I approach tonight's blog with a heavy heart. A heart full of feelings, hope, and mostly blood. I have reached the end of the blog highway. I have enjoyed creating these blogs and having 10 real solid readers. Those 10 people have made this blog into what it is today: a tiny blip on the internet blip-o-meter.
It's not that I don't want to continue. I have the desire and Arnold Schwarzenegger is giving me plenty of material. The problem is the world is ending. Tomorrow. I think it shows how much this blog truly means to me if it is what I have chosen to do on my last day alive.
Looking back on my life I regret a few things. Not accepting my dream job and instead choosing a life of honest work at a Target is one regret. Another is not marrying my supermodel girlfriend when she proposed to me. Overall, I think my biggest regret is my rudeness towards strangers. I could have been much more rude.
I am proud of some things I accomplished in my lifetime. My dedication to physical fitness in others. My never-ending loyalty to quilts. My attitude towards Klondike Bars. Most importantly, I am proud to have tried everything on the McDonald's menu.
So long and thanks for all the fish.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
How I Helped Kill Osama bin Laden
This whole story is going to seem like fiction. Even though I was directly involved, I still pinch myself and try to remember that ever word below is true. I could not make up the story below if I tried.
I met Osama bin Laden last year. It was late on a Tuesday night and I was avoiding writing my philosophy paper on Plato (not Playdough as I had originally hoped.) I decided to waste time by meeting new people and seeing various testicles on a popular website at the time called Chatroulette. For those of you who don't know, Chatroulette connects you randomly to webcams across the world. You can meet and talk with people but about 1 in 3 videos involve male nudity.
Just when I was about to log off, I saw what at first glance, seemed to be more male genitalia. The hair was curly and dark with a grey streak down the middle. Then I realized it wasn't a pervert but instead a human face, the face of Osama bin Laden. Needless to say, I was stunned.
He was relaxing on a couch and drinking Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper from a 2 liter. On his right was a picture of a puppy and on his left there was an assault rifle.
At first I was outraged. I wanted to yell at him and chide him for his wrongdoings, but instead I played it cool. This was an opportunity to gain some information and find out where he was hiding. I took a breath and acted natural.
"Hey man, what's your name?" I asked pretending to be a stereotypical dumb American who doesn't know who Plato is.
"Mark," he replied casually. He was tricky, very tricky. I wasn't going to let his lies and puppy pic fool me. Fool me once shame on you. Fool me twice... I don't... you don't... I'm not a fool. That's the point.
"Ok, 'Mark'." In my head I imagined doing air-quotes in a mocking tone, but I exercised extreme restraint and continued. "Where are you right now?"
Without hesitation he said, "Lansing, Michigan. I'm studying theatre at the Great Lakes Christian College. How about you?"
Damn. He was good, but I was better.
"I'm just here in New York City, observing how these awful Americans exercise free speech and shirts that show cleavage. It's awful and I am a Muslim." Suck it, Osama. He would soon fall into my trap.
"Here in Lansing it's too cold to show cleavage," he said with a pretty accurate Michigan accent. He had really done his homework. I had heard enough.
"All right dickboy. The jig is up. I know who you are. Tell me your location right now." I don't know where I learned to talk like that. I'm pretty sure that might be a quote from the Die Hard franchise.
"I don't know what you are talking about. My name's Mark." He just would not give up on this Mark thing. I decided to let him know my true feelings.
"Look, you've had your fun. Stop playing around."
He looked at me and simply repeated, "I'm Mark."
I searched my brain for the right quote from a Bruce Willis movie that would get him to respect me and answer my question. Finally I settled on this gem from Live Free or Die Hard:
"You're gonna tell me what I wanna know, or I'm gonna beat you to death in your own house."
He was stunned. "Is that from Live Free or Die Hard?"
"Yes. Yes it is."
"Ok. I'll tell you everything."
We talked for hours about his likes, his passions, his location, his bucket list, Die Hard 2, boxers or briefs, and why he's more of a Samantha than a Carrie. It was truly an eye opening experience.
As the conversation came to an end, he looked at me with a tear in his eye. He took a long pause, and quietly said, "After talking with you, and sharing my feelings, I really regret what I did 9 years ago. I was young and foolish. You have shown me that a free society can produce good people."
"And we also produced the Die Hard Tetralogy," I retorted.
We laughed and laughed. In a strange way, I'm going to miss him.
I guess you can thank me and the writer of Live Free or Die Hard for the finding and killing of bin Laden. Some may call us heroes but I agree with this quote from Live Free or Die Hard:
"You know what you get for being a hero? Nothin'. You get shot at. You get a little pat on the back, blah, blah, blah, attaboy. You get divorced. Your wife can't remember your last name. Your kids don't want to talk to you. You get to eat a lot of meals by yourself. Trust me, kid, nobody wants to be that guy."
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