Not since the battle of Wake Island has man faced such adversity as I have at my own apartment this past year. When I moved to the heavily wooded outskirts of Metro Detroit to escape the crime, pollution, and white battle rappers, I thought that I could at last relax in my own residence, safe from random assaults and unwanted intrusions. Boy was I ever wrong. I would probably rank this mistake up there with asking Livestock out to the prom, only to get ditched for Zack "Kitten Lips" Parsons, and then getting pig's blood dropped on me when I got voted "most prettiest princess". The enemy is at the gates my friends, and they mean business.
This enemy I speak of are the venomous woodland creatures that live in the forest and streams in my backyard. It seems that they have banded together in an unholy alliance against a common foe: me. Through sabotage, subterfuge, and psychological warfare, they have led a successful campaign against my front, causing me great emotional trauma, lack of sleep, and whining about it over the Internet to everyone's general annoyance. Let me tell you about some of the things these bastardly beasts are doing to make me cry at night while eating a whole tub of vanilla ice cream by myself in the bathroom.
A racoon defends its hard won position on my balcony. Not pictured: me getting bitten in the kneecap. Racoon City: The Battle for the Balcony
The main battleground in this constant and neverending war is the balcony. My balcony is right in the woods, with branches so close you can touch them. Since I'm on the third floor, it's the perfect level for most of the treetops where the vile little creatures plot their conspiracy. The bulk of this beastly battalion consists of very large raccoons that have taken up residence on my balcony, using it to nap, scream loudly for no reason, and as a personal bathroom. Yes, they shit everywhere. Not cute little nugget shit, but big ole dog sized shit that doesn't smell very pleasant in the least. Since these animals are nocturnal, they find my balcony very convenient for sleeping during the day. All day long they're huddled in the corner taking a nap. If I try to go outside with a chair to sit on my balcony to enjoy a nice summer day, the current racoon sleeping in the corner will wake up and growl menacingly, warning me to leave or get a face bite full of 29 various diseases. Since I'm a big wuss, and confrontations make me hyperventilate, I let the raccoons keep the balcony. For now.
Lewd Lovemaking DucksThere's a bird's nest in my BBQ. THERE'S A BIRD'S NEST....IN MY BBQ!! Bird Nest BBQ.
Just like the President of The United States, George Bush II, I like to get a good eight hours of sleep a night. Unfortunately, it's been more like 4 hours a night due to some randy ducks that practice their nightly orgies in the stream outside my window. When I was in 'Nam, I slept through Vietcong raids like a baby, but these duck's quacking of pleasure rouse me out of even the soundest sleep. These nightly Culigulan feather-filled fuckfests have gotten totally out of bounds of what I would call decent water fowl mating. I got so sick of it, that I went outside with a flashlight to break up the duck kingdom of Sodom and Gomorra. I dispersed the rabble amongst a whirl of feathers and duckish secretions, and went back to my bed to try to get some sleep, but they would return with renewed vigor. Since my sleep has now been cut in half, I've found it hard to concentrate at work, and cannot perform with a woman any longer. My girlfriend doesn't buy the duck excuse, but I know it must be the source of my intimacy problems.
One of my favorite things to do in summer is cook juicy red meat and various wursts over an open flame. When I am tending the BBQ, I am the master of my domain. There is nothing more personal and holy than a man's grill. One day I saw a medium sized sparrow entering the closed BBQ from a vent hole on the side. Thinking it was mighty queer, I investigated as to why on earth this bird was going into my grill. When I opened the lid, a shrill womanly shriek of horror erupted out of me. There was a bird's nest in my BBQ! Littered with sticks, twigs, hay, and a healthy portion of crap, my once proud BBQ was defiled. Never before have I felt so violated, barring the time that I was molested by Gary Hart at the 1984 National Democratic Convention. I was so enraged that I let out erratic, hysterical laughter and laid down on my floor in catatonic despair until I felt the urge to put a Hot Pocket in the microwave.
