Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be in an anime.  I could choose to be some mech pilot, or have powers to fight crime and do random shit to people, or even be surrounded by tons of girls who would fight over me.  You know, all the things that could never happen in real life (especially number 3).  But then I remembered what age groups all of the people who take these roles are:  teenagers.

Being twenty means I no longer have the suffix -teen at the end of my age.  As I've always said, you can fix just about any problem by throwing enough acne ridden, sexually frustrated, and mentally unprepared teenagers at it.  But what good does a twenty-year old do, experienced with adult responsibility, not to mention the ability to make decisions rationally with one's brain rather than the libido.  Logic is the enemy of success, especially in settings where the person who can yell the loudest is often the winner. Besides, who has to be around to pay taxes to fix all the shit that these kids go and destroy.  Freaking brats on my lawn.

Even outside of anime, I can no longer have my own slice of life introduction, where I get to stand in front of the class and write my name on the board, then spout something stupid that everyone will remember.

You better keep good on this one.

There are no self introductions in college, only the mutual awkwardness shared by a large group of strangers, hoping that you won't get paired up with that "one guy" for the group project.  You're lucky if you meet one person in your classes.  I will never be able to be known as "the transfer student."  At the very best, I could be "that white guy..." 

Well, it's that time of the year again, and Christmas has come and gone.  I bet you enjoyed getting some nice pairs of socks from aunt Bertha, right?  Probably. But what about the rest of the holidays?  Did you enjoy those too?  Nope, cause Christmas sucks.

Now don't start lookin' at me saying, "Ah, look at this humbug."  You know Christmas is the worst time of the year.  Don't get me wrong, I love getting presents and stuff.  You probably thought I was just some spoiled kid or something. Well,that's not the point of Christmas is it, you fat money slave?  Christmas is about food, family, and joy to the world.  That's what I hate.

Let's roll back about three weeks (or three posts, if you actually still read this blog.) Winter holiday number one, Thanksgiving.  Take the overwhelming feeling of being stuffed to the brim with dry turkey and mashed potatoes, then copy and paste that to December.  There's Christmas dinner, as well as dinner for the next week or two, depending on how many people stay at your place to mooch for their entire vacations.  What is the point of such a huge meal twice a year?  Oh ya, America (do I really have to go any further?).  Does anybody actually like turkey?  Or is it just that we are so stuck on the idea that we need to kill a bunch of ugly birds and feast upon their tasteless flesh because that's what our ancestors did? 

Something about that unnaturally colored dangly thing makes me want to eat it.

I don't know, but I'm sure none of them had access to a deep fryer, which is the only way that would make a whole turkey taste good.  You can make anything delicious with plenty of fat.

While trying to keep your lardy eyelids open while under the effects of all that tryptophan, you're then forced to open presents.  Free stuff, cool, cool.  But Santa didn't magically make this and shit it out under your tree (sorry kids).  Someone had to wade through crowds of people, punching multiple solar-plexi trying to get you this gift.  This is proof of their love for you.  If they got you something like socks or a sweater, you are nothing to them. 

Don't even mention the fact that you have to go to church.  Luckily, Christmas fell on a Sunday this year, so we only had to go once, if at all.  So what if it's Christ's birthday.  The only place people go to on my birthday is the Red Robin.  If anything we should be going to a manger or barn or something to celebrate.  We don't go back over to Spain and enslave the natives there on Columbus's birthday, do we?

At least the decade old Christmas songs that have been playing on every radio station for the past three weeks have stopped.  Now we can look forward to the stores putting out all the Easter candy within the week!

College is all about finding yourself.  Finding out how much money you can spend on random crap you don't need before running out of money.  Finding out how much you can drink before having a night stuck face-in-toilet.  Finding out how many girls you can sleep with before you catch something.  But most of all, how much sleep you actually need.  Or at least how much one can survive on while still being able to respond when the teacher calls on you.

Sleep: 1 Osaka: 0

After one of my finals, specifically for my dreaded 8 am class, my teacher took me outside and said something along the lines of how I'd slept through most of her class.  Whatever, I wasn't really listening, I just wanted to go back to my bed.  She asked if I had work during the night time which would have kept me up, which is sort of true, depending on what you call "work."  Dealing with roommates who won't shut up is, in fact, hard work. 

Most of the time I went to bed around 12, and although I'm not any good at math, is less than a full night's sleep if you plan to be productive the next day.  But we've already seen how productive I can be, haven't we? 

There's nights, such as ones after the midnight release of Call of Duty Modern Warfare 3, where you don't really want to sleep.  At that point there is balance that needs to be maintained.  The balance between how much you can get accomplished that night versus the amount of caffeine it will take to last you until you can come home and crash after your classes are over with.  Then there is always the worry you will become nocturnal permanently, which doesn't bode well for any social life one would have during the daylight hours.

