tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3781654592176107872024-03-08T08:11:04.098-08:00The Punultimate BlogA blog that does something perhaps. Or perhaps not. Who knows? Certainly not me.Carpe Pugamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01792682280270164644noreply@blogger.comBlogger3125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-378165459217610787.post-30256548672426719012011-10-31T23:49:00.001-07:002011-10-31T23:49:31.448-07:00A short story. Open for criticisms.<div class="MsoNormal">I was walking around when I saw a guy parked outside of an elementary school waiting with a pair of binoculars. He was staring into the playground where apparently kids were having recess. Finally, I thought, a fellow human being just as bored as I am, reduced to having desires for recess. After spending a whole summer on a computer, staring at a playground would seem like an active social life. I took this chance to meet a fellow comrade in the fight against the need to be socially acceptable. In what I hoped to be a sincerely friendly move, I opened up his door and sat in his passenger seat. He turned and stared at me.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"It's not what it looks like, I swear."</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"It's okay," I understood what it felt, having to hide behind so many faces, one forgets who they really are. "I too, sometimes wish I had recess at school, but in my culture elementary school is for rich people, or stupid people.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"Look, I don't know who the fuck you are but-" I glanced around his car. He had some toys and candy tossed haphazardly into the back, and Starbucks coffee in his cup holder. Some undiscernable yipping noises in the trunk also caught my attention, as well as a small bouquet of flowers on the dashboard. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I grabbed one of the flowers, ripped the bud off, and popped it into my mouth. "These flowers are delicious, you must tell me where you bought them."</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"What the fuck?!" Ah, having been on the internet so long, hearing that in person sent shivers down my spine.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"In my culture, "I explained," it is customary to eat everything starting with the head." Now, scientifically speaking, flowers don't really have heads, and if anything, I just dove right for the vagina of the flower and ate the shit out of it. But he seemed uncultured, so I doubt he knew or cared.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"What the fuck?!" He reiterated. Do humans really love that expression that much?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"Look, in my culture, it is a rule you must eat things starting with it's the head. Preferably in one bite, so you don't have to stare the animal in it's cold, dead eyes. And if you bring flowers for your date, I assume you go for the next available part. It's just, no one in my country uses flowers, since there is no real head. It's much more appealing to girls if you bring them the carcass of a decapitated animal. They can eat it from anywhere they want, since you already ate the head."</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">He then stared into my eyes. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"Are you a cop?" He demanded. Now he had me confused, since in no way am I a cop. But if I was a cop, that would be kick-ass since they get guns and stuff. I'm interested in guns but the school I go to apparently prohibits any and all firearms, as well as the city encompassing it. Pricks. I bet those cops get guns. Cop Pricks.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"Hell no, I hate prickly cops. But there are cops over there," I pointed to a car a block away. "I came from that direction and some cops were there with binoculars staring this way. Bunch of fucking pedophile cops, am I right? My parents didn't immigrate here a year separately but equally to pay taxes to fund fucking pedophile cops."</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"Oh fuck! I knew being registered would fuck everything up."</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"Registered? What game? Or is it a forum? I hate registering too, I don't trust those assholes with my e-mail. Every time I register something, I get loads of penis enhancement ads in my inbox. The worst part is, none of them work"</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">He began turning red, or maybe a hue of purple. I'm unsure, but it could also have been a Pepto Bismol pink. Staring at him made my stomach churn, so maybe it was Pepto-Pink. I stopped staring at him. My stomach settled.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." What a dirty mouth he has. And that's coming from me.</div><div class="MsoNormal">"I have to get out of here, I umm, left the microwave on at home. My pot roast is probably burning."</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"Wait. What? Your leaving your car in the hands of a total stranger?"</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"Just fucking do it, or else." He opened the car door and slid out. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"Fine, but expect your ashtray to be devoid of all coins. Douche." I watched as he crawled away, military crawl style. Or snake style; or whatever they call that little squiggle dance people do on the floor while inching away.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As soon as he hit the end of the block, he got up and sprinted away down the intersection. Or maybe he just started out sprinting and quickly switched to a paced jog. I couldn't tell since he was out of sight already, but he was pretty out of shape. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I moved myself into the drivers seat, it was uncomfortably warm. I mean, warm seats are comfortable on cold days I'm assuming, or maybe people who have cold hard asses would enjoy the warminess of the chair. Warm seats are; however, inherently discomforting because the knowledge of some other person's dirty, icky, nasty, and probably sweaty ass-butt has been on the chair. Holy shit was it uncomfortable. I moved back to my seat. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">What was I to do? I was bored as hell in my new (best) friend's car waiting for him to save his pot roast, and hopefully bringing me back some of said pot roast. I was starting to get hungry, that flower did little to satiate my hunger. Another reason why my culture stopped using flowers, they do nothing to satiate your lust for flesh, warm succulent flesh. Especially those of my enemies. I wiped the saliva that began to accumulate in excess due to my sudden craving, and quickly put it out of my mind. This is no situation for that, another time, another place. Thankfully, strewn about were all sorts of confectionary treats. I look around for my favorites, seeing Skittles and M&M's, I quickly realized to my horror he had purchased that shitty fun bag full of shitty candies. Noooo!! I began to pound on my dashboard. May the crumbling heavens hear my lament, and the pits of hell be torn asunder, for my cries of anger can only be equaled by the sadness in my stomach and taste buds. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Just as I nearly depleted my energy from the viscous throes against the dashboard, the school bell rang and the children began to escape their mandated by law child prison. A little girl walks up to my car and asks me why I am beating up my dashboard. I rolled down the window. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"Kid, life is cruel. One day you will realize there is no god, and everyone you love will die. Also, the candy flavors you like will never be there for you. Never!" I screamed the last part at her. Her jaw began to do that chattering thing, except her face was ever descending into an emoticon ): I often see on the internet. Tears began to well up in her eyes like a well welling up for well... welling season. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"Oh shit, I'm sorry kid, I didn't mean to make you cry. Say, do you like Skittles or M&M's?" She managed to choke back her sobs and mumble Skittles. Either that girl is very good at invoking pity, or she was genuinely crying. I couldn't tell, but I swear she was grinning behind those tears and Skittle bags I was handing her. I then saw the sirens blink from the squad car and it slowly drove towards where I was. Two officers approached me. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"Get the fuck out of the car, you fucking worthless piece of shit." </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"Whoa thar' cowboy, there's chillens' roun' ere'." I did my best imitation of a Southerner since I assumed he was white. They didn't seem all that convinced. "Yarghhhhhhhh." I added.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">They wrenched the door open and pulled me out with surprising force.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"Get the hall monitor Suzy" I screamed.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"My name is Felicity."</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
"I don't care if your name is Sgt. Major Wafflesniffer Ironsausage, go do something. Get help! I gave you Skittles!" She threw the bag at my face. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"These are normal Skittles. I hate normal Skittles. I wanted the sour kind. I hate you." </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And she ran off, crying again. What a conniving bitch. This is why my culture hates little girls. The officers dragged me to the squad car with much determination. They were determined because every limb on my body was flailing and I was screaming for help like a little girl. Those prickly cops had to earn their paychecks, stupid tax eating tax eaters. Also, I made them very pathetic for dragging away such a pathetic human, although I was only mock-pathetic, the police are truly the pathetic ones for escorting the pathetic person. After all, who is more pathetic? The pathetic flailing sissy or the two buff burly mancops handling said sissy.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">During the car ride, I had a horribly feeling in my stomach. What I wouldn't give to see my Pepto-Bismol friend; although, he's the one who got me into this mess. He is not a very good friend. I think I might have to break up with him. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"Will you read me my Miranda rights?"</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"No."</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"Will you turn on the sirens?"</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"No."</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"Might I say officer, you have such wonderful blue eyes."</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"Are you hitting on me? Also I'm wearing sunglasses. Also, my eyes are brown." Shit there goes that plan of escape.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"M&M's anyone?"</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"..."</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"Look I gave Suzy all the Skittles I had, and she just threw em' at me. So I only have M&M's left."</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"..."</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"Can you at least change the radio station? This fuzzy radio isn't fun to listen to at all. What is this? Some new aged jazz/rock/grunge shit? Is it jazzockunge? That sounds awesome." They ignored me for the rest of the road trip.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Fifteen minutes later, we were at the police station. Or maybe it was a CIA HQ, disguised as a police station. That would be so cool. Also, they would have fire trucks that shoots Michael C. Hall out at fires because to fight fire, you just need someone who's even hotter. No homo. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">They led me to what I guessed would have been the time out zone. It was empty except for a mirror, a table, some chairs, and a tape recorder which probably play jazzockunge, and that Pixar lamp that seems to mock you when you are in place. Another more burly heaving mancop, and a four-eyes in semi-formal attire were in there. Although they were not in uniform, this did not make them any less intimidating, if only I still had a fear receptor in my body. I manually disabled them by watching a combination of shock sites and Starcraft matches. I do not know fear. Although I can very much overload my aggression inhibitors. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"Sit down!" Barked the rippling muscle mass. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I jumped and peed myself a little bit. Ok, maybe it was self respect and not fear that I had lost. I forget the difference. I sat down nervously. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"What were you doing at that elementary school?" Demanded the heaving muscle sack. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"I plead the fifth"</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"That bullshit doesn't fly in these parts"</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"Like a G6?" I chimed. The chiseled cop gave me a slap. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"Do you think this is funny? Is this a joke to you? Do you know what they do to fucking freaks like you in other countries? They wouldn't blink twice beating the shit out of you. And that's just the nice part."</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"I swear I didn't pirate all those games and/or pornography. Whichever one I'm in here for. It was my friend. He was using my computer."</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"What the fuck?! I don't care about that shit. You're here because you're a goddamned freak. You worthless shitsucking Chi-"</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"That's enough." interrupted the bespectacled man. Look, don't mind him. He's just having a rough day. Just admit to your crime, we have clear evidence you were soliciting children."</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"Sol? Isseh? Ting? Are you racist or something? I'm clearly Asian, but I have an English name." Glasses gave Muscles a look, and once again I was slapped, on the other cheek this time, but damn them to hell if I was going to turn my cheek. It wasn't a problem since he was standing and his arm had great reach, and me not turning my cheek did not hinder his slapping in anyway to my dismay. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"I told you, it was my friend, not me. I only download from legitimate sites, like Limewire and Megaporn, and definitely not from The Pirate Bay, the most trusted source for your pirating needs."</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"We know you're a fucking pedophile!" sprayed the muscle man as he lifted me up by my collar. Poindexter put his hands in front of Steroids, signaling for him to stop. He put me back down and went back to his corner of the room.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"I understand you may have a different set of morals than us, normal, white people, but you have to understand that children are precious in all cultures. We just want to make sure you do nothing to harm them, and thus you need to be registered."</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"Speaking of oral and children, what's the good thing about doing twenty-nine year olds?" I learned this joke from Starcraft, so I knew it would be a hit. "There's twenty of them!" I raised my hand up for a bro-fist. I received a fist, albeit it was a faster, and way more in my face than anything I was expecting.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"You fucking d-" I gaped in horror as Testosterone, lunging towards me, was, I assume, about to make me his bitch. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I closed my eyes and clenched my asshole, as I prepared to face the oncoming assault of rippling manmeat. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"Stop!" Boomed an almighty voice from on high. "Release him!" I was always such a staunch atheist, but all of a sudden, I knew a miracle had saved my butt hole. Thank you, Panda Allah, I should have never doubted you and your bamboo-ey goodness. I opened my eyes and saw the intercom in the ceiling corner, and quickly retracted my conversion. Sorry Atheist Jesus, for my lack of faith in your mysterious ways. I should have never doubted thee.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"Why can't I rip this scum sucker a new asshole?" Demanded Muscle Milk. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"Turns out we have the wrong guy. The car belonged to a registered sex offender, and photo surveillance proves this is just a hapless retard. We have the real criminal coming in as we speak.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Nerd boy helped me back up to my feet.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"Sorry for the confusion, I hope you won't mistake my passion as a crime." Said Protein Shake.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"Pshh. Anymore passion and you would have creamed your pants. But I understand where you are coming from, Roid Rage," I patted him on the shoulder. "testicular shrinkage can put all of us in terrible moods and desires to mangle rectums." </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Geek Squad walked me to the door and escorted me out. Coming in from the opposite direction was my soon-to-be ex-BFF. I wanted to make sure I was doing the right thing. That we were not meant to be. I knew one sided relationships were meaningless, so I looked him in the eyes.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"Did you save the pot roast?"</div>Carpe Pugamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01792682280270164644noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-378165459217610787.post-34072324985366803492011-10-27T21:53:00.000-07:002011-10-27T21:58:18.593-07:00Some terribad poetry. Or, sonnets, b*tches love sonnets.<div class="MsoNormal">I hope you do not see this as a joke</div><div class="MsoNormal">Although I do see this with hilarity</div><div class="MsoNormal">It started all with just a simple poke</div><div class="MsoNormal">It might lead me to such disparity</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I think about this each and ev'ry breath</div><div class="MsoNormal">Though I am nothing but a simple fool</div><div class="MsoNormal">A life without you might as well be death</div><div class="MsoNormal">because the fate of this world can be cruel</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I hope that I can get to know you more</div><div class="MsoNormal">With each and ev'ry passing day and night</div><div class="MsoNormal">Although my taste in poetry is poor</div><div class="MsoNormal">I hope that this will tickle your delight</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I wish that I was not such a bumbling twit</div><div class="MsoNormal">So least you'd think that I had a sharp wit</div>Carpe Pugamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01792682280270164644noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-378165459217610787.post-69783010790433011812011-10-26T00:13:00.000-07:002011-10-26T00:13:30.446-07:00Dawn of a New EraTo the popping of this blog cherry, I now christen this the dawn of a new era! Although it is midnight right now. Other than that, more stuff to come.Carpe Pugamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01792682280270164644noreply@blogger.com1