Comedy Corner

Due to my crazy schedule and my sudden development of a “life,” you may have noticed that I’ve been posting less and less and less. It’s not because I don’t enjoy writing (I still chose to write during class instead of taking notes), but because I have so much other important shit to do (working, coaching, masturbating, etc.), to which writing comes after. In order to explain to you why I don’t have time to write anymore, I have—ironically—written an entire post about it.

1. My work. Believe it or not, I enjoy my work. I have friends who work with me and I meet new people every day and get to joke with complete strangers before never seeing them again. One time (at band camp . . .) I met this guy who wanted to know if our New England clam chowder was any good. Stunned that he had never tried clam chowder, I asked him where he was from, and he replied “D.C.” You know when you hear one thing and your mind immediately goes crazy and makes connections? Well this is the thought process I went through:

Trying to sound smart, I fired back “State?” only to realize that I had just asked if Washington D.C. was a state. Embarrassed, I joked with the guy about my IQ of 4 and gave the guy his food. Luckily, I’ll never see him again.

Because I enjoy my work, I don’t mind working a lot of hours. I would roughly 25 hours a week, which is a fair amount of time for a 16-year-old kid. Money-wise, I make bank, and it also prevents me from becoming mind-numbingly bored at my house. Before I worked, I would go straight home from school, sit on the couch, and watch TV until 7:30 when I would eat dinner, and then watch more shows until bed. Now, I come home from school, get ready, and work until 10:30. When I get home I’m far too exhausted to even think about comedy.

2. My memory. Part of writing and performing comedy is being able to remember long subjects and punch lines without the assistance of anyone. This is also true for thinking up topics to write about. At one point I carried around a notebook in which I would write down every funny thing I thought of, but that got really annoying when I filled up an entire notebook and then it got wet and all my work was lost. After that, I tried remembering stuff, but that was very difficult because I have the memory of a retarded 80-year-old. I would think of something funny while at school, forget it by the time I got to my computer, and then remember it the next day at work. This seriously crippled my writing style. Unable to remember an on-going theme or joke, I started writing my posts in one sitting instead of multiple sessions, and my work became smaller. Also, writing posts in one sitting requires free time, and although I still have 163 hours off work, most of my time—and memory—is dedicated to my life-engulfing girlfriend. Hmm, I wonder what the next number on the list is going to be about . . .

3. My life-engulfing girlfriend. As many of you know, once you get a girlfriend you are forced to become tough and masculine, and apparently writing posts about Pokemon and Tough Guys Wearing Pink doesn’t qualify. To quote one of my best friends, my girlfriend has “changed me,” both emotionally and comedic-ly. Emotionally, I have become more controlled, and instead of doing what every other guy does when a hot girl walks down the hall—stare at her chest without her noticing—I have learned to stare at her chest without her or my girlfriend noticing. It’s a big change, but I think I can handle it.

When I didn’t have a girlfriend, I would spend a good portion of my weekend nights inside with no friends to talk to. Either all my friends would be having a “girls night” or they would all be drinking, but for some reason I would wind up at home with no plans. And when caged in the uneventful constraints of your house, you start to find ways to ventilate your boredom. Some people watch TV, others listen to music, and some viciously masturbate to late-night Girls Gone Wild commercials. Whatever the way of liberating (swing and a miss) your boredom, it’s what works and what feels good. Me? I would write stuff. I would write whatever. Sometimes I would be listening to a song and decide to write a parody of it. To this day I have over a dozen parody songs written, and I would gladly make a CD that would turn me into the next Weird Al Yankovic; the only problem is that I can’t sing, which, apparently, is a major part of making a song.

