I was thinking...

Validating useless art majors is the number one qualification to be a successful art critic. You have to seep your disapproval into a pool of tears over years of your wasted life before you can have a published opinion, which should go as follows: "This (art piece) was (inadequate) because of (reasons)." Great critique. Good job, you outsmarted make believe. It's worse when so-called "nerds" or "geeks" get in on the action during private conversation, whether spoken or using a forum. No wonder we haven't cured cancer as a species, or even the common cold. So much effort from the self-appointed experts of logic and science are too busy with better things. Because there's no sound in space! And the word should be spread, so we can avoid another scientifically and historically inaccurate retelling of the true events we've come to know as the Star Wars legacy.

Redhead sunburns are like a demon's skin being touched by the finger of heaven. It's like, you're just standing somewhere, being a demon, then an angel comes down to bless you. When it descends upon you and touches you, scalding all of your skin, it sees this and says, "Oh, s***..." then tries to quickly ascend back into heaven. But it can't. It can only be majestic. So, instead, it slowly rises, avoiding eye contact while you stare at it, with your hands lifted and your face twisted between confusion and disbelief. Redheads are the most unique creatures on earth, because we still get sun damage in a dark room. At night. But, we redheads are able to essentially synthesize our own vitamin D. We grow a lot of skin cancer, but hey. Vitamin D. Our skin, so proud, says, "Yeah! Look--well, we made some melanoma, probably malignant, 'cause we haven't figured that one out yet--but check it out! Vitamin D!" Then our skin makes our hands hi

People want you to be yourself until you actually are. When you know what you like and don't like and you continually share that information as likes and dislikes come up in your life, especially the dislikes, you're considered to be pushy. Bossy. A nuisance. A cynic. Or, even worse, a "realist". Certain people don't want you to be yourself, they want you to be their version of you so they can own a piece of your identity. It makes them feel like you've achieved their approval, because they believe that, in order to be a part of their social schema, you have to earn it. You can't be yourself. There are too many 'yourselves' you don't know about, and you can't possibly keep up with the ones you think you do.

The men where I live are ashamed of their knuckles. They stand either with their hands in their pockets or their arms folded. They also have to stand facing away from each other in order to have a conversation. They can't say dollar amounts in their entirety, either. The truck wasn't $35,000, it was "thirty five." The mortgage wasn't $270,000, it was "two seven." And they can't say entire names of things, either. Everything especially must be nicknamed or turned into an acronym, if possible (i.e. camouflage is "camo"). Mostly guns. An assault rifle is an AR. Ammunition is, somehow, called "ammo". A gun that shoots 45-caliber rounds is nicknamed a "forty-five". The entire gun. Not just the bullets, the entire gun. Together, the ammunition for a 45-caliber round gun is called "45 ammo." I'm pretty sure it's simply military influence in the line of fire bleeding into the greater culture (manslati

It's beautiful to see someone succumb to gravity. Because that is true justice. You can't escape the physical reality of nature. Sure, you can sue someone for nearly any reason and for nearly any amount of money; you can pull out in front of someone when there's no car to be seen behind the person you pull out in front of; you can even kill a lot of people and never be convicted of it. But, if you get drunk and clumsily climb on top of public property to jump off it, there's no escaping the consequence of your knee crunching your teeth and jacking up your jaw, your tail bone being snapped like the tiny end of an enormous falling branch, and your floating ribs popping away from your spinal column then jabbing into your liver and your spleen. That sequence of events, to me, is truly beautiful.

Imagine this, but with a sink full of dirty shame behind her back. At the doctor’s office, I saw a picture of a woman in a health pamphlet, trapped in grayscale. She was sitting on the floor in front of her sink, which had been taken by an overgrowth of unwashed dishes. The picture looked as though she was digging her fingertips into her face, maybe because she knew she couldn’t bleed if the printer didn’t carry red ink, and she was apparently weeping. On the outset, it looked like she was devastated by having to do her dishes, her thoughts swimming through anxious and wavy cries: "Curses be! The dishes! If any Higher Power can but deliver me from having to wash, I promise I'll never eat with them, or at all, ever again. I’ll die, if I have to! Or, at least I'll use paper plates." Continuing in the pamphlet, I found another character on the next page: a preteen boy in a wheelchair. This child was the model of elation. He looked as though being crippled fro

