Puns, Poop Jokes, and Maybe a Jetpack or Two
I had to go out and get a new house phone today because the old one has been broken for six months.
Just because we have the thing doesn't mean I ever intend to actually use it. If the cable company didn't forcefully ram landline service down my throat with out TV and internet package I wouldn't even own one.
Hopefully I made that point clear in the answering machine message.
My wife does not know I did this. I am probably going to be in trouble.
Worth it.
Today, July 19th 2016 is the anniversary of two equally important historical landmarks. The first is the second anniversary of my marriage to my wife Emily, who at this point has yet to either file for divorce or drop a bowling ball on my head in my sleep, exceeding all expectations of how much stupidity a person is expected to tolerate. The second and perhaps more momentous being the one year anniversary of the launching of a stupid blog full of crappy illustrations and third grade humor that plays fast and loose with the rules of civilized grammar and the proper use of a semicolon on a regular basis; this being one of those times.
About a month ago Emily suggested that she write a guest post for the site. Seeing as it was close to our anniversary, and always being down for content that I don't have to create I told her she should write something that I'd use on our anniversary.
For the record, I had no influence or prior knowledge of what she was going to write, so this could really just be like six paragraphs about what a huge sack of crap I am or an overview on the migratory patterns of the eastern migratory earthworm or something. With no further waffling about, here is Emily's post as it was given to me with no editing or review on my part. Maybe she'll use a semicolon.
As Matthew and I are about to celebrate our 2nd wedding anniversary, I've been contemplating on the last two years and how things have changed for us and our relationship in that time. As a proud wife, I am so happy for him for starting this blog in honor of our lives together. And, any free time spent off of his Xbox is a win for me in my mind. When he said I could do a guest post on Adventures in Husbanding, I thought of the perfect idea to post on for our anniversary.As we were preparing for our perfect wedding two years ago, Matt, not being a very religious person, still agreed upon a Catholic wedding for us. Growing up in a Catholic church, it was important to me to walk down a long aisle escorted by my father and sitting through the hour and a half of Catholic traditions, even if it meant that all of our guests wanted to fall asleep during the ceremony.However, part of having a Catholic wedding ceremony though is that you can't get creative with your wedding vows. You have to follow a set of vows that they provide for you. We were kind of fine with that though because then it's one less thing to remember or screw up on the day of your wedding. Afterall, I had watched the TV show, Friends. I didn't want to have a Ross moment where Matt or I said our ex's name up at the alter instead of each other's. Although, Matt's ex is also Emily, so he could have said the wrong person's name and would we never know in the end…Anywho, two years into marriage I realize how bland those vows kind of were. Not that I wouldn't vow to love Matt in good times and in bad, in sickness and health, etc., etc. However, with time, your relationship progresses, you live together, and you really learn about your partner's flaws and your own flaws too. So, if I had the chance to go back to our wedding day and write vows more representative of our relationship, here's an idea of what mine might have looked like:
Well, I mean sure that was a real and touching representation of our love and life together, showcasing how we interact and react to one another as a married couple. But not a single semicolon to be found. I'm a little bit let down.
Also, since I only got four vows to Emily's nine up there, I've taken it upon myself to round off my list with a few additional ones of my own.
Happy Anniversary Emily, Happy first year Idiot Tantrum, and thank those of you who have been here reading the utter tripe that I have been plaguing the internet with for the past twelve months. My unhealthy need for your attention and approval is what gets me up in the morning.
Did you think I wasn't going to write about it? Please, it's like you hardly know me. Plus I'm pretty sure if I dont write about it a bunch of huge guys in Team Rocket outfits come to my house, kick my ass, and take away my nerd street cred.
Granted, it did take six days to turn out a post because I've been too busy trying to become a Pokemon Master to sit down and write, but shutup.
So, Pokemon Go has been out for almost a week now, though it's only been vaguely playable since about Friday. Needless to say I've literally done nothing else besides walk around my town trying to catch Pokemon and not think about what the bill for my data plan is going to look like at the end of the month.
If you don't know what Pokemon Go is you either just found out about the internet today and somehow this is the first website you went to, or you are some kind of an asshole who doesn't like fun or things that are awesome. You probably also hate like, pizza parties and the laughter of children. Whatever your excuse for not knowing what Pokemon Go is, go look it up now or just get out, I'm not explaining it to you.
