God Bless the Sun

Where’s Waldo at the US Capitol Attack? – Chapter 1: Waldo Origin Story

I, like so many others in the Waldo ecosystem, was saddened and horrified to learn that our Waldo, the former international sensation whose nondescriptness in crowds has provided us with so much joy, was recently indicted in federal court for his presence in the crowd at the US Capitol Attack on January 6th. 

To those who know Waldo only through the books, this may come as a shock. But those of us who know the man himself are sadly unsurprised. His latest stunt in the crowd at the Capitol is simply the disgraceful denouement of an artist who has taken his craft too far, who has lost all sense of proportion.

To explain this most devastating ending to a sparkling career, I must start at the beginning. It is the only way one can grasp the magnitude of this tragedy.  

I first encountered the man we now call Waldo in the early 1980s, when I was a graduate student in Post-Colonial Photography at the Sorbonne. Back then, I wandered the streets during the day, and took photographs for my graduate seminar. On that particular day, I bought a rainbow trout fish and put it on various objects, particularly light posts, because they are phallic, and a product of colonial infrastructure, and the trout was clearly symbolic of the waters the Europeans travelled to subjugate the world.    

As I passed a café in Montmartre, I saw a tall, lanky man out of the corner of my eye. He was sitting at a table, by himself, stirring coffee and reading a tome by Husserl. There was nothing particularly remarkable about the man, except that he was wearing a red-and-white sweater and snowcap on a warm spring day. But there was something about him that drew one in. He seemed so unique in his blandness, so unforgettable in his forgettableness. 

I have often thought of that day, and what made me stop and take a picture of that man. There are no clear explanations. I do not believe it was an act of randomness. So much of what we undertake in life is without meaning or purpose. But this man’s demeanor spoke of something, perhaps of a paradox, or a mirror into our own contradictions. Whatever I saw in the man, millions would also come to see, in a book series that has been translated into over 50 languages across the world.

The man looked up with the emptiest of stares, and I snapped a quick photograph. Then I was back in the streets, positioning my trout on Objects of the Empire, and thought no more of my run in with the strange man. Later that night, as I was developing the photographs in the dark room, my professor pointed to the picture of the man. He asked who the man was, and I told him I had no idea. 

My professor stared at the photograph for quite some time. Finally, he said: there is something sublime in this man. He drips with mystery and intrigue. He seems to contain the entirety of the world in a vacant gaze. Will you shoot him again? I told him I had no plans to, as the man was not related to the Empire or its colonies. My professor said: it’s the Empire that made him this way.         

The following day, I sought out the man once more. I went back to the café, but I could not find him anywhere. Finally, I realized that he was sitting at a table right in front of me, blending in effortlessly with the red limestone building in the background. He was so hard to spot, and in later years, he was impossible to spot, but I am getting ahead of myself. Let me focus now on the moment that changed my life.

I told the man that I wanted to take more photographs of him. He sipped his coffee and nodded emotionlessly. I know you want to photograph me, the man said. I was wondering what took you so long to find me. I’ve been waiting for you. I paused at this statement, but thought he was just attempting to make a joke. He agreed to follow me around Montmartre so I could take photos of him.   

We traversed the famous arrondissement, stopping at the Sacré-Cœur Basilica, the Musée de Montmartre, and Lapin Agile to take pictures. As we walked, the man revealed little about himself. I had to ask him a battery of questions just to get the most basic information out of him. He said his name was Hans Heinrich. He claimed to be a German emigre. He came to Paris because he was studying to be a mime in the grand tradition of Marcel Marceau. This was the only personal data I could extract from him

But despite the little he said, I could tell that he was a sophisticated man, a man of the world. He quoted from Heidegger’s Being and Time. He talked about the wondrous sunsets in the Sahara. He seemed to have an intellectual background, one of learning, debate, and deep contemplation. And yet, the more he spoke, the less I seemed to know about him. When we parted ways in the evening, this man who called himself Hans had grown more opaque, not less.

I continued to shoot photos with Hans over the next several days. It was uncanny to witness his ability to disappear. As soon as he entered a crowd, Hans was a ghost. I took pictures of the crowd, knowing that he was within it. But it wasn’t until he tapped me on the shoulder, and I must admit, startled me, that I could see him again. He was, for all purposes, invisible. It was only when he wanted to be seen that I could see him.

Now, if you had told me that this mild-mannered man would one day join an attack on the United States Capitol, I would not have believed you. As it stands, three days have passed since the arrest of the man we now call Waldo, but his mugshot has yet to be released. A journalist at the Capitol posted a purported photo of Waldo. But the photo only shows a blurry, faceless figure in a red-and-white sweater. I should note here that the Empire’s fetitization of digital images has ruined the art of photography. 

After a few more days of shooting photos, I went to the dark room to develop my photographs. Many of the solo shots of Hans were fine, but the crowd shots were simply divine. I could scarcely see him in them. I had to look for him, over and over again, and yet there was never a guarantee I would find him. The photo of him in the crowd outside of the Moulin Rouge was particularly maddening. Hans meshed so perfectly with the red cabaret lights that he was entirely unseeable.     

As I developed these photographs in the dark room, a number of my classmates began to take notice of the odd man. In fact, something of a game developed around finding him in the photos. Everyone would crowd around the pictures, and spend hours trying to discover Hans. My fellow Post-Colonial Photographers developed a phrase for his hiddenness: being-not-being-in-Empire-phallus.     