I said I'd update at least once a week.  Well, we've seen well I've kept up with that.  But it doesn't matter, because finals are all over and I have nothing to do for three weeks.  And since I've drunken a Monster, I feel up for something funny.

While my energy levels are high, with heart beating like a racehorse's while just sitting here, there is little ambition to do anything.  Let me tel you something about ambition, kids.  Don't be like me, writing a small time blog while trying to balance life-changing decisions like "should I buy the regular or lo-carb Monster." Go out, get a job, get married, and live a full life.

Ha, what am I saying.  I got $100 dollars for my Slacktory gig, there is no way this lifestyle can go wrong.  Besides things like:

Forgetting how to be funny.
Being forever alone.
Having a heart-attack after ingesting too many energy drinks.

Barring any horrible occurrences that would leave me mentally crippled, out of money, without a usable computer and internet connection, or otherwise dead, I'll be fine.

Coming this week, the return of Humbold Hijinks, finals edition.

We just finished eating our turkey and shit, and stores have put out the Christmas stuff already.  Not that anybody cares, we still have finals before we can even start thinking about the holidays.  You're not going to get gifts anyways, lonely bastard.

But it doesn't matter, because all of this means that it's the end of November.  No, not the beginning of December.  What happened in November?  Lots and lots of hair.  No shave November.  I think it has something to do with prostate cancer, but it's really just an excuse to be lazy and keep your face warm.

But beards get long, unruly, and rough, and frankly, resting your head on your arm begins to suck during long hours of class.  So unless you're Justin Bieber, then you've been waiting for the end for a long, itchy time.

I normally shave in order to not look like a pedophile or a no lifer, but for this entire month I had my poor excuse for mutton chops, a dirty sanchez, and a bunch of pubic-hair looking stuff on my chin.  Ya, I bet you're jealous.

Nose clean, check.

Also I have a big bald spot under my chin, but it's OK because unless I'm staring at the sky, nobody will notice how bad and patchy my facial-hair is.

Come tomorrow, my face will be nice and smooth, and ready to be touched by lots of girls.  Just for your information, most of them don't like them, so put it away Santa Clause.

Just like my Pedo Bear Halloween, I'm repeating the same things about holidays that I posted about last year at the same time they rolled around.  I don't remember what I posted about Thanksgiving last year, nor do I care enough to go look it up (especially back then when I was still struggling to make funnies like a back alley whore struggles to make coke deals). It probably included something about how it's the American way to make a holiday about eating, based around the fact that a long, long time ago, we did something bad to a group of people with a different color of skin, but we made it up to them by letting them make food for us and hoping it wasn't poisoned.

There are two people who participate in Thanksgiving.  People who like to overeat and watch football, and people who like to overeat.  I don't care much for football, so when people are cooking food, I either have to help out, or sit and watch drunken people cheer at poor peons who have to run around working during a vacation.  Whether these are the players on the field or the women in the kitchen depends on how drunk they are. 

I don't know about everyone here, but I really don't care for turkey.  Or any meat really, that has been touched by my mother.  It either turns out dry or greasy.  The greasy stuff goes down easier, but much like a sink, it is hard to get out of the "pipes".  The only really good thing about turkey is the Tryptophan, or as I like to call it, faticide.  It will give you the hunger to eat what everyone really wants from Thanksgiving, mashed potatoes.  Really, what is there besides pie and that canned cranberry sauce that can stand up to mashed potatoes?  Nothing. 

As you can probably tell, I haven't been posting here a lot recently.  I've been kind of slacking... but for a good cause.  (And not my grades.)

I don't want to be cocky and say I made it to the big times, but I guess I will.  I emailed the Slacktory team, and got in touch with their super-cool editor guy, who liked my "poor man's" post.  I then proceeded to use Google images to snatch up random images in order to put captions on them, and I ended up with this.  Thanks, Nick for helping guide me through the process. 

I also made a Tumblr, because I'm a hipster like that, and because I wanted a change.  I would really hate for this blog to die, since it's been my baby for over a year now.  However I don't really have time to write huge posts about why the internet can be a dick sometimes, or try to write a paragraph about why a YouTube Video is ironic and/or funny to me.  I will probably try to update The Troll Cave once a week, but for now Tumblr will fit my blogging style better.  Sometimes, single pictures and YouTube videos are just better by themselves.  Same for rants that are too big for twitter but too small to make a post out of. 

See you around, guys.
-Troll Man

There are four people living in my dorm suite (5 if you count the guy who we only see once every 2 weeks). Then there are two people who pretty much live over here, which entails pretty much everything but them sleeping here. Between all of us, we use a lot of dishes. We use a lot, but none of us have a lot of time (or interest) for doing them.

