Personality Disorder Test Results

Personality Disorder Test Results

Disorder	Rating
Paranoid Disorder:	High
Schizoid Disorder:	Moderate
Schizotypal Disorder:	High
Antisocial Disorder:	Low
Borderline Disorder:	Moderate
Histrionic Disorder:	Moderate
Narcissistic Disorder:	Moderate
Avoidant Disorder:	Very High
Dependent Disorder:	Low
Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder:	High
– Personality Disorder Test – Take It! – – Personality Disorders –

Your average, ordinary commercial for a medication that treats stuff that happens as a person ages (such as arthritis or rising blood pressure)

“Hello!” a smiling man (or woman, depending on the target audience of the show that is currently airing) says to you, even though you can’t possibly answer him unless you stalk and find him/her.  As he/she is talking to you, a violin concerto is playing in the background, or maybe someone playing something similar to “Here Comes the Sun” on a piano.  The person is walking through a park as well.

“I love to do tons of high risk stuff,” the person (who I’m just gonna assume is male, for the sake of easiness) continues, “like deep-sea diving near the Marianas Trench, bungee jumping from Mount Everest in nothing but boxers and a bra, giving my children piggyback rides in construction sites, and eating food with lots of salt and garlic.  I also have rock band part time, in which I do splits during every performance for no good reason.”

The man is now walking through his house, with no apparent noticeable transition.  “But recently, I’ve been suffering from arthritis, high blood pressure, depression, chronic back pain, chronic nosebleeds, muscle diseases with unpronounceable names, encroaching doom syndrome, influenza, addiction to alcoholic beverages, addiction to eating large sausage pizzas with anchovies in the crust, PMS, the Monday blues, seasonal affection disorder, pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis, an uncontrollable urge to join the antidisestablishmentarianism movement, antisociopathicpseudoneononconformism, and delirium tremens.  I asked my doctor about this, and he fainted by the time I had finished listing all of my symptoms.”  The man picks something up from the floor and winces as he comes back up.

“So I went to another doctor,” the man says, now in a cafeteria in a state penitentiary, “and he recommended Grogiozingatec-” (or anything else that either ends in “-tec” or has a lot of Xs, Ys, Zs, or Qs in its name) “-to treat all of this stuff.  XXXYYYZZZQQQ-tec, or whatever it’s called, has been proven to work in monkeys and Venus flytraps aged 18 to 867, and has been proven to work in almost every person.”

As a montage of the man making a fool of himself in various ways, such as runnig through a field of daisies while smiling with an expression that can only be achieved through psychadelic drugs, making snow angels in a blue business suit, or licking the camera lens, a disclaimer in microscopic text appears on the bottom of the screen, and an abridged version is stated, rather quickly, by a soft-spoken man with a calming, soothing, almost hypnotizing voice that you really pay no attention to:

“XXYYZZQQ-tec has not been completely proven to work in all people, including presidents, people from Botswana, Europeans, Latinos, Caucasians, Africans, people with low blood sugar, CBS news reporters, Al Gore, and people who have no health insurance.  Side effects that have been known to occur include dizziness, nausea, upchucking on your neighbor’s dog, postmortem depression, lower sperm production, less periods, spitting on your neighbor’s dog, vertigo, an addiction to songs by “Weird Al” Yankovic, hallucinations, daydream believing, lucid dreams, shorter attention span, addiction to Wikipedia, madness, starving, hysterical, anarchy, believing that Paul McCartney wrote “Hey Jude” about you, spontaneous religious experiences, delusions of grandeur, diabetes, wise-guy antics, Jughead-ism, the belief that bovines are blessed, achieving Nirvana, teen spirit, lack of a love life (whoops, you already have that!!), knobby knees, a door-shaped head, a heart-shaped box, giganticism, dance fever, disco fever, 102 degree fever, believing that you shot J.R., broken bones, nihilism, sarcasm, irony, the ability to fly, temorary invisibility, temporary insanity, virtual insanity, virtual reality, loss of awareness, losing your neighbor’s dog, and delirium tremens.  If any one of these has ever occurred to you, regardless of whether or not you are taking XXXYYYZZZQQQ-tec, please see your doctor immediately or consult psychiatric counseling.  This medication has been banned in the District of Columbia, Puerto Rico, Canada, Cyprus, and Nigeria for unknown reasons.”

