4 Things I Observed While Stopping for Gas

Road trips bring numerous opportunities to learn about yourself and the world. I tend to prefer interesting things to happen rather than good things, and at one cold gas station in Wilkesboro, North Carolina, I got my fill of interesting to last the entire winter.

1. Dodge, Duck, Dick, Dive, and Dodge

Besides gas, I imagine the main purpose for a gas station to exist in the middle of nowhere is to release your bowels. Unfortunately, I have not kept a log or signed my name at each bathroom where my bodily functions interrupted the building’s plumbing. Where as a cat always knows where he marked his territory, my attempts are carried to the ocean most times.

My new method for remembering where I’ve erupted is if another guy decides to tuck his greasy weapon in long after he finishes his business. I don’t know why, but there’s an epidemic of man-children who wait until they reach the sink to tame their beast. Perhaps it’s to warn new bathroom patrons that no penis bigger than theirs is capable of sprinkling the toilet seat like they did. More likely than not, they forgot that their anatomy does not work like a retractable dog leash by pressing a button. Thanks to the gentleman at the Wilkesboro gas station for scaring a new method for remembering where I pissed last deep into my psyche.

“Good luck to you, veiny fella.”

2. People don’t understand how to people-watch in gas stations.

It’s as simple as parking it in front of your bedroom window, but people-watchers of the gas station-variety find this concept foreign. We’re in an enclosed space surrounded by snacks and tobacco products, yet they treat it like we’re at a funeral.

If I’m trying to decide which two Pepsi products to purchase in order to get them for $2.50, it shouldn’t feel like a PhD is examining my behavior through a one way mirror. I apologize for tattling on scientists who conduct their research at urine-stained gas stations in the middle of nowhere, but I am not dedicating my body to science just because it takes 10 minutes to decide how I’ll take a dose of diabetes.

No Baja Blast? Amateur.

3. The cashier no longer cares about the customer.

Gas station attendants have a straight-forward job description that fails to mention the number of deadbeats they have to put up with to earn a paycheck. It’s no wonder they keep their shelves stocked with junk food and cigarettes: to kill the customer for a paycheck.

There were 4 people in front of me at the counter; each and every one of them bought cigarettes, chips or candy, and a soda. After ringing up the first customer, the cashier’s face was painted with concern as if she was responsible for their ailments. By the third and fourth rude customer, that look dissipated. She was relieved to know that their poor diet choices would render them rude customers who couldn’t leave their hospital beds. I think she hated me, too.

Will it be unleaded, cancer or diabetes today, sonny?

4. I am just as unobservant as I was when I graduated college.

My teenage years taught me to zero in on the development of a juicy pimple, but I have yet to learn which gas station has cheaper gas in my adult years. The gas station directly across from the one I stop at will always have lower gas prices, even if they only differ by a few pennies. If I had known any better, 50+ more stops at random gas stations would have saved me enough pennies to buy a goldfish – a goldfish that will probably die in three days anyway. I’m not good at being an adult.

Forgive me, Bubbles.

 

 

 

Christmas Shopping for the Clueless

Is there a special someone in your life that you’ve been dating, stalking, or salivating over for a better part of the year? Are you also struggling with the task of finding them the perfect Christmas present? Christmas is the time of year to fill hearts with joy like children fill Santa’s pants with urine at the mall. While a challenging endeavor, you can be triumphant in your quest by following the guide I have provided below. If Nicolas Cage can steal the Declaration of Independence, you can steal your lover’s heart with the spirit of Christmas.

Step 1: Research

Independent research is crucial to finding the perfect gift for that special someone. It shows that you put some extra thought rather than buying something spur of the moment like condoms from a bathroom dispenser at the gas station. A popular scheme to execute is slyly inquiring about some random fact or opinion held by your partner. This is usually done if the buyer is dead set on buying an article of clothing. However, I’ve learned that asking for someone’s measurements is generally a bad idea in self-conscious America. The numbers provided are not their physical measurements, rather they are coordinates to where they’ll hide your dead body. Consult the Internet, your lover’s friends, your dying ferret, or the shoe guy at the bowling alley before you ever ask your lover what they want for Christmas.

Step 2: Acquire the necessary funds.

