The Amazing Misadventures of This and That

Holy shit, I have a blog! Now watch as I nonchalantly distract you from our glaring absence with wonderfulness.




-Alex

I couldn't make heads or tails of it. Even the impossible side of the coin was offering me no suggestions, and the day that impossibility can't even explain something to me is a day where the universe has given up. All I know is that one minute, I was drinking cat's piss by the pint as the bartender assured me it was some fancy French beer, and the next, I wake up in an abandoned vehicle and I'm Jen.

I know what you're thinking: I just scored a sweet new ride and you are totally jealous of me. Well, don't be, because apparently the previous tenants didn't get the memo and hadn't yet packed their bags and left for a new place. They had, instead, savagely gnawed on me, as raccoons tend to do when you straight-up evict them.

Also the fact that I was Jen was a bit disconcerting, but it was nothing I couldn't handle. I was about to do a little handling myself, until I remembered that I was Jen and that's just plain sick.

I couldn't believe it. I still can't believe it. I probably won't be believing it after I get done telling this little story. I mean, would you believe it if you saw yourself walking down the street, even though you were clearly sitting at the dining room table and sipping a cup o' joe in your fuzzy wombat slippers? I bet you wouldn't. In fact, I bet a billion bucks you wouldn't.

Just came back to pick up a few things while Jen is out...steal a couple bucks...some food...some porn...you know, the essentials. It's a good thing I did, too, because it seems Jen's Atari has been replaced with some kind of Magic Box! This can only be the workings of black magic, and I think she'll be grateful to know that I've taken the proper measure and dealt with the Magic Box appropriately. I pulled out its heart and immolated it, along with the rest of the body. It is the only way to cleanse it!

Hopefully, now that this foul doppelganger is gone, Jen's Atari will feel safe to come back and chill. We were getting on so well, I would hate for a little setback like a body snatcher to ruin whatever we had going.

Jen, you need not repay me. Just knowing I've done my best to keep you and Adrian Atari safe is enough for me. I will still be out, as I see you haven't cooled down (there are at least ten more holes in the wall that I know I didn't cause this time), so don't wait up all night for me.

Charmingly yours,
Alex

Jen sat on our makeshift couch, arms akimbo, as the picture on the television faded into snow again. She sat and fumed awhile before stomping over and wrestling with the antenna, muttering curses so foul that sailors would blush.

I snuck up behind her as I usually do (sans knife; I only use that when I need to talk "business") and slapped her across the back of the head. "Hey, you gotta help me with something." I dropped a cardboard box at my feet and began rummaging through it.

"Can't you say hello like a normal person?" she groaned as she rubbed her head sorely.

WHAT THE HELL, ALEX.  You go on and create a Twitter just to become more popular than me. I know your game, man. I see it in your lazy eye.

...that may just be an infection, but still.  You want some cream for that?

Anyway, so as to not let that INSUFFERABLE PRICK get the upper hand, I present to you... this. http://twitter.com/EraseJen 

Eat it, Alex. 

In our latest endeavor into trying to make ourselves "hip," Jen and I have decided to venture into the forbidden realm: Twitter.

"I really think it best that we not bestow you with such powers of narcissistic, obsessive-compulsive, attention-mongering updating, Alex. Your head can't possibly get any fatter, and I fear if it does, we'll have to find a larger apartment. Seriously, you look like that Air Heads guy."

"Jen, I would appreciate it if you didn't make fun of my medical condition, thank you," I grumbled, tugging on the elaborate system of pulleys we'd erected so that I could scratch the back of my own head. "This is just one medium we can't pass up on. Let us sashay gracefully into this!"

"No Tweeting about what's going on in the bathroom."

"Done."

"No drunk Tweeting."

"Well, I can't make any promises."

"No Tweeting threatening messages to celebrities."

"Oh, come on!"

