tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-193194162024-03-14T06:07:08.452-04:00Infinited Humorwise words as sweet as saccharine and as reverent as a phariseeArtificial Wisdomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06596383987021017812noreply@blogger.comBlogger19125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19319416.post-77856214649987978532010-07-29T20:02:00.002-04:002010-07-29T21:08:02.873-04:00Hilarious Yet Terrible Lies Told by ParentsSome of the funniest lies told by parents, as collected from <a href="http://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/cv4pw/reddit_what_amusing_either_harmless_or/">Reddit</a>.<br /><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>When the ice cream van had its jingle playing he has no ice cream left. =(</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i> ----------------------------------</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>When I was a kid my parents had a picture on the fridge of their young selves, pre-marriage, holding a chimpanzee. One day when I asked why there was a monkey in the picture, they said, "Don't you remember? That's you!" Obviously when I showed them my own face in a mirror they said, "Well yeah we had you shaved because you were scaring people. You were born a monkey." I guess technically this is a harmless lie but it was kind of devastating for a four year old. </i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>----------------------------------</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>My mom once ran over a squirrel in front of our house coming home from work one day. As a five year old, I was devastated by the fact that she hadn't completely killed it, and that it was laying in our yard all twitchy and half-mangled. So I convinced her to put it in a cardboard box in the backseat of the car, and drive it to a local vet clinic.</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>The vet came out, talked to my mom, who then came over and told us that they had saved the squirrel and were going to let him back into the wild the next morning.</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>It was only about two years ago, when I was retelling the story of the squirrel to a friend, that my mom looked at me and said, "That squirrel died, you know."</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>----------------------------------</i></span></blockquote><div style="margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 5px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"></div><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>That if I didn't go to bed when my parents wanted me to, I would turn into a stone donkey in the real world, and be banished to Pinocchio's Pleasure Island, where I would never be able to return to my family again.</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>They would touch the tops of my ears, and with a horrid look on their face, desperately plea with me to go to bed because, "OH! It's starting! You have to go to bed...NOW! QUICKLY!"</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>When we would see the concrete lawn ornaments of donkeys, I was told, "See Son, there is a little boy that didn't go to bed when his parents told them to, and he'll never get to see them again."</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>----------------------------------</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>My mom told me once that President Reagan cancelled my birthday. It's no shock that I don't speak to her anymore or that I lean towards libertarian.</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>----------------------------------</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>my mom told me that she found me in a garbage can and felt sorry for me so took me home. sounds terrible, but it's like the asian version of the stork story.</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>----------------------------------</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>When I was misbehaving my parents would threaten to take me back to the rest stop where they found me.</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>----------------------------------</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>When my dad was a kid, my grandfather told him Saturday/Sunday morning cartoons were silent. At night, after my dad went to bed, my grandfather would turn the volume all the way down on their TV. My dad watched silent cartoons for years before he finally realized he was being duped.</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>----------------------------------</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>Every time we passed a Toys R' Us I was told it was closed. Even if it was 4pm on a Saturday and the parking lot was full.</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>----------------------------------</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>from many years back: my mom hates Mosquitos, they tormented her. in the summer she would storm the halls at night with a rolled up magazine hunting them. quietly on the side my father would tell my brother and I that Mosquitos didn't exist. he had us thinking mom was crazy for a few years</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>----------------------------------</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>That my mom and dad were a witch and a warlock, and were each several centuries old. When they decided to have kids, they went out into a swamp and found a frog and a salamander and transformed them into a little boy (me) and a little girl (my younger sister). They kept this story going for YEARS, referencing it constantly. I figured out it was BS pretty early on (but not before telling some kids at school all about it), but my sister did not, and I used to make it worse by teasing her until she cried. I can still picture her with tears running down her face, saying over and over "I was NOT a salamander!"</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>----------------------------------</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>I was told "gullible" was a made-up word and wasn't in the dictionary. I never bothered to check it...</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>----------------------------------</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>I asked my Dad why he drank whiskey. He said it was to help him grow whiskers. I looked at his magnificent moustache and the coarse stubble on his face and determined, then and there, that I would drink whiskey whin I grew up.</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>----------------------------------</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>A friend of mine was telling us about her kid's hamster dying, and how they'd told him it had gone to a farm. People started sharing their stories along those lines, how it was always "gone to a farm". The friend's husband was laughing along with us, then suddenly stopped and said "Oh my god." He'd only just realised, thirty years later, that his childhood dog hadn't actually gone to a farm.</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>----------------------------------</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>When my cousins were young, they saw my uncle watching an old black & white film. The they asked him why there was no colour in the film. He explained that the film was made before colour was invented. Not colour TVs, colour itself. He convinced them that the whole world, that life itself, used to be in black & white up until someone invented colour in the 50s. They believed it well into their teens.</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>----------------------------------</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>Growing up, I was told stories about the Black Beast living in the woods outside our house. My mom went so far as to buy a pair of cast iron claw decoartions and hide them in the bushes. I don't think I went outside until I was in middle school.</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>----------------------------------</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>I had several teachers (when I was in grades 1-5) call my parents telling them I talked too much which was causing problems distracting other students and interrupting class. A complaint from a 5th grade teacher was the last straw for my mom. She made me watch the movie “Oliver” and told me that boarding schools are just like the orphanages Oliver attended. If I wasn’t quiet in school, with the next complaint she received I would immediately be sent to boarding school. I never said a word again in class unless asked and was known as "the quiet girl" from that point forward... Until I went to Uni.</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>----------------------------------</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>That my Father was an alien... my mom showed me his Alien Registration Card (Green Card)... I was afraid of him for a few weeks</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>----------------------------------</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>There was a Walmart jail that they threw children in. My mother even asked a couple of employees to tell me to behave or they'd throw me in it.