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Friday, September 28, 2012

My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

I'm a brony.

σ_σ ... Seriously?

Somewhere beneath this dark, arrogant and crusted exterior is the fluffy soul of a cuddley-coo who likes to watch animated ponies, unicorns, and pegasi learning about love and friendship.

I even have an OC (Original Character)...

That's a cutie mark, not a butt tattoo...despite what my cousin might say.

Yes, that pony represents me... an admission that prompted my eldest brother to confiscate my man-card... but when I designed my own MLP:FIM t-shirt, it prompted Ginger to declare that I had surplus validation of my manhood. (It's hard to tell if people are being sarcastic over text...)

So here's my query: is it more important to appear manly to your brothers or the ladies?

It's a conundrum...

Here's my other query: was it a stupid decision to admit to being a brony? Will I lose followers? (If I even lose 2 followers that's over 10% of my readership! [No, my math doesn't suck that much. I have readers who only connect via facebook, so they don't "follow" on blogger.])

So how did I become a brony? How did someone as jaded and cynical as myself even begin watching a cartoon about six mares in Equestria?

I was dragged, kicking and screaming.

If you remember my post Life Updates - Who is With Whom and Who's Having Whose Baby - P.S. Mr. Weirdman, then you will remember that Queenie has been a brony (or "pegasister," for those of you who appreciate gender descrimination) for quite a while, and she threatened my life to get me to watch it with her. And, as everyone knows, receiving death threats from pony fans is mildly terrifying.

Basically, I agreed to watch it to preserve my life, and then realized it was actually a fun, funny, and "d'aaawwww" cute.

If I had had a heart it would have melted.

I was also introduced to spin-off series on YouTube (such as Friendship is Witchcraft http://www.youtube.com/user/SherclopPones?feature=CAQQwRs%3D) and THAT, my friends, you will not have a hard time believing I'm a fan of. -_-


Anywhozits, in related news, I'm going to the Pon3Con in Omaha Nebraska tomorrow. Expect a blog about that... possibly with video! (I know I promised video once before... I'm still trying to get a copy of the zombie short I was featured in to post on here... but I'm actually going to be the one filming this time. So it should be easier.)

So... look forward to that.

Or don't.


I don't care.


Go do some evil.

Hi, Ginger!

Thursday, September 27, 2012

Drying the Creative Mud

Not sure if you've noticed, but I haven't posted in a long-ish time.

I'm to rectify that... by posting.

Sadly, I haven't much of interest to say, so today's post may end up being among the least entertaining posts in the history of the blogosphere. But I'm really just making this up as I go, so--who knows?--maybe it'll be hilarious.

Somehow I doubt that.

Poll: Was this flowchart a stupid decision?

"And that's all I have to say about that." ~Can you guess the classic movie I'm quoting?

So what have I been doing at old KU recently?

Mostly going to classes and trying to learn. Or learning and trying to go to classes. Or trying to go to classes and trying to learn. I highly doubt I've been going to classes and learning... 'cause that'd be too simple.

Speaking of simple, I have an English midterm test on Monday, and I'm only half-competent in the material, and I haven't finished reading the assigned text. I'm a winner! (I should get on that...) But, I'm fairly certain I'll do okay, because I love English, and I test well...and the test-prep session made the concepts of the last two weeks clearer in an hour than they've been made in the last two weeks.

I went in all "wtf is wth?" and I went out all "heh, I got this shit." ^_^ (*swag*)

My sister just differentiated between "vile" and "vial" and it got me to thinking... about vile vials... and bile... but that was just an afterthought.

So, if you haven't noticed, this has been kind of a "train of consciousness" post.

Speaking of consciousness, have you ever read "The Jabberwocky" by Lewis Caroll? It's a "nonsense poem" and is one of my favorite poems ever written. (Also an awesome poem is "Snowbanks North of the House" by Robert Bly.)

In appreciation of Lewis's Jabberwocky, I have composed my own nonsense poem. I share it here along with an equally nonsensical doodle. -_- (And I'm mostly making this poem up as I go... with a little memory of a poem I wrote once...)

The Bandriggle swives in periclitation.
Ye who behold, swaffed in bibation,
Sickled with rotgut, join the soirave.
Pink fwithers brustle agin' the known trave.

