The End

Wow, guys, I kinda failed at that series thing.  Please, allow me to apologize with two "this one time's" for you, today, then I'll be done with the series.
  
This one time, I watched my dad flip his bike over a hole in a sandpit. It was hilarious.
 

This one time, I broke two hurdles in a one race. Talk about power.

 
 
Go back through this week's posts.  They're all true.  Now look at them, and tell me you can't laugh maniacally at at least one of them. 
 
I dare you to guess how they happened.

This one time, I read four full-length novels in eight hours.  Sweet heavens, what a day.

I'm sorry if this one is bending the rules a little bit.  Brace yourself for part four.

This one time, I pooped 28 times in 4 days. You'd better believe they were full loads.

For more wonderful information on the sweet world of rumps, go to: http://ngcmn.blogspot.com/2014/04/lemme-tell-you-about-butts.html#more

This one time, I consumed six Mcdoubles and a large-sized Coke in thirty minutes.  That's 2,180 calories, kids!

Hooray for part two!

This one time, I woke up on a professional-league baseball field.  My head was in a puddle of water about an inch deep.

This Is a Series

Hello!  I've missed you all!
 
Okay, I have a mission for both of us today.  For you, it's that you have to read this post, and every other post on this site.  Show me some lovin', cuz we all know you want to.
 
My mission, on the other hand, is to start this wonderful series! 
 
"But don't series have multiple issues?" you may ask.  Well, duh, of course they do.  This is called "the first installment," and it would look pretty stupid if it didn't have an intro, right?  Right.
 
I've been going back and forth in my head about doing full posts this summer, and the resounding answer has been (as I'm sure you can tell) is, "Uh, heck no."  It's not even just because I'm lazy (I'm working up to sixty hours per week here, people), but mostly because I like running around outside like the little kid I am.  The compromise here is to do some week-long series, like this one.  (And I know it's a little late in the summer to start now, but I don't see any of you helping me out, so yeah.)
 
This first series is called "This One Time. . . " and I'm sure in about three seconds you'll figure out why.
 
 
 

This one time, I cried because my mom got a perm.

My Return

It's been awhile since I've been on here, huh?  Well, to those of you who care (and I know you all do), I'm sorry I've not been up with the writing.  Some things get in the way, like work, school, my second job, that thing I'm supposed to do but spend all day trying to avoid (I think it's called my blog or something stupid like that).  Just been a rough time.

I'm not promising any consistency, ya greedy little turdsuckers, but I will tell you I'm not completely done.  I do like ranting and blathering about pointless topics (coming soon:  an article about a vampiric sea creature who uses its sustenance as poison), but I don't have the ability.

Before I keep repeating myself, what I'm trying to say is, I still want to tell you things.  I still want to be there for you, when you're on the toilet or after a long day when you're so tired you'll laugh at anything.  I'll keep writing on here, honing my skills.  Maybe someday you'll see me on Cracked.  Or maybe you'll just choose to learn everything from me.  I think I'd like that.

Now, I'll let you go get some crackers for all this cheese (that means I'm being cheesy, guys), but make sure you do come back soon.  I'll be waiting.

Alarm Clocks Are Kind of the Worst

The expression “sleeps like a log” doesn't really apply to me, because you can assume at one point the log was a tree, and trees are, well, alive. When I sleep, there's no real indication that I was ever alive, so an alarm clock destroying my unconscious bliss is a torture no one should have to experience, on a par with having your toenails ripped out. 
 

I Swear I'm Not Done Yet

I know it's only four minutes into Sunday so far, but I'm positive I won't be able to post today, cuz I live in the middle of Hicktown and have no wifi at home.  So. . . I will be moving post dates to Mondays when I can actually be near Internet.

Hopefully, I'll be able to adhere to this a little better during the summer, but I am dreadfully sorry if I can't.  Now laugh, because this is a humor blog and stuff.


Update:  Okay, screw that crap.  I'll post whenever I darn well feel like it, and if that means it's like once a month, I'm sorry, but I really cannot handle much more than that.  Cuz life sucks and all, you know. 

