definitely avoid Hotel Room Showers Are Scary.
AAAAAAAAA! I just got really scared thinking about Dracula's Terrible Houseguests.
And, oh my god, what was that noise? I sure hope it wasn't the Camp of Questionable Safety Standards!
See you in 11 days.... Mwahahahahahahaha!
Thursday, September 22, 2011
I feel like everyone in the world is up in arms today, whether it be about the very sad situation in Georgia or the very unimportant situation on Facebook.
I think it's time for a story, and I have a perfect one for today. It's called "Mark Zuckerberg Decides to Make Changes to Facebook and Everybody's Totally Mad at Him."And I was going to illustrate it using Lego people, but I cannot because of my computer situation. So, just know that the part of Mark Zuckerberg was going to be played by Lego Lucius Malfoy (pictured above).
Mark Zuckerberg Decides to Make Changes to Facebook and Everybody's Totally Mad at Him
One night Mark Zuckerberg was sitting in his solid gold ergonomic office chair at Facebook headquarters, thinking about what mean things he could do to people. And after he thought about it for a while and decided that it would be virtually impossible to leave flaming bags of poop on every doorstep in the world, he thought, "Maybe I'll just do what I always do and make some miniscule changes to Facebook again. And then I'll get to spend the rest of the day reading irate statuses and giggling with glee."
"Bad idea, Mark Zuckerberg," said some guy who works at Facebook, who would have been played by a Lego man who looks a bit like my dad. "Facebook users will totally threaten to leave again."
"Don't question my authority!" said Mark Zuckerberg, and suddenly the Lego man who looks like my dad was no longer able to access his Farmville.
"Nooooooo!" said the Lego man who looks like my dad.
"That's what you get," said Mark Zuckerberg. "Good luck harvesting those virtual crops tonight. Mwahahahahaha!"
And with that, Mark Zuckerberg escaped to the secret laboratory under Facebook headquarters where he carried out his evil plan to change Facebook once again. Of course, the description of what happened next involves lots and lots of coding and that's boring for us laypeople, so let us skip ahead to what happened the next morning.
On September 21, 2011, President Barack Obama, who would have been played by Lego Harry Potter, turned on his computer and immediately went to his Facebook to post an amusing cat video.
"What's this?" said President Barack Obama. "Changes to Facebook again? Get me Mark Zuckerberg on the phone!" And almost immediately, President Barack Obama was on the phone with Mark Zuckerberg.
"Mark Zuckerberg, I'm totally mad at you!" said President Barack Obama. "There's some thing on Facebook now that forces me to read about every photo liking and every friending of two people. And I just read that Kathleen Sebelius likes Hootie and the Blowfish. Why would I want to read that?"
"Mwahahahahaha!" cackled Mark Zuckerberg. "Not even you can stop me from forcing every Facebook user in the world to read that one person is now friends with another."
"I'll get you for this if it's the last thing I do!" said President Barack Obama and quickly hung up the phone, updated his status to say that he was mad at Mark Zuckerberg, and then got back to work on fixing the economy.
Meanwhile, people all over the world were logging in to their Facebook accounts and exploding with irritation.
"I have to click here instead of there to look at friends' photos. I'm so mad right now!" said an average female Facebook user who would have been played by my Lego zookeeper.
"Honey, I heard you shout in irritation!" said her husband, who would have been played by a Lego palace guard.
"Facebook is different now!" his wife replied. "I'm so upset I'm going to write a long Note and tag all of our Facebook acquaintances so they can read about how mad I am."
"Yes, honey," said the palace guard. "That will definitely get Mark Zuckerberg to change Facebook back to the way it was."
And so the Facebook user who would have been played by my Lego zookeeper wrote out a long manifesto about how if Facebook didn't change back to how it was, she was totally going back to MySpace. She tagged her seven friends. All of them responded with comments like, "Totally agree!" and "Do you hear this, Mark Zuckerberg?"
Of course, Mark Zuckerberg heard them. He was sitting in the atrium of Facebook headquarters, the place where he always sat to bask in the irritation he had caused. But he was not swayed by the irritation of the user who would have been played by a Lego zookeeper. "Nobody tells me what to do!" And from that moment until the end of the day, every time that user tried to post a YouTube video, she got some spinning circle that gave her the impression the video was loading when it really wasn't.
Mark Zuckerberg was very pleased with his day. "My work here is done," he giggled to himself.
And not to be left out, his very agreeable butler, who would have been played by Lego Dobby the House Elf said, "Yeah, you sure showed them."