"...and that's all I have to say about that..."

Well, what did you expect after a poem like that???
And... voila!

So, Ciao, and go do some evil!


No, you didn't miss anything. You are correct that the title has  nothing to do with the content.

I'm sorry it's such a short/lame post. I'm kind of forcing it out... trying to get the creative juices flowing.

Who decided creativity was controlled by juices? Why can't we "get the creative mud drying"?

Oh, there's the title...

Saturday, June 23, 2012

I wanna share my blog

Hey! I'd like to swap buttons and/or follows with you people!
My only condition is no "adult" blogs. Family friendly, only!

This is my blog, it's mostly humor.
Comment below with your link and I'll swap buttons, or give a follow for a follow! :D

Until next time, go do some evil!



So, I Was Recognized on the Street Today...

In a rare moment of Rafe fame (fame mostly due to happening to have acquaintences that are also Facebook friends and, despite not having seen me in person for years, can still recognize me from my FB pics) I was recognized on the street today.

In other words: I ran into someone who I once met, but don't know very well.

In still other words: No real fame will be presented in this tale.

In still more other words: I have a fun if not funny story to relate. ^_^

I should get started...

I was walking home from confession this Saturday* (remember, I'm Catholic... we do stuff like that) and I was about half way home when suddenly a Wild Rosi appeared whilst driving a car.

*Saturday would be today if, in fact, you read this on the same Saturday that I post it on. -_-

Her eyes were wide with excitement, her grin was ear to ear, and she was pointing and waving with the frantic energy of a million, mad stallions!

She obviously recognized me. And was exceptionally happy to see me. -_-

To be fair, she looks less like Ben Franklin than my drawing...
At first I thought I recognized her... then I realized she wasn't who I thought she was.

Then she pulled into a driveway I was nearing. I briefly considered the possibility that she belonged to that house, but this only made the matter curiouser, because I know almost less than nothing about the occupents of that domicile.

That was when she burst out of the car and ran towards me, still frantic and excited.

She definitely wasn't who I thought she was, but I definitely recognized her face... but I definitely couldn't place it. Definitely.

"Hi! I'm a Wild Rosi!" She shouted (thus enabling me to remember who she was). "I'm Ellie's cousin!" (Ellie dislikes being called "Ellie," which is why I have opted to make her nom de blog "Ellie.") >:D BWUAHAHAHHAA!!!

Anywho... the Wild Rosi continued speaking. "We're trying to get to Ellie's, but we're kind of lost. I saw you and was like 'hey, I think I know him! He's Ellie's friend!'"

Didn't even remember my name... :(

My Fame-Ego took a small blow...

But I rallied on.

"Can you tell us* how to get to Ellie's from this road?"

*There was, apparently, another wild Ellie cousin in the car.

"Does this road go all the way to Ellie's house?" She asked.

I looked at the street, *le shrug* "I haven't seen it go anywhere yet." (I'm so clever...)

The Wild Rosi then made it unmistakably clear that she wanted directions to Ellie's domicile.

Again... just because my drawings are freakish does NOT mean that the people they represent are. ^_^ The Wild Rosi and Ellie are both new to SDA, and I don't want to insult them more than I intend to.
I proceeded to give her the most confusing--yet still somehow true--directions I could think of.

-_- Because I'm cruel like that.


That's pretty much the story of the time I was recognized on the street. I'm now officially (not really) famous. :D

Go do some evil, and Ciao!


*1000 cool points to those who know what is printed on my blue shirt in the second pic. ;)

Friday, June 15, 2012

Minion Birth Announcement

This post is to announce that Satchel and Sheriff Woody have made yet another minion, Antoine.

He's a big boy at 9lbs 1/2 oz. and 21" long.

He's not deformed, just my drawing is.

This brings my minion army up to seven:
Omen, Jose, Jimp, Lex, Antoine, Flap and Gabor.

All hail the eternal army of the Rafe!


Tuesday, June 5, 2012

I Don't Know What I'm Going to Write About Yet -- I'll Probably Put a Real-ish Title on the End of This Though--Summer (of love?) and Movies, and Zero



That time of year when a young man's fancy turns to love.

Or so Hobbes said to Calvin once.

He was probably quoting something else, but whatever.