But six months ago, I entered this thing called a “relationship” in which I have “responsibilities” and “commitments.” And although there are laborious chores that I have to follow (walking her home, making her happy, remembering her birthday, blah blah blah), it is overall worth it. The good news is that I always have plans on a Saturday night, but the bad news is that I’m too busy hanging with her to write superior posts. To show you how much more important my girlfriend is to me, I have created a math-like equation of my priorities:

4. My viewers. Turns out that my website isn’t just a small thing for me and my friends anymore. When I first started posting, I got probably 100 views a week on this site, and they were all from kids younger than me who laughed at words like “duty” and “lubrication.” I used this to my advantage and posted about whatever I wanted, namely, Sex Drugs and Rock & Roll. Now, my viewers include my 7th grade History teacher, my girlfriend’s militant father, both my parents, and a teacher at my high school. Although I don’t think that my comedy is intended for these people, I am flattered that they would take time out of their busy schedule. Unfortunately, this also restricts my writing to broad subjects that don’t zoom in on my life. Since I live life with a “Do or Die,” “All or Nothing” attitude, my stories are both inappropriate and unacceptable in the eyes of these people, some of whom have the power to end my life metaphorically and literally. Without readers and censors like this, my writing would be comparable to Tucker Max, but since I have to dance around these people, my posts lowered to the inappropriateness of a touchdown celebration (which, thanks to T.O. have become oddly obscene).

I have made a promise to myself, as well as you loyal readers, to continue posting, and I promise that I will get back up to a post a week. Since I am going to college for journalism, writing all the time can only benefit me. In 6 years you’ll probably read an article by me in Rolling Stone talking about something goofy like abortion or politics, and you’ll know that it was this website where it all started. You can say to yourself “I knew that kid before he was a big shot.” And although this site has started my writing, I hope to further my education at a college. Preferably D.C. State.

Nearing the end of my junior year I have started looking at colleges. And since my GPA is in the negative numbers, my standards are pretty low. I’m certainly not going to an Ivy League School, but I’ve also avoided drugs long enough to stay out of community college.

When considering what college you want to go to, there are numerous things you want to consider: Does the college support your major? What is the size of the school? What are the surrounding towns? How many kids apply and are accepted every year? What division are they for sports? What is the teacher/student ration? What much is tuition? Could you in there with your current GPA? How will your SAT scores affect your chances?

I have most of my decisions down: I want a school of 4,000-8,000 students surrounded by a large town that offers majors in communications and journalism. The school should be Division III for sports and demand an average 3.0 GPA. With those things considered, I’m looking at Keene State College in New Hampshire, and I took a tour there a month ago.

When I got to Keene, we all sat in this room and the baseball coach gave us an overview of the school’s offerings, criteria, and surroundings. He informed us that the Keene mascot is an owl (because when envisioning a vicious and relentlessly killing animal, you immediately focus on nocturnal birds) and that the town surrounding the college was where the movie Jumanji was filmed. The coach then went into complicated school terms like an integrated curriculum and a four-point system, so I zoned out and let my dad ask questions.

One thing I liked about the coach was that he referred to everything as an “entirely different animal.” Instead of simply saying “I’ll talk about that later” or “that’s another story,” he would always say “that’s an entirely different animal”:

Parent- How would internships help your life after college, does it allow you to get a foot in the door or is it simply necessary to gain credits?

Coach- Some classes, specifically education classes, demand internships as you reach the later semesters. I’ve heard of communication majors doing brief summer internships which have transformed into their career, but that’s an entirely different animal.

After watching the coach talk for a while I began to think a question in which this catch-phrase in the answer would actually work:

Parent- Are students allowed to bring pets into their dorms?

Coach- There have been students who have had a goldfish and a hamster in their dorms. My junior year I had a friend who bought a housecat for his suite, but that’s an entirely different animal.

The coach let us go and three girls toured us around the college campus. The tour mainly consisted of parents asking questions relating to when they went to college (“Where would students put their record players?”) while the kids stand around and awkwardly eye one another. The girls showed us around the campus where every building had an eerie relation to the team mascot. There was the “Night Owl” café; the “Owl’s Nest” convenience store; and the “Hoot And Scoot,” the Keene equivalent to fast-food. There stores were nice, but my favorite restaurant was the campus barbeque wing restaurant, Hooters. (swing and miss)

Choose a team mascot is a very serious issue on college campuses. Every year students go to college considering the location, population, and tuition, but never the mascot. The result? They major in political science at an Ivy League school, but play baseball for the “Madison University Belly Button Rings.”

