I am regularly confounded by shows that can only fall under the genre of "genius" come hand in hand with ratings that make the NHL in America look good.

And if you don't know what that means, lets put it this way. The big TV networks shied away from NHL games, so it ended up on OLN. The Outdoor Life Network. Right there along with FISHING and those Caribbean Workout people. How many things do I find wrong with that? Too many.

Before you can digest all that, I digress.

Perhaps I just watch stuff the masses don't enjoy, although that definitely does not sound like me at all (hello Grey's Anatomy). But, let me just give you a sample of the writing found in Veronica Mars:

"A Saturn, for Mars, in Neptune. Now move Uranus, the Mercury is rising."

That line itself is confoundingly incredible. So great, I had to rewind, listen to it again, just to make sure I understood the context and everything that was said (actually I just wanted to make sure I got the quote down correctly).

Speaking of smart, Jon Stewart. Is there anything he can't do? Enough said.

To sum up this non-lengthy post, more confusion to be had. Because the more the merrier, and more is better, some odd Photoshop contest I stumbled upon conveniently included this entry (I'm so bored I spend my time acquainting myself with Photoshop):

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Urban Quest 2006 re-run. Yes I paid $40 to qualify for another day of running around downtown Toronto, moving from station to station completing random tasks that were vaguely mentioned in the clues provided. And moving to station is no easy task, especially if you have to retrace your steps because of an oversight.

There were a few differences between the way my team decided to run this race as opposed to the last one we ran back in July. We made one big mistake both times, but this one was made right at the beginning so we attempted to hustle by running whenever we had the chance (last time we leisurely strolled through the course and didn't end up finishing in time). This time, both my knees gave out 2 hours into the 5 hour race. As such, not only was I a hindrance to the entire team, I was a severe disappointment to myself.

Being the prideful guy I am, I refused to give up or even complain. I bit down on that t-shirt, and when I needed to run, I ran. And I'm paying for it today, and will probably pay for it for a while to come.

But $40. The principle itself would not allow me to quit.

And when I say I'm a prideful kinda guy, it's not the outwardly arrogant guy-you-love-to-hate persona I portray daily on this blog.

Buttug McOysty. Because I'm aawesome and I have added the word "aawesome" to my Firefox spell-check dictionary as if it were an actual word that could describe me without being underlined by a red squiggly. And I sure did break in the middle of a thought to link to myself.

It's not a competitive spirit, and it's not a sit-back and admire what I have done. I'm talking more of a deep down, don't want to let anyone else down, thing that must've been passed down in my DNA because I'M CHINESE. And that's how we roll.

Optimistically speaking, I have now been given a very convenient excuse to not exercise, to veg in front of the TV, or to nap, for an extended period of time.

And as such, I must plug one of the best shows on television today, NBC's The Office.
A comedic masterpiece that is telling the most compelling love story on television since who knows when, that reached a mini-boiling point right at the end of last season. Here, watch for yourselves if you have no idea what I'm talking about, and even if you do, watch again because this almost brought tears to my eyes (I bent my knee the wrong way just now...not because I'm sappy):

Now you must go watch every Thursday night, and if you don't root for Jim, you may just be the type of person that would also strangle a puppy.

I'm a modern day TV evangelist, minus the Benny Hinn, persuading people to watch what I watch, and I promise from now on, any show plugging will be done subliTHEOFFICEminally.

Happy birthday to the girl with the best laugh in the world. She doesn't read this blog, but I shout her out because it probably makes all of the people that DO read my blog and DO NOT receive any birthday shoutouts that much angrier. And that just tickles me like Elmo.

I love you all, please continue to read me, please?

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I intentionally delayed writing something about this new season of Survivor, where the tribes are initially separated by race, because in the first episode, NOTHING HAPPENED. My guess is that the first episode was supposed to sell the shock of this "new and fantastic social-experimental" way of dividing the tribes, but let me tell ya, shock factor goes out the door when the gimmick is leaked a month or so before the actual show is aired.