That was the first place I saw the phrase.

But that's not what we're talking about.

No, no.

We're talking about Summer.


Because I said so. And I write the blogs.


So what happens this summer? Well, two things. Well... much more than two things happen (trillions upon countless trillions of things happen, depending on how you count moments and happenings). But, as it were, two things of actual import that we shall discuss happen this summer.

One, Madagascar 3 comes out. (I haven't heard for sure, but I'm willing to bet you can see it in 3D if you want.) Two, Prometheus comes out... on the same day, no less.

June 8th's most compelling movies...

What IS this newfangled fascination with good movies? What happened to the good old days when Hollywood could push out any sh*t they wanted to, and we'd leap to see it, literally screaming "TAKE MY MONEY!!!"???

I'm secretly hoping my little flying man will become the meme for "Take my Money!"
Okay, so we're still in that era, aren't we? Need I mention Avatar? (I know, I know, many of you loved it... but, really, it was awful. It was--no joke--the only movie I've ever walked out on. It was that stupid. I spent the last ninety minutes or so in the arcade wasting money and waiting for my friends to give up on the movie. Actually, "arcade" is a bit of an over-statement. The theatre I was at was so small it just had a few games set up in the main lobby. I did buy a drink while I was out there though, so, win, I guess. My friends briefly wondered if I had died in the bathroom.
Madagascar 3 and Prometheus are just two exceptions to the bad-movie rule. (Or, so I'm hoping. Technically I haven't seen them yet. But, judging from their previews, and the past work in their respective series, and the past work of their respective creators...the odds are ever in my favor.) That last line was a Hunger Games reference, in case you're a plebeian and didn't get it.

Speaking of The Hunger Games, I still haven't seen the movie. I loved, Loved, LOVED the books, but my sisters said the movie was an awkward shadow of a ghost of the glory of the books. Which got me to thinking: Do ghosts cast shadows? Deep, I know.

But... do they?

Anyway, the below is rehashed from a Facebook note I wrote once. I think it's worth repeating myself to flesh out the rest of this blog.

I read that certain cultures in the ancient world (in fact MOST cultures in the ancient world) did not know about zero. This idea intrigued me. I began to think about it: how does someone not know about nothing?

Imagine this:

Bob: "Hey, Frank! Long time no see! How's life?"
Frank: "Howdy, Bob! It has been a long time. Life's good."
Bob: "What you been doing since we last met?"
Frank: "Well, I got married."
Bob: "You? Married? How many kids do you have?"
Frank: "Uh..."
Bob: "Come on, how many?"
Frank: "I don't know."
Bob: "You don't know?"
Frank: "I mean I can't say."
Bob: "Why not?"
Frank: "I don't know."
Bob: "Frank, can you count?"
Frank: "Yes! I love to count! I'm the countin' master!"
Bob: "Then count your children."
Frank: "I can't."
Bob: "Why?"
Frank: "I don't know."
Bob: "You don't know how many kids you have?"
Frank: "No."
Bob: "You don't know how to count?"
Frank: "Yes I do! Watch... 1, 2, 3..."
Bob: "Okay. I believe you. Now do you know how many kids you have?"
Frank: "Sorta."
Bob: "You 'sorta' know how many kids you have?"
Frank: "Well, yeah."
Bob: "Try counting them? Please?"
Frank: "It doesn't work like that."
Bob: "Frank... Something's wrong with you."

Or this:

Bob: "Hi, Frank. Goin' fishin'?"
Frank: "Yup. Haven't started yet though."
Will: "Hey, Frankie! How many fish you caught?"
Frank: "One!"
Bob: "I thought you said you haven't started yet."
Frank: "I haven't."
Will: "Then how many fish have you caught?"
Frank: "One."
Bob: "How did you catch a fish before you started?"
Frank: "Don't be silly. You can't catch fish before you start fishing!"
Will: "You said you had one."
Frank: "That's as low as I can count." :(

Okay, for all you literalist historians and/or mathematicians out there (you know who you are, you're the one getting all ready to correct my misunderstanding of the differences between nothing and the mathematical concept of zero) let me say this: I freaking Know!

Booyah! Don't have an answer to that, do ya?

It's called comedy.

Learn to laugh.