</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>----------------------------------</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>While eating Chinese takeout one night my dad convinced me (I was like 10) that water chestnuts were prized underwater vegetables guarded by venomous sea snakes and that harvesting them took many divers' lives every year. I think I believed this for a year.</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>----------------------------------</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>When my children's hamster died, they wanted me to get it cremated. I had no idea if this was even possible so I asked my friend to save her and her husbands' cigarette ashes for a few days. They gave me the ashes in a baggie (about a hamster worth) and I bought a little wooden box at the dollar store, my friend wrote the hamster's name on in nice calligraphy. I brought it home and told my kids that I had just picked it up at the vet. That was about 5 years ago, my five kids were aged 2-10 years old. To this day the box is on a bookshelf and they believe it to be their hamster's remains.</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>----------------------------------</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>My older brother would take me out to shoot birds with his pellet gun. I was devastated until he told me that they come back to life if i throw them in the river. I threw them all in the river.</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>----------------------------------</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>My nephews are both horrified because my parents told them that their belly buttons are scars from where an Indian shot them.</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>----------------------------------</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>My parents told my brother and I that they had a daughter and son before us, but my parents ate them because they were bad.</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>----------------------------------</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>Every night, before going to bed, my dad would ask me if I'd brushed my teeth and washed my face. Some of the time I'd lie and say I had, but not always. I guess he knew when I was lying, because he hadn't heard the tap or whatever. He'd then say that he could see a black cross forming on my forehead. He'd trace it out on his own forehead to make his point more dramatic. It was a creepy world back then.</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>----------------------------------</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>My dad told my brother that when he grew up his penis would fall off. He apparently got concerned when it didn't.</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>----------------------------------</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:inherit;"><i>When I was little my uncle used to take me to play Pinball frequently at a Bar & Grill by his house. Regularly he would go up to the jukebox and put on some tunes for us. One of them, I was told, was a song written by "his friends" for me, because I was so good at Pinball. I fully believed him for an embarrassingly long portion of my life, until I got a little older and did some research. It was Pinball Wizard by The Who. =(</i></span></blockquote>Artificial Wisdomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06596383987021017812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19319416.post-34457946694073653462010-07-28T04:16:00.002-04:002010-07-28T04:17:13.280-04:00How To Treat A College Girl Right<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Sometimes, things don't work out with a girl, and guys wonder where they go wrong. They don't realize that the reason things didn't work out is because they didn't treat her right. The only way to show a girl that you’re the right guy for her is by giving her the respect and attention she deserves. Here’s a list of several things guys should be doing, and if they're not, what they should think of doing:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1"><li class="MsoNormal"><b>Cook with her. </b></li></ol><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Cooperate with her in a domestic task to make something you can both enjoy. Show her that you respect her as an individual, and value her as an equal partner. When she finally realizes her boyfriend doesn’t value her the way you do, she’ll dump him for you, who’s always been there for her. It’ll feel so right. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><ol start="2" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1"><li class="MsoNormal"><b>Work on homework together.</b></li></ol><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Sure, you might’ve already taken Ma1a, but that shouldn’t stop you. She wants someone she can lean on. You need to become her pillar of support. This also shows that you’re captivated by her personality.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><ol start="3" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1"><li class="MsoNormal"><b>Let her do your laundry</b></li></ol><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">If you’re not captivated by the purifying scent of detergent, the soft feeling of freshly laundered clothing, and the warm hum of the washing machine, you must not be a woman. Letting her do your laundry shows that you understand her desires and needs; that you don’t just think of yourself. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><ol start="4" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1"><li class="MsoNormal"><b>Give her alcohol</b></li></ol><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Everyone feels sad sometime. When that happens, a girl may be looking for a drink. Be there for them. Offer them all the alcohol they want. The more they drink, the more they’ll realize how good you are for them. Let her know that you have all the liquid she needs.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><ol start="5" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1"><li class="MsoNormal"><b>The Naked Man</b></li></ol><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">In the comfortable atmosphere of her own room, give her a surprising gift. Not the keys to a fancy car or a diamond ring. It’s a man, sitting on her couch, completely naked. Resting self assured, with his arms open and welcoming, his confidence telling her, “I’m here, ready for you, whenever you need me.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div>Artificial Wisdomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06596383987021017812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19319416.post-73216729340819735192010-07-26T02:02:00.001-04:002010-07-28T04:12:31.905-04:00Types of Late Night People in the Library<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span></span></div><ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1"><li class="MsoNormal"><b>Sexiled Roommate</b></li>
</ol><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">You can find this person spread out on one of the couches, trying to catch some z’s while his roommate is hopefully not catching something else. He would usually crash on someone else’s couch, but a fellow sexilee beat him to it. The only other comfortable couch in his house is the one his roommate is using, but not sleeping on.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><ol start="2" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1"><li class="MsoNormal"><b>The Procrastinator</b></li>
</ol><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This person has his work spread out all around him, but he’s been distracted by Youtube clips and reading Cracked.com. He would’ve worked on his stuff earlier, but he refused to stop playing FIFA 2010 until he beat his friend. He’s got eight hours until the homework’s due, so he’s fine.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><ol start="3" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1"><li class="MsoNormal"><b>The Loner</b></li>
</ol><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Everyone else worked together and finished this set in half the time that he’ll end up spending on it. Whether he just likes working by himself, or simply hates other people, you can find this person poring over his work, trying to find out why his integration is wrong, not realizing he turned one of the negative constants into a positive.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><ol start="4" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1"><li class="MsoNormal"><b>Nocturnal Owl</b></li>
</ol><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This guy once had a normal sleep schedule. When he was in high school, he was in class by 7:30 in the morning. Now, dinner is his breakfast, and breakfast is his late supper before going to bed. His skin is pale white, as he hasn’t seen the sun since he was dropped off by Supershuttle at the beginning of the term.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><ol start="5" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1"><li class="MsoNormal"><b>The Premed</b></li>
