Knowledge is power and power corrupts, so study hard and be evil.

Words to live by.

To my loyal audience, Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, and [everything else].  I apologize for how infrequently I've been posting blogs.  I do have an excuse though.  As I'm sure you know, schools just got out for Christmas break, which means that a few weeks ago was final exam week.  This is my least favorite week of the year to be online.  This is the week that 99% of all facebook statuses/tweets are one of the following:

1)  Stereotypical whining about how exams are going to kill them.

2)  "__ down, __ to go"

3)  "Finished!"  (etc)

4)  A statement about how good their grades are/how amazingly awesome they are as a person

It drives me crazy.  Especially the last group.  Here's a clue:  Nobody except you and your parents give a flying shit about how smart you are.  And your parents only care because they want you out of college.  Cynical?  Maybe.  But I stay off the Internet machine until most of that is over with.

While I'm ranting about online antics, I wish there was a way to block certain statuses on facebook or certain tweets on twitter, etc.  It's not that I want to block the people, but there are specific phrases or words that compromise the integrity of whatever else is said.  For example, can we all just go ahead and agree that "lol" is the worst addition to the English language that was ever created?  I wish it was a person so I could punch it in the kidney.  In my opinion it should be banned from use for the rest of eternity.  First off, it's not even a real word, it's an abbreviation, and an idiotic sounding one at that.  Secondly, it's a lie.  I am overwhelmingly confident in my assumption that at least 99.995% of the times that "lol" is used, the person is not in fact "laughing out loud."  How are we supposed to raise an honest generation of children when this common lie is so easily overlooked and acceptable?  It's ruining our future.  Lastly, and this is what bugs be most, is the fact that it is most often used as some sort of an anti-liability measure.  By that I mean that people throw it in at the very end of a statement that they are not completely confident saying, as a last ditch effort of defense against people that would make fun of them for the statement.  For example, "So pumped for the new Twilight movie lol."  Come on, man.  If you're gonna say something, at least own up to it.  Don't go in half-hearted, you just look like a bitch.  And trust me, we already lost all respect for you when you even mentioned Twilight, don't make it worse by trying to act like you were kidding.  It's just sad.

I don't know about you, but when my phone has a low battery in the morning and I make it last the whole day, I feel like I just survived 40 days in the desert solely based on my superior rationing skills.

If any of you are like me, then you often get bored in the middle of conversations.  Most people would change the subject or just leave.  My hobby is subtly trying to make the situation awkward.  And subtly is the keyword here.  For example, from experience I discovered that if at any point the topic of eye contact arises, the entire rest of that conversation is essentially useless because all parties are now so concerned with their own level of eye contact that they cannot actually process anything that is being said.  It's wonderful.  Seriously, try it.  The instant that it comes up, watch the other person's mannerisms.  They don't want to look away too often because now they think you're judging them for not showing respect, and they compensate by staring wide-eyed at you like they're trying to see into your soul.  Then they realize what they're doing and try to calmly glance away every now and then until their ultimate demise at which point they bail on the conversation with an incredibly pitiful excuse and flee the scene.  It's just great.

I know Christmas is over and that kind of sucks, but at the same time I am SO HAPPY because that means that I have around 340 days until I have to hear Christmas music again.  Call me Scrooge, but some of those Christmas song renditions are the worst excuse for "music" I've ever heard in my life.  And it doesn't help that there are only about 20 songs total to choose from.  This year I heard a version of "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus" that made me want to take an ice pick to my ear drums.  I think it was a girl singing but there was no real way to be sure, as the voice sounded like a drunken child with no professional vocal training, and a blender full of screws in the background.  It was miserable.

Nation, I've decided to compile a few lists for you concerning the holidays.  The first of them pertains to shopping and returning gifts.  I have personal experience with this because work at a large retail store which will go unnamed for fear of possible litigation.  I call this first list "Tips on How Not to be an Asshole During the Holidays":

1) Don't get irrational frustrated with the cashier.  It was your family member that put the wrong gift receipt in with your present, not the cashier's.  And it's not the cashier's fault that your aunt got you a pair of extra small, gold-plated Crocs for Christmas instead of the [insert literally anything else].  Just be patient, because chances are that cashier has dealt with roughly 11,002 other people with the exact same problem that probably also had a stocking shoved up their ass.  And usually if you're nice,  they might just say Screw it and give a full refund anyway.

2) If you're going into an electronics store to complain/get something fixed/ask a question, please don't act like you know what you're talking about.  If they ask you a question, answer it honestly, but don't hesitate to say you have absolutely no fucking clue what they're talking about.  Trust me, they've seen worse.  Namely the old people who were the rocket scientists of their day, but somehow can't figure out how to set an iPhone to vibrate.  But from the other day, I can personally attest to how amazingly moronic you sound when you interrupt the specialist trying to act like you are Steve Jobs reincarnated.

I know there's more to that list, but that's all I can remember for now.  Moving on, I'm always entertained with the "Top 10 _____s of the Year" lists, so I figured I'd come up with a couple of my own.  After this first one I got bored and gave up, but here it is:

Top 10 Letdowns of 2011:

- The Rapture in May:  I really thought the end of the world would be more....world-ending.

- The McRib:  Honestly, I should have seen this one coming.

- Winter:  When I think winter I think snow, not 70 degrees and humid.

- The Office:  Michael Scott is gone.  Just give up.

- Turning 22:  Congrats, you're just old enough that your birthday isn't really a big deal anymore, and you've got another 25 years til it's even remotely special again.

- All football but the SEC:  Have fun in third place, rest of the country.

- Still No Hovercars:  Those advertisers back in the 60's were full of shit.  The best we've got are hybrids, and those just piss me off.

- High Cholesterol:  Great.  Just great.

- The Indianapolis Colts:  Self Explanatory.

- Occupy Wall Street:  I've always wanted to get thousands of people to go on a camping trip at the same time, but I never thought there'd be this much complaining....

Word of the Day: "Snirt"- A Minnesotan word for the mixture of snow and dirt on the side of the road.

