Ms. Pac Man

Some people might tell you it’s all about timing.

Sure, knowing when to steer right and left is important, but the key is to know your opponents, not to just steer clear of them at all costs. You cannot dominate your enemies until you first associate with them.

Blinky, known earlier as “Shadow” will just follow you. He gains speed as dots are collected and, when provoked, can be merciless.
Inky tries to do the same as his Red counterpart, but to no avail. However, one shouldn’t underestimate his speed and agility.
Pinky, while he is a threat, travels the farthest route to you as possible. Not too frightening, but for a lone yellow sphere in a world of ghosts, he can be right freaky.
Sue is the woman of the bunch. She may be a token character, but the orange beast stands guard to the area while her brothers do the dirty work.

But knowing how the little fellows operate isn’t enough; one has to actually spend time with them to see what they like. What route to take. How their eyes move before they turn. And, after a while, you begin to relate to them.

Me? I think I’m like Pinky. Why? Certs me.

Flea Market

I went to the Flea Market yesterday with my brother’s girlfriend and my mother only because I found it to be too beautiful a day to waste. After riding to Oldsmar and taking ten minutes to park, we got out and ventured into the world of the flea. After demanding that we walk every aisle and see every store (including the aptly named Sock Shop), I have come to a conclusion: The flea market is the greatest thing on earth. Ever.

Sure, it’s dirty. Sure, all it is is a bunch of guys named Cletus selling their crap. And sure, the mere notion that anyone would buy lingerie from such a place is appalling. But without the funnel cake induced sugar stupor that inexplicably takes over the spirit of all the slack-jawed yokels that mindlessly wander the premises arguing and saying “No, we’ve already been down that aisle,” America just wouldn’t be the same. No bargain basement used country music CDs. No really, really, ridiculously cheap knockoff sunglasses. No vintage Nascar paraphernalia. Life as we know it would be worse off.

Anywho, I also went to the Hospice store and bought a couple of shirts, one of which is red and looks like this:

Hah. Too bad it’s way too small for me.

googlism

Ying googlized me, here are some favorites:

casey is celibate
casey is h to the ot
casey is a marxist?
casey is stroking the lightweight coxless four with paul griffin
casey is going to lick your face
casey is a dork
casey is “a rootin”

And my all-time favorite:
casey is flinching on air because of a fly in the studio that only he can see

…all of which are true. God bless the Internet.

Jeopardy!

I’ll take Narcoleptic Game Show Hosts for 1000.

Papal Goodness

Ian IMed this to me.

The 1985 Toyota Minivan that Could

Today I woke up at eleven, moped around the house for a while, and then saw the strangest thing I have ever laid eyes upon:

I live on a semi-busy road in the heart of Clearwater, cars pass all day. Suddenly a truck (rented – I could make out the Home Depot decals on the side) pulling a trailer with a beige 1985 Toyota Minivan stops in the middle of the road and out pops a woman in her 40s(?) from the passenger seat. Like any sensible person, I assumed they were having car trouble. Oh how wrong I was.

Suddenly this lady pulls down her pants and commences urination – in broad daylight and in plain view of my virgin eyes. After she’s done and the puddle of humanly fluid was quite sizable, she zipped up, got back into the truck, and continued on her way.

Thus ended the oddest sight in the history of my meaningless existence.

My Father and Me: True Rockers

Today I’m riding with my family in the car on the way to the Adam’s Mark Hotel for the all you can eat prime rib buffet and someone pops in the REO Speedwagon Greatest Hits CD. My father, who is known for being aggressively anti anything that could reflect any effeminateness on his part, sits in the front seat.

So, naturally I comment to him that this isn’t the sort of thing we should listen to, and he quickly responds with, “Yeah, but I like that one song – you know – with the drums.”

“DADADADADADADADADAM!”

“What song is that, Dad?”

“I dunno – that one, you know – with the drums! DADADADADADADADADAM!”

After pressing “next track” on the CD player a few times, and with every song that begins inciting a defiant “Fag song” from my father, we finally get to it.

DADADADADADADADADAM!

And with that, my benevolent progenitor proceeded to serenade me with a fury of air guitar solos while at the same time attempting to play the fictitious drums that lie in his lap in our ’94 Maxima. All the while, succeeding in making a high-pitched yelp all to the tune of Roll with the Changes. It was the closest bonding moment we have ever had.

Yes, even while listening to “Fag music.”

REO Speedwagon Rocks.

Oh Sweet Jesus

So I check my e-mail today and I recieve this from Mr. Burkett, IB coordinator extraordinaire:

Cookie Monster & I would like to wish all IB students and their families a very safe and happy holiday.

I must say, I respect a man who sends a picture like that to hundreds of students and their parents. What a cool dude.