When selecting a mascot, the safest category to choose from is animals, specifically predators. Lions, tigers, bear (oh my!) and cougars are all mascots that inject fear and terror into their opponents. Similarly, big aggressive birds are intimidating. Eagles, hawks, falcons, etc. all work, specifically if your Sunday night game is against the Harrison College Field Mice.

A bad category for mascot selection is anything to do with people. The Indians, Warriors, Minute Men, and Pirates are all embarrassing to your campus. No one wants to play the California University Foot Soldiers, and the South Trent Trojans are just degrading. The image of an Indian is even worse because the Indians started out with all of North America and would up defending plantations in Ohio. Trojan in a type of condom, and the Minute Men have trouble pleasing the ladies. (swing and a miss) The only exception is to name your team the Gladiators, but that only works if your home field looks like the coliseum and your mascot is Russell Crowe .

Keene State was a very nice college. It had exactly what I wanted: a communications major, a psychology minor, and hundreds of beautiful women. With the ability to communicate to women and read their minds, I’d be able to get dozens of attractive women. I’d tell you what I’d do with those girls, but that’s an entirely different animal.

I just want you all to know how amazing Yahoo Answers is. When I write a post, I try to make cultural references that all can relate to. Unfortunately, my mind is too littered with song lyrics and baseball statistics to remember anything useful, so I tend to get my answers via sophisticated research:

“MOM!!!! Who’s the Red Sox fan that paints the big baseball on his belly?!!?”

“WHAT?!”

“There’s a famous Red Sox fan who paints a big baseball on his beer belly before going to games. I think he has season tickets and he was in some baseball video game!!”

“No, you can’t have any video games!!”

“UGH NEVERMIND!!”

In the beginning I would turn to my buddylist, IMing my friends with random questions like “Do you know another word for broadcasting?” or “What was the period before the Precambrian Age?” This got old fast because my friends are as uncultured as I am, so their answers consisted of “I think I read something about that in Rolling Stones,” or “I can’t talk, I’m looking at Facebook bumper stickers.”

For a while I was so frustrated with my lack of research that I stopped trying to make cultural references altogether. My posts were bland and lame with no creativity at all. I took all my rage out on nominal things such as Goths or Crocs. Then I discovered Yahoo Answers, and my whole life changed.

My question arose when I was zoning out one day in school and got the “Saved By The Bell” theme song stuck in my head. I then thought of this online video I watched in which they mocked the making of stars by filming the kid who “recorded” these famous these songs. The video starts off with a young shy kid stumbling awkwardly into a recording booth, the music playing, and him suddenly bursting into song (of course since this was a comedy spoof, the actual theme song was playing while this kid mouthed the words, but that only added to the effect). Determined to watch this video again, I went hunting for it. After a long and tedious search of 5 minutes on Google and youtube, I gave up. I knew I couldn’t ask my mother because the most recent video she’s watched was The Lion King, and my father was out of the question because he is the least cool person you will ever encounter. With nothing else to turn to, I remembered Yahoo Answers and thought I’d give it a shot.

The whole process was very easy, I made an account, got a new yahoo email address, and was able to ask a question. My question was as follows:

Can someone help me find an online video?
“I know that searching for a specific video is like finding a needle in a haystack, but I watched one months ago and I was wondering if anyone has a tactic for pin-pointing a video, or if they just know what I’m talking about. The video is a spoof on one of those big-fame-ruins-good-people ideas, and in the film a kid is hired to sing theme songs to sitcom shows. I believe he sings the intro to “Saved By The Bell.” Of course, the character isn’t really singing the song, and he is simply lip-syncing the original recording, which adds to the comedy, but you get my point.

