Some Pretty Jank Excuses

I must apologize. There's simply no two ways about it. A blog that hasn't updated since early February isn't necessarily a bad thing.
Provided that the next post comes in mid February.
Not April.
Let alone late April.
That's officially the worst lapse in posting that I have yet to see.
Of course, the whole situation looks all the more pathetic if you are one of those people who thinks of topics with the greatest of ease, who has no trouble writing a post, to whom words flow effortlessly, and the entire world is one great big funny thing to make a funny blog about on the internet in an attempt to be funny.
Perhaps, if you are one of those people with a meticulous writing process and careful plans, one of those people who enjoys relevance and order and timeliness, this looks pathetic to you, my spotty updates, my half cooked posts, my eternal need to be more random than the vast majority of things in life.
Perhaps if your writing process is flawless and without failings, then my inability to post in a span of over two months is slightly baffling to you.
In that case, let me edify you on my writing process.

Step one: Log into Blogger with the intention of creating a post.
Step two: Hit the "New Post" button.
Step three: Get sidetracked by other things
Step four: Spend a myriad of hours aimlessly wandering the internet and doing fairly stupid things.
Step five: Suddenly remember that I logged into my computer to write a blog post.
Step six: Forget again.
Step seven: Remember again.
Step eight: Repeat steps six and seven as many times as necessary. (Which is, to say, a lot.)
Step nine: Return to empty blog draft.
Step ten: Stare at screen blankly.
Step eleven: Stare at screen in frustration.
Step twelve: Stare at screen in an attempt to destroy its immortal soul.
Step thirteen: Realize that I cannot destroy immortal souls.
Step fourteen: Realize that I probably wouldn't want to if I could.
Step fifteen: Realize that I have no idea what to write.
Step sixteen: Decide that trying to crush immortal souls really makes one need to use the bathroom.
Step seventeen : Decide that I, having been in the attempt of doing that, need to use the bathroom.
Step eighteen: Walk into bathroom.
Step nineteen: Begin making ridiculous faces in the mirror.
Step twenty: Continue this for over ten minutes.
Step twenty one: Remember that I was going to use the bathroom.
Step twenty two: Decide that I don't need to anymore.
Step twenty three: Return to computer.
Step twenty four: Begin writing a post.
Step twenty five: Decide that "Once upon a time" is a really stupid way to start a blog post.
Step twenty six: Erase everything that I have written.
Step twenty seven: Decide that "One dark and stormy night" is an even stupider way to start a blog post.
Step twenty eight: Erase everything again.
Step twenty nine: Decide that "In a magical land not too terribly far away, filled with fairies and dragons and elves and a healthy mix of cool stuff and scary stuff," is the stupidest way yet to start a blog post.
Step thirty: Erase everything one last time.
Step thirty one: Write an apology for not updating, since those are so easy to do, and technically count as an update.
Step thirty two: Realize how jank that is.
Step thirty three: Realize what a ridiculous word "jank" is.
Step thirty four: Realize that I'm getting sidetracked again.
Step thirty five: Finally write something sort of, kind of, (not really) acceptable.
Step thirty six: Hesitate to publish.
Step thirty seven: Publish anyway.
Step thirty eight: Spend the next two weeks editing the stupid errors that I find whenever I reread the post.

And so, you see, this is why it takes so long.
Because when I first logged in, this was certainly not the post I had in mind.

Handwriting on the Wall

But not just any wall. The bathroom wall.
There are so many things that are so wrong on so many levels with this.
Writing on bathroom walls.
Are people crazy? Is that any way to spread your inspirational sayings, or jokes, or messages? To talk to people while they are using the bathroom?
Sure, it's one place that everyone is at some point or another, and so, in a way, it's almost ingenious. If it's in the bathroom, then of course someone is going to see it! Unless that bathroom is one of the ones filled with grime and rust and doesn't have toilet paper and no one would be stupid enough to use it, for fear that a sewer monster will emanate from the toilet bowl and pull you into the dreadful, thick muck. But those bathrooms are a whole different story.
And in reality, even if people will see it there, is the bathroom the place for that kind of thing?