Now that the soulless fun hating robots who were never programmed to love or understand the human experience of awesomeness are gone the rest of us can have a chat about the game that will undoubtedly lead to us all becoming dirty migrant pokemaster woods people who eventually die of not going to work and getting hit by a train trying to catch a Charizard. Despite all of our impending and unavoidable deaths at the hands of this phone game at least we'll die in great shape. When your family has to come and identify your body the coroner is gonna be all like "I'm terribly sorry for your loss, but if it's any consolation they had some seriously bitchin' calves and glutes." Then you parents will be all "They walked fifteen miles through the woods to catch a Diglett once."
First off, because it's important: My starter was Charmander, because Bulbasaur is the Hufflepuff of starters and I always used to take Squirtle back in the day so I thought I'd change it up. I also went team Valor because what else would you pick? If Bulbasaur is the Hufflepuff of starters, Valor is the Gryffindor of teams.
Now that I've pissed off anybody not into Pokemon and insured that nobody will ever think I'm cool again after making fifty-seven Pokemon-Harry Potter mashup references in two sentences, I can get on with talking about the game.
As someone who was at the perfect age for the Pokemon craze when the first games came out back in 1996, I am of course drowning in nostalgia boners for this Go and all the fun I'm having exploring towns around me looking for various wild Pokemon. I caught a Scyther the other day and it was like, I don't even care what happens the rest of the week, this is all I need out of life.
Primarily my experience roaming around playing Go has been incredibly positive. In the week since this game came out, not only have I discovered two public parks in my area that I never new were there, I've gotten double the normal amount of cardio I usually get due to riding my bike, walking the dogs and running around playing. It makes me remember why I was always so skinny as a kid and now I have to go to the gym seven days a week or I get whatever the man version of a muffin top is.
Most astonishingly, considering I'm usually an antisocial grump who fears any contact with any stranger and most casual acquaintances outside of a context I am prepared to see them in, I probably had more conversations with random people I bumped into on the street on Saturday alone than I have in the past five years combined. On top of that, I actually walked away from those situations feeling happy and not wanting to go back to my house and stay there for the rest of the month playing Overwatch and keeping the curtains shut.
All that being said, I'm sure that once the initial shiny newness and glow of getting out in the fresh air as worn of we'll all realize that the game is ruining society and destroying our mental states at a rate never before achieved by technology up until this point. You are a lying Grimer-Orgy attendee if you tell me at least once playing this game you haven't yelled "FUCK!" after the third Pokeball in a row misses a goddamn Rattatta. I accuse Pidgey's mother of being a whore every time one breaks free while I'm trying to catch it. It's going to become a real issue.
Besides making me unreasonably aggressive towards small pretend monsters, and the fact that it apparently started a gang war over night depending on which team you chose, there's also the fact that it is definitely going to get me arrested. A few days ago a gym popped up on my map in the area I was passing through. It was only a couple of blocks of a detour so I headed over that way and figured I'd see if I could beat whatever trainers were there and take over. Nothing wrong with this plan except that the gym was centered on a playground for small children. Not even like, a playground located in a public park that has some benches or hiking paths or even a pavilion or something nearby that a person who was not a small child themselves or the guardian of one could pretend to have any business nearby. Just a straight up playground in a development in the middle of a lawn with nothing around it.
In order to be able to fight and potentially take over a gym you of course need to be close enough to it in real life to register your location. A hundred feet or so does the trick usually. This means that if I wanted to take that gym, I was going to have to be a fully grown, bearded man, creepily inching closer and closer to a park with his phone out as a group of ten year olds hang out on the swing-set.
Nobody ever became the very best, like no one ever was by shying away from looking a bit like a pedophile though, so I did what needed to be done. I'm probably on some neighborhood watch list now, but I'm the gym leader of that gym. So you know... worth it.
I figure I've got about a month, tops before it stops being socially acceptable to post constant pictures of Poekmon I've caught, or somebody gets stabbed in the liver over a Mew and ruins the fun for the rest of us, so until then, I'll be out there trying to catch 'em all.
55 down. Should only take me the rest of my life to get the rest. right?
What's happening? Where am I? This isn't the site I thought I was going to! I'm confused and scared and maybe just a little bit hungry for curly fries, I should probably go to Arby's later but also what is happening with this site?!
Fear not my easily upset and slightly unfocused friend. You didn't accidentally type one letter in the wrong place when trying to get to this web address and accidentally end up on a weird page that is just a random assortment of links to weird advertisements and possibly pornographic stuff. Adventures in Husbanding.com will from this point forward be known as Idiot Tantrum.com. We've (I've) re-branded ourselves (myself) in celebration of the (almost) one year anniversary of the site. Henceforth this site shall be christened www.idiottantrum.com!
