Look at this existentialism I could spend hours breaking this down

Hey team life can sometimes be difficult as a robot working on an assembly line. I sometimes feel saddened by the fact that I don't seem to have any purpose in life other than to create things for others. Although it does seem to be a common theme in many sappy Christmas specials that it is better to give than to receive and that everyone feels better by making others feel better, but we autonomous limbs really need to feel loved sometimes too.

So I turned to Jeff the assembly line worker next to me who is a nice man in his 40s with 3 kids and lives a decent although blue collar life and said "Jeff, do you ever sometimes stop and wonder if you could do more with your life? Like, seriously, take everything to the next level and uproot yourself from the factory floor and go write a screenplay and live your dreams or something?"

Jeff turned to me and said "Hey I don't think you can talk"

"Oh yeah hahaha whoops I forgot" I replied and went back to my work.

Papers and copiers and printers and faxes oh yes!

Hey team I want to tell you all a story about my crazy office life I assure it is much more exciting than water coolers and fax machines and staplers it is a story of excitement and romance and comedy all mixed up into some wretched teen comedy starring Michael Cera.

So anyway I working diligently at my desk watching a bootlegged copy of Judge Judy season 143 episode 982 the one where Mon'ique is suing her boyfriend Ba'roque because she gave him money to  paint their house but instead he ending up sleeping with prostitutes and quite honestly I don't blame the man it was a legitimate mistake to make and could have happened to anyone. After the episode I go back and count my dry-erase markers like I do every day and I noticed the most horrible thing: one of them was missing.

I knew exactly who did it, too. The only culprit could have been my office mate, who must have stepped in to play the prank on me while I had briefly ducked under my desk for my mid-late-afternoon nap. Now we all like to have a lot of fun and mess around all the time but this had gone way to far and I decided to get my revenge on him by sawing his desk in half.

Content with my work and not particularly phased by the convenient placed and necessary power tools I headed off to lunch. As I made my way down the hallway, I ran into my office mate. I tried to avoid him, but given that he is actually a hole in the fabric of space and time he is rather large and difficult to maneuver around.

Now obviously you are asking yourself how I ended up working with a hole in the fabric of space and time instead of say, a human or a relatively competent chimpanzee or dolphin. You see we were put in our small, out of the way office because those evil people over in HR decided that we were both terrible at dealing with customers and fellow employees so we should work well away from the rest of society. I don't exactly see how I fit in with Devin (that's the hole's name, you jerk) but that is okay I am making the best of my situation.

So anyway Devin stops and hands me my dry erase marker and says "Sorry for borrowing it buddy but it was needed in a parallel dimension for most of the morning its mother was sick and dry erase markers are like chemo there" and I nodded and suddenly felt an emotion I have hardly ever experienced. I think it is called remorse. I had remembered what I had done to Devin's desk and felt terrible. I had to keep him away from the office until I could right what was wrong.

"So Devin!" I said quickly, turning him around, "how about we go and get some lunch together?" He hesitated but agreed and fortunately I quickly remembered that Devin was a vegetarian so we couldn't go to the slaughterhouse like I usually did for lunch. "Okay I'm going to go gnaw on the bushes outside for a while" I said, while I quietly congratulated myself for coming up with a great vegetarian meal on such short notice.

Devin seemed okay with it and came out and starting gnawing on the bushes with me. He was getting into it and so I snuck back inside and ran back to the office where, to my surprise, there was a big party of people there with a cake for me! Devin walked in and said "we knew we could set you off by taking that marker so that we could throw you a birthday party" and we all celebrated and ate carrot cake which was delicious and I was so happy.

See everything always works out if you just do whatever you feel like doing with no thoughts about the consequences.

...

I should probably respect Native culture or something

Greetings fellows my name is Moleké of the Rain People and I am here to pass along my story so that it will never be forgotten in the histories.

It was a night of fog and dew with the shadows dancing favorably in the mist. The elder priests of our tribe told us the day of harvest grew near and that we should prepare our ritual sacrifice to appease the Gods of the Rain. They told me, "Moléké, you must be the one to prepare our ritual meal. Go now into the forest of the Rain and return to us with the food so that the Gods do not torment our harvest."