Where is the dish washer?  Hint: there is more than one in this picture.

For four of the people here, they come home one day and the sink is magically empty, ready for more victims of ramen and hot pockets. For me, I am the one cleaning mold off week old plates. I’m not really acting like everyone’s bitch, it’s just that I like doing dishes. It’s kind of calming in the storm of tests, zombie killing, and drunk girls. Plus my mom inadvertently trained me to like doing them a certain way, and I can’t say all the other people here would do them to my standards. Or at all.

The main problem with dishes is that sinks have other uses rather than dish holder. Since we have no dish washer (other than me) they generally just sit there and gather mold in the moist costal air of Humboldt County. Unfortunately, a full sink holds about a half of our total dishes, so even when it’s full, people can still access clean stuff to plaster their grease on, and put off doing the dishes for one more day.

So what would happen if suddenly no more clean dishes would appear each week? My experiment is to see what would happen if I stopped doing the dishes. Would they get done? Would everyone revert to purely eating out? I don’t know, earlier I had to drink water out of a bowl like a dog, which might say something. It did tell me to get off my butt and do the dishes, which means the cycle is now back at the beginning. I guess I’ll see, and post results when something finally breaks. Whether it’s the garbage disposal or my roommates, I don’t know.

Sink as of now.

Next will be my laundry to see how long I can go before people start noticing my body odor.

Ah freshman.  You know, I spent my freshman (and sophomore) years of college a community college at home, where I was still sheltered and had consequences for staying up until 4 am and eating junk food until my teeth fell out.  I didn't even think about drinking, because my mom would beat the hell out of my ass and take my computer and throw it out in the street and have the landlord block up the internet and so on.  Freshmen who go straight off to college, however, don't have a v-chip on their life however.

"I'm a bad parent, so I'll just let technology raise my children."

Such is the case of one of my suite-mates, who decided to make jello shots using alcohol from some undisclosed source with some of her friends.  This may just be the old man in me talking, but I think there may be some risk in that, but then again, they didn't break anything.  I just hope none of the advisers look in our trash that is currently full of tons of little paper cups.

I do happen to be the oldest oldest one here in my suite at 20 years old, which feels odd, and also which scares me.  I am the old man.  The old man who is going to be old enough to buy them alcohol legally next semester. (Legally for me, not for them.  Buying alcohol for minors is, in fact, not legal.  That's a problem for later though.) As for them, they are currently out somewhere, probably building upon their jello shots.

I don't really care if they are drinking, I'm not their mom.  I don't even really care if they are drunk.  I do care if they try to get me involved though.  Cleaning up vomit is not one of my things.  However, the idea of drunk girls in my apartment is interesting, and once again, scary.  I mean, what if one of them wants to do me!?

Thus is my conundrum.  I don't want to take advantage of a drunk girl, no matter how desperate or lonely I am.  Unless they had a hinting of wanting to do me while sober.  No no no.  But they wouldn't remember it.  I would use protection.  What if I got drunk too?  No no no.  Then I wouldn't remember it.  Ah, I think I'm just going to lock myself in my room tonight...

They say there are two types of people who use the internet; guys, and guys pretending to be girls.  The thing is, there are girls on the internet, not that anti-social net lurkers like me would even run into one and notice it.  Unless you were really trying, you would be hard pressed to find one as well.

Girls don't do any cool things like us guys do on the internet, like look at porn or look up sites containing nothing but pictures of food.  Which is why you've probably never seen a girl on the internet outside of videos that you touch yourself to.

Girls do go on the internet.  They go on Facebook.  They try to out duck-face their friends.  They check and see what sluts their exes are dating.  They comment on the pictures of their friends saying how cute they look.  They comment on their enemies pictures to tell them how slutty they look.  Many of the reasons I don't go there much. 

Outside of social networking, girls hold a special place.  That place happens to be out of the kitchen, but then again, it's also out of your hair.  Until they try to log in to you favorite game, and into your guild/clan.  Suddenly, just like in real life, they become a money synch, a man trap.  "I'm sure she'll talk to me if I buy her a new armor set."  "I'm sure she'll talk to me if I help her with this quest."  "I'm sure she'll take me off ignore if I log onto my alt and give her my epic weapon of noob-pwning." 

It's cute watching people try to help out a girl who they know must be helpless due to the state of her chromosomes, but it eventually becomes sickening when they find out that she is, in fact, able to kick your ass.  Soon, your inner 14 year old will kick in, and you will be forced into subservience and just remain there to not fuck her up while she carries you to victory.  Such is the story of my roommate and his lady friend, who happened to have the mic during a very sucesseful round of Nazi-Zombies.