Okaybyefornow.

An Apology

Hey.  I know you're reading this, so don't pretend like you're not.

I'm very sorry for this, but I don't have an actual post for today.  I KNOW it's Sunday, and I KNOW that's when I'm supposed to post my major stories and whatnot.  I was having a bad week, and I just don't like writing when I'm sad.

So. . . hopefully next week I'll be able to ramble about something interesting for you.  Hopefully.

Thank you for your understanding.  While you're desperately waiting for a new work of Ursus-brand art, you can read some other posts or, here, look:  you can enjoy this kitten.

                                                                                                 nextchanel.com

How I Lost My Fingerprints

The platitude “bad choices make great stories” sticks around for a number of reasons. If you're stupid enough to wander the Serengeti during the lions' mating season, then yes, you will have a fantastic tale to tell. . . if you get out alive. Same goes if you choose to get a tattoo while drunk. Living without “regrats” is a wonderful ideal, but to put it into practice is all but impossible. 
 

I try not to dwell on the awful, moronic things I've done, but some blunders stick out farther than a gym class stiffy, and it becomes impossible not to brag about my failings.
 

Abraham Lincoln, Master Duelist

The twenty-first century has brought with it the advent of many breakthroughs, but before your mind goes to the world of technology, I'm gonna remind you of all the social issues that have redefined society more than iPads and Internet memes. 
 

Homosexuality has gained ground in practically every facet; even Boy Scouting has “accepted” it (though that was mostly due to a need for sponsors' money.) Affirmative action pays for dozens of minority groups' education. Discrimination in general has deteriorated, and people are more accepting of minor differences, but all this isn't necessarily a good thing: people are such lily-livers now.

 

William Sidis Is Smarter Than You

Matt Inman (aka The Oatmeal) purports that Nicholas Tesla is the greatest geek who ever lived. Don't get me wrong, Tesla was a brilliant man and applied his talents in many facets that the world will never truly appreciate. This said, I feel it is my duty to point out a man who could out-nerd Tesla while playing nine separate chess games: William Sidis.
 

Lemme Tell You about Butts. . .

A lot has been going through my mind regarding this blog lately. I've become lazier and lazier with each post, barely meeting my self-imposed Sunday night deadline. Skipping a week has been a frequent thought, but I'm smart enough to realize that if I skip one week six times in a row, that's actually six weeks I've skipped.
 

The world isn't gonna end if I skip a post, or if I stop this blog altogether. But I like to think that there are some people who care about this, so I keep trudging on. Yes, I have plenty of ideas, it's just getting them all typed that causes me a reason for discomfort. Typing like 700 words? That's haaaaard. Who ever wants to do that much work? Heck, most of us have probably procrastinated on those 50-word short-answer paragraphs our easier teachers or professors claim is homework. “Name your favorite movie and explain why” becomes a terrifyingly long prompt.

 

A Sampling of How the Mind Can Suck

When you look around and consider that all the people you see are alive, it's kind of a miracle. There are so many diseases to have, so many freak accidents that can occur to anyone, that it should make you wonder how you're even able to sit on the computer and read high-quality blogs like this one. However, even if you continue eluding death, you can easily be subjected to some pretty crappy disorders or phenomena that, for the most part, will make you want to be dead.
 

For your edification, I picked some of the more obscure ones to describe, and hopefully you can see the humor in them. If not, I totally understand, because very rarely does the body mutate or deteriorate in a good way.

   

Why Buzzfeed Quizzes Suck

The Internet is a cesspool of horrible websites and porn.  (Can you believe over 80% of all sites are porn-related?)  But you can do millions of things aside from your daily hand-to-gland combat, like connecting with friends on dozens of social sites, arranging teleconferences with business associates from Uzbekistan and buying that zebra-striped jockstrap you've always wanted, and all in only twenty minutes. 