Shout out to Erin Donahoe.

Only in a math problem can you buy 60 cantaloupes and nobody asks what the hell is wrong with you.

For Thanksgiving this year I did a lot of traveling and a lot of eating.  It all started when I picked up my friend from the Nashville airport.  (I live in Atlanta by the way, and does he pick the airport seven minutes from my house? Noooooo, instead he chooses the airport a solid four hours away.)  Anyway, after a nice little eight-hour joyride we kicked off the break with Zaxby's, as everyone should.  To continue the greatness, the next day we went and ate at a place in Atlanta called The Varsity, or "The V" for you people who don't like calling things by their God-given name.  Anyway, for those of you that don't know, the Varsity is a semi-famous fast food joint in Atlanta that serves stereotypical fast food.  By that of course I mean burger, hot dogs, fries, onion rings, etc.  However, there are two things that separate the Varsity from other fast food establishments.  First, the workers there don't hate their jobs, they hate YOU.  They are famous for their catchphrase "Whatllyahave"(one word) which is usually delivered as loud as humanly possible when you're still ten feet from the register and have absolutely no idea what you’re going to order.  Secondly, saying that the Varsity is unhealthy is kind of like saying Bill Gates has a couple bucks.  To clarify, I’m saying that the Varsity has more grease per square inch than an actual grease factory.  (Side Note: I'm not actually sure there is such a thing as a "grease factory" but just go with it.)  And of course that means one thing and one thing only:  The food is INCREDIBLE.  Now obviously after a couple cheeseburgers and some onion rings you cannot move for roughly half an hour, but that forces you to sit and bond with your eating partner, so technically everybody wins.  Anyway, after the Nashville jerk left for Alabama (wanted to "spend it with his girlfriend" or some bullshit), I then flew to Dallas where I proceeded to have the stereotypical Thanksgiving dinner of Turkey......and shrimp and scallops and pheasant and quail and crab cakes.  Also, all of those were deep-fried.  Yes, I realize I have about four years to live and I'm okay with that.  On my tombstone, I want my epitaph to read:  "Tab Hirschey: Ate like a champ, and never even tasted tofu."  Or something along those lines.  Okay, we need to pause for a second.  To be completely honest, I started writing this paragraph fully intending to talk about shampoo.  That should show you how my mind works.  Evidently my mind thought it prudent to take me in another direction, so instead of spending another eight to ten lines trying to turn this back around to the originally intended topic, I'm just going to start talking about shampoo now.  Ready?  Go.  Why the hell isn't all shampoo tear free?  Why only kid's shampoo?  Do they just get to a point where they're sitting in a conference room and they say, "Fuck it, they're adults, they can handle it."  I mean it's not like I wash my eyes with shampoo every morning, but it seems like an extremely simple precaution to prevent very unnecessary pain.

There's nothing like turning on your heater for the first time of the season and getting that "Holy-shit-my-house-is-burning-to-the-ground" smell.  Gotta love winter.

Recently I had chili for dinner, and because I'm a fidgety person, I have to have something to dip in it.  I chose Frito's, because I'm a slave to my family's traditions and have very little free will.  Now just so you know, chips are a very important snack to me, and I judge myself on which chips I like and dislike.  Doritos, for example, are God's gift to the snack industry.  I have had every kind of them, and I will stand behind them fully, at least until they go insane and try to pull that bullshit that Lays pulled and start making Dill Pickle and Toe Jam flavored "snacks".  And don’t even get me started on the plain Lays.  They’re basically oversized pieces of dandruff.  When it comes to Frito's though, I have always turned them down unless eating chili.  Why?  Because they're a tasteless, corn-made, old-people chip.  No young people, at least none that matter, are presented with a wall of chips and choose Frito's.  When you’re really young you go with Funyuns (or if your parents are picking for you, Pringles).  As you age, you then progress to Cheetos, then Doritos, with momentary lapses back for Flamin Hot Cheetos.  After that, I just assumed the natural route was to gravitate towards Ruffles until an ultimate demise to Frito's.  So about a week ago I had leftover Frito's after my chili escapade.  I was boredom eating, which for those of you new to the game is when you’re not even remotely hungry, but you are bored, and therefore gain the ability to eat every single item in your kitchen without getting full.  Anyway, it came down to me and the Frito's.  I should have known better, but I was in a boredom-induced state and thus I wasn’t thinking straight.  Then disaster hit.  Not only did I eat them, I LIKED THEM.  It was a devastating blow.  I couldn't sleep that night, all I could think about was my 401k and how the next thing I know I'll be driving under the minimum speed limit and handing out Werther's originals*.  I don't think I'll ever recover.

*Did you know that some people actually consider Werther’s Originals candy?  Granted, most of them are senile, but still, candy??  Get your head out of your ass Gramps, talk to me when you’ve dipped your solid bar of sugar into more different flavored sugar.  Fun Dip for life.

I realize this is what is now referred to as a "first world problem", but sleeping on a bead made of any kind of feathers is essentially involuntary acupuncture.

Nation, as you know, I like to rank things.  Things I hate, things I love, things that are funny, and things that I think should be wrapped in barbed wire and dropped in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean [cough, Snooki].  Well, I have another bunch o’ rankings:  Meats.  This is a new system, however, one that I've adapted from someone else whom I will not name for fear of litigation.  It is a system of ranking meats by the clothing they relate to.  (I promise it’s not as gay as it sounds.)  For example, here are the first few I've come up with:  Steak, obviously, is the tuxedo of meat.  Ground beef would be camo jacket, and turkey is the maternity wear.  Bologna, oh bologna, is that dirty shirt with holes you've had for a decade and just can't bring yourself to throw away.  And as much as I hate to admit it, Bacon is the Snuggie.  The only reason I say this is because Bacon, like the Snuggie, makes you look terrible but it just feels so right.

Fact of the Day:  Peanuts are one of the initial ingredients of nitroglycerin, and thus dynamite.

Shout out to Brian Laughlin.

Cholesterol is just a fancy word for flavor.