Long story short, my roommate has a herd of pubescent boys on Xbox Live who are friends with a female voice that does not belong to him.

It's that time of year again, where I realize I'm too old and have too many cavities to keep going out Trick or Treating.  But I go anyways, mostly to see how many people recognize Pedo Bear, and how many of those people are concerned parents who would like to see me not giving away "free candy" to their kids out of my van dorm room.

Lazy College Student uses same mask.

Sadly, nobody actually trick or treats at the dorms, because everyone knows poor college kids would give out the shittiest candy.

Thanks, 'man'.

That's why me and my college friends are going out to get free candy instead, because you're honestly never too old to run around dressed like freaks (or sluts) and get free candy.  At least until you have kids of your own, which is just creepy.  It's funny (and sad) how much Halloween changes between childhood and somewhat-not-child-anymore-hood. 

As Children:
Boys: I want to be something scary, like Dracula, or a pirate, or a mummy. 
Girls: I want to be a princess, or a fairy, or a princess.

As Teens:
Girls:  I want to be a princess or a fairy, with fishnets and miniskirts.
Guys:  I want to check out the girls and scare little kids.

As Adults:
I'm going to feel this in the morning.

Parents try to cut back on trick or treating as you get older, not just because over time the costumes get more extravagant, expensive, and not to mention slutty, but because you have no more baby teeth left, and they will be paying for your dentist bill. 


While we're on the topic of extravagant Halloween costumes, Let's talk about some not-so good ones:

The Human Centipede: You may get three times the candy, but it's also gonna get three times as long before you get to eat it.  It might also be a little digested.

Old Cosplay:  I thought of using my old costume from an anime convention, but then again I won't be at a convention.  I'll just be a Japanophilic nerd in a possibly racist town.

Irony:  So you realized it was the day before Halloween, and that you didn't have a costume, huh?  Sucks for you that no one will give you candy without a costume.  Being a nudist on strike doesn't work either.

Internet Meme costume:  Once again, You're not on the internet, you're in real life.  Nobody will get it.  Except for Pedo Bear, because he is awesome.  And possibly because he is on a watch-list for possible criminals.

The freshman 15 (pounds of fat) is creeping up to me, and I'm only halfway done with my first semester.  All that Denny's probably isn't very good for me.  But really, who can pass up unlimited pancakes?  In return, I'll just diet a little bit (or a lot).

As a supporter of the eat-nothing diet, I have to say the emptiness inside of my stomach is really fulfilling.  Sometimes I eat a piece of something for breakfast to fool my body into thinking food is coming so it starts my metabolism, but then I shut it down.  Lots of water helps drown out any feelings of "hunger."

Two options: always eat, or never eat.

Water weight adds up after time though.  All of these fat water-sacks walking around all hydrated and stuff, it's disgraceful.  The ultimate purge diet is the only way to go.  So how do I rid my body of all the fat, water, drugs, pieces of small children, and all other toxic stuff in my body?  Here's what you do (in complete scientific detail).

1.  Stop eating.  You need to stop pushing fat and sugar down your throat for just 2 measly weeks so your body can get rid of everything that is making you chunky, slow, and tired all the time.  Also, some of the stuff that may be helping, like muscle tissue and stomach lining.  Those grow back though.  Maybe.

2.  The cleans says to drink a mixture of Lemon Juice, maple syrup, cayenne pepper, and lots of water.  This delicious concoction will be replacing any delicious food you could be eating killing yourself with for the next week or month or so.  After the toxins in your body get a wiff of this nasty shit, they will be running out your butthole faster than saltwater down a stormdrain.  Which brings us to the next step.

3.  Water.  Salt Water.  Water weight is bad, but it won't be there for long.  You know why you shouldn't drink the water if you're stranded at sea?  Because you will have diarrhea.  But as long as you're on dry land, you can basically let your colon turn into a surrogate bladder for as long as you want.  But I haven't eaten anything for the past week, how do I keep pooping?  Well, you know how you see corn in your stool even if you haven't eaten it in weeks?  Well all that corn and other bad stuff (aka toxins) are still stuck in there.

Once you drink around 1liter of an even more delicious salt water mixture, all you have to do is wait... then your butthole with explode.  Better be sitting on the toilet.  The diet recommends you to "flush almost immediately."  I haven't tried it, but I would probably follow their advice.  Just remember to add enough salt, or you're just going to retain it, fat ass.

If your knees stop working or your hair starts falling out, then that means that it's working.  Stick it out for another two weeks.  

After all this is done, you can go back to your normal "solid food" diet so you can build up another layer of digested food inside you intestines, complete with all the toxins.  Tasting something other than lemon and cayenne never tasted so good.

