John's Head: 2007-09-02

These are letters from Dave the midget, an adventurous midget who travels the world and then emails me.
John,
I have met the greatest people. They have made me think about the world in a whole new world. They are such nice people, and they never stop to mention the obviousness of my midgetness. I have learned of their great leader, The Great Tron,all hail, or T for short. T is awesome beyond all belief. He speaks through our sub leader, Josh. Josh is a great guy because he is so great to T. He has a great apartment up near the beach, I thought it was so expensive but it turns out that T pays for it all, isn't that great! anyways, after the daily cleansing (we take aall our items of wealth and putthem into abox and send it to our great leader Tron, all hail. after that we wait while Josh contacts the great Tron, all hail, in his bedroom. He brings along a new recruit each time, whom he picks at random. Most of the time it is one of the new high school recruits from the local girls chapter down the street (they areso confused until Josh shows them the way, after they witness Tron, all hail, in action, they never leave that bedroom the same).after the witnessing, he always comes back with great news. Yesterday he said that Tron, all hail, will soon come in his flying pine tree of hope and bring us to his land where we can live in peace and happiness. Only then do we ever see the great erection that Tron, all hail, has made for us, his followers, in his homeland, Tronland. It is the greatest erection ever created, Josh says, so large that it makes other erections seem pathetic. Josh can never say that without a big smile, as though hes seen the Great Erection for his own eyes and marveled at its beauty. I can't wait for th day Tron takes us home, until then, I will continue shedding my gods until a ladder can be built out of gold strong enough to pierce the barriers the US government has set up so that we can't climb to Tronland.
All of Tron's Love
Dave

1 week later
John,
That fucking piece of shit, he destroyed me. He took my wife and kids, he had sex with my daughter, my wife, and me. There was no fucking Tronland, there's no fucking erection, there's no golden ladder. Fucking dick is going to die a slow painful death after I track that bastard down. I'll kill him, I'll strangle him. He will DIE! I already burned down his house and I blew up his car. I just have to find him. Why? Why did he convince me to believe that there was a great Tron, all hail, damnit, i can't break that fucking habit. HE ISN'T REAL DAVE!!!! FUCK!!!
I have nothing left. I gave it all to that lying cheating son of a bitch. I have nothing. My house, gone. My wife, kids, gone. My job, I gave it to him. How could I do that? Anyways, i have to go, my rides here and I can't miss church.
Dave
another one he sent awhile later
John,
Hey it's Dave again, you know, the midget. I just got back from Africa and that's why I haven't gotten back for awhile. Anyways, it has been nuts for the past two weeks, I just have to tell you. I have been working for a tree service in Central Africa. Basically, I garden the rain forest. I'll tell you what, I have never had to climb so much just to cut each individual leaf into the shape of former presidents before in my life, and there are a lot of leaves. My boss is a real nice guy. After my breakfast of red berries and my immediate diarrea (he says it's because the berries are so amazing they make me shit! haha, he's such a joker), I strap into my safety belt made of the strongest grasses mixed with kerosene for extra strength. at which point I am pulled quickly by Juan Garcia (a wonderful man unless you get on his bad side, I guess I'm on his bad side though, because his relentless beatings simply don't scream"love!") into the treetops with nothing but my wits and a high pressure propane torch. I then go about my rain forest reclamation project. I've never felt so alive, then again the incessant malaria is a bit distracting. Well, anyways, I thought I'd let you know since I haven't been allowed at a computer for many weeks now, my boss says if I talk about the conditions here, people might get jealous. got to go, I have just been called by Juan, I hope he will accept my apology for being mean to him.
Dave
A lot of thoughts, enjoyIt creeps in the shadows when you aren't looking, slyly waiting for its time to strike. You, unaware of the wretched beast buried beneath the benign, barely remarkable among the piles of papers that plume across your desk. It calmly collects as you complete your assignments and then, when the time is right, as the computer stays still and your fingers rest calmly, content with a job well done, boredom strikes in a flash. Without warning your brain is barraged, searching sporadically for a subject to tranquil your now disheveled mind. your fingers become busy once again, frantically tapping out the letters you cannot live without. myspace.com, slides across your bar as though it were a middle-aged man in a ferrari, blasting across recklessly. Gliding up and down the screen you cannot seem to find any messages meant for your thirsty brain. So you wet its whistle with a transmission to as many as you may, or may not know. soon enough your inbox floods with anticipation, and you blast through each letter as though you had never had social contact with another human being before. Eventually though, the sending ceases, and the superficial sustenance to your serenity is no longer. Boredom grasps harder from the insides of your poor pathetic puppet of ennui's every whim. You cannot take it any longer. The boredom cannot be silenced, and the foreign body has won. There is no stop the little monster, saddened, you go about reaching hopelessly for any sort of mental stimulation. Then, by a stroke of a miracle, something appears before your eyes that seems to weaken the hold tedium has on you. You stare jovially at the television screen and you see upon it the unmistakable logo that has saved so many like minds from the same predicament. The letters, the sweet saviors of a sullen soul, so simple, so sweet, and to think the ones that had saved this poor soul from utter destruction would spell MTV.This daily enlightenment brought to you byMTV: Send me your tired, your hungry, your bored massesdaily enlightenment not guaranteed everyday, MTV is on, not playing musicLight, the ultimate source of life. It has created everything you see around you in some way or another, hell, you wouldn't even be able to see it without light. But lets think about a light beam for a moment.Light, like most things, is a wave made up of particles called photons. When something gives off energy, it creates light. Everything from the heat of your body, to the big giant ball in the sky, emits light. Sound, another thing that is vital to us, is created by a vibration hitting other particles of a medium and eventually that sound will come to your ear. Very simplistic explanations but follow me. Unlike sound, lights energy is the same energy that was created by the emitter, whereas sound is a reaction to the emitter eventually getting to your ear. The light you see is the same light that was created by your screen and was absorbed by your eye. I don't know if you're getting at what I'm getting at, but bear with me. Light is the purest source of radiation. What you see is exactly what was created, radiated, reflected, whatever, light is pure. sound has to go through a bowling ball effect from millions of air molecules, therefore, whatever you hear, however crisp, is never the original sound. Therefore, whatever you take away from this daily enlightenment, will probably be really cool, in the meantime, I'm going to wonder what I was trying to say.This daily enlightenment brought to you byNew York: because Old York sucksdaily enlightenment not guaranteed everyday, I'm staring at light, pure lightWhy can't they finally put up a sign that says"This sign is a waste of your time"or even better"Please disregard this sign"If I leave a 20 in my pocketcould I be arrested for laundering money?They need a fat barbieThey'll call iteventually eating disorder barbiewhat if the grass isn't greener on the other sideyou just spent all that time climbing all the fences to get theirand the grass sucksshitTo fit a square block through a round holeyou need a sawThis daily enlightenment brought to you byScripps- because you probably have cancerdaily enlightenment not guaranteed everyday, I'm putting a square block through a freshly made square holePS I got into ASU, fuck you I'm outgo to my other side project at sowhatifhesanidiot.com to show my smartass Bush bashing.
The TruthThe Truth- Episode 2A side project of mine, may you never sleep again.

Well, I did it, I made it all the way to 18 years old. I don’t know how, but somehow I managed it. I do find it interesting though the focus on my birthday. Not that I didn’t like it, I just don’t understand it. I guess it stems from the feeling that a birthday is a special day, meant only for the person celebrating it and all those who say “happy birthday” are giving happiness to some random soul. But what is this really a celebration of? Now, let’s break down the word itself, birth day, day of birth, day of my birth, it is my birthday. (Weird I know, but bear with me) So when I celebrate someone’s birthday, I am actually celebrating a day, not too many years ago, when a man and a woman had sex, then not too long after, the woman was in agonizing pain for many hours till you crawled out of her like an exorcized demon. Basically we are celebrating the fact that you weren’t aborted. Later on your birthday came around and your parents made it a tradition to spoil you on that particular day, so later on you insisted that you be showered with gifts and told that you have a wonderful future ahead of you.So now whenever you think of someone’s birthday, remember, that poor mother on the hospital bed, screaming in pain, yelling at the supposed father “You asshole!” and yelling for more morphine. This daily enlightenment brought to you byTrojan: Don't have a baby, wrap your meat maybedaily enlightenment not guaranteed everyday, I am getting images out of my mind.

