Dear Facebook Diary (11/29/12)

Dear Facebook Diary,

I am raging right now. I just finished reading an article and watching a video about Iowa Governor Terry Branstad’s Bullying Prevention Summit held in Des Moines, Iowa on Tuesday. Now at this summit, the governor and other state and local leaders discussed with the public about bullying facts and how to prevent it. They pointed out the various ways and forms in which bullying can take place and that bullying is often learned rather than it being a natural occurrence. They want to punish parents when a kid is caught bullying and while I agree that most asshole kids have assholes for parents, it is typical for people to go to no ends to seek out someone to blame in our society. These anti-bully people are all a bunch of fucking emotionally retarded pussies and I want to drop all of them to their knees with vomit inducing atomic wedgies. It is bullshit like this that points out the widening generation gap in ‘Murica right now, and all pun intended with the word “gap”. Buncha goddayam pussies…

First off, beginning a war against bullying is dumber than starting a war against terrorism. It is something that is impossible to defeat because guess who the enemy is – it’s you. Bullying is a natural human instinct. Anytime we witness something that we personally or socially do not agree with, we voice our opinion on it in an attempt to change it. We do this because we are social beings and we want what is best for ourselves as well as our community. The roots of bullying are very natural and sometimes have good intentions. The purpose of picking on someone else is to force that person to conform to social demands and for the bully to experience an ego boost from overpowering another with either their words or actions. Humans are competitive, deal with it. Also, bullying is completely subjective. If a skinny kid tells a fat kid that they’re a flabby hamplanet that’s larger than the Forest Moon of Endor while crushing the fat kid’s Frosted Cinabon® Minabon® Roll into their six inch deep belly button then that skinny kid is a bully. However, if a religious zealot bursts into the pharmacy bathroom while I’m ‘bating and rips the Highlights™ magazine out of my hands while breaking my Yanni™ cd and knocking the bath salts out of my pipe, and then telling me that I am going to burn and suffer in hell for all of eternity… well then that person is being a good member of the community and in no way are they a bully. This is only one reason why bullying cannot be stopped. What is determined as bullying is completely subjective and is not decided by the individual but by their community. In fact, one could say that forcing bullies to stop bullying is a way of bullying bullies into stopping their bullying, and that right there is a perfect example of what I said in the sentence that I typed just before this sentence as well as in the fifth sentence of the paragraph that I have typed this sentence in. Making dominant people conform to the sensitive ways of others could even be seen as a form of bullying.

If you are stupid enough to think that bullying only occurs amongst kids then you need to poke your head out of your parents’ basement a little more often because bullying is something that you will experience throughout your lifetime. You will be picked on by your bosses, teachers will act like assholes towards you and assign you ridiculous assignments because they enjoy their power over you, you will work at places where certain cliques are formed and each one is a total dick to the others, and then when you end up in a nursing home the other old bastards will deny you a spot at the checkers table because you’re one of those senile idiots that shits their pants. If you’ve ever given someone a mean glare or spouted out an insult because of the way a person looks or behaves then you yourself have taken part in a form of bullying. We do this shit everyday whether we realize it or not. Bullying isn’t a way of breaking others down; it is a way of forcing them to conform to the ways of the stronger beings. Bullying is proof that survival of the fittest is a fact of life. Some people break under bullies and others become stronger. It pisses me off when people immediately take sides with kids that kill themselves or others because they were bullied, and the media says that bullying is worse now because of social websites like Facebook. Well apparently suicide and mass murder is much easier than turning off the computer.

Now if I were a caveman I would be a hunter. Despite my being a Theatre major, I am a swole and limber motherfucker with some juicy ass biceps and a temper that’s shorter than your mother’s dick. I was born to search the plains for beasts and then kill that fucking beast and bring home the carcass to disperse its nourishing flesh amongst my bitches as I percolate a sense of fear and respect while I leer at the weaklings as they feast upon my trophy. Being the hunter that I am, I ran out of eggs the other night. I’m not a big fan of red meat and eggs are the most alpha protein source next to beef, so I consume them in large quantities. Anyway, I refrained from joining with my usual clergy and instead went to the Church of Target. I did this because I have yet to find the Special Halloween Edition Candy Corn Oreo Cookies® and someone told me that they were only being sold at Target. So I figured that I would hunt for these supposedly amazing cookies while gathering my precious muscle feeding eggs. I tore through the isles of Target in search of the cookies and I’ll be a monkey’s uncle if those fucking cookies even exist in the first place. I think the Candy Corn Oreos® are just a myth created by the Liberal media to make us believe that Oreos® come in different colors than black and white. After 115 or maybe 120 seconds of expending vast amounts of my eye power searching for these make believe cookies, I gave up and headed towards the Target Ministry’s egg section. Target has a real shit selection of eggs. They’ve only got large eggs and overpriced egg whites and both of them are overpriced by at least a dime. Fuck that shit, I left and went to join my fellow brethren of Walmart in the praise of crazy bargains and the dodging of falling prices. I walked directly towards the egg and dairy section where my choice food sources are found. I grabbed my 18 count Large AA Eggs, opened the container and saw that not a single one of the eggs were cracked, closed the container, looked at the price listed above the eggs and saw that they were $1.88, I winked and smiled at the price tag and walked towards the checkout lanes. I had captured my beast.

