Top Ten Video Games From My Childhood

If you want to see a youtube video of the game I attached links to all the game names so you can just click on them and the video will pop up in a new tab.

Honorable Mentions: Sonic The Hedgehog 2 – playing tails was so fun even though the things I could do were limited. Double Dragon – Do kids still want to learn karate as much as I feel they did when I was a kid? Sim City – I would always use the cheat to give me maximum money, without it things just weren’t as fun. Mario Paint – surprisingly fun, not sure why surprisingly because all Mario games are fun.  Sesame Street ABC/123 – just for kicks…(kids?) no, kicks was what I meant. Street Fighter 2 – my friends loved it a lot more than I did.

10) The Lion King – When my mother bought me my Sega Genesis for probably my birthday way back when I was a young lad The Lion King had recently come out and was my favorite movie – I still have the poster for the movie hanging on my door – so when having the option of buying a Sega Genesis/game combo with either The Lion King or Sonic The Hedgehog it was an easy choice for me. The game was surprisingly difficult for me. I don’t think I ever beat it. There was a lot of jumping in the game, which I think is common among older games. Luckily the jumping incorporated swinging from vines, and hanging on trees (exciting, right?) and jumping on bugs.

9) Bulls V.S. Blazers – I’m in Portland and therefore a huge Portland Trail Blazers fan, so this game had that appeal to me. The obvious choice when picking a memorable basketball game from the past would be NBA Jam, and while I had a lot of fun with that game this game laid the foundation for my love of realism in sports games. I didn’t want my players jumping from half court fifty feet in the air doing more spins than Michelle Kwan and then setting the basketball net on fire. Even though this is a terrible example of real basketball because the players were so stiff and if you didn’t press the button just right instead of dunking from two feet away from the basket the player would take an awkward jump shot which usually made the basketball hoop bend before the ball would inevitably fall to the floor as the player would jump for the rebound but completely miss the ball, making everything look incredibly stupid.

8) Super Mario 3 – For some reason I have nothing to say about this game. I had a tremendous amount of fun playing it as a child though.

7) Spiderman and Venom: Separation anxiety – This is the game that inspired this list. I was writing about superheroes the other day and was thinking about why I liked Venom so much more than Spiderman and I think this game was the reason why. Every time I played I would always be Venom.

6) Chip ‘N Dale Rescue Rangers – I really enjoyed the TV show – especially the episode where the alien crashed in their house, disguised his spaceship as a nut, sent Dale, or possibly Chip, the one without the hat, to his spaceship and then took on the form of Dale and pretended to live on earth as a jerk Dale while Dale did something with the aliens that I forget – but I think I enjoyed the game a lot more. It’s not that exciting of a game. Pretty basic, jumping, throwing stuff, dodging stuff, but as a kid that was very fun.

5) Super Mario World – I could play this game today and be just as entertained as almost any game on Playstation 3 or Xbox 360 or Wii…that may be an exaggeration. But I could play this game today and be very entertained. Mario games are probably consistently the best, yet I have very little to ever say about them. They’re just really good games, I can’t even describe the greatness.

4) Donkey Kong Country – I was one of the many who preferred to play with Diddy. And of course by that I mean back in the day me and Puff Daddy, before he went Diddy on our collective asses, would play together taking turns. He would always be Donkey Kong. I really enjoyed this game, and it has nothing to do with my love of bananas, because I don’t love bananas, but the more I think about it the more I think I should love bananas because I love eating sliced bananas in a bowl of milk wish a little sugar or a peanut butter and banana sandwich, but I don’t often eat a banana just by itself, kind of like raisins but not the same because raisins are disgusting by their self, yet mix them with something else and they make that thing twice as good, and that’s why this was such a great game.

3) Kings Of The Beach – Probably no one reading this knows this game. It was a beach volleyball game for the original Nintendo. I love playing beach volleyball, although I’ve only done it on a few occasions, but it’s amazingly fun to me, and I think part of the reason was because I loved playing this game with my cousin as a child. It was very basic. Each person controls one of the two players and you’d keep hitting the ball back and fourth over the net until someone made a great shot or (more commonly) you were off by half a centimeter and the player made all the right motions but for some reason wouldn’t hit the ball. Unlike all the other games on this list except Bulls V.S Blazers this game wouldn’t be fun to play today even for a minute – sports games apparently don’t hold up that well, unless they’re racing game, which brings me to the next game on the list…

2) Super Mario World 2: Yoshi’s Island – Okay, this isn’t a racing game at all, unless like me in your head you imagined all the Yoshi’s were trying to get Baby Mario back home before they had to change his diaper, because if it came to that all the Yoshi’s would refuse to do it and have a fight to the death, but here’s the twist, in the fight they’d want to die because the survivor – by the way the show Survivor is coming on in 45 minutes so let’s hope I can get this finished and posted by then because I want to watch it – has to change the diaper, and for some reason death is more appealing than that, but not because they hate poop, but because they don’t want that awkward feeling of seeing Baby Mario’s baby penis. I kind of forgot how much I loved this game until I watched some gameplay on youtube and my memories came back. I played this game a lot, and I really enjoyed it – except when Yoshi would get hit and Baby Mario would float off in a bubble and make the most annoying crying sound until Yoshi saved him. Whenever Yoshi would aim to shoot an egg he’d lift his leg up almost like he was about to pee on something.

1) Final Fantasy 3/6 – I put 3/6 because in the states it was originally known as three, so that’s what I knew it by, but in the order of Final Fantasy games it’s really 6. This was the first RPG game I really liked, or probably liked at all. The story was amazing to my young mind. It’s still a really good story, with flashes of emotional plot that could have been expanded to become something really special, but it’s not as amazing as I thought it was when I was younger. Still good, and still good even compared with storylines from game plots today, just not as in depth. The Locke, Terra, Celes love triangle was perfect for my young, love longing, heart, even though it never had a proper ending, although I like to imagine Locke and Celes got married  but then she turned into an evil succubus and right when she was about to bite off Locke’s head after they made love the half Esper Terra – oops, spoiler alert – busts in and kills evil Celes, and then Terra and Locke get married and have little quarter Esper babies, but here’s the twist, Celes isn’t really dead, instead just her love for men is, so she hooks up with Relm who is no longer a young girl, but now a young adult hottie. How old are young adults?