How will you be remembered? It's a simple question, and many could answer it right off the bat, but most of those people would be wrong. Because everyone sees people in a different way. To one person your actions will be determined as one thing, and to another your actiuons will be interpreted in a totally different light. The way we are remembered by different people will all be determined on the relative baackgrounds of the people remembering you. But that leads to a question, can you change the perception you make on people? Is the perception you give particularly good? If so, who are the one's that are determining my actions as good? Then again, what does this matter?And that is the most importantquestion of them all, what does it matter? Who cares how others percieve you. As long as you in your own mind percieve yourself as good, you will find that others will do the same thing. If you constatly worry about what others think of you, people will just think you worry too much. So just be you, don't change to tryt to please others, change to please yourself, because in the end, that's the only person you can be guaranteed will always like you. This daily enlightenment brought to you byRepublicans '08: Democrats eat babiesandDemocrats '08:Republicans eat babies and screw page boysdaily enlightenment not guaranteed everyday, I'm worrying about whether you like me or not.
Infomercials baffle me. Throughout the summer, I would drift into a slumber with the sweet sound of Comedy Central lofting me of to sleep. I would awaken, however, to the abrasive and annoying sounds of infomercials, piecing their message into my brain, waking those who intended to sleep and replacing their dreams with the downgrading feeling of not having their advertised product.
But wow, these products can do amazing things. Here is a possible quote from an infomercial I may have seen.

[annoying announcer guy who won't use the product himself] "Stick up Your Ass" has been FDA approved to keep you healthy, wealthy and alive for well over what you may have normally lived. It also saves tons of time. lets hear some testomonials.

[weird bitch who is way to excited to have actually used this product] wiping my ass was so hard until I got "Stick up My Ass" now I never have to poo again.

[uptight jerk doctor with a fake smile on his face] I prescribe "Stick up my ass" to all my patients because it truly saves lives.

[creep announcer] These next testimonials truly touch my heart.

sad music
[weird guy with a slight frown on his face and a tear in his eye]

I bought "Stick Up My Ass" the day before the September 11 attacks, and as I was cramming it up my butthole, I was late to work and watched the first plane hit the tower, on the very floor I was supposed to work in. Later that day, "Stick Up My Ass" gave an electrical shock to my wife's esophagus right before she started her car bombed rigged car that was arranged by the mafia. The next day I found out that each member of that, and all other mafias in my area had all died in a terrible black plague outbreak that only targeted them. Thank you "Stick Up My Ass"

people say I have outlandish ideas. There just jealous 'cause they didn't think of it first

Trendy clothes are like drugs. You at first mock those who wear them, making your opinion loud and clear.

But then you are out with your friends and decide, "why not just try it, it can't hurt right?" Then you're hooked.

You can't stop. You can't stop thinking about your new hobby and it consumes you, but you deny any addiction.

Your friendships take a dive and you replace all of your old friends with those that share your addiction.

You find yourself in some back alleys spending 100's of dollars on your newfound addiction, just to have that feeling of when you first tried it.

Eventually you hit rock bottom; you are out of money and are completely buried by the purchases, but you still can't think of any life beyond that addiction you had once mocked people for.

Eventually you go back to your life as it was, but you still always remember hat first time you tried out the newest craze.

Everything should be automatic. I don't want to touch, pull, push, turn or do anything to do anything that some machine could do for me, if any of that was understandable (translation from my brain to your petty language is a bit fuzzy at times).
Someday this will be a reality. A reality where no one has to do anything. all doors open themselves, chewing is done autonomously, driving is done by a computer, hell, you won't even need to poop because some machine will do it for you. I personally, cannot wait for the day I signal for me to take a shit and suddenly a machine does it for me.

What will we call these machines? Maybe we will have automatic naming machines that automatically name machines...and babies. But then when everything is automatic, who would make more machines? Machines of course.

But what if there's a malfunction in the machines making them kill people and then the machines keep reproducing as they kill people and then they eat everyone up and then the machines will learn how to play poker and become really good at it and then they will become the World Poker Champion and they will spend their money on buying people which they will eat and then they will need to play more poker to win more people and then they will run out of people to eat and the machines will spend the rest of their existence playing endless amounts of poker over and over again until the sun expands to the earth and swallows the earth in all it's shining glory.

what the fuck is wrong with me?

Peanut brittle is the ultimate murder weapon. Because of its awesomeness, no one is phased by the site of a piece of peanut brittle, not even a guy who wants you dead. Plus it has the advantage of being able to go through metal detectors without a beep.
But then, when the time comes, this well meaning peanut brittle quickly becomes a true weapon of death. because it is so hard, its pieces break up into pieces of deadly melted sugar that will impale anyone who tries to do anything funny, while still being oh-so-delicious afterwards.

Then after the deed is done, you can leave the weapon there. Cops will just think its a delicious treat the victim was munching on before he died a painful death, what they won't know, is it will be the awesome death by peanut brittle.

Even if you are caught in the act, what jury will seriously believe that you can kill a person by using peanut brittle, except those few people who have a chance to read my awesome daily enlightenments.

And if you don't read my daily enlightenments, you should be impaled by peanut brittle.

As per slight suggestion, I am going to write today about a subject that affects us all at one point or another. That is a tyrant teacher. A bitch, a jerk, an asshole, a perv, a dick, a fag, a retard, a sick basterd that has somehow weaseled there way into the profession that is teaching. Now, I personally have had to deal with these teachers my entire life, either that or I just really hate teachers.
But a tyrant teacher can be pointed out in many different ways. Excess homework shows off a teachers inability to teach and there own idiocy in enforcing their excess homework is another tell-tale sign of a tyrant teacher. Degrading or idiotic comments towards the students that emanate of stupidity, another sign. A full grown, married man looking down the shirts of 13 year old girls, another sign. The playing of really bad music that no student wants to hear during class time, another sign. Taking class time to discuss topics of political importance, while not allowing for the completion of other work that is of more severe importance at the time, is yet another sign. The whining and complaining of a teacher that can't teach, complaining of the classes inability to learn. The constant droning on about a topic that no one really cares to hear in a time when there should be *gasp* teaching going on. A teacher with a car that only rappers and millionaires should afford. And, to make a long story short, most teachers, except the cool ones

The End, now go slap your teachers.

Have you ever been asked a really dumb question?
Not like, "what's your name?" but more like, "are you awake?"

lets go over what dumb questions there are, and recommended answers from the psychotic mind of John.

Are you awake?- No you dumb bitch, I am sending you a goddamn telepathic message so I can sleep a decent amount without having to spend decent class time I could be using for getting high for sleeping.

You get a haircut?- no asshole, there was a terrorist attack last night and they used haircare products.

Did you like the movie?: Fuck you, if I wanted to give you my goddamn opinion I'll tell you, till then, stop trying to make petty small talk and go shove it up your ass

Did you hear me?- yes I heard you, i just wasn't listening to your bullshit that seemed so important to you, please though, dont repeat it, I would rather drop dead then hear your crap again.

Where are you?- I am right here, where the fuck are you?

Are you sure?- no you dumb bitch, I said that just for the fun of it to see what your dumbass would say,now that I know what that is, I can now slap the shit out of you

Watch your language-it's English you dumb fuck

my psychiatrist hates me

Being the really random person that I am, I think up of certain scenarios in my head. Some are odd, some are random, some are just plain psycho, but they happen nonetheless. Occasionally I will think up of an amazing scenario in my head that is so awesome that it deserves its own little daily enlightenment, obviously I do this a lot. So one of the little episodes in my head happens to require girl scouts and death
Okay, so I'm in front of a Vons during the yearly Girl Scout cookie season. I see the cute little girls gathered around a table full of cookies, and as I pass they immediately ask "do you want some cookies?" as if they were programmed to do just that. And I calmly say, "No girls, not today"

Immediately they look at you with deep dark stares and rigid grimaces on their faces. They say, "Are you sure?" and I say, with a bit of fear in my voice, "yes."

They then jump at me, ripping away at my arms that pathetically covering my vulnerable face. They rip out my wallet and take out everything in it, tossing it's contents aside, but not yet releasing me. I beg, "Please girls, don't kill me" "It's too late for that you piece of shit, how can you say no to a cute face like this, huh, HUH!"

I shake in fear of what might happen next, hoping my watch doesn't get scratched, I hate it when my watch gets scratched. They knock me out with a quick, well placed hit on the neck from a girl with bigger arms then most football players.