As I was walking through the center isle I saw a group of young and chubby male ass wipes giggling and looking at Doritos and candy and shit. When I see a group of douche canoes congregate like this I call it a garland, much like a group of birds is called a flock. So this garland of four jubilant homos were frolicking through the cookie and candy isle like a small avalanche of rainbow Skittles®. I highly doubt that any of them were gay but they would probably be able to get closer to women if they said they were. My caveman instincts kicked in when I saw these high school aged pansies. If I am a hunter then these tender foots would be berry pickers, and alpha male hunters do not get along with beta bitch berry pickers. I approached the cookie isle as if I were continuing my search for the Special Halloween Edition Candy Corn Oreo Cookies® although I had already given up on my search. I entered the isle with a furrowed brow and fire in my eyes. I glared from side to side at the cookies in the isles and then gazed forward, making eye contact with who I assumed to be the leader of the berry picker garland. He smiled back at me and said, “Hi.” What a fucking bitch. He knew that I was the dominant male in the cookie isle and he had the nerve to say “Hi” to me. I was going to straighten this little shit out and bully him into being a bit more of a man. I continued with my cold stare.

“What the fuck is your problem, dude?” The garland chief asked me.

“Oh, uhm, I-I just…” I replied with a stern voice.

“This fucking creeper keeps staring at us.” The leader said to his fellow berry pickers.

“I’m just looking for the Special Halloween Edition Candy Corn Oreo Cookies®.” I said.

“They don’t even sell those fucking things here, dude.” Another berry picker spoke up.

“Oh, uh, o-okay. Y-You sure?” I responded with great self-assurance.

“Yeah man, fuck off already.” The leader of the berry pickers said with a trembling voice.

I immediately fled the cookie isle and walked briskly towards the self-checkout lane while peering over my shoulder every now and then. I felt that I had clearly displayed my masculine hunter domination over the garland of weak berry pickers and it was time to make my exit. I paid for my avian ovum trophy and drove home to celebrate with my rewards. That night I had three whole eggs and a bowl of oatmeal as I thought about the great lesson that my hunter self had taught that group of young berry pickers. I showed them that bullying is not meant to put someone down, it is meant to bring them up to a higher standard. Bullying is completely necessary in the modern world, and I have yet to taste the Candy Corn Oreos.

Dear Facebook Diary (10/31/12)



I am currently in the process of growing a beard for the purpose of showing my support for Romney’s “shave yer jobs” campaign as well as showing my discontent for Paul Ryan’s intimidating hairline. I have also been growing it for tonight, which is of course Halloween. My costume was to be a deadly CIA agent with a triple black belt in the martial art of Nguni Stick Fighting and working on an MFA in the Canadian Okichitaw fighting style. Of course these CIA agents are always working undercover and I was disguising myself as a bearded man from a small town in Wyoming, but nobody really understood my costume so I decided not to go out tonight.


Okay, now back to the subject of my beard. I am three weeks deep in the growing of this beard and it looks like shit. My mustache grows at five times the rate of all my other facial hair and it makes my upper lip look very over powering, almost as if I have a hairy overbite. Although this current beard looks like shit, it is not the first beard that I have grown. It isn’t even the sixth or eighth beard that I’ve grown. The first beard that I ever grew was the most miraculous beard that has ever planted its roots upon my face. It was a beard that I grew when I was at the tender age of sixteen, and it is a beard that carried a notorious reputation throughout the latter half of my high school career.


When I was sixteen years old I had already gotten into a fair amount of trouble. I began drinking alcohol at a very early age and had already had a run in with the law as well as being caught drunk and vomiting by one of my friend’s parents. So that summer my parents made me work on my uncle Mark’s farm in Ord for the entire summer. My parents dropped me off on my uncle Mark’s farm in early May and they had dropped me off to make sure that I didn’t have a car to go out and cause trouble with. I enjoyed staying at my uncle’s farm and farm work fits me well. Immediately upon my arrival, all of the older and much stronger farm workers gave me a seemingly endless amount of shit for looking like a twelve year old. I weighed about 110 pounds and looked like a little girl with short hair at the time. I made the decision to prove them wrong by growing a beard. I didn’t shave my face once between the months of May and September and the results were spectacular. The top half of my face looked like Hannah Montana’s but the lower half of my face looked like a Kodiak bear’s ball sack. A beautiful round globe of hair that began at my side burns and met at the middle of my chin had sprouted from and covered my lower face. It was at this time that my parents picked me up to take me back to Kearney.


