This is me, only with nicer hair. Why am I worried? Well for one, my hands are just kind of floating around and aren't attached to anything.
I spend a good majority of my life worrying about things. There used to be a time many, many years ago when I could actually sit in one location for more than 19 seconds without feeling my stomach slowly twist and knot itself into some kind of slimy heap of rotting Polish sausage, but those days are long gone. Now I pop ranitidine tablets like Sweet Tarts, desperately trying to quell the sea of acid-soaked shrapnel which dissolves handfuls of my stomach lining each and every hour. I'll worry about business, I'll worry about my girlfriend, I'll worry about my dogs, I'll worry about my family, I'll worry about my house, I'll worry about the strange smell coming from my pants... but at least I won't have to worry about Congo and Rwanda any time soon.
Congo 'not going to attack Rwanda' - Congo on Monday denied claims by rival and neighbor Rwanda that it was massing troops for attack, and international diplomatic pressure built to avoid what one African leader called "potentially catastrophic war" in central Africa. Congo's defense minister told The Associated Press that his country was sending a total of 5,000 troops east to provinces bordering Rwanda, Congo's chief enemy in a devastating five-year central African war -- but insisted the deployment was to quell ex-rebels on Congo's soil, not invade Rwanda's. "We are not threatening the integrity of our neighboring country. We trust our neighbor, and we want them to trust us," Defense Minister Jean-Pierre Ondekane said in Kinshasa, the capital.
"Congo is not going to attack Rwanda," Foreign Minister Antoine Ghonda told The AP.
The seemingly neverending conflict between world nuclear heavyweights Congo and Rwanda has been raging in Africa for decades now, a bloodthirsty series of battles which has existed since the beginning of time itself. This epic struggle between two world superpowers has ruined many innocent lives during however the hell long it has been taking place, a fact which I can personally verify. For example, my girlfriend recently yelled at me, slammed the door in my face, and drove off in a furious rage. She mentioned something about being outraged at me for skipping her birthday party to drink beer and play Animal Crossing in my underwear all day, but it's obvious what the real issue here was: the conflict between Congo and Rwanda. She may not have the courage to come outright and say it to my face, but every time I look into that girl's eyes, I see Congo and Rwanda. I think those are lyrics from a Michael Bolton song.
I'm not very good at using Excel, but I believe this chart proves everything I've been talking about, and if you don't believe me, then you read the chart wrong.
In a climate full of terrorism, shaky economies, and questionable leadership, we need a concrete anchor in Africa to soothe our fears and stabilize this crazy, unpredictable world of ours. I had always hoped Congo and Rwanda could resolve their differences and merge to create one single powerhouse of proud African stability, a country that could lead us into the 22nd century with solid visions of the future, preferably involving hovercars. I call this country "Congwanda" and envision their leader as a 10-foot tall, moustached robot who speaks in binary and throws criminals into active volcanoes. As a wise man once said, "you cannot create peace without paying a robot to throw people into a volcano," so Congwanda would truly be the foundation this world needs to build upon. Unfortunately, it looks like it might be a while before my dreams of a united Congwanda come true, so I should probably get back to dreaming of something more practical like the return of the XFL.
To understand the conflict between Rwanda and Congo, one must first attempt to understand the conflict between Rwanda and Congo. There are over 200 separate ethnic groups living in Congo, including the Luba, Kongo, and Anamongo tribes, and scholars dub these people "Congolese" despite the fact that "Congolese" sounds like the name of some man-made artificial lard substitute that Kraft wants to start putting in their Kraft Kidz Chee-Z Cheez N' Cheez Cheddar Cheez-Z-Z-eez Breakfast Glutton Snack Tub. To make things even more complex, each of these 200 ethnic groups has their own special ethnic language, even though only four of them - Kiswahili, Lingala, Kikongo and Tshiluba - have earned "official" language status. I'm no language expert, particularly when it comes to the Congolese people of the Tshilubas, but I imagine it must be pretty rough for folks who speak a language that isn't recognized as even being a language by the people in charge of official language recognizing. Each day they wake up and fervently pray to their weird, incorrect gods, hoping that their language didn't suddenly stop existing while they slept. Then their god waves around a few of his 46 arms and, through the miracle of His Holy Unibrow, their unofficial kooky series of clicks, whistles, and subsonic hums they mistakenly call a "language" is granted another contract extension.
Number 8 is number 1 in my heart and removes the explosives from the minefields of love.
Since 1998, up to three million people have been killed in the Congwanda war, leaving millions more homeless or seeking asylum in neighboring countries. Do you understand exactly how many people that is? It's like a lot, possibly even more. Of course all these people were already homeless and seeking asylum in neighboring countries before the war began, but the massacre really accelerated that whole process for them. In fact, the most popular job in both Congo and Rwanda is "asylum seeking," a full time occupation which requires the applicant to walk through the nearest bordering country's immigration office, demand an application for residency, and then walk through that country to the next bordering country's immigration office where they demand another application for residency. This process is repeated until the applicant either winds up in Europe or dead, two remarkably similar conditions.
I tried to look up more information regarding the current crisis brewing between Congo and Rwanda, but dear lord, it's really long and full of a lot of words and not nearly enough photos of dirty little ugly children with captions like "young Tibuti Mlakawi has smallpox." To make matters even worse, the second floor of my house is currently haunted by a Urine Ghost who is really mad at me for some unknown reason, and he is trying his best to prevent me from writing. For all you non-pet owners out there, a Urine Ghost is a specter who rises from the dog pee molecules embedded in your carpet, wrapping all nearby victims in a warm coat of stale piss which smothers them like an infant trapped underneath a mattress that has 50 filthy hobos sitting on top trading stories about boxcars. I was intensely worrying about the Congo vs. Rwanda conflict as I began writing this update, but now I find myself worrying about this damn Urine Ghost which has taken residency in my office and has shown no signs of leaving any time soon.