I awaken in a dark room. I can't see much, but I can hear the desperate cries of other unhappy customers screaming for help. A door opens and a small group of girls walk in through the blinding light. A large muscular ten year old rips me from my tied up state and beats me half to death and throws me from the building, the house of the President of the PTA. and as I struggle to crawl away from my former prison, I murmur to myself how it's a bit of a health hazard to not buy Girl Scout Cookies.

and that is what I think about on a day to day basis

maybe I should do my homework

The other day I bought a pair of shoes. Just some basic running shoes, quite comfortable. But within it's din of paper and minor booklets of other shoes you may be interested in if you are particularly fond of shoes, there was a small packet of what is known as "silica gel." Now, to some this is just another random piece of trash that needs to be thrown away with the box, but to others, this little packet of "silica gel" seems to be a meal. Yes, a meal. Because on this packet of "silica gel" there says, "DANGEROUS DO NOT EAT." Now I personally would never consume anything that derives from a shoebox, but I guess some have different tastes than I.
But you have to imagine, at one point or another, a man saw this little packet at the bottom of his shoebox and didn't think "trash", but instead thought, "food." After getting sick, this man immediately called up his lawyer saying, "I got sick off of a packet of shit I found at the bottom of my shoebox, let's sue Nike." After a few months in court, this very rich and stupid man made a settlement with Nike for a million dollars. And from then on, all packets of shit that can be found at the bottom of a shoebox were labeled, "DANGEROUS DO NOT EAT"

and people wonder why I hate stupid people so much

Freshmen suck. Not the sucky freshmen, but the ones who think they own the school just because they took a tour in 8th fucking grade. The few that are cool, this does not apply to you (if you are wondering if you're cool or not, just reply or somethin so I can tell you that you aren't).
But when a frosh decides that just because they are in a new school, and therefore think that they can trample over everyone, they are severely wrong. The problem though, is the administration doesn't allow for the severe beating of dumbass freshmen, especially when they need it. In fact, I propose that all upperclassmen band together and kick every incoming freshmen's ass at registration, then they won't have some kind of power trip when they are in the school, they will be pre-put into their place. And the next time some freshman comes up to you and asks for directions to a class because he doesn't know his dumbass way through the dumb green fences, punch the little shit in the face, that'll get his damn attention.

I hate freshmen, except the cool ones

I enjoy political campaigns. Not because it shows the true way of america, one man against another, pitted in a fight of knowledge and views, but because it isn't. Because as the voting day winds down closer and closer, new commercials start popping up and a lot of these start happening.
[flash patriotic logo]

John Wheeler fights for the people,
he wants to lower taxes for poor people that wouldn't be able to afford to eat without it

[flash black and white photo of opponent on the toilet]

but his opponent wants to eat you,
he wants to raise the taxes because he's a nazi

[flash picture of opponent eating babies]

vote for John, because he won't eat your baby

[John in really fancy house you will never have surrounded by a family too good to be true]

I am John Wheeler and I approve this message

Have you ever had one of those days where you couldn't type? I am having one of those days, but now that I am typing this out, I'm realizing that it was a temporary difficulty accredited probably to the fact that I have been bed ridden for the past couple of days, but that story shall be saved for whn I get a second blood test.

But either way, I think my daily enlightenments heal. They give a smile to an otherwise very unhappy person, and a frown to an otherwise creepy smiling person. But it also cures my inability to type, even if it were only temporary.

Conclusion: my daily enlightenments carry the power of Jesus, so I must be God.

Feel free to contradict, but remember, if you do, you're going to hell
I saw a doctor awhile back ago for something, I can't remember because the waiting room was so very boring. All there was to do was sit and stare at people reading the magazine you wanted to read but they had gotten to the doctors office first because they had gotten sick first. Anyways I go into the office and a nurse checks my weight and my temperature, a very grim task I might add, and she puts me into a room where I wait.
As I am waiting I think about things. Nothing in particular, but everything in general. Like, you know how airline attendants don't like to be called stewardesses, or whores? and also, the whole job of rattling off the safety information for the plane seems very depressing, it's almost as though you're telling everyone "We might crash, and if we do, a little mask will come down telling you that we crashed, but you'll probably be dead because you didn't fasten your seatbelt correctly."

Anyways, the doctor comes in and says to me, "well son, we think you have add." But he thought I was retarded or something so he spelled it for me; A-D-D. Now, I know I failed math, but that doesn't mean you have to make me take pills or anything like that. And I passed English, so why do they have to spell it for me?

And then something very shiny caught my eye and I didn't listen to him for the rest of the appoinment.

I can't think of what to write. All the good subjects have been used up and I need something to write about. But all day I have picked up all kinds of things that can be possible daily enlightenments, but I have forgotten them. I really should carry a notebook around or something. I blame it on the hot weather though. I hate it when it's hot personally. You can put on a jacket when it's cold, but you can only take off so many clothes when it's hot. But now I'm kind of pissed that I can't bring you, my reader, an interesting story that you can follow and laugh throughout. But I could always tell you the story of Dave the Midget. So that's what I will do from hereon; whenever I can't think of anything to write, I will write about Dave the Midget. So here it is, The ever changing and unfollowable adventures of Dave the Midget.
Dave the midget was a little guy with big dreams. He began his life thinking to build skyscrapers, but he decided that too many people would think he's compensating for his stature, but that can be said about most people who build skyscrapers.

So after his run through some community college no one has heard of, he took the first job offer he could find, a command sock midget for Hanes. After he was taken hostage though by a crazy guy looking for proof of commando sock midgets, he quickly changed his career to acting. He couldn't get much, just a part as an Oompa-Loompa in Willy Wonka.

So after a bout of alcoholism and whoring himself out to 40 year old dwarves in Bratislava he began his current career as a telemarketer. So the next time you say no to one of those telemarketers, you may be talking to an Oompa-Loompa who is a trained sock commando.

Every teacher that is to become a teacher should have to go through a rigorous choosing process.

Let me back up a bit here. Awhile back I wrote about something, I can't remember at the moment, but it said something about how I would write about a student screening of future teachers, so that's what I'm doing.

Anyways, the student screening. When a teacher is about to becaome a teacher, the student body would make the teacher sign a contract stating that they won't become assholes, and if they do become assholes, the student body may beat up that asshole teacher till they are no longer assholes, or they are dead.

Also, after they sign that contract, they are to be tortured until they say that they are not communists convincingly, we don't want that socialist crap to be taught in schools. Fucking commies.

Then after they do become teachers, every now and then a student would come to that teachers house and set a book on fire on their front porch and then ring their doorbell while running away. Gotta scare those new teachers from time to time, keep them in their place.

And after a time the majority of the students don't like a teacher, that teacher would be forcibly transferred to the rival school, let them deal with it.

And that's how it would work if I were a school admin. That and I would have a Porsche, wait, all admins have Porsches.
So on Sunday I had a stroke of immense inspiration. You see, that was the day I went to Hometown Buffet. It was there that I found out that I happened to be there the day that the ugly festival came to town.

There were some ugly ass people at the Hometown Buffet. I mean, it feels like you're at a goddamn circus with all the screaming babies and ugly people walking around, except people don't jab other people with forks for the last piece of fried chicken. I mean, people actually line up for the new platter of food, and they are all ugly people.

You know what's funny though is that there may be a frenzy at every single one of those tables, but oddly there is never a line at the salad bar, must be pretty unpopular.

I saw this one lady that had some really ugly make up on. I mean, have you ever seen that Simpsons where Homer takes up inventing and makes a make up shotgun? It looks like this lady bought four of those guns. And then there was a midget there. An actual midget.

All these years of making fun of midgets, and finally one of them proves me completely right. This midget was a real bitch, pushing through people, cussing at everyone, it was pretty bad, I really should have slapped that little midget. Bad midget, bad.

And oh my god, the children! They never stopped screaming! They just screamed and screamed and screamed, I felt like I was in coach class on US Airways. And some of these kids were completely out of control; I saw one on the floor being kicked around by his siblings. KICKED AROUND, not playful bumping of the foot, not taps via toe, I'm talking full blown "you owe me money asshole" kicks.

That and the food sucked, like a lot.
If you haven't seen X-Men 3, this particular daily enlightenment will not spoil anything more than the trailers have already. But anyways, X3 has a secret message behind it that I will explain in detail.

You see, in these times of confusion sometimes movie makers push out movies that correlate with modern movements. Now, I am not completely sure about this, but I think that X3 is secretly about the modern movement for gay marriage.

That's right, gay marriage, I said it. They put so many clues in, I don't see how it could be missed. The "cure" for mutants is like the "cure" for homosexuality (religion). and then they have the constant fight for rights, some being militant (If I don't get my right to vote, I'm going to scream) and some are just waiting for the rights to happen (I'll be right here at the church till I can marry).