As the video continues, he becomes notorious for his amazing theme-song-singing talents, and–like all famous people–does drugs. I don’t really remember how the video ends, all I remember is the star stumbling into the recording studio, obviously intoxicated, yet still singing an amazing duet with a girl before passing out in the booth.”

The good thing about Yahoo Answers is that in order to ask a bunch of questions, you need to answer a few. This means that people who use the site on a regular basis or to make friends are desperate to find questions to answer. And once you ask a question, people who are also on the site immediately see it. Eager to answer first and earn “points,” they jump right on your question and answer what they know. This means that within 20 minutes of answering your question, you have a response. Unfortunately, I had a retard respond to my question, and his answer was:

“Try You Tube they have all kinds of videos”

Youtube? What’s youtube? I’m sophisticated enough to use the internet to watch movies and contribute to question-asking websites, but I have no idea what the biggest video-sharing site in the world is. Thanks for the advice dumbass.

I figured that I’d give the site another chance and ask another really difficult question, one that my mother couldn’t. My next question concerned the baseball fan I was talking about:

Who Is The Red Sox Fan With The Baseball Painted On His Belly?
“One of the biggest Red Sox Fan is the infamous guy with the baseball painted onto his beer belly. I think he was even in the introduction to a video game, does anyone know his name?”

Literally 10 minutes after answering this question, I had three responses saying “Kyle B.” Hesitant, I searched him on Google and his picture appeared.

I was amazed. I was shocked. I was awestruck by this amazing technology. I could literally ask this site anything and they would know it. To test the theory again, I asked an extremely vague question that I already knew the answer to:

Ludacris Music Video?
“I’m looking for a music video of Ludacris that I caught the end of while channel surfing. In the video, he was rocking a baby cradle with a girl in it and basically doing alot of sexual stuff with women.”

This question was hard because in nearly every Ludacris rap video—let alone every rap video—there are “blinged out” rappers disrespecting women. The only hint I gave in his question was that he was rocking a baby cradle. Despite the elusiveness of the question, five minutes after posting I had two responses telling me the video was Missy Elliot’s “One Minutes Man.”

I am astounded by Yahoo Answers and I suggest you use it right now. Ask it any question you want, and you’ll get an answer. Unfortunately, the answer won’t be from me, because I’ll be watching The Lion King.

Today’s topic of discussion is very serious to me: sports violence. Sports were once an activity revolving around recreation and fun, but have slowly evolved into excuses for aggression. Take, for example, England. No country is more patriotic or prouder than England. The nationalism in that country could overpower any other, and the brotherhood amongst its citizens is stronger than anyone else’s. Which is why you wouldn’t be surprised to find out that during the Euro Cup, the English soccer team’s supportive fans celebrate their team’s victory by joining together, sharing laughs, and—in some festive cases—lighting cars on fire.

You can’t blame the English though. Their sense of nationalism is fueled by more than heart and love of the game. Their pride is powered by something powerful. It rushes through their veins, causing a momentary high in which their inner devotion can no longer be withheld. The English’s pride is energized by one thing: beer. When filled with this alcoholic pride, soccer no longer becomes a sport. It becomes a social even in which you and your friends sing songs, celebrate life achievements, and viciously riot in the street.

Without beer, sports would be exactly what they were meant to be: entertaining. Let’s look, for instance, at America’s favorite pastime of baseball. When baseball grew in the 1920’s it was very amusing. Families would go to the ballpark dressed in their most formal outfits—as if they were going to church—to see legendary heroes build their careers. Baseball was a game of numbers, and nothing else.

It was later that baseball was combine with America’s other favorite pastime: aggressive drinking. Fans no longer went to games for entertainment, but instead used it as a place to socially drink. Fights would erupt against opposing fans—and even fellow teammates—and most fans wouldn’t even watch the game. Ball parks have inevitably tried to resolve the problem by charging 7 dollars a beer, but determined fans will not be defeated. And if you don’t believe that beer has infected baseball, just look at this comparison:

What Fans Wore In The 1920’s

What Fans Wear Now

My interest in the subject arose when I had a personal experience with sports violence. I was at my girlfriend’s field hockey game, and things were getting rough.