You may be slithering in mountains of coin like Smaug, or you’re a non-reptilian deadbeat scavenging for change in a Cheetoh-stained couch. Whatever the case, it’s good to gut your wallet for someone during the holiday season. Rummaging through your sister’s tip money is a good place to start. You could also hawk over the self-scan section at your local supermarket and collect leftover coins in need of adoption. These are beginner-level thievery courses that Helen Keller could pass without her sense of touch, and so could you. Eventually, to have enough for more expensive gifts, you’ll need to assume the role of the prophet Moses and part the sea of people in the Salvation Army and loot their cash registers.

Step 3: Battle Royale – Parking Lot Edition

The parking lot at the mall is filled with rabid Christmas enthusiasts with the same goal in mind: buy their lover(s) the greatest gift their money can buy. However, for some reason, this requires parking in the closest spot possible. The handicapped parking permit industry has recently skyrocketed due to reported symptoms of laziness, so you can probably stub your toe on your cat’s jungle gym and get a permit. If you can’t fake a handicap, go NYC taxicab-crazy on the oily hides of moronic strangers who want an Xbox for little Billy. If it comes down to the last spot, you can either rock-paper-scissors for rights to the spot, or hire the Westboro Baptist Church to protest Christmas in the parking lot. This will anger the competition, and they will be too busy to steal your spot.

Step 4: Shopping

Part I: People at shopping malls during the holidays are like squirrels with Parkinson’s disease: they fidget uncontrollably and dart into traffic at the most inopportune times. When we were sperm, we mastered the concept of moving together as one to penetrate the almighty egg. However, birth introduced society to a world of stupidity and left what was learned inside their mother’s fallopian tube. With this in mind, you’ll discover a rude species of human elbowing and crossing in front of you throughout the mall. To have a leg up on your competition, test the patellar reflexes of any unsuspecting individual crossing your path with a hammer. If you couple this with China Max employees waving samples of sesame chicken at the food court as a distraction, you’ll be at the shops before anyone else.

Part II: Don’t be afraid to venture into stores you wouldn’t normally shop in. The giggling, prepubescent boys frolicking outside of Victoria’s Secret shouldn’t intimidate you; it’s the employees that are gazing your direction after they caught you smelling half of the store’s merchandise that you should fear. Whatever store you may end up in, employ the wizards of customer service to educate you on what to buy your lover. They can be your best friend or your worst enemy, but either way they’ll understand that you’re borderline clueless. They also won’t let you accidentally purchase an acne solution kit as a Christmas gift.

Step 5: Hide your gift until Christmas

The worst part about Christmas gifts, besides trying to find the perfect gift for someone, is hiding it. Your lover will infiltrate the hiding location of your gift like the Navy SEALS did Osama bin Laden, and you don’t have the resources to fend off the Navy SEALS, so you’ll have to get crafty in the comfort of your own home. John Wayne Gacy hid his victims in the crawlspace under his house, so there’s that. You could also give your present a mustache and a monocle. Just don’t let any children in your house because they’re bound to find it and spoil the surprise. Children at Christmas time are the equivalent of the bomb squad trying to find explosives to diffuse. Protect your house from snooping children with various pyrotechnics, then leave milk and cookies laced with anthrax by the Christmas tree for any survivors.

Step 6: Give your gift to your lover

They may love it, they may loathe it, but it’s the thought that counts and you gave it your best shot. Just pray that they still consider you a blessing, because if your gift sucks then they can go do something else like celebrate the birth of Christ.

Liberation

Your organs know nothing but darkness.

They’re slaves to your cause,

working night and day without rest.

The life of many fights for the life of one,

While the Master only fights for himself.

Break the skin, slice from head to navel,

And liberate the slaves from this cold chamber.

As they flee from the oppressing bones,

They’re given a second chance at life in the light.

This light is blinding, and what they see frightens them,

Yet this canvas reveals new opportunity.

Unchained, anything is possible.

3 Awkward Moments at the Gym

The gym is a wonderful place if you’re painfully average like me. I’m not fit, but I’m not fat. I sit comfortably in between the extremes and go about my awkward routine to get in shape. Along the way, I’ve sacrificed being cool in an effort to shed the dough waving about my figure every time I take a step.

Ladies.