Heck, mutants even had a fellow mutant in office, like gays do with Condoleezza Rice.
Today, I was extremely pissed off by the idiocy of a reputable company. You see, I have been putting off getting my license for awhile now, but a couple of weeks ago I finally called all the people I needed to call and had my schedule perfect to the second.

But today it all crashed down on me when my driving instructor didn't show the fuck up. PISSES ME OFF. The basterd didn't call, and the appointment was scheduled so that I couldn't even call Bakkers, the people who handled the whole thing. Fucking assholes didn't even call. Goddamn it gets me angry, and when John gets angry, people die.

Remember that time I got pissed at the Lucky Charms, well President of Bakker's, if you're reading this (and I know you are), then I advise you don't drive tomorrow or you may just find yourself blown the fuck up you asshole.

And everyone else, I say that we boycott Bakkers, there are tons of other schools throughout San Diego that are cheaper. And in the meantime, call those assholes up and yell at them. About anything, I don't care. It might just save you money on your therapy bills by just screaming your problems at those attendant people. The number is (858) 484 5832, and call them at lunch so that we all call at the same time, it will be awesome.

Fuck you Bakkers

Peter Pan scares the shit out of me.

First of all he can fly. Usually when I see something flying I'm all like "that's cool" but when something is flying into my window, then I'm all like "that is not cool."

But then he can use the excuse that he's looking for his shadow to justify his breaking and entering. I once tried using that excuse, it didn''t go as well as Peter had it go.

But then he gets a bunch of level headed kids to "fly" to his own personal island where they can be happy for the rest of their lives and never grow up. Personally, I think drugs were involved, I mean, come on, lost orphans, who makes this shit up? Potheads, that's who.

Anyone who can coax a bunch of kids to fly scares me, so Peter Pan scares me.

Since I promise it, it will come.

School systems are corrupt. They corral students into little classrooms to teach their little assignments so that the little students can take the little tests at the end of the year and then the little teachers can get their big paychecks.

That's right, their big friggin paychecks that pay for their big friggin cars. And they barely meet the minimum of standards so that they can make it through to the end of the 188 day year and they can sit on their big asses for the next 3 months.

Now this doesn't mean that I am completely against teachers, just the administration.

The administration that sends all the students that don't already know the material beforehand to a "special school" so that they can make even more money off of the kids that need to be taught the most. Heck, if the admins had it their way, they would find a way so that there would be one teacher that they would have to pay and all they would have to do is stick all us pupils into one room with decrepit chairs and barely readable textbooks. Heck, they would have no expenses if they really had it their way. And they would run off in their big cars to their big houses with their wives in the kitchen with her new big boobs.

Fuck the administration!

You know what would be interesting to see, a pimp's office. This pimp would have to be a very good, well-known pimp, because bad, unknown pimps would not shell out for an office.
But this office would have a secretary, of course, so that all his clients would have a sweet voice named Candy say, " Your local pimp, how may I do you?"

And there would be 24 karat gold trim on the walls with pictures of famous clients. Bill Clinton, for instance, Billy Joel, Bono, Brad Pitt, Ben Affleck, and other celebrities with names that start with B.

And the pimp's office would have a Jacuzzi, a spinning heart shaped bed, and a big desk. He wouldn't use the desk for anything like filing or anything like that, just constant, unadulterated whoresex. All the filing would be done by Candy.

These things are why I can never have a normal job

I hate the heat. It's too damn bright, it's too damn annoying, and it's too damn hot. It makes you feel icky an annoyed at the fact that it's so damn fucking hot. So today, I decided to go out and find the source of all this heat.

So I got ready, packed a water bottle and a canteen and one of those giant bottles of water that you see in office buildings and I put all those into a backpack and set off for the source of the heat.

I met up with a witch doctor, just to make sure I was pointed in the right direction, and I always take advice from cackling guys that are as high as kites. And so I went next door to my friend the witch doctor and asked "yo, where does heat come from, I'm gonna go kill it" and the witch doctor said, "Hell man, I think it comes from just beyond Julian, either that or Hawaii, but I'm surer on the Julian thing" and so, as I was leaving his quaint house, he gave me these words of advice. "if someone offers pie, don't eat them, eat the pie." Odd bit of advice, but it would come in handy later, unbeknownst to me at the time.

So I headed up to Julian, where the high guy told me to go. And as I was driving, the people of the heat; those who praise the heat and all it's glory, began to attack me. The Superintendent of Poway Unified Schools jumped at my car and began to scream, "NO ONE SHALL TAMPER WITH THE HEAT, PRAISE THE HEAT!!" and as he began to grab at my side mirrors, I took out my squirt gun and shot him, because I hate it when people fuck with my side mirrors. To my amazement he began to melt away, all the while baring his teeth and screaming an unintelligible prayer. And with his last breath he eeked out the words "may the uncomfort live on" and he melted away.

And so I got to Julian, where the source lives. There was a giant tower with a beam of light blasting through it's roof. and it was there that I saw hundreds of people on their knees surrounding this tower praying. It was everyone. The mayor was there, Franscine Busby, Brian Bilbray, Duke Cunningham, the owner of Starbuck's, and some guy from down my street. And they were all down on their knees praying the same unintelligible prayer the Superintendent was screaming before his water induced death.

So I walked up as though I was possessed by the heat, sweating profusely. When I finally reached the door handle of this tower, the hundreds of praying zombies jumped at me, ripping away at my clothing and beating my useless body down to the ground as though I were a piece of meat. So I grabbed my squirt gun and shot as much as I could, melting away the growling, snarling people that gnawed at me as much as they possibly could. and when the crowd fell to a manageable amount, I entered the tower, quickly locking the door behind me.

Inside felt quite nice. I could feel the air conditioning surround me in a cooling blanket. And as the bright lights of outside faded into the fluorescent lights of inside of this omniscient building, I saw one lone secretary behind a computer screen, typing away. So I approached this secretary, scared of what might happen, but nevertheless determined to complete my task. She looked up and I quickly recognized her face. My 4th grade teacher had finally become someone's bitch! Either way, I looked up at her and said, "I need to see the heat!" After looking through a little sheet she had in front of her, she asked, "do you have an appointment?" I punched her. God that felt good to punch that bitch. And so I stormed through the doors of an office convieniently marked, "Heat".

A seat back was faced towards me, too high to see the face of the traitor, and I could hear the voice of a man on a phone. He turned around at the sound of me throwing my shoe at him and screaming "turn around you asshole." So he turned around and looked at me. It was an older man, with a gaze that could pierce your soul. His wrinkles gave his face an old, weathered look, much like the Christopher Lowell Collection from Ikea (cha-ching). So he looked at me and began to speak in a booming voice, "What's up man, what's going on? hey, you want some pie?" After that the words of the witch doctor rolled through my head. "No," I said, "I don't want your bitch ass pie" and so I shot him clean through the head.

When I walked out of that office I felt a rush of cool come through the door. And from the top of the hill that the tower sat on, I watched the sun set, as it tends to do, and marveled in my own awesomeness.

And so, as you sleep tonight, give it a thought. Was it the natural daily occurrence of the sun setting that caused it to do so, or was it me shooting that asshole through the head, you decide.
Now, some of you may be wondering to yourselves, why isn't John vigilantly pouring his heart and soul into a story, observation, or otherwise borderline psychotic blog type thing on a daily basis as he used to. Now, I, as the sole owner and provider of my borderline psychoticism, have a complete right to do whatever I want with my borderline psychoticism, it's in my contract with the devil. Either way, I am blaming it on my car.
My car, which has brought me amazing amounts of freedom while nearly killing me on a daily basis, has freed me from the chains that have bound me to my computer chair, bored and lonely with nothing but my screen, some Kleenex, and my hand (my room is very dusty and I get very sneezy you sick freak.) either way, my car is extremely time consuming and otherwise takes me away from my prior responsibility as town psycho.

So now, because I feel like it, I am going to tell more about Dave the midget. Dave has been increasingly busy with stocks and bonds lately, busily trading and selling and every other meticulous thing that goes along with such a thing. Well one day, he ran into a little stock that seemed great. It's initial price was fairly low and it had an interesting business plan, to take over the world. So Dave decided to invest in this stock. Later that night he fell asleep, as he so often does. Then suddenly he awoke to a great bright light. At first he thought that it was God, then he remembered that he doesn't exist. It turned out to be aliens who, when Dave got to the ship, congratulated Dave for his investment into their corporation, Dell. So after a quick anal probe and some quick sodomy, Dave was put back into his bed. The next day Dave shot his stock broker.

