Expanding Your Horizons

Today I got the bright idea that despite the fact that I hardly keep this blog updated on a regular basis, and that hardly anyone reads it, the one thing that I need to do most is create another blog!  So guess what I went off and did!  You guessed it, I created another blog!


Why on God's earth would I get the urge to do that?


Primarily it's because I like to complain.  Alot.  I do my best to try and keep this blog focused, and stick primarily to the Fact's of My Life, but there is just so much out there that I want to whine about that I couldn't contain it anymore.  So I created a new blog that would allow me to dump on the world with my useless knowledge.


How do I get to this wonderful well of worldly know how?  Why you can follow the B.S. by Bob link to the right, or just click HERE!  It's that simple!


That's all that I have to add for now.  I have to get back to the amazingly dreary holiday season.  Until next time folks!


So it's a Fact: I've just got way to much crap to say.  Which is why it's called B.S. by Bob.

Holidays Schmolidays

Holidays. They are slowly starting to become the ingrown hair on the inside of my ass cheek that I cannot get at.  But Bob, you ask, how could that be?  Aren't holidays supposed to be full of joy, excitement and ever unfulfilled promise of family unity?  Why yes, I answer sarcastically, on paper it is.  For me though, as I age day by day, that drunken vision of beauty is starting to fade away.

Now we as a human race can be unified in agreement that we have all had at least one bad holiday experience in our lives.  Whether it be a bagged turkey on Thanksgiving Day (which has been recorded in a printed Facts of Bob's Life, which I'm sure will be reprinted here), ill thought presents that the patron saint Santa put absolutely no thought into before dropping down our chimneys for Christmas morning, or the sheer joy of discovering that the easter eggs that our Lord and Savior Jesus left for us to find on his Easter Birthday were actually rotten.

Some of us are more lucky than others though, and have had the good fortune of experiencing more than one nasty experience on more than one National Holiday.  By some of us I am of course referring to me.

I won't entertain/bore you with all of the gruesome details of every single holiday that has left a bad taste in my mouth (both figuratively and literally).  Instead I will tell the tale of only two.  Two of the most recent holidays that have transpired and have started to cement the Fact that I am on a path to hate the holidays forever.

Let us start off with the most recent Halloween in the year 2009 A.D.  Halloween is our way of celebrating our Pagan forefathers ingenuity of escaping captivity by demons, and various random hellspawn, by baiting them with candy and then disguising themselves like various franchise money making mascots or cartoon characters.  Without their bravery and fortitude our world would be overrun with harpies and the skies filled with blood soaked chains.

I was planning on having a rather happy Halloween this year because I was fortunate enough to have my daughter on this holiday.  My plan was to have her dressed up as her favorite Disney Princess, go all around town to beg for candy, and then find some Halloween related social gala to attend.  It would have been fantastic.  Unfortunately mother nature had other plans.
Despite having already gotten the flu shot two weeks prior, I was fortunate enough to recieve the flu the day of Halloween.  My temperature rose to 100 and some degrees, I could barely keep my eyes open due to fatigue, and I had lost the ability to eat solid food.  There was even rumor that I would have to be put down...or just go to the doctor, whichever was more sanitary, I don't remember.

Because of this I was in a dilemna: I could force my daughter to stay with me, and we could enjoy Halloween together in a horrible non Halloween way, which would consist of just sitting around and watching me cry the whole night OR I could have my Mother and Girlfriend take her Trick or Treating and have her enjoy the holiday properly. Like a good father I chose the latter, let my daughter enjoy her Trick or Treating while I sat home in a pool of my own tears. Despite this being the absolute worst Halloween ever for me, it ended up being an absolutely wonderful experience for my Daughter.

Let's move on to the second most recent holiday before I start crying again: Thanksgiving.

Before I go on let me get a disclaimer out there that will absolutely confuse the bejesus out of you.  I had an absolutely fantastic Thanksgiving!  There was nothing wrong with it at all.  I had tons of family and friends over for the whole day, enjoyed good food and everyone else had a wonderful time as well.

So what was the big deal? Why do I feel the need to complain?

All day I had sat around and waited, and waited for that damned turkey to get done basting in its own juices, so that I could tear into it and all of its supporting dishes as well.  All day I was tortured by the fine smells that were constantly pouring out of my kitchen.  The only thing that was getting me by the entire day were a variety of chip and dip related snacks that could hardly dampen my hunger.

When the time finally came for us to gorge ourselves into this amazing feast, that by the way tasted like an angel crapped in my mouth, I found that I could hardly eat any of it. I just stared at my plate absolutely confused, wondering if there was something wrong with me. Not to be beaten by a mere plate of dinner I loaded it up again and did my best to force the food down my throat.  No luck.  I was bested.

I just sat there with my head hung in shame that I could barely eat Thanksgiving dinner.  To make matters even worse I couldn't even eat any of the deserts that were sprawled out all around me. Pumpkin Pie, an absolute must for me, was staring me in the face and begging me, whispering lustfully into my ear to tear into it. As I stared at it all I could do was cringe as my stomach turned.

This upset me to no end, this inability to eat on the day of all days to eat.  I even had to give away all my leftovers to my mother and sister because I couldn't stomach the thought of having any more of this damned dinner in my house. An amazing Thanksgiving was turned terrible in my mind because, quite simply, I just couldn't gourge myself like a fool.

So it's a Fact: Holidays are turning into days of dread for me.  If you need proof look no further than this last Halloween that was ripped out from underneath me due to a crippling flue like disease, or this Fantastic Thanksgiving that somehow turned me into an incontinent old man that can't eat a damn thing.  Bah!

Time For Change, Part Three: Yeah, Well, There Went That Idea

I'm going to start of this wonderful Fact Filled post by not apologizing for my lateness, or offering any sort of explanation for the tardiness in my writing.  All that I can say is that my life is so full to the brim with drama, excitement and absolute fulfillment that there is no possible way that I could work my personal endeavors around it (ie writing).  So the sooner you forgive yourselves for being upset at me for the lack of no new content the happier we will all be.


Now, where was I when I started this whole thing?


So that whole summer of Change thing, I was going to go on and on about several more immeasurably intriguing events that had happened to me that I had even somehow managed to chronicle with pictures, partially moving pictures and pieces of flesh.  But since I am now past the whole "I'm going to share my wonderful life of change with you" moment, I am merely going to summarize all of it into one Fact based post instead of actually sharing any of my eye melting multimedia that I now have locked in cold storage.

Why would I do such a horribly crude thing? Is it out of selfishness? Laziness? All I can say is partially yes to maybe and perhaps. But as I said earlier, it's best that you just forgive and forget and read on.

So what were the rest of the amazing adventures like that I partook upon, that were apparently so wonderfully life affirming that I felt the need to marginally distraught the world with my Fact Filled Tales on a poorly scheduled basis?