And boy do I love flavor.  And cholesterol. 

I call this blog the Bipolar Blog, because it basically consists of only rants about thing I hate, ballads about things I love, and combinations of the two.  Read it and weep.  (Just make sure it’s not on your keyboard.  That would ruin your computer.)

While we’re on the topic of emotions, I've discovered it's very hard to be sad or angry when you're eating Starburst or Swedish Fish.  I think it may have something to do with the fact that they get stuck to your teeth and your first defense is to start chewing by opening your mouth as wide as humanly possibly in an attempt to get your teeth out of that deliciously exhausting trap of fruity goodness.  Either way I wish I had had some on that cursed drive to South Carolina.

Readers, we have officially reached winter.  We have passed Halloween, and are now in Thanksgiving territory, or as I like to call it, Turkeytory.  That means several things.  First, getting out of the shower is now the hardest part of the day by far.  No contest.  Second, now is the time when you start seeing wart-covered, ugly colored gourds in those weird little horned baskets.  I have no idea how that became a thing, but I don't support it at all.  However, Thanksgiving is very near, and I couldn't be happier.  There are very few things in this world that I know and love like food.  I love food so much, and eat enough that I could be a scientist on the matter.  As a scientist, I can confidently say that Thanksgiving food is the best seasonal food ever (besides crawfish).  Between huge fried turkeys, countless pies, and enough stuffing to build a life size replica of John Madden, Thanksgiving might be the best day of the year.

With my feelings on Thanksgiving now being out in the open, I’d just like to take a second to ridicule a friend that hates this most wondrous of holidays.  You know who you are.  I just want you to know that I disagree with everything that you represent.  For the week of Thanksgiving, I will despise you on a cellular level.  Honestly, who hates Thanksgiving??  It’s an excuse to hang out with friends, tell them you're thankful for them without sounding like a pansy-shit, and eat the hell out of some awesome food.  Some people just hate great things for no reason, and all I'm saying is that some people just need a hug........around the neck..........with a rope.

Speaking of hate, here’s another thing I dislike:  Cold.  Obviously I hate “colds” like the sickness, but I also dislike what I call “useless cold”.  Useless cold is when it’s just freezing outside and nothings comes from it.  There’s no snow, nothing’s cancelled, and it’s roughly as frigid as the hole where Donald Trump’s soul used to be.  Don’t get me wrong, Colorado, Utah, y’all are doing it right.  But Georgia?  Honestly?  It’s cold as shit and windy, not a single snowflake, and it just ruins my day.  That’s why I support Global Warming.  If Global Warming means 65-degree winters, I’m going to buy a couple Hummers and let that shit idle in the driveway for the next 10 years.  Send that carbon emission straight to the atmosphere.  Screw the polar ice caps.  When’s the last time you visited Antarctica?  When’s the last time anybody visited Antarctica??  The only things I care about in that area are penguins, and I’ve got some of those in the Atlanta Zoo, so I’m covered.  As far as I’m concerned, I’ll take the occasional typhoon if it means I can feel my fingers in December. 

You know what I hate?  Getting old.  Well not necessarily getting old as much as getting “oldish”.  By that of course I mean, losing my childishness.  In no way am I saying that I am not childish anymore, because that would be a boldfaced lie, but I am starting to lose some of my childish powers.  For example, vanilla ice cream actually tastes good to me.  That may not mean anything to you, but personally this is a huge blow.  Gone are the times when I would eat mint chocolate chip ice cream with chocolate chips and a solid pint of chocolate syrup, washed down with a quart of chocolate milk.  Now it’s vanilla.  A single bowl of vanilla.  I’m dying inside.

Fact of the Day:  The US spent $277,000 on pickle research in 1993.

Shout out to Andrew Medearis.

Friends are like trees, they both fall down if you hit them repeatedly with an axe.

I find that to be true for most things.  Also, both stand around uselessly most of the time and taste terrible.  Weirded out yet?

Okay loyal readers.  I realize I've let you down recently, and of course by “recently” I mean the past 37 days. But you know what helps?  Whining about it.  Actually that's a lie.  What helps is a new Daily Tablet that is long enough to make you hate reading more than you already do.  And guess what the best part is?  I happen to have one of those RIGHT HERE!!  HUZZAH!!  As a heads up, I'm forcing every little thing that I've meant to write about for the past month and a half into this blog, which incorporates thing from the summer and beginning of the school year, so don't be confused when I reference things that are SO two months ago.  Get over yourself.  You sound like a 13 year old girl.*

*No offense if you actually are a 13 year old girl.

In one of my chemistry classes, I have a professor who is......well let's just say unique.  Or eccentric.  Honestly he's just insane.  He is the perfect personification of THE mad scientist.  A while back, he walked into our lab, brought everybody to a halt, yelled at us to be quiet, and turned on a video.  Now I don't want to say that this was the weirdest video I've ever seen, but I'm not prepared to say that it wasn't.  Being the completely unbiased and fair person that I am, I watched intently as the video began.  I lasted roughly 11 seconds before bursting into laughter.  I don't want to describe the video in too much detail, mostly because I would probably be sent to an insane asylum, but here the gist of it:  Imagine a video that starts as a set of random video clips of the universe.  Now take that video and add some weird lighting and colors.  Now think of the weirdest spoken word you can muster, incorporating the words "Science is poetry" as many times as possible, and use that as the soundtrack for the video.  And finally, take that acid-induced, trippy color-mashing, somewhat-chemistry-based "song", and autotune it.  It was magnificent.

Also, while we're on the topic of chemistry, guess what I found out the second week of class?  My chemistry teacher is dyslexic.  No, I'm not joking.  I mean it’s a good thing the overwhelming majority of chemistry isn't already a jumble of letters right?  RIGHT? Cause that would just mean this semester would be a living hell.  Please send help.  (Preferably in the form of a permanent substitute.)