            I still consider this game in my top five favorite games, not just of all time, but games I would consider most fun to play today, even with its bad graphics I enjoyed playing this a couple years ago more than I enjoyed playing Halo 2, which is a game I enjoyed a lot. If you ever get the chance to play this game take it. Hopefully they’ll remake it one day with better graphics and expand on some of the story plots but not change anything big because the game is already wonderful.

I was hesitant to listen to this podcast because despite listening to many podcasts hosted by comedians where they talk about comedians a lot, watching almost every episode of the former NBC sitcom Outsourced for some reason, and seeing what adds up to countless months of that E-trade baby, I had no idea who Pete Holmes was, except I vaguely remembered that he might have been on an episode of the Sara Schaefer and Nikki Glaser hosted podcast You Had To Be There with Paul Scheer – the name of the podcast isn’t You Had To Be There with Paul Scheer, he was just also a guest on that episode which did in fact have Pete Holmes on it, however from now on if someone doesn’t get something I’m talking about and they were there I’m just going to say, “Oh, well you had to be there with Paul Scheer.”

            In case you still don’t know who Pete Holmes is – Standup comedian, writer on the former network sitcom Outsourced, and voice of the E-trade baby who is slightly less creepy than the Ally McBeal dancing baby – Pete Holmes is the host of the You Made It Weird podcast on the Nerdist Network – which with other podcasts like Making It with Riki Lindhome, The Todd Glass Show, Nerdist Writer’s Panel and of course The Nerdist, is quickly making a run at becoming my favorite podcast network.

            The concept of the podcast is that he has on a guest, often a comedian friend of his, and he discusses weird facts about them. In the first episode he talks to Kumail Nanjiani about being a young married comedian and their differing thoughts on wanting to have sex with crowd members after performances – which Kumail did before he met his wife. I’m more in the Pete Holmes corner with this. I don’t think I’d have much of a desire to have sex with a random crowd member after a show and also I’d be more worried that she’d want me to be a dancing monkey for her – make her laugh the whole time. And it wouldn’t do much for my self esteem when none of the laughs I got on stage were anywhere near as big as the laugh I got from her when I pull my pants down – although the mere fact that I assume that would happen kind of implies my self esteem can’t get much lower. Luckily I don’t have to worry about that situation, because I’m not a comedian, and also women don’t want to sleep with me. Oh lucky me.

            In the second, third and fourth episode – and also the first – Pete Holmes makes it weird by discussing religion with T.J. Miller, Demetri Martin and Dave Coulier respectively – it’s also brought up with Kumail Nanjiani who was born in Pakistan – all of which are various forms of Atheists – including Kumail – which makes for good conversation because I don’t think Pete Holmes has made it super clear, but he was raised with religion and he seems to have a belief in God but not a super religious one. He asks them a good question for Atheists which is if your plane is going down do you pray for God to save you?

            I think it’s in our nature to do whatever we can to survive, and when a plane is going down the only thing in our minds that can save us is the concept of God – Unless you’re Dave Coulier and flying your own plane in which case when he lands safely after I rough flight he doesn’t say thank God, but rather thank you Dave for being a good pilot. Here’s the thing, I don’t think anyone who is dying in a plane going down kind of situation is saying, “Please God, I know I’ve made my mistakes but I’m a good person, please forgive me and I promise to be better, just please I beg of you let me go to Heaven.” Instead they’re saying, “Please God, I know I’ve made my mistakes but I’m a good person, please forgive me and I promise to be better, just please I beg of you don’t let me die.” The difference is that people don’t want God, and they don’t want religion in the situation. They don’t want to die, so their natural reaction is to think of anything that could possibly save them. Even super religious people who have no doubt that there is a God and Heaven don’t want to die. They don’t live their lives like they’ll have eternal happiness once they die. They don’t donate all their money and possessions to those less fortunate and live attheir bare minimum knowing they’ll be rewarded with eternal happiness. They live like most of the rest of us, like this time is supposed to be enjoyed, and special, and they want to be happy now because later isn’t a given.

            Anyway, I’ve enjoyed every episode of You Made It Weird with Pete Holmes, especially the fifth episode with the very funny and beautiful – and once had a one night stand with a real cowboy – Chelsea Peretti, and the third episode with Demetri Martin which is filled with an hour and a half of interesting and funny conversation. So if you like podcasts, or comedy, or just interesting conversation that can be applied to the way you live your life then give this podcast a listen. If you’re unfamiliar with podcasts or Pete Holmes I think the Dave Coulier episode would be a good starting point.

Scarlett Johansson is one of the most beautiful women in the world (according to a 2010 poll comprised of three billion men’s penises). I would love to, and often do, imagine having passionate sexual intercourse with her and her boobies. But then what? As we lay there (in imagination), sheets and blankets strewn about, sweat dripping down our naked bodies – except for some reason she has long socks on – our hearts pounding solely from the thrill of lust (and a little to do with the cardiovascular exercise sex can provide), what do we do next? What do I talk about with a Scarlett Johansson? Does she condescend down to my stupidity level just to progress a conversation? Perhaps if I were normal the fantasy would end and I’d pull up my pants and dispose of the tissues discreetly in the toilet. But I don’t want the fantasy to end. The sex was just foreplay to emotional connection I so long for to the point of fantasization (?). After the sex is where the real pleasure begins. After the sex is where I pull out of Scarlett Johansson and pull out Riki Lindhome for some conversation and cuddles.

I realize that seems like a put down towards Riki Lindhome, but let me further explain. First of all Riki Lindhome is an extraordinarily adorable girl, however, the physics of a sexual encounter between me and Riki Lindhome just don’t add up. She’s like five foot eleven and I’m like five foot six, so that’s a five inch difference, so my penis wouldn’t even be able to reach her vagina.

But on a more serious side, I love Riki Lindhome’s personality, and for some reason when I love a girl’s personality and I think about her sexually a lot less. It doesn’t mean I don’t think about them sexually at all. Just not so much in the bone the shit out of Scarlett Johansson kind of way. Don’t get me wrong, if after a few dates Riki Lindhome wanted me to bone the shit out of her I totally would, because I’m a gentleman. The point being that because Riki Lindhome has more qualities than just being a nice piece of ass, I get as much, or more, enjoyment from thinking about going on a picnic, or seeing a comedy show, or making fresh raspberry jam with her as I do thinking about having rough sexual intercourse with her.