1. Wakeboarding: While on my earlier fishing adventures I was also enticed to try and perform the ancient daredevil art of wakeboarding.  At first I was dumbstruck at the mere suggestion that this recreational activity was brought forth to me. I thought that this sport of old had long since been retired in the 80's, along with such things as Aviator Sunglasses and Braided Mullets w/ Beads in them. Alas I was wrong.  Wakeboarding lives! I was coerced into trying to perform this physically grueling task after several...beverages.  And after said several beverages it is safe to say that I failed miserably.  Watching me "learn" to Wakeboardwas either the funniest or most pathetice thing to have witnessed, I haven't decided. Even though common sense and repetition of failure should have taught me a lesson to stop doing something I'm not good at, I am not one to give up so easily.  After three days of torture and pain I had finally conquered the board de la wake, and rode the waves like a true champ! For two minutes at a time, because my arms had turned to absolute Jello.  Which ostensibly led to...
2. Burnt Flesh: Because of my bullheadedness, and inability to realize I'm not good at something, I was also out in the flaming sun for hours on end.  This left me with two things.  The first being a righteous tan that lasted for approximately 12 hours, and the next being a sun burn bestowed upon me from Satan himself for no less than 2 weeks. This kids is what you get for never giving up! I know, I know, who cares, we all get tanned and then sun burnt.  For me though, I only get pale or burnt, and I'm not even a red head. It's just that way for me.  Sure I can get a mean farmers tan, but for some reason I just can't tan worth a damn (put that on a T-Shirt). Having a tan that made me look like I walked off the set of Miami Vice made me feel absolutely Bodacious!
3. New Doo: Prior to all of this, I was planning on doing something that in retrospect is actually pretty lame, and I've actually done before in the printed Facts of Bob's Life. I was going to keep you all updated on the what nots of what I was going to do with my beautiful mane of hair. At the time (August I think) I was letting my hair get fairly shaggy, almost to the point to where I was looking like either the Norse God Thor, or Jim from the Office, so it was getting time to trim the locks. For me I only have two options for my hair, either I can have it terribly short or horribly long.  There is no middle ground.  If I have it mid length then I can't style it in any way, shape or form, and it looks like a big nest of greasy grunge crap.  So I made the bold decision to shave it all off again, and took some beautiful pictures of myself, including a wonderful topless picture to prove it.  I was planning on posting them but that obviously didn't happen.  Who knows, by the end of this Fact I just might.

And that just about sums up what I was going to ramble on and on about for the rest of the Summer of Change and what not. Notice how the majority of all of these mini Facts are somehow mysteriously based around fish, or at the very least water? Seems odd to me!


Anyhoo, now that this whole mess is over with I plan on getting things back to semi regular normality in some shape or form.  But we all know how that goes, for all I know I won't post another Fact for six weeks, or it may be in twenty minutes from now.  Mystery prevails!


So it's a Fact: Just like the Prologue the ending to this series of Change Based Facts is nothing but a big ol' Cocktease.

Bonus Fact: I used a capital W for Wakeboard because Wakeboarding owned my ass the entire time I tried to own it.  Even after I finally figured out how to finally use the damn thing it still managed to punish my frail body for days after. So I will respectfully capitalize Wakeboard going ever forward.

Epic Bonus Fact: ...sigh...here are those pictures I promised.

Before I cut my nasty mange...  

And after, plus I'm topless!

Time For Change, Part Two: More Fish

After committing my own personal cardinal sin of eating fish based products, it felt like that there were now no bounds, no limits to what I could do in life! It felt like I had already reached the zenith of accomplishments by eating God’s very own slippery, mercury filled, open mouthed abominations.  So I now stood at a crossroads with no paths. Just staring at the ground mumbling, hoping some kind of coherent thought would eventually pop into my fragile mind and lead me into the direction of change that I so desperately craved.

Then it finally dawned on me! Eating those fishy prawn bastards wasn't enough.  No, I would have to capture (and release) these creatures to truly bring some form of creativity and lust back into my life! Plus it would be a truly ironic follow up.

So I decided to temporarily take up the fine art of fishing.

I didn’t come to this decision on my own like I make it sound. In all actuality it was one of my best friends who had been coercing me for about…I’d say three months, to get me to go fishing with him before I finally buckled down and said yes. Day after day he would call me and pester me to death. Begging and pleading me to go fishing with him, constantly saying that the only way to get stress out of my life was to go fishing, the only way to enjoy the summer was to go fishing, the only way to get rid of that nasty pale tone on my skin was to go fishing. I kept pushing it off saying “oh yeah, sure we will. But not tomorrow, maybe next tomorrow”. To be truthful I was busy most of the time and I didn’t have a license to fish, but deep down I was truly resentful and hateful to the task of fishing.

Why's that you ask?

The last time that I had gone fishing was when I was the tender age of 12-15 years old. My best friend at the time and I used to go almost every day, and fish in the creeks in the untamed lands of Priest Lake. These creeks were usually the only safe places to fish, mainly because it’s where you wouldn’t be attacked by the savage Neanderthal, since they had a natural hate towards the sound of running water. Our main reason for fishing was to go out, enjoy nature, try and catch fish and smoke cigarettes. It was a great time.

I think it was also fun for my best friend to humiliate me as well. You see he was able to constantly catch fish over and over again. While I on the other hand would sit there and stare at the water with hate. Hate knowing that my line would never catch a damn thing.

This went on for years.

One day it happened. My line started yanking, I started pulling, and I reeled in a fish! It was an amazing three inch long piece of crap that you couldn’t do anything with, but I was amazingly proud of it. I must have stood there for fifteen minutes yelping like a madman, drunk with accomplishment, happy with the fact that I had finally caught something other than kelp. I had the full intention of mounting this damn thing on my wall. We then took the fish, tied it off to a side of the creek that wasn't running and continued to fish. Not more than 10 minutes later I heard a noise.

I turned from my hard earned, pride filled fishing to see something absolutely horrible. Some goddamn dog comes out of nowhere and proceeds to eat my goddamn fish! My only fish! Every last bit of it!

I tried to scare it, tried to yell at it, but it just sat there eating it then promptly ran off. It didn’t even have the decency to leave me the head. My friend did have the decency to laugh at me. So there I stood, pole in hand, with no fish. From that point on I vowed never to fish again, mainly because I realized how pointless and boring it all was, but also because my one accomplishment from all those years had been taken from me.

Which brings us back to modern times.

After weeks and months of being badgered, I finally gave in to my best friend’s demand that I go out fishing with him. He kept insisting that it would be good for me and we would have a good time. I went out with him expecting the exact opposite. I drove out to the spot dragging my feet with a scowl on my face looking all around me for some ravenous fish hungry dog to jump out of the bushes.

But wouldn't you know it, the second I arrived there and started fishing I got the exact opposite of what I expected. I not only enjoyed the time I had fishing, but I also caught a fish. One that was more than three inches long. That little taste of capturing my most hated food enticed me to do more fishing with my friend.

Sure enough I did even more fishing and ended up catching an assload of fish (which cured my inferiority complex), but I didn’t stop at just regular fishing. I went trolling, drove a boat while others fished, learned about the different lures (and promptly forgot), I lost my pasty complexion and got super Tan/Burnt, and then lost that because it all flaked off in giant potato chip size chunks of skin. I even took my daughter fishing and she caught loads of fish (which was absolutely adorable image, and the pictures of her doing so deserves to be on every Hallmark card known to man).

All in all performing one of my most hated recreational tasks on my most hated foods ended being one of the most fun things I did this summer. It was great schtuff.

So It’s a Fact: I learned that sometimes it’s okay to pick up old hobbies that you once hated, and that sometimes even though you think you know better that sometimes your friends do know what’s best for you. And now I’m an effing fisherman because of it. Though I have to borrow everyone’s gear.

Time For Change, Part One: Prawnish Delight

As I slowly march towards death in a humble fashion day by day, I tend to think more and more about all of the things that I have never done due to high moral standards, or just personal procrastination.  Whichever the case may be, I feel that in my mind the decision I make is rightfully justifiable. For instance, as mentioned in a previous Facts, I refuse to eat any form of seafood (even Tuna), simply because I find that our edible friends of the sea taste like stale vomit laced with mercury. Nothing, other than money, could change my mind to even consider licking, much or less eat, a finned friend of the ocean.

