Like the above beaver, I am very busy. And I have a tail.
Sorry everybody, I really hate to do this, but I've got to cut and run today. I can't dally around all the livelong day just chatting it with you up like some Long Island hair salon tart. There are things to do and frightfully little time in which to do them. I'd love to sit here for hours and hours to provide you with some amusement, but the horrible truth of the matter is this: it's a simple matter of prioritizing. You come to this site expecting me to set aside my life to give you a few chuckles, and for a good length of time now, that's been the truth of the situation. It's worked out well for both of us, I think. You get your laughs - be they titters, giggles, chuckles, chortles, belly laughs, guffaws, or outright lollin' - and I get the satisfaction of knowing that I've made your life a little more enjoyable. But as I said before, I've got a lot on my plate at the moment, and when I did a fairly basic analysis of the situation, I discovered that my life is more important than yours by a significant extent. So I hate to say this, but I can't be bothered to do an article this week.
Just what do I have going on, you ask, that is so very important that I feel I can just shove you aside? Oh nothing big, really. Just a lot of little things. For starters, it's finals week at school, so I must tend to my studies. My mother always said, "No matter how talented you are or how lucky you are, you can never go places in life if you don't tend to your studies." "Why not," I would ask sweetly, my eyes filled with childlike wonder and eye-jelly. "Because I'll break your legs with this meat tenderizer," she'd reply, "now get back to work or I'll kill your brother and put him in the meatloaf tonight." Those were magical bonding moments between my mother and I. The next day I went off to college and found that it was up to me to tend to my studies, because she wasn't about to tend them for me. At least, that's what I thought until I got a finger in the mail with a note that said "Greg." Since Greg is my brother, I made the assumption that she wanted to remind me to keep my mind on my work by giving me a little threat. It sure did motivate me, I'll tell you what! It turns out it was all a big misunderstanding, though. My mother had gotten a little confused, probably because of her blood lust. The letter was actually meant for Greg, who was having trouble getting motivated to look for a new job out in California, and it turned out that it was actually my finger, which explained an awful lot about that time about a week earlier when I passed out from blood loss and woke up with severely slowed typing skills. Oh, that reminds me. Happy Mother's Day, Mom.
Now, I think we can all agree that that last paragraph stopped making any sense whatsoever about halfway through, and that is undoubtedly a result of my mind wandering to the subject of the many other things that I have to do today that are going to prevent me from being able to write an article for you. For instance, I also have a pressing social obligation. You've probably had some sort of social obligation at some point in your life, or if not, I'm sure you will someday. However, mine is pressing. I don't mean to say that I will be pressing things, even in a social capacity, but rather that the urgency of this social obligation is pressing down upon me. You see, the members of the co-ed literary society to which I belong decided in their infinite wisdom at the beginning of the semester that if anyone would be a good candidate to host all of the society's social events, it would be a scrawny, bald, sweaty internet writer. And they were right. Who among you wouldn't want to party with Greasnin! You all want to party with Greasnin! It's a blast! This is the last event of the semester, and it's slated to be a humdinger! That's right, a bonafide humdinger. But before any hums can get dinged, I've got to put together some music, rearrange furniture, install blacklights, and go out and buy food, drinks, and at least one more good pair of bondage cuffs. And then, of course, I have to run the damn thing, so that entire chunk of time is just gone from my day. This party will take a lot of work, but it should be a good time. You could come, but.... you know. It would be a little awkward. For us both. But mostly you.
You'd think this would be illegal, but you'd be 34% incorrect!
And as if there wasn't enough to do already, I've got to handle my new responsibilities as a minister of the Universal Life Church. I was only just ordained, and I really only went through with it because a couple friends of mine did it and I got jealous of their ability to marry people, but I take my spiritual undertakings very seriously. I have a lot of views on spirituality, religion, faith - call it what you will - which is what drove me to get myself ordained. And now that I have all the powers granted to a religious figurehead, such as a minister, it is my sacred and sworn duty to exploit them. So sometime today I have to found a church, gather together a congregation, swindle their last dime out of them with talk of "heaven" and "not just rotting in the ground after death," and then promptly skip town, and all of this before I have to come back to run that party I was talking about.
So as you can plainly see, I have a full day ahead of me. I'm enriching my life and the lives of those around me. What are you doing with your day, huh? Looking at a website. That's just fantastic. Truly, you are the kind of go-getter who makes the rest of us look bad. As you can plainly see, my life and all of my various wheelings and dealings is exponentially more important than yours, so I'm very sorry, but I just won't be able to squeeze you in today. Don't worry about me, though. I'll make it through this gauntlet ahead of me with strength, determination, resolve, and dammit, a little grit, and then, I promise we'll go out for ice cream. Or I'll just write something for you. Whichever is easier.
The Weekend Web: It's Time to Take Out the Trash
Hello internet friends, Zachary "Spokker Jones" Gutierrez here. Today's Weekend Web is very special because we are featuring one of the greatest forums to ever grace our beautiful internet. What is it? Why, BoyBliss.net of course, the most happenin' site on the whole world wide web! Boy Bliss is full of happy people just waiting to meet you. Just check out this happy poster.
Aw, I wonder why anyone would call this nice man bad names. Find out here.
Celebrate diversity and inclusiveness at your next protest by not calling Donald Trump a nasty little-hands pisspig bitch.
A true patriot has exactly seven t-shirts, with seven slight variations on a single phrase that tell one powerful story. This is that tale.
The Something Awful front page news tackles anything both off and on the Internet. Mostly "on" though, as we're all incredible nerds.