The Magic Hobo


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I was lying in Hyde Park at midnight on a Saturday, counting the stars.  I was the only person in the area, and I was shocked at the lack of stars.  It must be because I was in the middle of London, and the city lights blocked them out.  I missed the view from the beach back in Florida, a black sky painted with burning white spots over a dark blue sea.  I was shocked yet again when a noise like the snapping of a twig caught my attention, and a homeless person was standing directly in front of me.

He wore a long, brown overcoat, soiled and filthy.  Beneath that he wore an menagerie of clothing that he had crudely sewn into a massive parka of sorts.  A blue polo shirt made up part of a sleeve, three t-shirts and a tank top made up the front, and two sweater vests made up a sleeve on the other side.  Instead of pants he wore a bizarre  kilt made out of bed linens and towels, that reached down to his shabby leather boots, which seemed to be made from two boots each.  He wore a grubby, faded and torn top hat on his head.

He was seven feet if he was an inch, and he had an untamed mane of hair that I suppose constituted for a beard, that reached well down past his waist and covered the majority of his face, so that all you could really make out were two beady eyes and a large, round nose.  There were… things in his beard, that might have once been small animals or food, but that had now been subsumed into the ungainly collective of hair.  His stench was unbearable, like a trashcan full of feces and rotting squirrels.

He asked me if I would like to see a Magic Trick.

Now, when a homeless man looms over you, blocking the starlight in Hyde Park with his bulk, and asks you if you would like to see a Magic Trick, it’s most likely not the sort of trick you would wish to see, but rather something truly horrible and scarring, so I of course said no.

He showed me one anyway.

He clapped his hands together, his knit, fingerless gloves making a dry, dusty crack. He pulled his hands apart slightly, and a brilliant yellow light surrounded us.  He looked up at me and gave me a knowing smile, and it was the first time I was able to tell that he had a mouth.  His gold teeth glittered in the light like aztec gold.  He pulled his hands the rest of the way, and as he drew them apart, a rainbow formed in between them.  He swung his arms in a big arc, like he were throwing paint to the sky, and created a rainbow as big as his wingspan.  It shimmered in a fragile way that reminded me of an especially thin sculpture of blown glass.

I was awestruck.  I reached out to touch it, but with a wave of his hand the rainbow disappeared.  Sparkles and stardust rained down on my face, but disappeared like snow flakes on warm day upon contact with my body.  He bowed, and I applauded.  It took me a moment to realize that the applause seemed oddly stereo, and I looked around and discovered that a pair of rabbits were sitting on either side of me and applauding as well.  The hobo bowed again and held up his hands for silence.  We obeyed.

He asked if I’d like to see another.

I said sure.

He rubbed his hands together excitedly and then presented me his shirt cuffs.  He pulled back his sleeves to demonstrate that there was indeed nothing up them.  There wasn’t anything there, but the rabbits got up to inspect his sleeves more closely anyway.  They’re untrusting creatures.

He reached up into his sleeve and began to pull out many lightly colored squares of cloth, tied together in a long line.  He began to pace around us, laying down cloth in a large circle, one line adjacent to the next, so that each new rotation had a greater circumference than the last.  He must have pulled out a full mile of cloth, until the length finally ended with his undershirt and underwear, an almost obligatory occurrence for any “pulling cloth out of my sleeves trick”, and we were surrounded by a gigantic spiral of color, far more than any one man could fit up his sleeve, even a man of his great size.

He bowed again, and we applauded ecstatically.  The audience was now positively packed with creatures of the park: squirrels and rabbits, snakes and beetles, sparrows and pigeons.  Some of the wiser ones had brought snacks like peanuts and popcorn to munch on during the show.  They joked and laughed with one another, having a jolly time.  I eyed them enviously.

He asked us if we would like to see another Magic Trick.  We roared in approval, stood up and screamed in approval, beat our chests and slobbered for more.  He smiled widely.