Field hockey, for those of you who don’t know, was invented in the 1960’s during the women’s rights movements as a “replacement sport.” Replacement sports arose when women demanded “equal rights” and men needed to stop their persistent bitching and quickly invent sports for them. First, they tried to make women’s leagues from men’s sports, they that failed miserably, as shown by A League Of Their Own. So instead, they invented replacement sports; activities competitive enough to qualify as sports, but easy enough that girls can still play them on their period.

Softball evolved from baseball, but in order to make it easier two things were eliminated:

1. The overhand pitch
2. The entertainment

Similarly, field hockey came from men’s ice hockey, but made it easier for girls by taking it off the slippery ice, making it basic so that girls only have to use one side of the stick, elimination checking, and getting rid of that nasty “intensity” that takes place in most real sports.

Watching my girlfriend play field hockey was almost as exciting as eating glue. A bunch of girls were just running around aimlessly and every time an offensive attack started to develop the whistle would blow and the play would stop. Luckily, things got exciting when one girl on the other team started getting into a girl on our team’s face. The two began pushing one another and yelling in each other’s face. I couldn’t hear the argument, but I assume it went like any other sport trash-talk:

Girl 1: Your shorts don’t match your shoes!

Girl 2: Oh yeah, well your socks don’t match your stick!

Girl 1: Take that! (Shoves Girl 2)

Girls 2: Everyone thinks you wear too much makeup!!

Girl 1: YOU BITCH!

This vicious trash-talk continued throughout the game until we won 12-3. That’s another thing about “replacement sports,” they’re normally so boring to watch because one team completely dominates the other. Rarely will you see a women’s sport that is so close that you get interested; the two exceptions being the 1998 Women’s Soccer Finals and the Rock Of Love 2 reunion. (In Case You Missed It)

After the game, our team gathered to celebrate the win and later went out to our cars. It was then we found out that our car windows were smashed. Two windows, actually. One van window had been completely decimated, while another car had a rock thrown through it. Horrified by what had just happened to her van, a girl on our team expressed dreadful concern towards the accident. “They had better not have taken my Hollister clothes!” she yelled, jumping into the car and grabbing a shopping bag. The clothes were still there (Thank GOD!) but one girl did get her purse stolen and my girlfriend’s dad had his briefcase taken. I lost all the homework I had worked so tediously to complete and was unable to hand it in.

In that single incident, field hockey gained my respect. It was no longer a replacement sport, but an aggressive activity that resulted in window smashing and grand-theft-purse. I am personally signing up for a field hockey team so that I can partake in the action. But first, I think I need a drink.

In history class I’m learning about the first World War. The whole idea is pretty cool, especially how every country got involved and created a World-Wide Battle Royale. My history class is boring, so I’m hoping to summarize the war for you the way a comedy writer would: by discarding all rational facts and substituting them with bullshit.

I don’t really care about how the war started, why the war stared, or how it all ended. I’ve already taken notes on those things, and I’ve already taken the test; safely allowing me to forget that information forever. There are only two things about WWI that amuse me:

1. America saved the Allies asses at the end
2. Trench warfare was badass

If you’ve never heard of it, trench warfare is the coolest version of fighting since the Revolutionary War. Soldiers of each side would dig ditches in open areas across from another country, and spend days trying to drive the enemy out of their trench. But they wouldn’t just stand there with their thumb up their asses waiting for their opponents to move (with the exception of the French, who did everything with their thumb up their asses until 1965); they would alternate charger of one another’s trench. In these attacks, the soldiers would be running across open planes, called no man’s land. They decided to call it no man’s land because it sounded more appealing than STAY THE FUCK OFF OF THAT PIECE OF LAND. While sprinting across no man’s land, a soldier would have to dodge bullets and avoid bomb shells.