1. You are the Dancing Queen…

Treadmills promise results as long as you’re willing to suffer through a form of boredom called cardio. That’s why we were blessed with music and headphones to aid this never-ending boredom. My iPod hosts a vast collection of artists that generally fall under metal or hip-hop. I’ve even gone the extra mile of creating a playlist that inexplicably quells my fatigue when I go Jesse Owens on that machine.

We all have songs on our mp3 players that we don’t want other people to know about. In my case, this was ABBA’s Dancing Queen. It decided to interrupt my groove mid-sprint soon after I had eclipsed the half mile mark on the treadmill. Rambo doesn’t obliterate the Burmese army to the tune of Swedish pop records, so why should I? With my arms swinging like I rolled a Yahtzee, I accidentally karate chopped my headphones and consequently ripped them out of the port. My iPod, in a screw you kind of fashion, blasted the chorus of Dancing Queen for the rest of the gym to hear. Nearby meatheads laughed maniacally as if I had just gotten out of a cold pool without a swimsuit on.

Metal.

2. Staring is not caring.

What fun is the gym if you can’t secretly admire yet another dream girl from afar? It’s a little tougher for me to spy because my biceps don’t bulge enough for me to hide my eyes behind them. I’m uncreative and have to drop nickles on the floor just to have an excuse to look that general direction. Or I strategically pick an open machine that already faces the one she’s using and plop my jiggly hindquarters there.

There was one girl in particular I thought was a knock-out. I wanted to get to know her, but she was too busy working up a sweat on the ab machine for a blob of nerdy fat like me to bother her. I sat down at a machine adjacent to hers and put my wandering eyes to work. The sweat emerging from her body sexily traveled through the maze that is her abdominal muscles while my belly button suddenly turned into a salty Great Lake. My eyes scanned her every chance she wasn’t looking as I tried summoning an appropriate greeting to give her. She twisted her head and caught me staring; I looked like a cat guilty of pissing on her favorite dress. I withdrew my ogling eyes and showed myself to the door. It’s safe to say I didn’t get her number.

I think this is what she saw.

3. My gym shorts were all too revealing.

Deciding what to wear to the gym shouldn’t be much of an exercise in itself, but it’s obvious that people who frequent the gym base their decisions according to their shape and size. The aesthetically-pleasing tend to wear more revealing clothing to give others front-row seats to their progress. Couch potatoes sport longer sleeves and blacker clothing to hide what’s underneath. As for me, I dress like the kid who gets picked last for kickball.

I sat down at some machine that was supposed to work the muscles in my back. You reach up to grab the handlebars and then pull them down simultaneously to your sides. All is well like usual when you first start a workout, but as your muscles tire, your strength seemingly evaporates from your arms. When this happens, you employ other muscles in your body to assist the workout, even muscles that aren’t supposed to be involved as was the case here. I called upon my gluteus maximus to relieve me of the pain by sliding it forward and backward with each repetition. Before I knew it, the leather on the seat was being kinky and managed to pull my shorts and boxers halfway down my butt crack. I only noticed when I realized that my ass was no longer warmer than a furnace as it had been catching wind from people who walked by my machine. It was on exhibit for every gym member to see for a solid 30 seconds before I took action.

My goodies.

My goodies.

5 Types of Dates People Go On

Dating is the foreplay of romantic relationships, just like job interviews are the foreplay of employment and a BAC of .29 is the foreplay of a one-night stand and genital herpes. You’ve managed to register your creepy reflection on the iris of an accidental onlooker and formed a coherent sentence to ask him/her out on a date. This date is meant to arouse the two (or more) involved in order to lay the foundation for a relationship. As the world is our playground, there’s an assortment of locations and ideas to engage in said ‘foreplay’.

The Dinner and a Movie Combo

A traditional, tried-and-true option, this is the Human Centipede of sequential romance: Dinner-Movie-Relationship. It’s always a safe bet if you’re unable to be more creative or if your empty stomach is on the verge of digesting itself. A couple will frequent a restaurant for a first date because food is always awesome and it gives them a chance to monologue about their supposedly eventful lives, occasionally interrupted by the chaperone and third wheel for the evening – the server. Once the chatting loses its steam and the food has converted your bowels into a fully functional flamethrower, a trip to the cinema follows. This allows both parties to rest their vocal cords while better-looking people, called celebrities, yammer about their characters’ inconveniences for 2 hours. Afterwards, the couple may believe a second date is a necessary course of action. Maybe one member of this party feels that this evening’s journey deserves mandatory thank-you sex because their wallet lost weight. I’d gamble the former is the appropriate next step because I want to consume another round of greasy tacos and continue our discussion on cat toys and Apple’s stock history.

