Natalis Felix Diem

We've now graduated from Greek to Latin titles. I guess that means this is my last post, because I really have no idea what comes after that. Elvish?

For those of you not fortunate enough to have taken a semester of high school Latin, today's totally-weird title means “Happy Birthday”. Or maybe it's “Happy Birthday to you”? I don't know, it was only a semester. All I really remember from Latin is the Pledge of Allegiance in Latin, which is somehow even more creepy than the regular Pledge of Allegiance, because everyone knows that everything said in Latin is a binding truth. That's why Rome's Senate failed. Politicians are crooked. Zing

I am saying “Happy Birthday” because it is someone's birthday today. I mean, it's always someone's birthday, but today is the birthday of someone close to me. That's right, it's none other than my mysterious content manager! Oh, and my sister as well, I guess. And maybe Satan? Because of taxes. I really, really hope that I manage to complete this before the end of April 15^th, or else that bit about Satan is going to seem really silly.

So... Happy Birthday? I haven't really planned on what to say after that, but I have a reputation to uphold. I can't just stop typing as soon as I run out of things to say, or I'd be more silent that Madame Kovarian.

Happy Birthday! Here's a reference you won't get!

Every paragraph so far as started out kind of related to birthdays, then wildly veered off to some barely related topic. This post has more tangents than... umm... a function that is differentiable on the interval (-∞,∞)? Except, you know, hyperbole. While ∞<3 might be some schmuck's idea of a cute math joke, it is not a mathematically valid statement, so I feel it necessary to include a disclaimer acknowledging that my statement is not literally true, merely an exaggeration made for comedic effect, because any mention of math automatically makes for side-splitting entertainment. I'd hate for my math professors to stumble upon this blog and judge my skills based on a joke. Actually, I can think of a few more pressing reasons why I'd be uncomfortable with future professors reading this. I'm sure you regular readers know what I'm talking about. Perhaps even those with bowel troubles, as well. Speaking of which...

Oh! Sorry! I should have clarified. I was referring to unwanted readers. Not bowel troubles. I'm afraid you'll have to go somewhere else to sort those out. I am fresh out of advice on the matter. In an event that would probably be described as ironic by someone out there, my parents happened to discover my blog. Right after that post where I specifically mentioned how awkward it would be if they ever found it. So, while that whole thing about this being the last post was a joke, it actually might be a very real possibility.

Of course, I am only joking. I know that I shouldn't toy with my readers' emotions like that, as I know that many of you have come to rely on me as a source of comfort and wisdom. But there will probably be some changes. First of all, I'll probably put a stop to mentioning Katawa Shoujo, or at least severely limit mentions. The reasons for this are pretty obvious if you know what that is. If you don't, then I'd recommend that you don't worry about. Just rest assured that it's totally legal (I was 18 when I downloaded it.) But just so we're clear, I'm not being forced to do this. It has nothing to do with my parents. I'm doing this because I want to, not because I have to. Beyond that, there probably won't be any major changes, because my parents are actually pretty cool, loathe as I am to admit it. If my grandmother, on the other hand, were to find this... I don't know what I would do if my grandmother read the word “asshole”, and she knew that it was me who typed it. It would be wrong. More wrong than ∞<3. Hahaha just kidding, math grad schools.

See, Content Manager? This is what happens when I don't have someone to tell me what to do. Chaos, and anarchy, and nonsense. I mean, even more than usual. Oh, by the way, I hope it's okay for me to give your birthday to everyone on the internet. You know what they say: it's easier to ask for forgiveness than permission, and, as it turns out, it's even easier to not do either of those things. In the unlikely event that your secret identity is discovered, just let me know if the paparazzi gets over-excited. I'll have them dealt with.

Well, I hope you enjoyed this post. Sorry it wasn't the best, but it's the thought that counts, right? I certainly hope my sister thinks so, at least...

σ

Oh, did you not get the memo? All titles are Greek letters now. Greek letters are cool.

The reason for the sigma in the title of this post is shockingly unrelated to Zero Escape. Rather, it is a reference to standard deviation, a concept of dubious relevance to the subject matter of this post. Really, I just thought it'd be a hoot if I kept putting Greek letters in my titles. And then everyone would be all like "Havoc, why are you doing that, that's so weird!" And I'd be all like "Haha, you know me, I'm totally a free spirit". Remember this. You will be tested on it.

Rather recently, a friend of mine dealt a serious wound to my honor, one that, as a gentleman, I could not allow. She called into question my weirdness. And no, she isn't my content manager, surprising as that might be. She even had the nerve to imply that she and our mutual friend (Who is also a girl. I'm sure your disbelief is all kinds of unsuspended right now, but please bear with me.) are weirder than me. This led me to challenge her, attempting to prove that I was the more unusual. However, I was easily bested, and as any gentleman would, I admitted defeat when I knew victory was unattainable. I may be eccentric, but I'm no parabola (This joke relies on you knowing that a parabola is an ellipse with an eccentricity of 1, the maximum possible. Conic sections). I've still a ways to go before I reach the tier of sympathizing with necrophiliacs.

Despite that juicy bit of slander I just made public, (or is it libel? You'd think I'd have learned by now, but I always have to ask the judge which it is this time.) I still have a chance against the other one. So I shall lay bare all the things that I think make me weird here, and let you, the disinterested reader, be the judge. In an effort to not be an unsalvageable asshole, I'd rather not say any of the "weird" things my opponent lays claim to, but believe me when I say they're pretty tame-sauce. And not just because that helps me win. I totally believe that I could win this, even if the judges were aware of my opponent's habit of tenderly embracing doors and whispering sweet nothings into their hinges whenever she opens them. (FULL DISCLOSURE: That was a joke. That's not a thing. Please don't get angry with me. I'm being so sincere right now.)