A real photograph I took of the Urine Ghost in my house. I tried to make the photo scratch and sniff, but I don't think Firefox supports that extension yet.
The problem with raising two dogs is that dogs love to pee. Wait, actually there's about 10,000 different problems with raising two dogs, but the peeing issue is first and foremost to me at this particular moment. Now once you catch your young pet pissing all over your nice new carpet, you can swoop in and begin applying liberal treatments of carpet cleaners, warm water, and acidic compounds to the soaking stain of puppy piss, but it won't do any damn good at all. Dog urine is a magical, otherworldly liquid which immediately bonds with carpet the exact nanosecond it comes into contact. You can pay two burly, sweaty, hairy oafs to lumber into your home and spray gallons of noxious chemicals all over your carpet, but they won't get rid of the pungent puppy piss odor. The main function of carpet cleaning is to cover up the disgusting urine odors by making your carpet reek of completely different disgusting odors. You can tear out your carpet and replace it with some of that brand new fancy carpet which is made out of tiny microscopic robot Jews and Ruplestiltskin's spun gold, but it won't make any difference. You can move out of your home and relocate to a hotel with Craig T. Nelson and the other members of his family, but it's impossible to escape. The Urine Ghost will follow.
When a dog urinates, they expel a flow of water, waste products, and souls of innocent little animals they've consumed. These are souls from every kind of insect and creature they ate; Junebugs, baby mice, earthworms, snakes... if it was living, its soul will be pissed out. Now my two dogs love to eat things. They eat my clothes, my deck, my shoes, my electrical wiring, and everything else that can fit into their mouths without trying to punch them first. So each and every time Polly or Speedy relieve themselves on the carpet, a ghoulish spirit of the damned forms like Voltron from countless irate caterpillars, toads, and beetles souls that were previously trapped inside their bladders. This Urine Ghost rises from its grave each damp, moist evening, striking out for revenge at the nearest innocent victim. I happen to be its latest target, and since this damn ghost hasn't left my house in nearly a week now, I find my inability to properly worry quite worrisome.
So while I sit here, attempting to successfully worry about the current Congo vs. Rwanda conflict, I find myself worrying about the wrath of the Urine Ghost. Maybe, some day in the distant future, the president of Congwanda will spread his eternal message of peace and joy throughout the world and the overwhelming power of love shall soothe the savage spirits of all Urine Ghosts. Then I will be able to finally get back to what's important - worrying about unimportant things - and I won't have to worry about anything else unimportant in my life. May god bless you, Congwanda, and may you keep us all safe from Urine Ghosts.
MC Chris is the man
Ryan "OMGWTFBBQ" Adams still alive, and here to set a few things straight.
Number One: I don't make all of the pictures or write all of the content that goes into a Comedy Goldmine. The Something Awful Forum Goons do. They're the talented ones. I'm just some shmuck that put it all in one place for you to read.
Number Two: If you want to join in on the Comedy Goldmine/Photoshop Phriday fun, you will need an account. I can't post any submissions I get through e-mail. I'm sorry, but that's how the game is played. Go ahead and join up if you haven't, best ten dollars you'll spend in a while, I assure you. Just read the rules before you start posting.
Number Three: I was born a coal miner's daughter.
Now that we have that all cleared up, let's move on to the Goldmine.
Sex. Drugs. Drinking. Baking a cake. All of these things except for the last one can lead to uncomfortable times with one's parents. And despite our very best efforts, we never manage to completely fool 'ole mom and dad. Perhaps God looks down at us and sets things up for his own personal porno blooper reel. I'm not sure, but considering how many goons have been caught in compromising situations, he's got to be doing something.
Here's a taste of this week's Goldmine:
I remember this incredibly well, as it is probably the most humiliating thing that has ever happened to me in my entire life.
I had a room in the basement throughout most of high school, and a girlfriend of mine was over, fairly late, I would say about midnight. That was commonplace, both of our parents were okay with it. Well, after we both decided that my parents were asleep, we decided to mess around a little, the walls are thick and there was no chance of anyone hearing anything upstairs. Well, things escalated and one thing led to another. About 15 minutes into it, the light comes on and my dad stands at the top of the steps.
Dad: "Have you seen the kitty?" Me: "No Dad, she's not down here"
I'm frozen, on top of this girl, trying to discreetly persuade my dad not to come down the steps.
Dad: "Kitty?" *comes down the steps*
Here, I think to myself, I'm simply fucked.
So, my dad comes down the steps and sees us there, which is not the worst part. He STAYS down there for what had to have been 5 minutes looking for the damn cat, IN MY ROOM. He walks over, checks under my bed, looks under the desk, and checks the closet. During this entire time, I'm still in bed, disrobed with this girl, as my father searches my room for our cat.
Dad: "She's probably outside somewhere"
I couldn't even reply. He never said anything to me the next day, I received no recourse, and it was the most bizarre thing that has ever happened to me in my life.
Thanks to forum Goon Quizal for starting up this and next week's Comedy Goldmine, "Awkward Times With Parents."
The Remains of Bidet (James Ivory, 1993)
We might find we have more in common than we think if we just stop fighting long enough to combine our bodies into a singular organism.
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