Soon, word spread to other departments about this game we had developed. Students from disciplines such as the Anthropology of Medieval Weaponry and the History of Phallic Flags came to the dark room to partake in the ritual. I say ritual, because there was a certain religious aspect to the endeavor, as if when we found Hans, we found a part of ourselves. It sounds so strange to admit that, but I must describe it that way.    

The end of the semester was approaching, and the annual Post-Colonial Photography Showcase was happening soon. Of course I would show my work with Hans, but I needed a few more photographs of him to round out my portfolio. So I returned to the café. But I could not find him there. I assumed that he was blending in, hiding somewhere right in front of me. But after several hours of searching, I was convinced he was not at the çafé at all.

I asked the owner of the café if he had seen Hans. He said he did not know who I was talking about. I described him: tall, slim, red-and-white sweater and cap. Again, the owner did not know who I was referencing. I left, assuming that Hans had simply decided not to go to the café that day. This led me to ask a number of questions that I had not yet considered. Did Hans have a job? Where did he live? Did he have a romantic partner? Each of these questions opened a new universe of possibilities. 

I came back to the café the next day, and the day after that, and every following day. But he never came to the café again. Perhaps I was a fool for assuming that Hans regularly frequented that establishment. And yet, this was the distinct impression he imparted upon me, that the café was like a home to him. As I came to learn, this was one of his enduring traits. His ability to seem fixed when he never actually was. 

Eventually I accepted that I could only submit the pictures I already had of Hans for the Post-Colonial Photography Showcase. As I touched up the pictures, in the darkroom, I stared at the inscrutable man inside them. His face was an utter void, and yet his expression seemed infinite. It was a matter of projection, you see. I cast my own moods and desires on to him. He revealed things about me that I did know about myself.    

I walked over the Post-Colonial Hut to turn in my photographs for the Photography Showcase. It was not actually a hut – it was a whitish neo-Renaissance building. We called it a hut because the word building is a code for violent Euro-centric architectures. I saw a crowd of students gathered in front of Sorbonne Chapel. As I passed through the crowd, I thought I saw a red-and-white snowcap in my peripheral vision. I assumed I was mistaken. But instantly, my eyes were scanning the crowd. Yes, this was the beginning of it. My need to find him, whether he was or was not there.     

In a state of fury and frustration, I looked for Hans in front of the Chapel for over an hour. But I found him nowhere. I gave up the search, walked into the Hut, and submitted my photographs of the elusive man. I truly thought that I would never see Hans again, and that he was destined to become a mere footnote in my life, a story at a cocktail party. But just as I was about to relinquish him, he appeared before my very eyes.

Hans was standing in the center of the crowd that I had just searched, from top to bottom, for over an hour. He was wearing the exact same outfit as before. Indeed, it appeared that he had not taken off his clothes, even to sleep. What I didn’t realize at the time was that this occurrence presaged a pattern. That is, his visibility was always inversely proportional to our desire to find him. In other words, the more we sought him, the less he appeared; the less we sought him, the more he appeared.

Hans stood entirely still as I approached him. If he noticed me, he did not let it on. I asked him where he had been these past few days. He did not answer me. I said why did you leave the café. He turned and looked at me with cold brown eyes. He said why did you phrase it that way. I said what do you mean. He said, I did not leave the café. The café left me. You are quite a presumptuous person.

I stayed silent, uncertain of what to say. Hans began to walk away. I chased after him. I said will you please let me shoot photos of you a few more times. Hans said that there were no more photos to shoot. Fine, I said, but you won’t mind if I stay alongside you and take pictures as you walk. Hans said nothing. We meandered through the Latin Quarter together. I snapped as many pictures of him as I could. 

We passed the University of Paris, the Collège de France, the Schola Cantorum. Hans asked me why I took pictures. I said because you are an engaging subject. He said, no, why do you take pictures at all. Again, I did not know what to say. I said, at last, to preserve a moment in time. But you are not preserving a moment in time, Hans said. You are preserving ink on a page. Then my pictures are an aesthetic pursuit, I said. An endeavor undertaken to create a shared sensation of beauty. I do not have time for aesthetics, Hans said. Speak to me only when an assertion is provable, when it is beyond refutation.  

We entered the Panthéon-Assas. I cajoled Hans into stopping for a few pictures. I shot him in front of a group of students outside of the Assas building, near a small tree, on a short bench, and next to a reddish marble wall. After these shots, Hans said he had to leave. I asked him if he had to be somewhere. He said no. I asked him what he planned to do for the rest of the day. He said nothing. Then, as I looked up from my camera, he was gone. I searched for him in the nearby crowd, but my efforts were futile.     

As I travelled back to my flat in Montmartre, I noticed that I was scanning every crowd that I passed. On the streets, and in the metro, I examined each face to see if it was his. This, I’m afraid, was the start of lifelong obsessive impulse, a need to search for him wherever I went. At the time, I merely thought of this as an extension of the game that I and the other graduate students had developed. And indeed, Hans’s worldwide renown would eventually skyrocket because of just such a game. And yet, as I came to learn, playing and living a game are so different from each other, so tragically different.  

The next day, I developed the new photographs of Hans, and submitted my collection for the Post-Colonial Photography Showcase. At the end of the week, the much-anticipated Showcase took place. Students and faculty from all the various humanities departments, such as Post-Structural Fashion Studies and The History of Fonts and Frog Literature, all descended on the Marie Curie building to imbibe in photographs that were billed as “Artifacts of an Empire in Decline (The Abortion of the Photo): Observations & Violence.” 