It's been too long since you heard from me about my crazy roommates and horrible diet choices that include the name "Denny's" here from everyone's favorite stoner school.  So here's another Humboldt Hijinks.

I love orange juice.  I could drink it forever.  I don't particularly like oranges, just the juice.  Except after you brush your teeth.  That's just gross.

Despite the closest store on campus being down several flights of stairs and a large hill which is required to climb to return and enjoy our ice cold goodness, me and my roommates go down almost every night to buy drinks.  It's worth it, since they sell half gallon jugs of orange juice, just enough to quenche my thirst for one anime marathon.  Or for at least an hour or two.  (That's why I bought more.)

But soon that got expensive.  I don't know how much vitamin c is too much, but I'm pretty sure I was reaching the limit.  That, or if I continued it, the one day I didn't drink any I would develop the worst cold of my life. 

Of course you can't have orange juice without alcohol.  One night, my roommates decided to go out drinking.  Let me add that it was on a school night, and my roommate can only handle 4 glasses (of wine) before he starts speaking in slurred Vietnamese and crying about why nobody understands why he doesn't like onions.

In order to avoid having to deal with two drunk people before having an 8 am class in the morning, I decided to sleep over at another (sober) friend's place.  But before that, I set a trap.  My alarm clock is pretty much the worst sounding thing in the world.  You can stand it if you can shut it off in the first ten seconds, but I usually sleep through that, as well as the next two snoozes.  My roommates have learned to hate it a lot.  So the night before leaving, I "forgot" to turn it off.  And then I hid it, so inebriated people couldn't either.  I think they liked their wake up call.

If you can't tell, they found it.  And lynched it.

Still waiting for when they decide to get me back.

The East.  The West.  On a map, they make sense.  Until you start labeling things on the wrong sides.

Ninjas may come from the East, but the Lawyer comes from the West, and because of this we are richer and able use modern medicine instead of voodoo and plants grown in someone's back yard.  But lawyers cannot use maps, and I'm pretty sure ninjas can't either, which brought us to this:

Via XKCD

How we broke it:

The ideas of 'the east' and 'the west' came from Europe.  While they were out exploring and trying to bring back rare food things and shiny shit for their kings to get fat and rich on, they stumbled upon 'the east,' and before even getting a chance to laugh at their lack of guns, horses, and proper shoes, they got pushed out.  So then they went and conquered the Americas instead, because our natives were frankly less scary than little asian guys with big swords.  Then eventually they built a wall, completely closing up the orient for eons and eons until they had something they could really take advantage of Americans with: anime.

Why are these tangy tasting ramen noodles called "Oriental" you ask?  Well, shut up and sit down, because if there was one point where this blog would be here to teach you something, this would be it.  East used to be the top of the map, before fuckin' magnets came around and made north the top.  (Unless you live in the Southern hemisphere, then the map is turned upside down.  This allows the retarded portion of these countries to ask why we don't fall off.)
That's the reason the east is called 'The Orient," because if you could find east, whether by the rising sun or the smell of fermenting soy-beans, you could orient yourself and not get lost going to places like, I don't know, Africa.

So here we are as Americans, the retarded middle child.  The west is to the east, the east is to the west.  We don't have ninjas like the east, and before a certain point we didn't have anybody to invent stuff like gravity and physics like the people who make up 'the west.'  But at least Hitler wasn't born here.  Ha ha, Europe.

In this world of shitty economies, one has to give up certain things in order to be able to spend more on other luxuries, such as porn on DVD instead of free pixelated shit on the internet.  This post is for the poor man who can't afford to be in the bourgeoisie. 

The rule here at the Troll Cave is bros before hos.  Cholos aren't even in the equation.  But aye, they are funny.

But there's always time for anime and video games. Whether you like Haruhi or Portal, I think we can both agree on one thing: she's the best at space.
You are guilty. Guilty of not being in space. And if you missed this next one, or just flat out don't get it, you are guilty of not being on the internet enough.

There are some things you only see a few times in your life.  Child birth.  A black person being elected president.  Someone who can lick their own elbow.  For an anti-social internet lurker like myself, it's two girls making out.

I had different expectations about what I would see and do when I went off to college.  I wondered how many crazy 'drink until you puke up your guts' parties I would get invited to.  I wondered how many of those parties would include me standing at the wall like a blind person watching a magic show, being the designated driver.  I wanted to know the feeling of laughing at people going to an 8 a.m. class, hung over and high from the night before.  I wanted to know how many of these parties would include random drunk girls making out.  Well, I haven't gotten invited to any parties, but I haven't needed to.

Take away the makeup, that's me.