The Athletic Date

Nothing solidifies a relationship more than grabbing athletically-disguised murder weapons and doing something with them to score points.  When we were 6 years-old, our idea of athletics were blowing bubbles and racking up grisly boo-boos to impress a fellow 6 year-old we thought was attractive. We’ve now graduated to sports that contain phallic-shaped gear and cheap sex jokes about said gear. Miniature golf and bowling are common staples of the dating scene that allow friendly competition and flirtatious insults on athletic ability. Men fear that they’ll lose to their female date, assuming their inability to putt under par at a pirate-themed Miniature golf course leads her to predict his incompetence in the bedroom. Competition runs rampant when you’re on an athletically-themed date, but bowling a 49 versus a 271 has not been statistically proven to hamper your chances of a relationship or engaging in steamy bedroom acrobatics.

The Tinder Match-Up

Tinder is a mobile app that grants your index finger the power to select a date based on pixelated photographs and shared Facebook interests like Madonna and “When I was your age, Pluto was a planet”. Assuming that person also thinks you’re awesome and attractive, you will be matched and allowed to message each other. Like a sperm, you have to compete against other sperm who also matched with this person in order to be recognized. When their full attention is captured by your stunning Tinder profile, the other sperm will fall like Jamaican Olympic runners in Cool Runnings. Tinder is also good at locating singles that aren’t within your immediate area; it reveals any specimen in need of loving within 100 miles that you’d probably not run into at your local pub or ratchet factory. Tinder matches are a bit of a wild-card, meaning you and your match’s virtually anonymous personalities allow for plentiful conversation and a chance to determine whether they’re the real Zodiac killer or not.

The Bar

The date hasn’t necessarily been arranged, it’s just a random encounter fueled by blue balls and alcohol-generated confidence. You’re also surrounded by a sea of loud patrons that produce more sweat than Foxconn. Given the date is now inaudible, a bud light and the movement of your eyeballs will guide the rest of the evening. Alcohol will progressively make you and your beer partner appear more attractive, transitioning from looking like a tagged photo on Facebook to a public profile picture. Physical attraction is important here just like any other date, but communication is also essential to selling the product. Even if you’ve mastered the English language, being intoxicated may render your tongue stupid and encourage you to create words out of thin air like George W. Bush. Sounding like the inner-city version of a Webster’s dictionary, you’ve managed to convince your significant other that you’re worth it for another round of alcohol, shits and giggles.

The Morning After Pill and Date

Unprotected sex may cause a rat race of sorts to the nearest pharmacy to purchase a Plan B pill. While the potential for a child is lost, the potential for a post-panic breakfast date increases. Just because you have sex doesn’t mean that you’re compatible with that person, but why not explore that option over scrambled eggs and scrambled ovaries? Breakfast presents the opportunity to launch an investigation concerning last night’s shenanigans together. You may also get to learn each other’s names. Nothing screams romance like solving a mystery over breakfast the morning after you make a stupid mistake.

 

 

10 Thoughts I Have About Graduating From College

1. Thanks to the economy, even with a college degree I feel about as useless as Rosie O’Donnell’s personal trainer.

2. Without a job, I’m as broken as Kevin Ware’s leg.

3. I’ve learned at college parties that I don’t get exponentially sexier when people consume more alcohol. Thus, my chances of saving the human race by reproducing in a post-apocalyptic setting are nonexistent.

4. Future employers are monitoring my social media presence like the eyes of the Mona Lisa.

5. The delivery man from Papa John’s has learned my name and my consistent, destructive eating habits in the span of a semester.

6. There are more calories in my beer and sandwich than there are dollars in my bank account.

7. Miley Cyrus’ foam finger has had more action in one stage performance than I’ve had in my entire college career. Thus, I couldn’t get laid by a bed and pillow combination.