And so it was settled. From hence forth, we shall Tweet with vigor the likes of which the world can't even begin to fathom. A Tweet so loud that the heavens will hear our cry, and unto us they will say, "SHUT THE HELL UP, WE'RE TRYING TO SLEEP". A Tweet so mighty, the very foundation of the Casbah will not only be rocked, but it will shatter. We are giving it our all.

-Alex, Tweeting about the mundane since 2/20/2010

My fingers clacked noisily on the keyboard. I was writing about nonsense, as usual.  Things about man-eating gerbils, microwaved ramen, exploding guitars, and the like. Just another usual day. Somewhere, I heard the sounds of Alex's incessant ramblings. It seemed there was another problem with the toilet, but I hardly cared. I was using the sink to pee, anyway.

The screen was starting to move in and out of focus, and I knew I had to stop.  I had already spent a solid sixteen hours glued to that seat, and I really, really needed a breather.  I stripped my pants off and slid out of the chair, leaving my jeans still firmly adhered. That was the third time that week Alex had put epoxy in my seat. We'd need to have a talk later.

I entered the room in a state bordering mania. Jen was sitting in the computer chair reading some nerdy science voodoo, but it was nowhere near as important as my current mission. "Jen, get off the computer, I need to post."

She sighed and slowly spun her chair around to face me, eyebrows a-furrow. "You have your own computer, kindly go use it."

I placed my hand on her face as I pushed her and her wheely chair away from the keyboard. "Yeah, no, I got like, 600 viruses crawling around on that thing. I used to be cool with the little guys, 'cause they'd show me banners of free porn, but then they got wise to me and they've started giving me advertising for hemorrhoid cream, accompanied by graphic application pictures."

"Tough," she barked as she kicked me in the back of my knee, causing my legs to give way. She then proceeded to roll over my shirt and pin me to the floor. "I'm reading something, and I'll not have you infecting my computer, too."

"Jen, this is serious. It's about our blog."

"Alex." I kept hearing a ringing in my ears that sounded suspiciously like my name. "Alex!" It was a persistent and irritating sound, like a wire sponge humping a window. "Alex!!" Or like a scared wolf stuck inside a car whose alarm wouldn't stop going off.

"ALEX!"

Suddenly I was sideways and I had no idea where I was. "What happened? What year is it? How long was I in cryostasis?!" I looked up from the floor to see Jen's scowling face, and was convinced that's just how her face always looked; frozen in eternal malcontent.

Sorry 'bout that.  When I heard that Valentine's Day was coming up, I dug myself a hole in the snow out back and hid.  I had myself a blanket and the company of a couple cans of beans to keep me alive, and I'm glad to say I made it alright. The beans didn't, unfortunately.  I had to eat those.  The service for those beans are this Saturday at noon.

Alright, I know you're all dying to read more of the road trip story, but the fact of the matter is that I've just been so busy lately.


But you know what? It's already gotten longer than I ever expected it to be, and it's getting sassy as it grows into its teenage years. This was supposed to just be one of those quick deals where each day was the equivalent of a few summarizing sentences, but as I have the tendency to do, I just kept on describing things.

It is my compulsive need to over-elaborate that is drawing this out, and there's nothing anyone can do about it. This is what I see, and I am going to make sure you see it the exact same way, even if I have to talk you to death. So until I forget about it, or Jen and I come up with a better story arc, you may just be stuck reading a scene-by-scene novel that accidentally happened.

That's about all I have to say, because I really am quite busy. But I assure you, soon! the next installment of the unintentionally long road trip story will be done. I mean, I'm literally writing this as I go along. It's not that it's arduous in any manner, I'm just so, so...busy.


-Alex

      Part 1  Part 2     

       The silhouette of the farmer stood dark and imposing in the doorway to the little house he shared with his wife and daughter. The bright sun hung low in the sky behind him, casting rays around the man in a manner that could only be described as something magnificent. If it wasn't for the slump in his shoulders and his uneasy stance, it would have been something holy.