So after sitting down, expecting fireworks to fly, bombs to be blasted, stereotypes to be portrayed, and tensions to boil over, I disappointedly came away empty-handed, with no ammunition for this blog of mine.

The only person being slightly racist was a member of the Asian tribe, Cao Boi (pronounced Cowboy, which is ridiculous in its own right because that name should've been reserved for somebody from Texas, and THAT RIGHT THERE was more racist than anybody else has been on the show, and I don't even know if that's even considered racist), and he was only poking fun at the ASIANS.

There's an understanding that if you're of a certain group, you're mostly allowed to make fun of that group, of course with some lines that should never be crossed. But similar to how black people have no problems calling themselves, uhm, ninja's (use your imagination, and go check out Ask A Ninja), and just like how I poke fun of some people for being extra-short, extra-loud-mouthed, extra-analytical, or extra-absentee, things may be said, but things are also understood.

I miss my house-mates, it's so sad we had to separate and go our own ways and blubber blubber blubber. FALSE.

No actually, I really do, but The Office is back and is still hilarious.

So with that all and more being written, I will now stereotypically analyze this episode of Survivor. It's all in good fun, and I'm plenty bored.

And from now on, because I'm starting to feel mighty weirded out by the over-usage of some of these words, I am going to rename these teams. Here goes nothing:

Blacks: Soul-Power
Latinos: Latinos (it's not weird calling them that)
Whites: Americans
Asians: MY TEAM

How Race Affected The Happenings On Tonight's Episode of Survivor

Speaking of Russian, does anybody else feel bad for John Leclair? You know, the guy who took out the superstar hockey player imported, no, SMUGGLED out of Russia leading to international uproar and all that other good fun foreign policy stuff? IN HIS FIRST NHL game, no less the PRE-SEASON? Like boy, if Evgeni (superstar dubbed best hockey player not playing in the NHL) does NOT make it back in time to buoy the Penguins to a respectable season, how many crazy Pittsburgh fans will have their shotguns ready to gun this man down? That's just horrible luck.

1. MY TEAM is smarter.
There is a certain amount of mental aptitude needed to play the game of Survivor, especially needed to manipulate other players, but also needed to navigate your way through demanding challenges. MY TEAM has been two for two in challenges and although the latest one was rather close (they tied for the win), they completely trashed the Soul-Powers and the Latinos in both. Only the American's have been close.

They say that an average human uses only about 10% of their brain. I'd say that the people represented by my team use about 12%, giving us the edge.

And as a sidenote, from now on, whenever I get asked, "What would be the one super-power you would like to have?", I'm going to reply, "To use 100% of my brain". I picked that up somewhere, but I fail to remember, because, I only use 10% of my brain.

2. You DON'T leave a member of MY TEAM alone with a logic-puzzle which when solved, is rewarded immensely.
Another twist in this game is that the losing team choose one member of another tribe to spend two nights on an island by themselves, aptly named "Exile Island". While it is not the greatest news to hear, the additional twist is that hidden somewhere on the island is an Immunity Idol, and Immunity is what you want in a game of Survivor.

This guy, puts two and two together, and digs himself up the idol, thus giving him an ace in his pocket, on top of his already dominating tribe.

3. If it wasn't obvious, I'm cheering for MY TEAM.
It's not uncommon for a viewer to pick sides early on in any show, much less Survivor. But now I have to be careful what I say when expressing my delight or disgust for the events that unfolded on Survivor.

Whereas before I could walk into my office, and announce "JABUAU just STEAMROLLED over them TAMBAQUI's", it would not go over so well if I pop up 9am in the morning and state "So the Americans really walked all over the soul-power's last night huh".

Because they have been for the past few hundred years. And while the truth is funny, the truth is also hurtful.