The homeless man, who I was now beginning to think wasn’t your run of the mill hobo, raised his hand yet again for silence.  He stood there, with his head down, humming to himself, like in meditation, at first quietly, and then louder and louder, until he was positively shrieking.  His arms, which at first were held at the center of his chest in prayer, rose with his pitch, until his body was forming a cross.

It was then we noticed he was levitating 13 feet in the air.  The crowd was dumbstruck, silent.

And then we applauded.

We applauded like we had been struck blind at birth and this homeless conjuror had restored our sight.  We applauded like it was the end of the world, and it’s entire history was on stage, taking a bow.  We applauded like this, and only this, was the only thing ever worth applauding for.

I hollered for more.

He was suddenly on the ground.  There was no transition.  The sound of the applause had changed, too.  I looked around.  There was no one else there, no squirrels or rabbits, snakes or beetles, sparrows or pigeons.

Just him and me.

He stalked towards me, breathing heavily through his mouth.  He got very close, his face mere centimeters from mine. I could almost taste the rancid smell of old Sainsbury’s apple cider creeping out of his mouth.  He smiled, and I could see the sores on his gums, and the rot in his teeth that had once been gold.

He asked me if I would like to see the Last Trick, and he smiled like a crocodile.  I only wept and nodded.

He backed up a few feet and stood by himself for a moment.  He clapped his hands, one last time, and changed.

The change was instantaneous.  What was once a ratty old hobo was now a beautiful, young woman.  She wore bright neon spandex leggings, a zebra print, loose fitting shirt, and large hoop earrings.  She seemed to have been taken straight from the 1980’s.

She smiled sweetly, and kind of sadly, like she pitied me.

“At last.” She said.  Something was strange.  Despite sitting down, I was almost at eye level with her.  I shifted around, and my movement made a strange rustling sound.  A disturbing sound.  A sudden thought, a terrible thought, crept into my mind, and my face contorted with dread.  My heart beat harder and harder, faster and faster as I lifted my hands to my face, and saw the ratty, fingerless gloves.  I clapped them together and they made a dry, dusty sound.  I reached for the top of my head, and found a small, grubby top hat.  I felt my long scraggly beard, and the filth up my sleeves.

I was he.

“Quite a trick.” She said, adjusting her makeup as she looked into a mirror she was holding.  “I hoped you paid attention.  You really should have paid attention.”  She snapped the mirror shut and returned it to her purse.  “I would say I’m sorry, but he wasn’t.  He never is.”

And with that she walked out of my life, leaving me alone, at midnight in Hyde Park on a Saturday.  I wondered if it had to be Saturday at midnight for the trick to work, but I realized I had time to figure it out.  I had all the time in the world.  I fell back onto the grass and looked up at the sky.  My god, it was full, full of stars.

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A Lannister is a soaring soul, as free as a mountain bird


Confused with the title?  Well don’t be!  Its a famous Gilbert and Sullivan song, from one of their better operettas “A Game of Thrones.”  The song goes like this
“A Lannister is a soaring soul,
As free as a mountain bird,
His energetic fist should be ready to insist
his dictatorial words.

His hair is gold,
and also it should curl,
His cheeks should flame
and his brow should furl,
His bosom should heave
and his heart should glow,
And his fist be ever ready
for a knock-down blow.”

See where I’m going with this?  Maybe not, so I guess I’ll just need to spell it out for you:

House Lannister is my favorite house in HBO’s  game of thrones (and in A Song of Ice and Fire, too)

Oh, and Warning!  If you haven’t seen every episode of Game of Thrones so far, up to 2 9, then beware of spoilers.

A Lannister always pays his debts… with bullets

Shocked?  Well you shouldn’t be.  If you have read some of my older posts, you would be aware that my favorite house in Harry Potter is Slytherin.  It is no wonder then that my favorite great house of Game of Thrones is the Slytherin of Westeros, the Lannisters.