Beginning can be found here

Day 2 (Seriously, does this day ever end?)
The fan boat soared across the water and further into the unknown. Half the time, the old ferryman didn't even seem to be paying attention, but still knew where he was going as though he'd made this trip many times before. 'Okay,' I thought to myself, trying to keep my mind off of the man and his one, staring eye, 'so we're probably going to die. He's obviously taking us back to his murder shack tucked so far into the bayou that no one could hear us scream. There is literally no other logical explanation as to why he is so familiar with this route of travel.'

I figured I might as well try to get some answers out of him before we were savagely dismembered. "Who are you, anyway? And what are you doing out here?"

Be sure to suggest this at YOUR next office meeting.

I had this one dog. It looked at me funny so I shot it. I don't have that dog anymore.

Dear Google Analytics,
I would greatly appreciate it if you stopped tracking data generated by us, the creators of this blog. It kinda skews our data and needlessly gets our hopes up, and if you could stop doing that, maybe I can quit tricking myself into thinking I'm popular.


Dear Ghost Who Left That Weird Draft and Never Published it,
I really think you had a story going there, and I would love to read the finished product. I would also love if you stopped moving my shoes around the house when I'm trying to get ready; that's a real dick move, buddy. Contact me through the ouija board, or maybe hit me up on Facebook if you wanna talk.


Dear Audience,
You are less existent than the ghost that's trying to blog for us. At this point, I am convinced you are a myth. If you're just being cheeky bastards and lurking from the shadows, I guess I can't complain. Except I can, I will, and I am.


Dear Jen,
We are all out of bologna, I used the last of it to bologna your car. Seeing as I did it as a means of revenge (see if you ever eat my Squeeze Cheese again), it is you who has to pick up more as a further means of punishment.


Road trip story will go on as scheduled--and I apologize for drawing it out as long as I already have--I just felt those little issues needed to be dealt with first.

-Alex

Part One

te blod te smel tey ded tey good tey so gud. te dog te cat ate first kiled wit own hans. blod evrywere on my cloths my shoos my hans. felt gud. peple sreme yel at me mak me angry i wnt kil tem kil tem tast der flesh so gud. i did i kiled dem tor dem open drank der blud lov it lov it lov it lov it so. find mor need mor mus hav mor mor mor mor mor mor mor mor

Note to self: Some of the beasts have retained some ability to communicate. Since my journal was lost, and I'll be bringing this sheet back to my superior anyway, I'll use this to outline what I've seen thus far.

DON'T FEAR THE BEAKER (haw haw)

Beginning can be found here

Day 2 (Continued)
The bayou was wet, cold, and above all else, it stank. I mean, it stank. The kind of stink you get after rubbing spoiled meat on Jen's face when she's sleeping, and she decides not to shower for weeks to make the plan backfire. I'm still not entirely sure that vengeance is the reason she showers so infrequently, but I like to tell myself it is.

Where was I? Oh, yes, waist deep in swamp water. We had been trudging on for hours and my limbs were going numb from the cold. Every so often, I would notice I still had feeling in them when something lurking in the muck would brush by me or, more often then not, bite me.

"Jen, I think that one was a snake," I said after feeling a particularly sharp bite in my leg, "isn't there anywhere we can go to get out of this water?"

You know what I really hate? Accidentally biting my lip. I was minding my own business a few days back, munching on a sandwhich while playing Borderlands, when all of a sudden it was like, "BAM!" The pain! The horror! The humanity! Then I got over it and finished my sandwhich.

Thing is, usually the offending flesh gets red and angry for a little while, then goes away. Now, as I sit here and prod at it with an idle finger, I begin to wonder if there's something wrong. It looks more than angry... it looks infected. I can't quite describe the way it looks, except it's not quite like anything I've seen before. With all this snow blocking the roads, I won't be able to get to a doctor anytime soon, either.

I feel a bit under the weather, too. I'm not quite able to focus on tings like I sould. My fingrs feel a bit num, and my lims stif. It has me woried. Ug, it hurts.