About twenty students showcased their work. There were pictures of a spear on top of an escalator, a beehive broken over a phallic fire hydrant, and a phallus, and actual human phallus. I had arraigned all of my photos of Hans in a collage style format. The night started out slow, but as additional spectators trickled in, more and more people visited to collection. They were all enraptured by this ponderous man, and spent hours trying to identify his location in the photographs. 

The foot traffic began to pick up. And then, before I could process it, everybody in the room was standing in front of my photos of Hans. The other collections of photographs were being entirely ignored. All the students and faculty members, including my own professor, were trying to pinpoint where Hans was in my photos. The crowd members called out ideas and observations. Cheering commenced once the crowd found him in one of the photos. It was a rite of sorts, one of many that he would give us.

The crowd located Hans in all of the photographs, except for a the recent one taken at the Panthéon-Assas. Hans was standing in front of a worn reddish wall, and they simply could not identify where he was. They searched, and searched, and searched. At last, they gave up. They asked me where Has was hidden in the photo. I pointed to the center of the wall. The crowd nearly exploded into a religious ecstasy when they saw him, as if some divine revelation had visited them. It was a sacrament for our secular age.

A man in the crowd said: I can barely tell him from the wall.

Another man said: They should just change his name to Wall. Or call him Waldo. Where’s Waldo?

None of us appreciated what this man said in that moment. But his accidental phrase would change millions of lives across the world. And most especially mine.

Now, before I go any further, you must know this. After Waldo’s arrest for his presence at the US Capitol Attack, many will step forth to try to control the narrative. The truth will be reshaped, sanitized, and distorted to fit the version that those in power want us to tell. Agendas will form, accounts will change, and the revision of history will commence. But what they will tell you is not what happened. I know because I was there. 

This is the real story of the rise and fall of Waldo.  

(Chapter Two Coming Soon)

Ancestry.com Said I’m Related to a Horse Fucker

when i saw the ancestry.com commercial the woman said she was related to Thomas Jefferson and the singer from Smash Mouth and I was like wow i wonder if i am related to the drummer from Smash Mouth. those commercials basically guarantee that youre related to someone historically important like an Irish king or the bassist from the Dave Matthew Band so I decided to send in my DNA. things have been rough ever since the factory shut down and my chihuahua transformed into a strobe light that eats house appliances.

that’s why i had to use the computer at the library to get my test results. in general i do not like libraries, they do not have all you can eat buffets. when my test results came up, i found that i was not related to anyone I had heard of, but there was this one guy flagged named Earl Wayne Scoggins. apparently Earl Wayne Scoggins was a sex offender in the Nevada territories in the 1870s who used to fuck horses and chop their heads off and one time the head fell into a dynamite factory and blew up thirty child laborers and the owner who was actually a top hat. there weren’t any laws against killing child laborers so Scoggins was only tried to for killing the top hat but a bunch of bestiality laws got passed afterwards bearing his name.

i looked at a picture of the guy, he had a long grey beard and a rattlesnake eyepatch, and I thought wow that’s odd and kind of of tragic that i’m related to such a scumbag. so i guess those Ancestry commercials were misleading. but you know what, i’m my own person now, and i’m not going to let the past sully my family’s reputation. just as i was thinking that this guy standing behind me in the library said is that Earl Wayne Scoggins.

i said yes it is, how did you know. he said it’s gross that i was related to him. just as i was about to disavow Scoggins, the guy took a picture of me and posted it on social media. he screamed to the rest of the library THIS GUYS RELATED TO EARL WAYNE SCOGGINS and everybody in the room gasped, some even ran toward the exits. the librarian came up to me and said I had to leave and she took out her phone and said i am dialing 911 but her phone was out of batteries. she assured me they had a landline phone at the desk. I thought about making a scene since my tax dollars paid for the library but I just left.

i walked down the highway. man, some people are so close minded, i didnt know Scoggins and he doesn’t speak for me, if i had a spokesperson, it would be the cymbal player from Rob Zombie. i arrived at work at the conglomerate where i lick envelops for 2 cents an hour. everyone in the office turned their heads and looked at me as i walked in. just as i was about to sit down, my boss called me into his office. two security guards were already inside which is strange because they’re usually in the lobby. my boss said it’s time to turn in your envelope licking badge, you’ve been terminated. i took my envelope licking badge out of my pocket and clutched it, thinking of how i was still in debt from four years of envelope school. i said why are you firing me he said are you serious and showed me his phone which had a picture of me next to Earl Wayne Scoggins. you’re related to Scoggins and i shouldn’t have to explain anything else. I said but he’s a distant relative i don’t know the guy and my boss said it doesn’t matter, he’s now adjacent to our brand and we already lost a billion dollars on the stonkmarket. i said how can that be and he said word spreads fast when you have a horsefucker in the family.

the phone started ringing and my boss picked up and put the CE-fucking-O of the company on speakerphone. the CEO said: YES THERE ARE REPORTS THAT BRAND DAMAGE FROM MY PHONE THAT CARRIES MESSAGES. ONE BILLION OF MY FORTUNE. ONE BILLON LESS MOSQUITOS I CAN FREE INTO THE WILD. WHEN I WAS YOUNG I QUESTIONED THE VALUE OF POTS BUT THEY DO MORE THAN COOK. THEY CAN BOIL ALIVE THOSE WHO CROSS TH BRAND. WE CANNOT AFFORD TO LOST THE STONKS WE HAVE INVESTORS IN JAPAN WHO HAVE A TINY BOX WITH THE WORLDS MOST EXPENSIVE VIOLEN AND THEY MUST FEED THE BOX WITH THE TEARS OF BALLERINAS WHICH ARE EXPENSIVE AS YOU KNOW. NOW LEAVE, BANISH, AND NEVER COME BACK.

the security guards escorted me off the property and threw me into the street. I dusted myself off and walked back to my apartment. i was scared what my wife would say about me losing another job because she has a chocolate addiction that must be financed. when i got home, i found her curled up on the floor next to hundreds of Kit Kat wrappers. she said why are you home early, and i said i got fired, and she started to cry. again? she said. i nodded and through tears she said GIMME A BREAK GIMME A BREAK BREAK ME OFF A PIECE OF THAT KIT KAT BAR. BUT THE BAR IS NO MORE. I T WAS ALL A DREAM.