As soon as I got back to Kearney, nobody recognized me. I had heard through the grapevine that Willy Bashore was having a sort of “back to school” bonfire on his parents’ land next to the river. I was a huge nerd at the time and didn’t have many, if any friends. I somehow convinced my parents to let me go out that night and I had stolen a good amount of my parents’ Canadian Spring whiskey beforehand. I spent a couple of hours sipping on it and getting drunk by myself while parked in the Casey’s Gas Station carwash. I have to tell you, the best place to park and pound alcohol while in high school is not on a country road, it is in a relatively unknown carwash stall. After getting fairly sloshed by my lonesome, I chose to take the long drive out to Willy’s land. As soon as I got there I saw that the party was packed. There were cars and big redneck toolin’ trucks parked all along the road. When I stepped out of my new 1985 shit-brown Chevy S10 pickup, everyone gave me a “who the fuck is this guy?” look. For some reason I decided to speak with a German accent and tell everyone that I was a new foreign exchange student from Hamburg Germany. I was doing it for my own shits and giggles.


So portraying myself as a German foreign exchange student turned out to be a good idea. I ended up having a long and stupid conversation with Melissa Stenehjem about what life was like in Germany. Melissa was the hottest and most popular girl in school and she would have never given me the time of day, but she was apparently digging my whole German shtick. After twenty minutes or so of telling her make believe stories about my life in Hamburg, she pulled me into the trees for a long and moist make out session that she must have learned in French class. So after eating Melissa’s face for twenty minutes, we broke apart and walked around the party again.


It was roughly half an hour later when I felt a tap on my shoulder while I was telling a story about my mother’s sauerkraut to some underclassmen. I turned around and saw a male’s waistline. I looked up and saw that it was Jeff Arnold. Jeff was only fifteen and he was already 6’7”. He looked down at me and said, “Somebody told me that you were making out with my girlfriend.” I should have known that Melissa would have been dating some gigantic football superstar that had finished puberty at seven years old. I looked up at him with drunken confidence and said, “Vut are you talking abowt friend?” I was sticking to the German accent.


“Don’t fucking lie to me faggot. And yer not my friend, asshole!” Jeff replied.


I was scared shitless at this point, but I calmly said, “Dat is not vut your girlfriend said about me. She did not sink dat I vus a vaggot.”


As soon as I finished the last word, Jeff took a swing at me. Jeff was just as drunk as me at the time, so our mobility was on the same level. I sidestepped him and his haymaker missed its mark. While he was still recovering from his overpowered whiff, I picked up a log. Before he could turn around I belted him across the back of the head with the log. He fell forward in a dead fall and landed face first on a rock. I stood there, having no idea as to what I should do. Some stupid cheerleader type of girl checked on Jeff and yelled out, “Somebody call 911!”


Without thinking I ran from the party at a speed that I had never ran at before. I walked all the way back to my parents’ house from the river because I didn’t want to risk having Jeff’s friends knock me off the road and try to kill me or kick my ass. I had no idea how I would ever be able to show my face at Kearney High School again. That next morning I shaved off my beard. I walked all the way back to my pickup the next afternoon and staked out the place for an hour to make sure nobody was waiting to beat my ass. All was well and I drove home.


I began my junior year of high school that following Monday. Everyone said “hi” to me and asked me where I had been all summer. I told them that I was at my uncle’s farm and had just gotten back the day before. People told me about the huge bonfire that Willy had thrown and that I had missed the fight between giant Jeff and the little bearded German guy. The entire football team couldn’t stop talking about how they were going to murder the bearded German foreign exchange student as soon as they saw him. I would nod my head and tell them that I would help them kick his ass as soon as he showed up at school. This talk of killing the bearded German guy went on for the rest of my days in high school. Then I saw Jeff. He had a huge cut with over a dozen stitches in it running down the left side of his face and one of his front teeth had been knocked out. I was scared shitless that he would recognize me but he never did. Nobody ever recognized me as the bearded German guy, ever. Jeff and I became very good friends and I have never told him that I was the German guy. We went to several parties together in high school and the following years. I was even a groomsman in his wedding, and I have never revealed to him that I was the bearded German guy that took out his front tooth and gave him that nasty scar on his face. Nobody has ever known that I was the bearded foreign exchange student from Germany that conquered the biggest bad ass in high school. It is the darkest secret that I have ever kept.