But this isn’t supposed to be about my defense of why even though I’ve never once jerked off to the thought of Riki Lindhome, and I’ve jerked off to the thought of Scarlett Johansson (insert number that is far too embarrassing to admit) times, I’d much rather go on a date with Riki Lindhome because her personality is far greater than at least 99% of the population on the planet. This is about me informing you of her new podcast, Making It With Riki Lindhome – or is the “With” supposed to be with a lowercase w?

As awkwardly stated in the previous four paragraphs, I very much enjoy Riki Lindhome. You may know her best from her appearance as Ramona Nowitzki on The Big Bang Theory – by the way, googling “Riki Lindhome Big Bang” is thoroughly disappointing – or as the creepy looking girl with black hair who I guess shows her titties in The Last House On The Left – which I saw part of once when going to Nathan’s house and, spoiler alert, after the rape scene I was like, “Yep, I’ve seen enough, and I’ve decided that anyone who seeks this out for entertainment must be killed,” but that was kind of an unfair judgment, and it’s not like I’m against rape scenes in movies, I’m completely for them when done right, I just thought this one was in poor taste – or perhaps you know her from Garfunkel and Oates which she pairs with the talented Kate Micucci to create dirty yet extremely clever songs, such as I Don’t Understand Job – if you don’t click on that link I will never forgive you, and you know what, you’ll never forgive yourself either – but that’s not what I know her best from – She was also in Million Dollar Baby, but I didn’t think that was important enough to point out.

Doug Loves Movies, Comedy Bang Bang (formerly Comedy Death-Ray), The Kevin Pollack Chat Show, One episode of The Adam Carolla Show in which Doug Benson guest hosted, those are all podcasts where I got to experience Riki Lindhome’s funnily cute, and cutely funny personality. And over the past year she has blossomed, much like Mayim Bialik, into one of my favorite celebrities, along with Alison Rosen and Sienna Miller, who seems a little too famous for the list, but oh well – and yes, if you clicked that link, which you’ll hopefully do at some point otherwise be stricken with cancer…for only a day…you’ll know that I stole that blossom Mayim Bialik thing from Garfunkel and Oates, and if you don’t get it, which I can’t blame you for because I had to look it up to get it, Mayim Bialik was the girl who playbed Blossom in the early 90s hit show, the name of which escapes me, might have been Joey, Whoooa!

Suffice to say, wait is it suffice to say? Either way, something to say, I was extremely excited when hearing the news that Riki Lindhome was getting her own podcast on Chris Hardwick’s Nerdist empire…I mean network, just normal, regular, non trying to take over the world company. The non rigid description of the podcast is Riki Lindhome talks to people in the entertainment field about making it in Hollywood, and other stuff of course.

The first episode featured the very likable Jason Ritter, most famous for his role in the Hilary Duff classic Raise Your Voice. He’s also been in a lot of other things, like one of my friends Christopher’s favorites Joan Of Arcadia. Or you could check out the movie Good Dick, which I would be completely fine with if those were the only two words my girlfriend had to describe me. The conversation in the podcast is enjoyable, as Ritter tells of his childhood and how his family’s fame influenced his career choice, and wisened (like got him more wise?) him to study acting and complete college rather than just trying to ride his name into the industry. He talks of ups and downs and bad auditions, all the while Riki Lindhome doing a wonderful job not just as an interviewer but as a participant in the conversation. It felt like I was listening to two friends having a conversation, not one person probing another person for information, which when done lacks enthusiasm and doesn’t allow for there to be a feel to the conversation.

I got my hopes up for this podcast and as of the first episode I have not been let down. I encourage you to give it a listen. If you haven’t given podcasts a try they aren’t as difficult to download as they might sound. It’s the same as downloading music, and it’s put onto your listening device the same way, so there shouldn’t be as huge a disconnect from downloading music and downloading podcasts. As of right now almost all podcasts are free, and you can find one on pretty much any topic you’d like. So give podcasts a try. They’re great for working out, or doing choirs around the house, or just if you want to be entertained. And you’d be surprised at how many celebrities you might love have actually done a podcast.

I would wish Riki Lindhome a substantial amount luck towards her podcasts endeavors, but she has enough talent to where luck won’t have to play a roll. I hope you give Riki Lindhome a chance, and I sincerely hope to God that you clicked on that link to the I Don’t Understand Job song, otherwise there will be massive amounts of hell to pay. Well not really. But still.

Exciting day in the history of Danniel Quentin Trujillo The Third – I’m not really the third but I was almost named George Daniel Trujillo and if that would have happened I would have been the third, let’s all quickly thank God that didn’t happen. I got my first ever paycheck today, which is odd, and also pathetic because I’m 22 and have never received a paycheck, but more odd because I don’t really have a job. I’ve been helping my mother with work for years now, and for the past year I’ve been putting my name on papers and registered with the company so we get extra work, although I don’t do the work most of the time but my mother does and it’s more money for her, but it wasn’t until now that I received a paycheck from the company with my name and all on it.

            The absolute coolest thing about the paycheck is that it’s from Theatrical Entertainment Services, which I’ve always known as TES, which is located in Burbank California. I always forget, but my family and I technically work for the entertainment industry. I don’t want to explain it in full but basically movie companies like Warner Bros and Universal hire TES to hire people like my family to go to the theatres (or theaters) and collect data, like how many people go see a certain movie or how an audience reacts to trailers, and then we give that information to TES and they assumably give it to the hire ups at the movie companies and then they use the paper the information is printed on to cut their coke on and then green light another movie where Eddie Murphy plays eleven characters.

            One of the cool things about this job is it’s not very known about and it’s hard to get this job. It’s like the Stonecutters on the Simpsons; In order to get in you have to either be related to someone already doing it or save the life of someone already doing it. I got the job because my grandpa, who’s also a member of the communist party for some reason, had the job. But then shortly after getting the job I got kicked out for not working but instead watching too many free movies and pigging out on popcorn. But as they ripped my clothes off and made me walk down the street naked dragging along the stone of shame they discovered that I had the birthmark of a movie reel on my ass and that I was the chosen one, and then they detached the stone of shame and attached the bigger stone of triumph which I had to drag down the street naked. Okay, obviously that’s the plot from Homer The Great (a great episode of The Simpsons) but the part about getting the job from my grandpa is kind of true. This job isn’t very advertised and the only way to get the job is to know someone doing the job. My Grandpa was neighbors and friends with someone who had the job and that’s how he got the job and then my mother got the job from my grandpa and then she got me and my brother into it, although I will not be making my living doing this for multiple reasons, but I will help my mother out whenever she needs me to.