</ol><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">A fixture of the library, you can find this person on the third floor on every weekday night. Caution is needed when approaching him, as he is apt to take off his belt while standing in front of you. He also enjoys romantic candlelight dinners and long walks by the beach. </div>Artificial Wisdomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06596383987021017812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19319416.post-85165391177875671882010-07-23T19:23:00.009-04:002010-07-23T19:57:42.848-04:00Type of Students in Class<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7vI01mpK-ro/TEojYXwjpNI/AAAAAAAAADU/FJ7rJkG8Od8/s1600/studentsinclass.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="236" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7vI01mpK-ro/TEojYXwjpNI/AAAAAAAAADU/FJ7rJkG8Od8/s400/studentsinclass.PNG" style="cursor: move;" width="400" /></a></div><div><div class="MsoNormal"><ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1"><li class="MsoNormal"><b>The Corrector</b></li>
</ol><div class="MsoNormal">They may only be a freshman, and the Professor may have over twenty papers and tenure, but that doesn’t stop this student from correcting the Professor over small mistakes, even those of no significance. He feels that the fact he’s read a slightly different definition in a textbook gives him the right to argue over the definition of a concept with the Prof. In the beginning, the Prof will try to be encouraging, but in the end he’ll finally snap and tell the student, “You’re wrong. Shut up,” to loud applause from everyone else.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><ol start="2" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1"><li class="MsoNormal"><b>The Laptop</b></li>
</ol><div class="MsoNormal">While supposedly typing notes, this student is more likely to be playing flash games or be on Facebook. Yeah, he might not be in his room, but that shouldn’t prevent him from doing what he does when he’s in his room right? This guy used to bring a pillow to class, but decided that a laptop might be more inconspicuous, and cause the Prof to think he’s working really hard at taking notes when he’s pounding the keyboard.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div></div><ol start="3" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1"><li class="MsoNormal"><b>The Sleeper</b></li>
</ol><div class="MsoNormal">This is a very common type of student, especially in morning classes. He climbed out of his warm cozy bed in order to go to class. The moment he got to class he promptly fell asleep again. He might try to hide it from the Professor, resting his head on one hand as if he’s thinking, but it’s obvious to everyone and the Professor he’s sleeping since he’s snoring like an elephant. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><ol start="4" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1"><li class="MsoNormal"><b>The Talker</b></li>
</ol><div class="MsoNormal">Hey look, a bunch of friends are sitting next to each other! Great, now please shut up. They think they’re being discreet and soft spoken, but everyone in the entire room can hear them gossiping. Everyone glares at them, trying to mentally set them on fire. Sometimes the Talker will just be a lonely guy trying his hardest to make use of the time when he has a girl captive in her seat. In that case, everyone in the room feels too awkward to look in his direction.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><ol start="5" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1"><li class="MsoNormal"><b>The No Show</b></li>
</ol><div class="MsoNormal">This is the most common type of student. This type of student used to be one of the other types, but evolved when they realized they weren’t paying attention in class anyways. They were doing the same thing in class they were doing back in their rooms, so they figured they might as well just stay in their rooms. They think it’s a great idea until exams come around and one of the questions references an “in class discussion.”</div></div>Artificial Wisdomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06596383987021017812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19319416.post-55084196720226898662010-04-24T08:51:00.000-04:002010-04-24T08:51:27.956-04:00Rules Prefrosh Need To Follo<div class="MsoNormal">After my school's Prefrosh Weekend, I realized that just like there were rules for the students, there should be rules for Prefrosh to follow as well. Based on some personal experiences some friends and I had this Prefrosh Weekend, here are ten rules that should never be broken.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1"><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">Don’t watch porn on my computer and forget to delete the history.</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">Don’t use my towel to shower, and then walk back wearing nothing but my towel.</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">Don’t watch me while I’m sleeping.</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">Don’t climb up into the loft and stare down at me.</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">Don’t fall asleep in my bed when I’m drunk, so when I come back from drinking…</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">Don’t hit on a girl that already has a guy, and tell her “that’s what I’m all about.”</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">Don’t bring your own medicine for your glaucoma and use it in my room.</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">Don’t come back to the room in the middle of the night to borrow my “pipe.”</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">Don’t have a total of eight people use my toothpaste in one night.</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">Don’t beat me in a rap battle in front of half the house.</li>
</ol>Artificial Wisdomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06596383987021017812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19319416.post-90735946210324708312010-04-20T07:34:00.004-04:002010-04-20T07:35:23.705-04:00DO’s and DON’Ts at College Parties<div class="MsoNormal">These aren’t strict rules, but more like guidelines. Feel free to break them if your friends convince you “dude, you should totally do that”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>DO</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Be welcoming and outgoing, meeting and socializing with new people</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>DON’T</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Stand in a closed off group consisting solely of guys. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>DO</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Have a good friend introduce you, put in a good word, and be ready to swoop in to save you at opportune times.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">DON’T</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Have your drunken friends swear that you saved all of their lives by performing the Heimlich maneuver when they were all choking on the same chicken bone.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>DO</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Break the ice with an interesting and entertaining comment or question.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>DON’T</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Offer to play a guessing game, and then proceed to “guess” her name, house, major, birthday, and favorite band.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>DO</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Hold an interesting and engaging conversation with her about topics you’re both interested in. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>DON’T</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Serenade her with your original composition, telling her how she made you feel when you saw her picture on Donut for the first time.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>DO</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Go on the dance floor, and get bucked and crazy as if you don’t have a care in the world. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>DON’T</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Stand on the dance floor having awkward conversations.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div>Artificial Wisdomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06596383987021017812noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19319416.post-22061658026796987372010-02-11T03:29:00.002-05:002010-02-11T03:32:15.870-05:00Why I Didn't Do Those Midterm Problems<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7vI01mpK-ro/S3O_ETi3QFI/AAAAAAAAADM/R4a7V7-Anoo/s1600-h/Midtermabduction.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="270" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7vI01mpK-ro/S3O_ETi3QFI/AAAAAAAAADM/R4a7V7-Anoo/s320/Midtermabduction.