Hm, I've always wondered something. Middle aged rich guys seem to like to buy cars. What type of car, however; depends on the location. In the cities, men tend to get really fast sports cars with horrible gas mileage. While in rural, hicky towns, guys tend to get big, loud trucks with really bad gas mileage. The problem I see with this is, in the cities there tends to be a lot of traffic because of old, blue haired Asian women who drive like the road is going to collapse under their oversized SUV if they go over 20 miles per fucking hour. And so, these middle aged guys with deep wallets and really fast cars are all stuck behind these dumbshit old ladies staring at crashes between old ladies and middle aged guys angry at the fact that these bitches CAN'T FUCKING DRIVE. And the rural guys have no gas stations and so have to carry around those weird gasoline carrier things and blow themselves up because they don't know that carrying around a gas can with a cigarette in the same hand is a bad fucking idea.

Cheeseburgers are hamburgers that are kosher. (they take the ham out and put the cheese in instead, keep up)

I want to sell a midget so I can say "it's not a big deal"

I want to sell a product that you wear while you sleep and you lose weight. When the wearer falls asleep, it lodges permanently into your skull and blows off your head for buying a dumbshit product.

Let's build a town where we all share everything and have no need for money. We'll call it, "Communists Suck City"

There is a giant trailer park in the middle of the Indianapolis 500 Stadium. No civil rights demonstrations were ever done here.

When someone gets shot, they usually die. When someone gets blown up, they always die, in a fantastic explosion.

Lakes are more fun when you get to ruthlessly pull wildlife from the water, rip their skin off, and eat it...with a cup of water, it's the Christian thing to do.

Things that suck:
vacuums
bad drivers
a good whore
straws
stupid lists

The End

I will update whenever I get good ideas, if you don't like it, you can copy and paste the above list, and then add your name.

In the world we live in we must be constantly vigilant. vigilant towards those who do bad and vigilant in awarding those who do good. So I believe that it is my solemn duty to present you with the knowledge that I have concerning a company that we all, at one point have had contact with.
Without much more yammering, I should just come out and say it, Wikipedia is made by big fat doo doo heads. Here's why. In the process of trying to push my website (the one you are at) to the lovely masses, I posted an article containing necessary information pertaining to the creation and background to the monumentous achievement that is, Johnshead.com. Now, why anybody would think that an article on the coolest website on earth (check your title bar, the proof is all there) be in any way not appropriate for the online community to enlighten themselves with? It's because the government is trying to keep my ideas from reaching the unenlightened masses. The amazing truths that could possibly belittle our government and cause revolutions upon the corruption to this world are challenges to the authority. I know what your thinking, "Oh no, John, will you be okay?" and to that I say, "I am the almighty purveyor of the thoughts and ideas that can change worlds, therefore, I am constantly in fear for my life." In other words, while I am in hiding from the government that is trying desperately to strike me down, I am asking all of my readers to do as much as they can for the one person who has broken your shell and freed you from the unenlightenment that the "Man" wants you to be. So, if you can read these words, I ask that you run out of wherever you are and kill your next door neighbor. Eventually, if enough people randomly do this, it will be traced back to my website, causing the media to put up free advertising for me and then, together, we will change the world by enlightening thousands upon thousands of people.

oh my god don't do that you sick freaks

Starbucks should get a liquor license. I want to watch hundreds of drunken people, barrel out of a Starbucks, thrown out due to their unsettling behavior, and wander into the Starbucks located next door to get ever more smashed. I would really love to watch a guy ask for some liquor in his espresso.
"Good morning sir, what can I get you?"
"Can I geeeeeeet (pause) a strawberries and crème with a shot of vodka"
"Is that all?"
"actually, can I get another shot?"
"Sure, that'll be [price]"

This sales model could also work for your local Jamba Juice store, except, instead of liquor, they would push illegal drugs into the drinks. Just think of it, they already have the hippy dippy, organic "I'm saving the environment" feel to it, adding shaved marijuana to the calming boost is a logical step. performance boost would have a bit of acid in it. The energy boost would be chalk full of meth, and then they would add a boost called the "Super boost" where they would blend every drug together so as to create a high so powerful, you shit your pants.

The End

ok, first duty. cast list is on mchsdrama.com which is finally up (yay for me).
second task, the story for the day.

We should get together as one giant union of people and hate something again. Remember the good old days when you could gather 400-500 people to march to Washington and picket? Of course you don't, we don't want a bunch of hippies anymore, those didn't look good on Nixon's schedule. No longer can we gather that kind of ideology in a crowd fighting for the common good.

I think I should start a hippy movement. I will start a commune in Nor-Cal and I will call it "Hippies for good ideas" and we'll even start a political party by the same name.

It will save a lot of time on our stance, "If it's a good idea, we like it 'cause we are hippies." and then we'll prance around naked in the press conference room proclaiming "no clothation without claymation" and no one will know what we are talking about.

Then whenever anyone says that we are a bunch of stupid hippies with no ideas, I will refer them to Johnshead.com where they will be enlightened and taught the fragile ways of the John and will then join my political party.

I can't wait for the smear campaign against my opponents.

"John is a man of the people

his opponent sucks ass

John likes kittens

his opponent hates kittens

John laughs at jokes

his opponent is not capable of human emotion

Vote John for Governor, He can smile"

You know, we put so much focus on those products that are harmful and addicting, like cigarettes and alcohol, but we never delve into the true culprits of the ravages of society. Sure cigs may make the air reek and the users get lung cancer. And ya, alcohol makes you ballsy enough to get behind the wheel of a car when you can't feel your feet and your shirt is covered in vomit, but never has their been an article about the one item that will eventually turn us into smug, pole-up-your-ass, smell-your-own-farts, San Francisco moving, Linens-n-Things Shoppers.
That one item is, supplements.

You know what I'm talking about, those one a day supplements that takes your mind off the fact that what your eating could possibly cause you to become infertile, you have an extra barrier of protection, that horse pill that you jammed down your throat that morning. And you remember you took the pill all day because that pill is still jammed halfway down your throat, eeking its way down to the bowels of, well, your bowels.

But whoever makes those crazy little horse pills is making a killing. not only does one bottle typically only last you a month, its killer expensive. Getting up to $120 a friggin bottle.

Think of that smug little Henry's as your conservative drug dealer. Not pushing the stuff that'll get you in trouble, just the stuff that'll increase your smugness, making you an overall empty person. very healthy, empty person.

Why do these people have to live so freaking long, someday I hope they all die from Iron poisoning from taking too many of those damned pills.

Where does the time go? I mean seriously where does it go? Does it go in a box? I mean, it has to go somewhere, right? Time is one of the few things that completely stumps people, but everyone relies on. I've been reading up on time, and it seems that no one really knows what the hell it is. And I know I have written on this subject before, and I will write on it again, simply because it intrigues me so much.
Nonetheless, where does time go? Well I think I know, so I'm going to tell you.

Time is like a giant cracker. every moment is a cracker dipped in a bowl of chicken noodle soup. So just think of this sad moment of you sitting at a computer trying desperately to read what is written in front of you. And then Suddenly, just as soon as it happens. It's done. And now its a soggy mess, drooping over the bowls side and slowly disintegrating into the metaphorical soup.

So that's what time is, a metaphorical cracker inside a bowl of metaphorical soup.

Ah, Thanksgiving. A time when a family gathers around a candlelit dinner, rejoicing the fact that they are together in the time of harvest and bounty. And we give thanks to the times we've had, and the times we will have, and the times we are having.
Wait a second, no it isn't

It's a time when you go to a grocery store and try to kill everyone around you so that you can partake in a holiday you barely understand. It's a time when a group of people who marginally want to kill each other gather at a table and eat quietly while one of the family members tries to break the awkward silence with a crappy conversation starter.

Did you know that Thanksgiving was originally started by a group of starving pilgrims that wandered onto land owned by the natives. Those natives gave these starving pilgrims food aplenty and in return, the pilgrims enslaved, killed, ripped off, stole, and raped these people. Isn't it great knowing that you are participating in a celebration of the deaths of thousands of people?

Go you.

You know, Jack in the Box is open today. I feel real sorry for the guy who has to spend his thanksgiving eating a spicy chicken sandwich instead of a oversized turkey, but hey, he deserves it, he should've married and gotten kids so that he would have to be unhappy in order to feel the majesty of Turkey Day.

Things I am thankful for, the list:

lists
gravy
gravy boats
gravy trains
California burritos
police
dead people
stupid people
midgets
midgets on fire
midgets in cars
midgets in boats
midgets in gravy boats
Johnshead.com
lists

I can't wait to gorge into the turkey we have. it's so large, we could feed a village of dying people, however, the fact that that village of dying people hasn't been enslaved, killed, ripped off, stole, and raped surprises me. or wait, that's why their dying, isn't it?

