(The details of this “Manventure” have been altered to protect the incredibly guilty)My good buddy Sean and I decided to have a manly mis-adventure today, and we had such a great time, we thought we’d detail the required elements of a manventure so you too can enjoy this long lost pastime.Some of you might be wondering, “How do you have a ‘mis-adventure’?” Well its like going off to have an adventure but from long experience, going off to DO something cool, always ends badly. You try to go to the beach, but its too cold and some rednecks are firing guns there or something equally mood-killing. But a MIS-adventure, is something altogether different. A mis-adventure is something much more vague. You leave with the intent to do something mildly fun or different, but be prepared for all the problems that life throws at you with a sense of opportunity. Hence, you’re never disappointed and you always have a good time, as long as you take everything as it comes.Here are the ingredients for our particular manly mis-adventure:

• 2x Manly Sandwiches (Including at least 17 ingredients)
• 2x Heineken 22oz Beer
• 2x IPA 12oz Beers
• 2x Packet of Smoke Bombs
• 2x Roman Candles
• 4x Large Cigars (made by sweatshop children)
• 1x Screwdriver
• 1x Giant Flourescent Light Bulb
• 2x Pints of Racer 5 Beer
• 1x Episodes of the Simpsons
• 2x Red Bulls
• 1x Bagels
• 1x Sparkler
• 4x Lighters
• 1/2 Tank of Gas
• 1x Giant firework fountain
• 1x Broken TV

The day started out with a leisurely drive to my childhood home, where there is a dirt track that we used to race minibikes on. We had the idea to start there and take a small hike. However when we arrived it turns out that someone bought the dirt lot on a swamp that hasn’t sold for the last 25 years. They proceeded to build a giant house on the play area of my entire childhood. This was disconcerting to say the least, especially since we couldn’t walk there and couldn’t light off our many fireworks. This is the nature of the mis-adventure.

We then went to Hillsburg, where we looked for the nearest mountain (Finch Mountain) and proceeded to drive as high up as we could possibly get. When we reached what was most likely the peak of said mountain, we proceeded to toss several smoke bombs down the hill and then drive down through the colored smoke like a glorified dukes of hazard. scene. However we neglected to actually insure that the peak of the mountain actually led back down the mountain so, after a rapid 7 second plummet through plumes of no-doubt illegal smoke, we actually were in a private driveway. We had to pull a 3-point turn in the very persons driveway whom we had inadvertently smoke-bombed. Then we stopped for a manly sandwich, eaten outdoors in the cold and with no napkins. Plus the sandwich wasn’t even cut in half… very manly.

After this we decided to explore some more and took some side roads along the Rissian River and drove all the way to the very center of nowhere, where we placed a giant firework fountain at the very peak of a river hill and watched it blaze into the sky as we drove back down like demons through super windy and dangerous roads at unsafe speeds.We then stopped at the Goat Republic brewery and had 2 fine pints of Racer 5 beer and smoked a long and leisurely cigar. This is very manly. I know this may sound manly in a generic way. But really you have to appreciate a nice brisk evening outside a brewery smoking a cigar and sipping a microbrew and re-counting stories of psuedo-manly exploits. Trust me, once again, its very manly.

By this point we’ve got a good buzz going and decide to while away the time to drive-ability. We took turns carving our initials in a near-by bridge. This may sound like the very antithesis of manliness, in fact it may sound like blatant handholding homosexuality. But I assure you, that by placing a dividing line ( / ) between our initials as opposed to a plus sign ( + ) commonly associated with lovers initials, we have definitively ascertained our incredible manliness. Yeah we did it, and we’re not ashamed…

Then we took a very long drive down a very dark road. I know this is panning out like a gay erotica novel meant to convert straight-folk. But really, this is assuredly manly. As we traveled an unsafe speeds, and stopped in the middle of nowhere to urinate on a fence and to put Sean on the hood of the car and drive him at high speeds while clinging tenaciously to the hood of my car. Went another mile so on untravelled roads with Sean clamped onto the hood of the car before my good sense won out to a small degree and I applied the brakes. But for good measure I stopped too fast and at least sent him flying a little bit. Solving both my lust for violence and distaste for burying accidentally killed friends. Then we found the T.V.