Every girl says to their other girlfriends "If I were like, a total lezbo, I would like, totally do you. *hic*"  When girls do this, it's a compliment.  If you're hot enough to make members of the same sex interested in you, then you've got it goin' on.

Good job, Bieber.

If a guy says something like this to a girl, as in "Damn bitch, you fine, I would totally do you," it's called being a rude pervert, and you get a swift kick in the groin.  If a guy tells another guy that he would do him, then it's just outright violating the bro code and that is totally not brokay.  But this blog isn't about liking the opposite sex, it's about kissing, which has nothing to do with love.

Let's set the scene.  Take two bi-curious girls, and make them roommates, and then include me and my roommate ignoring them so the only refuge they have is each other(really, who would be interested in us?)  Let their curious nature take over for a month or two, then bore the shit out of them by playing Call of Duty for several hours one night.  Like wild animals in heat, their instincts will take over.  As for my roommate and myself, our instincts as lonely college students will also take over, and we will grow the patience to wait out for whatever happens.  And happen it did.

I blame would like to thank Katy Perry for making the whole lipstick lesbian cool.  I mean, who wouldn't want a little taste of some cherry chapstick (and maybe a bit of their tongue?)

Edit: I thought I would add this:

Gluttony is one of the seven deadly sins.  Luckily I know I'm already going to hell, so I can indulge.

Food is a love/hate relationship.  I love food, but I hate the feeling that you get after you eat so much food that you feel like you're going to burst.  But god invented fingers not only to help you shove things into your mouth, but to shove down your throat to purge yourself (granted you're not some full-time whore or sword swallower with no gag reflex.)

Or both.  Lucky sword.

Sometimes when you're cooking for yourself, such as I, a poor college student no longer living with my mom who makes me eat veggies, do, you tend to lose sight of what really matters, like nutrition.  This may just be the addictive nature of the MSG talking, but Ramen is really great.  The combination of noodles, with a bunch of salt which makes you retain all of the water that you boiled said noodles in, really fills you up.  At least until someone makes, say, a cake.

When there is nobody around to say why you can't have something extraneous and horrible for your health, such as cake (or anything for that matter) you really can't make up a reason to keep it away from yourself.  There's enough reasons to overeat, such as every holiday- you just get to pig out on something different.  Do you want cavities and an expensive dentist bill, while at the same time running around past your bedtime dressed like a retard?  That's called Halloween.  How about a table covered in every type of food imaginable, complete with a  giant dead bird stuffed with even more food?  Thanksgivings- why yes, thank you.  Even mundane outings and even random days off give reasons.  Going to Costco?  Don't mind me, just passing by for a third sample.  About to go flying on a plane?  Oh look, they only have this store here in the terminal, and nowhere else- and I have a three hour flight in which I can slowly indulge myself.

Can also be used as a flotation device.

You know those people who can't help but think about food even while they're not eating.  As Americans, we already have ways to cope with this.  It's called the Food Network, or the 24 hour fap to food porn channel, where all your dreams of being able to cook and eat all you want will come true.  That, or you can cry to yourself about your overweigtness while you sit on your couch like a beached whale, wishing someone would come put food in your mouth.

Which we have by the way.  It's called delivery.  Sadly, it's not directly into your mouth.  I like to pretend I'm getting exercise that way though; especially if you are eating Chinese food with chopsticks.  Then I can also pretend that they're like knitting needles and I knit my chow mein into a nice warm quilt.  A warm, greasy, quilt.

There's certain limits to things.  The amount of unlimited pancakes you can get from the 4$ unlimited pancake meal at Denny's isn't limited.  Unfortunately, this isn't a 'Humboldt Hijinks' post explaining in syrup dipped details of how me and my friends somehow find ourselves there at least one a week.  This is about anime.

I sometime tell myself 'You've watched too much anime today, it's time to get up and do something productive.'  Then I feel my feet being asleep after sitting on them for hours, and forget about trying to move.  After this season of anime, I felt as if I had watched like months of anime, when in actuality, it had only been three months.  And wouldn't you know it, another season of anime is starting up.  And I'm probably going to watch like half of them.

I remember saying sometime a long, long time ago that I would stop trying to watch as many shows per season that I could.  Then somehow I end up going to 4chan or some place, seeing some enthralling battle scene or a particularly erotic panty-shot, making me want to pick it up.  (True story; I have started many an anime because of this.  Not just panty-shots, you pervs.  Boobs work too.)

Sometimes I wish I could watch all the animes.  At the same time.
Unfortunately, I only have two screens and two eyes.  Until I have a full wall filled with monitors, unlimited bandwidth, and a set of compound eyes, then I guess I'll have to stick to marathoning full animes deep into the night, over and over until it starts interfering with my classes/real life/porn watching.  For the record, I've marathoned three anime series overnight since moving off to college.