The scene focuses on the man again.  He is happy; he’s walking through that park again.  He starts to talk to you again, and people in the park, noticing him talking to no one in particular, look worried.  One person whips out a cell phone.  But, anyway, back to the man…

“XXXYYYZZZQQQ-tec helped me get my ridiculously privileged and spoiled life back.  It changed me, and it can change you, too.”  He hides the fact that that’s because the medicine contains psilocin.  The screen transitions to a white screen with the name of the medication, as well as its chemical name and some purple, swirling graphics.

“Ask your doctor if XXXYYYZZZQQQ-tec is right for you.”

Offscreen, the man from the commercial is escorted by nice men in white coats to the happy hotel, aka a psychiatric facility.

 

Wow, I should be a television producer!! ^_^

I had a strange dream involving school, a strange scavenger hunt, an old friend, and mind-altering drugs..

So, I woke up this morning and went back to sleep, and I had this really odd dream:

 

I kinda forgot how it started, but I remember going into my town’s high school and for some reason I had to go down a certain hallway (the interior looked nothing like the actual school, and I don’t even go to this school). I met up with a group of people my age, among them an old friend (a girl [I'ma guy]) who I’d been thinking about lately (haven’t seen her in a while). So we were all on the same team for some reason for a scavenger hunt that had to do with books we were reading for a class (don’t remember all of them; one was Cheaper By the Dozen); a montage occurred to the tune of the song “You Make Me” by “Weird Al” Yankovic (O_o).  It was in some weird library with humungous connected shelves, a desk with a huge encyclopedia and a normal-sized globe, a classroom-where the class was being held, some glass elevators that functioned in a way similar to the video game Elevator, and I believe I saw a Goomba from the Mario video games.

Time was running out (yes, there was a time limit), so I jumped off of the top of one of the shelves to where my where my group was. It was in a kinda crowded space, so I aimed and jumped, landing spawled across my friend’s lap.  I smiled nervously and moved. The teacher (who was my religion teacher O_o) was grading us on how what we found (which could be anything) tied in with our books (each person, even on the same team, had 5 different books). One person mentioned to him that he’d had this assignment in 7th grade, and another kid agreed. Then my teacher went into some weird psycho lecture and then destroyed the word “7th” by putting it on a medium-sized electric train and making it go on a track, in a place we could not see (WTF??).

A bell rang, and my friend and I talked a little before leaving the room. The entire time during that class, I’d tried to get close to her, as if I were attracted to her. As we were walking the halls (which somehow looked like the hallway of the school I go to suddenly), she offered me a Pixie Stick (the candy; y’know–colored sugar in a straw the same color?). It was open and the straw was wrapped in some yellowish, old, almost Egyptian-looking cloth, but I took it, saying, “Sure; how bad can it be?”  (For the record, it was a blue Pixie Stick.)

So I ate some, and I started feeling happier, so I ate some more, as my friend was talking. Soon, we went separate ways (to our lockers; she doesn’t even go to my school, though O_o), and everyone was smiling at me in the hallway, and saying hey and stuff as if I were the coolest kid in school. I threw out a lolipop (I don’t even know how I ended up with one) and then quickly retrieved it from the trash. Things seemed happy, bright, and sunny, and I was happy, as if in some sort of trance.  I had a feeling of euphoria, it seemed.  My teacher suddenly appeared in the classroom by my locker, though, and said “It’s all your fault, you know.” IDK why.  Also, saying something like that is very out-of-character for him, as he’s as kind as Jesus and as loving as God. 

Then, I saw out a window (and this is a strange part) there were two little girls, looked about seven or eight, in scantily clad swimwear, one with her butt sticking out my way (she was wearing what looked like a very short skirt and tight, thong-like panties, both of which were aquamarine), and for some reason I was drawn there, as if I were in some perverted trance, my eyes focused on the little girl’s butt.  I pulled myself away somehow and went towards my locker when I realized–I was in what seemed like a drug-induced altered state of mind.