But then my moral structure collapsed, and I ended up doing the exact opposite.

While on vacation in July I was having a coursed meal, and the ‘appetizer’ that was being served was an animal of the prawn variety. This prawn also happened to be slightly spiced up, which I’m assuming was to hide it’s vile lead based taste that lurks behind every 'edible' creature we humans pull from the water. Including penguins.

Once it was served to me, all I could do was gaze upon this strangely decorative piece of sea meat, and think to myself of all the times that I had been confronted with the same situation. Loads of food plopped right in front of my face, served only in the most delicate fashion only for it to be the food that you have the upmost hate for.

Then I promptly picked up one of these prawn carcasses and bit a piece of the disgusting prawny flesh off with my teeth and chewed it semi thoroughly. The whole time I gnawed, small pockets of liquidy flesh burst onto my tongue, exploding with every small bite I took before finally letting it slide down my throat so that it could infect my entire body with its putrid, prawny like hideousness.

And you know what surprised the ever loving shit out of me? The prawn really wasn’t that bad. Sure, the pod like flesh popped in my mouth with every bite that I took. Sure, the texture of the meat was exactly what I would imagine it would be like biting into the hide of a giant mutant grasshopper from a post apocalyptic future. Sure, I wasn’t able to eat the lettuce that the prawns were laid upon (because dead prawns appartently need a blanky more than I need a filler in my stomach to tamper down mutant insect chicken seafood hybrid meat). But I was avidly happy to find out that it was an overall delicious experience. I think the spiciness of the meat helped.

All in all though, they didn’t taste that bad, and after I was done eating all four of them (four!) I felt like a true champ, a big boy! I ate all the food off my plate, save for the lettuce, and nobody had to tell me to do it. I did it all by myself!

Why did I perform this horrific act of eatery, having a full mental preparedness that the Prawn would fill my body with disgust and foulness? Like the title of this Fact suggests, it was time for change. I’ve only got so much time left before I can no longer say that “I’m almost 30”, and soon I’ll just have to say “sigh, I am 30”.
 
I don’t want to be a cantankerous old man who refuses to try anything new, or do anything different, just because he’s set in his ways even though those ways are right and true. I at least want to be able to say that I have tried a certain amount of things before I get to that point.  And now I can say I've tried nasty, spicy prawn meat.

So it's a Fact: If I wake up one day and have a hard outer shell, I know what to blame.

Time For Change: Prologue

During this last month of summer, it was my plan to take all of you fine readers (how ever many of you there are out there) on a strange and wonderful ride through some strange and wonderful Factual Bob-like journeys on a semi regular basis.

These Facts were not going to be just any Facts though. No, these Facts would have been different. They would not have been the ordinary strange, obscure, sometime perverted pieces of my life that I bestow upon you to help guide you through your life like journeys.

What in Gouda's great name could these Facts have possibly been about? Read on to relieve tension!

An actual chronicle of Facts with a running theme throughout that was actually consistent. PLUS AS A BONUS: they would also be current! So they wouldn't be culled from my fragmented memory of years past, only weeks past instead. Perhaps on first reading this amazing concept you might feel a tad bit underwhelmed. Well I'm not, and that's what matters!

So what's the running current event based theme?

I had realized that I had gotten to a point in my life where I had become to set in my ways. I had been eating the exact same foods every day. I had been drinking the exact same type of drinks each day. Wearing the exact same types of clothes all the time, and going to all the same places to do whatever it is I wanted to do (shop, eat, hang out, buy pens).

I also realized that this repetitive, or stagnant, way of living was really starting to weigh me down both mentally and psychotically. Thus, as the title of the Facts suggests, it was time to invoke change.

As I said earlier, my initial plan was to pepper you all with the amazing adventures of change I had sprinkled myself with! Tales of Fish, Prawns, Hair and Peeling Flesh! Unfortunately I spent far too much time trying to indulge in these very agents of change that I hardly had the time to sit down and actually write about them (that and I was lazy too). So now that I'm all done with these amazing adventures of mine, I will begin assaulting you with said amazing adventures, one by one!

Right after this Prologue.

So it's a Fact: Prologues are just a big ol' cocktease.

Freak of Nature

Last week, for four days, I was completely holed up in my house doing absolutely nothing but sitting on my couch, drooling blood on myself, and watching television as the hours of the days passed me by. Why on earth would I do such a horrific and incredibly unsanitary thing such as this?

On August 4th 2009 I had the four remaining wisdom teeth that I had in my mouth removed. They were causing me great pain, they were causing me great bodily damage, and they had to be dealt with properly. I say remaining because I had already removed two wisdom teeth years prior to this incident while I was still employed by this fine country's military.

I am of a rare breed of human being that is lucky enough to have the privelage to produce, own and bare extra wisdom teeth (six total in my case). Which got me to thinking to the purpose of this particular Fact: I am a freak of nature.

Not just because of the extra wisdom teeth, oh no. There's plenty more freakiness where that came from. It's just that while sitting there, paddling around in my own pool of blood that drooled out of my mouth that got me to wonder about all of my other bodily oddities. The ones that make me stand out from the rest of the herd.

1. I have a large, obnoxious bald spot on the back of my head. This would be the first and most noticable one for everyone to see. When I was born, apparently the skin on the back of my head didn't heal all the way (or some doctor like rubbish along those lines), and left a hideous mushroom like stamp of barrenness on my scalp. Despite hollow promises that hair will eventually grow back on this patch of nothingness, there is still nothing there. I am forced to walk this earth with an oddly shaped patch of veiny skin, that lies amongst my beautiful main of hair.


2. During the early twenties of my life, I started to learn strange new things about my body! Certain things like that it apparently came with inherint abilities, and powers, like being able to recieve messages from God! Or as doctors like to call these 'messages': seizures. Yes, I have epilepsy, and I am an epileptic fool. Without the aid of medicine I would be flopping around like freshly fried bacon, or a fish out of water, or some other pathetic analogy of something that flops.


3. During one of these Messages of God/Seizures/Epileptic Hissy Fits, I just so happened to fall on the ground and flip out just right that I was able to break some bones in my body. Unfortunately those bones just so happened to be my back bones! So due to my efficiency in epilepsy, I have a Compression Fracture in my spine. I can still walk around and lift heavy objects, but I tend to get worn out if I lift anything too heavy, like a pillow or a small kitten. Also I can't really run anymore. I can trot from here to there in small bursts, walk briskly, or if I'm really feeling up to it I can flat out sprint for three seconds! But run? Eff no! That crap hurts.

Those would be the major ones, the ones that stand out the most and make me oh so unique. These are the conversation starters, the ones that I can bring up when things get dull: "Soooo, did you know that I have a broken back? But did you know it's because I hada seizure?"

Of course there are even more freakish charactistics that I harbor, little things that no one else would notice or have to deal with but me, but I'll save those for another time or place.

So it's a Fact: If I was a kitten I would have been the smallest, weaker one that the mother cat slept on to put out of it's misery.

The Price of Protection

Prophylactics. They have always been a constant in my life, in that no matter where I turned they just happened to always be there. Which is strange since I don't ever remember buying them. For me the condom is a lot like canned soup; It's just always there ready to be used, until you actually need to use it that is. Then you either don't have any or you don't have the right type.