More about chemistry.  I know you love it.  I would like to take this time to express how disappointed I am in my chemistry lab.  I was clearly misinformed on what a chemistry lab would entail.  I was under the mistaken impression that we would be dealing with very brightly colored chemicals, such as those found on Bill Nye the Science Guy, and would be mixing those chemicals, creating explosions and PRESTO!!  A pink Starburst!!  (It's a juicy contradiction.)

Let's keep on with this class stuff.  One of my teachers is the way-too-involved kind, trying to change our lives with knowledge and all that nonsense.  The kind that actually said, "There's no such thing as a stupid question."  That is the single most incorrect thing I've ever heard.  No such thing as a stupid question?!?  Seriously??  Wait, the Earth isn't flat?  Who is Barack Obama?  Tab, would you like some bacon?

In one of my classes we are required to spend a few hours every week in the computer lab.  It is a large classroom with 60-70 computers, so if you go early in the week you don't have to worry about being surrounded by strangers.  Usually that’s how it works.  This day was different.  I went in, sat down at a completely empty table, and began diligently doing my homework.  After about half an hour, this guy walks into the lab and stops at the door, surveying the room.  At first glance, I knew this guy was weird.  Not like the casual weird though (whatever that means).  This was the kind of guy that irons his jeans and asks you what your least favorite kind of pavement is.  And wouldn't you know it, this guy decides to sit right next to me.  Whatever, I'm out of here in an hour or so, I just won't make eye contact or anything.  After a little while I notice that this guy is grunting every now and then.  It's kind of distracting, but I can get by.  Then it becomes more frequent, so I bravely venture a glance over.  It becomes clear that these are grunts of frustration.  And they're getting louder.  I'm beginning to get uncomfortable as this guy is getting more and more agitated at his online homework.  He gets to the point where he’s clicking the mouse eight times as hard as he can, then flinging it at the monitor.  Now I'm getting worried.  Then out of nowhere, he yells, stands up, and frisbees his laptop across the room, decapitating two people.  Okay that might be a slight exaggeration, but his did throw his mouse and made a noise that resembled a confused but angry bark.  It was very weird.

Ladies and gentlemen, I've had another discovery.  Cloudy weather makes people angry.  "Well no shit, Sherlock,” you might say.  Well first off, my name is not Sherlock.  It's Tab.  It's right over there on the right side of the page.  Secondly, I don't appreciate your language.  This is a public website and there's no need for your sailor's mouth around here.  Jerk.  Anyway, back to what I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, cloudy weather makes people angry.  Normally you'd assume rain makes people sad or gloomy, and sunshine makes people happy, but those are only because of the outdoor activities associated with their respective weather.  When it's sunny, people are outside in plain view doing fun things.  When it's rainy people are usually indoors, but who's to say their not having the best day of their week, month, or in some more pitiful cases, year?  Even if they're inside and looking out the window, they could have a smile on their face thinking, "The day has finally come.  The world's largest slip-n-slide will be built.  Today will go down as the slip-n-slidiest day in American history."  Don’t act like you know what going on inside their little head.  You ain't no Professor X.  You know what?  You're really getting on my nerves in this paragraph, and that, combined with the fact that I completely forgot where I was going with this, adds up to me just ending this paragraph here.

I wonder if big cats go apeshit fucking psycho like housecats do.  Can you imagine how absolutely TERRIFYING that would be??  Think about it.  A full-grown tiger is just chilling in a tree (because that's what they do) in that lackadaisical pose on a tree branch with one arm slightly hanging off.  You know exactly what I'm talking about.  Then, out of nowhere it just takes off, chasing after absolutely nothing at a full sprint.  It's not even attacking the animals around it, but it damn sure is scaring the ever-living shit out of them.  Ground.  Tree.  Back to ground.  Over a gazelle.  Straight up in the air with no apparent goal at all.  Completely terrifying.  I get scared shitless when my fur-ball of a cat at my parents house has it's five minutes of insanity, turning all furniture and people into it's own personal 100 mile an hour obstacle course.  I can't even imagine a 700 lb jungle cat bolting around like it just did 32 lines of cocaine.  Terrifying.

Revelation of the Day:  Mint gum plus cold water is like drinking Mt Everest.

Shout out to Tyler Knudsen.

An Apple a day keeps the doctor...........shit.

As many of you know, Steve Jobs passed away today, hence the reason I'm writing this.  I don't know if it's because he was a technical mastermind and a genius visionary, or that I bashed iPod on yesterday's blog and now I feel guilty.  Either way, he deserves a tribute.  Steve Jobs was the god of the consumer world.  He had me more figured out than I do, which is slightly unnerving to be honest with you.  Now let's be straight here, I'm just as much of a consumer as anybody out there, but I used to think that I have a tiny bit more control over myself in that I can realize when something's just plain stupid and can deter myself from buying it.  Then Mr. Jobs came along and completely butchered my self-control.  If I had my will power on a leash before, then Apple cut the leash, gave it a shot of adrenaline, and drop kicked it out the door.  Basically Apple ruined my chances of every having a respectable savings account.  And this can all be attributed to Steve Jobs.  From slightly overpriced but amazingly awesome Macbooks to a different size of iPod for every hour of the day, Apple covers every area of need, convenience, and entertainment possible.  Just when I think my phone is bordering on ridiculous because of how advanced, handy, and uselessly awesome it is, a new version comes out.  Usually I'd be pissed about this because I just bought the old newest one, but not with Apple.  They come out with these new ideas that blow my mind like a nuclear bomb in a two story apartment building.  As much as I hate to admit it, we as human being are going to be about as physical useless as Stephen Hawking within a couple decades because of brilliant minds like that of Steve Jobs.  It's too bad his Apples didn't keep the proverbial doctor away.  Okay, I'm sorry for making jokes at a time like this.  Death makes me weird and this is how I deal with things.  Anyway, that's really all I have to say, I just wanted to give a tip of the hat as we send off one of the greatest game changers in the history of material consumerism.  Thank you, Steve Jobs, for everything you've done.  iMiss you.

Fact of the Day:  Steve Jobs's stake in Disney was twice as big as his stake in Apple.

Shout out to Steve Jobs.