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
And so, early this morning at 12:21 AM, my PC, She-Ra, Princess of Power III, perished from this earth and went to the big electronics discount store in the sky. She was five.
Let us mourn her now by remembering what she gave us.
Who could forget how She-Ra, Princess of Power III sometimes smelled like melting plastic? How her charger made that buzzing sound that was either a swarm of angry gnats or a short of some kind? She-Ra, Princess of Power III, if you are out there listening, just know that whenever I smell burning plastic from now on, I shall think of you and quickly get my fire extinguisher.
I'll never forget how you liked to shut down without warning, sometimes losing all evidence of anything I had written. You taught me to hit Command+S with the diligence of a person with OCD shutting off the stove knobs. For that, you are a hero, I suppose.
Let us also remember how She-Ra, Princess of Power III was sometimes completely un-usable for several hours because of "software updates" and "virus scans" and how that taught me the value of patience and many, many colorful swear words.
She-Ra, Princess of Power III, we were together for a long time. A very long time for a computer and the user who grew to hate it. And now I like to think that you're up in heaven, annoying the shit out of the angels.
Monday, September 12, 2011
The other day, my doctor told me that I have mono. And that I've probably had it off and on for more than a year, which explains why all I have wanted to do for longer than I can remember is lie on my sofa under a pile of blankets and pretend I'm a cicada nymph. Before that diagnosis, I firmly believed in three things: 1) that once you've had mono, you can never have it again, 2) it lasts a few terrible weeks at most and then is gone, and 3) that when you're sick, fairies come down from the sky and cure all your illnesses while you sleep with fairy dust poultices applied to your chest area. Therefore, going to the doctor is always optional, unless you lose a limb and can't manage to cauterize the wound on your own.
Apparently I've been wrong about all three things for my entire life.
I had mono in high school, and I was gone for an entire week, and the only awesome thing about that was that I didn't have to stand up for those mortifying perfect attendance awards we had at the end of the school year where everyone would look at you like you were some kind of never-sick goody-two-shoes.
My doctor told me that I have "old mono" and "new mono." And I don't know what that means, but I like to imagine the old mono walking around the golf course in my spleen remarking, "Neville, old bean, have you seen all this new mono walking around? How gauche." Meanwhile the new mono are all out on their yacht with a lot of topless bacteria, screaming, "Woo! Partay!"
Long story short, mono is an asshole. So, don't get mono. Unless your goal in life is to hibernate through your 30s.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
|You can't tell by looking at him, but this bald eagle is bored out of his mind.|
Hey, over here.
I don't know how to tell you this, so I'm just going to come right out and say it.
Your personal account of the events of September 11, 2001, wherein you were watering your lawn and "...ran inside real quick to turn on the TV" is seriously...SERIOUSLY boring.
You need to stop telling it.
No, don't argue with me.
I think we both know this is for the best.
When people ask the question, "Where were you?" they are actually hoping you'll say, "I was a firefighter. I ran into the first tower and personally saved the lives of 27 people" so they can tell everyone they know that they met a real life hero and got to buy him a drink.
They don't want to know that you were, "...in your hotel room ironing your pants for the big software conference and saw the tragedy unfolding on the news."
I know it was a big, scary, sad, angry day for you. It was a terrible day for everyone. But I think we can all agree that since you were 700 miles from Ground Zero and "heading to the garage to get your oil changed" at the time of the attacks, it's safe to say that your account is not worth hearing more than once. It's been 10 years, and you don't even own that car anymore.
And now you're thinking, "But, Bethany, how do I know if my personal account of 9/11 is really interesting or if people are just nodding and smiling when I tell it?"
I'm so glad you asked. Here's how you know.
1. If your story includes the words "I ran in and turned on the TV," it's boring. Did anyone but the Amish NOT turn on their TVs that day? Answer: no.
2. If part of your account includes calling everyone you know to verify that they are all fine and still living at least 500 miles from New York, DC, and Stonycreek Township, Pennsylvania, it's not worth hearing.
"But, Bethany," you quickly chime in, "Can I tell that part where I took off my shirt, painted my chest red, white, and blue, went on a three-day bender, and woke up on Lee Greenwood's front lawn with the lyrics of "Proud to Be An American" tattooed across my chest?"
Yes. That one you can tell. But if it drifts into where you like to shop for post-tragedy snow globes, I'm going to stop you.
Disclaimer: The author reserves the right to say these mean things because her 9/11 account starts, "I was asleep..." and she admits openly that it is pretty boring.