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />As I tried to explain to the graders, I couldn't give them the answers because then the aliens would get me. If that happened, then THEY would have won. You wouldn't want THEM to win would you?<br /><br />Sadly, it seems as if my school doesn't care much about the safety of its students, or THE CAUSE.Artificial Wisdomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06596383987021017812noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19319416.post-16115571416456247042009-07-04T14:10:00.004-04:002009-07-04T23:11:17.184-04:00We Gotta Go Back!<div class="MsoNormal">We have to go back! Where? Back to…the kitchen!</div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Back to the Kitchen</b> </div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">Released straight to DVD, so while you’re watching it on TV lying on your couch, she can watch it along with you while she’s cooking in the kitchen. </div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">Several sequels to this blockbuster are already being planned. </div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Back to the Kitchen 2: Make a <st1:place st="on">Sandwich</st1:place></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">Have you ever been hungry, but didn’t have any ready food to eat? Tell her to make you a sandwich!</div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Back to the Kitchen 3: Return of the Bitchslap<o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">Is she talking back? Give her a taste of the back of your hand. It’s important to keep your pimp hand strong.</div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Back to the Kitchen 4: No Headaches<o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">Is she complaining of a headache? Sore gums? She doesn’t need a doctor, she just needs more time in the kitchen. She has no problems that the kitchen can’t fix. </div><div class="MsoNormal"></div>Artificial Wisdomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06596383987021017812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19319416.post-43110143122451436972009-01-31T00:29:00.008-05:002010-08-05T09:30:20.358-04:00The Friendship Well<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Everyone knows someone who spends a lot of time with a certain girl, but never really gets anywhere. Why? The answer is really simple really. They've put in a lot of time, but not enough. They haven't invested 100% mojo yet. Mojo is defined as a combination of the effort and will of the guy, and the happiness of the girl. Without 100% mojo investment, there is no 100% maximum return. Of course, a good looking guy would have an easier time achieving that 100% mojo, but each person has their own 100% to reach, at which point they get the maximum satisfaction from the girl. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">However, due to the nature of the graph describing the relationship between the guy and girl, there exists a point on the graph at which the derivative is zero. This is usually located around the center of the graph, informally called "The Friendship Well." There has just been enough mojo invested by the guy to frustrate him, with almost no return, causing satisfaction to plummet. Guys that have invest around the "friend point" (The F Point, or FP) usually are very dissatisfied with their relationship. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A graph of [Mojo Invested] vs [Satisfaction] in percentages is depicted here. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7vI01mpK-ro/SYPh07BpUDI/AAAAAAAAABs/NU3nqbxUKsg/s1600-h/Untitled-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7vI01mpK-ro/SYPh07BpUDI/AAAAAAAAABs/NU3nqbxUKsg/s320/Untitled-1.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Graph 1</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">%Mojo vs %Satisfaction</span></div><br />As can be seen, the area of the "friendship well" can be fairly large, easily comprising the 25th to 75th percentiles of Mojo Invested.<br /><br />This point is very dangerous, as it is very well known through laboratory testing that the "friend point" is in fact an irregular essential point. A function describing the relationship between a guy and a girl, once reaching the "friend point," is known to be extremely difficult to leave the "friendship well", and must always return to the "friendship point."<br /><br />The graph below is of [Time since friendship point] vs [Distance from friend point]<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7vI01mpK-ro/SYPm_BkkEhI/AAAAAAAAAB0/Uj8FVn4rxs4/s1600-h/Untitled-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7vI01mpK-ro/SYPm_BkkEhI/AAAAAAAAAB0/Uj8FVn4rxs4/s320/Untitled-2.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Graph 2</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">%Time after FP vs Distance away from FP (in percentage points)</span></div><br />As is evident, no matter how hard a guy can try to struggle out of the embrace of the friendship well, the moment he reaches the friendship point, there is no way of escape.<br /><br />The reason for this is simple. Suppose that in the first graph.we position a ball at the beginning of the graph, at the top of the slope, at Mojo = 0. If the the ball is sent rolling down the slope, and fails to make it up the other slope, onto the "point of gratification," it must fall back, and eventually rest on the "friend point." From there, due to the nature of momentum, a very large outside force must be applied in order to push the ball over the other slope and onto the point of gratification (The G point, or GP).<br /><br />The final result is, if the ball does not reach the point of gratifaction in time, it will fall back onto the friend point, at which it takes a large outside force to ever hope of giving it the momentum to reach the point of gratifaction, and will usually end in the ball forever languishing in the Well of Friendship.<br /><br />So what outside force can a guy depend on to get the ball moving again? The only experimentally confirmed method with statistical significance is the "Naked Man" method. Tested to be effective two out of every three times guaranteed, it involves being invited to the place of the girl, and taking off all of ones clothes when the girl leaves the room. When the girl comes back, there will either be enough momentum to instantly push the ball to the point of gratification, or the ball will fall short, and roll backward and away from the G point.<br /><br />So far the Naked Man has been the only proven way to have a chance of escaping the dreaded friend point. Of course, further research and analysis must be conducted.Artificial Wisdomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06596383987021017812noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19319416.post-49573262223896184472008-12-19T00:56:00.003-05:002008-12-19T01:57:29.018-05:00What happens if you throw a cat?<span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">So today, I picked up a cat and cradled it, because you know, cats are pretty cute. And cuteness is something I've found that I really miss.<br /><br />So I cradle it, and after a while it becomes bored and tries to get down. Now usually I let go, but today I wanted to see what would happen if I just refused to let go of it.<br /><br />I hold onto it tightly and adjust to counter the cat's movements. It gets really angry, and bares its teeth, claws around etc, so I decided to finally let it go before it actually scratched me or something, since then I would have to eat it (my religion says so).<br /><br />Since it seemed to really want to get down, I just dropped it from my arms, at about four feet high. I was pretty surprised to see how quickly it was able to change directions and land on his feet, especially considering that it had started the journey with its feet in the air, clawing around like one of those little babies I used to steal candy from.</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br />Now this got me to thinking.<br /><br />First though, I remember a story a physics professor once told me.<br /><br />He mentioned that as scientists, it was our duty to test things, and back up theories with evidence. Now, everyone has heard how cats always land feet first, no matter what. So one day when he was in college, he and his friends decided to try it. They took a cat up a tall building and dropped it back first onto the ground. He never mentioned what happened to the cat.<br /><br />Now this story, and my personal anecdote started me thinking about how cats would react in different situations. There has to be some way that gravity is affecting a cats physiology, ensuring that it always lands feet down. Now, what happens if someone took a cat up in space, to zero gravity, or more specifically, microgravity?<br /><br />I bet the cat would just spin around rapidly, like a top or a spinning battle, permanently trying to get its feet towards the ground. Another favorite idea of mine is that the cat would just explode without gravity, since its physiology is so tuned towards the direction of the gravitational force, that without it its body would become out of control and combust. That would be cool to see.