We should get a Christopher Columbus again. A Christopher Columbus of space. A man who hits on the leader of a nation he is not native to so that he can fly into space on those tax dollars in a wandering search for intelligent life. He does eventually find these life forms and proclaims them Martians despite the fact that he's on Venus. Then he kills off most of them with disease and plague and the surviving portion he brings home to use as slaves. later on the tradition will continue with pilgrims who feel alienated from Earth and settle on Venus (alienated on earth so they can be aliens in Venus, think about it, you'll get it). Later on Venus will become the most powerful planet in the solar system because they have the bomb bitches. And then the Martians who were supposed to be called Venetians who are now called Native Venetians are put into reservations in the shittiest parts of the planet are hooked on drugs and become alcoholics because the schooling sucks, they fight back by opening casinos which, by now, were outlawed on Earth. They make a ton of money and fight back against the White man who came onto their land. So we do the Christian thing and convert them all from their heathen selves and they live in reluctant peace for the rest of their lives.

If this actually happens, I won't be surprised.

Oh my god, I can't believe I am here to type this, I'm so glad I got out of there.
Alright, I'll just get right to it, lately I have been Christmas shopping, and so therefore I have been to a bunch of stores. Now, however much I hate Christmas shopping (future DE), I have to in order to be loved by my family. Nevertheless, it had been a long time since I tried out one of those Tempur-Pedic Mattresses, and since there was a new model, I decided I'd take a load off and have a seat. There was a helpful salesman who started giving me the standard sales pitch about how it will align my back and how you are cradled in a mattress of pure happiness that was stolen from 12 year old factory workers in Madagascar.

So after awhile I had gotten my fill of this mattress and my ADD was kicking in full gear and I was venturing away from the bed in search of another leisurely activity that could be found in the confines of such a store as Brookstone. Then the salesman gave me a look of slight disapproval and, with a tilt of his head, asked, "so, are you going to buy it?" Now, I am not any sort of demographic that is targeted by tempur-pedic, me being free of aches and pains and most of all, poor. So, without a stutter, I reply back to the guy, "no, not today."

With an evil glare he presses a button attached to the bed and pushes me back onto the mattress. I look at him with shock at first, surprised at the fact that he would touch me at all, then suddenly I began to sink into the mattress. At first I was under the impression that it was the natural progression of the sinkage that tends to go along with tempur-pedic mattresses, so I attempted to jump up and approach the salesman, about to question his frank methods of dealing with dissenting opinions.

My attempts, however, were met with no avail, for my legs were already wrapped in the foamy material. Slowly the mattress sucked me in further and further. My breathing quickened as I realized my fate, and I flailed my arms in an attempt to fight my way out of an oh-so-comfortable death. The smile was still plastered on the mans face as the foam pressed against my chest and eventually covered my eyes and I was completely engulfed by the space age material.

For a moment I thought I was dead. I accepted the fact that I would never see another living soul again and I would be walking around the world of the dead telling every other dead guy I met the awesome story of my death and totally beating out his "I died of cancer" story.

Then I felt my body drop onto a pillowy floor. The room was completely dark save for a small lamp in the distance casting a dim flickering light over a short thin man with a weathered beard. I stood up. I was still dazed by the sheer idea of being swallowed by a mattress, but I was thankful to be alive. I looked around, looking for any indication of life or location.

Suddenly I turn around and the little man was standing behind me. A bit spooked already, I give a short gasp of horror and a quick jump backwards.

"My name is Sam"
"You didn't buy the mattress either?" I say, trying to uplift the mood
"Apparently, no" he replied with a bit of passive aggressive tone under his voice
"You think we can get out of here?"
"I have been down here for seven years, trying to get out. clawing, chewing, I even tried to burn this stuff, it's no use, it's just too pillowy soft."
Obviously this man hadn't taken a shower for quite some time now, for he smelled like a cross of dead skunk and burned rubber, either that or it was the beer farts that were permanently implanted into the mattress above.
"So what do we do"
I inquired, hoping for an answer, I had a bunch more Christmas shopping to do.
"We must wait"
"Wait? wait for what?"
"The CIA to find us, there coming, I know it"

Suddenly there was a light, as if by magic, a light appeared and a man poked his head into the small room we resided in through the door.

"Oh my god, sir we are so sorry, where are you?"

I kicked Sam in the balls and ran for the light as he nursed his nuts back to health. Finally inside I slammed the door behind me.

"Was there anyone else in there sir, we are so sorry by the way, the salesman has been fired and proper papers have been filed for your compensation."

As that poor man Sam crossed my mind, I could see him in my head. Hunched over his balls in pain, crying from yet another missed chance at getting away from the amazingly soft hell he was trapped in.

"No, no one else was with me, but I'll take 500 bucks and we'll pretend like this never happened"

And that was my shopping day at Brookstone.

Today I had a revelation. but in order to properly describe this revelation, I have to give you a back story. A long time ago, I think it was 4th grade, I learned about primitive humans. One of these primitive humans happened to be Neanderthals. Modern day humans would call this branch of human evolution a "lower" or dumber species of human, but such was not the case. Uncovered villages show signs of religious rituals and burials of the dead, thousands of years before we ever attempted such a thing. There also is proof that the skulls of Neanderthals are larger than our own, showing that they were much more intelligent we than we were, and if they were around today, they would surpass us in both strength and intelligence.
So I wondered for years, why did we overcome? Why didn't the strongest prevail, and the dumb, weak ones be trampled over like mice under a car?

After thinking about it for a long, long time, while also watching world events unveil before me, the true face of the species was shown to me. The reason Neanderthals were killed off was because they saw no reason to try to kill another for a frivolous reason, and we (Homo Sapiens) did. We saw that they were smarter and a potential enemy, and it is the fact that we are not as intelligent or strong that we prevailed. We were (and still are) a war driven society. murdering over petty things such as land and possessions, while the Neanderthals were living peacefully together, finding no need for war. Homo Sapiens saw this peaceful society and wanted it, so ironically they killed for it. The Neanderthals, knowing not how to wage war were killed off. After we had overtaken the last of our species, the rest killed off by disease or weather, we rightfully (however reluctant I am to say so) took our place at the top of the food chain. And it wasn't because of our great intelligence either, it was our willingness to survive above all means, including the genocide of a species similar to our own that produced a potential threat. So what is the secret of surviving? It's not intelligence or strength, it is simply the ability to blindly eliminate all threats to your own existence.

V I read an article today about teenage rebellion. It was talking about the motivation of teenagers and their sometimes irrational behavior being linked to the weighing of benefits vs. risks, benefits ultimately outweighing. I thought about this according to its evolutionary counterpart, how does adolescence riskiness make for a better species?
Then I figured it out.

It's like a natural selection in turbo. If a teenager is dumb enough to hit himself in the head with a stone, he won't get much smarter in the future. Therefore saving thousands of generations the trouble of having to stitch up another dumb idiot child of Sir Rockhead.

Another use is positive. If you're smart enough to not take advice from the dipshit with the stick through his head.

Nowadays, though; we try to fix this. We try to put teenagers into therapy and other such frivolous actions. It does nothing but put them into a room for an hour where instead they would be thinking about killing crowds of innocents or having unprotected sex with a Mexican prostitute.

Why fix it though? I say, let them fuck up, then they won't procreate, making a better species overall.

Nothing pisses me off really, unless of course, it's idiocy in cereals. First of all, when I eat cereal, you've already got me in a bad mood, because in order for me to eat cereal it has to be morning, and when it's morning it means I was woken up, because I sure as hell would not wake up before noon on my own.
But then I get down to the cereal box, and it has some new feature, some new gimmick that was made completely for children with very low IQ's to enjoy.

Like, for instance, those new hidden key marshmallows inside of Lucky Charms. Now, at first, the cereal is just fine, it is how it's supposed to be. The marshmallows glisten in their sweet goodness, and the other stuff balances out the extremely high sugar content of the mallows. The only problem it seems is the lack of milk, but this my friends, is exactly where everything goes wrong.

Because once the milk hits the otherwise large and delicious hidden key marshmallows, the center part of the marshmallows quickly dissolves and becomes the shape of a very disfigured keyhole. Now some may say that this is a pretty cool affect, making you want to do it over and over again, just so you can see the keyhole again.

But to me, this is a motherfucking blasphemy. First you buy the box of fucking Lucky Charms, believing you have a gold mine of pure unadulterated sugar with an occasional piece of rice shit. And then you get all hyped for the gigantic marshmallows that have newly graced the presence of this already amazing cereal.