4. I really feel compelled to make a fourth point even though I don't have one.
Because it would've been pretty jerk if I teased making a really long list and it ended up containing only three items. A bullet point list would've sufficed in that case. And you, my readership, have come to expect longer and better lists. I've built a blogging career on making lists at least four or five items long, I'm not about to disappoint. Even if this post has dragged on long enough.

I guess I'll take this opportunity to thank Jeff Probst for bringing us this extremely boring social experiment. And it behooves me to think of the only logical gimmicks for the next season of Survivor, unless it is canceled, but most probably won't be because fools like me still watch.

I mean, they've divided tribes by race, gender, age (if I remember correctly) and IQ (which is semi-equivalent to race, okay that went too far, I apologize).

"Next season on Survivor, we pit the ugly people against the good-looking people!"

or... (and prepare yourselves now)

"Next season on Survivor, we put faith to the test as we divide people by their religion!"

Oh (cow) boy.

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This blog is automatic, supersonic, hypnotic, so melodic.
Somewhat lyrical, some say satirical.
Funky Fresh.
Now, let me see you one two step.
Title explained. But, I promise, there's more.

I listen to an assortment of media while slaving away in my cubicle jail. It keeps my mind quite distracted from over-thinking work, and from time-to-time I have something to quietly sing along to, or something that causes me to quietly laugh-out-loud.

Today, I heard something that was kinda hot, but kinda confusing.

Which reminds me of my big-screen feature the night prior to this one, where I watched Rachel Bils...The Last Kiss. And if I have never given credit to these people before, then I sure do now. Whoever does the preview line-up did a bang-up job last night. Mind you, I understand the idea of target-marketing. But I also was under the erroneous impression that any movie you watch on any given day would have the exact same previews.

In anticipation for seeing some tricked out trailer for Spiderman 3, I put down my Famous magazine, and focused my attention to the screen right after the lights dimmed. And then I was left with 10-15 minutes of trailers for movies I will never watch, but to which all the ladies in the theater were entranced by. No Spiderman. And that's when it really set in that I was watching a chick flick in theaters.

Target Marketing. Hit the mark.

Safe to say I haven't done chick flicks in theaters for a while. But not to fret. Rachel Bils...pardon me, the movie did not disappoint, but the choices made by certain characters in the movie were as frustrating as me trying to curl twenty-pound dumbbells twice.

Upon leaving the movie theater, most of us were just shaking our heads. But no explanations were needed. It was just understood. Unlike this following lyrical excerpt from a Lupe Fiasco track, "What It Do".

Before everyone goes clicking away, PLEASE DON'T, I know most of you don't care for rap. In fact, you may think rap is crap. But indulge me and try to read through/understand these lyrics, and then possibly sum it up in a sentence or two in the comment section below.

I show you what it does, how it did, what it do.

I saw it on TV, I was told to buy a CD, the CD told me buy a TV, the TV that I bought came with a CD that said go and buy the DVD.

The DVD that I bought came with a CD which was the DVD of the making of the TV that I saw, which told to go and buy the CD in the first place, wait, naw.

I put the DVD in the TV, so you can see what I saw, but wait, this is CD, so you can’t see me, aw, maybe I should just come out on DVD like CB.

It's actually pretty hilarious hearing this in real time, because not only is it technically sound, it's just plain absurd, but not quite product placement (Pass that Courvoisier in my Air Force Ones) absurd.

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This is so useless, I had to pass it along.

- In Windows XP, go to Start -> Control Panel -> Speech

- Copy and paste the following text into the box below "Use the following text to preview the voice":

The sprinkler goes spspspspspspspspspspspspspspspspse sse sse sse sse sse sse sse sse sse sse sse sse sse sse sse sse sse sse spspspspspspspspspspspspspspspspse

Click the "Preview Voice" button

Giggle a little.

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I notice a generational gap when I talk to kids (i.e. my supposedly cute brother) online.

They use a certain emoticon-type-thing that I never knew existed, and as such, I was compelled to look it up.

I laughed so hard I almost died.

XD - Childish laugh, or laughing really hard. ALSO MEANS DEAD.