Don't worry, baby. It's just me and you.  Nothing will ever come between us.

Well, I guess I'll just list these out, in no particular order. You had better not think these are in a particular order, because you'd be wrong, and that would make me sad. While this list is by no means exhaustive, it is quite extensive, as you might expect. This is actually my longest post to date, so if you've got somewhere to be, or any will to better yourself, you might want to skip this one out.

I play D&D. Kind of. Sometimes. I've briefly mentioned my incompetent DM before, (might as well stand for Dumb Motherf– Well, you get the idea.) and he is the primary source of my hesitation to say that I play D&D. Honestly, D&D by itself isn't terribly weird. OK, yes it kind of is. Of all the nerdy hobbies, it's one of the few that has gained very little mainstream acceptance, despite how pretty rad it is. But like a Porky Pig made of antimatter, that's not all, folks! You see, for me, D&D is kind of like Pokemon. I have more fun thinking about it than actually playing it, and it's mostly because of the people I play with (In the case of Pokemon, it's "People who are better than me"). Most of the enjoyment I derive from D&D comes from making characters. Choosing stats and class and race are part of it, yes, but the real thrill comes from the backstory. I get a thrill out of creating characters with intricately crafted pasts, dreams, and motivations, despite the knowledge that I will likely never use them. And I think that's pretty weird.

Sometimes I just look at the sky. I can't really say when it began. Pretty recently. Can't really say why. Certainly a weeaboo thing, so some time in the last year. As an aside, I'd just like to say that I have no idea how "Weeaboo" is spelled, so I may vary it wildly. The sky is a pretty big thing in Japan, it would seem, so it could be from any number of things. Rin, my not-waifu according to the same friend that prompted this post, is a strong contender, since she is the sky. And, honestly, the fact that I read (played? I really don't know what verb is used with visual novels) that whole thing (You know. The one with the boobs but it's totally not all about boobs I swear you guys.) is a testament to my weirdness, in my opinion.

Mai Waifu 

I might just give actual dollars to anyone who can explain the joke in that picture in the comments. It's a stretch, but I believe in you guys.

This one isn't really weird, it's more just unfathomably stupid and sad. Seriously, don't read this on the day of your wedding. If you start crying, it could give off the wrong messages. Because I commute to school by public transportation, I often do a lot of blog-writing there, because what else am I going to do? Schoolwork? (I think it's interesting to note that my word processor tries to autocomplete “school” to “schoolgirls”. Not that that's weird or anything...) Obviously, any reasonable person would do this writing in a word processor, as I implied, because that's what they do. They process words, and mine need all the processing they can get before they can be deemed presentable. But I've never much cared for present-ability, so I made the questionable decision to type my manifesto directly into the blogger window. I mean, having to copy and paste from a word processor to the internet would be lame. Well, public transportation doesn't have Wi-fi on it for some reason, so there was no way for me to save my progress. So if my laptop were to hypothetically pull a surprise reboot on me, it's pretty likely that all my work would be erased. I know of this likelihood, because that's exactly what happened. So I just want you to remember that for every joke that made the cut, there was a treasure trove of comedy gold cruelly taken by my harpy of a laptop. Thanks to it, you'll never know about the wicked rap battle I participated in, or how I managed to use the hilariously incongruous phrase "go-getter" while rapping.

While Anti-Porky has likely been annihilated by now, that's still not all, folks! There's one more unusual aspect of D&D that I feel I could stand to mention. I've actually referred to it earlier on this blog, as a testament to my "nerdiness", but because weirdness is integral (get it? like math) to nerdiness, I figure it would be appropriate here as well. You see, once upon a time, I was watching an anime, and I found myself empathizing with one of the characters. Except it wasn't me. It was my D&D character, whom I wasn't even role-playing at the time. But I'm just kidding with you. That wasn't true at all. It actually happened twice. And I suppose that, because the subject of shared feeling was a burning hatred towards humanity, I myself also empathized. The second instance involved friendship, so I needn't tell you that my ego was quite silent on the matter.

Xyphlan the Dragonborn Cleric sheds a tear on your behalf.

This next one is kind of risky, as it leaves open the possibility for people to obtain personal information about me. However, if you're Dan Browning my blog in an effort to know more about me, I'm sure that the shame you must feel is harsher than any punishment that could possibly be levied by a court of law. Sometimes, when I'm bored, I type various first names into an anagram generator, along with my last name. The ones that result in good anagrams are saved, so I can use them to name my children if I ever have them. As you've probably guessed by now, I have a real thing for readying myself for situations that I know won't happen. "Be Prepared" and all that. I have several good ones, but I fear that if I give multiple away, they could be used to reverse engineer my last name, which could result in crimes being leveled against my person. But if I ever do have a son, I'll likely name him in such a way that his first and last name will be an anagram of "Craven Dick Fire", which is the best anagram for a name since, well Havoc Mantis.

