Speech! Speech! Speech!

What does it take to motivate somebody with words? Because I can say to you, "go save Africa" but that's hardly inspirational and you'll most likely just continue watching the Cricket match on the telly instead of saving Africa.

But, if I say to you, "go save Africa" and I tell you a couple heart wrenching stories about sick children, along with a couple reflective rhetorical questions and a "shame on you" or two thrown in there, then BOOM! you are on the next flight to Zimbabwe with nothing more than a canteen full of water and a heart full of love.

But words can be dangerous too. The old adage, Sticks and Stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me is a lie that was generated by Bullies so they wouldn't have to feel bad about saying mean things. I mean sure, maybe I wasn't physically wounded by that insult, but if you were to open me up you would probably find a bunch of dead butterflies. (the butterflies obviously representing happiness)

So i have written an inspirational speech, and I hope to one day give it to a crowd of thousands. Hopefully they will laugh, and then cry, and then be like, "that was awesome." People will then say for years afterwards, "that was a wonderful speech he should give another one" and "whatever happened to that fellow who gave the best speech ever?" and they will never find out because I will be living under a different name, in the English country side, raising chickens and wearing finely knit sweaters while composing a Symphony based on the life of Abraham Lincoln. My friend, Edgar, from London, will visit and we shall sit in the study and discuss all manners of things, from Philosophy to how his Aunt's bicycle shop is doing. And then one day I will be tending the spice garden outside of my cottage and a lovely young lady will walk by and I will say, "I once gave the best speech ever" and she will say, "Marry me." and I will. And we will have three children, Emeline, Linus, and Delia. All my chickens will die in an unexpected blizzard and we will have no income, but then my lovely wife will convince me to send my numerous poems to a publisher who will then publish them and thereby put food on my families table. Unfortunately Delia will develop a rare disease that can only be treated in America. I of course, loving my child, will return to America so she would be able to recieve treatment. Eventually I would be recognized as the awesome speech giver and will have to leave as soon as Delia gets better. I will spend the rest of my life writing Jeff Facer's biography and eventually passing away at the wonderful age of 82.

This is what I think about in Math class. As opposed to, well, Math.

You Are all Invited to my Wedding

Usually it is the bride's job to plan and carry out all wedding plans since she is the one who actually cares about what a wedding looks/smells/feels/tastes like. While the bride is making decisions which caterer to hire and whether or not to have live music, the groom is playing golf with his future Father-in-law and making a reservation at the Motel 6 closest to the wedding venue.
Unfortunately, my future wife has no time to plan a wedding. Also, her husband might get suspicious if he finds her looking at different flower/color combinations for the centerpieces. Because let's just face it, when you're Zooey Deschanel there isn't much time for anything.

Which is fine, because I don't mind planning a wedding, in fact I kind of want to. I have already made most of the important decisions:

Wedding Location: Forest Lawn Memorial Chapel. (sure it's kind of creepy, but there's plenty of parking and they gave me a fantastic rate.)

Reception Location: Mike's apartment. (he just got a Wii)

Colors: Dodger blue and Mustard yellow

Music: a mix tape I found in my grandpa's car titled: "Sweet Jamz"

First dance song: "The Christmas Shoes" by NewSong.

There won't be any need to hire a photographer to take pictures, becuase I've already made my own:

Never Take Candy from Strangers...Except on Halloween

I am going to knock on your door. I will be dressed as Charles Dickens while also wearing a mask. I will hold a satchel in your face. I will offer a threat, meant to be carried out if you don't meet my demands. You will comply with my demands and I will leave.

It is called robbing your house.

It is also called Halloween.

And it is awesome.

As a child, I loved Halloween for a myriad of reasons, almost too many to count, but one of the best parts by far was wearing my costume to school. Halloween was a big deal at Mountain Avenue Elementary School. There was always a carnival the Saturday before the holiday which included fun games and prizes and Korean BBQ. Then on Halloween itself you would wear your costume to school and this was always my favorite part because my mother is an awesome sewer and I thought I always had really cool costumes. My costumes included A baseball player, A naval officer, a police man, a lion, and a scarecrow. And it was always awesome because we got out of class in order to participate in the school wide costume parade in which everyone walked around the playground in their costumes. It sounds less exciting now, but for a 7 year old it was friggen the best.

Number one part of Halloween though, trick or treating aka free candy aka a child's dream aka a diabetic's nightmare.

I never let myself get visibly excited for trick or treating but on the inside I was fricken excited. Once when I was 8, I went trick or treating as usual with my father, Floyd.

We were making the rounds when we got to one ladies house, who when she answered the door explained that a group of boys had just grabbed her entire bowl of candy and run away. Upon hearing this, my father ceased being Floyd and became Floyd Pope Walters III. With a firm "Follow me son" he walked back down the pathway and up the sidewalk. My mind was racing as to what was about to happen, all I knew is that this man in front of me was very determined and as we came up to a group of boys sitting on a lawn with an empty candy bowl it dawned on me.