            I don’t know what I’m going to do with the money from the paycheck. I’d frame it but for me this is a considerable amount of money, and $12 can buy a lot of Jolly Ranchers. It’s actually more than 12 dollars, but keep it on the hush, I don’t want the Government getting their grubby hands on this and using it to help develop nuclear weapons, or even worse, put it towards somebody’s Welfare check. I’m kidding. As a bleeding heart liberal I’m all about helping out the less fortunate. But as a new member of the working society I don’t want my paycheck being taxed just so it can help out the less fortunate, they can have their homes repossessed and freeze to death during winter for all I care (you’ve never paid one cent of taxes) nor will I ever, unless the Government happens to be reading this. That’s sarcasm folks. I’ve only not paid taxes because I’ve never had a job. And again, I’m a liberal so I love taxes. When I hear Adam Carolla bitch about paying millions in taxes I use his anger and sorrow as an emotional lubricant as I masturbate thinking about the parts of that money that go into founding programs like Head Start and feeding poor inner city families (most people just use lotion and watch porn). Don’t get me wrong, I understand how people can get mad about a large portion of their paycheck being taken away, but I just don’t care. But then again, 30 years from now when because of having to pay taxes I’m not able to pay for leather interior in my Ferrari I’m sure I’ll be changing my tune.

A couple of days ago my heart hurt a lot throughout the day. Honestly – because I’m usually a shit faced liar, so whenever I tell the truth I need to first specify I’m doing so – at points it scared me. Out of laziness I didn’t go to the doctor’s. Also aside from being lazy I have this twisted theology that based on the alignments of planets when we’re born and the size of our parents internal organs all of our deaths are predetermined and no matter what we can’t stop, or rather prolong, them. Okay, that’s obviously complete bullshit, but because I’m an honest guy I feel I should be careful and specify when I’m lying/joking. But what isn’t a joke is my terrible eating habits (good segue, man) thanks, it took me hours to work on that.

            I don’t look the part, but I eat like an obese whale (you eat mass amounts of plankton?) on occasion – I wonder if other whales go around making fun of obese whales like, ‘look at you, you’re so fat, you weigh 20 tons while I’m a respectable 15 tons,’ and another thought, wild animals don’t get obese, it’s only us domesticated doomed that eat in excess and pack on the pounds, my cat is the size of my entire upper body for God’s sake, but I’m pretty skinny. Actually, what’s worse than eating a lot is eating unhealthily. I eat chips whenever I get the chance, I down soda after soda when I go out, I cover my butter in salt and then put it in a tub of lard and pretend I’m bobbing for apples. That’s a joke to a certain extent. I do eat a ton of butter. When I eat microwave popcorn that’s flavor is ‘extra butter’ I of course have to melt my own butter and add extra butter to make it to my liking. Today I ate a whole thing of movie theatre popcorn (the big bucket) that my mom brought home last night. I ate every last kernel. Why am I not fat? (Crazy amount of exercise in the form of masturbation?) possibly. I do exercise on occasion, and I mean real exercise, or at least exercise that works out more then just my right arm, and on occasion my left arm and other special occurrences the arms of that cute Latino boy down the street. That’s a joke people (they know by now you’re always joking) I don’t trust them.

            I’ve been blessed with the metabolism of a God, or an Olsen twin, although I have a feeling their metabolism never got a chance to work on most of the food they ate. Bulimia is serious though, and it’s sad that many more girls then I would have ever expected resort to it to fit into some bullshit standards of how a girl should look. But enough about serious stuff, let’s get back to my God like figure (your figure isn’t God like, your metabolism is) whatever. I can’t get fat. It’s a proven fact right up there with gravity, the sky being blue and The Expendables being the most badass movie ever – firstly, I’ve only seen the first half of The Expendables and it was pretty badass but not super badass but definitely more badass than Eat, Pray, Love…and secondly some asshole/nerd is going to say ‘the sky isn’t blue, we only perceive it that way’ and then me also being an asshole/nerd will respond with ‘technically it’s only perceived as blue during daylight hours, so as far as I’m concerned we’re both dumbasses’.

            Because I can’t get fat I probably eat worse than I would if I were ever in danger of getting fat. My arteries probably look like that of Marlon Brando’s in his last years, while my body looks like that of Marlon Brando when he was in On The Waterfront, “I could have been a contender” (you overuse that quote) it was quoted in Newsradio so I love it – I’ve never actually seen On The Waterfront, nor will I ever. My trim, yet boyish, figure deceives me, and makes me think I’m healthier than I really am, until a few days ago, when my body gave me a rude awakening.

            I’m used to having heart problems, but usually it’s the strife of love, which is actually more mental anguish then physical. I realize I’m going to die young, but I didn’t know it would be from a heart attack (That’s said as if you know you’re going to die from a heart attack) I’m confident I will. It will be frontpage headlines all over the world ‘Boy With Body of Adonis but Heart of John Goodman, and gold, Dies Prematurely. America Mourns Great Loss.’ (You don’t have the body of Adonis) Time will show then he was in fact average bodied and not incredibly good looking (Time won’t show anything, he’s a fictional character) time will tell with that too.

            I thought about death often during my heart pains. I was afraid that I would go too early, never getting the pleasure of making out a will. I plan on doling out every last one of the items in my possession: ‘to my third cousin Bert who I’ve never met or even knew about until he befriended me on Facebook, there is a desk manufactured during World War One that my Great Grandfather procured during his time in France, you may have your choice of one piece of gum that I stuck to the bottom of it.’ What a joyous process will making must be.

A couple of days ago my heart hurt a lot throughout the day. Honestly – because I’m usually a shit faced liar, so whenever I tell the truth I need to first specify I’m doing so – at points it scared me. Out of laziness I didn’t go to the doctor’s. Also aside from being lazy I have this twisted theology that based on the alignments of planets when we’re born and the size of our parents internal organs all of our deaths are predetermined and no matter what we can’t stop, or rather prolong, them. Okay, that’s obviously complete bullshit, but because I’m an honest guy I feel I should be careful and specify when I’m lying/joking. But what isn’t a joke is my terrible eating habits (good segue, man) thanks, it took me hours to work on that.