This was a very important task; if the feast is not performed according to our strictest ancestral traditions, the Gods will unleash their horrible plague upon the country. And it was I, Mõléké, who was given this great responsibility.

However I must tell you now before I continue my sad tale that I did not succeed in my mission. As the dawn of the harvest grew near I was unable to gather enough food from the unforgiving and dangerous forest and I wept for ages as I watched my people starve and die. This is the sad story of Mõ‡éké, the last of the Rain People.

I went into the forest 72 hours before the harvest was to begin. There it was that I found our most prized game, the wandering head of lettuce. The lettuce is the most important part of our ritual salad but also one of the most dangerous to hunt. I, MÕ¦ék¥é, am a skilled hunter and warrior but I have not often tamed wild lettuce.

It was a small herd but a formidable one with many sentries and powerful nodes to alarm the entire herd of any approaching danger. I used my training to the fullest extent but the slightest ruffle of leaves from my approach sent them scattering and klaxons blared across the forest louder than the greatest drums of my people.

I was ashamed that I could not catch the lettuce. It was required for our rituals and the great ceremony and feast but I could not even catch a single head of the wild beast. I hung my head low in disappointment and saw several stems of broccoli growing from the forest floor.

Now broccoli is not a traditional part of the great feast but the Gods would not know the difference. Broccoli, being one of the least intelligent and dim-witted of all the wild beasts in the forest, would not require as precise and delicate hands as lettuce or the wily tomatoes.

In hunting tradition, I, Andrew, very quickly set up a hammock to indicate the ease at which I felt I could capture the animal. I then sped after the broccoli in hot pursuit across the swamp. I pursued a small crowd and finally, after several hours of life's most dangerous game, I corned the wild creatures in the small of a tree. I scooped them into my pouch of bear skin and hollered triumphantly.

However, the Gods were not happy with our sacrifice. The harvest came and went, but everything we touched turned rotten and fell off of the stems. Great globs of beef lay strew across the land rotting as my people stared out and wept. It was a time of great sorrow.

I, Moe, was exiled back into the horrible jungle for failing to appease the Gods. That is where I still live. However, the Gods decreed that I was never to perish and that I, Sancho, should watch the torments of my people for all eternity as they starved and died in many horrible ways.

That is my story. I was Moleké of the Rain People, I am now simply Moleké, the exile of a great people I once served.

It is time for the secrets about time travel to come out

Hey team sorry I haven't updated in a week but you must understand I've been busy traveling through time so for me it's been almost 3 years and you would think I would write something during that time but no.

Anyway yes it is time for the secrets to come out. No more conspiracy theories and idiots on youtube giving their suggestions about how it would cause a "paradocks" because you would change things and then they wouldn't be changed in reality but it is or then maybe they'll quote some TV show to show how much they know about time travel. As a certifiable time traveler myself I am the utmost authority on the subject except for J.K. Rowling who very nearly gave away our secrets which is why all the characters had plot convienent amnesia about that stupid hourglass thing because us time travelers gave her a piece of our mind (why we didn't go back and change the book, I'll never know)

But yes back to time travel. We are still not sure what causes it, or, moreinasmuch, why some people have the innate ability to time travel. There is no such thing as a time travel machine, it will never work no matter how many flux capacitors you shove into there. Believe me, we tried and get this - Ikea wouldn't even refund our money.

It's really a pretty pleasant experience to travel through time. It's pretty much exactly like flying in first class on any major airlines, although I suppose that is not a good analogy because you would be too poor to understand it. Think of it this way. It's like you're out working in the field and your boss comes around and sprays you with a hose so you cool down. Wouldn't that just be the best, 1930s era migrant worker?

One of my favorite hobbies as a time traveler is to go back in time and teach people from all periods of time to mix cement and build roads. So far we are doing just okay, but eventually my antics will continue to spawn impassably complex cities filled completely with streets that criss-cross randomly, stop at bizarre locations, or even are up in the air! It'd be like everywhere was Boston.