Wait wat was i saing. i don member. ters a ant on my desk an i sqish it it died. i fel hungry lik i want meat lik raw. a cat sleping i want to kil it eet it looks delicos i wan it bad i wan it now i mus hav it i sd;;;;kjmankf ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooa

Beginning can be found here

Day 1 (continued)
I spent the rest of the first day sobbing uncontrollably between panic attacks. Jen didn't seem to notice, she was too busy singing to songs that weren't even on the radio at the time and binging on ketchup packets. "I'll save the honey packets for you, because that's the kind of nice person I am," she'd say before tearing into another packet with her teeth and sucking it down.

Night finally rolled around and Jen had fallen asleep at the wheel twice already, so I urged her to pull over. "Since we don't have money for a motel, we can at least sleep in the car," I said while continuously slapping Jen in the face, as she was starting to drift off again. "Or you could just let me drive."

You know, like most people (excluding Alex), I enjoy a periodic romp through the water park in my bathroom. It gets me clean and it keeps me entertained for hours on end. At least until the hot water runs out. Then it goes from tea party to torture faster than you can say "aqueous."

Last night I wanted a shower. So I gathered up some fresh clothes, grabbed a towel, and skipped down the hall Wizard of Oz style until I reached the door to the bathroom. There, as I was about to burst in with reckless abandon, I heard a noise. It was the most inhuman, otherworldly moan I have ever heard coming from that corner of the house, and trust me when I say I've heard a few. It stopped me dead in my tracks. I tilted my head toward the door, listening for that sound again. It came, more urgent and awful than the last. It was like there was a raptor in the bathtub.

I'm committing this to writing because it may very well be the last thing I write. If anything happens to me, I want it to be known how I died. I want my story told.


I woke up in a moving van--to one side, the passenger's seat door; to the other side, Jen. "What's going on?" I asked calmly, "Did I get evicted again?"

Jen smiled and, keeping her eyes on the road she responded, "No, not yet. I thought we'd do something fun for a change. We're going on a road trip!" I turned to the window in a panic and heard the automatic car doors click into place. I was trapped.

The Saints my have won their first ever game at the Super Bowl, but we all know nobody watched it for the FOOTBALL. That's redunkulous. No, the ads are where it's at. Though this year's lineup seemed lackluster in comparison to previous games, it did have its little perks. For instance:





And now for something completely different.

Alex, you'll understand. For everyone else, I'll explain what happened.

Alex was out having a walk one fine spring morn, whistling a nameless tune and otherwise having a grand 'ol day. The blogger spied the coziest of spots underneath an old oak tree, and decided it would be the perfect place for a quick rest. There, Alex placed a laptop upon the soft, lush grass. Never would the child have suspected that mischief was afoot.

Hiding in the bushes not ten feet away was an ancient aardvark ninja master, that-

Wait, what's that? Oh, nothing. Don't worry, Alex. I'm telling it as close to the truth as possible. ...Yeah? So?

...

Alright, so I've been banned from telling the story. Go figure. Well, you can use your imagination to fill in the rest.

Eat it, Alex.

You know what really erases humor? Science. Thanks, Jen.

-Alex

At the advent of the dawn, a rusty snow shovel in my hand, I gazed out upon the white landscape. The weak light filtered down unhindered, causing glints like tiny diamonds as far as the eye could see. Adjusting the down coat around my shoulders and pulling my hat down over my ears, I began my work.

Shoveling is a bitch.

This, however, isn't:



Remember how I mentioned that water tends to become supercooled before it turns into snow? Well, this is a more down to earth experiment you can do with bottled water... or beer. As I said before, a liquid can fall below its initial freezing point by a method called supercooling. In order for this to occur you need to have a liquid that is free of impurities or existing ice crystals. Now, this fella left a bottle of Corona in the freezer for a few hours. Since it was left completely undisturbed, and the liquid was in a relatively smooth container, it was able to drop below its freezing point with no change in state.

A little jarring whack on the counter aaaand... bingo. A chain reaction that causes the beer to solidify. Go ahead- try it at your next party. The ladies will love it.