Do you honestly want to spread your political message in the bathroom?

Because that makes it extremely immature, and makes you seem like a moron, and to be honest, the fact that I read it on a bathroom wall probably isn't going to sway my vote any time soon.

I also do not need to read your benevolent warnings whilst on the toilet, but thanks anyway.

And you know this how?

Also, although you may think it's a good idea, I simply don't want to have a deep and emotional discussion about forms of art when I visit the loo, either.

I think that it's a load of crap.

However, despite the randomness and strangeness of the things that you may read on the door of your stall, there are more disturbing aspects yet.

For instance, why do you have a pen with you in the bathroom? Were you earnestly planning to vandalize bathroom stalls when you went in there? Horrible, horrible person you are! 

And then there are the bathroom wall messages which get replies. Replies? Someone else also went in there with a sharpie and evil intentions? Are you serious?

And then there are the rhymes! The crazy, strange rhymes! Who has any clue what you're going to read? There are also the sad, sad people who are too stupid to think of something funny, but too annoying to just leave it alone, and lack far too much in self discipline to refrain from scribbling curses all over the walls. 

There is, on occasion, the bathroom genius who comes along and makes you want to burst into laughter:

Whoever started the "push button, receive bacon" idea, I salute you. You are brilliant. But you're also a bathroom wall writer, so I detest you, too.

You Spineless Pansy

Recently, in the course of writing a poem, I used a fairly peculiar phrase.
"- It's like lacking in a spine -"
What does that even mean? What was I talking about?
It was weird alright. Who says that? Other than me, at least? And more importantly, I must ask yet again, what does that mean? 
But I got to thinking about it, because my thoughts are generally worthless like that, and the question became more baffling yet!
What would a person look like without a spine?
Honestly, I'm dead serious here. What would someone look like if they didn't have a spine? There's lots of possibilities. Indeed, their whole body would be all types of screwed up. For instance, how would their legs support them? Would they even be capable of brain function without a spinal cord? Is it possible that without a backbone, you couldn't have a head, either?
I remember in elementary school, they used to say that without your bones, your body would be like a sack or bag full of jelly. So would your upper half be like that, if you didn't have a spine? Hmmm...

Lady: Oh, officer! I just walked into the kitchen to find him like this! Do you know what's wrong?
Police Officer: Ma'am, I'm sorry to inform you of this...I'm not even sure quite how to put this... Your husband doesn't have a spine.
Lady: What?! How dare you say that!
Police officer: No, really, he literally DOES NOT HAVE A SPINE.
Lady: Out! Out now! Get out of my house! *hits over the head with a broom*

Then again, that's probably a lie, like the rest of elementary school.
So. Naturally, there are real animals without spines. Invertebrates. What's to say that the entire human physiology wouldn't be altered for a spineless person? What's to say that they would look anything like us?What's to say that people wouldn't look like... jellyfishes? A spineless person could look like a jellyfish, I guess.

Umm... No.
Okay, what else doesn't have a spine? Oh, I know! Insects. They've got exoskeletons, right? I suppose it's a technicality, but they don't have spines. A human-ant, maybe?

Oh god. Please, please, no. No. Not cool.
Okay, so what else doesn't have a spine?
You know what - never mind. I think I've discovered why human anatomy is the way it is. And why we are bipeds. And a number of other things, including why we aren't actually spineless. Maybe I should stop thinking about this.
Hey guys guess what!
Today I learned why people have backbones.