Yes, you heard me, I said right type. You go over to grab one of two badly bruised 'love mittens' that happen to be in your possession, and wouldn't you know it, they're un-lubricated! To put this into a better perspective, and to also fall back onto the earlier canned soup analogy, you go to grab a can of Condensed Chicken and Mushroom for a wonderful casserole you're about to prepare, and all you have are three cans of Chicken and Stars.


This is when I am forced to go on a rare quest: A quest for condoms.


This quest is not one that I particularly like to embark upon. Not because I am an immature man that still giggles himself into a frenzy at the mere thought of putting a 'latex sheath' over his manhood, though I am drooling with silliness as I write this very fact. It is the hazards that one encounters while purchasing 'rubber love gloves' that makes the entire experience cringe worthy. It is a stressful, time consuming and humbling experience.


How could buying 'passion socks' possibly be all that...horrendous? Like I mentioned previously, buying 'child stoppers' has never been a part of my regular daily schedule because they have always miraculously been there. I don't have any experience with location of said 'love bags', their cost, or their variety. So for me to just run in to my nearest retail location, grab a box of fun, and run out is definitely out of the question.


Whenever I do muster up enough courage to wander out in public to be seen purchasing a box of 'rubber love sleaves', I always end up doing just that: wandering. I have no idea where to go, I always end up backtracking into the tampon section, and somehow I always run into at least two to three old women in battery powered wheel chairs that impede my useless progress.


Once I finally do meet my destination it's almost impossible to describe the overwhelming feeling of ineptitude that fills my body. Standing in front of a seven foot tall wall full of condoms, filled with dozens of variations in sizes, colors, and flavors, is incredibly confusing, especially when you only need to pick just one. It's even more intimidating when the first thing you see at eye level is a giant row of Magnums that you know you will never use in your entire life.


Going back once again to the soup analogy, it's hard to try and pick up just a can of Chicken Noodle when all you can see are Chicken and Basil, Chunky Chicken, Chicken Base and then all the variations of Tomato soup right next to it. And none of it is in order.

After embarrassing myself by wandering around the health section of any nameless retail store, and shoving my way past numerous handicapped elderly women, my fears and stress have only just begun. Once I go to actually purchase the 'groin protectors', I somehow always manage to run into one of two scenarios: I either A.) have a cashier that is of obvious strong christian base and morale's, and sneers at me the entire time he/she helps me purchase my box of 'goo catchers', never wasting a moment to stare down at me letting me know that I am committing a moral sin. Or B.) I get stuck in a long line of customers constructed primarily of well to do families!

So there I stand with nothing in my hand but a big glowing blue box of 'cock bags', while in front and behind me are loving families consisting of parents and children, who are all running around and playing, and having a wonderful time shopping, while I stand there trying to hide my box of goodies. And eventually it happens, some kid comes up and asks me what I'm holding in my hand. It's all I can do to not say "something your parents should have bought". Instead I just stand there red faced and let the tears of shame run down my cheeks.

In fear of running into either of those embarrassing situations, I would just as much rather run home and wrap my sex glaive in a sandwich bag, dunk it in vegetable oil and shout out at the lucky woman that I'm about to bed and proclaim "Gaze upon my sexual ingenuity and pray that it does not fail!" Problem solved and a good time had by all.

So it's a Fact: Being the responsible adult that I am I do not run home and wrap my baggage in a baggie, and simply brave the horrors that one must encounter to ensure proper protection. For it is the price one must pay.

Bonus Fact: Happy Belated Father's Day

Film, Static, Lava...Hate!

Some of you may be too young (or too old) to remember this, but at one point in mankinds spotted history of media indulgence, there was one format that we as humans dabbled in that was doomed to failure. No it was not VHS, Beta or Reel to Reel. It was known as the VideoDisc.

An entire film, television show, or pansy ass musical stored onto a record like storage device, which was then placed into a plastic sleeve, which you THEN shoved into a VCR-Record Player combo/hybrid machine to watch said visual splendors. When half of your eye candy galore was over you simply walked up to your machine, slid in your plastic casing, slid out your casing, flipped it over, slid it back in to the reverse side, and resumed watching whatever the hell you were watching...which was probably Grease 2.

Yes, the VideoDisc was from what I could remember, and google, the precursor to the Laserdisc. You could fastforward with the touch of a button, you didn't have to rewind it when it was over and altogether it was just an amazing thing to behold.

Yes, it was a glorious thing to watch, listen and yes, love.

As you can probably tell from this Fact, my family were one of the few beholders of this amazing piece of technology in not only the untamed wilds of Priest Lake(where technology was considered black magic), but also the world. I can't exactly recall how we came into possession of this lost technology, but it was of little consequence to me. What really mattered to me was the fricking movies!

We had things I had never seen before and couldn't believe existed: Airplane! Star Trek the Motion Picture, episodes of Star Trek, The Longest Day, Fiddler on The Roof (which for some reason I kept watching though I couldn't stand. Topol must rock that much), Charlie Brown cartoons, and more...because I honestly can't remember the other ones. I know we had the unfortunate happiness of owning 'Grease 2', and an episode of 'Little House on the Prairie', but trust me we had a shitload of other films of higher quality and Oscar worthy esteem.

It was always something I could count on, that VideoDisc player. I could always go down in my basement, turn on the TV, and slide in that big square plastic monstrosity of a film and just relax and know the only time I would ever have to get up was halfway through a film, and never ever be bothered to rewind it when it was over. It was truly bliss dear readers, truly bliss.

But bliss can only last so long.

One day, as I giddily flew down the stairs to try and attempt to watch yet again the final episode of 'The Fugitive' (having never seen any other episode in my entire life), something was awry. The warm, comforting VideoDisc logo and its soothing theme song didn't play out on the television like I had memorized it. No, it was replaced by something else. Something awful.

Static.

Not just any static though. The kind of static that would just barely let you see the magical wonder that lay beyond it's flickering snow like blanket of pain and confusion that consistently blasted in your face. The kind of static that is so loud and obnoxious, that it sounds like a dozen tiny leprechauns just magically jumped out of your sofa and immediately started dancing and flatulating in your face.

The kind of Static that fills you with hate.

My blood boiled red! This could not be! I immediately pulled out the disc and switched sides to see if the same affliction had cursed its backside. Once again, nothing but hate filled static. An immediate solution presented itself: test another disc to see if it too is suffering the same fate as the finale episode of 'The Fugitive'. I then turned to a trusted classic, 'The Fantastic Voyage', which had never let me down before. It too had had succumb to the fate of the hell static.

Now it was a matter of desperation. I pilfered frenetically through our vast collection of discs and as fast and efficiently as I possibly could I slid them in and out of the player to see if they were infected with the same strange disease as their fellow brethren had been.

One after the other it was the same thing: static, static, static! Finally after I had gotten around to 'Ordinary People' I had given up and decided that they were all doomed to suffer the same fate. Sitting on my knees in front of the television, head hung low, I faced the fact that an old friend had finally passed.

I somberly walked back up the stairs to tell my parents the sad news. "Well, you're father will take a look at it." was all my mother said, not realizing the gravity of the situation. I didn't have the heart to tell her that all was lost.

Days had passed. Or was it weeks? I couldn't remember, it was all a haze. The shock of it all was so hard to take that everything was a blur for quite some time. But then the real tragedy came.

As my mother had promised my father had indeed taken a look into the horror that had befallen upon the VideoDisc player. Rather than discovering what was wrong with said player and correcting it, he had stumbled upon something far worse.