Elderly people and their "back in my day" attitudes get to me. They forgot what it is the recent generations are trying to avoid: A repeat of their generation. You hear all of these influential people being compared to Hitler--well, you know who was Hitler back in their day? Hitler was Hitler. You hear all of these complaints about all the laws we have--well, you know why we have all these laws? Because the children of that generation had no protection against that generation. You hear all about the environmentalists being too environmentally conscious--well, you know who did a great job of killing the planet? The people responsible for the dust bowl. The only thing that generation has been obsessed about preventing is another world war. And how have they gone about doing this? Starting wars to prevent bigger wars. You know, like how starting a fire prevents bigger fires. Every generation is guilty of setting themselves above the current generation, though. It

I'm anxious to have children. Not because I want to pass my "seed", but because I want to give confusing life advice. Like, when one of them is going out for the evening, I'll tell them, "Just remember: dogs sniff each other's butts to say hello." Or, if they're struggling to build a tool shed, I'll say, "Just remember: when you put pi in an onion, you get an opinion."

Skiing and snowboarding seem like such uncomfortable activities. You have to spend hundreds of dollars just for the equipment, then you have to spend more hundreds just to go to a resort, then you have to spend hundreds more for proper attire, which is uncomfortable and cumbersome. It's bright on the mountain because of the sun reflecting off the snow, and you need to shield your eyes from flecks of snow shooting up from the ground, so you need to wear shaded goggles that constrict your skull, pushing your parietal bones onto your brain like a trash compactor, and all but sucking your eyes out of their sockets because of the quantum vacuum created by the padding of the goggles' frame. You have to wear layer upon layer of fabric, because it's 20 degrees where you start, but the catch is that you start to get too hot because all you feel is your layers and the sun. You can't shed any layers, because of the still sub-freezing temperature surrounding you. You have

The Boy Scouts of America, the good ol' BS of A. I don't think they actually like what they do. I think they just share a deep-seeded, soul consuming love for safety protocols.

I've never understood the phrase "hurt her in any way." It's a straight out ultimatum. And there's no qualifier to dial down the intensity of the ultimatum; there's no "And if you, like, hurt her in any way," or, possibly, "And if you purposefully hurt her in a really bad way..." No. It's "hurt her in any way." ANY way. Does that mean you can't win an argument against the her because it would hurt her feelings, or possibly her ego? Does it mean you can't make high decibel noises because they could hurt her ears? Does it mean you can't rip the hammer out of her hand too violently when she tries to murder your skull with it? How come no one says that to the woman about the man? Why isn't there a "hurt him in any way" ultimatum? Except the guy's mother and people he owes money, no one cares what happens to him. He's just a him. And you know what? Screw him for being it. Screw him t

Villains probably practice knowing people are in the room without seeing them, all the time. It's a low risk exercise, since the only people who would ever witness it is the villain, the person they expect to be in there, and the people who might be in there but aren't the people the villain is expecting. Unless you accidentally walk in. Then you'll see an evil person talking to no one.

I'm so much more comfortable with people's pets than actual people. And people tend to be more comfortable with me being comfortable with their pets than with them. I went up to my neighbor's dog--I like to grab dogs' jaws and scratch their necks, and they love it--so, I'm holding the dog's jaws and scratching and just talking to the dog, and he's loving it, just calmly staring at me, wagging his tail. That's the part that fascinates me: you can have that somewhat intimate contact with a domestic animal, where you understand each other. It's not the same way with the actual neighbor. I don't really talk to my neighbor, or even look at him if his dog is there. I suppose things might change if I grabbed my neighbor's jaws and started scratching his neck. Maybe that's just it, maybe he's jealous. We'd probably be way closer if I was more intimate with him, like I am with his dog. So close we'd be connected through a

Instead of hiking, for the same effect you can walk ten miles on a treadmill, with an incline, then go to a park and look at a postcard. I'm joking! You'll need a pine-scented air freshener, too.

Nature is upset at you for using her elements to make up your body. She expects you to cultivate her, or she will hasten your return to her soil, for the purpose of helping her live longer.

Those of us who know the truth know we don't get credit for speaking the truth. We know we didn't create the truth, so if we point it out, we know it's not ours. There are those who claim to know the truth, yet they take credit for it. This is a total fallacy. For instance, I am writing in English because I know English. If I had the same attitude as those who take credit for the truth, I would be taking credit for creating every word I've used, as well as every rule I've used to put these words in the order I have, and I'd be taking credit for the meanings of these things in their entirety. I don't own the English I use, just as I don't own the truth I perceive.