I hugged her and she leaned against me and said it’s OK, I guess I forgive you, you met the lead singer from Pearl Jam that one time. just as I went to kiss her, the strobe light that was once my chihuahua floated into the room. it started flashing its incandescent whit elight, blinding us as it had so many times before. the strobe light said: HAHAHAHA I WILL EAT YOUR LAMP. the lamp flew across the room and the strobe light consumed it. the strobe light said: HAHAHA THAT LAMP WAS THE LAST APPLIANCE IN YOUR HOUSE. NOW I WILL EAT YOU. I grabbed my wife by the hand and started to run.

the strobe chased us in every direction as it screamed in our ears. HAAAHA THERE IS NO TIME TO MAKE PEACE WITH YOUR MAKER THE STROBE IS HERE THE STROBE IS HUNGRY THE STROBE IS EVERYTHING AND NOTHING ALPHA AND OMEGA HAHAHA. the lights on the strobe started flashing faster. me and my wife fell to the floor. the strobe hovered above us, about to eat us, until someone kicked through our front door. it was former President Jimmy Carter, dressed in commando gear.

Jimmy Carter pulled out a bazooka and fired it at the strobe light. the strobe light exploded and then Jimmy Carter jumped across the room and karate kicked it until it shattered into pieces. thank you, President Carter, my wife said. no thank you, Jimmy Carter said. I was just doing my patrols, and I was basically just doing my job. in fact, I’d get in trouble back at the station if I hadn’t done this. you folks enjoy the rest of your night. and like that, the 39th President of the United States disappeared.

my wife and I hugged each other tight. that will put things in perspective, who cares if you lost a job, my wife said. I said right, we’ll always have each other. we kissed and she asked me why I got fired. I said it was a weird story, I’m related to this guy named Earl Wayne Scoggins and somehow word got out on social media. My wife pulled away from me and crossed her arms. wait, let me get this straight, she said. you’re related to Earl Wayne Scoggins. the guy responsible for the Great Horse Fornication Fire of 1876 in the Nevada territories. I said apparently, according to Ancestry.com.

my wife pointed to the door. OUT, she said. OUT. GET OUT OF MY HOUSE. I tried to hug her but she said DON’T TOUCH ME. Then Jimmy Carter came back through the door. Jimmy Carter pointed his bazooka at me. He said, I decided to stay in the hallway for a few minutes just to make sure everything was clear. The lady said no, champ. I had no choice. I had to leave. so I went into the night. i had to take shelter underneath a bus station awning. there was a homeless guy there who was rocking back and forth with the wind. he said, you look like you don’t belong out here, what’s going on with you? I told him my wife kicked me out of the house and I have nowhere left to go.

he said I know what that’s like, my wife kicked me out of the house a few years ago. the man said he loved to fuck horses. he went all over the country, telling is wife he was on business trips, fucking horses in an underground horse fucking ring. he said he was business partners with the kalamazoo player from REO Speedwagon but he threw it all away. this guy was repulsive to me, but I though hey, if anyone understands my story, it’s him. so I told him I got cancelled today because I was related to a horse fucker. the man said there’s such a stigma in society, they act like we’re owl fuckers or something.

I didn’t say anything, just happy that the guy didn’t judge me. he asked, by the way, who I was related to that set this off. I told him Earl Wayne Scoggins. he grabbed me by the collar. SCOGGINS RUINED IT ALL FOR US CONSENSUAL HORSE FUCKERS. FOR YEARS MEN WERE ALLOW TO PRACTICE THEIR LOVE FOR HORSES AND LIVE OFF THE LAND AND TRAVEL THE RAILROADS AND DRINK BOOT SOUP AND BE REAL, AUTHENTIC EQUESTRIANS. THEN SCOGGINS CAME ALONG AND ALL THOSE LAWS HE LEFT US. REO SPEEDWAGON ALMOST ENDED WHEN IT WAS FOUND OUT ABOUT ME AND SUCH HITS AS KEEP ON LOVING YOU WOULD HAVE NEVER BEEN MADE. YOU DESERVE TO BE CANCELED YOU SICK FUCK.

the homeless man stood up and walked away from me. all of a sudden, I was completely alone. i had gone from just a normal guy into a monster in the span of a single day. i slept outside of the bus station that night, and when I awoke, I wanted closure. i walked all the way to a library in a different town, and logged into Ancestry.com.