Does anybody else find it morbidly odd that said emoticon could have those two very unrelated usages?

Although, I usually see it employed when I'm trying to be funny, so either I elicited laughter of the childish sort, or my jokes killed. Win-win-win. Word to Steve Carell.

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I am merely a drummer that enjoys picking up a guitar from time to time to give my eardrums some much needed rest. So when my dad asked me if I wanted to attend a guitar clinic, I not only had no idea what to expect, I also wasn't very enthusiastic.

I mean seriously, we had 50-year old folks causing a bigger ruckus than I was. And that should never happen to a vibrant, word-happy fellow like me.

Did I really just refer to myself as a "fellow"?

But by the end of the night, I was silent not because I was bored to death, but because I was simply in awe of the musician who put on the clinic, Doyle Dykes.

I feel as if he took me to school UNIVERSITY.

This man stood there, for an hour and a half, and finger-picked his way through a multitude of songs of different varieties, from contemporary music by Coldplay, to such classics as Stairway to Heaven, to country hoe-downs. And everything sounded good.

He could've smashed a guitar over my head and it would've sounded good.

What's more, everything sounded bigger than it actually was, as if there were three people playing the intricate parts to each song, but it was just him and his incredibly fast fingers. If I stood around with five of my friends, each given a part, I don't think we could pull off what he pulled off by himself.

And then, to top it all off, he brought out his daughter to play a little mandolin and sing along. Mind you she wasn't the best singer ever (check out her Myspace I linked there for a sampling), but that just put it over the top. I mean, a brunette chickie who could sing and play a mandolin?

Sorry, did I mention how she boldly stepped up and sang them Christian songs?! And then got people to sing along at certain parts? And did some crazy synchronized finger picking along with her dad?

Knocked. It. Out. Of. The. Park.

To demonstrate my level of contentment with this $7 clinic, I wasn't even disappointed when I left the night without winning anything from the raffle. In fact, I left there wanting to buy a Taylor guitar more than ever, thinking that I could be just like Doyle.

And that's SCARY. This event being a Taylor sponsored event, that must've meant that their advertising worked on me without me them ever blatantly plugging Taylor in any way. And that I can respect.

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There's only a few things more depressing than reading off 6pm from a clock on a Friday afternoon while at work. One of them being how I realize I don't have it in myself to make this a very interesting post.

Luckily, I have the Monkey Kick Ball game. BEAT ME AT THIS.

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I sauntered into the company gym today like it was any regular day, ready to take on the "weight" of the world, to Kick and Push in the physical sense, only to be met by a colorful wall of balloons and streamers hanging from the ceiling that not only make me not want to work out with intensity, it made me want to put on a party-hat and sing happy birthday.

September 14th. Member Appreciation Day at the company gym.

Of course, everyone likes to be appreciated, it feels good. You can be the most humble person in the world (that I am NOT) and it'll still feel good when you get appreciated.

After the initial wave of warm fuzzy feelings, I tried to figure out exactly what I was being appreciated for. The constant sweat stains I leave on everything I touch at that gym? My improper usage of the equipment? The musky smell I most probably leave every single time I walk out of there?

Excuse me while I bring my self esteem back up to an extremely high level.

My name is Buttug McOysty and I am totally aawesome.

Ahem.

I quickly brushed those thoughts aside, and proceeded to getting appreciated. I entered myself in a raffle for water-bottles and other assorted items, then helped myself to free food.

And that's when the appreciation stopped.

They were giving out tiny cups of what I believe to be "Trail Mix", and can only be described as nuts and berries. And it tasted like...nothing. I work out, so that I can continue eating the delicious filth I like to eat. Word to McDonalds. Not because I want to eat TRAIL MIX. That's something I could see myself feeding to a horse. Or throwing into a garbage bin with my basketball type skills.

Or throwing at unsuspecting children.

