Revenge of the Frosting . . . and Pebbles

Surgeon General's Warning: This is a post about a group of 4 cub-scout-minded adults and reading this might be hazardous to your opinion of all of those living in apartment 24.

So, ok, now that you've read that . . .

About a week ago, a bunch of girls came and slammed frosting in my and my roomate's face. We swore and made a secret pact that all of them were going down. Big time. Two words, Cheez Wiz. Anway, later that night I walked outside and found this on my doormat:

In case you can't tell, yeah, that's a rotten orange with smiley face . . . .and one eyeball.

There was a note, "Hi, my name is Skipper. I want to be ur friend. Please take care of me by giving me cookies, or I will smush u w/ frosting--chocolate flavored."

We don't really respond well to threats.

Anway, last night, we wrote back. And sent Pebbles. This is Pebbles:

We also sent a voodoo marshmallow man with matches and a note.

"Hi, my name is Pebbles. I don't negotiate with terrorists. Squeaky here found out the hard way. Muah hahahaha!" Anway, we lit the matches in the marshmallow man on fire and put him on the girl's apt doormat, knocked and ran.

It took a couple of tries, but it finally worked.

I think it kind of freaked them out. We were very pleased.

And I hope my mom never reads this because she'll think i'm crazy. And really mature.

Freaking Amazing Toy Store

So, in New York City last week we went to FAO Schwarz. It's this massive toy store. Huge. And they have cool lego statues all over the place. Batman, Harry Potter, Hagrid, and yeah, Chewbacca. So I took a picture.

p.s. For the record, I'm the one on the left. There's been some confusion from other people who saw this.

Pools, Frosting and Peanut Butter

So, I thought I'd let everyone know about some of the more awesome things that are happening in my life right now. Here we go:

1. The pool at my apartment complex is no longer green. As in, the water now is clear, meaning that I can now go swimming in the mornings. Score.
2. So, today I was sitting on my couch minding my own business when three girls came in my apartment with their hands behind their backs. Suspicious? Yeah. Very Suspicious. And they were laughing. Girls laughing=so incredibly badly suspicious.
Anway, They came up to me and my roomate and slammed handfulls of vanilla frosting in my face. Doh!
3. I learned how to play a Format song on my guitar.
4. I bought a bag of peanut butter oreos.

cool eh?


Yeah, life is good

If Only a Tyranafaurus Would Come to the Bookstore

My work is really boring. Probably the most boringest (if boringest were a word) job of all time. Seriously. EVER.

I used to dream of having way cooler jobs. When I was a little kid I invented a place called Kid-slack. It was this amazingly cool mall/theme park/ food place/ toy store where you could do anything. There were water slides and dinosaurs like the Tyranafaurus which was a color changing dinosaur that could talk and run really fast. See, that would be a fun job. Play with dinosaurs. Play on water slides. Eat chocolate ice cream while riding on roller coasters. Make millions.

But no. I put clothes in cardboard boxes. Lame.

Anyway, when I was younger I used to have an amazing imagination. I mean what little kid hasn’t imagined himself as a superhero with amazing super-powers (flame throwing, ice throwing, big explosion throwing)? I used to go out in my backyard with my older brothers Sam and Paul (well, ok, mostly Sam, Paul grew up at the age of seven) and play amazing games, most of which involved some kind of improvised weapon made from old pieces of wood from the alley behind our house.

Oh those were the days. The days of obliviousness. No worry of anything except for how to put on band-aids. Now I work 40 hours a week in the dungeon of the Bookstore slaving away under the horrible tyrant known as “the boss”. No more having fun. No more having an imagination.

Well, so maybe I have sort of grown up a little. Maybe.

But, maybe I still do pretend that the cars driving by on the freeway are actually alien spaceships trying to take over Tucson and the only hope of survival is for me in my time machine pt-cruiser to blow them up using my hidden laser guns under the hood. But that’s normal . . . .right?

Wild Thing

You know, there are always children's books that catch your attention as a child more than others. For me this list was/is pretty huge and includes Jumanji, The Stinky Cheese Man, Cloudy Witha Chance of Meatballs, BFG, The Mouse and the Motorcycle, and The Eleventh Hour, among many others.

But, you never expect to meet any of these characters in real life.