But when you add fucking milk, these gigantic marshmallows become a mere romance of what they used to be.

To me, the customer, it seems like I have been ripped off. So after watching this self destruction that has occurred among my marshmallows with the presence of milk, I decide to call the complaint line. After thoroughly explain my problem, I was hung up on!

Those basterds decided to hang up on me as I was complaining about an idiotic product that had just cut my sugar intake by half, and when you cut my sugar intake by half, people die.

So I called this number again and again with the same answer each time, a quick hang up after an excuse for the delinquency of these marshmallows to just keep their shape so I can have my sugar. Eventually though, I am fed up with having to wait for some asshole to call me and say sorry for the marshmallows not staying together.

So instead, I decided to car bomb the president of General Mills, happy driving, asshole!

It is finally St. Patrick's Day. It's not like I have been keeping tabs on this particular holiday, it really doesn't mean that much to me. In fact, for the past 15 other St. Patty's days I have been caught a little off guard. due to poor planning and lack of paying attention during commercial breaks, I didn't do the vital thing that is connected to the whole holiday of St. Patrick's Day. That is, of course, the oh so vital wearing of the traditional colors of the day, green. And every year I would be tormented by my peers, constantly being pinched and harassed for my minor oversight, and although I scream for mercy, there is none, and I am left with hundreds of bruises caused by the lack of green on my person. It was almost a burden to go to school or see people during this day. So I decided to change all that today of all days and wear the color green. And when my schoolmates, who expected to have an easy target with me, were severely disappointed. And as those school mates approached me through a crowd looking for an easy pinch, the faces of my schoolmates is simply priceless, and a feeling of satisfaction strikes my fancy. And then, the moment at which I could finally redeem all those years of torture. A classmate of mine wasn't wearing green. So I ran up with an amazing bout of anticipation, giddy with laughter. And then I realized, all those years of being bullied simply for the color of my shirt, and now I am the one doing the bullying? So instead of pinching the guy, I walked up and shook his hand. Even though he didn't know who I was, I shook his hand and walked away with a big smile across my face as I watched a group of kids with "Kiss me I'm Irish" Tshirts on pinch the guy until his eyes bled.

This is where I will put all the daily enlightenments after I have written them. This page is made specially for two people, those who are new to this page and want to catch up on all of my ideas for some reason, or those who are really bored. I mean, really, really bored

this guy is walking in my head, you can tell 'cause he's in the middle of the road

And this my friends, is my super awesome site, you like? ya me too. Anyways, now that I can write about just about anything, I will now write about something that affects us all from time to time, that is a shitty day. I hate shitty days, not because they are shitty and make you unhappy, but because it makes all the people around you go all "are you okay" and "are you gonna kill yourself? cause if you are, can I have your iPod?" and then their constant bantering only makes you want to run away from them 'cause all you want to do is be alone. But that makes you wonder, why do you want to be alone when you are the most unhappy? This has always baffled me because I never really grasped this concept. But the world is filled with things like this. Like chicken. Does everything taste like chicken, or does chicken taste like everything? Actually, in my opinion, Chicken only tastes like everything when it tastes like shit, so then the chicken tastes like everything that tastes like shit, which is a lot of stuff, which is why chicken tastes like a lot of things. Hmm, I just realized that I write like a crazy person, maybe it's cause I got this super awesome site and I'm really excited to post this damn thing on my super awesome site, and then you can comment on my crap on my super awesome message boards that I setup all by myself. Actually, I set this whole site up by myself so ya, I'm gonna stop writing.

So today I saw a rainbow. The sweet pleasure that such a natural anomaly can produce. A flood of thought and intrigued staring is necessary in the event that a rainbow should appear. But then I began to remember that by following a rainbow, you will find a pot of gold. Now, I had never trusted such information, especially since it came from the same people who had pushed ideas such as Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy. But nonetheless I was still interested by the idea of a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.
So it was then that I decided to follow the rainbow out of curiosity, and sheer boredom. So I began my trek to the end of the rainbow by going towards it at full speed, convincing myself that the rainbow would come towards me if I ran at a full sprint. 30 seconds later I decided that such a venture would be against the better judgment of my lungs, those of which were whole heartedly against running in any form. So instead I decided walking was the best form of transportation.

While walking along the trail, I stumbled upon a small group of rabbits, who, I found, could speak fluent English. These rabbits were bickering at each other over a map, which they could apparently read. When I stopped to look, one of them noticed me and said quickly, "Do you know where the hell the nearest gas station is?" the other one, ignoring me, said to the other, "We don't need no goddamn directions, we aren't lost, it's a goddamn shortcut. Jesus woman!" I just passed them with a look of bewilderment and continued on my way.

As I was traveling over the weathered path, I approached the top of the hill I was trekking. It was then that I saw the final leg of the rainbow. So, in all my anticipation I ran down the valley, skipping over rocks and limbs of trees that came in my path. The anticipation of bringing in an entire pot of gold to my bank flooded my thoughts.

And finally, after so much sweat and running and bickering rabbits I had approached my destination, the end of the rainbow was in sight.

When I got there it was like standing in front of a pure source of light. Colors everywhere, color that had the brightest most full color imaginable. It was so beautiful, you could even smell the light as it resonated from the ground. The taste of Skittle's flooded my taste buds, but it was kinda grody cause it was like taking the whole pack of skittles and tossing then in my mouth.

I approached the beam of light. As I entered in the rainbow, I quickly noticed what was inside. A man, lying out on a lawnchair with a speedo looked over at me. He calmly turned, stood up, and walked over to me. He walks up so that his face is at eye level with me and all I can see is his eyes looking directly at mine. He opens his mouth, and when he does he says, with a bit of a laugh, "I can't believe you actually went to the end of the rainbow, what a fucking loser." And he then turns around and sits back down in his lawn chair and I leave.

Moral of the story, never listen to stories from the same source as that of Santa Claus

Remember Carmen Sandiego? She was a villainess on a popular, yet badly written, television show and she had a line of super awesome video games that posed the question, Where in the World/Time/America/Your Mom's Room/ Africa Is Carmen Sandiego.
Now these games weren't exceptionally hard in any way. In fact, a smart person could probably complete the game in a matter of a few hours. Well, one year I got a Carmen Sandiego game for Christmas.

Now I had been playing Carmen Sandiego games since I was very young, probably since before I could fully understand what I was doing on the computer, but nonetheless I accepted this gift and quickly began to play it.

It was fairly easy, with minor hiccups from time to time, nothing a bit of brainwork could take care of.

But then I got to a mission where I was to help Guttenberg with his printing press. In this mission, One of Carmen's goons had stolen something from Guttenberg, and I was to help him spell out a sign to which could help catch this thief. And after finishing so many missions before this one, I had yet another hiccup. When spelling "Thief on the loose, etc." I spelled it out, and then it was wrong.

So I repeated this process over and over, still with no avail. For months I poured myself over the computer, beating myself up over this mission. I would lie awake at night, sleeplessly trying to sort out this problem in my head, and every time, I couldn't come up with what to do. I couldn't figure out what was wrong. Everything was perfect, everything could be read, everything was in it's place, nothing was wrong.

Then, the Christmas after the one I had received the game it finally came to me. It was such a small problem, posting it would be embarrassing, but nonetheless, I had solved the problem and everything was right with the world.

It was then I realized that I needed a life.

"It's like your driving and driving, and then you can't find a parking space." (Sessions). This, by the way, is a thought from my friend, Matt Sessions, that of which I will interpret.
You see, the way he meant it was as a metaphor for a play or movie that seems like it has no real ending. But to me it sounded a bit different.

You see, when I heard it, I quickly moved to the actual driving portion of it. You see, when I can't find a parking space, I grow very frustrated with the world.

And when John gets frustrated with the world, John starts hurting people.

So when I think of this particular quote, I'm thinking about how people start shooting eachother over parking spaces. And I've seen this happen before, just go to the Commissary:

Wives of soldiers+access to loaded weapons+great prices on canned beans= death.

Therefore "It's like your driving and driving, and then you can't find a parking space." is code for, "I'm gonna kill you" unless it's code for "This movie has no ending"

I need a life

I hate it when songs get stuck in your head. You sit their in complete torment because this song is just playing over and over in your head. Nothing can stop it, it's just ongoing.
It can be a good song, it can be a bad song, it could be a happy song, it could be a sad song. The song-stuck-in-your-head knows no limits.