I'm now a few hours removed from the situation, and am completely over it, and over being the schmuck who complains about how he was under-appreciated while being appreciated. Because, despite the trail mix fiasco, I still appreciated their efforts in appreciating me. Kapeesh?

In today's edition of Stupefying Stupidity, err, Stupefying Stupidity, it has been brought to my attention by one Campbell's Chunky Beef Stew* (she's not Chunky, it's just how the soup is named) that I have been misspelling MY BLOG'S OWN NAME.

I cannot figure out why more people did not call me out on this crap earlier.

But that has been rectified, and we now proceed forthwith as if I never misspelled anything at all. Besides, I just noticed a built in spell-checker, so it shouldn't happen again. Forgive me please.

Before I draft up another post (about those racist Survivor people!) this just has to be mentioned. The American Air Force Guy wants to test their own weapons against American civilians. Granted, it led to a very clever article title, but let me attempt to walk through this.

He wants to try weapons made to combat enemies on the very people the the weapons were supposed to protect from said enemies.

Somebody needs to give that man an award, to appreciate his confounding logic.

*Hey, look at that! I linked to something other than myself!

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Minus the R Kelly sex scandal. What happened to that guy anyways? Oh, he's trying to get an album done and released for 2006 or 2007. Titled, "MAKING BABIES". And here I thought he'd shy away from talking about sex. I guess me and my "Unfinished Business"* err Unfinished Education just aren't cut out to be in show-biz because personally, I would've suggested he go with an album title such as "Please Forgive Me" or "I've Really Changed For the Better" or "I Believe I Can Fly and Other Non-sexually suggestive songs".

He seriously needs new publicists/yes-men/parents. Talk about Stupefying Stupidity.

Did I just link to myself again?

Let me check. Oh I sure did. And you know what? I'd do it AGAIN.

Readership, let me ask you a question. Have you ever followed a music artist so obsessively that no matter what they released, you would always be the first amongst your friends to have said artist's new album? Where they could basically release an album of Sean Paul covers and you'd still be absolutely convinced that it would sound good? And you would adopt their philosophies and outlook on life, and have all their stickers/posters/life-sized cutouts?

And you feel slightly like a tool for eating out of their hands, no matter what they may be serving on any given day?

Like you were ... addicted?

Looking at the music album's I have amassed over the years, I can truthfully say that only two bands have ever had that tight of a hold on me. And I have since tuned out one of them completely, but because I am a bigger man (metaphorically and muscular-ly relative to two weeks ago), I won't name names.

But for metaphorical sakes, let's just say I switched-foots.

Uh, I mean feet.

The other group I followed religiously** I still pop into a CD player, and by that I mean I wheel-click over to on my Apple MP3 device from time to time when I'm tired of listening to Kanye West talk about how big of a star he is in every song he releases.

And in this following video, you not only get a taste of some of their music, but you also get some dynamic dancing, and while the dubbing is not beat-for-beat perfect, and this may not be the best sample of said group's musical abilities, it cheered me the heck up.

And somewhere, somehow, someone knew that I loved ridiculous dancing combined with good old fashioned Christian music. You just don't see enough of that at church, or none at all. That needs to be addressed.

Without further ado, and I do make much ado about a lot of things, ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, David Crowder ft. Napoleon Dynamite!

Mash THAT, MTV.

Of course, I bring up the rather-general topic of music up because I have a difficult dilemma facing me. In a pickled problem, if you will, or if you won't, then a questionable quandary. I have recently been made aware of a half-album David Crowder Band has put out, B Collision, where they released about 7 songs performed differently. And while I am very curious as to how the album sounds, I do not think it'll be worthy my ten dollars. Yet my overwhelming loyalty to them dictates that I do not give this any more thought and purchase that album online right now.

Should I? Or shan't I?

Check on it, Beyonce. Once again back is the incredible...asterisk. Because you really don't know what you got til' it's gone.***

* I don't think anyone will get that.
** Haha I'm hilarious.
*** Kanye rhymes that line with "I know I got it, I don't know what y'all on". Seriously, his ego is laced in EVERY SONG its plain ridiculous.