Somehow, with his keen detective skills, or both of my parents combined, it was found that my younger brother and sister had decided to take it upon themselves to enter the wonderful world of their imagination! In this wonderful world they also decided to create and play a game called "Don't Fall In The Lava". Let me explain the rules!

The game goes like this: the entire carpet of the basement is considered lava, and you can't touch it. You can only stand/step on furniture to be safe. THIS INCLUDES VIDEODISCS!!!!

So, unbeknownst to everyone, my two little siblings were down in the basement happily bouncing around on VideoDiscs for hours on end, doing their very best to stay safe from the unending dangers of carpet lava. During this hapy little time they managed to destroy every single VideoDisc film we owned.

Finding out what had happened to my dear VideoDiscs offered me no closure. Oddly enough I was the only one who was pissed off at this whole affair. Everyone else seemed to brush it off as an "Eh, it was going to die anyways" type of event. Not me. No, I saw it as a vast collection of fine film and strange, sporadic episodes of television just being tossed away in a blink of an eye, never to be watched again.

At least my brother an sister are safe from the lava.

So it's a Fact: I'll never get to see that last episode of 'The Fugitive'. Though if I remember right it was pretty damn crappy.

Over Not Under!

It's the little things in life that matter the most. The tiny day to day issues that your normal, 9 to 5, carbon based life form tend to not notice, but that immediately raise red flags for you once they cross into your field of vision and are forced to interact with them.

I'm almost positive you, the gentle reader, already know exactly what I'm talking about:

the person who doesn't wipe the spit out of the corner of their mouth when they talk,

cars that take up two parking spaces,

pubic hair on a toothbrush.

The list could go on forever. Tiny little nuances that could be corrected oh so easily, but for some damnable reason they never are. They just sit there, staring you in the face, mocking you with their simple idiocy.

What makes it worse is having to be forced to stare at these faults knowing that you could easily correct any one of them in an instant. But, dare you?! Dare you invade someones personal facial space and wipe off their salivary shame? Dare you call out all those who would be proud enough to join you and lift a random strangers car and re park it properly in the lot of a TJ Maxx? Dare you risk the possibility of infection to remove the unsightly mess of curly love hair from a tooth brush just because it's the right thing to do?

Probably not.

Like you I have many, many little tangents that I run into in life that tend to piss me off to no end. The one that I seem to run into the most often, and hence piss me off the most, is one I think goes far too unnoticed.

Toilet Paper Placement.

When I sit down to take care of business, and I finish said business, I expect only one thing afterwards: to be able to place my hands on a clean roll of ivory, imitation cloth like splendor, and pull off as many sheets as easily as possible. Emphasis on easily.

Now in my mind, this should not be a hard thing to expect at all! It should be expected! Why am I complaining then? Because for some reason, some unexplainable god forsaken reason, there is a trove of human beings out there that cannot grasp the simple fundamental concept of properly placing a roll of basic fucking toilet paper onto it's little holder.

Am I going too fast for you? Am I getting too far ahead of myself? Well let's go back a step!

The basic design and physics of a roll of toilet paper, i.e. how it was ordained by God, is that when pulled, the sheets of butt cleansing paper must roll off the TOP of the roll of toilet paper. Let me reiterate.

The...Top.

"Why is this so important that it needs to be explained and also deems worthiness to be a Fact of your Life Bob?" I'm glad you asked!

Nothing irritates me more than when I have to wipe my tiny ass, and I go for a sheet or five, and lo and behold...there's nothing there! I see the paper, it's right there in front of me, yet nothing is coming into my slightly stained finger tips! How is this even humanly possible?

Because some Podunk fool didn't take the half second extra out of his/her life to think about me and use the horrible physical effort I'm sure it would have taken to actually turn the ungodly heavy roll of toilet paper around and put it in the dispenser properly.

Or to put it more eloquently, because some A-hole put the Toilet Paper in upside down.

Because of this I now have to sit on the toilet, feeling like a moron, either fingering the back of the toilet paper roll desperately trying to get just a shred of paper for my grimy ass, or spinning said roll with one hand and catching the extra paper from the back with the other. Either way I feel like a retired 70 year old woman at a casino desperately trying to get coins out of a slot machine. Except I'm on a toilet.

Fortunately for me I have the ability to change the world with this affliction of mine. Kinda. Obviously I have control of my Toilet Paper in my own personal surroundings, that goes without saying. BUT If I am at a friends house, and I happen to see the Toilet Paper upside down: around it goes buddy boy, around it goes. I will not have it in my presence.

Sadly there are instances where I cannot alter this bastardization in anyway: restaurants, grocery stores, firing ranges. Reason being because they smartly keep their TP under lock and key for protection. Protection from me.

So it's a Fact: Over not under folks. And if I find my Toilet Paper upside down in my house after this post I know that you did it!

Game Over *sniff*

I'm sure by now that you have all gotten the idea that I like to play videogames on a semi to fairly regular basis. In my younger more fertile youth filled days I played them quite a bit more. So I guess that would put them into a category of regular to unhealthy basis of play.

My point is that the wonderful world of video games has been a large mainstay of my life. Even as a child my parents would take me to arcades and waste their quarters on me so they could watch me mash the joysticks endlessly on Frogger as I squealed like an idiot, pretending like I knew what I was doing. They would smile and laugh at my happiness, the whole while hoping that I wasn't mentally handicapped and was just easily distracted by bright colors and loud noises instead(note: technically I am mentally handicapped).

Throughout all these years I have been able to do one thing for the majority of my game playing: keep my cool. By that I mean whenever I lost, or sucked absolute anus at a video game I didn't start yelling or screaming at the top of my lungs, or cry like the tips of my pinkies had been cut off. Nope, I just went on playing and generally kept an even keel.

Generally.

Unfortunately there are always exceptions to the rule. It could be something as simple as fatigue, caffeine or even a dead pet. For me, my own exceptions were just the games themselves. They were my breaking point, the things that were to cause me to briefly go insane.

I know it sounds sort of like an obvious reason, but the games that made me lose it weren't just any games. No, these were games that were so ungodly hard (or stupid) that they couldn't be beaten and the entire time you played them it felt like they were mocking you for even trying to do so. And for some stupid reason, even though I knew better, I kept trying to beat them regardless of how many times they spanked me in defeat. And when they spanked, they spanked hard.

Now when I say I reached my breaking point, I don't mean I raised my voice at the T.V. and said "Come On!" or threw my hands up in the air. Oh no. I broke down like a blubbering idiot. I stomped my feet, screamed like a girl, and after 2 hours of being bettered by an 8 to 16 bit machine I started to shed tears and blame the machine for cheating. Which it was.

What I would like to present to you now is a condensed list of the various games that have caused me irreparable mental anguish in my life, the ones that have done the most harm.