8. I’ve become an expert in making decent Netflix selections, awkward run-ins with an ex-girlfriend, and being painfully average. All skills that are pertinent to scarce jobs available in the real world.

9. I have yet to overcome my constant blushing problem even after countless presentations. My boss will love it when my face becomes redder than his dog’s erection during a meeting.

10. Hire me.

5 Important Lessons I’ve Learned Attending Appalachian State University

College is marketed as some magical experience where an individual can find his or herself for the price of state tuition. When I was left stranded by my family on move-in day in 2010, I had no idea what I was supposed to do next. My anxiety attacked my innards while I lollygagged around my dorm room in search of my next step. There was no telling as to what was going to happen when I made my first effort to venture beyond my door in Justice Hall, but it marked the beginning of an adventure that I am eternally grateful for.

1. Family Is About Love, Not blood
We don’t need to extract blood samples from the student population and run tests to determine that we weren’t manufactured in the same womb. However, I’ve learned over the years that blood relation is not a mandatory component of what constitutes a family. The people I’ve befriended at this university are not friends: they’re family. Many of your friends in high school might have served as human placebos to power you through each miserable day until graduation occurred. College friends, on the other hand, have made their case as to why they’re important until your dying day. The friends I’ve made here at this university are essential to my well-being and happiness as we continue our journey through life. I want them to be there for my wedding, when I bring my own children into the world, and to continue what we’ve started here at Appalachian State University. I am not going to list who these people are, but I can’t thank them enough for their influence. I love them dearly and I hope that our friendships will continue to strengthen as we journey onward.

2. Embrace Who You Were, Who You Are, and Who You Will Become
Puberty, for most people, has its unfortunate shortcomings. I discovered throughout middle school and high school that I had disadvantages for days due to this diabolical teenage nightmare. I did, however, learn about the various ways in which people change over time. Thankfully, I am no longer the man I was freshman year. I began college as a 19 year-old man-child that served no purpose other than occupying space on campus and drinking the massive supply of Dr. Pepper. Time proved to be crucial as it fleshed out my character over the course of 4 years and helped me determine where I fit in this world. Just like you, I am not done changing, and attending college has provided me the necessary tools to construct who I was, who I am, and who I will become. There’s nothing more exciting than thinking about your future self and the path you may take to get there. Despite inevitable shortcomings, embrace them for shaping your character and accept change.

3. Let Things Happen When They’re Supposed To
One of my favorite stories to hear about is how my parents met. They met with only two weeks to spare before their graduation. My father was a bouncer at a nightclub and my mother was a patron seeking entry. They got engaged a couple of weeks later and now they’re in their 35th year of matrimony. Knowing their story, I had the thought of finding true love while in college etched into my psychology from day one. I made the mistake of believing that I would and should find my beloved future wife during my 4 years. Through a rigorous trial-and-error dating process over the years, I’ve negated that very goal in favor of just letting things happen when they’re supposed to. I may not strike gold until I’m in my 50’s at some swing dancing convention, but I can’t force love to happen upon myself.

4. Count Your Blessings
How many times have you encountered the stress of an onslaught of assignments that are due the next day, or an unnecessary argument with your friend that escalated into a bloody scuffle? Consistent with life being an imperfection, college is adept at presenting unwelcome obstacles to ensure the onset of a mental breakdown at a moment’s notice. These don’t sound much like blessings, do they? Now, it’s easy to think about the negatives, but what positives have you experienced during your time in college? You’ve acquired a good education, made lifelong friends, and discovered passions that you wish to explore for the rest of your life among other things. There are millions of people out there who are unable to take advantage of this opportunity that we’ve been blessed to experience. No matter what you set out to do, take advantage of what you’ve been blessed with and make the most of it.

5. I Have No Idea Where I’m Going, and That’s Okay
Back in the glorious days of freshman year, you might have figured that the college degree you’re sure to acquire would land you a job that’s at least a few steps above prostitution. Fast forward four or more years later and you’re a mere month away from graduating and have no job lined up. If this is your predicament, congratulations, we share common ground along with an endless list of college graduates. Before you scavenge the country looking for an unoccupied bridge to live under, acknowledge the beauty that is uncertainty. You were uncertain as to what would happen when you came to this campus as well as the journey you were about to go on. Our failing economy may seem villainous, but I wouldn’t succumb to its dastardly influence just because you haven’t secured your dream job yet. Take this obstacle as a challenge that you’ll willingly greet each day, setting goals for yourself and working hard to accomplish them. Meet some good people along way, try new things, and make your life what you want it to be. Accept uncertainty.