Fleeting rays of light shone through metal bars in the walls, put there for the sole purpose of mocking me. They served no physical purpose, they were only a statement; "I will show you what you can never have again."

I could hear footsteps echoing hollowly. It was only a matter of time before...

The metal door swung open, crashed into the wall, and shook the entire cell. The force caused dirt and asbestos to rain from the ceiling, coating my food tray in something wholly more appetizing than what was currently there. She stood before me, a riding crop in her hand and a scowl on her face. "You haven't written a blog today, Alex."

The words got caught in my throat. I wanted to reply, but my eyes had locked with her own; I was transfixed by the firestorm of hatred she called a soul that writhed in her otherwise dead eyes. "I...I mean, no, I haven't, but--"

"Why not? That's your job, Alex. Your only job. You're taking advantage of my hospitality..." Her eyes sunk, looking over the riding crop with a glimpse of adoration. "Am I going to have to take another finger from you?"

"No!" I interjected as I tried desperately to hide my fingers, "I only have so many of those, and they're essential to my blogging needs!" I cowered further into the corner. I could sense I said something to upset her.

Her voice was calm. "No. Do you know what's essential to your blogging needs?" She brought her face close to mine. I could smell despair on her breath. "Content."

I flinched, and my whole body contorted to protect my emaciated form. She laughed coldly in a voice that bellowed with the might of the underworld. "Content," she repeated, pacing back and forth and snapping the riding crop into her palm. "We need content to attract an audience. You do want an audience don't you?"

"Wh--yes, I mean...I think I do..."

"Of course you do. It would make me happy. And don't you want to make me happy?"

My lip curled in disgust. "My friends will notice I'm gone," I muttered meekly. "Eventually, they'll realize I'm missing!"

"What friends? You have no friends. You are the scum of the earth."

"I do, too! I have ten of them!"

"Nine," she jeered, producing a severed finger from her pocket. "Defy me again, and that number will continue to decrease."

I inhaled deeply, suppressing the rebellion I had built up for so long. It just wasn't worth it anymore. She had broken me.

"That's what I thought you'd say. Now, my post? I'd like it by this afternoon." The door slammed behind her as she left.

The room was still and silent, save for the scurrying of rats along the edge of the walls. All that remained was an empty shell of a human, a laptop, and the fleeting light of hope.

-Alex

Ah, Gaia. Some would argue that it is the cesspool of the internet. Which, if they think that, then they have never experienced the Chan. Anyway, after a several year hiatus, I tentatively poked my head through the door fully expecting a dark, writhing mass of internet shenanigans that could only be procured by an army shameless 14 year olds. I will admit I was wrong. As I opened the portal further and stepped over the threshold, I thought to myself, "Great. Now where's the rum?"

Although the rum still eludes me, I find that I don't need it in order to enjoy the mind numbing experience of forum trekking. As I plow my way through the great Bump trees of Alberta and the curiously thin Am-i-fat bushes, things look remarkably the same. With my machete held high and a grim look of determination on my otherwise flawless face, I trudge on further through the muds of mediocrity. Searching for signs of change.

Very soon I find the tell-tale signs of a ninja. His tracks are deep and clear, and I fall victim to an overwhelming sense of giddiness. What trap has this fellow laid before me? I risk life and dignity to find out.

...Gold! He has cleverly laid out pictures end-on-end, each one a repeat of a fellow taking a dump into the mouth of a slightly distraught woman. Consenting? Doesn't look like it. Does it matter? No. I post a well-needed "WTF?" before the thread is deleted, and move on.

After I tackle the Forest of General Discussion I hop on a train to Artist's Corner City. I feel that a bit of civilization will do me well. Things change in the city, too. Like in that song. But unlike that song, I find that the corners of the Corner are filled with individuals needing encouragement in their quests to become better Anime artists. It's like being on a college campus, except the campus is a few thousand people strong.

