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!! ^_^

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…

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.

You know you’re crazy when you start a blog like this…

For years, I refused to do it.

I always said to myself, “NO.  Why would I want to?!??”

But eventually, I decided this—- yes.

What am I talking about, you ask?  Why am I saying this?  Who the heck am I?  Where’s Canada?

 Well, in order, I’m talking about starting a blog.  I used to say to myself, “NO!!! Why does the world need to know my business?”  But recently, I’ve decided that I’m not gonna squander my knack for sarcasm, my nilhilism, and my randomness for myself– I’m gonna share it with the world.  I doubt this blog will ever really become popular, but I’m guessing that SOME people will see it.  For those of you who don’t, who the bleep cares?  You’re missing out on some very high-quality stupidity here, but it’s not my problem.

Me?  I could be some 40-year-old in his mom’s basement.  I could be a seven-year-old girl scout trying to sell cookies.  I could even be a bored 15-year-old sitting in school with nothing to do.  Whoever I am, that’s for me to know and you proably never to find out.

And I don’t live in Canada, but I live south of it, in the U.S.  Yes, the U.S.  As in the country where there are more lamebrains per square mile than the number of obsessed Miley Cyrus/Jonas Borthers fans per middle school.  And believe me– that’s more than anyone can count.  Except maybe someone who holds the world record for counting, but that’s a story for another day.

Normally, I’d prob’ly be all like “Ok well this is my 1st blog and im liek a n00b @ this so…kthxbye”.  But this time… waitasec– THAT’S NOT HOW I’D BE!!!!

 Just one thing you should know about me, I think I have multiple personality disorder.  (No I don’t.)