Ah yes, the Lannisters.  The house everyone loves to hate.  I used to hate them too, back when I was reading through the first three books, but there eventually came a point where I really began to sympathize with the evil Lions, and eventually wished to join their ranks, despite a certain distaste for some of their leisure activities…

creepy cersei and jaime

Ahem…

To help you understand my decision, and inevitably bring you over to my side, thus swelling the ranks of the mighty Lannister host, I will first break down why it would suck to be a member of any of the other houses.

The Inferior Houses

At first glance, House Stark would seem to be the best house.  You would have awesome siblings (except for Sansa, that traitorous wench!), a super awesome murdered father who also happened to be Sean Bean, a family with a blood line that can be traced for thousands of years, all the way back to the first men, the largest land area in all of Westeros under your control, and demon wolves to do your bidding.  Plus, you get to worship the old Gods, who seem way cooler than the new ones.

I mean, who wouldn’t want to worship that?

It seems like the Starks have it made, but there’s a catch: if you are a Stark, then only horrible things will happen to you for the whole series.  It’s true, think about it.  Ned had to go take a horrible job that he didn’t want, then his leg got stabbed, then he got thrown and jail, then he had to tell a lie in front of thousands, breaking his code of honor, and then he was killed for it.  Sansa is just stupid and trapped in a castle full of scheming Lannisters, the worst of all fates, I’ve been told, unless of course you are a Lannister.  Bran had his legs paralyzed from pretty much day one, and they dont seem to be getting better.  He and Rickon got thrown out of their castle by a childhood friend and are forced to wander the wilds of the north with a mad woman and a retarded Giant.  Oh, and winter is coming.  Arya is pretty much a street urchin, though she is very good at it, and Jon joined to monk like brotherhood of the Nights watch, and is in the freezing north and kidnapped by crazy savages.  The only one who has anything going for him is Rob, but I have a feeling that his success just cant last.  Oh, and I almost forgot about Catlyn.  She literally ruins everything, and I think she knows it too.

I actually quite like house greyjoy.  They are essentially Vikings who worship Cthulhu.  Their emblem is an awesome Kraken, and they are evil jerks.  What’s not to like?  Oh wait, the place where they live:

How depressingly beautiful!

And worse still, the women that live there:

How depressingly depressing!

And the most worst still of all, she doesn’t even seem to know her own name!  She calls herself Yara, but I’m pretty sure her name is Asha.

I just get the feeling that when it comes to house Baratheon, no one cares.  They are just kind of usurpers to the Targaryen throne, and their emblem is a stupid stag.  None of them are exactly likeable, and they worship a fire god who can summon creepy demons, which they then use to murder each other.  Plus, it seems like ever since Robert defeated the Greyjoys, all they do is lose.

As a Targaryen, you have a 50/50 chance to be awesome or to be stupid and crazy.  A risky bet, I know, but what’s worse is you’ve been defeated by the Baratheons and scattered to the four winds.  Plus, you would either have a brother who is a moron and sucks, or a sister who is annoyingly stupid but has dragons.

House Arryn sucks, bad.  You’d have to put up with both Lysa and Robert, both of whom are creepy idiots who are disturbingly annoying.  Plus, you have to live in a castle up on a mountain.  Talk about a long trip to get groceries, unless of course you take the moon door…

As far as the HBO series is concerned, those are the only houses we have actually met.  Sure, we have seen Margery and Loras Tyrell, and we have heard talk (at least I think so) or the Martels in Dorne.  We’ve also kind of met the Tullys, but not really, so these are the houses up for consideration.

House Lannister is better than all of these, and there are several reasons why

  1. They have Lord Tywin:  Lord Tywin is possibly the most cunning of all the schemers in Westeros, or at least of all the schemers who are members of a major house.  He is also ruthless, and his banner men are terrified to betray him, especially after what he did to the Reynes of Casamere…
  2. They have a hilarious Dwarf:  Tyrion is awesome.  I would bet 10,000,000 dollars that he is almost everyone’s favorite character in the show, and if you were a Lannister, you would get to hang out with him all the time.
  3. They have infinity gold: They are famous for it, in fact.  Westeros runs on Lannister gold, so what do you think would happen if the gold supply suddenly dwindled?  That’s called economics, and the Lannisters have literal tons of the stuff.
  4. They currently hold the iron throne: It is a huge advantage to already have the thing that everyone is fighting for.
  5. They seem to have the Tyrells, too:  The tyrells produce the most food out of anyone in westeros, and I think they have the biggest army too, though as Lord Tywin says, armies don’t win wars, gold does.
  6. They are deliciously evil: This goes without saying.  The Lannisters revel in evil, even the good ones!  Sure, Tyrion is a good guy, but he also uses some rather unscrupulous means to achieve his ends.