And I thought I was bad... Sheesh!

Anywho... Ciao!

(Go do some evil!)


Thursday, May 17, 2012

To Russia, With Love!

This is a short, but sweet post. I just wanted to say that, for whatever reason, the country that looks at this blog the most (besides my native USA) is Russia.

Maybe I have a Russian sense of humor? I don't know.

But I wanted to say "Thanks!"

I hope Google didn't butcher your language too badly.

I apologize if it did.

Here's a special doodle for my friends in east...
Yes, it's just a copy and paste with "спасибо" thrown in. So? I'm lazy. Get over it.

Monday, May 14, 2012

That Incredibly Sappy "Inspirational" Post -- aka "When I Stopped Giving a Sh*t" -- aka "My Origin Story"

Everyone has a time in their life when they believe the haters, and begin to dislike who they are.
Every hero has an origin story.

I was feeling inspirational bout two minutes ago, and decided to tell my "origin story." Plus, a couple of days ago, Satchel was bugging me to post another post.

Be warned, however: Much of this origin story may be hyperbolic and/or completely made up. (It'll all be loosely based on actual experiences, but my own story is all a bit too--what's the word?--mundane... which is a synonym for "mind-numbingly boring... and stupid.")

So, here we begin...

I was living in a place called Hellonearth. It was cozy, but for the flames, sulfur and horned fellows poking me with sticks. I called them "Haters," because they hated so much that they even hated me. Who could hate ME?

No one sane could, I imagined, and thus declared them nutzo.

And now I've lost my train of thought. I'm talking to Ginger (new character, as I have not mentioned her before) as I write this, and now I've lost the connection between the Haters and my origin...

...oh, yeah...

That was it.

Here we go...

I wasn't as fast nor as strong as the Haters. This made it difficult to best them in any physical feat. Which made it difficult to win their respect.

Haters hate respecting people who can't beat the ever-loving sh*t out of them.

Which I couldn't them.

So they didn't me.

And I didn't me.

This is what we call "the sad part... where our hero has yet to find himself and become awesome." Or, more commonly, "The sappy part. Boo-*bleep*ing-Hoo."

Anyway. Skipping ahead a few years.

We moved out of Hellonearth, to my current residence: Home.

Here I met people who were the opposite of Haters... but I hesitate to call them "lovers" because of the connotations such a word carries.

I'll call them "those who didn't fear befriending me." Or "morons" for short.

One day several of these morons and I were talking in the alley. Why were in the alley is top secret, and I shall not divulge it to you. Irregardless (<--I like this word because it makes people angry... but it IS a word... even if it's not proper. http://www.merriam-webster.com/video/0037-irregardless.htm?&t=1337054276 ) That parenthetical was too long, so I'm going to begin my sentence all over again.

Irregardless of that, the point was that we were talking in an alley (for reasons that I cannot discuss). It was actually Satchel's sister who became Mentor (another new character for the blog). She is called "Mentor" because every hero has that Obi-Wan Kenobi/Yoda/Gandalf/Merlin/Old-dude-who-dies-before-he-and-the-count-can-tunnel-out-of-prison type of guy. (Or girl, in this case.)

Mentor changed my life foreverish when, while chatting in that alley, she revealed to me my route to world domination.

She said (and I quote... ish... or I lie. Whatever. I'm making up about half of this anyway.) "Gee, Rafe, you're funny. You're pretty quick on your feet. You realize that if you hone that sharp wit of yours, and then turn my sister, Satchel, into a minion maker, you will be able to build an army and conquer the world via a funny blog. BTW, you should call me 'Mentor' in that blog. Or 'Special K'--not because of the drug, but so Satchel will be able to know what sister you're talking about. K? Peace out, dude."

And then, just as quickly as she had appeared, Mentor disappeared into the mist... only to be seen several times again... ooo-eee-ooo *creepy music.*

And, as a Rafe is wont to do, I took her advice too far and honed my wit towards the "mock ALL THE THINGS!" line of humor, and became what is generally considered "an arrogant snob."

But you love me anyway.

Anyway... it wasn't long after that that I realized that 99% of Haters only hate because of their own lack of confidence. Thus, I made a conscious decision to not give a vulgar expletive what other people thought of me.