We were wandering in the dark, lost at 60mph and not caring in the least when Sean yells “Pull over! Goddammit Pull over!” I obliged him and after a short search in the darkness we found what he saw. An old abandoned 27 inch CRT tv just laying by the side of the road. This may be silly to you, or even stupid, but then you’re probably a girl, or lame. We re-lived a boyish time in our lives by kicking, crushing and otherwise fucking-up-the-shit-of this TV. As any boy will tell you, its fun to break stuff, especially when its something you can’t otherwise break and get away with it. So we left that TV by the wayside, proper-fucked as one might say.

In continuance of our violent vendetta against carefully crafted glass, we took a giant fluorescent tube and winged it into an abandoned parking lot. If you’ve ever played with a large fluorescent bulb, they are pressurized with gas in order to work, so the slightest actual break in the seal of the bulb, causes them to explode dramatically. This is apparently also accomplished by throwing it full-force into a parking lot. Glass explosions are not only fun, but exotic.

After using our hairy chested internal compass we navigated back to civilization by pure testosterone (and trial and error) eventually leading back to my house where we had a good old fashioned “Roman Candle Fight” This is a very simple and very dangerous game played by using the now illegal “Roman Candle” For those of you that don’t know what that means, its very simple. A Roman Candle is a firework about 1-2 feet in length and about an inch in diameter that fires off miniature fireballs at high velocities. It does this several times and then dies. Simple, dangerous, fun. Its one of the fireworks from back in the days where all the fireworks didn’t have to be dumbed down that was STILL a bad idea. This is of course before all local fireworks became shameful girlish sparklers to avoid the billions of lawsuits put forth by retarded families with burned fingers and missing ears. These were imported from the south, where dangerous ideas and that 32 percent approval rating still holds sway. So we spent a brief but exciting time, firing high-velocity balls of flame at each other, no harm done, but its great way to work up an appetite for another drink!

One episode of simpsons and 2 beers later,we were ready for the bar. For a final cigar, a Gin and Tonic and a Jack and Coke (for Adam and Sean respectively). To sit back, with our muddy feet up on a table and think about the manliest day ever. And of course, when we would do it all again. Join us?

I’ve read countless articles about fuel-cell technology. Which can mean a lot of different things, but lets break it down to what I think is the absolute worst…

Ethanol/Alcohol – Based Batteries for laptops and cell phones.

Oh here’s a great fucking idea, let’s gas up our cell phones. The first implementations of this technology involved actually FILLING cartridges with toxic and smelly chemicals, its since evolved to a slightly less retarded degree where you can just use pre-made cartridges and refill them automatically. Great. Except wait a minute… why the fuck am I using the tiny equivalent to gasoline in my gadgets? Some asshats will tell you that you will get a very extended battery life. They will also give you blank stare when you ask them what happens when the ethanol runs out.

Picture this, My desk is littered with an ipod, a cell phone, a laptop, and a pda, and now its also littered with many discarded alcohol cartridges and a refilling unit for which I constantly have to run to the store to get more ALCOHOL for my goddamned gadgets. Oh and it smells like a distillery, woo-fucking-hoo. Who in their right mind thought this was even an OKAY idea? Say my cell phone only runs for 4 hours, let’s make it run for 8 hours on explosive and flammable liquids that I can actually run out of, instead of plugging it into my fucking wall!

What surprises me the most is that this technology hasn’t been laughed off the planet yet. With huge increases in thermal energy transfers, solar efficiency and better polymer batteries, there’s still some crackpot developers putting fucking gas into laptops and calling it progress. You know what progress is? A battery that charges wirelessly from a panel in my house and lasts 12 hours. Do you know what a defunct idiotic stop-gap and pseudo-dangerous idea is? Putting fuel cells into things.