Animal Dance Party USA
Everyday is a party at Frolixo's apartment! Since I'm on the top floor of the building, I hear every little footstep or acorn that taps on the roof. Apparently the roof is the most happenin' place in the animal kingdom, a hotspot where all animals can get together and dance the night away. Paws of all shapes and sizes randomly stomp and scramble across the roof at all hours of the night. I can only assume that raccoons, squirrls, and other assorted beasts are dropping E, juggling glowsticks, and jumping up and down repeatedly to test the stress capacity of the ceiling. I bet they keep playing Paul Oakenfield over and over again, who I hate and want to die in a fiery car crash. This is another reason I can't sleep.
I hope this is covered under my warranty. Piglets in my PC
I noticed awhile ago that my computer had not been acting up to par, which distressed me to no end since it's fairly new and I take good care of it. When I would go online to "surf the information highway of love", the browser would tend to lock up and freeze, especially if I was 97% completed on a pornography movie (for research purposes only). I tried Norton Anti-Virus, defraging my hardrive, and washing the keyboard with warm soapy water, but nothing worked. So I decided to pop the baby open and take a look at the hardware. Sure enough, a batch of guinea pigs had been breeding inside my computer. As soon as I got all of them out (there were 5), my computer was totally normal. I'm still not sure how the guinea pigs got in there, but I'm sure they came from the forest and snuck through the air vents. To prevent this from ever happening again, I traded my computer in for a sack of magic beans.
Counter-Attack: Operation Grizzly Adams It was high time to take back my apartment by any means necessary. First, I placed dozens of garden gnomes on the balcony to deter enemy racoon movements, then spikes were installed on the rooftop to put a end to the animal hootenanny taking place. Lastly, I purchased a duck call whistle from the local sporting goods store to confuse the out of control duck sexual activity taking place, hopefully to the point of frustration and dissolution. I decided to leave the nest on the grill, so that when the birds lay their sweet, fresh eggs, all I would have to do is turn on the flame and have an instant meal. Operation Grizzly Adams was in full effect.
Plan B: Flee Operation Grizzly Adams was a total failure. While the gnomes did create some difficulty for the raccoons, most were broken or shat upon within a week. The spikes on the roof only succeeded in transforming the animal rave party into a goth dance club that is pretty much the same but more queer. The duck call only seemed to work on my bloated, mentally defective neighbor Steven, who is now trying to breed with me to make little retarded ducklings. Finally, the raccoons ate the bird eggs before I had a chance to cook them, thus foiling my plans for a free meal on nature's expense. There is only one other option: flee. My lease is up in one month and I don't plan to renew. The animals have outright beaten me on their own territory, just like in 'Nam. They may have won this round, but I'll be back, oh yes. This isn't the last they've seen of me. They may have taken my apartment, but they'll never take my FREEEEDOM!
Anybody want to buy a slightly used BBQ?The Og Volta
Hi folks, Dennis "Corin Tucker's Stalker" Farrell reporting in as your State Og Representative as always. It's Saturday, July 5th, and you know what that means! You overslept dude. The fourth was totally yesterday, you somehow managed to completely pass Friday up. What the hell is wrong with you?
From the talented mind of our Chief of Cliched Japanese Biology, Dr. Christopher "Nishimura" McLeod, comes the next big thing in life saving techniques. After a four-year stint locked in the State Og biodome and skate park, Dr. McLeod finally figured out how to work the door latch and emerged with an astounding new product! Yes, Christopher's inaccurately named Rape Cats are here and ready to help the world!
Once you've had some coffee and fully woken up, check out this week's State Og. It's chock full of words, and maybe vitamins! Okay, there aren't any vitamins. Still though, words. You can't beat words, unless you're playing some really abstract game of Rock, Paper, Scissors, and Words. If you are, we don't want your kind reading State Og anyway.
Did Louis C.K. jerk off in front of two female comics? And why are these ladies squandering an opportunity to learn from a comedy legend?
Elliot said my breakup must have been due to the sweater curse, an unexplained phenomenon where anyone who gives their significant other a hand-knit sweater gets dumped. The only way to break the curse, Elliot said, was to destroy the sweater.
The Something Awful front page news tackles anything both off and on the Internet. Mostly "on" though, as we're all incredible nerds.