So it’s house Lannister for me.  I can’t wait to see what the end of the season brings us.

A completely Unbiased and Wholly Accurate List of the Best Super Heroes Ever


There’s a whole lot of “lists” floating around the “internet” rating “stuff” like the best superheroes.  Take IGN’s list.  It’s pretty complete, granted, but very innacurate.  Superman as number one?  I’ve always thought superman was the most boring super hero ever made.  Here’s a quick summary of every superman story ever:

  1. Something bad happens
  2. Superman, who is pretty much god, flies over and almost saves the day
  3. Uh-oh!  Kryptonite shows up!
  4. Superman somehow defeats the bad guys and the Kryptonite

That’s why super man is boring.  He’s too strong for any sort of interesting conflict.  Therefore, I made my my own Completely Unbiased and Wholly Accurate Best Super Heroes Ever List! to show IGN how it should be done.  These heroes have character depth.  These heroes have weaknesses. All of these following individuals are completely 100% guaranteed superheroes and completely 100% guaranteed awesome.

Batman

POW!!! BLAMO!!!! KER-SMACK!!!!!

Batman is the exact opposite of superman.  Superman has all the powers, Batman has gadgets/no powers.  Superman has to work for a living, Batman doesn’t.  Kryptonite crushes Superman, Batman eats it for breakfast like a delicious bowl of frosted wheaties.  Batman, incase you are the same person I talked about last post who didn’t know anything about harry potter, is the sexy millionaire playboy super hero detective sleuth that everyone loves.  Here’s a mathematical equation to express batman:  this

Playboy? Check. Rich? Check

Plus this:

Bat? Check

Divided by the square root of this:

Insane actor?  CHEEEEEECK!!!!!!!!!!!

Equals Sparta.  See?  Great ingredients, great hero.  Oh, and his weakness?  Weapons.  And dying.

Frodo Baggins

Hey! It's my blog. I can put whoever I fucking want on the list

What’s that?  You trolls are saying that Frodo isn’t a super hero?  That he doesn’t have any super powers?  Oh ok.  Why don’t I just bring the one ring over to your cave and have you carry it to Mt. Doom and not get corrupted by it’s evil powers until almost the very end?

The ring of power

Deal with it.

What about the power to be really wimpy and whine alot?  That’s what I thought.  Frodo saved all of Middle Earth and therefore many, many not real people got to live out their not real lives to a ripe, not real old age.  He also inadvertently murdered millions of innocent, stinky, not real, stinky orcs! (Skip to 4:43 and you will see what i mean.  The earth just swallows them up!)  This guys a class act, and he’s only like 3 feet tall so it took him like twice as long to get into Mordor as it would a normal person.  Still not convinced?  Well, let me hit you with some logicknowledge!  The green lantern is a super hero because he has a magical artifact that gives him special abilities and uses these abilities to battle evil.  Frodo has several magical artifacts that give him several special abilities, like his glowing sword, magic troll proof armor and that bottle thing that lights up that the crazy elf lady gave him.

Yeah! That's the one!

Oh, and his weakness?  Like almost everything.  Including Lembas Bread.

Harry Potter

Looks like he's lost some weight...