Nothing about the content is going to change. It's still pretty much going to be shitty cartoon, third grader humor, and stories where my wife gets mad at me for being about as practically useful as a topiary; The site has just been migrated to a new domain with a new web address and title that we (I) feel better fits the spirit of what the site has evolved into since it's beginnings last year.
Really it's just a move for the sake of having a zippier sounding name for the site, and a web address that is a little shorter and hopefully easier to remember. Bottom line it's a SEO move (he said as if he understood how search engine optimization worked).
I put up a news bulletin thing here that you can check out which goes into a little more detail as to the reasons for the change. If, as I suspect, you do not care even a little bit, you can not click that link and go about your life. It's a free internet, you can do what you want, man.
Before I met Emily I was a lot angrier in general than I am now. I've always had what one might call rage issues if one were to use the term in the absolute loosest of senses. I basically hate everything, but have the aggression and backbone of a small girl so I rage less in the traditional 'violent temper and poorly balanced mental state' way and more in the 'impudent nerd rage that spurs a person to write a strongly worded blog post about some completely insignificant bit of minutiae that nobody else gives a thimble sized shit about' way.
If you are confused as to what I'm talking about, you'll likely understand when you get to rest of this strongly worded blog post about how I'm irrationally mad about a t-shirt I saw at a store..
I was going to start this post of by saying that one of the great things about Emily is that she really tempers that rage in me, but I if we're being accurate, it's not so much tempering rage as just keeping me from being too much of an anal retentive douche-dirigible.
In any event, in the years we have been together I have noticed that Emily has really mellowed me out when it comes to a lot of the stuff that I used to become pointlessly irate over. As the result of a steady combination of telling me to calm the f%$k down and general apathy towards my idiot tantrums I have come to realize that sometimes I can just let things go instead of obsessively needing to make the universe understand the injustice of something stupid or shitty being allowed to exist. ( Side note: Idiot tantrums would be a great title for my book.)
She's helped me realize truths such as: the percentage of my time I need to spend upset over the fact that the logo for those Speck iPhone cases looks like a puckered butthole is actually 0% as opposed to the 100000% of the time I spent upset over it before. ( But seriously though...like, how do people not see it?)
The point is, I don't worry about stupid crap nearly as much anymore as I used to, and generally I'm a much happier person because of it. There are still a few things I refuse to let go of, the Speck case thing apparently being one of them and another being the belief that every existing recording of that commercial they've been using since 1992 where you give your junk car to children or orphans or something that goes:
1800 KARS FOR KIDS,
K-A-R-S KARS FOR KIDS!
1800 KARS FOR KIDS,
DONATE YOUR CAR TODAY!"
should be put on a rocket and fired into the sun. Generally though, I'm much less furious at the world around me now than I was five or so years ago.
HOWEVER.
Sometimes I can't help myself. I see or hear something that just stabs me right in the same nerve that Kars for Kids and their underground chop shop orphan cartel or Speck's anus marketing campaign does. When that happens the only thing I can do to quell the fury is bitch about it to people. Luckily I have this website which nobody reads but gives me the illusion of spreading my thoughts to an audience thus allowing me temporary peace of mind, so strap in.
This:
Is a thing I saw in a store while Emily was shopping and I wandered off to look at other areas because I got bored.
I'm sure everyone here already sees what it is that made me stop and take a picture of this shirt, because you are all smart, productive members of society. But somebody f*#$ing made it which means at least one person out there is not in the loop, so humor me as I describe in unnecessary detail why this shirt is worse than having a jar full of bees thrown at your face.
There are any number of things about this piece of self expressionary torsowear to be upset over, but like I said, I've mellowed out over time, so most of it can be forgiven.
Clearly this particular article of clothing is intended to be worn 'ironically-but-not-really' by some giant dude-bro at a 4th of July party as he pays homage to the founding of this country by shotgunning beers and disrespecting women or something, but seeing as I wear cat-tshirts and loud floral print button downs myself, I'll not cast stones in my house of glass and poor fashion sense. And hey, I can appreciate a nice old timey historical portrait with sweet shades photoshopped onto it as much as the next guy.
I can even ignore the fact that the graphic is WAY too low on the shirt as if it were some weird pregnancy attire where you wanted the world to think your unborn baby was a sick party machine.
But Abraham Lincoln? Abraham- Log cabin living-slave emancipating-possibly vampire hunting- Lincoln?