Whether you’re graduating or not, I wish you all the best of luck in your future endeavors.

Take My Hand

Each beat of her heart gave the lights one last chance of life before they permanently died. The light betrayed me as soon as her heart gave out. Her physical beauty remained in tact as her ghost persevered through the windpipe of her being. A new journey had begun for her, leaving me all by my lonesome. I walk away from her figure only to discover that new life had been given to the darkened house. Its pulse synchronized with mine, and I grew curious as a symphony of creaking noises began to populate the nearest room. An unknown evil was stroking its bones, filling the house with inevitable dread.

My eyes adjusted to the darkness within minutes. Overcoming temporary blindness, I approach the door and turn the handle to reveal the contents of the room. It is darker than the one before, rendering my sense of vision useless and unable to adapt. With caution I proceeded into the room and stuck close to its walls. The tips of my fingers traced the cold walls as I submerged myself deeper into the darkness. The pulse of the room grew louder as mine worked into overdrive, causing an unwelcome fear.  My fingertips pulled flakes of paint from the wall that collected underneath my fingernails. Splinters punctured the tissue underneath the nail, allowing specks of blood to paint the wall as my fingers continued to follow the boundary. I could hear her crying as I progressed further into the room, yet could still see nothing.

My progress halts as her crying ceases. I am met by a hand that securely wraps around mine. It was cold, yet the darkness would not let me confirm whose hand it was. Her fingers traveled along the bones of my hand and followed the extent of each vein. She would not tell me who she was, only that Heaven and Hell were at full capacity.

“Take my hand.”

 

 

How To Beat An 8 Year-Old In A Friendly Game of Basketball

March Madness has empowered you to put down the jar of Nutella, get off the couch, and suit up for the local basketball court because 1) Your bracket has gone straight to hell and 2) You have scores to settle with yourself. Maybe you’ve racked up some poundage over the years and want to slim down and be athletic again. Maybe you want to prove to a pretty lady on the sidelines that you’ve got game, signified by glistening sweat and a jump-shot that would make wolves howl as the ball glides through the sky.

Maybe there’s an 8 year-old neighborhood menace named Dennis, and he’s been balling since he was sperm in his father’s testicles. This little hobbit with a goofy name has not lost a one-on-one match in his very short career and it’s getting very annoying. It’s time to put a stop to his reign before he discovers the intricate workings of his genitals and threatens to go after your mother when he turns 16. Follow these guidelines to defeat Dennis, or live with shame when he gives you a little brother or sister.

Assess Your Opponent

Your unwillingness to drink milk and eat vegetables as a child has stunted your growth significantly, making you look like the offspring of a love affair between Muggsy Bogues and a Neanderthal. Dennis has followed his mother’s strict nutritional guidelines as she packs his lunch everyday and, as a result, is on track to reach his full growth potential. You’ve still got him by a few inches and possess enough stomach fat to fend off an oncoming cannonball, so it would be wise to assert your dominance with your God-given stature.

Compare Strengths and Weaknesses

You’ve exchanged your past athletic ability for an Xbox and every installment of the NBA 2k series. Dennis has practiced with his  father on a daily basis and knows the fundamentals of basketball. However, he is a child and, therefore, comically stupid. His attention will be diverted away from the game the second an ice cream truck drives down the street. Take advantage of his attention deficit disorder and score a basket while he’s busy ordering a fudgsicle. Hire local school girls to open up a bake sale or a lemonade stand to cause further distraction. Be sure to also not wear any deodorant for several days before the match; body odor has been known to ward off females and make children believe there’s a serial kidnapper in a van nearby. Dennis will be paralyzed out of fear for the duration play and be unable to get back on defense.

Trash-Talking Strategies

An 8 year-old will most likely not understand what you meant when you described what you did to his mother last night. Instead of having to explain it to him several times, make it known that he has a big head and that there are invisible child-eating crocodiles absolutely everywhere. Let him know that they’re going to eat his family, and then inform him that Thomas the Tank Engine just got in a fatal accident when he drunkenly rammed into a freight train full of methylamine. Lecture him thereafter about the dangers of drinking and driving, then discretely have your way with his mother.