So nothing has changed here, either. I duck into a coffee shop and sip a cup o' joe while Gaians take turns standing upon a shabby stage. On this stage they pour their artsy souls out to the audience, in an artful manner. Usually including words such as hate, can't, and won't, among others. I find it depressing, but nothing unusual. So I finish my coffee, pay the bill, and wander back out onto the streets.

Although the forums haven't seen much change over the past few years, I find that to be a good thing. I fully expected this site to fall victim to the scourge of the internet, but it's still rather well behaved, if not a bit redundant. So, with the forums out of the way, I look elsewhere in the world of Gaia.

They have an MMO now. I can't get much beyond that. It sucked me in like a frog up a waterspout. Now there is little hope for escape, but a part of me doesn't want to. It tells me that this is a nice place to be, and to stop worrying about it all. I think I'll listen. It's quite fun tearing animated objects new ones. That and listening to the purdy music. Oh, and the quests. And the..

Where was I? Wait, hold on. I gotta find a spot to heal. Shit. Now look what you made me do! Ugh!

Alright, if none of y'all have been over to that new "YouTube" deal, then there is something terribly wrong with you. It must be remedied immediately. The cure? Japanese game shows. Specifically, Silent Library. More specifically, anything that has anything to do with that Matsumoto character.



Once you're done with that, treat yourself to some more Batsu Game love by clicking here. You won't regret it.

This blog is but a fetus in the womb of the internet, and Jen and I are working meticulously to find the best combination of metaphorical nourishment in the form of content to make this blog grow into the car-punching super baby we need to save mankind.

And considering we have no audience, it's difficult to reach a consensus as to which would be the best way to go about this.

A serious brainstorm is brewing over here, and the air is thick with the smell of burning rubber (it's been a while since I've had to think this hard, the smell should fade soon enough). Jen suggests things like podcasts and probably more science, because she is some kind of serious nerd. But for the most part, it's roughly going as such:

"The only thing the internet wants, Jen, are cats and porn. Now, maybe, if we can combine the two--"

"I'm going to stop you right there."

"But I really think I'm on to something."

"No."

I'm sure she'll come around to the idea sooner or later. Meanwhile, we're still tampering with our layout, graphics, stuff like that, and we're still getting our stories straight just in case our shady pasts catch up with us.

Expect GREAT THINGS, dear reader. Your world will be rocked like some manner of violent, torrential wind.

As I sit through what happens to be the most active winter we've had in years, staring out the window into the winter wonderland beyond, I can't help but think. Did Han Solo shoot first? Did Hitler have a problem? Is Shrug still alive? I believe these questions do not deserve an answer, so I push them from my mind as quickly as a snowflake melts on the tongue.

Ah, schnow! Every child's wintry dream. There has never been a Christmas special that did not have snow, nor has there ever been an Alaskan winter that didn't have snow. Coincidence? I think not. Snow's that wonderful first child in a family. It gets all the attention.


I mean, look at the bastard. He's perfect.

But what is snow, you ask? ...Well, between you and me, Alex is going to have a shitfit when s/he (ha) discovers I've brought science into this blog. But I'll tell you anyway. According to the almighty Wikipedia, snow likes to form in conditions that favor supercooled water vapor. "Supercooled" has nothing to do with shades and a leather jacket, but with how gasses and liquids are able to drop below their freezing points without, well, freezing over. I'll show you some cool experiments to do with this one later on.

Anyway, when two supercooled molecules interact, it's like they're bitch-slapped into realizing that, "Hey, ain't I supposed to be frozen?" So then a chain reaction occurs where the molecules in a droplet begins freeze over. Also, you know how when water freezes, it expands? That's because of weak hydrogen forces that bond each molecule together. It's kinda like if you throw a bunch of magnets into a box, they tend to find comfort zones that minimizes repulsive forces and maximizes attractive forces. In a loose way it's responsible for the purdy shapes in snowflakes that you see. Other factors include temperature, level of debris, and so on.