I wanted to see his face. I wanted to see the man that ruined my life. but on my account dashboard, Ancestry.com said there had been an error. they said I got the wrong DNA results back, and showed me my real family tree. I couldn’t believe it. I was actually a direct descendent of George Washington. and that’s how I became the trustee of the George Washington Water Slide for over 30 years. today, i just want to send my thanks for all your work on the waterslide, it’s really fast, the drop makes me go whoop eeeeeeeeeeee

my quarantine soulmate is the laugh track from Friends

i do not like people to begin with so when they said we all had to stay inside because of china flu i thought that was great. humans can jump and rob you, paint paintings of WWII, things i hate. one thing i really like is the 90s rom com Friends, its a show on TV. on this show there are six friends, all who happen to be actors and not real people, and they live in the same vicinity. the reason its funny is that they have personalities that produce scenarios, such as losing dogs, buying microwaves, and presumably fucking though they dont visibly fuck each other and i have read that the actors did not do this off screen. one time i found a penny in the street, it was burnt though. anyways i like Friends and what i really enjoy is that the laugh track lets me pretend people are laughing with me when they are not even present. i fear humans, particularly Zed, he is very violent. he didnt feed me when i was a part of the Zoo. but the laugh track will not castrate you, in fact it will enjoy the hit TV series Friends alongside you. once the quarantine started, i decided to binge through the entire Friends series including the lost episode that is stored exclusively in my brain. i particularly pay attention to Jennifer Aniston because she is so pretty and my grand life plan is to randomly encounter her in the streets of Juno, Alaska (my town) and tell her i really like the blouse she wore in Friends Season 7, Episode 11 at the 27:11.23 mark. i think she would be thrilled to know that someone noticed. I watched Friends for several days straight (i lost track of time) and i noticed that i eventually began laughing with the exact same pitch, tenor, and duration as the laugh track. it was beautiful to merge with the synthesized human voices,i felt the barriers that were holding me back melt away. suddenly, i was not Tommy who was transferred to the Zoo at the age of 6, but actually someone who could beat Super Mario in 4 minutes and thus attract Jeniffer Aniston into his life. I laughed and laughed and laughed with the laugh track. there was one particular guy on the track who i noticed laughing in just about every single episode, he was loud and sounded like an insect, and he basically became my Father. i said Father where did you go when i was six. and he just laughed. i suppose that was the only viable reaction and i laughed along with him. yes,we laughed our pain away, and quite frankly, Chandler was the culprit. i read that the guy who played him was not actually named Chandler,it was violating; Father told me to calm down and we started to laugh once more. i swear, every time Jeniffer Aniston appeared, she gazed at me. she is looking for a guy who can beat Super Mario in two minutes without the flutes, how do i have. shot? Father told me he was sorry for all those years he never searched for me. JOEY FUCKING TRIBBIANI out here with a pizza gag, he put his face into the box and Phoebe screamed,in that moment i knew i had forgiven him. i forgive you father, and i wept, at the years of trauma, or at Joey T’s infamous I-talian prank, i did not know. i often awake in the middle of the night,uncertain of who i am. did you know that the Pilot for Friends was initially rejected? if you cannot, try,try again. I tried pretty hard at the Zoo and that didnt change things for me. they often ask hypotheticals about bringing stuff to desert islands and i would be fine so long as i had. a laugh track. it is basically people without people, but also Chandler is there. can you believe they thought forcing us all inside was a bad thing? i wish i could never leave, but eventaully they said it was time to come out of our houses, and the laugh track was no more. i had to go back to work at the glue factory,and a lot of people were sick there. at night i bought flowers and walked the street, certain I would encounter Jeniffer. Father was with me in spirit, but what about those other voices on the laugh track,lost to history. where were they now? Friends was no more,no more laughs, no more New York Citaaaaay humor, Ross without his ridiculous Halloween costume on Season 5, Ep 4. they said the virus would kill many, i hoped it will kill all. that way it would just be me and the laugh track left. i thought about how good Jeniffer looked in that blouse and i threw the flowers on the ground. my fastest Super Mario time was only 10 minutes and 43 seconds. how could a guy like me ever have a shot?

Coronavirus canceled the Beanie Baby conference, now I want to kill myself

every year i have gone to the Pasadena Beanie Baby Conference and it is basically the highlight of my year. i started collecting in 97, in between the deaths of Princess Dianna and Mother Theresa, i used it to cope. im still upset that the Illuminati killed Dianna but now when im sad about it i just squeeze Patti the Platypus and everything goes away. i did that a lot in the final days of my marriage. i stopped showing up to work and paid a craigslist guy to sit in my chair when my boss finally found out they cleaned out my desk and found the check I won from the price is right and the owner said im not mailing it to you you gotta come here and pick it up and i said you will owe me the money either way but he said there is an obscure law in california that allows employers to rescind game show earnings. i said who cares and i just cuddled with Patti, who was basically my live in gf at that point. but it turned out the fucker was right, he was right. my wife left me over that, but i dont care, what i learned long ago is that i have no feelings… in fact i did not truly ‘feel’ anything until i touched Gobbles the Turkey in 1999 outside of the Beanie Emporium in Topeka, Kansas. that was also the year i discovered the Beanie Baby Conference. i remember it vividly. i walked into the Victims of Socialism Memorial Convention Center and saw a whole fucking table of Splash the Whale, ShaqBear the Bear, Junglelove the Monkey. in fact, there were more Splash the Whales than human beings in the entire venue and that made me lol. i fucking hate people with their noses and teeth. not like a beanie baby. not innocent…free. for the next 21 years, i went back to the conference. but this year, some guy said the conference was cancelled because of the flu. i said only humans die from the flu and the guy said yeah that’s why they cancelled it and i was like but the conference is about THEM the beanies. they never get the flu. they are immune to disease beacuse they are superior. the guy slowly started to walk away and i said get out of here you homo. he stopped and said first of all i’m not gay, even if i was thats ok. its ok to be who you are. i said i like gay ppl because they don’t reproduce, and i was calling you a homo because you are a homo sapien. Because i’m proud to admit i’m bigoted when it comes to the entire genus. no shame. at this point the security guards at the Olive Garden had taken note and started to separate us. i went back to my table and ate my Zeppoli with my dinner partner, Luau the Pig. i said lets go home Lu (nickname. i give them all nicknames.) and when we got back to my apartment i turned the TV on. they said that something called Coronavirus was shutting everything down. i called the dude who runs the beanie baby conference and he confirmed it was cancelled. i dropped the phone. the room started to spin. my life had literally just lost all meaning, so I went to get my gun to end it all. but on my way to the bedroom i fell and cracked my head open. i realized i had a few minutes before i blacked out so naturally i crawled to the phone, called 911, and pretended to be a beanie baby who just saw a human crack his head open. the operator hung up because he thought it was a prank. Fuck Sapiens would be an awesome name for a Nu-Metal band. all of a sudden some EMTs were at my house and they rushed me to the hospital. i woke up the next morning and said, i gotta get out of here. i gotta go blow my brains out. what is life worth without the beanie baby conference? som epeople care about cars, some people care girls, but i care about beanie babies. i dont think anybody actually cares about their kids, though. how the fuck is that possible. to care about a sapien. i could even see you caring about Olive Garden, their breadsticks are sick.