<br /><br />One the same thought, what happens if you throw a cat in space? Like pick it up and just throw it as hard as you can somewhere in microgravity. Would it still align itself towards the surface?<br /><br />Another thought. What if you threw a cat really hard towards the ceiling on Earth? Would it hit its head? What if you put a cat in one of those water tubes at the theme park.<br /><br />What if you took at cat and stuck it on the ceiling? What would it do? Would it try to twist its neck around when it realized it couldn't move its paws? Would it look like that character from The Exorcist with its head turned around? That would be really cool.</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">I'm sure that there's a lot of other fun experiments you could do with cats. I urge you to try them, and tell me what happens.</span></span></span>Artificial Wisdomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06596383987021017812noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19319416.post-69329401134032228322008-09-17T00:03:00.006-04:002008-09-20T20:46:08.984-04:00One Day At The BarHi, are you free tonight? Or is it going to cost me? Oh, of course a pretty lady like you isn’t going to be free. Let me at least buy you a drink. Of course, if you want I can just give you the money and we can head to my place.<br /><br />No wait, don’t go yet. I just have to tell you how intriguing you are. I mean, you’re pretty ugly, but you intrigue me. Wait, I’m sorry if I offended you. Let me drink a beer or four and then I’ll look at you again.<br /><br />Wait a second, are you leaving already? I haven’t even finished my beers yet! Alright look, if you have to leave, at least let me give you a ride home. If you want to just go home that’s fine with me, but at least let me make it up to you for offending you. Trust me, you’ll like my ride. All the other hookers I’ve picked up have loved it too.<br /><br />Huh? No I wasn’t calling you a hoe. I said lookers. All the other lookers I’ve picked up have loved it too. I swear I said lookers. Okay maybe I said hookers. But it doesn’t change the fact that with my beer vision I think you’re a very attractive woman! I mean, I can see a few places where you could use losing a few pounds, and your boobs are sagging a little, but still. You certainly look better than Amy Whinehouse!<br /><br />Wait, what are you doing? You even look better than Star Jones! Wait! Star Jones after she lost weight! I swear! Halle Berry? I don’t know. I think I’ll need a few more beers before you’re at that level. Ouch. Okay, maybe you’re already at Halle Berry’s level. Yes, you certainly are. I took one look at you and I thought “grrrrr.”<br /><br />You’re “grrrrreat!” I mean, if Tony the Tiger had a daughter, she would be you. What a tigress. I’ve never been this physical with a woman outside of the bedroom before. Wait, what’s wrong with Tony the Tiger? Frosted flakes are grrrrreat! I look forward to waking up to them as much as I look forward to waking up to you. Hey don’t do that! Look, tigers are good things. I think of myself as a tiger too! I can certainly mate like one. Alright, I'm sorry. It's just that you smell so nice.<br /><br />*Sniffs*. Yup, that’s the smell of a bitch in heat. Wow. Hey look. Stop. Stop. No need for violence. Hey wait. Stop! You can’t take my keys! Wait, that’s my car. Hey! That’s my car! Give me back my car! Stop! No! I just wanted to sleep with you!Artificial Wisdomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06596383987021017812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19319416.post-45131201435045778492008-09-16T20:10:00.011-04:002008-12-23T23:59:30.826-05:00That Bully<div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">There was this little boy at my elementary school named David. He was a year older than the rest of us, and was also a year bigger. Back then, a year bigger made a large difference.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">David wasn’t the smartest in the class, but he was certainly the biggest and the loudest. His parents were very rich and influential, so there wasn’t much that anyone could do about it.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">One day during recess, I showed everyone a jade pendant that I told everyone had been given to me by my grandmother, who died when I was four. I told them that my parents had decided that I was finally old enough to hold onto it. I was very possessive about it, and refused to let anyone touch it or closely inspect it.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Towards the end of recess, I cast a furtive look around and smugly slipped away from everyone in order to play with my pendant.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Unfortunately, David saw me, and followed me to where I stood near the school, underneath a window.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">“Hey, what’s that you got there? Let me see,” he sneered and held out his hand.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">“No, I can’t,” I protested. “It’s very important to me.”</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">“Aw. Don’t be such a stuck up. You should share with everyone,” he said, and snatched it from my hands. I stumbled and crashed into the wall behind me.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">“Hey, what’s wrong with this thing? It’s broken,” David exclaimed.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">My face was shocked. I immediately snatched back the broken pieces. “H-how, how could you?” I sputtered. “Why would you break it? It got it from my grandmother,” I cried.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">David put up his hands. “Hey, it’s not my fault. I got it like that. If you would have shared in the beginning this wouldn’t have happened. It’s your own fault.”</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">I cried, not heeding his words. “Why? Why?” I repeated. “I would have given it to you. I would have done anything to keep it safe,” I sobbed.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">The window above me opened. The principal stuck her head out and glared at David sternly. “What is going on here?” she asked. She looked at me crying underneath her window, and her eyes narrowed.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">“I’m going to have a talk with the both of you. Come to my office now,” she commanded.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">We both went into her office, and sat down in front of her. “Now, won’t you tell me what’s wrong?” she asked gently.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">I gave a frightened look at David. I rubbed my head lightly where I had hit it against the wall.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">The principal glared at David. “It’s okay. I don’t need to hear it. I’ve already heard enough. You will be interested to know David that the incident which just happened occurred right under my window. I heard everything,” she told him sternly.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">She turned back to me. “Are you feeling okay?” she asked. “Why don’t you show me what broke."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">I gave a frightened nod, and a tear ran down my face. I showed her what was left of the jade pendant. “My grandmother gave it to me,” I whispered.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Her face softened. “Why don’t you go down to the nurse’s office? I’ll tell her to make you some hot chocolate.”</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">I nodded and left.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">I later heard from the teachers gossiping that David’s parents had been called to the school, and the principal had told them that David had pushed a fellow student against the wall and left a large bruise on his head; she also told them that David had broken a precious family keepsake.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">David’s parents had immediately called their lawyer. The lawyer had called my parents and offered to pay for my medical bills along with my school tuition if they wouldn’t sue and agreed to keep it quiet. The lawyer then reached a similar agreement with the school. Little David was transferred to another school. I was treated extra nicely by all the teachers.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">After I got home from the hospital, I got a call from my grandmother. “Expect a nice present in the mail soon dear,” she told me. My grandmother loved to send me gifts.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">After I took the call, I went and threw the broken pieces of the pendant in the trash.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">“What’s that?” My father asked.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">“Oh it’s nothing.” I replied. “Just something I got in Chinatown. It broke when I was playing with it.”