So my predicament is whether I'm watching too much or too little anime.  It probably goes back to me just not being able to watch every single anime that I want or have wanted to watch all at the same time.  Having a real life is hard on my nerd-cred.

I don't even know why I watch anime in the first place.  Am I that attracted to giant robots and cute little girls doing cute things, and overall just weird shit?
Yeah, probably.

Back in my hometown, there was this one hole-in-the-wall burger shop where I always went to that was filled with tons of random redneck humor.  It was pretty fitting for my town.  My town that pretty much hated anything that wasn't republican.  The food was great, and the prices were too, especially if one of your friends was paying for it.

They called this method "The Obama Special."  My friend once invoked this one me, being that the only money he had was one a little plastic card, and they really couldn't use that to fuel the fire on which they cook their burgers on. 

Mmm, smells like capitalism.

So what would happen if other presidents got their own meal plans?  Who would end up paying for it?  Which person in line would get screwed, blamed, or otherwise?  Well, I came up with some plans.

The Bush Jr. Meal Special:  Because your family knows the owners, you get to go to the front of the line, then have everyone behind blame the person ahead for getting pushed back.

The Clinton Special:  This special comes with a free blow-job from one of the waitresses while you enjoy your meal!

The Nixon Special:  You get to go back behind the counter, learn the secret recipes, then get the cops called on you, saying that you broke it.  (They still let you in after, but you decided not to.)

The Kennedy Special:  You get to make your own burger in hopes of finding something better than what they serve, but end up getting kicked out.

The Roosevelt Special:  You gather up all the poor people off the streets and try to get them job there, but you have to beat up another person to try to pay for all of it.

Everything comes with a free side of your choice of fries, onion rings, or impeachment!

Back in High School, in order to skip a class, you either had to fake a note from your parents, or get home before the school called your house about the classes you had missed, if you actually had teachers who cared enough to take attendance.  Then if you wanted to leave campus to go smoke pot or whatever the cool kids did, you had to somehow clear the prison-like fences and security guards who usually have nothing better to do than take cell-phones. 

Here in college however, we actually can choose to fail and burn our several thousand dollar education ourselves, and just skip class whenever.  So that's what we did the other day.

Ferris would be proud.

It's not that any of our classes are throw-away, or even easy enough that you can just learn everything from the book.  It just they're early, and it's far better to sleep in your bed than in the back of the room, head propped up against whatever is there, conveniently wearing shades.

Clever, until someone calls on you.

Just kidding, I wouldn't pay a dollar for that.

TROLLS.  This is a blog about trolls (and stuff).  YOUTUBE.  Youtube is a site where you waste time and watch videos.  ANIME.  It is something I like a lot.  This is a combination of the three.


Also, although my roommate is Asian and likes anime just as much as me, he doesn't know karate.

As the proverb goes "Girls go to Jupiter to get more stupider, Boys go to college to get more knowledge."  Well luckily for me, most girls actually went to college, and like most some boys, they have matured.  And grown boobs.  And now they tend to hang out in my room.

It sounds a lot better than it actually is.  Girls are distracting, and not just with boobs flashing everywhere.  Case in point why I'm on the internet instead of reading the libraries upon libraries of pages I'm assigned.

Believe me, if I caught even a glace of a boob once in a while (or a lesbian make out scene, or random skinny dipping, or impromptu orgy) I wouldn't be on the internet even half as much.  But the girls decided that I was posting about my asian roommate too much and not fawning over them. 

I was asked to include my feelings about lesbian urges and sad feelings for them, but I think everyone knows about my urges to make sweet love to women, and then cry about it after, like I had just guiltily eaten a big pint of chocolate ice cream by myself (which I actually just did, with the help of one of them- indirect kissing ftw.)

Men may be from Mars, and Women may be from Venus, but when it all comes down to it, we all have to come down to Earth sometime and meet up, whether it be in the form of stalking, raping, casual one night stands, or the very rare "relationships."  After all that, as men, there are always going to be women watching from behind your back, making sure that your blog posts are not slandering them (even though it is.)





(Save me.)

Ten years ago today, a tragedy befell this great country.  I may have only been in 5th grade, but I remember what great thing the people involved did, and it moved me.

If I should remove five blocks corresponding to the five pillars of Islam before the tower should fall, then I know I am guaranteed a group of virgins (aka a World of Warcraft clan) in my afterlife.  But seriously.  No jihads on this blog please.  Here's a funny picture to make up for it.

"Snap into a Slim Jim while I snap into this!  Rawwwwww!"

Baby, Baby, Baby, Friday, Friday, Friday.  I could go on and on.  Not that I would want to.

