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Alright gather 'round children...

by Paul Aug 7, 2006 10:29

Uncle Paul is about to tell you all a story, without molesting anybody in the process. The title of this story is "The Worst Story Ever." Now don't let the title mislead you, this is the best story ever.

Basically a long long long long time ago, before the wind; before the snow. Lived a man, lived a man I know. Lived a freak of nature named Sir Psycho.

That being said, my story has nothing to do with Sir Psycho. My story is about a car ride in the middle of a winter night.

A close associate of mine was transporting me from one domicile to mine. The length of this trip in subjective distance is 3 blocks. The time span door-to-door is about two minutes.

Now on this fateful night, I sat in the car with my associate, and proceded to improvise a song. My associate even joined in, offering both harmony and chorus, along with unique verse as well. The lyrics were silky smooth. The melody oh-so right. Even the cadence and depth of the subject matter was amazing. None of the song was preconceived; all of it was grammy ready.

Upon arrival at my house, my associate and I completed our chart topping single, and nodded at each other in approval of how amazingly off the hinges we are with our song singing skillz.

Have you ever had one of those moments where something really awesome happens, and then it takes a split second after that feeling of awesomeness to actually appreciate the scale of what just occurred? That happens to me every time I have a thought. That happened to me when I bit it riding a moped. That happened to me when I jumped out of that second story window. That happened to me when I drove an ATV off a 30 foot sand dune, ultimately resulting in Mexican stitches. That ALSO happened to me after we finished the song. Now, it was sinking in that this song was so awesome, that I would be hard pressed to ever improvise a song of equal, let alone superior, quality.

The song is so good, that I tell people this story all the time.
With that in mind, I can't remember a single lyric of the entire thing; and THAT, ladies, is why this is the Worst Story Ever Told.

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Blogs | P Funk's Journal of Warm Fuzzy Feelings

Recently a topic came up amongst myself and a few close friends...

by Paul Jul 5, 2006 10:27
debating the usefulness of hand gestures. Said discussion eventually led to the question of which hand gesture is the best, as do all discussions involving different varieties of anything.

Which car is the best Yugo or Toyota?

Which Paul is the best, 1999 Paul, or 2006 (luxury car) Paul?

Ultimately, the discussion centered around the Thumbs Up (TU) versus the index-fingered Point (IFP). Since I was on the side of the TU, I won't even give you the details of the IFP, as none of us need to waste our time.

...

Alright fine. Basically the argument for the IFP was that you can do so much stuff with it. Like... point, or something. Oh look you can point down. You can point up. Hey, can you point straight? YOU BET!

My gripe with the IFP is that it's such a negative gesture. Everyone knows pointing is rude. Then they (and by they I mean my dissenters) suggested the double handed point (where both fingers point) is always positive. This, I agree with. But you have to take into account, now you're using two hands, and that's an entirely separate gesture.

The TU on the other hand... two thumbs up is no better than one thumb up. A single thumb up does it all. The thumb in general is fantastic. I can give the TU to you personally by making eye contact, and showing you the thumb. I can give the TU to an entire arena if I wanted to. I can hold it out, and everyone in that crowded stadium knows I'm giving them the thumbs up. If I were to use that retarded IFP, i'd have to swing my arm around to make sure the finger passes over everyone I want it to apply to.

I can even turn it around, and make it a thumbs down! You can't turn a finger around. In fact most people will revert to the thumb when pointing to themselves. Go ahead try it. Nobody's looking. Oh right, well that guy's looking but he already thinks you're a retard anyway.

The thumb is in fact so useful, that when you want to point at somebody with it, you can't even do it to their face. Try to point your thumb at somebody in front of you. It doesn't work. You have to point over your shoulder at "This guy over here." It's physically impossible to point with your thumb to a person in front of you. As far as I'm concerned, anybody I'm describing as "This guy over here.", he doesn't deserve the recognition of me looking at him to begin with.

The debate first deteriorated into an argument, which then deteriorated into a pointing contest, culminating with the ultimate experiment. The ultimate experiment we decided, was to make an IFP in one had, and a TU in the other. Now the gesture can be described as either of the following (but not really):

A) The thumb is denoting that the point is a positive point. As if to say "Hey look at this point. This thumbs up is to let you know that I'm not insulting you with this point!"

or...

2) The point is denoting that this thumbs up is for you. No, not the guy next to you. YOU! One could even then swing the point around to deliver the thumbs up to everyone present in the sweet of the point. It should be noted that as I discussed, this is not required. The TU applies to one or many, all by itself.