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The platform in which I exist today is not the same as it was yesterday. The fundamentals have been rocked, and I have been left in shock. Things change. Things'll never be the same. And that's just the way it is.

How dazed am I? It is as if I now exist in a world where Pluto is no longer considered a planet.

...oh.

For the first time since I was three, I do not join other students in going back to school. No longer do I consider myself a student, no longer must I subject myself to long lines at a campus bookstore, no longer am I sequestered from my parents (and the nagging/love that comes from them) in a far off city.

No longer do I listen to the Black Eyed Peas. With an exception given to Fergie.

With all that and more being said, there is almost nothing I would rather be doing than being back in my University environment. With THAT also being said, I now have a year away from it all, to ponder, to reflect, to be or not to be, Tupac Shakur.

Speaking of police not doing their jobs, I was doing about 150 coming back from K-town (not to be confused with K-Fed...I wonder if his album has leaked yet because I'm morbidly curious), singing at the top of my lungs, and yes I'll admit it, I was slightly off pitch because I'm still new to this harmony business. As such, I failed to pay attention to my rear-view mirror until it was too late.

But as they say, better late than never.

Now I know I drive over the limit. I also knew that one day, I would be pulled over for speeding, it was an inevitability. I also understand that if I get caught, there really is nothing to argue about because I'm violating traffic regulations voluntarily. I would not give the policeman a hard time, and just pony up whatever I owned. I thought today was the day I got, uh, got.

As I pulled over to the right lane, slightly frustrated at myself for not being more aware of the situation (ie. the oncoming police jeep, seriously, I should've been able to see this thing from a mile away), the police jeep proceeds to blow by me, and disappear into the horizon.

And then the car behind me pulls out and passes me by because I was going slow enough to pull over into the shoulder.

If the police are not stopping super-sonic-speed demons like me (although I am a safe speeder, no childrens or endangered species at risk), I think we shouldn't have policeman at all. Because either they ARE doing their job, or they aren't doing their job. And they should not be paid to do the latter. Or not do the former.

Period.

Don't think that I don't know that by typing this post up, and sarcastically poking fun at how I was not stopped for doing 150, one day I will be pulled over for doing 50 on a 40, or something much less severe, but ever the slap-across-the-face.

Anticipation. And I ALWAYS anticipate wrong.

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My brother is gone. He's left me with one extra bedroom, with which I still haven't decided what to do with. Heck I can't even decide what I should do with the big blank wall in my own bedroom.

What else. He's left behind some poker chips, which I can shuffle to my heart's content and do those cute little tricks I see those pros doing all the time on television while they take money away from n00bs.

And we musn't forget, he's left me to face the BRUNT of the nagging from my dear parents. And the chores. He's left me all the chores.

I guess when I ran off to University without looking back (not to be mistaken with my head being tilted backwards in some sort of evil maniacal laughing) three years ago, my brother went through exactly the same emotions.

Am I actually going to talk about moving my brother in? No. Because it was very boring, and I was very unnecessary, because (as pointed out to me by many):

1. I am not cut out for heavy lifting.

and

2. THERE WAS NO HEAVY LIFTING TO BE DONE.

As I said, nothing interesting. If I had lifted ten boxes over my head while preventing a kid from being classified as road-kill by a careless truck backing up, like I did last week (no I didn't), then not only would you have seen me on the front page of your local newspaper, I would be blatantly heralding myself as a hero, right here at Stupefying Stupidity.

Like in big, red, fancy font, probably something like this:

I AM A HERO

Uh, it seems to be missing something. Allow me to try again:

I AM A HERO!!!

Ah the little things in life that make all the difference. Just like how I tweaked my template to make the comment link right justified. Cleans this place up a bit you know.

Sorry. No interesting hero stories from me today.

Although, actually, backing out of my driveway this morning, I almost ran someone over, but I stopped with more than enough time.