            I don’t look the part, but I eat like an obese whale (you eat mass amounts of plankton?) on occasion – I wonder if other whales go around making fun of obese whales like, ‘look at you, you’re so fat, you weigh 20 tons while I’m a respectable 15 tons,’ and another thought, wild animals don’t get obese, it’s only us domesticated doomed that eat in excess and pack on the pounds, my cat is the size of my entire upper body for God’s sake, but I’m pretty skinny. Actually, what’s worse than eating a lot is eating unhealthily. I eat chips whenever I get the chance, I down soda after soda when I go out, I cover my butter in salt and then put it in a tub of lard and pretend I’m bobbing for apples. That’s a joke to a certain extent. I do eat a ton of butter. When I eat microwave popcorn that’s flavor is ‘extra butter’ I of course have to melt my own butter and add extra butter to make it to my liking. Today I ate a whole thing of movie theatre popcorn (the big bucket) that my mom brought home last night. I ate every last kernel. Why am I not fat? (Crazy amount of exercise in the form of masturbation?) possibly. I do exercise on occasion, and I mean real exercise, or at least exercise that works out more then just my right arm, and on occasion my left arm and other special occurrences the arms of that cute Latino boy down the street. That’s a joke people (they know by now you’re always joking) I don’t trust them.

            I’ve been blessed with the metabolism of a God, or an Olsen twin, although I have a feeling their metabolism never got a chance to work on most of the food they ate. Bulimia is serious though, and it’s sad that many more girls then I would have ever expected resort to it to fit into some bullshit standards of how a girl should look. But enough about serious stuff, let’s get back to my God like figure (your figure isn’t God like, your metabolism is) whatever. I can’t get fat. It’s a proven fact right up there with gravity, the sky being blue and The Expendables being the most badass movie ever – firstly, I’ve only seen the first half of The Expendables and it was pretty badass but not super badass but definitely more badass than Eat, Pray, Love…and secondly some asshole/nerd is going to say ‘the sky isn’t blue, we only perceive it that way’ and then me also being an asshole/nerd will respond with ‘technically it’s only perceived as blue during daylight hours, so as far as I’m concerned we’re both dumbasses’.

            Because I can’t get fat I probably eat worse than I would if I were ever in danger of getting fat. My arteries probably look like that of Marlon Brando’s in his last years, while my body looks like that of Marlon Brando when he was in On The Waterfront, “I could have been a contender” (you overuse that quote) it was quoted in Newsradio so I love it – I’ve never actually seen On The Waterfront, nor will I ever. My trim, yet boyish, figure deceives me, and makes me think I’m healthier than I really am, until a few days ago, when my body gave me a rude awakening.

            I’m used to having heart problems, but usually it’s the strife of love, which is actually more mental anguish then physical. I realize I’m going to die young, but I didn’t know it would be from a heart attack (That’s said as if you know you’re going to die from a heart attack) I’m confident I will. It will be frontpage headlines all over the world ‘Boy With Body of Adonis but Heart of John Goodman, and gold, Dies Prematurely. America Mourns Great Loss.’ (You don’t have the body of Adonis) Time will show then he was in fact average bodied and not incredibly good looking (Time won’t show anything, he’s a fictional character) time will tell with that too.

            I thought about death often during my heart pains. I was afraid that I would go too early, never getting the pleasure of making out a will. I plan on doling out every last one of the items in my possession: ‘to my third cousin Bert who I’ve never met or even knew about until he befriended me on Facebook, there is a desk manufactured during World War One that my Great Grandfather procured during his time in France, you may have your choice of one piece of gum that I stuck to the bottom of it.’ What a joyous process will making must be.

I’m writing this at three o’clock in the morning and I’m sitting in my room shirtless with the fan blowing on high towards my back and it’s still almost uncomfortably warm for me. For whatever reason, most likely lack of money and lack of sense, my family doesn’t own an air conditioner, so in the summer the house heats up like an episode of the Bold and the Beautiful, which I’ve never seen but assume must be rife with overly dramatic steamy scenes that lead right up to what everyone wants to see and then cuts away right before the girl gets down on her knees – I’ve watched way too much porn and have been involved in way too little real life sex (to be precise none) so my brain has come to the conclusion that all sex begins with the girl going down on the guy because that’s how it happens in porn. The house cools down during the night due to the open doors and windows allowing the cooler air to enter the house, but my room is like a God damn oven, except for the part where you have to turn it on to heat it up, and my room isn’t used to cook food. Actually it turns out my room isn’t like an oven at all. But it’s hot, and it stays hot through the night because I never open the windows. And I never open the window because if I do spiders will crawl in my room, make their way up and into my earlobe and then plant their eggs in my skull, and before you know it I’m going to have baby spiders playing Candy-fucking-land in my head, and I say no thank you ma’am to that.

            I don’t like spiders. Never have, but not never will. I’m open to Quentin, spiders negotiation talks. At some point in the future spiders and I may be able to get on the same page. And I’m willing to admit that not all spiders are bad. Those spiders over in Florida don’t bother me. I’m not going to Florida and they’re not coming here, I assume, so we don’t have a problem. It’s these God damn spiders outside my house that bother me. Waiting for me to open the window so they can crawl in and take over my room like the Latinos have taken over the Southwest United States, but with less sombreros. First thing first, if the spiders trying to get through my window were wearing sombreros I’d roll out the red carpet, some fondue, and welcome them with a Mardi Gras type reception. Secondly, for anyone who is wondering, I’m not against the influx of Mexican/Hispanics-who-are-confused-for-Mexicans immigrants in this country (the word influx makes is sound a little negative) well I never said it wasn’t a bad thing, I just said I’m not against. I’m a huge proponent of immigration, and embarrassingly I don’t really mind illegal immigration, and I came up with a solution for the immigration problem. But I’ll talk about it in an upcoming blog because I’d like to stay focused in this one.