That, my friends, is when a wee little Rafe became your OVERLORD AND MASTER!

As per the usual request, go do some evil.


I'd like to thank everybody who ever hated on me. You made me stronger. Or I crushed you in a fit of rage... whatever.

"Hulk Smash!" ~Bruce Banner(ish)

Sunday, April 8, 2012

Flap and Eva -- A Very Special Easter Story

Okay, so I'll admit it's funnier if you are in on all the inside jokes. But, due to the nature of some of the jokes (and the people involved in them) I can only say this: It's  funnier if you're in on all the inside jokes. ;)

Enjoy my wicked awesome prose, anyway. You may get a laugh or two out of it.

So, without further ado... I give you...

Flap and Eva

and the

Curse of the Easter Pig

Once upon a time Flap and Eva were playing in their back yard. It should be noted that Flap was the Kwisatz Haderach, and Eva spoke with a thick Hungarian accent. Other than those to facts, they were mostly normal children from Normal World.

They were un-normal by virtue of their parents. Their father was Sir Boone, Lord and Grandmaster of the League of Men Who Raise Magical Dogges, and their mother, Theodora Rossé, was the personal assistant of Judge Norwegian—the only Norwegian judge allowed to judicate in Normal World, not to mention the most respected judicator in all of Normal World.
As it was (and it usually is as it is, so it stands to reason that it was—most probably—as it was on that day) it was Saturday. More precisely, it was Holy Saturday. (For those of you who don’t know it, that is the day before Easter Sunday.) Being that the next morning was a day filled with egg hunts and sugar highs, Flap and Eva were excited—as kids are wont to be. However, like every other child in Normal World, they were also weary. Weary because they knew of the curse of the Easter Pig.
It was said that on every thousandth Easter (and it was—of course—the thousandth Easter) there would come, flying over the mountains—coming straight from Abnormal World (which is, contrary to popular belief, not the World of Normal Abs; that’s quite a different world)—the infamous EASTER PIG!
(Yes, grammar fans, the preceding sentence was convoluted, likely a little confusing and probably qualified as a run-on. I don’t care. Get over it.)
The Easter Pig, some thought, was just a legend, or an old wives’ tale designed to make children fear winged pigs. Most, however, knew the ominousity (ßnot a real word) of the truth of the legend, and they feared the coming of the Easter Pig as most would fear rabid Chihuahuas—which is, like, A LOT!
Flap and Eva, though, were super-mega-geniuses with a combined IQ of well over a billion. They knew that with a little effort they could protect their chocolaty loot from the hated flying swine. So they set out to pig-proof their house, and—if they could—capture the Easter Pig, thus making Normal World a safe place to celebrate candy once again!
After much thinking, planning, and plotting, Flap had an idea.
“I’ve got an idea, Eva Jo,” He said.
“Ah, do tell it to me, dahling.” Eva answered.
“What if we got Boris to help us?”
“The drunk Russian?” Eva was shocked, “You know mother said we’re not to hang out with him anymore.”
“No, not that Boris. The bulldogge Boris.”
“Is that really how you spell ‘bulldogge’?” Eva asked.
“It’s Olde English, I think,” Flap said, “But that doesn’t matter. You’re supposed to be hearing me, not reading me.”
“Ah, yes, dahling. I tend to forget tiny things like that. Do go on.”
“Where was I?”
“Not getting the drunk Russian to help us.”
“Oh, yeah.” Flap continued his plan, “Suppose we get Boris to stay up all night and talk to the Easter Bunny—he won’t come if we’re awake, but it doesn’t mind dogs!”
“The Easter Bunny is probably a girl, dahling, considering it lays the eggs.”
“It’s a rabbit, Eva Jo.”
“A mammal?”
“A mammal that lays eggs?”
“Is this turning into a Coke 0 commercial?”
“Probably, dahling, let’s just move on. What will Boris do to the EB when she arrives?”
“Okay, we’ll have Boris stay up to meet the Easter Bunny, and when it arrives, we’ll have instructed Boris to instruct the Easter Bunny to leave all the eggs in one place—to not hide them!”
“But then our egg-hunt will be rather anticlimactic, don’t you think?”
“That’s not the point.”
“What is the point, dahling?”
“The point is we’ll have the highest concentration of chocolate per square foot on the block; the Easter Pig won’t be able to resist it! Plus, we’ll know EXACTLY where he’ll be headed, so we can lie in wait!”
“Can I squat in wait, Flap? If I lie down I’m apt to fall asleep.”
So, without much further ado about nothing, they set their plan into motion.
Boris—not the drunk Russian Boris—readily agreed to help them… provided he got fifty percent of all chocolate gained through the Easter celebrations.
“But, Boris, dahling,” Eva said, “Chocolate is terrible for dogges!”
“Arf, I know!” Boris said, “I’ve got some friends I wanna off.”
“Oh, well in that case…” Flap rolled his eyes, “Sure.”
“Which friends?” Eva asked.
“That’s none of your concern!” Boris barked (literally).