FLORIDA SPRING BREAK WE CANT GET CORONA HAHAHA

man it is so great that young people cant get coronavirus hhaha all those old people stuck inside. thats why we decided to go to down to Ft Lauderdale for spring break. I do not work or go to school, so it was not a break for me, just a normal day with lots of sand. i woke up and smoked a joint because if i dont i feel kind of off, like a guy who fucks horses feels when he has to have sex with his wife. i walked onto the beach with my man Jerome and started to lose my high as we were dancing. i took out a joint and smoked it but i felt nothing. usually, i stop feeling that hole inside me, which i can only compare to the time Kobe Bryant died. he got killed in a cool helicopter crash and theres no way my death would be that awesome. thats a gape i can never fill. i curled up on the sand, and i started to…to feel dead. then the clouds parted, and a figure appeared in the sky. it was Kobe Bryant. he said DON’T SPEAK. BEFORE TIME THERE WAS KOBE. AFTER TIME THERE IS KOBE. IAM ACTUALLY A LIFEFORCE THAT LIVES IN ALL, THAT BREATHES IN ALL. I CAN NEVER TRULY DIE, BECAUSE I AM BEYOND THE STARS AND THE MOON. BRYANT WAS MY LINEAGE FATHER. HE BIRTHED ME 600000000 YEARS AGO BEFORE THE UNIVERSE WAS EVEN BORN. THE NAME OF A DJ SHOULD BE RASHA KHAN. THE NAME OF A POPE SHOULD BE FRANCISCO XXII. THE NAME OF FLORIDA SHOULD BE HUEY SHOP. SHANTI SHANTI SHANTI. TELL THEM I AM NOT DEAD. I AM JUST RESTING. then Kobe pulled back one of the clouds like a curtain. Robin Williams, Lisa “Left Eye” Lopez, and Anne Frank all stared back at me. they spoke a t the same time: WE KNOW YOU CAN DO IT, JIMMY. SMOKE THE BIGGEST JOINT THAT EVER EXISTED. and then they disappeared. i opened my eyes and there were like five cops and EMTs standing over me with hundreds of onlookers. they told me i just had a panic attack. one of the cops said, it’s a big problem. this coronavirus has got their hormones all wound up. the other cop said dont act like you werent after it when you was his age. the first cop said, yep, and all my girlfriends had the same name, Vaseline. they laughed a boys will be boys laugh and left me there to die. i stumbled home and collapsed on my bed. my grandma brought me some pancakes. she said i hope you didnt catch the Wuhan Flu. I said dont worry about that nan. Someone is watching over us. and as I looked out the window, i saw Kobe Bryant eating pastries in the sky. everyone in my household ended up with corona virus.

Mcafee virus scanner does not cure China Virus (0 Star Review)