</span></span></div><div><br /></div></div>Artificial Wisdomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06596383987021017812noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19319416.post-65962663181765304292008-09-14T18:28:00.004-04:002008-09-18T02:10:10.220-04:00Cats: Succulent and Luscious<p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal">I had just pulled several all nighters, and was finally flying home. On my flight, a kindly old lady sat next to me. We chatted pleasantly before the plane took off, and afterwards I hinted that I wished to get some sleep.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The nice old lady must have not gotten my message.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Do you like cats?” She asked me, pulling out a photo album.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Why yes, I love cats,” I replied politely.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Delighted, she began to point out her favorite pictures of her cats.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Wow,” I exclaimed. “My mother would love that cat,” I pointed.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Really, you think so?” She replied, eyes wide with happiness.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Yes, she’s always mentioned how hard it is to find a coat of that color,” I replied, innocently. “The cats I usually deal with don’t have such a nice sheen to their fur, since it supposedly subtracts from the taste,” I continued gamely.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Her mouth widened in shock.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Oh, dear God,” she muttered.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I nodded, and assumed that her dismay was at the injustice of cats not being able to provide both a delicate taste as well as a lush coat.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Most of the time, people just throw away the body of such a beautiful cat after they take its coat.” I tapped the photo, shook my head sadly and sighed. “So wasteful,” I stated.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I, on the other hand, believe that a beautiful animal must be succulent as well no matter what the ‘experts’ say. It’s all about the preparation. You can’t prepare a dish from a beautiful animal the same way you prepare a dish from a common food cat. It requires proper seasoning and extra caution,” I told her.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Truth be told though, sometimes I’ve found that a little hot sauce brings out the taste perfectly,” I confided in her and winked.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The kind woman’s face steadily changed from apprehension to dismay to pure horror. She stiffened.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I believe I’ll read my book now if it’s all right with you,” she murmured weakly and turned away.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I let a look of dismay cross my face. I had hoped to exchange recipes with her.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I woke up at the end of my flight feeling refreshed and content. I got off the plane with a smile and was happy to be home.</p><p></p><p></p>Artificial Wisdomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06596383987021017812noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19319416.post-77299942192241822582008-09-12T11:10:00.004-04:002008-09-18T02:10:28.264-04:00The French Poodle<p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal">I first met a French Poodle when I was around nine years old. I was walking with my parents in a scenic park when this lady walked by with a large pack of dogs, including several French Poodles.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">They tore into me like a pack of hungry hyenas, snarling and barking. I was never the same since.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Satisfaction came when I was fourteen. I was once again in a park, when a French poodle ran up and bared its fangs at me. I had no intention of allowing a dog to ruin my day in the park again.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I kept walking. Unfortunately, the dog chased after me.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal">I had just bought a fresh new pair of jeans, and was very proud of the clean look I was sporting. I had no wish to ruin a perfectly good pair of jeans, so I waited until the dog almost reached my pant leg.<span style=""> </span></p><p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And I kicked it as hard as I could in the ribs. The dog practically flew like a punted football, and rained down several yards away from me.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">It lay there whimpering.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">As I stood there enjoying my victory over my childhood fear, a woman in sweat pants and a sweater ran up and knelt by the dog.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Aww, poor poochie. Who did this to you?” she gingerly asked the pooch.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Poochie got up and cowered before me, replying only a small yelp. I believe I must have knocked a lot of the air out of him.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Did you do this?” the woman glared at me.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I put on a face of concern.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Lady, step away from that dog! It has rabies!” I warned her.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Her facial expression was one of mixed shock and horror.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Poochie? No. Poochie would never harm anyone,” she said, shocked.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal">I pointed at a spot on my jeans which I thought had a tear in the fabric. “It just bit me. When a domestic dog does that, it’s common procedure to have it put down and analyzed for rabies.” </p><p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I paused, as if struck by a sudden thought.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“You know, what is it doing without a muzzle anyways? Municipal law requires all dogs to be on a leash and muzzle when outside in the park areas. This dog must be a stray!” I exclaimed.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“We should call the pound immediately,” I told her, my face a study in concern.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The woman began to seem distraught. “Oh no, I’m sure he didn’t mean it. I know a vet nearby so I’ll just go take this dog to see him now,” she said hurriedly. She was quick to leave the park.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I was able to enjoy the rest of my day in the park peacefully and contently.</p><p></p>Artificial Wisdomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06596383987021017812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19319416.post-79384622045226237902008-09-11T18:35:00.004-04:002008-09-18T02:10:57.839-04:00Licking My LipsI was in first grade when I first saw someone licking their lips. It was very interesting. I had never seen that before or, I never noticed. I wasn’t aware at the time that it was called licking the lips. To me it looked as if someone just put their tongue only slightly out of their mouth and moved it from one side to the other. I decided to copy this interesting behavior.<br /><br />One day, I started licking my lips. I had no idea what it meant, only that it was a behavior pattern I had noticed performed by some adults.<br /><br />I would do something, and lick my lips. When I remembered what I was doing, I licked my lips. Every time I remembered that I saw people licking their lips I would lick my lips. I was very interested in this behavior pattern.<br /><br />I remember a teacher talking to this young girl in my class, little Ashley. The teacher’s back was turned to me while she talked to little Ashley. I decided to copy the adults and lick my lips. Little Ashley’s eyes opened wide at my action.<br /><br />“Ms. Jones, he stuck his tongue out at me!” little Ashley cried.<br /><br />Ms. Jones turned around to look at me. I looked back, my face impassive and expressionless. Did I just stick my tongue out at her? That action that I had copied from the adults didn’t seem like sticking my tongue out at other people.<br /><br />Ms. Jones looked at me, and then turned back to little Ashley.<br /><br />“No he didn’t. Stop trying to distract me. We were talking about your own behavior,” she told little Ashley sternly.<br /><br />Little Ashley looked at me, her face furious.<br /><br />I wondered what the difference was between licking my lips and sticking my tongue out, so stuck my tongue out at Ashley. Not a lot, just a little slip of the tip of my tongue.<br /><br />“Ms. Jones, he did it again!” Little Ashley shrieked.<br /><br />Ms. Jones turned to glance at me again. Again I was impassive and expressionless. I had not copied most facial expression patterns yet.<br /><br />“No he didn’t Ashley. I must ask you not to try to get others in trouble to escape your own,” Ms Jones icily told little Ashley.<br /><br />My little games with my tongue had somehow made little Ashley furious, yet had made Ms. Jones angry at her, and not me.<br /><br />I decided to lick my lips again, to see what little Ashley would do.