“Just agree, Eva Jo.” Flap whispered in her ear, “We’re gonna welch on the terms anyway.”
“Oh, you mischievous fool!” Eva slapped him in the arm. “Boris, we cannot agree to these terms, and don’t trust my brother; he plans on reneging on any promises he makes to you.”
“Well then why in the heck should I help you two whippersnappers?” Boris barked again (still literally).
“Because I said so.”
All three jumped at the unexpected voice. They looked up and, standing above them, they saw Sir Boone, the Lord and Grandmaster of the League of Men Who Raise Magical Dogges himself.
“Hi, Dad.” Eva said.
“Pops.” Flap nodded.
“My liege!” Boris groveled.
“Hi, kids.” Sir Boone said, and then turned his attention to the bulldogge, “Boris, I need you to do whatever they ask of you, even if it involves a sweater vest. Their mission is too valuable to Normal World to be hampered by the ego of one such as thee.”
“Yes, my liege!” Boris did not bark. None who love life dare bark at Sir Boone. “Of course, my liege!”
“Good.” Sir Boone said. “Back to what you were doing, kiddos.” With that, he left.
So they explained their plan to Boris, who—reluctantly—agreed.
That night they went to sleep in their comfy beds while Boris stood his ground in the living room, waiting for the Easter Bunny to arrive.
As Easter Bunnies are notoriously shy—no human has seen one and lived to tell the tale—we know absolutely nothing about what occurred when the EB finally did show up. So we take up our story again when Boris barked for Flap and Eva to wake up and take their positions hiding in the living room.
They gazed at the pile of sugar-filled eggs, drooling excessively, for a moment, and then scurried away behind furniture to await the dreaded Easter Pig.
“How long do you think it will be, dahling?” Eva asked.
“Don’t know, Eva Jo.” Flap smiled, “That rhymed.”
“You are quite the accomplished poet.” Eva rolled her eyes.
“Shh!” Flap shushed her. “I think he’s here.”
Sure enough, the front door creaked open. In the shadows it was difficult to see all the details of the creature’s form, but it was, without question, a winged pig—the Easter Pig!

“Stop fiend!” Flap yelled as he and his sister burst from their place of hiding.
The Easter Pig snarled. “Flap and Eva! I should have known.”
“You’ve met your doom now, dahling!” Eva cried.
The Easter Pig laughed, “You can’t stop the Easter Pig! No one can. Your boppa tried once; Sir Boone and Theodora Rossé never told you what happened to your boppa, did they?”
“They told us enough,” Flap said, “They told us you killed him.”
“Which was terribly rude of you, dahling.” Eva added.
“No, Flap and Eva,” The Easter Pig’s deep voice boomed throughout the room, “I am your boppa!”
“Join me, Flap.” The winged swine said, “Join the Abnormal World, and we can steal Easter candy together, as boppa and Kwisatz Haderach.”
“Don’t do it, Flap, dahling!” Eva called out, “It’s not worth it! At least make him cut off your hand first!”
“No! I’ll never steal Easter candy with you!”
The Easter Pig said, “Then you will surely have Easter candy stolen from you.”
With that Eva pulled out a lightsaber.
“That’s enough chit-chat, dahlings. Let’s end this.”
She lunged at the pig.
He drew his own saber.

The duel was epic.
Eventually, however, the Easter Pig was overpowered—with much thanks to the Kwisatz Haderach’s many kidney punches. They tied him up and quickly dispatched him to court where Judge Norwegian exiled to him for his crimes to Kansas (which is another abnormal world) forever-ish (unless he leaves).
That, friends and countrymen, is how Flap and Eva defeated the curse of the Easter Pig and saved Easter candy for everyone forever.