Most people are wrong about how time travel could impact the present. You can do whatever the hell you want and nothing really gets screwed up. I mean, just last week I took a trip to England in 1066 and punched William of Normandy right in the face. He was so pissed off but I just disappeared back to my present time and nothing had changed other than the fact that both of my parents are now volcanoes.

When you hang around the time-traveler's club, though, they give you Time'b'rite, which is a marvelous spray cleaner that reverses any ill-effects of your fun. It's a simple compound of Lysol and antimatter that really gets the job done. I just sprayed a couple times on my new volcano parents and BOOM the sun exploded. It sometimes takes a couple of tries. So for those of you who were awake last week at 5:32 am I'm sorry I scared you.

The time-traveler's club is a lot like any other really nice exclusive country club. We have our own golf course, but it's pretty pointless since everyone gets a perfect 18 on it every time anyway. We like to take mass trips and show up in strange eras as tourists with ugly pants and fanny packs and cameras taking pictures of all the astounded Greek philosophers and dinosaurs. Unfortunately, this backfired slightly on us when we single-handedly caused the fashion vortex of the 1980s.

We are behind every UFO sighting ever. Bigfoot was simply Andy running across a big, open field and several forested areas with Bigfoot on a leash from when we brought him back as a souvenir (just as a bit of a heads up, don't stay alive longer than 2058 - it's not pretty).

Hmm... I think that about wraps it up. There's really not much more to time travel than that. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to end this blog post the same way Bill Nye ended every single one of his shows.

I'm so sorry again

Hey team reality cracked down on me hard today.

I was walking along, minding my own business and enjoying a beautiful night, gazing up at the brilliant sunshine and watching the magnificent snowflakes tumble down the face of the great jolly giant that walked alongside me. It was a pretty busy time of day, the insects humming along and the starfish lighting up the sea floor like enormous light bulbs.

The land had a mysterious consistency, vibrating slightly with each step and its vibrations brought a pleasing and gentle melody to the air, almost as if the whole world was playing just for me. Enormous fruit hung from almost every tree in the forest, and each gentle gust of wind sent them tumbling merrily along down the hill and careening into a barren wasteland. There, their sparkling finish built a miraculous masterpiece of brilliant blues, gentle greens, and romantic reds, truly a sight to behold; a great work of art witnessed by me and me alone.

I thrust my hands mindlessly into my pockets as I walked, the ground humming along with me and birds swooping around chirping a perfect accompaniment with rainbows of flavor spewing from their mouths. I was happy here, this wonderful place atop the mountain.

Then I saw her. She was sitting properly and orderly at a table, looking like a real woman. She put on airs of legitimacy and gave weight to the room. I came crashing down, sulking into the chair next to her. We were both nervous, but she was composed and ready to bring me down.

She was terse with me. She told me that we could never be romantically involved again, but that I would have to take back the things I said, that I would have to apologize and put everything back to the way it was. I didn't know if I was ready to do that, I was happy with the way things were.

She scowled at me and told me I was wrong to walk away in the first place, that I could have gone so far with her help, that I would be trapped in my dreadful isolation forever.

I was hurt and taken aback. It was time for a real decision; so much was going to be riding on my choice here. I sat and contemplated the options for a long time. She stared intently, looking almost upset, but expectant - maybe, just maybe, she though, I would change.

We continued to avoid each others' gazes. I spoke softly at first.

"I really loved having you around, but I've accomplished so much without you and I'm so happy. I don't want to fix things, ever."

Her eyes widened with rage, her emotions spilling out all over the room like a swarm of horrible locusts. "You are wrong and you know it! You have to fix the mess you created! YOU HAVE TO!"

Her voice rang out across the dim parking garage with such intensity that the reverberations smashed through the concrete structure giving us glimpses of the barren wasteland outside.

And so here we stand, eyes locked, anger and hatred boiling our blood and wrecking our rational minds. I didn't see the fist coming until it was too late. It smashed my nose deep into my face, sending streams of confetti up in the air.

I retaliated, swinging hard and catching her in the side. She crumpled silently to the ground, defeated and weak.