Next time you see some cute news article about people pushing forward the technology of fuel-cells, picture the car industry, making its slow break toward hybrid and then electric vehicles and then someone says “Hey I know, let’s rip out these electrical engines and have it run on cough syrup”. You’ll realize we’re taking a huge step back into the horrific oil-based problems we’re experiencing now.

I also know a lot of you are thinking that our power companies run off coal as well, but I’m more than ready to slap some solar cells on my house and get renewable. Its not that easy yet, but its headed that direction. So those of you that are wandering off the path of progress to play with backwards ass technology, get back on course and stop fucking with my gadgets.

The Story of a Fish Having sex with a Frisbee.

Two of the greatest friends in the world were sitting in a sunny park on a bench one day. Their names were Elocution and Vernacular and one said to the other.

“Vern, I’ve invented a machine that turns things into other things” He said this softly as if knowing it sounded crazy.

“El, you’re going to have to be more specific” said Vernacular.

Elocution responded by shaking his head slowly as if trying to find the words, and the way to say them, then he gestured at his companion and led him to a nearby copse in the woods. Here stood a monstrous device, roughly shaped like a port-o-let out of the distant future. He searched around on the ground and came across a frisbee, he opened the door of his newly made machine and tossed the frisbee into it.

The machine hummed and hissed and the door slammed shut. A great light emanated from every pore and crevice in it and Vernacular started to wonder about his friends sanity. Then a great bang sounded from the machine and with a long slow whine it powered down. The door opened on its own after a while and there at the bottom of the machine was a flopping fish, a trout if I’m not mistaken.

Elocution grabbed the fish quickly and released it into a nearby stream, where it swam happily away. Why it was particularly happy, we’re not sure, but perhaps the life of a fish is infinitely more interesting than that of a frisbee…

They talked late into the night about this marvelous invention, trying to decide, how it worked. Did it go through time as well as space? Did it turn things into something besides fish? Did it work on people? Well the answer to all three, as you’ll soon see, is a shifty and dodgy yes.

A series of experiments began where tennis shoes became robots and plants became tiny cars. Soon the day came where they must try the ultimate experiment, and they decided to test it on a human. They couldn’t use some random person because the process couldn’t be reversed. They were such good friends that neither could bear to lose the other either. So the time came when they decided as a final ditch effort, that they would both step into the machine at the same time.

There was a great clacking whirring and booming and the tiny screen on the outside of the changing machine suddenly sprang to life and read something like this 124:20:21. El and Vern were quite unaware of this as they were currently inside the machine, letting it work its insidious science on their bodies. After a short while with much noise and fanfare, the machine finally whined to a halt. It obviously had made its last change. The door swung open and there on the ground were two more fish! Trout if I’m not mistaken.

With a much more limited intelligence than a human, yet with a much greater intelligence than a trout, the two friends realized their plight. They had both become fish, much like the Frisbee of the first experiment! This led El to conclude that possibly people were closer to Frisbees than they had previously suspected. This thought was cut short however by searing pain and a lack of oxygen.

They both leaped and twisted and headed toward the stream but an ugly truth reared its head. They weren’t going to make it. They both recognized this at the same moment and they both tried to use their last bit of strength to fling the other to the water, so that one of them may live. Vernacular was slightly faster in his execution and succeeded in flinging Elocution all the way to the waters edge. El watched his friend gasp out his final fishy breath as he slipped into the blissfully breathable water.

El the trout swam along somewhat despondently and grieved for his lost friend, but soon came to like the fishy life. He even soon took a fishy wife, and life continued on as its prone to do. At least for a while. You see back in the woods, near the stream that was El’s new home. Sat the machine, quiet and dark, except for the screen that had sprung to life during the final and fateful formation. It now read 1:19:08, and as you may have guessed it meant that El had only 1 day, 19 hours and 8 minutes before something terrible happened.