            Spiders are ugly, but so are many people, yet I don’t run like a little screaming girl away from them, well at least not most of them. And I’m vaguely confident spiders don’t mean to do me any harm. They’re probably just looking for a nice cozy spot to meet other spiders and make some ugly spider babies. Although, here’s my beef with that idea. Where do most spiders hang out? Outside. So if spiders are like most animals, and all humans, and their sole purpose in life is to meet other spiders and fuck, why the fuck are they hanging out inside houses? Not to mention you think by now it would have gotten through the spider grapevine that spiders have a higher risk of death inside houses where humans 100 times their size live then out in the wilderness where they only have to compete with cats and dogs and bigger insects trying to eat them constantly and rain and wind and all that good stuff. Okay, so maybe I can understand why spiders look to hide out inside houses. But still, out of courtesy shouldn’t they get the picture that us humans don’t want them living in the same quarters as us? Here’s my completely wrong theory.

            Spiders aren’t assholes. Not metaphorically, and not literally. They have assholes, and from what I understand they shoot out webs either from or near that orifice, and not from their wrist; you hear that Spiderman, you’re a fraud! If you were really bitten by a radio active spider you’d be shooting web out your pooper. But no, instead you’re just a fictional character in a comic book and movie franchise that has grossed billions. So far we’ve established that spiders aren’t made of assholes, and Spiderman is an asshole. And I don’t think whenever spiders enter a house they’re thinking, ‘oh yeah, I’m going to creep the shit out of this family and then I’m going to jerk off to their screams as they chase me with a broom.’ In fact I can say with great confidence that I don’t think any spider has ever thought that. Here’s what I think. I think spiders hark back to the time when humans used to live in caves, and quite possibly even as recently as huts and other such structures not as sound at defending the elements as we have now. And they remember when humans and spiders used to live together and it was no big deal. No caveman ever tried to kill an innocent spider unless it looked at his cavewoman the wrong way. Humans and spiders were friends back then, but no more. Unfortunately spiders haven’t gotten the message. They’re like that friend that keeps calling you and wanting to hang out and every single time you lie to them but they never catch on and they keep calling you – Apropos of nothing, I wonder if David can see a movie this week, he hasn’t been able to hang out with me because for the last three years he’s had a disease that doesn’t allow him to hang out with people who have the letter Q in their name. But then again I guess that really isn’t like the spider situation. It’d be like the spider situation if every time your friend wanted to hang out you grabbed a tissue, squished his head, and then flushed him down the toilet.

The other day I had a vaguely homosexual dream (what a wonderful way to start off a blog). But it wasn’t just vaguely homosexual, it was vaguely homosexual and involving me. I’m sure some of you assumed if I was having a homosexual dream it would involve me in the homosexual acts, but I think others might have just thought I was dreaming about other people doing homosexual stuff, and I wasn’t involved in it at all, just observing it through my dream. I’m not sure what I would have thought, none of my friends have ever told me they’ve had homosexual dreams, and it’s not because they’ve never had any. They must have at some point with all the homosexual thoughts I’ve put in their heads. I don’t mean that as in I’m so damn sexy that even thought they’re straight they can’t help but to dream about me. I just mean me and my friends talk about homosexual things all the time. And I don’t mean homosexual as in “gay”. I mean homosexual as in gay. That may be a little confusing. I don’t mean homosexual as in the way so many people use the word gay these days, that being as a synonym for stupid. I mean homosexual as in gay as in its second original meaning, that being for a man who likes other men in a homosexual manner. So what I mean (you’re taking way too long to explain this) I know, and it won’t be worth it, but what I mean is that me and my friends talk about gay people and make gay jokes and that kind of stuff a lot – mostly me. It’s very offensive actually. If there was a gay guy there most certainly he would have been offended. Wait a second, it turns out all those years there was a gay guy there. And no, although the heavy money would have been on me coming out of the closet that day will never come (you do realize that makes it sound like you’re gay but just not willing to admit it) and that’s what I want the people to think. But it turned out one of our friends was a homosexual, which makes all those gay jokes over the years I’ve told really awkward. Not to mention all the times I jokingly accused one of our other friends of being gay and kept telling him to come out of the closet.

            I’ve strayed off the point, and that’s why I’m starting a new paragraph. I’m sure we all have homosexual dreams, and to stray off the point one more time (please don’t) why does saying homosexual sound so much more offensive then saying gay? Or is that just me? This blog aside, you don’t even have to read the rest of it, but would you be so kind to as (or as to) let me know in some way, shape or form, whether it be by leaving a comment, writing your own blog about it, or having someone sky write it, whether you think gay or homosexual is more offensive to call a man who likes other men, or are neither of them offensive at all, or is calling the person a man who likes other men the most offensive of them all?

            And here we are again, at the beginning of a new paragraph, with misplaced commas strewn about, trying desperately to stay on point, which has undoubtedly been my biggest downfall as a writer, you know other than writing anywhere near well. So, to get back on point and stay there, ‘gay’ has been a big part of my life (what the hell do you mean by that?).  Granted up until recently I have never knowingly had someone who was gay be a big part of my life. But from the time I hit puberty, like most boys, I became hugely obsessed with penises, mainly my own. Hours upon hours I would waste abusing it as if it was a terrorist detained at Guantanamo Bay. And then when I started watching porn, which I’m starting to believe was a huge mistake, I started noticing all these big penises, and that’s when I became jealous. I’ve never been jealous of things so ugly. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a penis before, but they are disgusting. All you ladies reading this (‘because there must be millions’ I say with more than a hint of sarcasm) want to know why guys love receiving oral sex so much? Partly because guys are lazy and they don’t have to do anything but sit there, but mostly because it’s fascinating to see a girl like the guy so much that she’ll put his ugly ass penis in her mouth (what about the pleasure part) guys get no pleasure from it. Physically it feels like a rattlesnake eating your penis, but emotionally it’s a greater ego boost then being voted most awesome person in the universe (first of all I don’t think that vote takes place, but if it did Cody from Step by Step would win, and secondly you’ve never received oral sex so how would you know?) I’ve heard through the grapevine. Okay, so it’s true that I’ve never had my hot dog boiled inside a woman’s mouth pot, but I’ve had the discussion many times, and penises are ugly, and I would never stick something that ugly in the same thing I kiss my mother with. Oh my God, my mother has kissed me like a million times with the same mouth she probably used to go down on so many guys with. Oh my God, I can’t believe I actually wrote that. It’s probably so offensive to my mother. I should really delete it. But instead of deleting it I’ll just say that this is how ugly and against giving head to a guy I am. I’ve said on many occasions that I’d much rather be fucked in the ass then have to give head to a guy. With most guys they have to think really hard about that question. And some won’t even answer and just say ‘neither, I’d kill myself first’. But not me, I immediately go with being fucked in the ass. Sometimes I say my answer before they even finish the question. And I’ll even go as far as blurting out ‘I’d rather be fucked in the ass,’ apropos of nothing.