In high school, I played in concert band. The Bb clarinet was my instrument of choice. Every year, over the summer, we went on a "band tour", where we basically just went on a field trip for a couple of days. Every once in a while, about every four years, we went on a really big trip, one to a faraway location that actually involved playing as a band, since that's what we were. For my big band tour, I went to Hawaii, to play in honor of the 70th anniversary of Pearl Harbor. While that's all well and good, what's relevant to this post is that some time the year before, my band director had a fundraiser where we were selling Hawaiian Leis. She also gave one to each of the band members at a football game (we were a marching band as well). She told us to hold on to them over the weekend, so I tied it to my clarinet case. Monday came, and she forgot about it. The week passed. Nothing. Days, weeks, months went by, and she said nothing. When we went on band tour, (funny story: I slept in an airport) nothing. I kept that lei tied to my clarinet for probably two whole years. And I probably would have visited her on her deathbed, asking what it was that she wanted me to do with that lei, were it not for the time that I accidentally left it on the aforementioned public transportation, and I found it removed when the case was recovered. I'd just like to take this opportunity to give a shout out to all the commuters who boldly and compassionately ignored the posters telling them to report suspicious packages. You're all real life-savers. That line about sarcastically congratulating commuters is basically the only thing keeping this dreadfully dull paragraph from being cut.

Aw, to hell with it. I guess Katawa Shoujo is the new thing for me to bring up at even the slightest prompting. But every instance helps my case, I feel, because, well... it's pretty weird. Anyway, I started running awhile back. Like following a schedule, and habitually running, just for the sake of running. And it was because of KS. This, in and of itself, is kind of weird, I feel, but what's even weirder is what didn't motivate me to do the same. One of the required merit badges for the Eagle Scout rank is the Personal Fitness merit badge, which requires, among other things, that the recipient be personally fit. This includes working out and stuff, I guess. But I didn't, really. I still weaseled my way into becoming an Eagle Scout, because it seriously isn't that hard, but really think about that. I was motivated to work out by doing it for some imaginary "her", but the highest honor in all of Boy Scouting was not a sufficient incentive. Aren't those priorities a little... weird?

I listen almost exclusively to soundtracks. I've been doing this for long enough that I hardly even register it as weird, even though it likely is. But my musical tastes are just a segue to the real heart of the matter. But before that, I just need you to listen to this song really quick. Now, did that remind you of anything, besides the eternal darkness that promises to deaden all love and life, only requiring enough time to make good on its dread purpose? A particular song, perhaps? If you answered Carly Rae Jepson's "Call Me Maybe", then stop reading this, future-me. Go do whatever it is that you're procrastinating. If, however, you are a more reasonable individual, you may notice something curious: Those songs aren't even kind of similar. At least, that's what you probably think. But, if you pay really close attention, you'll find that the part where Carly says “I threw a wish in the well, don't ask me, I'll never tell.” is similar to the part in Magia where they sing in some fantasy language (Hebrew, maybe?). I'll have you know, I've taken a semester and a half of music theory. I know how to spell “appoggiatura”, so I know what I'm talking about. (NOTE: The only hard and fast rule about spelling “appahggutura” is that it has two p's, two g's, and some other letters. This is music fact.)


I hate fanning. Loathe it, really. You could even say I abhor it. Hell, you could say as many verbs as the thesaurus allows you, but I'll leave that as an exercise for the reader. You know that thing that people sometimes do when it's hot out, and they have a piece of paper, and they use it to push air at their face? Whenever I see someone do that, I feel angry. Perhaps even disgusted. Why do I so despise the innocuous action of keeping oneself cool? I have identified two possible contributing factors to this phenomenon. As anyone who's ever played an instrument will probably tell you, performing can get hotter than your celebrity crush of choice (I refuse to acknowledge the attractiveness of people). While you're playing up a sweat in a ridiculously heavy uniform, you catch a glimpse of motion out of the corner of your eye. No, it's not the conductor; he's firmly outside of your field of vision. In the audience, you see some impudent asshole, fanning himself with the program, while you can never do the same. He has the audacity to imply that his temperature is more uncomfortable. But as you glare at him through sweat-blurred eyes, noting his not-playing-an-instrument and relative lack of clothing (ahem), he just taunts you with his ability to keep himself cool. The second contributing factor to my irrational dislike of manual air conditioning is from Boy Scouts. You see, at summer camp, there's this thing where all these old white guys dress up as Native Americans. I know it sounds weird when I put it like that, because that's exactly what happens, and it is indeed very much weird. Anyway, all these elder folk have fancy regalia, which often includes fans, which they put to practical use. But as a meager underling, I've no fan, so I can take no respite from the huge-ass bonfire that was built in a summer camp. So, as before I am put in a situation where I am forced to impotently watch as other people fan themselves, while I can't. And that really burns my poffins.

You think you're better than me? What a smug asshole

Finally, we come to the most compelling reason of all: this blog. It's a well researched fact that all bloggers are insane, a special case of weird. Actually, the studies involved needed only a few observations to prove this result by induction, (Which is actually a form of deduction, because screw you for thinking you know anything) so they presumably spent their leftover grant money on some dope-ass gyroscopes. I am no exception to this theorem of insanity (as I just conveniently verified). In fact, I believe that I may stand out even among bloggers for my weirdness. I mean, I named two consecutive posts after Greek letters. I frequently admit to having seen depicted naked bodies of handicapped persons. On purpose. Through a medium that I will inevitably link my parents to, as soon as I forget to exclude them from my Facebook posts. I once stated that libertarians are opposed to wisdom teeth removal. I've implicated myself in more crimes than I even know the names for. But here's the real kicker, the coup de grace: Someone said they were weirder than me, and I CARED. I cared enough about this accusation to write more than 2500 words defending my position. That's more than one word for every year since Jesus was kicking around. That's certainly more than I've ever written for any kind of school paper. Maybe more than all my school papers combined. And here I am, still going. Because being crazy isn't like being drunk. If you know you're drunk, that means you're not drunk (That's how it works... right?) But even if you know you're crazy, you're still crazy.