I was about to witness something terrible.

I froze in my tracks as Floyd Pope Walters III marched right up to the young thieves. He grabbed the empty candy bowl. I held my breath. The four 11-13 year olds looked at my father with wary gazes.

And then, with no warning, my father spoke. He spoke in way I had never heard before and haven't heard since.

"Did you boys steal that woman's candy?" he asked in the most terrifying way I have ever heard a question be asked.

"N-no s-she gave it to us!" Replied the stupid, stupid boy.

Floyd wasn't having any of it.

In a scene straight out of the Andy Griffith Show he picked up the empty candy bowl and said with sheer anger, disappointment and fatherly instinct, "You boys better straighten up! You know better than this! You are going to go and apologize to that nice woman right now!"

And they did. And I just stood there, awestruck. I didn't feel much like trick or treating after that. At first I was embarrassed, but then as I have gotten older I realize that those punks got less than what they deserved. (which is a severe smacking).

It makes me yearn for the day when I can invoke angry wisdom on the youth of America. But it also makes me yearn for the day when I can take my own child trick or treating and use it as an opportunity to teach them a valuable life lesson by scaring the crap out of them.

Happy Halloween.

Because I Care

I guess you can call me a humanitarian...because I only eat humans. Sorry that was a cheap joke but it helps me introduce my topic for this post because what I'm going to write here is something I feel very strongly about.

The other day I asked myself, "Self, what are you doing to make a difference in this world?" I thought for a little while and came up with the following list of things I am doing to make the world better:

1. I give firm handshakes (there is nothing worse than a dead fish handshake)
2. I pet dogs
3. I burn all my trash (no need to crowd the landfills!)
4. I gave a quarter to a vagabond
5. I refuse to listen to techno

All of these things are great for the world, but even after I came up with this list I was left with an empty feeling inside, and even after 6 rice krispy treats and several glasses of lemonade it was still there.
I deduced that the emptiness was there because I was doing some but I wasn't doing enough.

So I looked at myself in the mirror for a long time and then all of a sudden it came to me!
I needed to start a non-profit to fight disease, not sure which disease, I haven't decided yet but I've already come up with the name for my life saving venture.
It's called "Mustache for the Cure" and not only will it help people who suffer from an as of yet undetermined disease, but it will once again return the Mustache to it's rightful place as an image of sexiness and manly pride. For far too long has it been a symbol of child predators and creepy uncles.

The focus of this movement will be to raise funds for those among us having to deal with debilitating disease. What will happen is we will get male volunteers who will agree to grow mustaches after they receive sponsorship from one or many donors. A donor will pledge X amount of dollars and the volunteer will grow a mustache. It is sort of like Relay for Life but a lot sexier.(Relay for Life is cool though and I suggest you check them out if you don't know what it is)

I'm going to need some backing from large corporations and beloved public figures, *cough*Rose Queen*cough* but most importantly I need support from you, especially those of you who can grow mustaches.

Together we can change the world, one fuzzy upper lip at a time.

P.S. Some other names/ideas I came up with for good causes:

1. Hip Upper Lips (not meant to be a charity, just a club for cool mustaches)

Soul Patch Soldiers (organized disaster relief with teams comprised entirely of men with soul patches)

Die Communists Die (pretty self explanatory)

P.S.S. Happy Birthday Saige Miley.

Fat Kids Hate Running

Think back to a time when you didn't have stress in your life. For me, that time was never. Because even as a baby there was always something to worry about. Like, what if mother forgets to feed me? or What if I poop my pants?(which is something I did like everyday) or even, What if I get sold to a homeless man? All of them are legitimate worries that progressed into even more legitimate worries as I got older.

When I was in fourth grade there was nothing that I feared more than the timed Mile-run test in P.E. It was a death sentence on my poorly shaped body and I really didn't want to have anything to do with it, but the State demanded that I participate so I had no choice. As the date of the test approached I began to get more and more stressed out and began praying harder and harder that I wouldn't have to do it.

The day of the test came.

And it was raining.

We were informed that the test had to be postponed until the next day and I was so happy. Until I realized that the next day would be coming very soon and the dread once again set into my stomach.

The day of the test came again.

And so did a forest fire.

The bad air quality made it unsuitable for running therebye further postponing the test and solidifying my belief in God.

The test literally got postponed 4 times for different reasons and it turns out that it wasn't such a good thing because my stress level just continued rising until I was on the verge of an emotional break-down.

Finally the day came when I had to run. I began the test with low spirits and finished 16 minutes later with even lower ones. There is nothing more embarrasing than coming nearly last in front of your peers. Nothing except farting in the face of the girl holding your feet during the sit-up portion of the fitness test.

I will never forget the look on that poor girl's face.