The End
The Lands of Flap and Eva

Wednesday, April 4, 2012

Science Fiction, Unfair Words, Long-Winded Clues, and Other Atrocious Interlocks

Do you like crossword puzzles?

I love them.

And, apparently, I make them.

So I made  one special for you. :D

It's a PDF and can be found here.
You can print it off or whatever... I hope you enjoy. -_-

Thursday, March 15, 2012

The Weighty Issues of Weight, Urine, and Sleep

So, my story begins in room 936 at the University of Colorado Hospital.

The *NEW UPDATED* mailing address would be:

Raphael Biltz, Room 917
c/o University of Colorado Hospital
Mail Stop F771
Aurora, CO 80045
…in case you were wondering…you know…how to send me love…

But, you probably weren’t, so I’ll go on with my story.

Let me begin by saying that I have nothing but the utmost respect and appreciation for the nurses, CNAs, and the rest of the hospital staff here. They’re amazing. It may seem like I’m dogging on them in this post, but—you must remember—they’re just doing their jobs. It’s the person who decided the best time for them to weigh me is an hour after I’ve fallen asleep that I take issue with. Anyone who ACTUALLY dogs on nurses and CNAs just doesn’t know how hard they work.

Anyway, it was getting rather late, and I wasn’t tired. My nurse even commented a couple of times on how late I was staying up.
As of yet none of my actual nurses have been zombies...

Sometimes I stay up late.
Is that a crime?

Well, in a sense, yes. It is a crime against yourself… If you do not catch your winks before too late, you may have to go without. Hospitals are for the sick, not those in need of rest.

You see, at about 3:30 in the AM—after countless counting, knee bouncing, and wishing—I was finally able to go unconscious.

At about 4:20 in the same AM the CAN walked in… with a beeping machine…

She wanted to attach this machine to my arm and my finger… and another one that she needed to run across my face… but I can forgive the quest for vital signs at night. It’s not too huge an imposition to deal with when they’re just trying to make sure none of their meds are killing you. Ya know? I like them keeping track.

Still, riddle me this: why must one be weighed in the middle of the night?

On this same very early morning the CNA woke me up to say: “I have to weigh you. Do you want to do that now?”

Well, I was awake anyway—and the gods seemed to want me always weighed at night—so I got up… and got weighed. But I’m still curious: Why at night? It’s always at night. They never schedule your daily weigh-in for morning, or afternoon. It’s always at night.

I suppose someone might say that various factors may fluctuate one’s weight during the day, and that—without a lot of food in your stomach—they’ll get a truer weight on you at four in the morning.

But at four in the morning? Is the plus or minus two-ish pounds really going to make a difference?
“Holy cow! He weighs 117, not 115! We have to stop everything now, and put him on a strict diet of tapioca and olive oil!”
Dude, I can't think of a witty caption...

Yes, I weigh about 115… laugh at my skinniness now, punk. When you realize you’re you, you’ll be wishing I weren’t me. >:)

(Or something like that…)

She typed my vital information and weight into the computer then, “You drink a lot of fluids last night?” She asked.

I thought for a moment Last night? Like, four hours ago, last night, or twenty-four hours ago, last night? Why at night? Do I count what I drank during the day? There’s not enough information here!

“Yeah.” I said.

“How many times you pee?”

How many times? Since when? Does she means how many times do I pee on average? Are we still on the last night shtick? Does she mean how many times last night, or how many times SINCE last night? Or are we talking about the last few hours? (When it’s technically morning, and you’re working with the graveyard shift, it can get confusing what is meant by terms like “last night.”)

This seemed to satisfy her want of urine intel.

Good enough to stop the questions.

She packed up her loud machines, and exited the room.

. . .

And, now I had to pee.


Going to the bathroom is no small feat when you have an IV in one arm, attached to a pole (that must be brought with you) and have an oxygen tube you must keep on your face that is plugged into the wall opposite the bathroom.

I guess I was awake anyway…

Let the countless counting, knee bouncing, and wishing begin anew.


As per the usual, go do some evil.