But hey, you're the one who read all those words. Who's crazy now? (Gary Busey, if my pop culture references are still up to snuff.)

Post Scriptum: I didn't really intend to have so many recurring themes (Band, Boy Scouts, Disability Girls). It just kind of happened that way.

Post Post Scriptum: Abbreviations are for chumps.

μ3

For the small percentage of my target audience that is not comprised of native Greek Pokemon fans, this post is about the new Pokemon that was recently revealed, bearing a strong aesthetic resemblance to Mewtwo. Dubbed "Mewthree" by basically everyone, there is some debate about whether it is an alternate forme, an evolution, or a different Pokemon entirely. But it has been confirmed by Word of God that it is indeed related to Mewtwo in some way, so we shouldn't end up with another Alomamola crisis on our hands. Judging by the way that he is referred to as a new Pokemon with some connection to Mewtwo, it seems unlikely that he's a new form. And we can infer that he probably isn't an evolved form because that would be absolutely unacceptable. And we all know that Game Freak only makes decisions that are at least marginally acceptable. Right?

It was definitely those piercing, powerful eyes that tipped me off.

Whatever it is... I don't think I like it. On the other hand, I find myself inclined to reserve judgment until I know more about its competitive viability, which means that I've rescinded any right to have any opinion on a  Pokemon's appearance. In fact, I am now having something of an internal crisis, brought about by questioning whether or not I like this Pokemon. Its appearance does a rather nice job of evoking the idea of a genetically engineered superweapon, but if there's one complaint I have, it's that goddamned head-tail. I don't know why but it's just... not OK. Perhaps the argument could be made that the unease evoked by GodDamned Head-Tail (referred to as GDHT from now on) is intentional, and that it was purposely designed to push the boundaries of the uncanny valley or something. But that's obviously taking it way too seriously. This is Pokemon: a game for children. GameFreak doesn't do things on purpose.

Backtracking to what I said earlier, it seems likely to me that this new Pokemon is meant to be some kind of genetically engineered monster, much like Mewtwo, who(m?) was created by optimizing Mew's genes for combat, as I'm sure you didn't need me to remind you. This coincides interestingly with the titles of the new games, "X and Y", which some have speculated to refer to X and Y chromosomes. As you likely know, the X and Y chromosomes are the ones that determine a person's sex (or gender, if you prefer being wrong). Females have two X chromosomes, and males have an X and a Y. If my imaginary/real prediction falls through the cracks, (Click here to read more about that, and be whisked away to a magical realm where I was actually funny) then my backup prediction is that the next Pokemon Generation will focus on Sex Warfare. If you're searching for a band name, that one's on the house. In much the same way that Pokemon Black and White was an allegory for civil rights and racism, Pokemon X and Y will mirror women's rights and suffrage. How GameFreak explores this is entirely up to them, but I'd appreciate it if they explained how the Hitmon- evolutionary line reproduces. I mean, they're all guys, so they can't breed with each other. Female-only Pokemon like Chansey can get around this limitation by sexing it up with Pokemon of other species, because children are always the same species as the mother. But for males, such sluttishness does nothing for the continuation of the species. The only way to solve this problem is by saying that ever single Hitmonchan, Hitmonlee, and Hitmontop is the son of a Ditto. The lesson is that the Pokemon universe is an engine, and debauchery is its fuel.

Feel free to imagine this Pokemon sexing it up, real inter-species-like.  Also, notice how way too small her face is.

Since I've already strayed so far from Mewthree into the somewhat charted waters of XY general discussion, I'd like to bring up this asshole:

I am expressing dissatisfaction with your appearance, sir.

The internet has been abuzz with discussion of this Pokemon, the newest evolution of Eevee. Because GameFreak absolutely hates everyone who plays their games, they've refused to reveal this Pokemon's type yet, but I can rigorously prove that there is absolutely no way I will be satisfied with this thing's typing. As much as I'd like to be proven wrong, the math is incontestable. The way I see it, it has 4 possible types, and I will exhaustively explain why each one is lame:

