Special Delivery, To: Internet, From: Snopes
Welp.
Special Delivery, To: Internet, From: Snopes
Welp.
aaaaaaaah I wasn’t sure if that game was a figment of my imagination or not! Weird, pieced-together bits of nostalgia incomiiiing!!!
(Source: kinsie)
The Human race has and always will survive by sheer dint of strength. Not the strength of firearms and nations, but the strength of hope and compassion, for no famine or flood, no man-made boundaries or cultural mores, no amount of bullets or death camps can ever dim the light of the spirit and will of but a few good people, and it is on those people that our survival solely lies.
These people give when they have none, and expect nothing. They work and suffer for others, and their only true payment is the happiness of another. They extend mercy in merciless places, and speak when others are silent.
To be one of these people is to be the bedrock of Humanity as well as its tallest, shining spires. Sometimes they must stand and never step back, sometimes they must sit and refuse to budge, sometimes they hold hands and dare the darkness to approach them, but most often they simply find themselves crouched beside someone who needs them for no greater reason than the need itself, and for them there is no greater reason.
These people are the meaning of Christmas, Charlie Brown.
Each year I am subjected to equally insipid and apathetic pre-recorded musical numbers from whiny-voiced Disney people. Go away, you are not a float. Then there is the random tradition of having pieces of Broadway plays performed entirely outside their context or set, which is about as enjoyable as hearing the middle chapter of a book with all the nouns taken out. Then we have to suffer through the doofuses talking over the parade, who get every single fact possible completely wrong, and phrase everything as awkwardly as possible for no conceivable reason.
Don McLean, and Jimmy Fallon and The Roots were boss, though.
Every once in a while, you will post something on Facebook. Murphy’s Law says that this one thing will be the only non-hilarious, non-brilliant thing you post. Maybe it’s a question about something, or an opinion on a movie.
Let’s say you post “I really liked the Avengers.”
Inevitably, one of the collection of dumb people you keep on your friends list to keep in touch with what the idiots are planning will post something like “I’m a strict East-Lithuania Presbybaptiepiscoputheran and therefore don’t believe in Thor.”
That person should immediately become dead to you. The person that posts something so very nominally related and almost certainly unhelpful. They will especially do so when their opinion is expressly omitted by the parameters of the post or question. Screw that person.
I have bad news for some of you: You can be very easily labelled. That’s right, you with your ‘unique’ style and your craaaazy avante garde music selection? Easy peasy. Everyone can be labelled, so get over it.
“But HOW?” you cry in despair. Because labels are generalizations. That’s what they’re for. They can be used to categorize whatever because that is their express purpose. I could even lump you into one word. Heck, I’ll do myself: Nerd.
Is there more to me than that? Well yeah, like I said, labels are general, so knock off pretending to be some special snowflake, because people that try too hard to be unlabelable get their own special label: Hipsters, and I don’t even think it’s legal it like Hipsters.
As I learned sitting outside for the past three days, it turns out that that it’s very hard to tell the difference between incredibly dusty hair and hair that has been very gradually moved around by light wind and baked in the sun. It felt like I had dipped my hair in salt water, it was awful. Maybe it was both, but you’d think it would be obvious which. My hair FELT dusty, but it didn’t seem to actually be dusty. These sensations should be different. They are not. This is dumb.
Crossing the bridges required to get to the F1 Village, where the amazing waffle tacos were located, I learned that people, on the whole, can’t walk. They just can’t do it. They have to stop, think about which foot has its turn next, and then continue on about every six seconds. Additionally, people kept holding cameras up over the tarps, taking probably terrible pictures of the track with their cameras held over their head. This stops literally several thousand people for a few seconds. When this happens multiple times over the course of a, I kid you not, two hour walk, you’re sort of an inhuman monster. And those sun glasses are for women, you hipster.
The Dueling Piano guys at F1 village managed to be whiter than both Jerry Lee Lewis and Elton John. Explain how this is possible. They managed to suck the soul out of Great Balls of Fire as well as Crocodile Rock. I do not grasp how anyone who plays an instrument, especially professionally,can perform with absolutely no heart. It’s music, you guys, not technical writing. Try investing a bit of yourself instead of making me sad while I wait in line for waffle tacos. Even then, on pure execution, you do not singGreat Balls of Fire. You yell it like a maniac.
Hamilton fans. For some reason that I will never understand, there were a lot of them. He’s an unrepentant douche-nozzle. He’s a hopelessly whiny diva. It’s not like he’s the most attractive guy out there either, and he’s only one of, I believe, 5 world champions on the field. If we’re not caring that someone’s a jerk, cheer for Alonso. He’s a diva, but not anywhere near freaking Lewis Hamilton - and Alonso has TWO championships, as well as being on the cusp of a third against Sebastian Vettel. Hamilton mathematically can’t take a championship this year, so shush. Besides, he spent the race preventing Vettel, a spectacularly gifted and super nice guy, from cinching his THIRD championship against Alonso. And if we’re going for sheer dint of victories, try Michael freaking Schumacher, who was also on the field. Y’all are dumb.
Sometimes, like right now, Mom will cook dinner without a name. She said we’re eating beans tonight. Beans are only part of a meal unless you give them a name. It’s incomplete, and it makes me sad.
Pizza? That’s a meal. The word pizza covers multiple parts that happen to all be on the same piece of dough. Saying beans, or potatoes or what-not is not a way of actually explaining what food you are preparing.
If my food goes unnamed, I have to assume that I should feel sad, because I must be eating bachelor-food, and also because I’m broken and require signals that tell me which emotion to emulate.
A lot of people like sleeping in. Now that I think about it, I don’t understand that.
I slept in until 11:00 this morning. I was very irritated by that. I should have gotten up when my alarm went off at 8:00, but I fell back asleep. I lost several hours of my life just then. I could have been experiencing something, doing something, but no, I was unconscious. Fantastic.
Also if I sleep in, I have this weird taste in my mouth every morning that lasts until I eat something, so that sucks, too.
But seriously, it was a nice chill morning, and I could have spent it sitting at my computer, looking out the window, and noting that it was a nice chill morning. I didn’t. I was asleep, and it was lame.