It's okay Pluto, I'm not a planet either.

Which is bullshit, by the way.  I spent nearly an eternity filling out the paperwork and it got tossed because of a technicality.  On the upside, I have been warned that in lieu of a Christmas present my cousins may be entering me in a political race.  I don't know where or what for, but either way I will be selling tshirts and buttons with "Vote for Tab!" and other slogans on them.  Designs to come.

Based on the music that emanates from my apartment, I'm pretty sure my neighbors think an entire family of people lives here.  Not that a playlist that goes directly from Taylor Swift to Tech N9ne to the Rolling Stones to Backstreet Boys to Black Keys to Sugarland isn't completely normal.  Judge away.

While we're on the topic on music, I'd like to bring up a problem I have with Apple products.  "A problem with Apple?!  That's blasphemy!!  Impossible!!"  Wrong again, it's possible.  Now don't get me wrong, I'd still sell my soul if it meant I'd get every new release from Apple.  Hell I'd probably throw in my brother too.  However, I seem to have a reoccurring problem with iPods.  Every time I get an iPod it works flawlessly for the first year or two, then it starts acting funny.  It doesn't break, mind you, it just starts messing with me.  I'm sure you've all come across the problem on a computer or a lesser mp3 player, where some of the songs play louder than others.  To be frank, I hate this.  Also I hate school buses, but that's another story.  Anyway, it's really obnoxious because you have to keep adjusting the volume.  For me, it's not that simple.  The songs, every one of them, play at the exact same volume on my computer.  It's a beautiful thing and it makes me very happy.  I put them on my iPod and everything works magnificently for a while.  Then the world implodes.  Keep in mind that this happens randomly and over night.  There is no warning at all.  One day I'm walking through campus, usually through a crowded area because there's a Safe Sex and Chicken rally in the courtyard (or something of the sort).  Anyway, there I am, cruising along in a mild manner listening to my music at a very reasonable volume when all of a sudden BAM!!  I'm now listening to Modest Mouse scream about the salty breath of the ocean at a volume roughly as loud as my little sister's scream when Justin Bieber comes on the TV.  Don't get me wrong, I love the song, but I like my eardrums more, and hearing is one of those talents I was planning on holding on to for a while.  And while my mind is tuned into to the searing pain coursing through my ossicles, eustachian tube, and cochlea, the rest of my body is doing a spastic combination of the Tango and the Stanky Leg.  Sometimes I'll even yell out of shock, and if you're lucky it'll be the first few lyrics of the song.  I have no control over this or anything that happens within that first minute.  I am in excruciating pain, and everybody near me has what I believe is called the "bejeezus" scared out of them.*  Nobody wins.

*Holy hell.  "Bejeezus" is legitimately a word.  My faith in humanity is thus restored.

One of the benefits of living in a very large and diverse city comes in the form of people watching.  Now many of you know I am a huge fan of people watching, or as Steve Irwin (rest in peace) called it, "Sapien Stalking".*  Anyway, I've found a new species.  I haven't thought up a name for them yet, so I'm open to suggestions.**  This particular species is predominately male, around 40, and usually Caucasian.  They are dressed in business attire from head-to-toe save for one detail:  The eyes.  Known as the gateway to the soul, the eyes are always covered, which leads me to believe these creatures are soul-less, or that they don't have eyes.  Either way, on every specimen I've found so far the eyes are protected with sunglasses.  Not just typical sunglasses, though.  These middle-aged white businessmen are sporting sunglasses that should only be worn by Alpine skiers, Lance Armstrong, or a combination of the two.  I realize that was probably not where you thought his was going, but these guys really are ridiculous.  You're not in the middle of a triathlon.  You aren't an athlete.  You're not even an Oakley rep.  You're forty-five, fat, and have a receding hair line.  The only reason you'd run is if the oven timer was beeping and even then it's more of a power-walk.  You're not fooling anyone Mr Businessman 2.0, now go get some normal sunglasses.  I'll even let you have a pair of Maui Jim's.

*Do not research that.

**Except stupid ones.

I've added something else to my Hate List.  For those of you keeping track, it currently looks like this:

1. Anything associated with the University of Florida (namely Tim Tebow)

2. Mayonnaise

3. PETA

4. The Smurfs

5. The little hole in the airplane window

6. Flamingos

7. Wheelbarrow Races

8. Cereal

9. School buses

The list is FAR longer than that, trust me, but those are the important ones.  Anyway, the new addition to my Hate List is anybody that drives VW Golf (the car).  The thing is, I don't hate them when they aren't driving the car, and probably couldn't even pick them out of a lineup.  As soon as they get in that car, though, my only desire is to see them run over by an unusually fast steam roller.  I have absolutely no reasoning for this whatsoever.

I was in a gas station the other day and was reaching for my usual Nestle Strawberry Milk, and realized I hadn't had a Yoohoo in forever.  I went for a walk on the wild side and grabbed the Yoohoo.  After the experience I came to decide that Yoohoo's target demographic is people who haven't had a Yoohoo in a while.

Fact of the Day:  The cheetah is the only cat that cannot retract its claws.

More Interesting Fact of the Day:  In Scotland it is illegal to be drunk and in possession of a cow.

Shout out to Mallory Schwartz.

Marraige: Betting someone half your shit that you will love them forever.

I've always been a gambling man, but that just seems sketchy.

I was recently made aware that The Daily Tablet has been officially submitted to Stumble Upon.  If we were at a restaurant or bar, this is the point where I would buy a round of drinks in celebration.  Seeing as we're not though, you'll have to settle for a mental high five.  Congratulations to me.

Now as you may or may not know, I'm not big on awards shows.  To be completely honest, I don't even know the difference between the Grammies, the Oscars, and whatever the other big one is.  I'm pretty sure the only actual difference is the shape of the statue/award.  Admittedly I will watch the ESPYS, but that more because it's only about sports and is hosted by comedians.  That being said, I was off in imaginary world and found myself hosting my own awards show for people that have been breaking ground over my life span.  Here's who got the awards and why:

Jeff Foxworthy, for being the first comedian ever to actually be funny using only clean humor.