Untold History

Why is the world such an ignorant place? Why must it be so rampant, this disease, this plague, this ignorance? Is information too hard to come across? Are people too unwilling to be educated? It's a saddening moment indeed, when we discover that vital aspects of history are missing. I couldn't believe my eyes, earlier today. I was editing my Blogger profile, when I decided to have it ask me a random question. I saved, as it told me to, and I got my question, all right. It was devastating, shocking, really, to read what it asked me:
"Do you believe that forks are evolved from spoons?"
My mouth dropped in horror. What?! Could it have been serious? Was it really so... uninformed?
Does no one know the Secret And Untold History That No One Has Ever Been Made Aware Of Before?
That's abbreviated as SAUHTNOHEBMAOB, in case you must know.
So I decided to edify the machine, to educate it for the sake of shedding a bit of light in the dark, unknowing reaches of its mind.

"No, no, no, no. You've got it backwards, buddy. Spoons are evolved from forks. You see, it all started out with forks, a medieval weapon of mass destruction. They were a dangerous scourge, attacking all who dared cross their paths, those forks. Pelting people with their metal prongs of doom, leaving faces covered in red welts. Children cried and cowered at the site of these dreadful forks. None too many people realize that this is the reason that humans in medieval times ate with their hands  - who was stupid enough to put a fork in their mouth?After hundreds of years beneath the Forkish Reign of Tyranny and Other Really Bad Stuff, however, the scientists of that time were working, in spite of the oppression brought about by their ghoulish metal masters, to create a secret weapon. After an excruciatingly long time (these fellows weren't all that bright, you see) they created it, this Magnificent Saviour of Glory and Other Really Good Stuff, and it became known as Soup. Or Soup the Unconquerable, as some called it. The forks were helpless in the face of Soup the Unconquerable. It was un-pick-up-able, un-stab-able, un-defeat-able! The forks, however, were quick to change (and much smarter than the pathetic human scientists. Honestly? Their greatest achievement was soup? Not that I don't love soup or anything, but that's a bit weak.) Then they evolved into spoons and brought the world to its knees and an Age of Supreme Darkness and Other Really Scary Stuff set in. The forks and spoons alike now walk among us, disguised as ordinary cutlery. But don't be fooled! Every last one of them is a highly trained operative, ready to spring into anti-human action at a moment's notice! If you should ever come to trust or befriend one such thing, I must tell you: be wary. Never turn your back, never leave a single moment of weakness readily visible. Without hesitation, it will take advantage of you."

So I clicked "Save Profile," in complete confidence that the computer would be glad to have the information.
Do you know what it did? It rejected my history! It spat the whole thing back at me, and it said that I needed to keep it under four hundred characters!
I can understand that it may be a bit tedious for a computer, and I could've shortened it. Less information would be transferred, of course, but that's just the price that the thing must pay for its unwillingness towards long blocks of text. But really, four hundred? That's far too short! The SAUHTNOHEBMAOB could fill entire history books, and it wanted only 400 characters?! No wonder it's unknown to so many people! If the machines are out to keep us ignorant, then what can we do? If our source of information is clueless, where do we proceed from? We have no options, if they insist upon ignorance! We must accept!
It's truly a sad, sad day for me.

Exclamation!

Ack.
It's something I say a lot - mostly to myself, but still. Perhaps not all the time, or on a regular basis, but for some reason, that's the phrase that comes out of my mouth. I never realized how weird it was until I muttered the word, and a friend pointed it out to me. "Did you seriously just say 'ack'?" Yes, as a matter of fact I did! Why would I say it though? People don't even type "ack," let alone allow it to emanate from their faces in the course of actual speech. So why do I use it?
Let's say that I just tore the paper I was drawing on in half.
"Ack!"
Let's pretend that I dropped a twelve pound bowling ball on my toe.
"Ack!"
Let's say that I tripped on a banana peel and hit a button on a NASA console that automatically engaged some sort of thrusters on all of the satellites orbiting our planet, and now there is a deadly swarm of space debris heading towards Earth at incalculable speeds, covered in fiery blazes, threatening to destroy a major city and bring the world to its knees, causing all of humanity to spiral back into the Dark Ages.
"Ack!"
Let's say that the republican presidential candidate wants to speak to me.
"Noooooooo! Ahem. Ack."
Really, it's a very multipurpose word. Ack. It can be used in such a vast array of situations, the possibilities are endless! Minor frustration (such as the NASA situation) or major terror and consuming fear (such as the republican situation) alike can be connoted with the use of that single syllable.
Try it right now. What makes you angry? Focus on that, whatever it may be. And then say it. Now. "Ack."
Say it again. "Ack."
Louder, you! Say it louder! Scream your frustration at the desk! Pound your fists! "ACKKCCKCK!"
Say it again!
Again!
Again!
Ack!
Woo!
Isn't this fun?
Ack.