<br /><br />On cue, she pointed and cried, “He’s doing it right now!”<br /><br />Ms. Jones became angry with her. Without bothering to turn around again she said, “Young lady, I am getting tired of this. You will stop this right now or I will be forced to report this to your parents.”<br /><br />I decided to wag my tongue at little Ashley. This was a complete, large tongue that stared at her.<br /><br />“No look, he’s doing it right now, when your back is turned,” little Ashley practically shrieked.<br /><br />Ms. Jones was exasperated, but turned her head around to look at me.<br /><br />I licked my lips just slightly, my expression one of complete bewilderment.<br /><br />Ms. Jones became fed up with little Ashley, and told her harshly, “No he’s not. He’s just licking his lips. You will stop trying to get other people in trouble this instant. We are still talking about your bad behavior.”<br /><br />Little Ashley became livid with anger and indignation.<br /><br />It was a very interesting experience. I don’t remember what happened very clearly, but I do remember that it was one of the first times I remember obtaining such an intriguing reaction from someone.<br /><br />To little Ashley, or grown up Ashley as I should call you now. I have learned much since then. I hope you forgive me for what happened, as I had just started to learn about human behavior. Since then, I have learned that people should appear kind to others in public. Therefore, I wish to apologize right now for what happened. However, know that your suffering gave me great insight into the human condition, and helped me become who I am today.<br /><br />Thank you.Artificial Wisdomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06596383987021017812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19319416.post-65179584541262436392008-07-23T03:50:00.004-04:002008-07-23T03:56:54.498-04:00Global English Words<span style="font-family: arial;">Some words, no matter where you are in the world, are recognized by virtually everyone that doesn't think </span>Buicks<span style="font-family: arial;"> are stylish. Some of them, like "cool," are used everyday by people all over the globe. Of course, "cool" was actually coined by a British guy named Shakespeare, so it's not actually an American contribution to the world. So I started wondering about some American contributions to the global language, and I came up with the following list of words that have either erupted or I think will erupt soon.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">1. </span>Nigga<br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">A </span>nigga<span style="font-family: arial;">, in the United States, is defined by the Boondocks as an "ignorant </span>mothafucka<span style="font-family: arial;">," doesn't matter what race. Even a white guy can be a nigga, and so can an Asian guy for that matter. Of course, another of its meanings might be used as a demeaning insult to African-Americans. However, due to it's </span>ubiquitousness<span style="font-family: arial;"> in hip hop culture, a uniquely American art, it's begun to take on the connotation of defining a person who is "cool." </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">When a rapper asks, "where my </span>niggas<span style="font-family: arial;"> at?" the common response isn't to reply, "not here, we all payed for our tickets. We're not ignorant motherfuckers at all respected sir. Only the finest gentlemen here." Instead, it's to scream out "</span>YEAHHHH<span style="font-family: arial;">!" Now, disregarding the fact that it doesn't make sense to reply in the affirmative when a person is asking a question regarding the location of a certain object or person, this example goes to show the image of what "</span>nigga<span style="font-family: arial;">" means in American culture. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Now, take some kid in Asia, watching videos on </span>Youtube<span style="font-family: arial;"> of people calling each other </span>nigga<span style="font-family: arial;">, and people claiming to be the "realist </span>nigga<span style="font-family: arial;">," what do you think that overeager and ignorant motherfucker is going to start saying? Shit man, </span>niggas<span style="font-family: arial;"> are cool! They got </span>bling<span style="font-family: arial;"> and </span>Nikes<span style="font-family: arial;"> and shit. I already got some fake gold necklace and bugged my parents into buying me some </span>Nikes for my birthday, now all I gotta do is start calling people nigga<span style="font-family: arial;"> and have my friends call me </span>nigga and I'm gonna be as cool as that American guy in that video with all those hot girls. <br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Now, there's already some songs in Asia that feature the word </span>nigga<span style="font-family: arial;">. And do you wanna guess how they use it? If you didn't get it right in one you have a right to call yourself by another word for ignorant motherfucker. I'm still waiting for the moment when I'm in Asia and some kid goes up to me and says "sup </span>nigga<span style="font-family: arial;">, keep it fly my </span>nizzle<span style="font-family: arial;">." </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">2. Shit</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Start seeing a pattern here? Apparently the coolest thing to do in China right now is to curse in English. Specifically mispronounce shit in a heavily accented fashion that resembles "</span>shyet<span style="font-family: arial;">." Young people love going to McDonald's with their </span>niggas<span style="font-family: arial;"> and eat some shit. Of course, they don't call it shit, instead I think it's called a McDonald's burger. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">3. Pylons</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Now this one might throw some of you guys off. "Pylons?" you ask. "What the hell is that shit, my </span>nigga<span style="font-family: arial;">?" Well, if you have a need to ask that question, then it can only mean that you don't have enough of it. While many Americans, especially those who prefer Macs over PCs because Macs are more "user friendly" (another term for idiot proof), might not know what pylons are, I guarantee that most Koreans will know what pylons are. In fact, if you tell a Korean girl that you can manage your pylons really well, you'd have doubled your chances of scoring with her. However, if a Korean girl ever asks you to show her how you manage your pylons, respectfully decline, since no foreigners could ever match up to a </span>Korean's<span style="font-family: arial;"> control of pylons. But if you ever hear the phrase "you have not enough pylons," then you need to start managing your pylons better, or you'll be screwed, and not in a good way. Either start showing off your guns, or build more pylons. Koreans are really good with pylons, and worship the pylon. Few people know that the South Korean flag is really just a birds eye view of a pylon. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Still don't know what a pylon is? Google it you lazy bitches. Well, I guess I'll toss you a freebie for actually reading this far, as a reward for having a longer attention span than the average American. A pylon is something you use in a game called </span>Starcraft<span style="font-family: arial;">, which Korean guys have a hard on for, and Korean girls have their first sexual experience to. So go build those pylons.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">That's all I can think of for now. I can probably think of some more but unfortunately my attention span only works in 20 minute stretches interrupted by 32 second increments during which time I think about swimsuits and cars and refinancing my loans. I've just reached the end of my time slot and about to go off into a totally different direction, so tune in next week when my guest is a man that popped out his eyeballs and put them back in. </span>Artificial Wisdomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06596383987021017812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19319416.post-1141448098781242092006-03-03T23:51:00.001-05:002008-07-23T03:58:01.209-04:00A Guide To Cracking the Teenage GirlBelow is the tested and trusted method for “Cracking the Teenage Girl.”*<br /><br />The Five Fundamental Theorems (FFT)<br /><br />1. Despite what they say, teenage girls are not looking for someone to understand them. They want someone to control them and tell them what to do.<br /><br />2. The more arrogant and self-confident you are, the more you’ll be able to be the guy mentioned in one. Remember, it’s not harassment if she enjoys it.<br /><br />3. Physical and verbal reminders of the master/slave relationship is constantly needed to be able to fully follow steps one and two to perfection.<br /><br />4. The more she acts as if she dislikes the treatment; the more she’s actually enjoying it.<br /><br />5. Teenage girls have no self-pride. They are what you say they are.