Chuck Norris, for being Chuck Norris.

Steve Jobs, for taking over the world and then retiring instead of become a planetary dictator.

John Madden, for proving that you can actually be successful/famous with a serious mental disability.

Steve-O, for still being alive.

And Jeff Dunham, for showing that being a ventriloquist can result in something other than getting your ass kicked.

I realize that I'm not the most fashion savy male out there, in fact I'm not even close.  I'm actually pretty okay with it too, because I'm convinced that the group that's coming up with the new styles is a combination of three drunk homeless people, Lady Gaga, and this guy.  Anyway, what brought on this assesment isn't even the incredibly ridiculous clothes I see people wearing around in Atlanta.  It's actually something that people really don't even noticed anymore, because while it hasn't become normal, it has least become accepted.  My only three questions are these:  (1) Who came up with leaving the 5 inch tags on the outside of hats while wearing them?  (2) When did this become okay?  (3) When will it become legal to kill these people?  As I said before, I accept that I am probably not up to date with whatever's "in" nowadays, but I'm pretty sure that's not it.  I may not know what looks fashionable, but I damn well know what's stupid, and that, my friends, is way past stupid.  I didn't say anything when people bought those pro baseball hats and left the sticker under the bill, and I mostly stayed quiet cause I figured that fad would go away or the people doing it would choke on something and die, but this is getting out of hand.  I watched someone in the mall the other day get hit in the eye with his own tag three times, and he still did't get the hint.  I want to stab that man.

As many of you know, I enjoy Zaxby's.  For those of you leading deprived lives, Zaxby's is a restaurant, nay, a Heaven sent eatery that has blessed this earth with it's own style of chickeny goodness, and is all around a safe haven for taste buds of all races and age groups.  After eating there, I frequently find myself fighting back tears of pure joy as I cap off the last bite of Texas Toast dipped in Zax sauce.  Anyway, I'm telling you this firstly because I want to change your life, and secondly because last week I ws informed that the library on campus has a Zaxby's inside of it.  I literally screamed when I found out.  I struggled through the rest of class bouncing in my chair like a kid who can't open christmas presents til everyone has finished breakfast.  The speed at which I left that classroom and traveled to the library was nothing short of phenomenal.  At one point I'm pretty sure I knocked over a handicapped person, but he was in a wheelchair and therefore didn't fall very far so it's okay.  Long story short, it took me roughly nineteen seconds to get to the library from across campus, I blasted through the security gate, hauled across the study room, hurtled down the stairs, and then died.  Well I didn't actually die, but a part of my soul did and I nearly started crying.  Why?  Saxby's.  SAXBY'S.  Saxby's Coffee is why.  It was the let down of the century.

I've picked up a new hobby.  Maybe it spawned from me being single and slightly bitter, or maybe it came around because I have a natural tendency to make others uncomfortable.  Either way it's fun.  And simple.  Basically I go to a grocery store, bookstore, or anywhere that is a populated public area, and simply wear something slightly out of the ordinary.  Now to clarify I'm talking about something only slightly weird.  For example long colorful socks with sandals.  (I live in the South, so that's weird here.  I'm talking to you JM.)  The whole point is to go to these areas, like the store, and just count how many girls lean over to their boyfriends and whisper something along the lines of "Promise me you'll never wear something like that."  Here are a couple things to keep in mind:  One, the reactions aren't life altering, it's just a fun little thing to mess with people while you're places you already needed to be, such as getting groceries.  Also, the whole point of the game is lost if you wear something completely out of control.  For instance, it doesn't count if you go into a bookstore naked from the waste down with the top half of your body looking like a terrifyingly mangled version of Winnie the Pooh on meth.  Instead of getting smirks and judgement, you'll scar little children and get arrested.  That's not fun for anyone.  However if that does happen, I look forward to seeing it on the news.

Fact of the Day: In the United States, a pound of potato chips costs two hundred times more than a pound of potatoes.

Shout out to Minoru Kato.

“Mixed Nuts” just means that I have obstacles between me and my cashews.

Everybody loves a good cashew.  If you don't, you are clearly a communist.

I recently found out something very exciting about my biology class.  Our teacher is a very interesting man.  (That's not the exciting part.)  He comes off completely normal, and in all honesty is a pretty cool guy, but hidden beneath that pleasant exterior is a core of bold pessimism.  In the first day of class alone he proved how both Spiderman and 95% of the fashion product world is complete bullshit.  I won't bore you with the details.  (Mostly because I didn't really process anything he said because I was busy thinking about how I could turn in to a blog.)  Anyway, his teaching methods are unique as well.  He heavily relies on group projects and group learning, so on the first day he let us choose groups and group names.  (We're the Biologizers.)  Just after we finished what I like to call the Biolodraft, I thought to myself, "What if my group turns out horrible and the people suck?"  But not to worry!  He proceeded to tell us that if we had a rotten egg in our group, we should take it to an outside trashcan and throw it away, as it might make us nauseous.  Also, if we had a troublesome group member, we could vote them out of the group. I want to make sure you got that, so here it is again in bold:  We can vote to kick people out of our group.  Oh yeah.  Survivor Fall 2011: Biology Class.  So as I'm trying to stifle my preemptive power trip,  I immediately begin sizing up my group to decide who to make alliances with.  Then he goes on to say that not only can we kick someone out of the group, we can kick them out of the class.  Not permanently, of course, but for the day.  Still, that's giving us some power.  I have literally been praying for someone to be a dick so we can kick them out.  And the best part is that we vote with the remote clickers, so it's anonymous!!  The only negative side is that I'm having a very hard time focusing on the material because I'm so obsessed with the idea of expelling a classmate.  I think I'm just going to frame someone.

I think S might be the the most important letter in the alphabet.  I came to this conclusion whilst making pasta for dinner, and I said to myself out loud, "I need more pot."  Of course I meant to say "I need more pots", but that's not how it came out, and if that had been in a different scenario, say a police department cookoff, I could have had some serious explaining to do.