Talkin bout tormented past?  This dude got it.  Talkin bout magical powers?  You better not piss him off, or prepare to be inflated like a fat british balloon, bitch.  Talkin about horrifying scar?  Check the lightning bolt, homes.  Talkin about shaft?  Yeah, I can dig it.  This dude has it all: sidekicks, secret powers and an awesome nemesis: He Who Must Not Be Named.  Voldemort.  Voldemort is scary because he looks like a snake demon without a nose and is played by Ralph Fiennes, who is a scary dude.  And yet harry defeats him in almost every single book.  Harry also has only seven books written about him, but somehow 8 movies.  If that isn’t magic, I don’t know what magic is.

Weaknesses?  Gingers.  And asian chicks.

Thor

I mean... look at this guy! He probably murders woodland creatures in his spare time, because he can.

Pop quiz: What’s cooler than vikings?  Answer: Not much.  Which viking god is the most awesome/powerful/badass out of all of them?  Answer: Thor.  Thor is what harry potter would be if Daniel Radcliffe showed up the the set of Deathly Hallows Part 2 completely drunk from a night in the mead hall, swinging a fucking magical warhammer and downing buckets full of steroids.

Speaking of Harry Potter, Thor would have taken like two seconds to kill Voldemort.  Priori Incantatum?  Try yourfacey hammershamshum!   If the Council of the Ring had asked Thor to carry the ring to Mt.Doom, Thor would have just laughed derisively and smashed it’s atoms apart with one swing of his hammer.  And then killed the whole council because he can.

"Oh shit! Thor's coming? Let's fuckin' book!"

Weaknesses?  Pissing off his dad and getting grounded.  That’s pretty much it, but it lends itself to more interesting stories than Kryptonite.

Super King

Bite his super metal ass!

Superking has all the powers of a king, plus the powers of superman.  Also, he’s a robot.  Super king first appeared in the Futurama season 4 episode “Less Than Hero” as part of the super group “The New Justice Team.”  He is super strong and his arms can extend and retract at will.  Jealous, Ron Weasly?

ron weasly broken wand

"My arms don't extend! And me wand broke!"

DEAL WITH IT.  Weaknesses?  Rust.

Gumby

"I WILL EAT YOUR SOUL!"

If the world were to end in a horrible nuclear destruction fiesta of doom, three things would survive: cockroaches, twinkies and fuckin Gumby.  Gumby is the nigh indestructible guy gal eunuch monster from The Gumby Show.  Gumby is super stretchy.  I mean super stretchy.  Gumby could stretch you into oblivion if he so desired.  And he does.  Gumby famously battles the blockheads, and always wins because of his unnatural stretchiness.  But as Peter Parker’s soon to be dead uncle, Yoda, once said “With great stretchiness comes great responsibility!”  Gumby, realizing this, became a hero instead of the stretchy death machine he could have so easily become..  But those eyes.  Those red eyes

dark eyes

And remeber: Gumby's watching you...

Weaknesses?  I think he’s made of clay… so water, I guess.  Oh, and probably acid.

Concerning Harry Potter and the Houses of Hogwarts


So incase you have been living in Antarctica, outer space, or on a small and isolated island in the south pacific, you’ve probably heard of this Harry Potter character and his magical school of Hogwarts, a name that at first delighted my 10 year old sensibilities and then later evolved to be commonplace in todays normal wizarding vernacular.  After reading the first book, I waited expectantly in my living room on my 11th birthday for a letter from Hogwarts telling me that I was a wizard.  I knew of course that Harry Potter and his friends weren’t truly real, but… what if they were?  The possibilities were endless.

Some call me... Tim?

At Hogwarts, which i didn’t even get a thank you for applying letter from, the students are divided into four dormitory houses: Gryffindor, the obviously best one, Slytherin, the obviously worst one, and Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, the obviously who fucking cares? ones.  This sorting takes place on the students first day ever, during an elaborate ceremony where the prospective student has to sit on a stool in front of everyone with a comically old and oversized “sorting hat” that magically chooses a house for them.  It is said that students have at least a partial choice in the matter, but this is obviously not true.  If it were true, Slytherin would have around 30 die hard students in it, bound together by their singular hatred of Gryffindor, and Gryffindor would have everyone else.  And here’s why.

