I Do Not Want One Of These

I Do Not Want One Of These

You should know me pretty well by now. I’ve been writing on this webpage since forever. If you’ve been paying attention, even a little bit, you’d know that there’s no way I’d want one of these.

No, I don’t want one of these. I want more than one of these. I want, very badly, to have a squadron of these. A flotte of these. An entire air force of these. I want to start a navy, too, and build aircraft carriers to launch even more of these. I want to build a replica White House, just so I can appoint a Secretary of War and tell him to buy more of these, every day. And get out of here with that “Secretary of Defense” nonsense. It’s War, capital W war, red in tooth and claw, buddy.

No, I do not want one of these.

[Thanks to our friend Gerard at American Digest, who no doubt wants two of these, for sending that along]

I Wanted To Go Waterskiing, But I Couldn’t Find A Lake On A Hill

I Wanted To Go Waterskiing, But I Couldn’t Find A Lake On A Hill

Now, this doesn’t make a lick of sense, so it’s perfectly at home here on the Borderline Sociopathic Blog for Boys.

If every alpha male listened to the naysayers instead of their interior voice that tells them, “Hey, you jumped almost that far once before,” then we wouldn’t get anything done in this world. No one would have discovered that a snowmobile will run on Bacardi 151 rum, at least for a while; or that you can get on a Rose Parade float and wave like the Pope for half an hour, easy, before anyone catches on; or that you can brush your teeth with whiskey if you run out of cognac; or that go-karts work just fine in malls; or that startling prone sunbathing girls with their spaghetti straps undone yields primo results if you can run faster than their sunbathing boyfriends…

(Thanks to our friend Leon for sending that one along)

Interestingly, “Homemade Polish Acetylene” Is The Name Of My Metallica Tribute Band. But I Digress

Interestingly, “Homemade Polish Acetylene” Is The Name Of My Metallica Tribute Band. But I Digress

Ah, Borderline Sociopathic Chemistry class. I remember it well.

It was held in the back row of regular Chemistry class. While all the goodie-two-shoes brownnosers sat up front and raised their hands and nattered on about covalency and miscibility, all us ne’er-do-wells sat in back and concerned ourselves with Real Science. We weren’t all talk. We experimented.

First, turn on the Bunsen burner. Then, of course, turn UP the Bunsen burner. Now grab a tongs and shove everything you can lay your hands on into the flame. “Will It Blend” has nothing on our impromptu off-cable show, “Will This Explode? No? How About This?”

So let the robodweebs talk about mixing calcium carbide and water, then adding a source of ignition. We’re doing something about it. 

(Thanks to Gerard at American Digest for shooting that one over)

Like Many Borderline Sociopathic Boys, He Doesn’t Think His Cunning Plan All The Way Through

Like Many Borderline Sociopathic Boys, He Doesn’t Think His Cunning Plan All The Way Through

Oh, we have cunning plans, don’t we? We hearty few, we Borderline Sociopathic Boys, we do get up to things.

Remember our cunning plan to power our entire house by stealing electricity from the landline phone? That was a good one. Our probation for that one will be over soon, and the ankle bracelet doesn’t itch all that badly anymore. How about that jumbotron wedding proposal to a girl on a first date? That one should have worked, I tell you. Probably would have, too, if it wasn’t a blind first date. We can’t be expected to think of everything, can we?

Hold my beer and watch this isn’t a sentence, it’s a way of life. We have schemes and ideas, goals and angles for every situation. But somehow the bucket ends up on us, every time. It’s OK, though; I hear chicks dig scars.