What even happened? Did somebody just google "Presidential Bros", come up with that picture of A-bro-ham Lincoln and slap some text on it to meet a deadline? Any of the founding fathers would have been fine, but you'd at least think at some point during the six minutes it took to design that shirt somebody would have been like "Doesn't George Washington make more sense for a Fourth of July theme?" I'd even have taken "Hey, isn't this guy primarily associated with a completely different war and an entirely different period of American history than the one we are trying to reference?"
You've made a dumb joke shirt referencing America declaring independence in 1776, great. At least use the image of someone who was alive at the time for f*#k sake. Abraham Lincoln wasn't born until 1809 making him -33 years old at the time of the Declaration of Independence. That's like one entire Jesus worth of not being alive separating that guy from your shitty joke.
There has got to be some sort of process that this article of clothing goes through to go from being merely a twinkle in the eye of a historically illiterate graphic designer to on a hanger in Khol's for $12.99, right? How many people had to look at and approve this shirt for it to get to the point where it's in a store for me to take that picture? The answer is TOO F*#%ING MANY TO HAVE NOBODY BAT AN EYELASH AT THE FACT THAT THEY USED THE IMAGE OF A GUY WHO WAS BEHIND FIFTEEN OTHER GUYS THAT WERE PRESIDENT AND ALMOST FIVE DOZEN PEOPLE WHO ACTUALLY SIGNED THE DOCUMENT THEY'RE REFERENCING.
And look, before the internet tars and feathers me, I'm aware that George Washington didn't sign the Declaration of Independence and didn't become President until 1789 which technically means he doesn't fit the "party like it's 1776" theme but he's clearly the most logical choice if we 're going to take some measure of artistic liberty with our douche shirt. It's not like anybody gives a shit who like, Samuel Huntington was, so for the sake of the thing making sense that could have been forgiven.
Clearly we don't give a crap about having any type of logical association among the images we put on our t-shirts so I've designed a few of my own:
Now that I've gotten that out of my system I'll get on with enjoying the long holiday weekend. Happy Fourth of July, try not to let the little things in life give you stress poops like they do to me, and f*#k you if you bought that shirt.
Emily and I visited Boulder Colorado to visit her brother Andy who was walking at graduation from Colorado University. He is finishing his PhD in Neuroscience, which means between his degrees and my soon to be- veterinarian wife, I'm looking more and more like a chimp with a pack of markers over here with my dumb cartoons. Not to mention I'm like, 95% certain whatever his degree is about means he can control people with his brain waves and chuck buses with his mind now.
According to him, even though he walked at graduation he doesn't officially get his PhD until he successfully defends his dissertation in a few months, so technically nobody is allowed to call him doctor until then. We all agreed to roll with it, partially because it’s the polite thing to respect his wishes and not give him a hard time, but also because he probably mind controlled us all with those brain powers into doing what he wants. Mainly the second one I think.
CU is so large that they apparently have a whole bunch of mini graduations over the course of a weekend for individual departments, which I guess is probably not all that uncommon unless you went to a school where the entire graduating glass was 2500 people like I did at which point you start to think it would just make more sense if they just texted everyone "Cngrts, u get 1 d-ploma, lol" and called it a day. The graduation ceremony for Andy's department was held in the basketball stadium and it was quite nice with the exception of two drawbacks:
First, I had to walk up and down the enormous flights of stairs approximately seven billion times as I was put in charge of the camera for the evening. My protests that I didn't want to be the photographer because if I took a bunch of pictures that were either blurry or had my thumb in them I would be solely responsible for ruining graduation forever were dismissed. Also my mother in law thought some seats on the opposite side of the gym might have been reserved for us and I had to go check it out. One week later, after making the pilgrimage and paying the Sherpa my last few dollars I found that the seats were in fact reserved for the Gersons. The Gersons, who never actually sat in those seats and I now hate forever because I had to walk up and down five miles worth of stairs just to look at their empty chairs with their smug little 'Reserved for the Gerson Family' signs. F*#%ing Gersons.
I can handle walking pointlessly up and down flights of stairs that seemed to have been constructed at an 84 degree angle in a stadium where the AC quickly failed to meet the demands of the crowd, but the thing was, including Andy there were a total of six PhD candidates. In contrast to this, there were approximately 2348542398563095823e10 undergraduates getting their bachelor’s degrees in Whogivesashitology.