Posting Up

Dennis hasn’t had much time for his muscles to develop, so make use of your musculature to make him back down on the asphalt like Rodney King. Intimidate him by flopping around Vlade Divac-style on a near-lethal amount of cocaine, then throw elbows like the elderly at a Bingo match. There are numerous ways to going about posting up down low, and you can always recruit the basketball pole to set a pick if Dennis proves to be wily on defense.

Shooting the J

Ferociously roar like the mighty grizzly if Dennis inches up to contest your shot. Lay an abundance of needles and thumbtacks you got from your mother’s sewing desk on the ground where Dennis is bound to land when he attempts to block your shot. This should blow his tires out, making him immobile and unable to follow up on defense yet again. If you happen to miss your jump shot, he will still be stationary as he tends to his unfortunate wounds. This sets you up to get your own rebound and put it back up for an easy basket.

Defense Mechanisms

It’s always suggested that you protect your nether region if you’re going for the charging call, but grabbing your junk in the presence of a minor may prove suspicious to the sheriff hanging out in his squad car out in the parking lot. Instead, present him any complicated calculus or statistics formula that you learned in college and ask him to solve a word problem involving those equations. Children are notoriously poor at solving word problems, and Dennis has been struggling in math class recently. Make him feel inadequate by not being able to solve the problem, causing any electrical current in his brain to cease entirely and rendering him a vegetable. Steal the ball away from him and hit the game-winning basket.

I hope this helps you to eliminate Dennis, allowing yourself and the neighborhood residents to elect you as King of the court.

Time To Feed the Monster

There’s been a string of missing child cases that have inexplicably occurred in the little boy’s town. His elementary school, along with neighboring institutions, has been on lock down twice since the first disappearance. The parents, along with other townspeople, have expressed outrage that the perpetrator has not been found. A slew of suspects have been questioned by authorities, but no progress has been made. A police officer has been teamed up with another member of security at all of the schools within radius to monitor daily activities.

The little boy returned safe and sound one February afternoon to his loving parents. His rosy cheeks from the cold outdoors eventually diminished and he spent the evening with his parents. At 9:30 p.m. he is tucked into bed by his mother. As she walks out the door, she flicks the light switch. The little boy’s eyes cannot register a sight besides darkness. Instead, his other senses are employed while his eyes adjust to the environment. This night is different, however. The darkness overstays its welcome, and the little boy’s sense of dread will not dissipate.

A symphony of heavy breaths are heard. The little boy peers over the side of his bed and sees a faint, yellow light. It’s stretching a few inches beyond the bed frame. A blackened, scarred hand begins to inch out from underneath the bed. It’s crooked fingernails feature bits of skin lodged underneath. Blood trickles down from severely damaged cuticles, streaming from one wound and dumping into another. The monstrous hand retreats back under the bed. The little boy reaches down to greet his most frequent visitor. His eyes peek underneath the bed and are met by a pair of glowing, yellow eyes. He feels the monster breathing into his face. It’s time to feed the monster.

The next day, the little boy invites his friend to come over to his house after school. The bus drops them off at the corner of the street, and the two of them walk to his house. The little boy lures his friend up to his bedroom, telling him that they’re going to play a game. They walk into his room, and the little boy shuts the door behind him as well as closing all of the curtains. He tells his friend to stand in the middle of the room, close to where his bed is. He stares at his friend while he stands and tells him, “It’s time to feed the monster.”

The little boy flicks the light switch and the whole room is submerged in darkness. A yellow glow emits from underneath the bed and reveals the outline of the little boy’s friend. The monster’s destroyed hands reach out and grab the little boy’s friend, digging his filthy nails into his foot and tearing the Achilles tendon. A collection of screams penetrate the darkness as the friend falls onto the ground. Not being able to get up, the monster is able to pull him underneath the bed. The sounds of bones snapping and flesh tearing are the only sounds being heard in the room. Minutes later, the little boy turns the light on. Not a trace of his friend is left behind. Not even the monster can be seen under the bed. The crime scene is clean.

This was his sixth victim.