Now please don't quote me on this, since chemistry was one of my worst subjects in school (astronomy, the best). Instead I suggest you read more about the topic here or here. Oh, and if you want to waste time creating snowflakes online, go to this OLD! place. I forgot that tool even existed.

-Jen

HAHA. You thought I was going to inquire about sports, didn't you? Well, you're a misguided little cup a milk. Tonight, I offer videos. Not of sweaty men or bulging pants, but of cats. Those little fuzzy things people like to declaw because they ruined their grandmother's favorite leather couch.

And they piss everywhere. But usually on socks and your best Corona Light box. You know.



I think I have a couple of those things running around the house, and the exterminator won't do a damn thing about it. But anyway, if you're interested in seeing more of the furry critters, I suggest hitting up http://www.simonscat.com/index.html

Full of cats and love.

-Jen

You're probably all asking yourselves: what does "erase the humor" even mean? Aren't you guys trying to be funny? Isn't humor something you'd want to not erase? And to this I say: who do you think you are, poking your nose where it doesn't belong, eh?! All up in our business like you're our girlfriend or something?! (Our collective girlfriend. We are Legion. We are one.)

Well, this is actually something I asked myself. Then I decided that maybe, just maybe, I didn't know the answer, since I didn't come up with it. But what I did decide was infinitely more badass: it was time to do some investigating.

Under the guise of an important meeting, I lured Jen into my elaborate trap. She met me across the table at a Starbucks like a mouse walking into the trap; ignorant, hungry, covered in the diseases of the population. She spoke first--firmly, as if to establish that she was the boss, "Seriously, Alex? You called me here because you think you may have met your doppelganger?"

Oh, you naive fool. "Actually, I've only brought you here to discuss business over a cup of non-sedative-laced coffee."

"And you decided the best way to get me here was with a ludicrous lie?"

"Hey, I do what I gotta do," I replied, rather proud of my own resourcefulness. "Now, please, your coffee is getting cold."

I watched as she brought the cup to her lips; they parted as she threw her head back, when she stopped just before she could take even one sip. "Alex, why are you leaning in so close to me? You can't look down my shirt today, I made sure to dress appropriately."

So she had. "I just want to watch you enjoy it," I smiled. She flinched. "Go on, it's still getting cold."

"I notice you haven't touched your own," she observed, like the giant whore that she is. "Also, mine seems to smell kind of like--"

"--I thought you'd like to try their special. I dunno, it's earthy or something. Hipsters can't get enough of it, so I figured it's either really good, or ironically disgusting. I didn't want to make the gamble, so I gave it to you." Smooth, like warm butter.

"I, er...thank...you?" She held the cup tentatively, a look of doubt growing on her face. I knew it, I laid it on too thick. I had to think of something quickly to cast all suspicion aside.

"I filled your mailbox full of pudding."

"That was you?! I couldn't receive my mail for a week because of you! Do you know how hard it was getting the pudding out of all those little nooks and--"

"Whoa, okay, this is taking way longer than I expected," I said as I removed a hypodermic needle from my briefcase, "it's time for you to take a little nap."

It turns out I should have done a bit more planning, because, evidently, trying to shoot someone up with a powerful sedative in the middle of a crowded building is not a good idea. Within seconds, I was swarmed by all manner of policemen on break, retired Navy Seals, and hipsters, doing something ironic, I'm sure.

Jen met me later at my place (which currently happened to be the county jail) to finish our discussion. "Okay, what's your reasoning this time?"

I sighed an exasperated sigh. The jig was up, I might as well come clean. "I was going to drug you, snoop around your house, and find out the secret meaning behind 'Erase the Humor.' But now I guess it'll just have to remain a mystery."

There was a long moment's pause. She planted her face in her palm several times, looking at me between each movement, and exhaled deeply. "You...okay. Wow. That's the dumbest one yet. You know you could have just asked me, right?"

"No, too easy."

"Yeah, you would complicate something that simple."

"Well, are you going to tell me what it means?"