Of course I don't mean that in the sense that their degree is pointless or they didn't accomplish something to be lauded for. I just mean that I, personally, don't have it in me to care. I nearly blew off my own college graduation due to my severe lack of interest in other people or their degree, the only thing that keeping me in my seat being fact that at some point someone would read my name over a microphone and a bunch of people would clap, because I am an ego-maniacal monster (also, there isn't really a way to just piss off after you get your diploma without making a scene). If the prospect of receiving my own diploma just barely held my attention you can imagine how much less of a crap I was able to muster for anyone in the University of Colorado Boulder's Psychology and Neuroscience undergraduate class of 2016 once the PhD group was done in the first ten minutes of the degree handing out portion of the festivities.
I'd like to say I did what reasonable people are supposed to do and sat there respectfully watching the hoard of undergrads get their degrees, but what really happened was less 'watching the proceedings through to the end like an adult who doesn't have the attention span of boiled carrots' and more "just getting up and wandering off five minutes into the sea of undergrads'. I swiped a piece of cake that I'm almost positive people weren't supposed to start taking until the ceremony was over and wandered around outside until everything was nearly done. I came back in at the end to get a few more pictures and set up to take a cool angle on the hat-throwing, which required I walk all the way down that god-forsaken flight of stairs again and then they didn't even do it which further enforces my negative feelings towards their general existence.
The cake was good though. I hope the Gersons didn't get any.
We were there for four days, so besides the graduation we did a bunch of hiking around in the mountains, as one does when one is in Colorado. I simultaneously love and hate hiking because it's a great outdoor activity where you can get fresh air, exercise and see some really amazing scenery, but in the case of many places we have been you're also walking on a narrow trail or climbing up rocks one foot from falling a million feet to your death at the base of a mountain.
I don't know this for a fact but I am convinced a person falling that distance onto a bunch of rocks would look a lot like when you ate those gummy candy snacks, Gushers, as a kid and you put one between your fingers and squished it until a blob of jelly splorched out the side. Except with entrails.
I fell head first off the top of one of those plastic spiral slides on a playground when I was six or seven, which in reality was probably a drop of like, four feet and I don't even think I got hurt, but when you are only 19 inches tall or however tall six year olds are it basically feels like somebody threw you off the top of your goddamn house. Ever since then I've been a little uncomfortable around heights.
Despite the traumas of my youth, a combination of wanting to experience the outdoors and not wanting to look like a little bitch while other people hike, a bunch of little girls with their parents skip past me, unphased by the terrain and a teacup poodle looks at me like I'm an asshole as he shambles by with his owner forces me to push forward whenever we take a trip somewhere mountainous.
By the way teacup poodle; You have four legs and a low center of gravity, so f*#k you and your judgmental attitude.
In any case, here are a bunch of perfectly nice photos of scenery that Emily and I ruined by standing smack in the middle of them, blocking the view.
You might think this is a candid shot when in fact I forced her to stand there with instructions to "Gaze majestically across the landscape" Until I could take a picture. The debate over what Emily considers a suitably majestic pose is one for another time.
There could have been 1000 bald eagles behind me, or a bigfoot, or another interesting thing. You'll never know because my dumb head is in the way.
do you ever become super aware of your hands whenever someone is taking a photo of you? If someone ever makes me pose for a photo and then takes more than .5 seconds to FIGURE out how to work their goddamn PHONE and just take the photo I start to lose it. Like... look at it. Its just there. doing nothing. Christ, I wish I had a hook hand.
One thing we hiked to was the site of the Crags Hotel, a hotel that was built in 1908 way up in the mountains that you had to ride a special rail car to get up to. It promptly burned down in 1912 because apparently they built everything out of asbestos and dry leaves back then. All that's left really are a couple of low stone walls and a fireplace which based on the condition of everything else that remains from the structure, I am 1000% convinced they rebuilt more recently and are just claiming is the original one from where the hotel was so people have something to take their picture next to.
PS
I saw this tree with a pair of boxer shorts hanging off them at the site of the hotel ruins. I'm not sure what situation leads a person to hike three miles up a mountain and then take off their boxer shorts and hang them on a tree but there you go.
Either somebody was banging up here at the ruins and left their shorts behind, had a case of the sweatiest balls in history and simply HAD to air everything out after the climb up, or my personal favorite: fancied themselves some sort of intrepid explorer, sumitting a mountain and planting their flag. Short on flags to play they made the best of a tough situation.
Whatever the scenario was that led to somebody hanging their underpants from a pine tree at 8000 ft, I imagine the trip back down the mountain, testicles jostling freely within their pants, could not have been ideal.