The machine was built by El, but on top of the plans of others and so there were fail-safes and odd bits of things that even El never understood. The screen itself was there to reverse everything that had been done so far, in the event that something went terribly wrong, as in the case of El and Vern. Well something had gone wrong, but more wrong than any of us imagined.

El had met a female fish and had little fish children and they all stayed very close together, in the stream near the machine that had been their home these long 123 days so far. When the machine finally ticked its oblivious way towards 000:00:00 it sent out a wave of energy that returned everything to the shape which it had been. But there was a serious problem with this.

You see, the fish that he married was once a Frisbee, the fish that Vernacular had become had died near the stream, the children that El had were in essence, half human, half fish, and half Frisbee, in the most disturbing improper fraction there ever was… and Elocution was just a human.

Suddenly Elocution was sitting in a stream, naked and cold cradling a Frisbee, a group of disfigured (and now quite dead) fish/frisbee/children and next to him lay the horrifically decomposing corpse of his best friend Vernacular. He wept for all their losses for hours on end. But in the end life must continue and usually does, so he gathered his friends remains and all his lost children and took them all away to be given a proper burial. The Frisbee he laid gently on the ground right where he had found it and wished it the best. Then he was gone, to live his life in sadness, but live it just the same.

However, there’s a part that we’re all forgetting that makes this drama a tragedy. The machine didn’t just move molecules. It moved time and space and form and function. The same set of fail-safes also provided a back-door into the past to prevent just such an occurrence. El, without knowing it, had traveled back to the very beginning of this whole adventure, but his grief was too great to realize it until much later. So as he lay sobbing in his home, mourning his friend, his wife and his children…

Elocution and Vernacular came into the woods, to try the marvelous machine and the first thing that Elocution could find to toss into the machine to show his friend it really worked, was a Frisbee on the ground.

No really… Its the Sean’s birthday article.

He requested that I write an article for his birthday, so I think this can be best summed up by poetry, a series of numbers and a picture of a bunny…

Sean, its his birthday, its nowhere near earth-day…

He tell stories of glories of times that we were high

so high in the sky pie in the sky high as a kite we were high…

One day we found a couch,

then we found a stingray

then we found a way, for sean to move through walls,

then we found a way, to punch sean in the balls.

Not that you need a good technique but it helps.

So there’s this other time, that steve martin brought us stuff,

and we were full of spite, just like mom used to make,

ahhh moon pies… I remember those.

Sean is also a series of numbers 1828283838840034081324020934809830984028377650198723409812093865-1-230984-1986-987-12935-971-67-1923478-981-2386-172-3947-1986-912834989394-9823940398409893849839-68-903281-4918-29384-18-2-2–29393984843857757598-p19823-90841-23094-192-3089349486

Let’s never mention that again….

Here’ a picture of a bunny

a

Today was the day I was planning on writing an article, but then again you ass-clowns don’t pay me. Plus I’m feeling slow and drowsy from when I chugged NyQuil earlier and ran over a marching band made up of toddlers and chinchillas, as the rhythmic thumping of my large American car spraying adorable guts and miniature batons everywhere always gets me sleepy.

So I actually make lists of articles to write and they all looked like they’d require some iota of research or photoshopping a transformers head on to a dinosaur (tune in next week!). So instead I’ve devised a list of the top ten reasons, that I didn’t write an article. This has coincidentally prompted me to write another article (later) called “Paradox within a Paradox: The story of a Fish having sex with Frisbee”

10. Alien Abduction

I couldn’t possibly write an article today, as today is the day I knock in my front teeth with a horse-shoe and then wander into the woodsy area behind the only general store in Dimshit Junction, Texas. This of course, is prime alien abduction territory. Plus the angry lumberjacks who woke me up sprawled naked on their tractor assured me that aliens are definitely the reason my ass hurts. Why can’t the aliens abduct anyone but a drunk southern yokel?