Author’s note: Im going to rate how each house does with points.  At then end will tally them up and decide which one is the best!  Wheeee!

House Descriptions: every house has representative characteristics that its students are meant to have.  Lets learn what they are.

Gryffindors are meant to have bravery, daring, nerve and chivalry.  Not bad attributes at all.  The knights of the Wizarding World. +10

This is what i got when i searched wizard knight. Awesome.

Hufflepuffs are patient, hard working, loyal and they enjoy to play fair.  It is also the most inclusive house, which means that it is the house for people who couldnt get in to any of the good ones.  Which means it’s the one to be avoided.  Plus, fair play?  Really? -5

This is what I got when I searched hufflepuff house members. Fascinating.

Ravenclaw values intelligence, wit and knowledge.  This initially doesnt seem that bad except that there are people like Hermoine Granger who are smarter, wittier and more knowledgeable than all of the Ravenclaws and are in Gryffindor.  This relegates Ravenclaw to the “nerd” house, comprised mostly of people who only identify themselves as “intelligent, knowledgeable and witty,” and therefore never are. +1

Revenge of the Ravenclaws, as it were.

Lastly we have Slytherin, the house that likes ambitiousness, cunning and resourcefulness.  This is clearly the second best choice after Gryffindor, maybe tied for first at this point, simply because people like Julius Caesar and Alexander the Great could have easily ended up in Slytherin.  Plus dark wizards abound, which is sweet.  +10

Slytherin's founder, Sauron Slytherin.

But here’s the catch: they could also end up in Gryffindor.  Gryffindor inst really for brave people, in the same way the other houses aren’t really for the attributes they advertise.  I’ve made a list of how the sorting actually works.

Gryffindor: Gryffindor is for the best/funniest/smartest/most athletic/most important/most popular/most famous people in the school.

boom

Hufflepuff: Come here if you are a moron who lacks character depth and exists only to die horribly as a warning for Gryffindors to not go there or refrain from touching that.

Ravenclaw: go here if you never want to be heard from ever again, for no other reason than you are boring.  Or if you are Luna I suppose…

Slytherin: if you are a sneaky asshole/cheater/douche bag for no reason, then this is the house for you.  You are also allowed to join this house if you hate Gryffindor because you didn’t get in.

Now, by using this new and improved list, it is apparent that Gryffindor is in the best choice, but maybe the actual living places of each house will sway the vote. I doubt it.

Hufflepuff: Do you enjoy living in a fucking basement right next to the always busy and ever noisy kitchen of your school?  Good, because that is where you end up if you are in Hufflepuff!  Did I mention the kitchen staff is comprised entirely of magical slaves?  No?  Hmmm. -10

The hufflepuff common room

Slytherin: Did you like Hufflepuff?  Then you are going to love slytherin, whose housing is similar except that instead of a cozy basement you will be living in  a horrible dungeon!  What better place to foster your ever growing hatred for Gryffindor and their awful do-goodery?  Answer: No where! -10

this is actually what it looks like

Ravenclaw:  Do you like having to answer confusing, bass ackwards riddles in order to enter your room after a long night of studying or a fun time at the three broomsticks?  Good!  Then you will love Racenclaws retarded way of getting into your room.  Instead of a password like the other houses have or, I don’t know, having some sort of magic that can just detect if you are in fact a member of the house you are trying to enter, the Ravenclaw gatekeeper asks you a fucking riddle because hey, only Ravenclaws can solve riddles.  Ever.  I couldn’t find many descriptions of the Ravenclaw common room but i’m sure they sit on spikes or something equally as dumb as their “password.” -10

Cause you'll never get enough riddles right.

Gryffindor:  Do you enjoy plush towers with fantastic windows and incredible views of pretty much everything?  Do you like awesome four post beds?  How about cozy fireplaces and happiness/friendship?  Then you’ll love the Gryffindor common room!  Situated in a badass tower far from the plebeians of the other houses and guarded by an awesome painting who asks you a silly password for admittance, why wouldn’t you want to live here? +10,000

Mmmmmmm.