I am so sorry.

At Least I'd Have an Eyepatch

One of my earliest memories is when I was four years old and I was trying to create some sort of art project. I don't even know what it was, all I know is that I needed scissors so I could cut out whatever I had made.
As a four year old I was not allowed to use the scissors for obvious fear that I would lacerate myself, but I didn't realize this because I considered myself rather dexterous and so I grabbed the scissors off the counter...to be honest I don't remember how I actually acquired the scissors, all I know is that I got them somehow.
The only problem was that in order to get them to my room where my art project was, I had to get past my parents room where my Dad had the door open watching the news. I peaked around the corner to make sure he wasn't looking but as I stepped into the hallway he turned around and saw me with the scissors and he let out one of his Floyd-esque "Jacob! what are you doing? What are you carrying? Are those SCISSORS!?"'s.
The jig was up and the sensible thing would've been to stop and put down the scissors but like I've said before, I don't make sensible decisions when I am faced with punishment.

When motherly figures advise you to "never run with scissors" you probably think to yourself "Why would anyone ever even need to run with scissors in the first place?"

Well apparently four year olds facing restriction from any future art projects do, because that is what I did. Or at least tried to do, cause I only made it about halfway down the hallway before I tripped and fell on my face. I'm not really sure when I started crying but I definitely cried and it is a good thing I was at least holding the scissors in the correct fashion or I might've had one less eye.

The moral of this story is never run with scissors. That's it. I just wanted to make sure you were all transporting your sharp objects responsibly.

side note: If you were wondering what "restriction" is, then I don't blame you. It is Floyd's alternative to "grounding". Like for example, if you were put on restriction from the computer then you weren't allowed to use the computer. One time I was threatened to be restricted from coloring and I snarkily responded that I had to color in kindergarten and then Floyd said that he would call the school and tell them that I wasn't allowed to color so then I just shut up.
I never actually did get restricted though, I was always just threatened with it. "Restricted" sounds so much more menacing than "grounded" does, so I think the threat was all that was needed to make me be good. That and Santa Clause.

Interview with Myself

I was bored recently, so I sat down with myself for a quick interview.

Q: How are you feeling today?
A: My heart rate is up. But it's not too bad I guess.

Q:Why do you think your heart rate is up? Are you nervous about something?
A: I've never been interviewed before.

Q: Well don't worry, all I do is ask questions.
A: Well I'm not stupid.

Q: I didn't say you were.
A: Well you implied it.

Q: Forgive me. May we move on?
A: Only if you apologize first.

Q: I just did.
A: Well then ok. Ask away.

Q: I've forgotten what I was going ask now.
A: Well then you are a terrible interviewer. And your mother is a tramp.

Q: Well that was just uncalled for.
A: I'm sorry. I get cranky when I haven't napped.

Q: Let's start off easy, where were you born?
A: Glendale. In a hospital. As a baby.

Q: And why did your parents name you Jacob?
A: It rhymes with "country club", very high class, you see.

Q: If you could go anywhere in the world at this very moment, where would you go.
A: 1996.

Q: ummm, ok...why 1996?
A: That's the year I proposed to the love of my life.

Q:Weren't you four?
A: Yes.

Q: Care to explain this one?
A: Her name was Emily I think. We went to pre-school together. I was madly in love. I think she felt the same way. I mean you don't just teeter totter with someone without being committed to that person!

Q: I suppose not. What happened with Emily?
A: I proposed to her behind the swingset.

Q: What was her answer?
A: I never did find out.

Q: Well why not?
A: She got nailed in the head by the swing before she could reply.

Q: My goodness! That's awful!
A: That was probably why we weren't allowed behind the swing set. Anyway, she didn't talk to me for a long time and I eventually dropped out so that was that.

Q:You dropped out of pre-school?
A: Yup.

Q: Care to explain that one?
A: I'd rather not to be honest. Got any other questions for me?

Q: What is your favorite color.
A: I'm colorblind you insensitive fool.

Q: It says here that your favorite food is ham? Why?
A: It tastes good.

Q: Yes. But why?
A: You are really bad at this.

Q: At what?
A: At interviewing. You ask questions that nobody cares about and that don't even make sense.

Q: Well forgive me for trying.
A: I do not accept your apology.

Q: I say! Your rudeness is only exceeded by your complete disregard for proper manners!
A: When did you become British? And rudeness and disregard for manners are the same thing pal.

Q: Get out of my face.
A: Look who's talking, you're the one who came in here and just started asking questions. Your mother is still a tramp by the way.

Q: You know what? I'm done, I am done with this, I don't have to sit here and listen to you insult me anymore.
A: Nobody asked you to be here in the first place. I was just trying to take a nap you son of a tramp.

Q: What makes you so bitter?
A: Annoying people. A.K.A. you.

Q: So you're saying that you hate yourself?
A: Well played, Self.