            At some point in my life I started making gay jokes, and not offensive jokes, although I’m sure gay people would be offended by them, but more so just gay comments, and somehow that turned into me making comments that would suggest I’m gay. I don’t know which came first, whether it was me making gay comments about myself or if people thought I was gay and I jokingly went with it and took it to the nth degree. I guess it’s like the chicken and the egg; we’ll never know which came first. Although I guess scientists have figured out that the chicken has to come first, which most have thought so for years, but apparently one of the chemical components that make the egg is created within the chicken, so you can’t have a chicken egg unless there’s a chicken to create the egg, whereas you can have a chicken without a chicken egg because God can just go ‘poof’ and then magically a chicken is created. But facts aside, my life has been filled with gay jokes towards myself, and I wouldn’t say at the expense of myself because I’m not really gay. And it’s odd that my humor as taken that route because I don’t have a gay ounce in my body. Okay, maybe my ass is a little gay, but no big deal (that’s a joke people). I think the gayest thing I would actually do is kiss a man on the lips for the sake of humor, but no tongue, I don’t think I could do that unless it was really, really funny, or I was really, really drunk. I wouldn’t even partake in a Devil’s threesome, even if the girl involved was Scarlett Johansson. Although I think I could do it if I was drunk and while he was banging her from behind and I was receiving oral, or vice versa, there was a curtain between us so I couldn’t see him. But other than that there will be no two guy, one girl threesome for me. I could watch a Devil’s threesome though, just not be involved in one. I could probably even watch one in person, if the chick is hot, and there’s like some chips or popcorn to munch on, but it can’t be a buffet of hot dogs and popsicles. And although it would be awkward to watch people having sex in person, and I don’t have any desire to, I’m just saying I think I could because it wouldn’t be that much different then watching porn, except the part where I can’t rewind so I make sure I jerk off at my favorite part. Instead I’d have to tap the people on the shoulder and ask them if they could do that part over again, and it wouldn’t be as good because then they’d probably just be faking it and I’ll be able to tell. So I guess it’s probably best if I just keep my jerking off to traditional methods. The point is I’m not gay in any way except for the part where I constantly make jokes that make it seem like I’m gay, although I don’t think a gay person would do that, so I’m not even gay in that way. If I were really gay I’d probably over compensate and make jokes about fucking the cliché hot celebrities like Megan Fox and Pam Anderson (no one thinks Pamela Anderson is hot anymore) I do, I’d fuck her so hard (<-- over compensating).

            I always used to joke about my subconscious being gay, which most people would then say I must be gay too, but I argue it doesn’t. My argument for having a gay subconscious without me being gay is this: that’s just how it is. That’s not a very good argument, but hey, I’m not a very good person, so it fits. I used to always joke about it being gay because my first thoughts on things would often be gay thoughts, albeit in a joking manner, but still odd I found. And often when watching porn my eyes would wonder off the girl’s charming, bouncing breasts to the man’s despicably disgusting penis. And I’d just be staring at it, having stopped masturbating, and I’d just be jealous of it, but I’d joke that on a subconscious level I loved it otherwise I wouldn’t be doing it so much, but on the exterior I’d put on this charade of being jealous of it and that’s why I was fascinated with it. And by the way, I really am jealous of big penises, to a certain degree, but its not like I can really sit here complaining that my penis is so small and girls would laugh me out of rooms whenever I took my pants off. I think it’s just that I grew up watching porn, and the penises tend to be bigger in porn, so like how if you grow up watching basketball you dream of playing professional basketball, I watched all these big penises as a kid and it became my dream to have a big penis, but that’s a dream I fell a couple inches short of, which in any other scenario it’d be amazing to get within a couple inches of my dream, but unfortunately in this scenario a couple inches is a big deal, which also unfortunately left me with a small deal (Oh my God, the wit you portray is legendary) how dare you and your sarcasm, sir, that joke would be good enough for Two and a Half Men (Whoa, whoa, whoa, I didn’t think the joke was that bad) Zing.

            But alas, I get to the reason I’m writing this – I think I meant to put at last instead of alas but even though alas means it’s a bad thing I’m getting to the reason I’m writing this I like the way it sounds so I’m leaving it. I had the gayest dream of my life the other night. Okay, maybe not as gay as the time I had that dream where I kissed my step dad on the lips. But I argue this one is gayer because the one where I kissed my step dad on the lips was short and sweet...I mean just short, not sweet, whereas this dream I’m about to speak of was a little longer, not much though, and it was not said, but implied that I was gay in the dream, where in the dream where I kissed my step dad there was no thought at all. And it was just a peck on the lips, no passion whatsoever, which by the way, ladies, in real life I’m all passion (no you’re not) I’m at least 70% passion (I’d argue that’s too much passion for most people).

            In the dream I just had I went on a movie date with my gay friend. It wasn’t said that it was a date, but I know a movie date when I’m on one in a dream, which is apparently the only place I can get a date, and what’s worse is that I get a date in my dreams and it ends up being a gay date. That’s about the extent of the dream. There was a little bit of who should be paying for the popcorn and drinks and stuff like that – I remember being confused about the appropriate paying policy, but I felt as the manly man as should pay– and there was no making out or holding hands or even eye contact. In fact I may have even felt a little awkward, but can you blame me, I’ve never been on a gay date before, let alone any date. And now that I think about it I’m offended. My gay dream date (dream date is poor wording) my gay date in the dream didn’t even try to make out with me. What the fuck? Am I not good enough for him? What a kill to my ego.