I think my least favorite thing about parking garages is driving down them.  Especially if it's driving down more than two levels.  It's kind of like a slide, but instead of fun, smooth, brightly colored plastic, it's rough grey concrete with obstacles on every side and cars speeding towards you around blind curves.  Actually, besides the dizzy factor, slides and parking garages are nothing alike.  I don't even know why you thought that in the first place.

I know I've been ranting a lot about music lately (I really haven't though), but I've got one more for you. I've decided that we have got to start getting a little more creative with our lyrics.  And I'm not counting rap, cause that wouldn't even be fair.  Specifically, I'm talking about slow emotional-ish songs.  I've also decided that if I hear another song with lyrics even remotely similar to: "Some people laugh, some people cry/ Some people live, some people die" I'm going to track down the writer and personally maim him/her.  Seriously though, you can use lie, buy, deep fry, anything but those lyrics.  The only thing I haven't decided is whether I'm going to use an aluminum or wooden bat to beat the crap out of them.

I realize this has been discovered by nearly every human in the nation, but in my opinion, the serving sizes for food on the sides of the packages are only applicable for anorexic midgets.  Thirteen Cheezits?  Yea right.

Going down the stairs with limp arms is much more fun.  Try it next time.  You won't be disappointed.

I am starting to doubt the legitimacy of certain sayings in the English language.  The first one brought to my attention is this:  When a male is being skittish or girly, other males with usually say something along the lines of "Come on man, grow a pair!"  (A pair as in male genitalia, not pear like the fruit.  That would be ridiculous, confusing, and generally unhelpful.)  As pointed out by a comedian, this makes no sense at all.  "A Pair" is the most sensitive part of the male body, thus growing another pair would make you far more vulnerable.  Along these lines, after kicking a curb (by accident), I broke off two toenails and was bleeding.  I asked for a bandaid when we got to the apartment, and I was told to "Rub some dirt on it."  I didn't, obviously, as I'm not a huge fan of gangrene or hospitals.  Yes, I understand the meaning of the saying, which is to suck it up and stop whining because you'll be fine, but I do have to question the origin of the phrase.  We all know that when you get an open wound, the first thing you're supposed to do is clean and bandage it so it doesn't get infected.  How then did someone come up with the advice to "rub some dirt on it"?  That seems amazingly contradictory and downright stupid.  Even decades ago when the medical practice was questionable at best, I have a hard time believing people thought it was anything remotely close to a good idea to rub the wound with dirt.   It just seems ridiculous.  

Fact of the Day:  "Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo"  is the longest grammatically valid sentence in the English language that only uses one word.

Shout out to Pat Murray.

Butter is slippery, that's why you should eat as much as possible to lubricate your arteries and veins.

Speaking of which, the other day I was looking at the stats for this blog and came upon the page where it tells me the referral sites.  (Like what websites are sending people to this blog, for example: google, facebook, twitter, etc.)  Long story short, there was a website that's sent 11 people in the last week to The Daily Tablet, and I'd never seen/heard of it so I clicked the link to see what it was.  It was a diet website.  A DIET WEBSITE.  What the hell?!?  How is that even legal.  First off, look at the title of this post.  Seriously??  Secondly, I make it a point to reference bacon at least once per blog.  Third, I hate PETA.  I'm not really sure what that has to do with dieting, but I hate them nonetheless.  Fourth, my overall opinion of dieting is that it sucks.  Unless of course there's some diet out there that I've been missing that promotes shameless carboloading, protein-ingesting, grease-inhaling, and a general stance of gluttony.  And I'm pretty sure there's not, which is why dieting is stupid.  Anyway, I just found that slightly ironic.  I honestly don't know how comfortable I am with being advertised on that kind of site.

Is Tobey Maguire dead yet?

When it really comes down to it, I absolutely hate the Smurfs.  They have got to be the most self-entitled little bastards in the entire cartoon world.  Honestly think about it.  Name one other race, creature, whatever, decides they are going to completely replaces entire parts of the english language with their own damn name.  How is that acceptable??  And there's no pattern to it at all.  I hate it.  That's like me having a normal conversation and just throwing in a "Tab" every now and then.  Let's see how that would play out....

Friend: "Hey man, how's it going?"

Tab: "Pretty well, you?"

Friend: "I'm decent, just finished a psych test, so that's an up side.  How was your weekend?"

Tab: "It was completely Tab.  Like off the Tabbin' chain.  We went out downtown and when we got home we order 17 and a half pizzas and totally Tabbed all of them."

[This is the point where there is an awkward silence as Friend stares and thinks, "Did he just use his own name as an adjective and other parts of speech that I'm not particularly familiar with?  Maybe I misheard....No, I'm pretty sure he did.  This guy is a freak.  Man this is a long silence.  How can I get out of this increasingly awkward situation?  Can I just turn and run?  He's clearly insane, and probably has some kind of weapon with him.  Oh god, there's no way out.  I can't live trapped in a basement for the rest of my life!  *starts hysterically crying*]

So there you have it.  In short, Smurfs lead to insanity, and all because they can't seem to find the decency to learn the rest of the language.  You make me sick you arrogant, vertically challenged, off-color, deformed mutants.  Smurf you.  

My new hobby is now going to be sitting fully dressed in running gear in a sauna for about ten minutes, then jumping into a marathon for the last mile.  It's all of the fulfillment and congratulations without the majority of the work.  Plus you look like a badass when you cross the finish line at eight times the speed of anyone else.