<br /><br />Right at the beginning a firm master/slave relationship needs to be established with the girl immediately. It is usually achieved by personal attitude, by saying something along the lines of, “Hey, you’re almost as good-looking as I am. I might just let you go out with me.” This will attracts the girl’s attention causing the effect known as “love at first sight,” “a hot flash,” or “sexual obsession,” all of which share the same meaning.<br /><br />The next step is to add in the punches. Phrases such as “Girl you the dumbest bitch I’ve ever seen” are usually a safe bet. The girl would become instantly ecstatic and aroused, even venturing to touch you, but don’t let her, not yet. When she replies to agree with you, nod your head like you’re not really listening; since she won’t be saying anything intelligent anyways and girls find that very attractive as well. It’s called foreplay.<br /><br />A side effect however, is what professionals term Hard to Get Syndrome, or HGS. It usually involves the girl feigning shock and anger at the actions of the guy. It is believed to be a sort of mating test used to determine the validity of the opposite partner. A common occurrence is the phrase “You’re horrible I hate you”. However, this is commonly interpreted to mean “Wow I love this so much please don’t stop.”<br /><br />In order to fulfill her desire for further domination one should take this opportunity to give her a quick slap. The suggested form used is the Wu Slap. Based on the Five Fundamental Theorem, the Wu Slap has become a standard practice in the Player’s handbook. Professional slapping involves the use of several techniques that distinguish it from normal slapping. Unlike other forms of slapping, the Wu Slap neither as light as the “girl slap” nor as heavy handed as the “bitch slap.” It is also unlike both in style, consisting of a quick flick of the wrist, mainly to establish master/slave positions. The Wu Slap also contains the use of dragging the fingernails across the face, producing a raking effect. Properly done, a Wu Slap can cause pain and humiliation in a teenage girl, producing a desirable effect that cancels out any HGS the girl might possibly have.<br /><br />Upon reaching this point, cracking the girl is already almost finished. The final trial simply comprises of hearing her complain, scream, and/or cry about various events. Never pay attention. Paying attention is a sign of homosexuality and male impotency. Falling asleep is an often used technique. This would also be a good time to pull out a nine-millimeter and shoot someone for the increased dramatic effect, which is extremely useful. A different type of firearm would also work, but a nine is usually more gangster and better fitting for a player.<br /><br />*Disclaimer: The author takes no responsibility for the repercussions that may happen to any idiot dumb enough to follow the above method.Artificial Wisdomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06596383987021017812noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19319416.post-1135224709167126012005-12-21T23:03:00.003-05:002008-09-18T02:12:16.376-04:00We're Going Sub-Zero Tolerance for Violence!Several years ago, we had a Semi-Tolerance (SEMIT) policy against violence. Now, in an effort “to get tough” on violence the school has instituted a strict a No-Tolerance (NOT) policy for fighting among all of the extremely happy (read meth induced) students (A Sub-Zero Tolerance is also being considered). Our wonderful elementary school education spent playing Pokemon trading cards has prepared us well for the most assuredly rare situations where some of our wonderful students might mistakenly put their hands on each other (“keep your hands to yourselves!”) because of misunderstandings. In that situation, we should make an attempt to reason with the other child, as they are simply being insecure. Otherwise we can simply walk away with our heads held up high. There is simply no excuse for fighting.<br /><br />We can easily call a teacher to help assist in the slight mistake in comprehension. In order to help the students, a little bell is tied around every student. All a student must do is simply ring the pretty bell with a red ribbon and a fairy god teacher will miraculously appear and with a single “mooooo” straighten everything out (it is pronounced with the emphasis on the “oooo”, similar to the sound in “mooooove… get out the way”, which is commonly heard in the hallways). We will shake each other’s hands and promise to be good from then on. Of course, now that we are big kids (why else would we get the Big Kids meal at Burger King?) us boys and girls must learn to work things out among ourselves. We should ask the misunderstood person opposite us “why are you punching me” and politely ask them to “please stop”. If they rudely refuse we should then turn around and walk away, as our spines are better known for taking repeated blows than our heads. All the other children will be impressed by the way we nobly stood up for ourselves, and will forever admire us.<br /><br />However, if you are being naughty and fight back (how dare you, you bad, bad boy) you will certainly be righteously punished for your own good. Your attacker whom you unjustly attacked will receive a complimentary 10 day outdoor vacation, while you will receive a permanent mark on your record, lower grades in class, and a certain huge spanking from your parents (it will of course hurt them more than it hurts you; wear a iron pan on your bottom when you get home). Of course, the worst of all might be the fact that now all the grown ups will call you “that naughty boy”. But don’t worry. The school has implanted tiny micro sensors inside our I.D.s just like in those big hospitals that mommy takes you to when your tummy hurts. However, instead of being used for opening those big doors, our special I.D.s will tell the nearest grown up in case of trouble, so we won’t have misunderstandings anymore. Why else would the administration make us wear them? There has to be some reason for the I.D.s after all. Just ask the fairy god teachers! Isn’t everything perfect?Artificial Wisdomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06596383987021017812noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19319416.post-1132976563172406382005-11-25T22:23:00.002-05:002008-09-18T02:12:24.138-04:00School Buses: Pimp 'em Up<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Riding the school bus to school has several advantages. One, it saves gas, which in these times of high gas prices is very important. Two, it allows parents to sleep longer, as they would no longer have to drive their kids to school and back every day. Three, the decrease in morning school traffic would help ease road congestion, and with it the accompanying road rage and shooting incidents. Considering these advantages, why aren’t more kids riding the bus?</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="">One reason may be hygiene. “Sometimes when I get on the bus I feel like vomiting. It might have something to do with the pool of vomit that's usually under my feet.” says Freshman Ima Hurl. Parents also share safety concerns. A common complaint, besides the frequent late buses, is the bullet holes that have been showing up more and more often on the sides of the buses. This has led some cynics to believe that the Mafia, in an attempt to downsize and slash their budget, has been using the vehicles on certain missions. When questioned, the Mafia denied this charge. Jack Screwer, the Mafia public affairs liaison, strongly denies the accusation, saying, “[we] do not use the school buses for private reasons. The buses are reserved solely for the transportation of children and heroin.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="">However, another safety concern commonly raised is the operation ability and old age of the buses. Lato Redy tells, “I used to ride the bus to school as a student. After I graduated, I got my first job as a bus driver, driving the same bus I used to ride. Nowadays, my kid rides that same bus as well. I really respect the ‘like father like son’ stuff, but I just don’t think it should apply here.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="">In this increasingly hip hop era, another strong reason put forth for the unpopularity of school buses is the appearance school bus itself. The drab yellow cheese buses simply aren’t PIMP. Explains Snoop Doggy Dogg, “I can’t let my kizzles ride in that pizzle sizzle my nizzle. Fa shizzle.” He proposed at a recent PTA meeting that they do a special Pimp My Ride: School Bus edition. The motion was barely defeated by a 78-72 margin.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="">However, critics of school bus reform point out that the bottom line is money. Ben Dover, the official in charge of school transportation in Miami-Dade County explains, “In these harsh economic times money is hard to come by. We simply cannot afford to buy new tires or repair leaky ceilings and defunct air conditioning. I'm extremely sorry but we're all going to have to make some sacrifices. Just think of our troops in Iraq, and the hardships they go through every day.” Then he excused himself and drove off in his new Porsche 911, saying he was late for a weekend golf outing with his “Big M” friends.</p>Artificial Wisdomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06596383987021017812noreply@blogger.com13