• Ghosts and Goblins (NES) - Why man was allowed to create this game I will never know. It's difficult to the point of embarrassing...literally. Any upgrades you receive are actually worse than the weapon you start out with, the equivalent of the mouth of hell opens up and is constantly out to rip you apart every two feet, and on top of that you are forced to walk around in your underwear if you underperformed. Difficult AND degrading. If you want your child to never play video games, force them to play this one over and over.
• Battletoads (NES) - Pretty fun game at first. It's a strange Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle knockoff whose main characters are named after bodily fluids. It's fun for the first five minutes, and then the game punishes you for enjoying those five minutes. Every moment you play after that is absolutely unforgiving to the point where you can't even play the damn game.
• The Super Star Wars Series (SNES) - It looks Awesome! It sounds Awesome! It's Star Wars! It must be the greatest thing ever, right?! Eat my butt. These are the games that actually made me burst into tears because it made me feel like I wasn't a good enough person to play them they were so effing hard. What made it worse was that it would give you glimpses of hope that you could actually progress further in the game, and then it would slap you down like a fool and crush those glimmers of hope, or do one better by letting you go to the next level and not even let you move five feet without killing you mercilessly. I loathe these games. I'm crying right now.
• Street Fighter Series (Arcade) - Now I wouldn't cry after playing these games, but just get pissed off. Why? Because any time you would go to an arcade to play one of these games, some A-hole would come up, put in a quarter, play Ken and beat the crap out of you because he memorized every special move and then he would go on and play for three more hours. So you just had to stand there without anymore quarters and not play as E-Honda for probably what would have been five more minutes, because some prick wanted to be just that: a prick. You know what, screw it, I hate all fighting games because of crap like that.

There are of course other games that I loathe and hate, that cause madness and anger to spring up inside me, but these are the ones that have caused me the most pain. These are the ones that have poisoned my life. I'm sure there are more than this, but I think that the traumatic impact of playing them has caused my mind to blank out that experience altogether.

So it's a Fact: Unless you want to see me turn into a blubbering idiot keep these games away from me.

Life, and The Facts Therein!

Alot has happened in the last month, enough in Fact to keep me from posting erroneous Facts on a regular basis for the last month. Miraculous things, scandalous things, and an amazing lack of erotic encounters! Yes, it has been an amazing month.

First I would like to start off on a positive high note and force you to explore some of the miraculous things that I experienced. Earlier this month I received a text message from one of my best friends informing me that he was in the hospital awaiting the birth of his second offspring. Being the dutiful friend that I am, I immediately sent a text message to him and his wife that was nothing short of girly giggles and the emoticon equivalent of spastic five year old jumping up and down in a frantic pixie stix high. Then I told him I'd be there after work.

Once I managed to get to the birthing center I was greeted by friends/family and sat down in excited discomfort, waiting for the good news of the arrival of a freshly minted child. Sure enough in about ten minutes we got it! My arrival dawned the arrival of a new life!

After they hosed down the new spawn, branded it and made sure it wasn't allergic to red dye no. 5, they allowed everyone to take a peak. Nothing beats that new baby smell!

Afterwards I congratulated my best friends wife on surviving the process of birth (which isn't fair to call her 'Best Friend's Wife', because she's one of my best friends too. But for clarity purposes we'll just leave it as is for right now), went to eat with my best friend, then promptly went out to celebrate by having a few drinks and then urinated in an alleyway.

So It's a Fact: My arrival will guarantee the birth of a child.

Oh yeah, that other stuff.

Well, now that I think about it all the scandalous stuff that happened to me this past month...I can't really talk about it. Why? For legal purposes. If the person(s) involved were to stumble across this (ugh) blog, then everything that I rant against said person(s) could very well be used in a court of law against me. I think.

And honestly the last thing that I need is for my life to start turning out like an episode of Boston Legal. Actually no, that would be great because then I would probably be having sex on a regular basis and I would win in court!

So It's Another Fact: My life is filled with shadowy plots you could never comprehend! Is it blown out of proportion for entertainment purposes, or watered down so you can handle it in small portions? You decide!

EPILOGUE

So after a month that's about all I can think of writing in just one post! Exciting isn't it! Sadly, I truly did sit down with the intention of writing down all the details of the 'scandalou' goings on this past month, but then it dawned on me that I couldn't. For that I kind of apologize. But, as the blurb says underneath the title, I vow to not be so effing lazy and post more often. I mean I think I'm pretty interesting, I'm plenty eager to write about myself! It's like mental masturbation.

Get that image out of your head.

Brew Me Up a Cup

Coffee: You either love it or hate it. Personally I love it, and my tastes are very simple. My coffee does not need to be steamed, or latte'd to be adequate for my tastes. No, my coffee needs simply to be freshly ground, all American, imported Guatemalan Folgers beans. The kind John Wayne would drink. Black as midnight, hot as hell, pure swill...pure heaven!

While I've always loved coffee, I didn't really develop a true love for coffee until I became one of those annoying teenage dweebs who hangs out at the local Flying J late at night, every night, having long hourly sessions of senseless chatter with best friends, all the while consuming cup after cup of hot refillable coffee.

Even then it wasn't until I joined the Army that my love for coffee truly 'matured'. I still ended up slumming around at some local diner for untold hours with friends, consuming everflowing streams of hot ebony liquid, that much stayed the same. But there was something about the presence of coffee itself that changed in those years of service to the military.

Coffee had now become more than just something to drink to wake you up in the morning, or a late night beverage to pass time: coffee became culture!

It was everywhere you went, at work, at the chow hall, and regardless everybody had a damn cup in their hand. You would always end up drinking it at work, whether it was 20 degrees below zero or 150 degrees Fahrenheit. You just needed to have coffee, it kept you going. It was lifeblood.

Because coffee had become culture to me, having it at work and the occasional late night sessions just wasn't enough, I had to upgrade. One day i decided to buy a coffee pot so that I could enjoy the sweet nectar of the bean in the comfort of my 12x12 room. I don't remember who I bought it from, but it was the simplest of machines. A small, white coffee pot that could brew a maximum of two cups at a time. It was magnificent.

Now that I had this amazing little contraption I could have coffee any damn time I wanted! After I got done working out every morning with my fellow soldiers, I could brew up a cup. Every time I would sit down to write and needed a non-alcoholic stimulant, I could brew up a cup. Have a few friends over to watch some serious non pornographic film and discuss afterwards, brew up a cup.

That coffee pot got some serious mileage on it.

Now this coffee pot didn't just brew coffee though, it brewed the best damn coffee known to man. I don't know what it was about that damn coffee pot, but it got the job done and it got it done right. Every time, two cups, right to the brim, exactly. Fantastic.

After I got out of the military I brought it home with me to continue brewing the most satisfactory (two) cups of coffee known to man, and brew them it did. I got so used to this magnificent little machine that I could almost time to when it would complete the brewing process. It was almost like we were one.

I would show you a picture of this fabulous coffee birthing machine if it weren't for one sad, sad fact: it died.

The damn thing just up and quit on me one day. It literally started spewing coffee out of the bottom of itself, like it just couldn't take anymore. All I could do was just stand there, stare at it, and let my mouth hang open in sadness. I knew fully well what was taking place before me, the death of a friend, a lifelong companion...I just couldn't believe it. I didn't want to believe it.

How many gallons of coffee had I brewed with this little machine? How many friends had I sat down and shared a cup of joe with because of this little guy? How many years did we have together? All of it gone, in an instant, all because of time.

Eventually I went off to get a new coffee pot, one that was bigger and could brew more than just two cups of coffee at a time. There were other brewers available that were exactly the same as the one that I had prior, but it just felt wrong to try and repeat the magic that we had. I knew that it wouldn't be the same.

I still reminisce about the good old days of brewing just two cups o' coffee with my percolator, I can never seem to get them out of my head and just leave them in the past. The coffee I have today just doesn't seem to taste the same.

I don't think it ever will.

So it's a Fact: I'm living proof that man can definitely learn to love machine.

8-Bit Love!