You be the judge. You already know where I stand on the issue.
Also, I was doing some research for this entry (yes, I can read), and I discovered that some cultures view the Thumbs Up as "Up your's buddy!" So, if you stop using the thumbs up, then the terrorists have already won.

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Blogs | P Funk's Journal of Warm Fuzzy Feelings

Ever have one of those moments where you're sorry but you're not?

by Paul Jun 9, 2006 10:26

I never do. So let me just say the following:

James Blunt is a humongous douche bag. His songs are by douche bags, of douche bags, and for douche bags.

...Also, he looks like a maniac. If he weren't such a humongous douche bag, I might be afraid he's a serial killer. However I'm not worried because nobody who can write a song that douchey and terrible, is capable of any violence aside from violent crying.

With that being said, I present to you "You're Pitiful" by Weird Al.
http://www.thelostplanet.net/WeirdAl/yourepitiful.mp3 (I recommend doing right-click, and selecting Save As, to save this glorious track to your hard-disk-drive).
If that link stops working go to http://www.weirdal.com and find "You're Pitiful."

DO IT!

Good Lord, James Blunt is such a tool.
I am currently listening to: What do you think?

Oh yeah, and also I guess I'll try to write a real entry later today.

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Blogs | P Funk's Journal of Warm Fuzzy Feelings

So because my social skills are so good...

by Paul May 5, 2006 10:26
I spend a lot of time playing video games all alone in my house. Recently I started playing a new RPG, which stands for "Role Playing Game" for those of you who are too cool for school.

If you still have no idea what an RPG is, it's basically a game where you create a character who's way cooler than you are in real life. Then you go through an imaginary world, collecting make-believe items, casting make-believe magic, and talking to make-believe people. You know, things you could never do in real life because you're a fat nerd. Not me, you.

So with all the ridiculously gay undertones of RPGs aside, some of the games are legitimately fun to play; and that got me thinking. "Why are RPGs so gay?" I says to myself. When I think, I talk out-loud, but anyway: It's already bad enough that most of them revolve around fantasy worlds that feature elves, ghosts, wizards, and goblins; fairies and tampons; oh my!

Then the game designers usually take it a step further, and make all the shit you collect affect you in one way or another. Every sword, shirt, and piece of thong underwear has some sort of mystical quality that helps you level up, only not in a cool way like Super Mario. In Super Mario, if you eat a mushroom, you grow. Growing is cool. Picking up a feathered cap that gives you an increased +4 Charm attribute, is not cool. It never was, and it never will be.

I'm sorry, charm? I'm not playing a fucking video game so I can be charming. I can be charming in real life; well as far as you know I can be. I'm playing a video game to kill people dead, because I can't do that in real life. Also, quit using ye olde english era words to describe things. I don't want a Helmet of Virtue, nor a Didlo of Reckoning. I want a Battle Ax of Ass-Whoopage, and the Shoes of the LA Lakers Number 8.

The game I'm currently playing has a magic meter, only it's not called magic. It's called "Magicka". Wow. Gay. I can't talk about this with other dudes without starting to grow a vagina. It's a physical impossibility.

Super Paul: Dude I totally just got +2 Magicka of the labia.
Other Guy: Awesome! I just found the shield of heterosexuality!
Super Paul: No way!

See?

What they need to do is start with cooler sounding names for shit. Instead of magicka, let's call it the Spooks, or the Creeps. That way, instead of being a Level 1 Magicka homo, I can be Slight Creep. You know, like that one weird dude at the bar you always go to. Then, after I practice being a creep for a while, I can work my way up to Master Creep, which is called Michael Jackson. THAT would make RPGs way cooler.

As a supporting argument, as my fighting skills increase, I should move up in the Ass Kicking department through the ranks. Below is how the game works now:

Novice, Apprentice, Journeyman, Expert, Master.

Lame. Here's how it should be:

Quadriplegic, Baby Just Learning to Walk, Ultimate Fighting Championship, World Wrestling Entertainment, Chuck Norris.

If I was working my way toward Chuck Norris mastery, I'd be way more psyched talking about this game with total stranger who could possibly judge me and make me cry. I'm just saying, right? Do you even know what an apprentice is? Ok bad question. Did you even know what an apprentice was before Donald Trump started firing people on network television?