when i first heard about coronavirus i did not care because i do not drink corona. from what i understand only unemployed people with lots of umbrellas like that beer. the news said that the virus was coming from china which shocked me beacuse i thought corona was manufactured in a mexican country like puerto rico. i started calling it the China virus because people on TV did. the people on tv are basically my family now that my wife ignores me and my goldfish died from oxygen. god told me the fish could exist outside of the water,a nd he does still exist, he’s just dead now. i went to sleep that night and dreamed about the way they used tomake church pews, they were good for your back. the next morning I woke up with a terrible fever and cough. i went to the doctor and he told me i had symptoms of the China virus and he swabbed my mouth for a test. i said that is not possible, i do not drink corona. he told me that the virus spreads through droplets that are sneeezed or coughed. i thought my god they are putting sneeze and cough droplets into corona beer. i could not decide if i was more angry at china or mexico for that. but that still did not answer how i touched the beer. that is why doctors are worthless. i know more than they do because I read sites like Dr. Nix Napalm and listen to his radio show and buy his homeopathetic mineral supplements and therefore i am smarter. the doctor sent me home and said the test would be ready in a few days. at first, i was perfectly normmal, i ate well, i slept 8 hours a day, i got an erection everytime i saw a John Deere tractor. but eventually i developed terrible symptoms, fever, shortness of breath, getting an erection when i saw my wife. i called the docotr and he said they’re still waiting on the test. finally on day six i wanted to fuck tractors again. also, the test came back, and I had china virus. Now, I do not scare easy. I was in the Marines once. it was in a video game, but the graphics were so real, you were basically there. the doctor said there is no cure for china virus so i have to ride it out. so i did what i learned to do in the Marines, i sat on the couch and did nothing. but things only got worse. i started to research cures for china virus online and i came across something called mcafee virus scanner. this thing said it could scan and block viruses right from your computer. so i bought the Mcafee and ran the app and was horrified to see i had SEVERAL THOUSAND VIRUSES inside of me. it said that I even had TROJAN HORSES somewhere in my body. i was like how the fuck did i get all those horses inside me, and how was my doctor incomptent enough to miss that. all doctors are stupid, according to youtube personality sphinx_state_of_mind_666, who says if you swallow rocks cancer will go away. I used Mcafee to delete my viruses, but the next morning i woke up and could not breathe. i have to say, this didn’t bother me, because im tough, based on that one time in Call of Duty when I ran toward the final boss unprotected, knowing full well i was outgunned. but then i actually started to cry (allergies) and went to the hospital. they put me on a breathing tube and said I had a few days to live. i was like, no big deal, everybody has a time, all nonchalant, not bothered at all. as i lay there i began to fixate on Mcafee, whoever he was, and became convinced that he was in cahoots with both China and Mexico. In fact, in my head, I basically proved beyond refutation that Mcafee was pulling the strings all along, geopolitically, and he was the one who release China Virus from the bioweapons lab. he knew he would make a killing with his bogus antivirus software, and h e didn’t care who he harmed. i vowed revenge, for all the small people who Mcafee ruined. i planned a youtube video that was going to blow the lid off of Mcafee, and then I actually realizd there was no single man named Mcafee, it was a collection of bueraucrats who want enrich themselves . after several days i got off the breathing tube and they said to go home and quarantine. those idiots, they were focused on china virus that whole time while i had discovered the truth about the Mcafee Syndicate. i got home and was going to record my video but i saw our John Deere and fucked the exhaust beacuse my therapist says it gives me psychosexual pleasure to fornicate with partners that are literally inanimate. now my wife is on the computer with the camera so i have to wait for the bitch to get off. but i wanted to come tell you people here at BackToSchool.com that Mcafee Virus Scanner is a 0 out 5 star product. thank you

9/11 Deniers Romance

i couldnt believe my eyes was the tall dark beautiful woman before me really at the 9/11 deniers conference or had the government sent another a hologram into my life? youve got to watch out for holograms man your fucking mother could be one and you’d never know theyre so good at looking real nowadays. but anyways this girl was giving off heat (i searched her for bugs before we started talking) and i felt my penis for the first time in months and kind of thought there might be a god or something. i asked her why were no explosive materials found at ground zero and she smiled and said because the national institute of standards and technology never even did an investigation you cant find explosives you never looked for. i said oh you seem like a controlled demolition kind of girl (so smooth) and she says yeah i believe explosives were planted at the towers prior to the plane crashes. i stopped her there just to do another sweep for bugs because you never know who could be listening. then i asked her if she was prepared for the New World Order to take over like had she stocked up on perishables and dual channel cb radios and anti tank weaponry. she twirled her hair (side note: when a girl twirls her hair she is sending you a sublte signal that she is ready to fuck. just go for it man you should always assume that no matter the circumstance) and said she hadnt looked that far ahead right now she was just spreading the word that no steel frame high rise had ever collapsed because of a fire before september the 11^th, 2001, when two 747 aircraft “crashed” into two 110 story skyscrapers know informally at “WTC 1” and “WTC 2”, roughly three blocks from the fulton street subway stop, which somehow remained open as the buildings collapsed. how odd. thats all i will say, odd and eirie that the subway station was not shut down, as if the head of nyc transportation was “expecting” this disaster. i asked for her number and she gave it to me and then i said i dont use phones i just wanted to see how you would respond and she thought that was kind of weird. but we made plans to meet up on sunday for coffee and i went home and pet my goat until i collapsed like WTC 7

KAPPA KAPPA GROUP TXT

let m e start by sayin i luv kappa kappa theta more than my LIFE…i was born too be a kapp a girl…i consider uall to be my sisters but sometime the best kind of <3 is tough, so her it comes….WHO THE FUCK IS DOING GOAT SACRIFICES IN THE COMMON ROOM…someone and im not naming names and would never judge is disembolwing goats in the room with the big screen tv and leaving goat intestinces everywhere w the blood arranged into a pentagram. this is the second time ive gone to watch glee and a slaughtered goat was hanging from a plywood box with chains….never mind the poor animal there is now GOD BLOOD on the couch and it smells like some anexoric cokehead from zeta gamma puked up whatever was left from the salad she eat five years ago….this is NOT cool we have the mixer up coming with Sig Chi and since the last one was disaster (and im not pointing fingers but party committee u really dropped the ball w theme…nobody has heard of john and jackie keennedy i had to look them up) this is our only chance to redeem ourselves socialy on campus…and just for future reference who decided to become an witch  while the rest of us were chillin with the lacrosse team and meeting potential hubands…ur like a ho from lambda mu…you might as well put on all black throw a shitty party and suck every football players cock…UGH i am a t a loss of words for this A GOAT A GOAT A FUCKING GOAT SLAUGHTERD AND DISMEMRED IN THE HOUSAW LADIES THIS I S SO UNCOOL AND I AM DOWN W JUST ABOUT ANYTHING 