Innocence is something that we all have to lose eventually. For some of us it's something as simple as finding out that Santa Claus is not real (even though he is), or it can be as horrifying as walking into your parents bedroom to show them a drawing of a war picture you just made only to discover them completely naked in a reverse cowgirl. Sweet, sweet innocence.

Once it's gone you either never notice it was there in the first place, and instantly turn to a life of deep painful maturity, or you spend the rest of your life pining over how you did lose it and end up futily trying to get it back by dressing up in costumes based on bad Japanese RPG's with giant cardboard swords and fake spiky hair at every opportunity you get where it's semi socially acceptable. Or just cross dressing.

Luckily for me I've had the wonderful joy of losing my innocence at least three times that I can recall clearly. I won't go into walking into you know who doing you know what and I'm sure you unerstand why I won't do that. Well maybe I will later, but not right now. Actually what I would like to talk about is a different kind of copulation that had affected me in my early childhood.

In one of my earlier Facts I talked about my parents not having an effing clue about buying video games. In it I made a small reference to a "poorly translated japanese action/adventure game with RPG elements". That game was Golgo-13 for the Nintendo Entertainment System.

This game was definitely different. It had things in it that I had never seen before and were completely alien to me: Cut scenes, First Person levels, Badly Translated Drama, you name it! On top of that it was painfully difficult. You had no idea what you were supposed to be doing, there were bad guys AND civilians to deal with, and on top of that electrified seaweed that could kill your ass in an instant if you weren't too careful. And don't even get me started on the mazes.

Part of me was upset because all I ever wanted out of a videogame was to shoot things, jump on mushroom creatures and save helpless maidens named after fruit. Then again getting a new video game for me was such a monumental event that I forced myself to believe that this was an awesome game. You play with what your dealt, right?

After hours of playing this torturous and confusing game that was unlike any other I finally started to enjoy it for real, but that didn't stop the game from being any less difficult. One of the 'objectives' in the game is to stop at a variety of hotels to meet 'contacts' who would provide you with 'information' that would help you progress 'forward'. Pretty heavy stuff for an eleven year old to grasp who's used to walking left to right and holding down the B button and drooling on himself.

Anyway, I get to one of the hotels to meet my 'contact' and it is nothing less than a ravishing 8-bit green haired women in a matching 8-bit green mini skirt. We talk for a bit about how I'm to acquire a variety of Scuba Gear, so that I can jump in the city river and swim around and avoid seaweed like an idiot. Suddenly this amazing 2D green headed vixen says it's such a lovely night and that no one should be alone (or something along those lines).

And then it happened.

I saw it! I saw it happen right before my own eyes! Video Game characters on my Nintendo were having sex! Two miniscule 8-bit silhouetted characters embracing in the night! They were doing it!

My first thought was 'No...Way!' This could not be happening. Video Game people don't have sex? They just go left to right, shoot, jump and die at my hands. This was real world stuff, and what the hell was it doing in my 5x6 NES cartridge? But that whole thought vanished after five seconds and was replaced by a fit of the giggles, and I promptly started showing this scene to all of my friends. They giggled too.

So why would seeing a bunch of crappy two dimensional action heroes suggestively copulate on my Nintendo cause me to lose my innocence (1 of 3 at least)? Because nothing in the video game world could ever match that moment, not one thing.

Every video game experience I had from that point on was kind of 'meh'. Hordes of demons charging me head on, exploring new worlds in true 3-D while brandishing nail guns, shooting watermelons on a countertop on an oil rig while avoiding terrorists, all of what could have been truly amazing video game experiences had been turned into merely 'meh'.

Why? Because I saw two people hump on my NES.

So it's a Fact: What could have been a life filled with wonderful, eye opening experiences of video game glory, had been lost because two horny 8-bit people decided to go at it on in front of my innocent eyes. Most likely in a reverse cowgirl too.

Bonus Fact: After they embrace, the lights go out and your life meter regenerates. If only that were true in real life.

The Geek Must Speak!

Let's spice things up a bit for this Fact, shall we? How about we get a little bit more intimate this time around. I would like to talk to you about a Fact that is more personal, yet strangely entertaining: My Geek Self.

I can already hear your goosebumps tingling with excitement! I know mine are.

For the vast, VAST, majority of my life I have been a geek. Not a full fledged homogenized geek to where I sleep with a lightsaber at night, but a well maintained and balanced geek. A rare breed that is able to sustain a semi-normal life, yet embrace the utter joy and bliss that is the world of the geek without being utterly consumed by it.

Contradictory? Perhaps. Is it? No.

I consider myself to having the staple geek credentials/material objects, like having an UNGODLY amount of books, films, comics, video games and the strangest collection of...paraphernalia adorning my basement, all related to various subjects in the geek realm. I enjoy, dabble, play and roll around in all of my geek things regularly, and enjoy in doing so. It's great stuff.

Being a well-balanced geek isn't easy though. There are temptations, shiny objects, that beckon your name. they call to you and beg you to become part of their brood and become one with them. I have dabbled in some of these temptations, and found that they became more like habits. Some of my geek habits have included:

• Role Playing Games - The bug hit me in Junior High. I hardly played them, but I had a shitload of them.
• Hacking - I used to be an avid to poor computer hacker and spent the majority of my life on my computer learning how not to be a hacker.
• Magic the Gathering, et al - Oh Jesus. I spent hardly any money on it, hardly played it, but somehow I had an assload of these fricking cards. UNFORTUNATELY, there was a crapload of other crappy ass card games coming out at the same that this game came out that I got into for about the length of a week. On a side note I wish this game would just die.
• Tabletop Gaming - You know those tiny little metal figurines of Orcs carrying machine guns that are painted with amazing detail? Well I gave my hand at that and couldn't cut it, as in I couldn't paint.
• Tabletop Gaming Pt. II - They were called heroclix. They were fun. They were addictive. They were expensive.
• Star Trek - I still love Star Trek, but I used to be obsessed with it. A long time ago I went through the methadone clinic for Trekkies and now I can just enjoy Star Trek when I feel like it.
• Star Wars - The less said the better.

To those of you who have never dipped their fingers in the world of geekdom I'm sure this all seems bizarre, fascinating and stupid. But to those of us you who are geeks this doesn't seem like a big deal at all, and you're saying to yourself "What's the big effing deal Bob? Who hasn't painted a miniature future Orc, and cursed George Lucas' name at the same time? I Pwn ur G3k Crdntl5!"

Fair enough, but please allow me to explain further.

The above list are all geek habits that I consider to be ones that push you over the edge. Once you embrace them to the fullest, start to kneel down and worship them and offer sacrificial ken dolls to you can rarely ever recover from their effects. I on the other hand have been very lucky to have dabbled in all of the above deadly addictions, taste their sweet nectar, and then leave them behind like Spock on the Genesis Planet.

As mentioned earlier I consider myself a geek, but a geek that is well balanced and is able to maintain a semi-normal life. I have been able to walk that fine line to where I can keep my geek credentials, yet not fall into that dismal abyss of geekdom that would require me to dress up like Prince Colwyn from Krull on a daily basis, or do something even more drastic like speak Klingon and use it to order six Jr. Bacon Cheeseburgers from Wendy's for my daily life sustaining binge.

So why not give up being a geek completely, curb the habit all the way? Quite simply because I love being a geek! I love all of the crap I have, all of the useless geek knowledge I've acquired and being able to have conversations about what you would do if you had the Infinity Gauntlet. If I got rid of my geek self I would be forced to do things with my spare time like watch college football, or worry about constantly 'pimping my ride'.