Just imagine it: you’re rushing across an open plain, the sound of bombshells echoing in your ears. Suddenly, an explosion next to you rips off your partner’s legs; his screams are silenced by the overpowering sound of machine gun fire. Another explosion sends shrapnel whizzing by your face and you feel a piercing pain in your gut as the metal tears through your skin like wet paper. You collapse to the ground; your lungs filling with blood and you’re slowing losing consciousness. Blackness creeps up from behind you and the last thing you see are your allies jumping over your body to continue the charge. No one is even helping you, and as you lay there dieing you can only think one thing: This is so bad ass.

Let’s face it, over the years war fighting has grown less and less cool. It all started with the Revolutionary War, in which men would stand in parallel lines, face each other, and—after closing their eyes and praying to God—fire a shot. Back then, your survival depended on one thing: luck. When all the smoke cleared, you would open your eyes, check your body for lethal wounds, and then go home and buy a lottery ticket. The reason the United States even won the war was because we pussied out and hid behind walls and trees.

Skipping the Civil War—I skip the civil war because until black people realize that millions of white men fought for African American rights and that they’re not actually, technically, legally, repressed anymore, there is no real point in recognizing the war—our next major battle is World War One. As I discussed before, these people would openly stampede across bare fields to their opponents in an attempt to drive their enemy back. Not only that, but the chemical mustard gas was used then. Mustard gas was invented by the Germans and was dropped by planes over enemy trenches. If soldiers didn’t put their gas masks on quick enough, the gas would get in their throat and leave an awful mustardy taste in their mouth. There were however, some ways to avoid and even counter the threat of mustard gas, the first one being to constantly carry around gas masks, and the other being—for some of the poorer countries—to carry around hot dogs. For historical reference, and also to give you, the reader, a clearer idea of how heroic trench warfare truly, was, here are a few people who fought in WWI:

The next major war was World War II. I haven’t covered it in history yet but here’s what I know about it:

1. It involved the Germans and some guy named Hitler
2. A bunch of people died
3. Jewish people didn’t win
4. America—once again—saved the Allies asses at the end

All I remember from about WWII was me sitting in history class with the infamous D-Young and trying to stay awake through Schindler’s List. What I do recall about WWII is that most of the fighting—or the cool parts, at least—happened with planes. These fighter planes were capable of twisting, turning, barrel-rolling, and, best of all, plummeting to the ground in a crumbled mass of flame.

The planes that were used in WWII were much different than the military planes we have today. Today, our planes can travel at 1,317 mph, fire heat-seeking missiles that can fire over 400 yards, have machine guns that can fire over 100 rounds a second, possess top of the line GPA navigation systems and communication lines, and have ejection seats in case of emergency. Pussies. The planes used in WWII had nothing but a propeller and a gun. Some didn’t even have wings! Pilots would have to peer out into the distance and look for a blurry dot that could potentially be the enemy. Finally, when two pilots located one another, they would hastily prepare for battle, ready their machine guns, buckle their seat beat, and then land to refuel. By the time most dogfighters found their enemy, a treaty was signed and the war was over. The Japanese were especially good at quickly locating their enemies because they had far superior equipment like, for example, binoculars.

The final war I’m going to cover is the War on Terror that has been going on for the past 7 years or so. This war certainly isn’t as major as the other ones because after 7 years America has only had about four casualties, but I feel it covers today’s military tactics. As a nation, America is proud to boast about its unprecedented military and special forces that rule over this world. We have machinery so advanced and weapons so powerful that any nation who dares challenge us will be blasted back to the Stone Age. For a quick synopsis, let’s look over some of today’s military weapons:

Knights Armament M4 MWS—Fires 900 rounds a minute with a 500 meter effective range. Has rapid fire and also a burst setting, and comes with components including various scopes, flashlights, target designators and grenade launcher.

Colt M4 Carbine—Already 10 years old, this rifle isn’t even used anymore despite the fact that is can fire 1,000 rounds a minute (166 a second)and has an accurate range of 600 meters. It only weights 7.5 pounds when fully loaded.