I figured that the Pixie Stick wasn’t really candy, but instead a mind-altering drug like LSD or something. I was at my locker, but the numbers on the lock weren’t there! It looked more like the volume dial on a car radio or something. Things seemed sunny and bright, still, but I was scared, even in my euphoria.  I somehow got my locker open and woke up in the middle of wondering how I would know what books to get…

I’m freaked out.  I’m not a drug-user.  I’m not a pervert.  I’m not feeling guilty about anything (with the “It’s all your fault” part).  So does anyone have any idea what this could be about?  If anyone has an idea, you can post a comment here, or you can (if you have a Yahoo! account) answer it here (http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index;_ylt=Anxj84dCA5.eoSvNnX.hYzXsy6IX;_ylv=3?qid=20080525211005AA0BWvv) as I posted this on Yahoo! Answers as well.

The teacher becomes the student…

Have you ever been forced to do something you know that you don’t need to do?  At least you’re not like John Kallam.  There is an urban legend that this man, who had worked in criminal law for years, written several books on criminology, and had even been an investigator in the Nuremburg trials, got a job at Fresno State College (California State University, Fresno today).  Since he only had a bachelor’s degree, the college forced him to get a master’s degree or lose his job (which the school rudely explained that they were actually doing him a favor, as they were making the rest of the teachers get doctorates).

So our dear John Kallam enrolled out-of-state, figuring that three months of seminars and nine months of intensive study at home would get him his degree.  But, ironically, the textbook he needed to use in the class was a textbook that HE wrote.

Hey–stranger things have happened, right?  But don’t you just love the irony here?

 

To read more about this… http://www.snopes.com/college/admin/textbook.asp

Cannibalistically Algebraic (or, “Attempting to prove the humanity of cannibals”)

I have theorized that cannibals are technically the only humans that truly exist…and I have figured out a way to prove it using a simple algebraic equation and basic logic.

Firstly, we’ll let P be the variable for a type of person and x for the type of food someone predominantly eats.  And, of couse, as we all know, you are what you eat.  So P must be equal to x.  For example, I once knew a person who mainly eats pistachios, which are a type of nut (n).  So if P = n, we can conclude that that person is nuts.  Which is true, by the way.

Now, using the “Food Theorum”, as I call it, we can substitute P in for C (whch represents cannibals).  And since cannibals eat humans, we can sub in H for x.  Thusly, C = H, meaning that cannibals are humans.  Do any other people eat humans?  I don’t think so.

When will they start making pick-up lines that actually work?

In all my years of experience, if there’s one thing that never changes, it’s the inevitability of a pickup line failing.  I’ve tried it before, and I’ve found that girls really get tired of hearing why their feet are so tired. (CAUSE YOU’VE BEEN RUNNING THRU MY MIND BABY!!)

Who invented pick-up lines, anyway?  I’m guessing that long ago, way back when speech and conversations were first developed, some caveman or something (let’s call him Oog-Boog) thought he was so full of wit, when in reality he was only full of IT.  So Oog-Boog went up to some cave lay-dee (let’s call her Nicole) and said, “Oo-oog!!” (roughly translated, that means, “Hey, baby– let’s go invent FIRE!”) …Then Oog-Boog got a whooping from Nicole.  And so Nicole was sent to jail for attempted murder and Oog-Boog got all the glory for inventing the most useless invention ever!! HOORAY!! YAY JERK!!! W00t w00t!!!11!1!!!oneone!!

Pick up lines are so infamous, “Weird Al” Yankovic even wrote a son consisting of NOTHING BUT PICKUP LINES!!!  It’s called “Wanna B Ur Lovr” (lyrics here: http://www.com-www.com/weirdal/wannaburlovr.html).  Funny story I once heard is that at one of his concerts he went right up to a girl in the audience during this song, and she took out her camera phone, seizing the opportunity.  Even as he sang the song he just casually pushed the phone away and continued on through the crowd nonchalantly. 

But now I’m just digressing, so to get back to my original point…

The truth of the matter, there really is no pick-up line that works.  Except maybe, “Hello, my name is [your name here].”  And I ain’t talkin’ ’bout no Slim Shady.

Are You Emo? quiz

Took a quiz outta boredom (http://www.areyouemo.com/quiz.php). This is what I got.

You are almost emo. You listen to music with emo lyrics like Linkin Park (crawling in my skin) but haven’t really ventured into the acoustic sounds of the true emo audiophile. You might have shaggy hair, but only because you’re lazy, not really because you strive for emo-ness.