1. Normal-type. As I see it, this is the most likely type, because look at it. It looks like someone pasted an Audino texture onto a generic Eeveelution template. There are some people who say that its color scheme is the same as Victini's, and to those people I'd like to say that I'm not mad. I'm just disappointed. In addition to the color, the ribbons seem to suggest normalcy to me. I can't really say why. I don't think I need to expound on why a normal type Eevee evolution would be lame. Normal is a lame type, for starters. The entire point of eevee is that it evolves to adapt to its environment. That's kind of how it got its name. So to what is Sylveon adapting? Is it purposely becoming cuter so that trainers will choose it more? That... actually kind of makes a lot of sense. But it's still lame.
2. Some type other than normal. You might be wondering how there can be two more possible types when I've already included every type. The answer may surprise you. The main reason that it would be lame if it were some other type is that it doesn't look like any other type. Eeveelutions are supposed to have a design that suggests their type. What other type could this be? Dragon? I'm not really a fashionista, so I wouldn't know if ribbons were the most draconian of all accessories, but I'm pretty sure that ribbons are rather low on the big list of design choices that imply that something is a dragon. No other type comes to mind.
3. Dual-type. Some people think they've come up with a clever workaround for the "It doesn't look like any type" problem by saying "Maybe it has two types!". These people have made poor life choices. By giving it two types, that just means that it has TWO types that it doesn't resemble, which actually doesn't circumvent the problem, but make it worse instead. This is known in the engineering community as "bad".
4. New type. OK. Here we go. A lot of people cling to the delusional hope that there will be a new type, and that Sylveon will have that type. I think that won't happen, and I know that it shouldn't. And here's why: It's too late for a new type. If a new type were created, it would be greatly outnumbered by all other types, even if a few older pokemon were retconned with new types, like Magnemite. In addition, there's no real need for a new type. What would it be? The favorite is usually "light", but how would that work, effectiveness-wise? It would probably be good against dark and ghost. Maybe dragon? What would it resist? Dark and Steel were introduced in the second gen to curb the ridiculous overpoweredness of psychic. I'm already running way too long, and I'm too angry about this to really make any jokes, so the specifics of why psychic was so OP will be left out. There is no reason for a light type. Another suspect is "sound", which is similarly dubious. How would its type effectiveness match up? I guess it could be neutral against everything, like sonic boom, but that would be overpowered and also dumb. To top it off, there isn't really much about Sylveon's design that suggests any conceivable type. He just has a bunch of fleshy tentacles and a bow... tie... Sylveon is Time type. Since Sylveon is the 9^th Pokemon in the Eevee evolutionary line, (including Eevee himself) I guess that makes him Chris Eccleston. Unless another Eevee is also revealed, in which case he could be David Tennant, which would be YES.

Speaking of the possibility of there being another Eeveelution: That “possibility” had better get upgraded to a “certainty” right quick if Gamefreak doesn't want me to threaten their pets. I may be a decent man, but all bets are off when it comes to preserving the parity of Pokemon. The number of Eeveelutions must always be odd, lest dire penalties be suffered. God Forbid GameFreak actually tries to change their games for once.

Thursdays With Thomas

SPECIAL NOTE FROM THE FUTURE: When this post was originally written, I forgot to take one small thing into account; the world is a cruel, unforgiving place, and bad things happen to good people. In keeping with that, Thomas O'Brien has all but disappeared from the internet, and now even his previous videos are nowhere to be found. He popped up on Twitter awhile back to assure everyone that he was OK, but has since disappeared again. Wherever he is, whatever he's doing, I hope he's kicking ass. I'm being so sincere right now.

Welcome to your new favorite day of the week. Or, if you're not reading this on the day it was posted, welcome to a 1/7 chance that today's your new favorite day of the week. If you read the title of this post, then you are likely wondering why Thursday, the weekday with the smallest number of regularly scheduled webcomics, is such a special occasion. But there's no need to fear: I promise to assuage your fear in as untimely a manner as possible.

As you may know, I am quite a fan of Cracked.com. I probably spend more time there than I do in any physical location. Unless we're talking about with respect to some fixed point on the surface of the Earth, but that would mean that I'm not being a pedantic asshole, so we're not. Proof by contradiction. It wouldn't be a lie to say that Cracked, in some ways, inspired me to write this blog. In fact, every time you read the words "Blog post" there's a great chance that I had to fight back the urge to type "article" instead. I consider these posts to be articles, like the ones on Cracked, except without all the interesting facts, and with humorless references instead of actual jokes. Also, instead of organizing my posts into handy list format, I prefer to blow on a fire until all my words coalesce into perfect cosmic alignment. Alright, I admit, sometimes jokes are replaced with heady nonsense, rather than references.

From Cracked, I'll smoothly transition one step closer to my final topic. Perhaps my favorite columnist over at Cracked is Daniel O'Brien. Maybe it's because he's really awkward, like me. Maybe it's because he's obsessed with pop culture references to a degree that doesn't even take a high school diploma to diagnose as unhealthy, like me. Maybe it's the fact that he's bald and has no friends, like me. Just kidding! I have a full head of hair, thank you very much. Whatever the reason, I think that Daniel O'Brien (Often abbreviated to DOB, which is pronounced Dee-Oh-Bee, rather than Dawb) is a pretty swell guy, and one of my favorite persons on the internet. He's a good writer, he's a good actor, he's a pretty good Spider-man,  and he's a good pal (I'd imagine). But why am I even talking about him? Well, you see...

The real purpose of this post is to talk about Thomas O'Brien, Daniel's older brother and literal wizard. Magic is a hard word to define, but I'd say that my best guess would be "Whatever it is that flows through Thomas O'Brien's veins". You see, this man plays the piano. Except it is a disgrace for him to even share the same verb with other pianists. He arts the piano. He has a thing on Youtube that he calls "One-Take Thursday", where he thinks up a song that he's going to play, and then, without sheet music, or practicing, or nothing, records himself playing it. In one take. Honestly, I have no real evidence that he isn't lying about the whole "one-take" part, but here's the thing: It really doesn't matter. His feats of pianism are so impressive that they stand on their own, no matter the context. If there's only one link that you ever click on this blog, I think it should be this one. I'm being so sincere right now.

A special magical barrier has been erected around the remainder of this post, and you will only be allowed to pass if your favorite song is Thomas O'Brien's Super Mario Medley. There's no need to worry, though. Just click that link up there, and you can solve that problem right up in no time.

