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.

Giving Thanks

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

A Modest Experiment

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.

Humbold Hijinks: Drunk Girls and Moral Decicions

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...

Girls and the Internet

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.