The other day I was at work at the UofA Bookstore, and there, next to the elevator, surrounded by masses of screaming kids (and scared kids hiding behind bookshelves) was the most amazing creature of all time.

A REAL Wild Thing.


I screamed, ran out from behind the bookshelf, cut in line in front of the little kids, and ran over to take a picture. I then ran downstairs and started doing a victory dance, roaring my terrible roar and gnashing my terrible teeth. The other guys in E-comm thought I was crazy.


I think they were just really jealous.

Gum

As I was walking with one of my friends today, I noticed that there was something unusual about the way that my foot was sticking to the ground. I stopped, and realized that I had stepped in a massive piece of gum, not your average sized piece of gum, but a HUGE piece. I mean, this person must have wadded up almost 2 packages of Bubble Yum and then mixed it with a few of those nasty Halloween gums that no one likes, chewed on it and spit it right where I was walking.

No idea how I didn’t see it. My shoe found it though. Good shoe.

Anyway, the gum wasn’t the only thing that was stuck at the bottom of my shoe. Along with the gum I was carrying several large rocks, leaves, a foot of dental floss (no joke, dental floss), sand (I’m in Tucson, there’s a lot of sand), and hair that I can only assume was human. The floss was having fun and decided to start climbing to the top of the shoe and the gum decided to have a party and decided to move to the back of my foot. This awesome pile of nasty junk was so huge that it covered the entire bottom of my shoe, like COVERED, from front to back. I felt like the Blob had decided to take over the world and I was the first victim.

So, I stared at the huge mass of stuff on my shoe for a split second, thought about playing it cool, screamed, and then proceeded to dance around trying to get the gum off of my shoe. Luckily it was right next to a busy road in between class on campus at the UA. I think that many were trying to figure out why this weird college kid was dancing the week before finals (usually it happens the week after). I’m actually pretty sure they were impressed with my dancing skills.

Back to the horror story:

The 95 degree weather did wonders for the easiness of getting the gum off. It sort of spread like a virus and started attacking me.

After I bravely fought off the gum (I won), and got rid of the hair, floss/string stuff, and the rocks, I proceeded to walk to class, and on the way back, a grumpy golf cart driver swore at me as I walked across the street. I think he got even madder (is it more mad? Or madder? Matter? Or madderer?) when I laughed at him. I mean, I had just saved the world, and he was getting mad at me. Punk.

I hope he steps in some gum.

:)

I learned about fractions really early in my life

So, the other day in one of my English classes a girl looked over at my hand and just started staring at it. She had this look of total surprise, this look of, “How are you doing that with your fingers?” I looked down and stared too. I didn’t see anything wrong. . . . besides the fact that my fingers were missing.

I smiled. She stared.

I get those kinds of weird looks all the time, oh since I was like 9 years old when I had this tragic bowling ball incident in Winslow AZ. I went bowling and the finger holes on the ball were too small. I threw the ball and *pop* my fingers went with the ball.

Ok, so that was a complete lie, and it’s usually the first ones that I tell people when I meet them (The other one is that I don’t know how to play Starcraft). It’s actually pretty hilarious how many people actually believe that my fingers were crushed off while bowling. Everyone knows it was a tragic garbage disposal accident. . . .ew, gross.

Anyway, over the years I’ve come up with some pretty awesome stories about how I lost my fingers, and this list gets bigger every time I meet someone new. Almost every person I meet has met someone who has lost their fingers and feels it’s necessary to tell me their story (so I don’t feel bad). This is also accentuated by the fact that my grandpa had one of his fingers chopped off and told us stories of how that happened. I was scared to wash dishes, paint, or play with my belly button for years because of him.

But, you know, there are some definite advantages to having 8.5 fingers:

1. I can give high 3 and a halfs (so excited for the day I can give high fives)
2. When I was in high school, girls would ask to hold my hand just to see what it was like. Score one for Joe.
3. I never have to get my fingernails clipped.
4. I get 15% off when I get a manicure.
5. Getting your fingers cut off is a great wart remover.
6. See #2

So, you know, things aren’t that bad.

And I want to go bowling.

Maybe someday I’ll actually tell about the amazing surfing/shark accident. . . .or just tell the truth.

:)