That's me, Buttug McOysty, saving lives, one near-miss at a time.

So it's official. Children everywhere are back in school, meaning I have to check my rear-view mirror and such before I back wildly out of my driveway to get to work not-so-late in the morning.

And of course, Murphy's law states that everytime there are no cars preventing you from getting onto the road, there will be children in your way, and vice versa.

This cannot end good.

Neither can this post.

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I've had a very busy weekend. And considering I have the ability to ramble on, I'll break it up into a few posts, if I don't forget, or lose interest.

Snakes on a plain. Not plane. But almost the same. But not.

Quite boring, and I can't blame them, because most things are pretty boring when asleep. Except for Nick Cannon. He's hilarious. 200% of the time.

I have much higher hopes for the homonymous Snakes On A Plane.

Much has been observed over this weekend, and I am now ready to share. After-all, if one does not share, has one learned anything at all?

Stop and think about it, because not only is this good in theory, it works when one is explaining homework to another. And because sometimes, I am, uhh how do I put this, more academically inclined than others, I tend to have to explain my chicken scratch answers, proving once in for all that I actually understand the work myself.

I'm going to miss that.

The Metro Toronto Zoo employs a very logical organization of its' animals. Dividing animals into exhibits based on their region of origin.

A la the upcoming controversial season of Survivor.

I have come to the conclusion that there is only one group of animals that is truly interesting as a group unto themselves. And for the same reason, we thankfully do not have such tourist attractions as the "Eurasian Lion Safari" or the "Canadian Lion Safari". European Reindeer? Moose? CANADIAN GEESE? I'll take my pygmy hippopotamus any day.

And don't think that I came into the day biased either. Just because I like "black" music did not mean that I would naturally gravitate towards the African animals. It just happens. Honestly.

I came into the day very well prepared, very ready to see lots and lots of animals. Or so I thought. I feel a sidenote coming up.

*Sidenote: Animals are only interesting when interacting with other animals. The thought of having two rhinos charging at each other is much more salivating than the thought of watching a rhino attempting to flip over a rock out of sheer boredom. And a lot of a time, a lonely animal is a less active animal. It takes two. I'm much more over-the-top in the company of others in comparison to when I'm lazing around at home. So, zoo folks, please take the money you're making off the ridiculous entrance fees and go invest in another rhino, tiger and monkey.*

Ahem.

In preparation for the zoo visit, I cultivated the perfect stuffy nose so I as to be unaffected by the rank smells that certainly did not disappoint. Not that I would know personally, but the groans from my fellow friends confirmed my suspicion that the zoo would indeed smell like manure.

But what I did forget was to strap on the marathon gear for the ensuing walk-a-thon. It didn't help that an optimal route around the zoo was not picked out (I must've seen the same Harvey's joint three or four times that day, and where's a McDonalds when one needs one? Some golden delicious fries would've helped spur me on, that's all I'm saying). But as a scholar who has studied graph theory unintensively a few times during my university career, I was slightly annoyed. As annoyed as I am at people with atrocious grammar.

On a related note, what's the word for people that annoy themselves? I'm drawing blanks, and any help would be appreciated. From the people here at Stupefying Stupidity, still in collaboration with Boyz II Men, would like to thank you in advance.

I now know why the zoo is an ideal location to take kids to for a summer camp day trip. The kids will naturally tire themselves out running to see the polar bears, then running to the other end of the zoo to see the elephants, then realize they missed the jaguar back in the first section, and run all the way back there.

Kids. You gotta love 'em. McDonald fries. I'm lovin' it.

I thought the point of limiting myself to one topic was to actually limit myself. Things just never pan out the way you plan them.

Lastly, it never ceases to amaze me how a group of more-or-less grown up people can come together in the face of overwhelming adversity, and find a way to amuse themselves. Regardless of the location or event. It's making fun out of thin air. Magic.

This post could've ended a couple paragraphs ago.

Dr. House back in the game, slapping ignorant fools that need to be set straight.

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