I rest my case.
I am currently listening to: Santana - Black Magic Woman

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Blogs | P Funk's Journal of Warm Fuzzy Feelings

Move over Officer Dan...

by Paul Apr 4, 2006 10:24
There is a new bad-ass cop in town. That cop's name is a name that I don't know. I don't know because I don't watch CSI. However, I'm talking about CSI. Do you kids watch the CSI?

For those of you who have been held hostage in Iraq for the past few years, allow me to fill you in. CSI stands for Crime Scene Investigators, and now has like 29 spinoff shows that are exactly the same thing except in some other city. CSI: Miami, CSI:SVU (special victims unit), CSI:BBQ, CSI: Armpit America, and CSI: Butt-fucking Maniacs to name a few. Basically what a crime scene investigator does is like... show up to the scene. You know, the crime scene? Then, they investigate.

Before you tell me you could do a better job of that, you can't. It's more than just showing up, and figuring out which direction the kid on the bike got hit by the wheat thresher my friend. Crime Scene Investigators are the new cool cops in town. They beat crooks with their brains instead of with the butt of a pistol. Justice is now served up with dry cool wit, and MIT smarts; instead of dry cool handcuffs and beatdowns. It's a shame, I know.

Pardon me, but when did being a fucking nerd become so cool? These people walk around in their cool clothes, and show up in their cool unmarked cars (maybe because they're never in any actual danger unlike real cops) and then start trying to call the shots.

"Don't touch that!"

"You'll contaminate the whatchamacallit!"

Fuck you college graduate.

Oh and don't say Star Trek was when nerds became cool. Riker was cool. Data was cool. Captains Jean Luc Picard and Kirk were cool. Captain Janeway... negative. A female captain? Give me a break. I don't care how far into the future it is. No woman is steering me around the galaxy if she can't even get out of a driveway without ripping a mirror off my bucket. Anyway the point is, while elements of Star Trek may have been cool, it certainly did not allow nerds (ie: Star Trek fans) to be cool.

Before I get too long winded, allow me to get to the point. A Crime Scene Investigator has probably already deduced that I'm going to cuss somebody out. However, they don't actually prevent me from doing it like a real cop, they just figure it out.

CSI guys (and girls, to give you an idea of how little physical activity is involved) apparently know how every chemical and element under the sun reacts with everything else on earth. Yet they haven't solved the riddle of a healthy romantic relationship. Bummer.

CSI people get to the scene, and start barking out orders like a UFO just landed. Here's an entire CSI show plot in like one paragraph:

CSI Guy: "Rookie! Don't touch that!"
Rookie: "Sorry sir."
CSI Guy: "Goddamnit rookie. Hurry up and get me a bottle of anti-freeze, half a pack of tic-tacs, and a Capri Sun pouch!"

(editor's note: CSI Guys are always concocting potions and shit in the middle of the street to make elaborate solutions for obvious crimes.)

Rookie: "A Capri Sun pouch sir? I don't understand."
CSI Guy: "Jesus Christ Monkey Balls Rookie! The anti-freeze and the tic-tacs, when mixed together will ________ the victim's ________.This will enable ________ to ________ , and we'll find our perp."
Rookie: "Brilliant!... and the Capri Sun?"
CSI Guy: "I'm thirsty."

Hey guys, what the fuck happened to fingerprint dust and fucking DNA samples? Every goddamn episode they're sitting in the middle of the street mixing shit together like a bunch of Wiccans. Or, maybe MacGuyver. SIKE! Not even close to MacGuyver. The first time I actually watched the whole show thinking to myself "Surely if they're putting all these ingredients together, they'll be able to build something like the A-Team and then bust into a warehouse and take out like 50 guys." Boy was I wrong. Instead they just made some idiotic prediliction based on their idiotic potions, and solved the crime in the same manner.

CSI Guy: "I mixed the anti-freeze with the toad's eye, the dragon's claw, and a packet of gravel... Oh my god!"
Rookie: "WHAT?!?"
CSI Guy: "This substance is chewing gum."
Rookie: "How can you tell?"
CSI Guy: "It's stuck to my shoe."
Rookie: "But the only sale of chewing gum in this city in the past week has been by the corner store to Joe Blow!"
CSI Guy: "Precisely."

Wow. Give that guy the nobel prize. Stunning detective work. CSI sucks balls.
Barney Fife is rolling over in his grave.

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Blogs | P Funk's Journal of Warm Fuzzy Feelings

 


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