Welcome, true-believer. Congratulations, in a way. You have seen the light, and have emerged a greater person because of it. But your journey is not at its end yet. While the Super Mario Medley is His Magnum Opus, it is far from his only great song. Your apotheosis can only be completed when all his work has been experienced and understood. You must think deeply on the ivory soundscapes, given form by He of sanctified blood. Only then will true enlightenment be yours.

On top of being magical, it's pretty evident that he really enjoys playing the piano. Just watching the way he almost dances around while playing is one of the best parts. Like when someone kind of sways to the melody when playing the clarinet, but he plays the clarinet so well that no one ever really calls him out on it. I hope you're reading this. You know who you are. I'm a huge fan.

If you need any further convincing of Thomas O'Brien's supernatural ability, then that "wizard" that taught me "magic" totally owes me an alibi for the drifter I kind of sacrificed in the profane ritual that granted me my "powers". In case I haven't made it sufficiently clear, I don't actually know what a "drifter" is, nor do I know what "quotation marks" are for. Regardless, if you are still skeptical, just know this: He took Justin Bieber's "Baby" and turned it into something not painful to listen to. Enjoyable, even. If there is a higher possible praise for a musician, I've not yet heard it, nor can I even imagine it. And He's totally okay with Youtube-ripping, so you don't even have to feel bad about stealing all his music. In fact, it's encouraged.

I could probably go on and on, thinking up new and clever ways of implying that this man is some kind of deity, but vaguely opposing The Ten Commandments is rarely a good idea when you want to impress strangers on the internet. Besides, I'd likely just end up with an article with more H than the universe. (You see, I've been capitalizing all pronouns referring to Him, so, like capital H?  And then H is the symbol of Hydrogen, the most abundant element in the universe. I... um... jokes) Besides, I've found that some people are less likely to do something the more you tell them to do it, (Basically everyone) so I'm really doing a disservice by praising him so highly, because that will only discourage people from listening, and that is an unfathomable disgrace. Oops. Did it again.

And, in the ultimate irony, (Kind of like how Shadow the Hedgehog is the "Ultimate Life Form", in that it isn't really that at all) He actually hasn't uploaded a video yet today. I've actually only heard of him recently, so I have no idea what time he usually updates at. But I'm sure that if we all join together, and believe hard enough, he'll come back to us. Just close your eyes... and believe.

EDIT: Thanks, guys. Your belief paid off.

Important News Bulletin

Oh. Hey there. Do come in. Events have happened of late, and I guess I should say things about them. I'm never quite sure if it's appropriate for me to use the word "say" when I'm actually typing things, but that's OK, because I'm a rebel. I don't need The System.

First of all, I'm changing the name of this blog to "Havoc Mantis's (Mantis'?) Sleep Deprivation Report". That was a joke, but seriously, it's seeming increasingly likely that the only times I'll post anything are when I'm too tired to be productive, but not capable of falling asleep, because sometimes bad things happen to good people. And also me, apparently. So, yes, it is currently a godforsaken hour. At least, it is at the time when I'm writing this. Well, I suppose it also is when you're reading this. You know how the old song goes: "It's a Godforsaken hour somewhere".

Secondly, Google allows me to manage multiple blogs with a single account. I took this as a dare, so I'm now unveiling A Spot of Meta Poetry, a blog where I post the poems I write. Oh! I almost forgot to mention! I write poems sometimes. It's no big deal. I kind of explain it there, but I've nothing better to do, so I guess I'll explain it more here. Basically, a poem is a bunch of words, but it's different from prose because it rhymes and has a meter. There are some people who claim that poetry does not need to rhyme or have meter. These people are called heretics, and should be burnt at the stake. I write some of it sometimes, but it's almost exclusively sonnets, because if you're going to do something, you might as well imitate the guy who does it best. I really feel like there's some kind of humorous comparison to be made here, about how I imitate someone who's really good at something by doing something ridiculous, but the best I can come up with is "I'm a weeaboo because Asian people are good at math, and I want to be good at math", and since that joke is racist, I won't be making it. You're welcome. Unfortunately, my poetry isn't as sidesplitting as my prose is, (was?) so if you're looking for that, you might be disappointed. Most of it is more Serious Business, despite my best efforts. I'm actually working on a secret project that has some bits I find rather amusing, but that may take awhile to complete. Or it may not. I have no idea. You should expect regular updates over there even less than you expect regular updates over here.

While not terribly relevant to anything, I guess I'll mention that I just recently mentioned this blog to my Facebook friends for the first time. Actually, that's not strictly true; I linked to the other blog, which links here. While it's bad form to assume that anyone, even from a sample as cultured and sophisticated as my Facebook friends, would click a link to poetry, I'll just assume that some of my Facebook friends are discovering this blog for the first time. Hello! I'm sorry that you have to use plural pronouns when referring to the number of times I've discussed erotic materials involving disabled individuals. I hope we can still be pals!

Since my last post was about Doctor Who, I think I might as well follow up on that. I watched the episode, and I must say, I was rather disappointed. It had a few good moments, but overall, I found it rather lacking. I wish I could say that my inability to describe further stemmed from a fear of spoiling, but I'm actually just terrible at describing fiction. The quality of Doctor Who has indeed been slipping of late, but I find I can hardly blame them, as I've been doing the exact same thing on this blog. Oh, wait. This is the internet! I can blame them! They get paid. I don't have as much incentive to care.