Still not convinced Gryffindor is the best?  Fine lets just check out the animals associated with the houses.

Gryffindor: lion.  Lions are awesome. +10

Ravenclaw:…an Eagle.  With claws.  I thought it was a raven with claws, but turns out it’s an Eagle, thank you the last muggle to read harry potter.  I still think a crow would have been better, but i didn’t write the book., or i would be really, really rich.  But Eagles are sweet, so +10 for Ravenclaw.

Slytherin: a snake.  Awesome/slightly insulting.+15 – 5 = 10

Hufflepuff: a badger.  Oh hufflepuff.  You were so close to greatness.  In case you dont know, the Honey Badger (it’s number one on the list) is the most badass animal in the history of ever because it simply doesn’t care about anything.  Besides killing and eating I guess. +1

I think there is no clear winner in this category, but there is a clear loser.  Step up and take your prize, Ravenclaw.

Alright!  It’s score time!

processing….

processing…

And coming in last place with a combined score of -14 is Hufflepuff

In third is ravenclaw with a respectable 1.

In second place, with a respectable score of 10 is the great Slytherin house!

And coming in first with a score of 10,020 is, of course, Gryffindor!  Yay for them…

I mean who didn’t see that one coming?  Almost all of the main characters in the stories are in Gryffindor.  And almost all the bad ones are in Slytherin.  And all of the irrelevant ones are in he other two.  Honestly, if i got on Pottermore and got sorted into Hufflepuff I would just fucking quit.

The frozen pinkies


First off I would like to thank everyone who takes time out of their busy schedule to read my blog posts.  I have fun writing them and I’m glad  that other people enjoy them.  And for those of you who don’t take time out of your busy schedule to read my blog… by merit of reading this you just joined the other group.  Congratulations!  You will be spared.

Secondly, I’ve changed the layout of my blog a lot.  I’ve got a new theme, and fancy new side bars where you can like me on facebook and subscribe via email if you so wish.  And you do wish to.  I can tell.  Do it.  Now.

Second off, here’s the actual post:

The Frozen Pinkys

We have a science lady at camp named Kara who runs the Science club and other science related activities.  That’s why I called her a science lady.  Kara has honduran milk snake that she keeps in a terrarium in the room and is, or course, either of infinite fascination to the campers or a creature from the stygian depths of their darkest nightmares. Incidentally, these are the only two opinions people ever have of snakes: they either love snakes or they hate them.  No one ever says “Snakes?  Those things are boring.”  I think those people died out thousands of years ago, because snakes above all things hate to be ignored.

Honduran milk snakes, though they look kind of like the dreaded coral snake, are not venomous and are apparently quite good with kids.  More’s the pity, I say.  I think a good ol’ venomous bite from a reptile is just the sort of thing some of these kids need to set them on the straight and narrow.  It’s good for your character.

Pictured: Character growth

Anyway, snakes, like all living things, need to eat stuff.  “And what is it snakes eat?” you’re probably asking yourself.  Well, stop interrupting, I was about to tell you.  Snakes eat frozen pinkys.  If you are anything like me, when you hear the word pinky you either think of your smallest finger on your hand or the  lovable cartoon mouse from the classic 90’s show Pinky and the Brain.  That pinky looks like this:

How adorable!

The frozen pinkys look like this:

WHAT THE FUCK ARE THOSE???

Can you spot the difference?  It’s easy: the frozen pinkys are more pink.  Hence the hillarious name.  Oh… and they look like unborn fetuses.  But don’t worry, you don’t actually have to touch frozen pinkys.  They come in handy little cigarette style boxes designed for easy dumping, though the mere knowledge of their existence will weigh heavily on your soul for years to come if you were to ever come into contact with them.  I’m told, however, that snakes love the things; they think they’re popcorn chicken or something.