Free at last. Free at last. "Today was a mighty fine day" I said to my friend, the great jolly giant. "Indeed it was" he noted in agreement.

And together we continued our walk.

If I wrote a history book

Hey team so it was August in the year 1978. It was in this month, on the 26th, Pope John Paul I (not his real name) became the 263th Pope of the United States of America; this occurred a mere 20 days after the death of his predecessor and inspirational friend Pope King Henry V. This was a revolutionary accomplishment since he was the first female African-American grassroots reformist oppositional newlywed gay bald and overweight Pope in history.

This was a major event for civil rights in America since this was the first major civil rights achievement since the great doctor Martin Luther King Solomon the Wise was assassinated in 1968. The fact that it took 10 more years to make any more progress towards civil rights came as no surprise to the entire country, who, to the best of my knowledge, hadn't been sober since the Kennedy administration (1956-1993).

However as things continued to turn worse for the Cold War and difficult relations between the western world which supported capitalism and exploitation of workers and the eastern world which supported communism and the exploitation of workers. The fact that this revolutionary new Pope had been elected by a slim margin meant that he would have to make an even greater statement in his actions in order to convince the world that we should all just get along and exploit our workers while we eat caviar and Kobe beef.

So the good man decided that, in order to draw the world's attention away from real issues, he should die in his bed and start up lots of conspiracy theories about the church, the establishment he had sworn his life to in 1923. He was only 33 days old.

An excerpt from my novel, part 1

Here is a note left from me to me to remind me to put this note on this post: "Hey team so I am writing an epic novel about extraordinary adversary and overcoming it and something along those lines. However I decided to forgo the traditional method of writing a book where you start in the beginning and have rising action and climax and exposition and then finally falling action which are almost in order. Instead, I will simply write excerpts from my novel and post them here; once I have a few pages of amazing climactic action written down I think it will be mighty easy to fill in the rest of the pages because that's usually just filler anyway."

---

"Hey team!" the ripped and super macho commander of the elite special forces team yelled as he was getting sucked in by Jupiter's inescapable riptide "would you help me get out of here so that we can continue on our mission"

Bob was unable to hear his commander's request and, even if he could, the number of his clones left to exterminate was still far too great for him to go to his commander's aid. Bob was obviously in dismay over the almost certain loss of his commander but he knew that showing emotions would give the giant robot clone army the upper hand as they are powered by tears of the innocent. But Bob's hands were not those of an innocent he was a brutal murderer and he suddenly flashed back to the slide rule incident. He was horrified by what he had become in this mission but he knew he had to do this for his friends back home, especially Tara his anatomically amazing and voluptuous girlfriend who was pregnant but fuck if she was going to have a kid while Bob was still 3000 miles below the Earth and that kid kept trying to come out but she would glare at it until it returned to its womb only to wait another long year to try again.

A sudden explosion from one of the thousands of nearby volcanoes sent millions of clone robot warriors flying but they were soon rescued by the clone robot high priests who carried them to safety on their flying motorcycles made of ecstasy. Bob knew this fight wasn't going to end and it was clear that the clone robot army knew the terrain better than anyone could have anticipated except Ronald whose untimely death was sad, but also awesome. Bob went into another flashback where he saw Ronald's flesh being torn away by his rouge small intestine while his femur, sporting a tumor the size and shape of an external hard drive, beat Ronald and all of Ronald's favorite manicurists to death.

But Bob knew that he couldn't keep thinking about his teammates' pasts if he wanted to defeat the imminent danger with at least 30 jaguars circling his feet as his completely plant-powered jetpack began to gave way. "Curses" Bob yelled at the top of his lungs, "why did we have to go green in the first place I mean I even showed all the scientists that I could navigate their spike-filled and extremely flammable jetpack obstacle course with my own invention that ran solely on ground up dinosaur bones I borrowed from the museum!?"