9. My Dog ate the article

When I say “My Dog” I actually mean my girlfriends dogs, who are about as big as this article and probably weigh about the same too. They’re cute and everything but they’ve been known to choke on a broken tic-tac so they really don’t serve as a great venue for excuses. At least with big dogs they can eat your car tire or jump through a plate-glass window, killing your grandmother. The most I can expect from my duo of fierce shiz-tzu attackers is a sore ankle or nuzzled burglar.

8. Brain Hemorrhage

Here I am, about to write this brilliant article (Titled: Why chicks are hot) when suddenly I’m seized with this acute pain, which is difficult to describe. It’s like getting an entire family of angry badgers in your brain and then lighting them on fire. Their thirst to escape causes them to claw through the soft gray tissue and corneal roots they see before them in an effort to reach freedom. But they never get out and the nerves keep growing back and the cycle increases in intensity. Turns out its just a migraine, but still, close one.

7. Laziness Inversion / LSD Flashback

You ever get so lazy that you forget to breathe? Then you reach the nexus of lazy nirvana and the entire universe actually collapses in on itself from the sheer depth-of-laziness and inverts. Suddenly you become the antithesis of laziness and start doing everything, and then a bright light envelopes all you see before you as you reach peak efficiency and simultaneously accomplish everything (Including writing an article) But you have a moment of clarity and realize that its just that triple-dip purple microdot that you had every day for a week back in 99′. Good times… ah Good times…

6. Because of TopTen Lists.

The advent and popularity of top-ten lists causes me to realize how easy it is to entertain you insult-loving shit shovelers. Then all my creativity drains out like so much urine and I’m left with a sore bladder and no urge to actually string together the pretty words and dazzling metaphors I’m so epically capable of. Instead I churn out a semi-coherent rant about my own failures and you all laugh anyway.

5. Religious Epiphany

So I’m finishing my 73 hours of research that I pour into every single article I’ve ever written and suddenly I’m struck dumb with awe and wonder. Jesus himself reaches from the heavens, lowered on the soft and delicious hand of God to tell me that I have lived in Sin. Not just sin like other people covet their neighbors playstations, but like Sin with a capital ‘S’ that actually means that hell for me will be to be re-incarnated as an actual living penis whose sole purpose is to fuck Satan. I immediately repent all my sins and ask for forgiveness and am informed that in order to guarantee my spot in Heaven, I only have to stop writing that article I’m about to write (Titled: God the fucking fucker).

4. Because of the Number 4

I’m assuming that what I meant by implying that the number 4 actually stopped me from writing is either that I’m writing purely from a stream of consciousness, Or that i’m trapped in some Davinci-Code-Esque plot. A plot where the number four is actually the key to unlocking the human soul and that by making it the fourth from the last item on this list, the Pope has ordered a hit on me for getting “Too Close”

3. Lack of Ideas

My creative process is usually summed up by skimming my favorite porn sites and then getting angry about something I read on Digg last week in my post-orgasmic funk. So in essence, what I’m trying to say is, if there wasn’t anything interesting on the internet last week, its pretty much the world’s fault, and not mine. Because if you bastards had front-paged something worth me getting pissed about, You would be entertained right now.

2. More Important things to do…

I know its hard to believe, but sometimes when I’m not writing articles on CrotchMail I’m actually out saving lives. Grabbing babies from buildings that are near burning ones, because “Hey you never know”. Picking up the crippled kids that my car flung into the cross walk and depositing them gently on the sidewalk, where they have a higher chance of survival. Why just the other day I was visiting the burn ward of the hospital and training my countless hordes of starving scorpions when I saw a poor woman with no friends stuck in traction all day long. I left her wailing with delighted glee as she played with her new friends, Stingy, Miss Venom, Pokey, Scorpy, and Mr. Snips.

1. The number one reason I didn’t write an article

Because I just fucking wrote one and why would I write another? Heh Mr. Snips is awesome.