Inject the Cheetos into my VEINS PLZ

CHEETOS Crunchy Cheddar Jalapeno Flavored Snacks. So. Fucking. Dope. It’s like they read my mind. My favorite cheese thing slathered in Jalapeno toppings, I WOULD LITERALLY KILL MYSELF IF THEY DIDN’T EXIST. No. Seriously. CaN U Handle X-Treme Cheesiness at like a million watts were talkin illegal basically ??  I challenge you to eat a bag without finding God. Frito Lays will pay for college if you miss out on Christ. I MEAN MY FUCKING GOD CHEESE+JALAPENO and a dank little package with a cheetah wearing shades. How do you not identify with animals on TV? I look into their eyes, and I see myself, an equally cool animal also obsessed with breaking into cheese factories and wreaking havoc in the name of snacked goods. I think I am getting fat though, seriously. It must be time to die. if I had to pick a best friend, it would be those little orange cheese sticks. they were always there for me while my dad was in the army and my mom was just a solid dude. this is the year cheetos explode for good: FROM THE CORNERS OF THE GLOBE, IN EVERY PITIFUL FACTORY, THERE IS A BABY CHEETO THAT HAS NOT BEEN JALAPENO’d AND COULD VERY POSSIBLY END UP IN MY MOUTH. I PICTURE THESE CREATURES AS I PRAY, O TO GOD, LET THAT STICK BE ORTHODONICALLY CRUSHABLE AND DANGEROUSLY CHEESY. man, me and suzy had some great times together. remember when we fed each other cheetos and I talked about poetry and she pretend to hate cars?  I do not, of course, wish those days back, because cheetos and jalapenos were still separate entities, and suzy was still pregnant, boring, and flammable. I wonder what it was like when God made the cheeto, the greatest thing, and then increased its greatness with jalapeno, thereby negating the stars and the moon. it’s gonna be a big year for cheetos, mark my word, ah the bliss, oh the splendor, three hundred million American households caked in cheese, and hey, what the fuck is that cheetah’s real name, he seems like a chill guy, and i would love to hang with him. 

ScientologySingles.com

i joined Scientology Singles dot com to meet the love of my life. everything i do revolves around The Church so it seemed like the perfect website to meet a girl on. call me old fashioned, but i still like to take a woman out for a night on the town. first we’d get our Thetan Levels audited at Scientology Miami, then we’d compare results and gasp at how close we both are to an intrinsically good, omniscient, non-material core capable of unlimited creativity, followed by an engaging dinner w David Miscavige’s spiritual advisor, and topping it all off with incredible lovemaking where we shout passages of Dianetics when we come. when i saw her profile, i knew she was the one. she said she’s looking for someone who’s into Scientology (me too)  and that she likes music (no way) and even quoted from my favorite obscure chapbook that L Ron released when he was a homeless man in louisiana (it was meant to be) i messaged her and we agreed to meet after mass for coffee (and no it’s not like catholic mass. this is mass for and by the grace of our Benevolent and Gracious Overlord Xenu praise be upon him.) so we went out to starbucks and i accidently introduced myself as Carl (my name before i joined The Church) and immediately corrected myself (I am Vesu 14) and blushed. god i can be such a klutz around girls. anyways she had a pretty name (Comba 6) and we started talking about what our favorite L Ron sermons were (you can’t beat Los Angeles ’74. a real nice crowd, real mellow, you can really feel the energy and L Ron goes into this sick side note about how Affinity (affection, love or liking), Reality (consensual reality), and Communication (the exchange of ideas) are all actually the same thing, which is just Xenu. Xenu is everything and nothing – profuond when u think about it.) i thought we were clicking so well that i started trying to finish her sentences for her. this worked a few times but mostly failed but when it did work it was magical and i imagined what our children would look like (my son would be Vesu 15, technically). so anyways things went well and i asked her if she wanted to meet up at The Church tomorrow and talk about The Bridge to Total Freedom and she said she would be there around 7 so look out for her. i was so happy – there was no question after spending an hour with this girl that she would become my legal and spiritual wife (u get married twice in The Church, one in public where you get a real marriage certificate and one in private where u sit in a special room with your spouse and Xenu marries you invisibly). so i showed up at the church the following night and did not see her around. i asked around and someone said she was getting audited in an auditing booth. i felt i knew this girl well enough that i could sit in on her audit so i opened the curtain and saw her sitting in her auditor’s lap kissing his earlobe. i cursed big time (you can’t say Xenu out loud, i said it several times and had to talk to my auditor about it) and said what are you doing with a guy like this. HE IS A LEVEL FOUR THETAN LEVEL. LEVE FUCKING FOUR. HE DOES NOT EVEN KNOW THAT XENU WAS PLANTED BY A LARGER GOD ON MERCURY AND WILL POTENTIALLY BEAR CHILDREN. HE IS NOT AWARE THAT A SECRET UFO EXISTS ON THE SCIENTOLOGY ISLAND IN THE CARRIBEAN THAT WILL TAKE US TO THE PROMISED LAND. I AM LEVEL EIGHT AND THUS MORE THETAN AWARE AND WILL THUS BEAR CHILDREN CLOSER TO XENU. WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOUR ARE TO IGNORE ME LIKE THIS? she said she’s not really into me and just because i have a higher thetan level doesnt mean im attractive im actually using it to mask other shortcomings. OUCH. really ouch. Scientology Singles dot com didnt bring me any closer to L Ron but it did leave a hole in my heart. zero out of five stars