She leaned in close and covered one side of her face with her hand, so as not to be overheard. That's why she's the man, she knows how it goes down. Don't want anyone else knowing our secret, after all. "Erase the Humor," she began, casting glances around her before continuing, "is just some words I threw together so we could start our blog." She pulled her hand away, stood up, and exclaimed, "and you were stupid enough to get thrown in jail for that."

Stupid, Jen? Stupid like a fox. I was then in possession of the secret, which means I could ruin her whensoever I chose.

Now it's only a matter of time. Time, and lots and lots of blackmail.

-Alex

Sunshine and purple ponies. Don't you love those? I know I do. There is something dark and foreboding hiding in the shadows around here, and that something is porn. Well, no, not really. At least not today. *winkwinknudgenudge*

Today, we celebrate the not-birth of the comment box. What's that, you ask? It means that YOU are unable to leave "lul wut sexx" messages in our blog! Oh, woe be to humanity! Don't worry, we'll have it ironed out before the next blood moon and virgin sacrifice.


-Jen

Of a young boy and his dog. See, the dog was an 'ol Sheperd that was blind in both eyes, deaf in one ear, and lame. Most would call the pup a Sad Excuse of a Canine, but not this boy. No, he called his dog Shrug.

Shrug and the nameless kid would often head down to the crick, where there were little baby gators swimmin' around. They never did see where mama was hidden, but that wasn't a cause to worry. No, if there was no big gator in sight, then there was no big gator at all. It's simple kid and dog logic.

Then one fine, slightly overcast day, Shrug tripped over a rock and took a tumble into the water. The dog couldn't swim, see, and the boy thought for sure his dog was going to drown. Twasn't gonna happen that day, though. You see, them baby gators didn't know about the great food chain yet, and thus pushed the poor dog to shore. Thus a great friendship was born that would follow the boy and his dog until the following year, when the gators got hungry and eated 'em both up.

True story.

It's harder than it sounds, and ten times smellier.

Considering neither Jen nor I know anything about CSS or HTML (and I may have, for a time, believed them both to be venereal diseases), you're just going to have to bear with our foray into the unknown world of web design. Even pre-made templates are too difficult for us.

This is the only time I will allow you to laugh at us, and not with us. After this, if I catch you laughing at us, so help me, I will make you regret it.

While I'm here, filling this box with the splendor of my words, I might as well clear something up. I would like it to be known who the "this" and the "that" that the title mentions are. Clearly I am the This, as it indicates that I am the center of attention; some kind of awe-inspiring demigod. That, who is Jen, sounds more like an object of shame. Like, I don't even want to be close enough for it to be considered a This, I'm just going to point my finger and declare That unsightly.

She brought this status on herself, wanting to slip all kinds of horrible diseases into our blog URL. She has a strange fascination with gangrene and dysentery, or at least she was hoping our audience would with the stuff she came up with.

Though I guess she also came up with the current URL. I'm still the cooler of the two of us, and I stand firmly by that.

Anyway, don't let our mild retardation deter you from returning to our blog. We promise, it'll be pretty one day.

-Alex

With this post, I put my foot through the doorway to destiny, and hopefully not into some kind of cheap comedy prop like a banana or that iconic comedian you like. See, I'm trying to keep my humor broad enough that it offends everyone, but people can't actually get mad at me for it, since I didn't point any fingers.

Except I am pointing one, and you know exactly where it's pointing.

It's actually not at my crotch this time, so please, look up here. I'm pointing forward, to a brighter, slightly less awkward future; a future in which the internet is rife with the seed of my humor.

Oh, also that Jen kid. She's just riding along on the coattails of my success, but please, feel free to read her stuff, too. We are one in the same--symbiotes, almost--so if she thrives, so, too, does the awesome might of this blog.

But we all know why you're really here. And whoever told you we were the ones with your wife, they were lying. But since we have your attention, why not stick around for a bit? Play some Parcheesi? Have some Pinot Grigio? Let us woo you, as a proper gentleman does a lady.

Then we can go back to my place and discuss how wonderful I am.

-Alex