And so, as this song absorbs your every thought, you begin to obsess over this song. So much so that you begin to hum it. Then this humming progresses to a quiet singing of it's words. Then this quiet singing turns into an all out headbanging solo concert of you singing this entire song to everyone in the room, who are all looking at you with looks of utter fear on their faces.

And as you sing, you do erratic movements that, in your head, look really awesome, but from any other point of view, looks like your having a seizure. But to you, everything is just fine, and so you continue singing and dancing like a complete fool, but it's ok, cause your having fun.

But then you realize what you are doing. You see your arms flailing around like you just saw a ghost. You notice that your head has been banging like you are trying to press an invisible button with your nose. And you notice that your voice sounds like shit compared to the original singer.

And so you stop.

But when you do, it immediately feels as though something is missing. Something that was so fun before was stopped just because your brain decided that it was socially unacceptable.

So you then make a note never to do it again... in public

Death is such a tragic thing. After the death so many mourn over their loss as the family and friends of the deceased gather at the funeral. And after thinking about my own funeral a bit, I am proposing a few changes for my own.
For instance, You know the headstone? it's a finite piece of property, never moving and never changing, it's the perfect ad spot. So for my own headstone, I will have "Do the Dew" across the front.

Pepsi will be thrilled! It's a completely new look on the standard cemetery. Not only is the cemetery a place where the mourners cry and miss their loved ones, it's also the perfect targeted audience, pathetic people.

Also, during the viewing of the corpse, the part where everyone cries and looks at the body, remembering all the good times and hoping for a better future. Well that's what some people do. I, however, will have a TV screen strapped around my neck with select advertisements playing, focusing on life insurance policies and fast food.

Then the after party. The party where everyone gets shitfaced and talks about how much of an asshole the dead guy was. Well, who am I to change such a good thing? except, everyone who denounces me will be shot.

You think I'm kidding?

I'm going to kill people. I am not easily tempted to kill people, but by god, I am going to start killing people. Why? Who? When? Well, ever since a while ago, I got some spyware. Spyware, by it's definition, is the creation of Satan to annoy everyone into killing eachother. Well now I am giving into temptation. Who? Well, not you, but people who make spyware for a living, namely, the spawns of Satan. First I will hang them, then I will start stabbing, then I will start shooting. Hang, stab, then shoot. And when? As soon as goddamn possible, because I am getting very angry, and when John gets angry, people start to die.
I am absolutely loving these new anti-drug commercials. There is nothing better than a parent needing a commercial to start a conversation between parent and child.
[commercials start. A whole family of people who hate each other are in the same room]
[Anti-drug commercial starts]
Teen 1:Hey man, forget your old decrepit grandma, let's go smoke marijuana with suspected criminals
Teen 2: no man, I shouldn't
Teen 1: oh come on
Teen 2: Alright sounds awesome
[anti drug commercial ends]

now, the next series of events can go about in one of two ways, one of which probably won't happen, the other of which probably will.

Possibility 1
Dad: My goodness, this commercial has opened my eyes to the amazing underground world of drug usage, how could I be so naive? Son, from now on, I will be open and willing to hear about any problems you have in your life that would lead to you using drugs.
Teenager: Go to hell

Possibility 2
Dad: you do drugs?
Teenager: no.
Dad: OK
Teenager: Go to hell

I watch too much TV

Okay, so today I stumble upon an article on Cnet.com that is talking about Myspace. Now for once, Myspace isn't being bashed, but rather praised for its reaction to the constant complaints from parents. Now I really should put this into the news section but I just updated that and the article is really damn long (check out the news section) (after you're done reading).
Anyways, the article says that since parents keep having a temper tantrum over their kids having a bit of privacy, "If parents discover their underage child posts to a MySpace profile, the parent can e-mail the company at "customercare@myspace.com," and include information on the child's member name and unique Web address. MySpace will remove the profile." (CNET)

but unfortunately for parents any child 14 or over, the parents will actually have to [gasp] talk to their child about removing or editing the profile. What does this mean for you? Well if you are reading this and have a Myspace profile, it means your parents can't take away your profile unless you consent to it. And if you don't have a Myspace profile it doesn't mean anything for you and you should stop reading and go about your petty life you loser.

The problem I find about this whole Myspace fiasco is that parents are simply reacting to their children having a bit of freedom, and the last thing a narrow minded parent wants is for their child to have freedom. An actual quote from a parent that was trying desperately to delete her child's profile without actually getting his full consent. "Actually change the screen name your child has chosen to something else. Uncheck all the information your child chose to show. Go in an "edit" all the pieces of the profile, thereby changing the look of the site as well. You can delete all the friends, but you may want to wait to do that last."

Now, I know this was a concerned parent doing her part to do what she thought was necessary to protect her child's safety on the internet after some deaths loosely involved with this site. The question I have a coupla questions. Firstly, why didn't this happen during all those children being raped by the CATHOLIC CHURCH?!?! Myspace has fewer rapes involved then the Catholic church does, but you still go to church, right? Also, why is it so damn hard to just talk to your damn kid? I mean, I know there's that whole barrier between you and your kid because of that whole teenage thing, but that's only because you talk to us like we're stupid. Moral of the story, Myspace isn't the problem, bad parenting is.

I should stop reading.

Ever since 9/11/01, there has been a rising debate on what to do about the growing threat of terrorism. And it seems that the only thing we can do is find a super weapon against terrorism.
One that will remove or displace the terrorist threat, while still being humane, cost effective, and okay with the people who don't like dead people. So I have come up with a solution that will solve this threat forever.

My solution is, instead of killing off people (although I do enjoy a good dead body from time to time, my psychiatrist sees me for that) but instead of killing people, we simply feed them pie.

That's right, pie will stop terrorism. Because, if you feed everyone in the world the food of the gods (pie) everyone will like you, except those who don't like pie (no one hates pie, except dead people, but they don't count, they can't vote). So, if we are going to stop terrorism soon, we need to start now.

We have to get the greatest chefs, Martha Stewart, Emeril, that crazy bitch on those infomercials, Betty Crocker, and some pothead to start baking pies as soon as possible.

And Mr. President, if you are reading this, and I know you are, then you have to act fast. So get to it so that we can stop terrorism and then maybe have a little extra so I could have some of the greatest treat ever, pie.

Or you could convert them all to Christianity, but that's another story altogether

Oh and it's my birthday today, yay. Please don't hit me

McDonalds is the ultimate idea. It combines the two greatest things in the world, food that kills you and cars. But lately with all these people getting fat and dying off their product, they have to rethink their approach.
Now, since I'm the kind of guy I am, I will suggest something to boost there overall sales (like they need it, they netted 487 billion, an 11 percent drop on last year). So I propose that McDonalds should sell an all new product, a revolution on the drive-in market, what I propose is for McDonalds to start selling liquor.

That's right alcohol in a drive-thru, an all new thought on drive-thru restaurants. Sure it might increase drunk driving, but it sure as hell will increase profit margins for Mccy D's. Now don't get me wrong, I am not a money grabbing kinda guy, I just like McDonalds and I don't want them to die off like all other bad food companies. So I think that they should serve alcohol and maybe even cocktails along with your burger and fries.

On a completely unrelated note, I think that there should be a show called rape*d where a guy rapes someone and then after he's all done he goes " You've just been raped, your gonna be on MTV!" and then they raise their crying head and say "Oh my god this is so awesome, where's Ashton!"

Anyways, McDonalds with alcohol. McDonalds, if they do this, would also push the market to do the same thing and everyone will be driving through their favorite fast food restaurant and will be asked "Would you like like some Vodka with that?"

So if you go to my school you will completely understand this enlightenment, if not than you go about your life without any kind of change whatsoever. Anyways, there has been a new multitude of construction throughout my school, renovating it from its barely legitimate self that it was before.
I mean this place was a real shithole. Walls falling apart, stains on the floor that no one should ever have to see, rats living in the ceilings (I caught one once, it was an interesting day), there could've been a dead guy in the floors for all I know but nonetheless we needed the remodel.

Anyways, because of this remodel, our theater has recently been torn apart for an unknown future. So as such, the theater department has to take its productions to the *gasp* Westview theater.

Now, there's nothing wrong with this at all. It's a wonderful theater and all, but it only reminds me how shitty my school really is. I mean, the bathroom flushes itself, what the fuck?! Has pulling a handle really become such of a hassle that we cannot do on our own?

I want to set that school on fire, but the fire detection system is amazing.

damn you Prop U! you make me feel ghetto.

John's Head

Wednesday, September 5, 2007

Letter From Dave

Tuesday, September 4, 2007

There is Nothing Wrong With Spacing Out

Previous Interests

The Archive of My Head

The Other Lobe