PS Also
On the way home we had a layover in Chicago O'Hare. All through the airport they have these giant posters of peoples faces. There was some sort of "don't be a douche/terrorist" message that they were supposed to convey, but I've forgotten whatever it was, so first off, poor job Chicago O'hare, douches and terrorists are probably just as unphased as I was by your weak attempt to ward them off with enlarged ethnically diverse happy faces.
More to my point, in every single one of those photos the way the lighting they used reflects off the subject's eyes makes them look like they are all goddamn lizard people in human disguises.
Jesus Hershall Christ, it's like he's going to rip off his meat casing and be a sixty foot python with arms like Dwayne Johnson before he tears off my head so his mate can implant a bunch of eggs down my neck hole into my body cavity.
If you happen to be reading this post and plan on sleeping ever again in your life after having seen these murder lizards from Chicago O'hare, good luck.
They'll be watching.
PS Also Also
I fixed their poster for them
I recently found out that the beer company Dos Equis is going to be ending their "Most interesting Man in the World" ad campaign. You know the one. It started all of these memes:
I don't know if Dos Equis is looking for a new spokesperson, but I think I have a candidate for them if they want to reconsider extending their "most interesting" slogan:
Griff's favorite thing recently is climbing onto the backs of sofas behind people, laying down and proceeding to slowly flop lower and lower in between all the cushions so that nobody is comfortable and he can't get out without help.
On the bright side, I got this photo as a result.
And now, a million captioned versions of that picture that I made on a website that puts meme text on stuff:
Sometimes it's better if you just don't ask.
Last week I came across a post on Facebook that was sort of like a chain message, only instead of demanding I share the totally true and entirely not fake story of Sally the little orphan girl with no eyeballs who will come into my room and turn my face into spiders and also burn my house down if I don't forward it on to at least ten people before midnight, it was a chain message about sharing books with people.
Unlike Sally's face-spider/arson letter, I liked the premise of this thing and decided it would be a nice way to spread some positivity in the world. I do not negotiate with haunted orphan terrorists, but I'm totally down with promoting literacy.
About a month ago I discovered the website of one Jenny Lawson, aka The Bloggess, a writer about seven billion times funnier and better at writing than I will ever hope to be. Reading The Bloggess' site has served as a big motivator for me to start devoting more time to creating for AiH: a task which I was surprised to find did wonders for my overall well-being . Apparently if I'm not creating anything, eventually too much clutter builds up in my head and I get super unhappy. It seems drawing dumb cartoons and writing poo jokes remedies that enough that I don't relapse into an uncontrolled World of Warcraft binge where I gain ten pounds and hate myself.
Back in February, Mrs. Lawson posted something called Booksgiving on her site. That post is here. The premise of that event, which I gather was extremely successful, was very similar to the premise of the non-orphan-murderer chain mail I screenshotted above; a bunch of strangers on the internet gift books to one another because it's a nice thing to do and we could all benefit from a little random kindness once in a while.
I decided that having missed Booksgiving due to not being aware of it, participating in this book share chain mail would be a good way to pay homage to someone who had inspired me, while simultaneously doing something nice.
I went out and purchased two copies of Furriously Happy by Jenny Lawson. One to send to whatever stranger I got linked up with and the other to read myself.
Please disregard the disembodied dog head, Griff has a thing where he must be in any photograph being taken in his vicinity. You pretty much can't snap a photo of something in my house without his dumb head stuck somewhere in the frame.
I got assigned someone in London to send my book to, which is pretty cool. I don't think I've ever had to mail anything internationally before.
Off my book goes, along with a little note I wrote and this drawing of a bunch of dinosaurs having tea because apparently that is what I think of England.
I'm not gonna bother with what I wrote in the note, but basically I just explained why they were getting a random package and that I hope they liked the book, or the consolation dino tea party if not. Also I may have gotten off on a tangent at one point where I said mean things about Topeka Kansas for some reason.
Maybe this will be the beginning of an awesome old timey pen-pal relationship where we will send each other letters and junk in the mail. I've always wanted a pen-pal. Or maybe my weird book and dumb dino-drawing will make them think I'm a huge loser. One of the two for sure.
I guess the account recovery for NCsoft verification just works on the honor system. Good thing I'm not a human-like murder bot sent back from the future to destroy humanity and enslave the world's population of ocelots to build an ocelot powered exit portal that will allow the remainder of my forces to enter this timeline, thus escaping the desolation of a future Earth where all forms of energy have been depleted leaving the robot master race on the brink of extinction. And also there is no Wi-fi there.
Good thing that's just a funny haha joke. Please return to your human activities.
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