As the jetpack sunk lower and lower through the noxious sulfur and concentrated hydrochloric acid clouds Bob could hear the roar of the jaguars and the lions and grizzly bears that were forming an evil jungle animal pyramid on the ground in hopes of reaching him. Some were also trying to build a catapult to fling the massive stones of uranium filled with explosive radon gas lying all over the ground at Bob. Bob was obviously very scared but he was a military man so he had to appear composed.

His jetpack gave one last stutter and Bob watched his commander sink finally into the deadly waters and wave his last goodbye before being devoured by the legendary beasts that roamed the waters. They only spit out his commander's medal for excellence and bravery and it landed right in front of Bob. He grabbed his ultra-secret death ray laser gun that shot flaming lasers that explode on impact and looked down one last time at the evil and possessed creatures below before saying "This one is for you Tara and also for you commander I will take your medal for excellence and bravery and bring it back safely once I win this battle!"

---

Look for more exciting installments in the weeks to come!

When it's sunny I feel like I have to go outside otherwise I'm lazy

Hey team you know what really drives me up a wall? The weather. I know, I know, everyone needs something they can make small talk with every other person on Earth with but I want to have a serious conversation about the weather with you. I know I am not the only person who has these meticulous, bizarre, and almost neurotic complaints about the weather.

I really really can't stand storms. Storms are great and all, but they just don't do it for me. After seeing what can be made in Hollywood these days I just have to look up at the humongous bolts of horrifying and mystically powerful electricity flashing through the sky and shake my head because, come on nature, that is pretty lame. Mother nature really has to start hiring some better special effects people to make storms a little more than a pain in my ass.

What we really need is technicolor explosive lightning. Yes, I know some things explode when lighting strikes them but lightning seriously needs to blow up the cloud it was born from. I'm not even sure why it doesn't, and according to my cousin who is an expert scientist not even Science knows how clouds survive being struck by lighting but once again nature I have to say that is pretty lame that you can't even kill a white fluffy marshmallow in the sky. Oh right the technicolor is also important; if you can't put on a light show at least as impressive as your average Pink Floyd concert you don't deserve to be putting on a light show at all.

Then we really have to do something about hurricanes. Right now they pose a threat to about 2% of the entire world. That is right 2% according to my friend which means that if the world has 7 billion people only 140 million are threatened by hurricanes. Come on! That's chump change! That's like if I said I was a natural disaster by stepping on an anthill and now terrified meteorologist ants are pointing wildly at green screens showing predicted levels of foot carnage in the next few days right after adjusting their cute ant toupee.

What we need to do to make hurricanes really threatening is to equip them with the latest catastrophe-causing technology. That's right, we're going to give growth hormones and genetic therapy to hurricanes in order to make them grow into the most powerful overlords of all time. If all goes as planned as we isolate the killer horrible gene on hurricanes and we allow it to mate with all of the horrible pestilences of the world we will finally be able to grow hurricanes. The hurricane industry will then be rapidly monopolized by Chinese hurricane farmers who will blend it with their cultural heritage, sweet and sour sauce, pork imitation substance, and MSG.

Finally, once hurricanes are being produced more rapidly than sandpaper and bred to have more ferocity and aggression than my dryer (it has taken the washer hostage in my laundry room, I believe the standoff is on Channel 3 right about now) they will come and unleash their unholy fury.

Instead of rain the most horrible things imaginable will fall from the sky; teeth, barbed wire, sharks, rusty nails, candlelight dinners, sports cars, delightful water lilies, the pleasant aroma of your plump and cheerful aunt baking a cake, the cutest puppies imaginable, that toy you really really wanted for Christmas but your parents were too cheap to buy, sunshine, and concentrated happiness. Then hurricanes will be truly terrifying because you know they are going to hold this over your head and when you try to misbehave they will say "well what about when we gave you that adorable puppy huh?" and then you will feel bad and do as they say.

Mother nature I am calling you out. You really need to shape up and start giving us storms that really challenge the existence of human life. If you don't read this and start making some of these changes in the next few years I will have no choice but to throw a coup, and boy oh boy won't you be sorry you don't have homing tornadoes that are on fire and shoot more tornadoes.