Speaking of colored things that bug me......STOP THAT.  STOP BEING RACIST.  I know exactly what you were just thinking!  You are a horrible person.  I was talking about bananas you mentally deranged racist.  Anyway, back to what I was saying, I am getting increasingly frustrated with bananas as of recently.  As we all know, a green banana means it's not ripe, a yellow banana means banana pudding is in the near future, and according to Mitch Hedberg, a red banana means "Where the fuck did you get that banana?!"  My issue does not lie in the banana color scheme though.  Rather, it's in the time frame in which the color wheel spins.  I feel like when I buy a pack......a bushel?.....a herd?.....Okay, I googled it, and apparently a group of bananas is called a "bunch", but just to clarify, my "bunch" only consisted of a few.  Regardless, when I buy a bunch of bananas I usually get the ones that are greenish so I don't have to eat them immediately.  What gets me though, is that it seems like the bananas stay green for three weeks, are ripe for approximately 12-14 hours, and then immediately spoil.  What the hell bananas?!  Would you rather go to waste than let me indulge in a healthy smoothie or a peanut butter, honey, and banana sandwich?  Have I wronged you in some way?  I just don't understand.

Fact of the Day:  Dairy Cows produce more milk when listening to music.

Shout out to Courtney Gilreath.

If you can't dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bullshit.

That's pretty much my approach to everything.  It's actually working out pretty well too, you should try it.

Follow the blog with that button over there-->.  You can use your Twitter, Google, or Yahoo account.  It's that easy.  If I'm wasting my time writing these things, you can damn well spare 45 seconds to follow the blog.  Much appreciated.

Freedoms suck.  Well not really, I'm actually quite a fan.  Laws about freedoms suck.  They've got to be the most contested thing ever, and frankly I'm sick of it.  Freedom to marry, freedom of speech, right to bear arms, etc, etc.  I'm exhausted from hearing about picketers and protesters whining about this and that, and everybody starting this whole to-do about something I could give a shit about.  However, seeing as I'm a blogger, I guess I have to say I hate censorship.  Well not all of it, some people deserved to not only be censored, but to have their entire right to speak revoked.  I mainly just hate censorship when it's dealing with me.

I don't mean to blow things out of proportion here, but stick with me.  One of my favorite feelings ever, besides eating bacon and looking at this huge metal thing on the side of Highway 99 in California, is this:  So you're on a plane and the lights are all on, you move to your seat, settle down, and wait for the plane to get moving.  Usually I'll pick up Sky Mall or whatever the other magazine is called and start browsing.  Without fail, right when I get caught up in some article about the top ten places to get a steak in Zimbabwe or something, the captain turns the cabin lights off to start taxiing.  Of course I'm only at number 3 right now, and I know for a fact that Mutare doesn't have the best steak, and I absolutely must find out the remaining top two places.  This is when I slowly reach up toward the roof and softly mutter "Let there be LIGHT!"  Boom.  A little ray of light shines down directly at my magazine like a sniper from heaven, telling me that the best steak spot in Zimbabwe is found in Harare.  I knew it.  Anyway, as good as the Amanzi Hotel & Restaurant may be, the real prize here is the little feeling I got when I turned on that light.  Is that what God feels like?  Maybe on a slightly smaller scale, but I have to admit, when I hit that button I feel like the all powerful owner of light.  The next time your on a plane, try it and really revel in the moment.  You'll see what I'm talking about.

Peronally, I don't trust lip syncers.  They have no creativity, originality, or honor.  Their job is to ride on the coat tails of others' accomplishments.  They feel good about themselves because they can make their lips move well.  You know who else can do that?  Hookers.  And professional whistlers.  And I'm pretty sure nobody likes either of those.  Go get a real hobby.  You are an embarrassment to the world of music.  Your entire profession is built on a body of lies.  You disgust me.

Speaking of hobbies, I've found a new one.  During my recent involuntary stay in the Milwaukee airport, I have discovered how fun it is to analyze the people getting off of the plane from Las Vegas.  Some clearly just had a connecting flight through Vegas, so I ignore those.  Some just live there.  (Yea, I didn't know that was legal either.)  The good ones are those who are getting back from a vacation.  Here are my favorites:  (1) The classic men that just lost their dignity, life savings, and sometimes their wedding ring.   (2) The girls who look like they just lived through a hurricane.  A hurricane of partying, creepy older men, free drinks, and free roofies.  Those are always funny too.  (3) Lastly, and this is rare, is what I call the Family Package.  If you pardon the cliche, this is the jackpot of Vegas-goers.  The Family Package consists of at least one young child, an older daughter (one of the hurricane girls), a husband (freshly in debt), and an infuriated wife holding the hand of the younger child, wondering why the hell she agreed Vegas would be a good choice for a family vacation.  Oh yes.  Pure gold.

In case you haven't figured it out yet, these are still all blogs based on my summer happenings.  During the later part of the summer, me and two friends decided it was a good Sunday to fly to Chicago.  I'll call the friends Benedict Arnold and Sgt. George Cornsfellow.  Person 1 gets the name Benedict Arnold because he betrayed us, bought a flight the day before, and left us to suffer the turmoil of standby flying by ourselves.  What a bitch.  Person 2 gets Sgt. George Cornsfellow for no other reason than I think that's a funny name.  Anyway, after me and Sgt. Cornsfellow got over the betrayal of Benedict, we ventured to the airport and began what would be a 23 hour and 39 minute trip, 13 hours of which would be spent on the floor of the Milwaukee airport, which, by the way, is exactly as comfortable as it sounds.  To burn time, we did everything a normal person would do while waiting in an airport.  We had margaritas and beer at 9:30 am at Chili's, snacked, paced, ate, played ping pong, snacked some more, saw what could be the single worst children's play area on the planet, Skyped some friendlies, slept on the ground like a pair of well-dressed homeless people, and waited.  A lot.  That was my first experience in Wisconsin, and you can be damn sure it will be my last.  After that miserable adventure, I can confidently say that Wisconsin, in my opinion, is no longer a state.  Congratulations, Wisconsin, you have joined the ranks of Nebraska and New Jersey.  You've got some good company there.  Try not to kill yourself.  (Or do, I don't really care.)

Again, I'll have to postpone the rest of the summer blog.  There's just too much, and I don't want to overwhelm you.  See ya next [insert time interval].  Thanks for playing.

Fact of the Day:  Jimi Heselden, owner of the Segway Company,  died from driving a Segway off a cliff and drowning in the river at the bottom.

Shout out to Carlie Ernenwein.