The Plight of the Bombyx Mori

I have a pretty cool scar of about four inches on the right side of my ribcage. It'd be kinda cool if I could say it was from surgery, like my own body was rebelling against my vast awesomeness and the organ in charge had to be removed from the other conspirators or something.
 

Obviously, I didn't get it because my organs recognize how magnificent I am. I got it because I'm freaking stupid.
  

The Lamest Color Ever

Today may have been the single-most disillusioning period of my entire life.

I woke up after about six hours of sleep, which sucks, because I am a man who loves his sleep, and just about anything under 22 hours just isn't gonna cut it. So I was pretty tired for a lot of today, which may have played a part in my experience.

Sitting in class, I thought about some fun words I know, because I'm a pretty big nerd, and that's what I do. This in turn brought on a full-scale discussion about interesting word etymologies, still all in my head. I'm a puzzler, though, so why would I want to think about words I already know? I started pivoting my head, searching for new, fascinating words to ponder.

It was in that critical moment in which I spied a red poster on the wall. But it wasn't actually red. It was. . . crimson.

My Ceramic Torture Chamber

"Hey man, is that your bae?

 

“Who you mean?”

“Dat gurl who's always in yo' room.”

“Oh, naw man, she ain't mah bae, we juss slammin all da time.”

“Oh. Coo'."

 

For those of you who are not familiar with black culture, the above conversation is a rough example of an English dialect called Ebonics. I'm proud to say I speak it, but I'm not proud of how I learned.

I live in the ghetto.

5 Things Every Public Bathroom Needs

I'm relatively certain all public bathrooms are the same:  they smell terrible, they're rather cramped and there's always that one homeless guy cleaning himself in the sink.  We all whine over the qualities that these bathrooms have, but not so much what they don't.  I think it's time to start.

Allergies

Spring. . . the time when the snow melts and the deciduous trees' leaves bud.  Temperatures rise, and. . . everyone starts sneezing. 

This is a pretty obvious phenomenon; when plants' pollens permeate the air, people who don't have immunity inhale and begin an extremely complicated reaction based on an evolutionary weakness.  This is what we, in the advanced scientific community, call an "allergy."

Emil Zatopek, the World's Fastest Czech

Biennially, the nations of the world come together to prove they're the best. . . in sports.  This year just so happens to hold the winter Olympics in Sochi, Russia, but this is not a story about sliding down a snowy hill. 

This is about one of the greatest Olympians of the Modern Games.  No, it's not Jesse Owens, who broke five records in forty-five minutes.  It's not Usain Bolt, the greatest human sprinter in the history of the planet.  No current Olympian shares such perfection, such ridiculous luck, as that of Emil Zatopek.

If you've never heard the name, you probably shouldn't be surprised.  He didn't do much when he competed, except BREAK WORLD RECORDS OVER AND OVER. 

The Wrath of The Bottle

This, my friends, is not a story for the faint of heart. Proceed with caution, and prepare your souls.

About two weeks ago, I made a truly arduous trek to my parents' house to pick up some letters and victuals. As I was leaving, my mother offered me apple juice and soda, one bottle of each. I graciously accepted these gifts and drove to my home, allowing the drinks to lie in the back of my vehicle.

One week ago, I traveled to work, still with my beverages resting in the back, icing over in the frosty winter weather. I had packed a lunch for the day but upon arrival realized I had forgotten a small drink. The reasonable beverage to take from the car probably should've been the apple juice, but I felt adventurous. I, against all sense, grabbed the soda. It did cross my mind at the time that my choice might have been erroneous, but I was enamored, completely captivated even, by the promise of its sweet, sweet flavor.

The apple juice is a bit player in all of this,

Resolutions Are as Hard as Titles

2014 is roughly 11% over as I write this and almost half of Americans (that's 150 million people) made New Year's Resolutions. I don't know how these people chose the resolutions they did, but when the ball dropped, all of them stepped out to say, "Hey! I'm a bad person, but in <insert whatever year is starting> I'm gonna do <something awesome> and everyone will know I'm a hero!"