Anyway, I guess I'll sign off by graciously welcoming my newly estranged Facebook friends. I was being totally serious with that bit about handicapped porn. Pinky swear!

Doctor Why Bother?

Next time you find someone bothering you, tell them to “Make like the moon of Poosh, and get lost.” If that's the funniest thing you've ever read, please read on. If not, fire up your NetFlix device of choice, and free up your schedule, because it is of paramount importance that everyone get that joke. That is my life's work right there, my magnum opus. You won't be disappointed.

I am about to talk about Doctor Who. That was the explanation that you were probably hoping for, if the title that I stole from a "Big Bang Theory" joke didn't tip you off. If you haven't watched Doctor Who, you totally should, it's really good, ect. Ect. There's no need to pretend that anyone's doing anything at my suggestion, so we'll just skip that part (Though, seriously, if you do watch it, you should watch the episode “Blink” first. Season 3).

For those of you who are unfamiliar, Doctor Who is the longest running show ever. In actuality, that's a lie, but it's 50 years old, this year. Some of the more clever of you may have noticed that no one was alive back then. Regardless, Doctor Who managed to spring into existence on the BBC as an educational show, or something. Like Sesame Street, but with less realistic special effects. In it, a crotchety old alien called “The Doctor” (Or “Doctor Who”, if you feel like getting mauled by ravenous fanboys) traveled through time and space, teaching kids about history and science, respectively (Because we all know that science doesn't happen on Earth). If you think it sounds lame just because it's for technically a children's show, just know that it's considerably more mature than most children's shows stateside. If nothing else, I can assure you that there is noticeably more implicit prostitution. The Doctor travels throughout time and space in his TARDIS, which stands for Time And Relative Dimension(s) In Space. There's a pretty big debate about the inclusion of that parenthetical “s”, one that I have no desire to get into. The TARDIS is a hyper-advanced piece of Time Lord technology that can teleport to any point in time and space, is “bigger on the inside”, has a chameleon circuit that allows it to take on any disguise, and enjoys biting, because it's like kissing, but there's a winner. However, because the show was conceived before the concept of a budget was invented, and props cost money, the chameleon circuit broke in the first episode, forcing it to take the now famous form of a blue police telephone box.

The secret to the show's longevity is the fact that it's designed to last forever. With only one recurring character, an infinite universe of time and space to explore, and no plot to speak of, the only limitation on the show is its writers' collective ability to fabricate psuedo-scientific jargon. As a special bonus, that one character (The titular Doctor, in case you were wondering) has an in-universe excuse for changing faces, meaning he can be played as many actors as there are quirky British gentlemen willing to play him. But, if there's no plot, then what's the appeal of the show, you might ask (I feel like there should be a question mark somewhere around here, but I'm not sure where). Well, to as a response to your maybe-question I say: “... It's good?” Because I'm evidently really terrible at question marks.

As you may have noticed if you've read this far, I don't really have anything to say about Doctor Who. Reading this is basically like reading a Wikipedia article on Doctor Who, and about as fun, I'd imagine. The reason I'm trying to talk about Doctor Who, despite having nothing to say, is because I'm terrible at blogging. But the more superficial reason is the mid-series premiere (Apparently the British think that's an actual thing) of the 7^th season of Doctor Who (I trust you know what I mean when I say 7^th) is airing tonight, an episode that I will be watching tragically alone, as my brother has decided that hanging out with girls is cooler. (Note to brother and girl in question: Everything I say is a joke. Please don't take anything I say seriously. Actually, that sounds kind of sad, so please don't take that seriously. In fact, please recursively disregard everything I say, from here on out, including this, I guess. Thank you for your cooperation.) Despite my lack of faith in this season so far, I can't help but be excited for new Doctor Who, because if the series is on its deathbed, then I believe it can just up and regenerate into a newer, cooler, David Tennant-er show, because that's how television ought to work. Since Doctor Who is scheduled to go on forever, the Law of Large Numbers suggests that it will eventually be good again. Sticking around until then is just a matter of persistence, and if there's anything that the jury admired me for, it was my persistence (This description of my crime was intentionally left vague.)

Did you see what I did there? This was what I was doing there.

Limiting my ability to talk about Doctor Who is the potential propagation of spoilers, as well as my confusing use of the passive voice. During the eras of previous Doctors David Tennant and “Who cares, he isn't David Tennant”, spoilers wouldn't have really been considered a big deal, because of the whole “no plot” thing discussed earlier. Each episode or two was its own self-contained story about some monster of the week, occasionally hinting at the big confrontation to come in the season finale. This is somewhat different with the 11^th Doctor, Matt Smith, who's had something of an over-arching storyline for his whole tenure as Doctor. I can't really say much of it, but I feel confident in saying that “Silence will fall”, because it's said in his first episode. The particulars of when Silence will fall, where it will fall, and on whom it will fall, while known by me, (I think?) will not be posted here, because... well, I'll just let you hear it straight from the expert:

I actually couldn't find a picture of River looking like she was saying "Spoilers". So gun instead

On the subject of River... well, I can't really say who she it, or what she does without incredible spoilers. And while science says that people actually enjoy stories more if they're spoiled, that's not a risk I'm willing to take, because you can always rewatch a show after it's been spoiled, but you can never unwatch a show that's been spoiled. I'd like to give a humorous example of some TV show that I'd like to unwatch, but I really don't TV, so my hands are tied. If you want to learn more of River, watch the Season 4 episode “Silence in the Library” (No relation to aforementioned Silence), and prepare to have your mind blown. There's also good music in that episode. Man, what a good show...