I don't know about you, but I would rather sit in boiling oil for eternity rather than listen to Bieber and Black for however long the entire discography for both of them combined would last (what, 30 minutes or something?)  But then again I'm not a prepubescent girl with problems that include choosing the right seat.

Uh, the one on the right.

I was lucky enough to grow up in the time where we had the good stuff.  I wasn't a girl back then (or now, fyi), but if I were, I would have grown up satisfying my strange pubescent girl urges thinking about Timberlake instead of Bieber.  The bands we had back then actually provided us with a fine moral upbrining; Backstreet Boys, N'sync, and Britney Spears- just look at them now:

Never mind.

Believe it or not, there were bad singers even before the technology existed to make them sound good through auto-tune.  Back then, they had other people sing while the good looking people lip synched to them.  Then Britain invented this thing called "The Beatles"  who both could sing and make girls produce excretions of which they had never produced before.  Our teen pop-stars of today are from Canada.  Thanks, eh?

On a semi- related note, who else remembers Kidz-Bop?  They took all the good pop songs of the time, took out all the sexual references and cursing, and made kids sing them.  We didn't even care if it sounded like crap, we could sing along with our own squeaky voices without having to thing you sounded bad.  Nowadays, kids already sing the songs.

People of the internet usually go by "anonymous."  There is no singularity on the internet, only anonymous as a whole.  Alternatively, you can call them "faggot," but people who are gay and such tend to not like to be associated with  the horrible people who post pictures of their penises pretending to be gay. 

Occasionally you can name people who use the internet, even though we wish they didn't.  Their names are 'mom' and 'grandma.' There are just some horrible things on the internet that you just don't want them to see, or see, then ask how you knew about them.

If you somehow sort out all the clean, sane people off the internet, then you are left with a big coffee filter filled with all the horrible people of the internet- aka 4chan.

4chan boards and their users go long beyond "op" and "retards who reply to op, keeping the troll feeding cycle alive."  Some boards even have their own monikers, no doubt you've heard of a /b/tard.  But have you ever heard of a /fit/izen?  Didn't think so.

/ck/ is the cooking board.  /ck/ could be the ck in cooking, or it could be the /ck/ in cock.  Nobody is sure.  All I know is that rooster is a lot less appetizing than chicken (which also has /ck/ in it.)

Artwork and critique is /ic/  as in "I c wat you did there."  Buahaha.

Fashion is /fa/ as in fag.  We could have figured this out already.  Not all fashion lovers are necessarily fags, though.

Travel is /trv/, and although it's like a really, really huge stretch, it might stand for 'transvestite,' just because it's a really interesting experience traveling as a transvestite, with the whole pat downs at the airport and such.  You never know where they might go to find a bomb- they might end up with a completely different package.


Not that I have any experience in this.

It's a 3 day weekend, so that means I can pretty much do nothing.  I don't even know what holiday it is, or who died or was born so that I could skip class legally, but I could care less about researching it.  I can be lazy all I want.  Not just the regular "not go to class" lazy, because on a three day weekend you have an extra day to recover from it.  This is like a "sit on the couch and eat Cheetos off my stomach while my butt conforms to the cushions" lazy.

Friday can pretty much count towards the weekend for college kids like me (if you don't have an 8 am class on that day.)  So what did me and my roommates do, being under 21?  We played Monopoly.  It starts out a nice fun game, paying shitty rent for staying on some property that is probably nothing more than a dirt lot.  If you happen to be lucky and be the first person to land on one of the good spaces on the last side of the board first, then the game starts tumbling into a downward cycle of rage.

"Fuck your hotel on Park Place!  I quit."

Never mind the fact that my roommate is Asian as well as a business major, and whether that has any effect on the outcome of the game (hint: it did) someone is going to get screwed, and someone is going to end up with all the 500 dollar bills in the bank.  Well, after 4 hours of yelling at each other for landing on free parking and praying to land on "Go to Jail" so you don't have to pass 4 blocks of hotels, we finished.  At 3 am.  So instead of going to bed like normal people, we went and did the only thing you can do at that time of the night: we went to Dennys.

If we weren't sleep deprived enough from the night before, we decided to stay up all night and marathon anime.  No, it wasn't my dream of watching all 500+ episodes on One Piece in one sitting.  We did, however, marathon all 26 episodes of Claymore, which for people who have never done so, involves sitting and watching for over 10 hours straight.  Unfortunately, we didn't have any Cheetos, but I'm sure that some of the chair cushions are firmly molded into the shape of our buttocks. 

The best thing?  I still have two more days.  I'll probably go to the beach, and do stuff like lay in the sand and be even more lazy.  Then finally do all the extra work that was assigned me because we have an extra day to do it.  Oh wait, crap.