Don't Give Me Any Of That Garbage

The garbageman. Ridiculed, mocked, and scorned, he is the example everyone uses of a low paying, low skill, low awesome job. "Don't drop out of school or you'll end up a garbageman," chides Society. "Stop personifying," you mutter at Society. Then you realize that there is something terribly weird, something that doesn't make any sense in this universe, something that leaves a bad aftertaste in your mouth in that last sentence. So you push "Enter" and make a new paragraph to get as much distance from it as possible... er... I push "Enter", because I'm writing this blog...

Whoa! I must have been "high" (as opposed to "goodbye") on some illegal substance when I was writing that last paragraph. Readers who managed to hang on to that rodeo ride of random (alliteration, bonus points, King Rich!) will now be treated to awesome analysis (dos bonus points).

Despite being ridiculed, garbagemen never the less (never the more, either) hold the real power in society. They rule the peace of mind of society with an iron fist ("Don't make me squeeze, Society..."). This was evident this last week on Sunday. The next day was not only garbage pickup day, but also President's Day. Thus, we were afflicted with the problem of whether or not to take out the trash, as the garbageman might not have come the next day. Eventually, we decided that it was better to be safe than sorry, so we put the can out. Now, as the glimmer of "getting it" (dos plus one bonus points!) begins to shine through a metaphorical fog of freakiness (dos plus dos bonus points!), I will turn the metaphorical lights of liberty out on the reader and send them on another rollercoaster ride of randomness. Or maybe I'll just finish the blog so I can stop this alliteration rampage (action). So anyways, we need to take the power to infringe upon our peace of mind away from garbagemen, and give it to someone more responsible. I do not suggest politicians, because they are not responsible. I do, however, support giving it to me, even though I have to power to infringe upon peace of mind through these blogs.

So Analytical It's Not Funny

People think I'm funny. I'm not trying to brag. I'm just stating a rule of nature, like the law of nature that Donald Trump's hair has got to be the ugliest thing alive (yes, alive). Some people probably thought that was funny. But just think. If President Bush had said that, no one would laugh. Well, maybe they would, but just because of his accent. I'll say things that aren't really all that funny, but people still think it's funny. It's the same way for my good friend the President. It generally goes something like this.

Me: My dog died.

Them: HAHA!!!

Me: No, really.

It gets kind of tedious sometimes. Ok. So I'll stop trying to pretend like I don't enjoy the attention. People like me like attention like Micheal Jackson likes plastic surgery... Bad comparison, but still! Why do people think that stuff that I say is funny? Well, it's really all about where the "funny" is coming from. For example, I can say something absurd, and people will laugh. President Ludwig (Vote Ludwig 2028 "Tippecanoe and Kyler too!") can say something even more bizarre, and he'll get laughs that I wouldn't have. That's the reason. That's my analysis. Now that I've got those three sentences out, I can slide back into absurdity. I'll keep going. Alright. I'm done being absurd and trying to convince people that this blog is going to continue. Back to reality. A reality where I'm not so desperate for a subject that I'll try to be funny about why I'm funny. A reality without "analysis."

Asian Supremacy

Yesterday, I went to a stake service project. There, I was forced to stuff little fleece balls full of batting for about two hours. I soon came to realize that my brothers and I were much more adept at this than the others. It got me thinking, is there some sort of reason for this? The answer is yes. Genetics. You see, the Asian sweatshop genes just happen to be in my genetic code. My body automatically makes a protein that fosters quick reflexes and movements, making me the ultimate factory worker. Why else was the Chinese Exclusion Act passed in the 1800's if not to protect inferior Americans from being displaced by superior Chinese labor?

In case you haven't guessed, this week's topic is Asian Supremacy. The days of white supremacy and the Aryan race are gone. Today's perfect race is Asian. This is manifest in the number of people desperately irradiating themselves to be a color that we Asians naturally happen to be. It is manifest in the number of Asians who do better than others in schools. But this is not to say that Asians are without fault. We do have squinty eyes, but who knows? That could become as fashionable as being tan. Besides, squinty eyes look really good when making an evil face.

In the event that inferior whites attempt to fight back, they will be eliminated. For starters, while English may be an intelligible mass of contradicting spelling rules, Asian languages are intelligible masses of squiggly lines, and are impossible to pronounce. Up until this date, I have only ever met one person who is able to say my Chinese name correctly, and he is the future President, and also has awesome eyes, so he's practically an Asian brother. In fact, he has demonstrated his amazing Asian sweatshop skills on many an occasion. However, even if the languages are decoded and understood, no one is a match for the Asian powers of karate. People should have watched enough Jackie Chan and Jet Li movies to know that we are unbeatable. They should have realized our powers of flight from Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. Lastly, they should have realized our ability to write blogs for credit in English class from reading mine.

Seniors: Better Or Not?

The Spirit Bowl. The ultimate expression of school spirit and loyalty. Quite frankly, I think it's lame. But what really gets me under the collar (and I hate collared shirts), is that the seniors always win. I mean, all they said, after an hour of stupid rigged wrestling between girls, body painting of scrawny guys, obnoxious cheering, guys kissing girls with mouths full of cereal, and other drug induced stupidity, was that the seniors won. They didn't even announce how many points the seniors won by. They probably won by "how ever many it takes" points. But I don't question the validity of the ruling. After all, Sir Rich was judging (and endorsing Dr. Pepper with his shirt). Not to mention he's judging this blog. So the question this week comes in two (dos) parts (prongs): 1) Why do seniors think they're better, and 2 (dos)) why the administration made them win.

So why do seniors always have to assert their dominance of other classes? It's obviously like some obscure form of racism, called classism. This "classism" is going so far that soon there will be a KKK of classism. I'm absolutely sure of it. And they will burn big MV's into our yards. They think that because they're almost done with school, they can all be jerks. I realize that I commit the "Hasty Generalization" logical fallacy when I say this, and some seniors are good, like which ever ones are reading this blog, the ones that I love with all my heart, and anything else that will keep me from getting beaten up by a bunch of big fat burly guys. Not that all seniors are big fat burly guys either. Some of them are girls.

Now, the second (dos) part of my question comes in the form of a conspiracy theory. Now, I'm not one of those crazy fanatics who think that Rosie O'Donnell is a cow (though the resemblance is shocking), but I do believe that the administration gave the seniors the win in the Spirit Bowl. I am not implicating Sir Rich in any clandestine plot. I'm sure that he was not a party to it, but actually was forced into it, because Principal Clark kidnapped his copy of "East Of Eden" and held a pair of scissors against it. Sir Rich is, in my book, totally innocent of any wrongdoing unless he minuses my points on this assignment. Why would the administration just give the seniors the win (and the ugly trophy?)? I personally think it was an attempt to foster a feeling of school spirit, and combat senioritis (literally, an inflammation of the senior). And I'll admit that because of this, I really can't wait to become a senior. The world on a silver platter. All for me. But right now, I have to go put out that burning MV in my yard.