Possibly the most disturbingly obvious part of frozen pinkies is that you must keep them frozen.  This wouldn’t present in problem in a zoo or the Slytherin common room, where I’m sure there are literally tons of the things secreted in special frozen pinky freezers.  But where do regular, non zoo keeper/dark wizard people like Kevin James and Kara keep their pinkys?  The answer: a normal freezer, right beside the popsicles.  Sometimes even lying horribly in wait among the popsicles!   A tasty surprise indeed.

You sick bastard

There is something fundamentally wrong about keeping frozen pinkys in the same place that you keep normal food.  I wonder how many frozen pinky owners have inadvertently had a late night snack of frozen pinkys instead of the klondike bars they were oh so hungrily reaching for?

Judging from his face, it looks like the answer is at least one.

And in the end it doesn’t really matter


As we enter into the last 6 days of camp I find it interesting to reflect upon the changes from the first several weeks, when the campers feared and respected me, to now, where they, to put it simply, don’t.  They have realized that I am all bark and no bite, I’m serious 23% of the time, I am more scared to take bad campers to the office than they are to go to the office and that, for the most part, I just don’t care anymore.  The children have gone from this

I love camp! And Bears! Hooray!

To this

I love to cause nothing but misery. Oh, and fuck camp.

Incidentally, that Santa Clause is one of the most disturbing pictures i have ever seen.  Anyway, I just dont care anymore.  On the playground today Timmy, damn him, found a wasps nest secreted under the slide on the jungle gym… or whatever those things are called now.  Giant metal and plastic play fort with slide.  Accident machine.  Law suite.  Whatever.

“Charles, um, there is a wasps nest under the slide” he told me as i reclined on a picnic table, hoping that just such a thing as wasp nest discovery wouldn’t happen.  I had been an uneventful day for me up till that point.

“So don’t go near it.”  I replied, not even looking up.  This logic, however, was completely lost on timmy.

“Yes buuuut…. it’s a wasp’s nest and I am a seven year old boy and am therefore compelled to go over and bother it with no regards for my personal safety.  If, however, i am injured I will of course blame it all on you and cry.  FOREVER.

A terrible sense of doom shivered down my spine as timmy turned away from me, a wry smile on his face and a wicked song in his heart.  Damn him.  I sat up and shouted.

“HEED ME CAMPERS!  I WANT IT TO BE UNDERSTOOD THAT NO ONE WILL GO NEAR THE WASP NEST.”

“A wasp nest, you say?” inquired Jimmy, turning away from the pile of dirt or whatever he was fucking playing with and looking straight at me.

“YES! THE ONE UNDER THE SLIDE!” I called back

“What slide?  Where?” he asked”

“THAT ONE!” I said, pointing “And just there, between the second and third joint, just to the left of that shiny bolt.”

“Indeeeeed,” mused jimmy as he left the dirt alone and began to stroke his chin contemplatively.  He walked over the slide and began to poke the nest with a stick or something.

“Yeah that one.  NO ONE GO NEAR THE ONE THAT JIMMY IS FOOLISHLY PRODDING WITH A STICK.  OK?”  No one seemed to listen. It was as if the slide was a giant electromagnet and all the children were bars of iron.  They slowly floated over to the slide, looks of awe upon their faces for they and they alone, had been blessed with a chance to see wasps, real wasps, in a nest under a slide.

“Oh well.  I suppose i fulfilled my contractual obligations in this particular instance.”  I said to my fellow counselors, who nodded sagely.

“In my opinion,” said one of them as the children began to pelt the nest with mulch and small stones, “a good stinging is just one some of these kids need.  Teach them a thing or two about wasps!  And life!  If you throw stones at something, you can expect the thing you throw stones at to be fucking angry.  I think that’s a chinsese proverb or something.”  The other counselors, myself included, nodded sagely a second time and went about our business.  Remarkably, no one got stung.  The wasps stoically took their punishment with an air of grace I had never held their species to possess.  All that happened that day on the playground was that the children had fun and a little bit more of my soul died, much like Voldemort when harry and his annoying friends kept destroying his horcruxes.  Poor Voldemort.  All he wanted was to be loved.

And seriously, who couldn't love that face?

All in all it was a typical day at camp….

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