No thanks, I'll stick with my useless TRON knowledge. Which is totally applicable to the real world.

So it's a Fact: If I were to give up being a geek in any way, shape or form, my life would be filled with abnormal normality. And we can't have that.

Bonus Fact: I don't speak Klingon.

Once Eaten

Some foods you just end up growing out of as a child. It's an unavoidable aspect of life that you cannot escape: one day you love it, the next day you hate it. It's just a Fact of life (ha!). Now I don't mean any genre of food per-se, as in "I loved cereal as a child, now I vomit in my bowl at the mere sight of it.", though I'm sure there are people who do that. No I am referring to specific food types.

A prime example of this would be Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwiches, or as they're more commonly known in the hood, PB&J sammiches. Almost everybody I have known in my life loved them, they were a staple part of their diet as a child. Then one day something just happened and they stopped being cool. Now as adults they are a reviled part of their diet and they vomit at the mere sight of them.

What is the main driver behind that sudden twist in taste? Could it be hormones? Violence? Wanting to be part of the "In Crowd"? Blossom on weeknights on NBC? If you wanted my guess (which is why you're reading this) it would be something far more complicated, like having it day-in and day-out for the vast majority of your childhood. I'm pretty sure that would have something to do with it, but hey that's just me.

For me, my love/hate relationship with food isn't quite so simple.

My food love/hate thing definitely stems from the child to adult scenario I've established, unfortunately it's not as easy to describe as "I Love Broccoli...I Hate Broccoli". Actually, the more thought I've put into this Fact-Theory hybrid the more complicated it gets for me. Would you like to know more? Of course you would!

In my youthfulness I definitely remember eating Tuna Fish sandwiches, which is funny because I hate seafood in all of it's forms (this will definitely be a future Facts, so be prepared). I can't even remember the last time I ate a tuna fish anything, whether it be a sandwich, casserole or surprise. I'm sure one or two have slipped past me and made its way into my stomach in the days that have gone by, but not because I went out of my to do so.

Tuna is just nasty: it smells funny, it's covered in water and only tastes good when bathed in mayonnaise. Not necessarily the best of combos, making a food delicious by forcing it to swim around in man made fat. Of course when you're eight years old things like that don't really cross your mind. Plus kids eat paste.

But that's where things get conflicting for me with my hate theory. I really can't put my finger on the fact whether or not I really did like Tuna in the first place as a young lad.

Like I said prior, I know I ate the crap when it was put in front of me, but I don't remember actually enjoying the process. I can't bring up any kind of emotional based memories to associate with this food whatsoever. So did I eat this food in my youth out of pleasure, or was it out of sheer obligation?

This in turns brings moral dilemma: how can I go around preaching on and on about foods one loves as a youth, but hates as an adult, and yet be morally confused about the one that I bring up as an example in my own life? Can I use the canned Tuna as an example in my Fact just because I have a memory of eating as a child, but no clear recollection of having any emotional attachment to it whatsoever? I think about this every time I see a can of Starkist or a dolphin doing tricks on television.

I feel the only way to really clear the air on this one is to just buckle down, pull $.75 out of thin air, walk down to the Dolphin Free section of the supermarket, grab a can of Charlie's favorite brand and take the plunge. That's right, take the plunge and get at least one strange pathetic theory out of the way!

If I make a Tuna Sandwich, eat it, and hate it I can stay in my unnecessary moral dilemma that bothers me only once every four years. BUT, if I eat it and like it, then I can develop a reverse theory that I did always hate Tuna, and my tastes have matured and I can write another Fact's of Bob's Life based on my adventure!

But I'm cheap, and I can't stand the smell of that crap.

So it's a Fact: Do I like Tuna? Not really. Did I ever like Tuna? I dunno. Will I ever dive head long into a fresh can of chopped fish to see if I still hate it, or if I have developed new tastes for it? No, that shit stinks.

All By Myself

Just recently I made the mistake of telling one of my original loyal fans/readers/slaves aware that I finally had this wonderful blog up and running. He was so overjoyed with rage and jealousy that he made it be known through the comments section of one of my Facts, that he decided to make his own blog, about his own life, in hopes to inspire me to write more! And so he did.

So I mosied my lazy ass over to my friend's blog to see what the Dealy-O was all about, to see what divine inspiration I could draw from his hate filled words. Instead, all I found was shear horror.

At first sight it appeared like this little blog of his was a mere copy-cat of mine: the title, format, even the goddamn ending was like mine! But that was not was what was upsetting me. Matter of fact I thought it was pretty damn funny. No, it was what was written that truly shook me to the core.

My loyal friend who wrote this blog had been playing with himself for most of his childhood.

I had no idea...I had no words to describe the shock I felt. It was almost paralyzing. It was all right there in front of me in black and white, he just flat out admitted it. To make matters worse, his parents made him do it! And in Public!! Can you imagine that?!

The only thing I could was sit there at my computer and just stare at my screen with a blank face, and just try to process this information, but I couldn't. All I could do was just offer some words of comfort in his comments: "I had no idea you played with yourself so much"

Which is what brings us to today's Fact: I too am tainted of the foul act of playing with thyself. I know, I know, it's hard to hear, but it must be heard. The Facts must be told.

Being a rabid child of the untamed wilderness, whose parents both worked tirelessly to provide simple necessities in life like liquid water, it was practically a common daily act to wander out in the woods and...amuse yourself. Sometimes it would only take an hour, other times it would take all day, but regardless it would have to be done, I would have to be amused.

The acts required to get the job done were endless, and sometimes sickening. They could be anything from the sick act of War (a lone child taking out an entire division of terrorists by himself...horrifying), Construction (giant fortresses hanging from the trees, ala Ewoks), or just silly little Reindeer Games (???). You get the hint though, I played, and played, and played with myself CONSTANTLY. Unfortunately it didn't stop there.

Playing with yourself is like a gateway drug; it gets you high, and gets you by, but only for a little while. Eventually you need to take the next step, you need to push it to the next level, and that next level is friends. You see I couldn't stave off the endless hordes of invisible enemies I established in my War game anymore. I couldn't build my Ewok-like Tree Fort palace in the trees with just my two hands. And Reindeer Games are just no fun with just one Reindeer. You need friends to keep these sick goings on going on.

Unfortunately one is just not enough. You need more, and more, and they need more too, and before you know it you have a network of friends that you don't even know! Eventually you end up getting so addicted to them, and having so many of them, that you end up being a faceless drone in a crowd of thousands and unable to accomplish any kind of playing at all. Then before you know it you find yourself in a dark basement, sitting in a corner, covered in cold sweat, getting those strange cravings to play with yourself all over again. Right back where you started.

it's just a viscous cycle that never ends. It's terrifyingly horrible. Fortunately for my friend it looked like he never reached that point of desperation, and promptly just stayed with himself (his parents gave him toys).

So to all of you out there, who had to play by/with yourselves, I say to you this: I understand, I was there, I too am one of you, and that you are not alone.

So it's a Fact: What started out as a fun way for a minion to get me motivated to write better, funnier Facts, ended up being a solemn cry for help, and a way for me to exorcise my own personal "play with myself" demons. And for that I say thank you.

BONUS FACT: To read the horrifying account of what my Friend/Original Fanboy/Underling actually went through as a child, I will have a benefit link to his first hand account up shortly. I would greatly appreciate it if you would all read it and let him know you understand of how much he truly played with himself as a child. Thank you!