            When I woke up the next morning I felt weird, but I felt a little comforted because I don’t recall having a boner, which I usually do when I wake up. The weird feeling went away when several minutes later I masturbated to some extreme lesbian porn (<-- over compensating). It was just what I wanted. These were real lesbians, short hair, no tits, they looked just like boys. I’m kidding. I don’t recall what I masturbated to that morning, but I remember not really caring that much about the dream. I’m not one of those people who thinks every dream means something and that if I dreamed about being on a date with my friend then I must be gay and want him. But I do think dreams often represent what’s going on with a person’s subconscious and as a student of psychology (since when?) I’ve taken psychology (one time, and you barely passed) well as a person who finds psychology interesting I like to analyze my dreams sometimes. Especially when they’re gay dreams and there’s potential of me outing myself. Oh how wonderful it’d be to get to be gay. I’m kidding of course. Not that there’s anything wrong with being gay. But I maintain that of all the options of sexuality gay is one of the worst for the sole fact that there are less people to hook up with. At the same time they’re competing for less people, and that may be good for some people, but I’m really picky with who I want to be with, and not many people live up to my high, high, way too high, so high that I now only want one person and this could end up making me die alone, high standards. And this may shock you, but I don’t think heterosexuality is the best of all the sexuality options. Clearly bisexuality is the best. You get everyone. If you’re a bisexual female you still have the whole man species to choose from, excluding the gay ones, but you also have the options of hooking up with a lesbian. More is better. Heterosexuality is fine, and so is homosexuality, but combining them and having more options is by far the best option, especially in this day and age where as long as you stay north of the Mason-Dixon LineMason-Dixon Line

            The day of the dream, or the day before, or I don’t know what you want to call it, but the day spent that led up to the night which the dream took place during (you have a genius type way of making things longer than they need to be) me and a couple of friends hung out with my gay friend and his gay boyfriend. We went hiking up a trail to Multnomah Falls and for most of the time hiking I was quiet and thinking about how badly I wish a certain girl could have been there with me. It’s something I’ve never got to experience, doing something with the girl I love, anything, even something as simple as going to the movies. My gay friend in the dream didn’t represent love for him, it represented my jealousy of him getting to do things with his boyfriend. Sure they didn’t get all lovey dovey during the hike and when we hung out at the lake, but I get jealous of the simplest things, and for a guy like me who has loved – and some people will debate whether its real love because of the circumstances it was under, but I say fuck them mightily, it’s love – but never got to do anything with the girl, even something as little as sitting at a picnic table on a warm summer day eating relatively plain sandwiches with complex tortilla chips that apparently taste like cheeseburgers seems like fucking heaven. Of course I still get jealous of the big things. When my friends talk about having sex and cuddling and stuff like that I’m extremely jealous, but its too the point now where even seeing people holding hands is killing me. To hold her hand for but a second is more desirable then getting to fuck Scarlett Johansson for life. And I mean it, and that’s saying a lot because just thinking about Scarlett Johansson makes me want to run to the computer and jerk off to pictures of her (running to the computer seems odd seeing as you’re typing this on the computer right now) I meant the other computer (the one sitting a foot and a half away from you?) yes, a brisk jog will do.

            So I think the dream represents the desire for even a simplistic relationship, and not even with her, I don’t think the dream had terribly much to do with her, I think the dream represents my subconscious desire for a relationship with anybody, and at this point apparently even a man. Maybe my subconscious is telling me to go for whatever I can get –I don’t think I could get a gay man by the way, they wouldn’t be able to put up with my constant barrage of gay humor – but I don’t really listen to my subconscious because I’ve always felt it’s not what I really want. My subconscious just works preliminary shit out, but it’s what’s going on in my external thought process where I believe the real truth lies. And as much as I think about being in a relationship, and as much as it depresses me at night to be alone, I’m still going to wait and not force anything, even if that means years and years of homosexual dreams, but in case my subconscious is reading this I’d much rather have dreams of being fucked in the ass then sucking a guy off.

There’s a huge advantage in sleeping that cats hold over humans that I don’t think gets talked about enough when taking into consideration how much fucking better it’d be to be a cat rather than a human. Everyone of course rightly cites that cats don’t have to do stuff like work, pay bills, or sleep with that girl Lisa’s disgustingly unattractive, and frankly downright uninteresting in every aspect, friend just so your friend can have some quality alone time with Lisa (no, that’s not taken from a real life experience) and because cats don’t have to do those time consuming and un-joyous tasks they can spend their entire day doing what every human covets most, sleeping. But I don’t think people think about how amazingly talented cats are at sleeping. You may think sleeping is easy, but according to bullshitstats.com three out of four people on Earth, not counting North Korea, Vietnam and Australia, suck at sleeping.

            Really, think about it, like right now, like stop reading this, use that mushy thing incased in your skull (because God knows if you’re reading this you certainly aren’t using it) and think about how difficult it is to sleep for humans. From the time you human beings are born to the age of three you spend on average 13.5 hours of your day sleeping, which is a deceiving number because to the untrained eye that seems like a lot of sleep, but think about what’s going on during the other 12.5 hours of the day (and when did we start using 26 hour days?). When babies are awake they do two things. They spend 10% of that time crying because they’re hungry, and they spend 90% of that time crying because they wish they were sleeping. It’s because they’re weak and can’t force themselves to sleep, unlike cats, who at a moment’s notice can be walking down the hallway and then all of the sudden think, ‘fuck this shit, I’m tired’ and then collapse to the floor and be asleep in seconds.

            That’s a superpower in and of itself. We live in an age with hundreds and hundreds and hundreds (we get it) and hundreds of sleeping pills and the like. Hours and hours and hours (don’t say hours one more time or I guarantee you’ll lose every reader) are wasted as human’s struggle to force themselves to sleep in an attempt to get a reasonable amount of rest in before their next daily grind, and then what’s worse is that throughout the day they are mock with fatigue and tiredness, which some claim are synonyms of each other so there was no use for me to use them both, but I claim due to my deprived education I don’t know what synonyms are, or why any word needs to contain two y’s. And after a full day of fatigue and or tiredness the human slave to the corporate machine comes home and is faced with the burden yet again of not being able to sleep, so he is forced to drink beer after beer then beat on his wife a little then beat off to a basic cable showing of Show Girls just to get himself to sleep. This is indeed a sad world we live in, but one that could be avoided, not if we had all the free time in the world to sleep like cats, but rather if we had the ability to sleep easily.

            When thinking about this I noticed that cats can sleep so easily because they’re flexible and readily comfortable in any of the millions of positions they can get in, which if you’re like me brings one thing to mind. Move over Nadia Comaneci there’s a new favorite in my acrobatics sex fantasy and her name is Eartha Kitt (you do realize she’s not really Catwomen, and she’s dead?). I realized neither. The point is what is Batman doing flirting around with all these harlots when he could be settling down with Catwomen and having cirque du Soleil sex every night with Catwoman.