AreYouEmo.com

So, yeah. Not as emo as I thought I was and I don’t have shaggy hair O_o), but w’ever.

Nobody cares

I’ve been having the worst day of my life. Everyone’s coming down on me. I got paint all over my uniform. I had to deal with the BLEEPs in my art class. I had to finish an assignment before my class started, run like Sonic the Hedgehhog to the library to print it from my laptop, pushing through and possibly sending to the hospital everyone in my way, wait about a minute for everything to load up to print it, WAIT AGAIN for it to print, run at Mach 5 to get my stuff, run at Mach 1,317 to get to the room I needed to get to (WHICH WAS AT OPPOSITE END OF THE BLEEPING BUILDING), and on the way there I twisted my ankle, by the way. Then I had to make up some shoddy excuse to get out of being disciplined, take an open-notes quiz that I didn’t have all the answers to, deal with the kid next to me who always puts me down, and I have to keep dealing with an Ed Edd n Eddy episode that I’m downloading bein canceled every few minutes (“The internet connection was reset”). Compound that with my everyday traumas (dealing with an overbearing annoying horrid wretched no-good very bad sister, getting up at 5:30 AM everyday, just people everywhere, my addiction to soda, getting no respect from anyone [and I try to show respect to everyone]), and I’ve got one heck of a day to try to forget when I’m sixty-four.

And you know what? NOBODY CARES. No one asks, “Are you alright?” No one says “You need to rest, you seem stressed.” Nobody even comes as close to saying, “Yo, b****, what’s your ****ing problem?” No one. And you know what? No one ever does or ever will. People are always so wrapped up in their own lives, they seem to think that they’re the only ones that matter, that everyone else could just go jump off a mountain headfirst naked in sub-zero weather with an angry mob of rabid weasels waiting at the bottom to chew their faces off and then get beaten and mauled by the Cambodian Mafia. It’s really quite sad and terrifying.

In other news, I’m growing up in a generation of morons, idiots, buffoons, quarter-wits, and self-centered a-holes. Frankly, if these people are s’posed to be our future leaders, I fear for us all…

10 Things Ways That You Can Tell That You’re Trapped in High School Musical – Part 1

Reason No. 10:
Everyone in your school is a cliche.

Okay, admit it– if you’ve seen High School Musical, the first thing you’ll notice is how much of a cliche everyone is. There’s the jocks (Troy and the basketball team), the intellectuals (Gabriella and, um, those dorks that kidnapped her), the drama queen (Sharpay), the idiot (um…her brother), the emos and goths, the skaters… the list goes on. There’s bound to be at least one of these groups in your school. Chances are, you may even fit one. (/_\)
Trust me– walk into any high school and you’ll see people separated into these cliques. Or at least, that’s what the movies tell us.

If you’re still not convinced, stick around – there’s more installments of this EXHILLARATING list coming… when I feel like continuing.

I’m an antisociopathicpseudoneononconformist

A long time ago, someone once said that you are either a conformist or a nonconformist.  And he/she/he-she/it left it at that.  If that person was still around, I’d throw that guy off a cliff.

Allow me to explain to you.  It’s not like you really have a choice but to listen, is it?  Well, it is.  If you did listen, you’d probably be a conformist, as you probably stumbled upon this while looking for an angry rant from a sociopathic nonconformist, as those types of blogs are pretty popular today.  Well, you’ve come to the wrong place, as I am not a nonconformist.  Then again, I’m also not a conformist.

 You see, in a way, I sort of am a nonconformist; I’m really not into a lot of things that the general public sees as popular.  And I just recently discovered my nonconformist…ness.  So I guess I’m more of a neononconformist, so to speak.  Of course, there are still a lot of mainstream that things I’m into, even though I’m still more towards my nonconformist side.  So you could sort of call me a pseudoneononconformist.

One more thing about me is that I kind of ave a bit of a social disorder.  It’s not like I have a mental disorder (for all I know) or anything, but I tend to try to separate myself from those around me more than I try to be with them.  So I’m a tad sociopathic.  Of course, a lot of time I really need to demand attention from people, because, frankly, no one seems to listen when I speak most of the time.  So I’m on the edge of antiosociopathic…ism.

 So there you have it: I’m an antisociopathicpseudoneononconformist, and I’m proud to say that.  That is, as soon as I figure out how to say it ten times fast.