Anyway, I think my standards are low enough that this will suffice as a blog post. Did you know that “sufficient” and “suffice” almost certainly came from the same root? I'm not entirely sure if I did before autocomplete suggested it to me just now. Isn't life funny sometimes? In fact, I think our every day lives might just be a series of small miracles. No... perhaps they must be.

"Delicious!"

Haha! Oh, man. I'm sure no one got that, but trust me. That was a hilarious thing I just did.  

Martyrdom

I am hoping that this will be a short post. Like, REALLY hoping. As hard as I can. I am hoping so much, Obama just called me up and expressed concern that I might be overdoing it. I am having trouble falling asleep. I guess this means that my attempts to outwit my body were soundly crushed. But all is not lost. At least I can use this time to give you guys a few laughs at my expense. Amn't I just the best ever?

Usually, when I have trouble falling asleep, I blame it on my brother staying up all night talking to his friends, like some kind of big hotshot cool-guy-with-friends. However, my brother is not here tonight, for reasons I am unable to divulge. I can say for certain that he ISN'T killing drifters, if that's what you were assuming. But sleep eludes me still, so it seems that there is no one to blame but myself. Except... except Obama! That's right! I forgot the first rule of whatever the hell, I'm making this up anyway: You can always blame the president. That's what our great nation was founded on.

Double-fun: I have work tomorrow morning, and I have to get up at the inhumane hour of 6:10. IN THE MORNING. As of this typing, it's midnight where I am. It doesn't take a math major to realize that I also used this joke in the last post. Actually, beginning writing this was probably the worst thing I possibly could have done (Besides telling everyone in the world that my kin is commiting felonies). Now, I'll just stay up out of a sense of duty to this blog, rather than get the sleep that I so desperately need. The funny thing is that I've been stupidly tired all day, but now I can't fall asleep now that I need to. As long as we all agree that "funny" now means "worse than getting flinched by an Excadrill Rock Slide". But I'm just kidding. Nothing is worse than Excadrill Rock Slide flinch.

That's a real purty mouth you've got there

You know what's kind of strange? Wookiepedia, the Star Wars Wiki (As well as runner-up in the "Absolute Worst/Best pun ever competition) has more than 100,000 pages. Now, Star Wars has a ridiculously detailed mythology. Especially if you count the Expanded Universe. By the way, if you do that, I hope you get flinched by every Excadrill you face. But still, that's way too many. How do they have that many? The answer is that they have pages for things that aren't even Star Wars. Like Limbs. I'm don't mean to take away from the importance of limbs in Star Wars, or even in life in general. They really get me through when times are tough. But they're so universal that I'm not really sure why they need an article on a Star Wars wiki. Same goes for Minutes. I'm sure that it's just as important to keep track of time long, long ago, in a galaxy far, far away, but I think we all know that there are 60 seconds in a minute. Maybe if there were a fictional unit of time, like a rel, it would be worth an article, but this is just ridiculous. Same goes for pages about Trees, Eyes, Photons, and Soul Calibur. I don't know which is more stupid: The fact that that's something that actually happened, or me, for not realizing until now that "Calibur" is misspelled. I think it's also kind of adorable how all the articles use past tense, because it takes place "A long time ago".

Red Squiggles don't lie.

If you're wanting some kind of reason for why I bring this up, prepare to be disappointed. Not because I won't tell you; you'll wish you were so lucky. No, the reason is far sadder than anyone's imagining. My usual DM (Dungeon Master, which is not common knowledge among those with girlfriends it would seem) has set his sights on a Star Wars campaign. I doubt he'll ever read this, so I'll take the opportunity to confess that I have absolutely no faith in him. Yet I'm a sucker for creating characters, so I've been browsing Wookiepedia for details to flesh out my justice-hungry bounty hunter with a grudge against the Jedi Order. You know what they say: The fun is in not knowing.

Also, I'd like to point out that I'm not writing this because I, like, LIKE you or anything. I just don't have anything else to do, and I bet you guys are so pathetic that you don't have anything else to do with your time! I mean seriously, who even reads this stuff? Baka! B-but... I mean... it's not like I mind writing for you. If it's not too much of an inconvenience for you, I guess it's cool.

TSUNDAY TSUNDAY TSUNDAY! AT THE TSUNDERDOME!!

Apologies to the non-weeaboos out there. I feel like I may have done a tsundere bit before, but I don't really have the time to go back through my archives and check. I am just now realizing just how arbitrary and ridiculous a word "weeaboo" is. Heh. Weeaboo. Say it out loud. I promise, you won't regret it. Wii-uh-boo. Good stuff. I basically just wrote this because I thought the "Obama" bit at the beginning was funny, so I'm not sure how to end this. I guess I could apologize to him for telling my dog to "kill the president" in whispered tones on many occasions. I realize that saying such a thing is maybe illegal, at least if internet sketch comedy is to be believed, but I assure the secret service that it was all in jest. If my dog actually did kill you, Mr. Obama, I would be horrified. OK, I admit, at first I would think it kind of cool. I mean, a dog that's an assassin? That is owned by me? That is objectively, unarguably cool, Mr. President. But once I realized that I would probably go to jail, I'd change my mind so quickly it'd be undifferentiable. Since calculus humor is always the best note to end anything on, (Try it next time you're eulogizing!) I'll fare thee well. For now.