Barrett M107—This sniper’s rifle is going to soon be adopted by the U.S. military. It has a range of 2,000 meters, and is designed to take down some armored targets. The military has plans to further reduce the gun’s noise and flash upon firing, which seems pointless because no one will be able to see it from 2,000 meters away.

With technology so advanced like this, soldiers are able to escape danger altogether, and most wars are resolved without that much blood-shed. The lack of bravery and manliness now involved in combat is not only leading to our country being ridiculed for our pathetic divisions, but also preventing us from creating any amazing war movies of the past. Movies like Behind Enemy Lines and Saving Private Ryan brought the reality of harsh war-styles into the nation’s eyes. With today’s technology, we can’t produce war movies because it would mainly consist of grown men sitting around in the desert praying for some action, and no one wants to make a movie like that. Oh wait.

With today’s pussy “life-saving” technology opening up army enrollments to anyone who can sign a contract, here are the people who could fight in today’s military:

As much as I hate to say it, the manliest fighting style has to go to the Muslims. Even though they epitomize terror and fear, you have to give these guys props. They strap bombs on themselves, run into buildings, and just explode. There’s no pussy-footing around with “helmets” and “body armor,” they just do it. And if you think I’m racist for calling all Muslim’s suicide bombers, take this quick quiz:

Who is most likely to be a suicide bomber:

a) Muslim
b) Librarian
c) Child
d) Dog

Answer: All of them!!

That’s the beauty of suicide bombing: it goes back to the old school approach of recruiting. In the Revolutionary War, the solders were farmers, sailors, butchers, bakers, and candlestick makers. You became a soldier if you

1) Owned a gun
2) Bought a gun
3) Asked for a gun

Today, army recruits need to endure physical, mental and emotional tests. They are knocked down and built back up to ensure their strength. And that’s just before they enlist. Muslims, however, require only that you have a body capable of being strapped with C4, and that you scream “Praise Allah” before exploding. On the Bad Ass Scale? I’d give it a 9.5.

I predict a time in which military technology becomes so advanced that we have no need for soldiers. World leaders will simply sit at a large table and solve international conflicts with games like Stratego, War, and Monopoly (“Uh-Oh Germany, you have to go directly to jail. Do not pass GO, do not collect 200 dollars.”). In a time like that, you can find me sitting peacefully on my couch with all the men who would normally be in the line of fire. We’ll be watching Schindler’s List and eating hot dogs.

Will someone please pass the mustard gas?

Do you remember in a past post when I just covered a quick array of topics that crossed my mind? Well one of them was about me being on MTV’s Made after rap battling a classmate who wanted to get made into a rapper. Well just to let you guys know, the episode is airing on

I thought I was excited about the release date of my Z-List fame, but all my friends are going crazy. Some of them even watched the episode online before its release date, but I didn’t because I didn’t want to ruin the excitement of talking about it all day Saturday. Instead, I read the online summary of the episode in which they depicted Colin’s entire journey’s in the rapping world. And to my surprise, there was even something on me. Of course, no one would know that because the dumbass producers spelt my nickname “Boonie,” but the emphasis was there nonetheless. And, as if my image couldn’t possibly be greater, the paragraph that introduced me is as follows:

“The next day at school, the word is out… Colin wants to be a rapper. Boonie, the best rapper in school, calls out Colin for a rap battle. You guessed it, Colin gets shut out.”

The best rapper in the school
The best rapper in the school
The best rapper in the school

That’s got a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? I’m considering changing my legal middle name to “The Best Rapper In The School.” Or maybe introducing myself: “Hi, I’m Boony, also known as the best rapper in the school.”

The funny thing is that all my friends are going to be upset, because now I have another reason to act so conceited and self-important. But it doesn’t matter, because I’m the best rapper in the school and they’re not.

Watch the episode Saturday 11th to get a real glimpse of the best rapper in the school. You might see Colin too, but only if you look through the aura of the best rapper in the school.

That’s me.

The best rapper in the school.