Toasters 'n' Stuff

Quick story? Yes, I dare say so - quick story:
When I was in second grade, we had a toaster. It was not just any toaster. It was an evil toaster. This thing was one nasty, hardcore, devastatingly scarring hunk of metal. It was hellbent on burning everything you put inside it (excuse the pun) no matter how little time it was in there for. Of all things, this toaster had to have an eye kept on it. If you were to leave it to its own devices (again, excuse my pun), it would probably find a way to burn down the house. You could put a piece of bread inside this horrible, horrible, Toaster of Satan for five seconds, and it would come out burnt to a crisp. It was terrifying. However, in spite of the pyromaniac of a toaster, I had a longstanding addiction to toast as a second grader. I would scrape off the burnt outer casing to get into the delicious, rather hard, warm, innards of a toasted piece of bread. Did I mention that I was rather accident prone? So here, we have a combination of a devilish toaster, an accident prone, toast addict of a child, and my constant need to supply the addiction. So what did the toaster do when I was retrieving my toast?
Why, it did the one thing that the toaster always did. It bit me! Er, wait, no, it burnt me.
IT BURNT ME!

I had quite the aversion to this toaster. However, I was an addict, it was my dealer, and there was no way to stay away from the demonic little mechanism. I depended on it.
So, one day, sick and tired of my fingers being burnt time and time again, I plunked a piece of toast into it, popped it back up and - terror of all terrors - prepared to extract my toast. I was filled with trepidation. What to do, in the face of such an inescapable menace? I, being a rather "smart" little second grader, had an idea.
I took a pair of tongs from somewhere else in the kitchen. I jammed them inside the mouth of the devil thing. I clamped them firmly around my toasty treasure, and I...

was electrocuted.

Need me to reiterate that? I was electrocuted. It had reached a whole new level of sheer, burning sadism, and   I had no way of knowing how it accomplished this. So, still without my toast, I tried it again, more forcefully this time. Guess what? I was electrocuted. Again. More forcefully this time. I decided that the tongs had some kind of evil toaster power amplification power, and abandoned it. There was no way I was trying a third time. There was no way I was sticking my now electrocuted hand into the toaster to get my bread, either. So instead, I fished out a butter knife. And I tried with the butter knife. Care to take a wild guess as to what may have transpired? I was electrocuted a third time. Three times, I was electrocuted. Three. Three times.
I abandoned the accursed toast and went to school.

My friends say that this story explains a lot.

Apologies, Apologies

Firstly, I don't know who I'm apologizing to right now. Remember that little detail where I still have an astounding lack of readers? Yeah, that still applies.
Secondly, I'm apologizing because I haven't posted anything whatsoever since whenever it last was that I posted anything whatsoever. I'm a failure like that.
But now I'm back, and posting things, and slapping myself repeatedly across the face, so it's all good.
Imaginary reader people: "Yay! The Anti-Genius is back! Oh, how I've missed Terminal Stupidity updates."
The Anti-Genius: "I know you're not real. Stop lying to me."
Imaginary reader people: "No, we're glad to have you back, honest!"
The Anti-Genius: "Oh, okay, I believe you."
Imaginary reader people: "Quick, stab the Anti-Genius so we can stop reading stupid conversation transcripts that would totally happen if we were real!"
The Anti-Genius: "What?" *Gets hit by a metal skillet.*