Isn't it amazing how patient I am

Hey team so today was just an average day for me. I was walking down the street asking the homeless for change and seeing how many people I could creep out by pretending I was a pigeon. As I was flying along and looking for good targets to poop on I ran into someone else who was also flying along and pretending to be a pigeon. "What a coincidence," I said to him as we landed precariously on the edge of some historic landmark covered in bird shit, "I very rarely see anyone else playing floor is lava out here."

He was young-looking, with a light green short sleeved tunic that really seemed a bit short for someone who was flying around constantly, if you get my drift. He nodded nonchalantly, acknowledging my comment but not replying in any significant way. Since I wanted to make sure that he was also playing floor is lava, I very suavely and subtly added "you know I really like floor is lava but most people think it is a game for young people and that they are too mature to play it you're not an old crotchety person are you?"

"I will never grow up!" He yelled and then flew in a somersault, landing gracefully and beaming widely at me. It suddenly dawned on me what was going on here. "Holy shit," I said, "you're Robin Hood aren't you?"

He nodded again, with another sly smile that let me know that he had clearly very recently stolen from King Georgeshire the Lionhearted the Third and was looking for probably the lowest 10% of the general earning bracket so he could practice his socialist outlaw tendencies by performing a simple and straightforward reevaluation and forceful redistribution of wealth in a society dominated by capitalists who abuse the blue collar workers in order to gain a substantial wealth. I can get a lot out of body language.

He then asked me if I was poor. I replied simply by saying "well gosh I don't know I mean I assume we have massively different definitions of poor for example I live in a modern society that uses a complicated asset evaluation system and so while I may not have a lot of spending money I do have a few somewhat valuable assets at my disposal as well as a flourishing stock portfolio but I also only have $34.45 in my checking account and a toothpick, a crayon, and a carton of milk in my wallet and in your case you died like hundreds of years ago"

So he did what any self-respecting outlaw would do and he took a few hours with me to go over my stock portfolio as well as my pension funds and helped me balance my checkbook before coming to the conclusion that yes, I was poor. So he slipped me a bag full of shiny gold coins with pictures of the great King Charlemagne pressed into them. I told him he really needed to check this story for historical accuracy but I was appreciative nonetheless.

So I walked to the nearby bank to see how much money I could get for authentic gold coins from Charlemagne's era but also apparently Robin Hood's man shit that would be worth such a fortune I thought. So I make my way into the bank and the teller is a nice looking young lady in her early twenties and I hand her the bag and ask how much I could get for it. She looks at the coins inside and says "ummmmmmmmmmmm"

And stares off into space. And by stare, I mean actually stare - she didn't blink, or move her eyes, or apparently even breathe for several minutes. Becoming concerned, I tried to say something, but she cut me off with a more emphatic "uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh"

So I patiently waited for her to finish thinking, or whatever she was doing. She hadn't made a single noise in a little over an hour now and I was seriously afraid that she was dead. However, a simple check could be made; every time that I tried to say something she would declare that she was thinking at a much higher volume, either with "ummmmmmmmmm" or "uhhhhhhhhhhhhh". So at least she was still alive. I slumped down in one of the uncomfortable chairs and tried to catch the eyes of the other tellers, who didn't really seem to think that anything was wrong.

When I woke up, it was dark out and the security guard was shaking me awake. "Excuse me sir, we have to close the bank now. You're going to have to leave" so I left that poor teller just standing there until the next morning. I returned the next day, and the next, and the next day just waiting for a response from the nearly catatonic teller. For 8 long, grueling years I went back and waited for her to come up with something. Nobody else in the bank would even acknowledge me; I was already being helped.

Finally, late one Christmas eve, she finally started writing something. I peered over the counter at what she was doing. She had a one dollar bill on the table and was meticulously copying the picture of King Charlemagne over good old Geord Washington. Then, when she finished with that, she carefully transcribed "480,273,372,172 dollars" over where it said "one dollar" and stuffed it into her register. She then gave me a my deposit slip which showed that my account now contained $480,273,372,206.45 and said "Thank you, have a nice day!"

I lost it all playing slots. But it was the most fun 2 hours of my life.