Nº. 1 of  22

Trivial Ignorance

I am an English major at Kennesaw State University. My current goal in life is to be a professional grammar Nazi.

thenikkihope:

Um.

*sings* These are a few of my favorite things!

thenikkihope:

Um.

*sings* These are a few of my favorite things!

Sick and Tired of “YOLO”?

theyuniversity:

(“Only Once You Live.”)

That’s what I’ll say from now on.

MIND = BLOWN

theyuniversity:

This is what Machu Pichu in Peru looks like:

But if you look at it sideways, you get:

@seanrocaway riding a moped. I improved the photo.  (Taken with instagram)

@seanrocaway riding a moped. I improved the photo. (Taken with instagram)

My parents decided to open their own lake  (Taken with instagram)

My parents decided to open their own lake (Taken with instagram)

thenikkihope:

Shit Sentinel Says - We’re nuts.

Dunder-Mifflin, this is Pam.

Are you serious Draw Something? Really?  (Taken with instagram)

Are you serious Draw Something? Really? (Taken with instagram)

Facebook notes transferred to tumblr- pt. 3

SO…. Now that my subject has your attention.

I need to give this story background information. As many of you know, I am a boy scout. I have been around knives for many years and always considered myself competent with them. Further, more I never thought I would have a run in with a kitchen knife. Today was not my night

My little sister called me abruptly from using my computer to inform me that dinner was indeed ready. A quick wash and a change of clothes and I was downstairs ready to gestate a delicious smelling stake. My parents decided that we needed heaps of potatoes to go with said steak because steak is not steak without potatoes. 

After eating my steak even though it was more like cow instead of steak, I stood up and proceeded to carry my dishes to the sink where my little sister would scrub and rinse then place them in the dishwasher to cover up her not so great cleaning.

It was during this travel period of post standing and pre rinsing that my knife began to slip. I thought to myself “no big deal I will merely slip my foot into the air to prevent the knife from cutting me” as I had done countless times before. Normally our knives fall handle down and just make a loud noise, which scares my small inferior dogs, and cause a great laugh.

They were not our normal knives.

No, I learned earlier that night that my mother had packed away our hereditary collection of family knives and put the sharpest, most balanced knives out to be used as steak knives. It is my belief that NASA tested this brand of knife in a wind tunnel to produce the finest cutting knife available to the public.

As the knife began to fall, my boy scout sense began to tingle as I was aware of a different sound of the knife falling. It did not produce the silent like whirr of a falling knife but created a sound of shiiinnnngee like a sword in a movie. As instinct began to move in my foot began to rise out of fear of dismemberment of a viatle toe. This upward velocity combined with the gravitational velocity of the knife combined to create a perfect stabbing situation. 

Background

I have never been stabbed, only chopped a hatchet into my thumb, which bypassed nerves and did not really hurt.

Knives are not like hatchets. They are not designed to destroy all material in front of it, but rather are designed to slice and tear. This slicing motion is why stab wounds hurt.

Back to my foot. Therefore, as the knife veered closer to my impending foot I thought what every past, present, or future soccer (futbol for my european friends) player wound do. Kick the danger away! Yes, as a true DeBeer I managed to increase the damage done to my foot by trying to fix the problem at hand, err… foot.

As the death blade honed in on my accelerated pedal extremity my foot turned from a hack-e-sac position to a punt the pall position giving less meat for the knife to wound and more of a hardened bone thing. The knife entered my skin and stuck there for a good second before ripping its way out of my foot and landing on the ground. 

As any injured animal would do, I yelled a warning yell to my fellow mates to inform them that I was injured. A yell of these sorts involves vulgar words rhyming with truck, stuck, or muck. My parents, who were dinning outside, heard this carnal yell of defeat and even though, I, their only male heir to the DeBeer dynasty was hurt, they sat where they were and ate their steak. My sister and her boyfriend, however, knew exactly what had just happened and proceed to laugh their asses off. I was able to regain conscious thought and began to hobble around looking for band-aids.

In my house you would think they would be readily available do to the accident pones my family has shown. Nevertheless, alas, they were down stairs in the basement. So I had to hop down stairs spraying (read: dripping) blood everywhere and was unable to stop the flow without the use of excessive (read: one) bandage.

This is how an Eagle Scout was able to stab him self with an eating utensil.

My fat puppy staring longingly at my food.  (Taken with instagram)

My fat puppy staring longingly at my food. (Taken with instagram)

Facebook notes transferred to tumblr- pt. 2

WARNING: The following contains graphic potty humor and images of a disturbing nature. Reader Beware


I must inform you, the reader, of my one fatal flaw. I am unable to process milk. Lactose to be precise. I am what is known as lactose intolerant caused because my body no longer wishes to produce the lactase enzyme we need to process and digest diary products such as milk, yogurt, and cheese. This leaves me vulnerable and only a weak substitute of a pill that gives me the lactase enzyme can help

Now to the adventure.

It is Monday night and Andrew and I head to the local Taco Mac for beer, wings, and football. I decide to order some cheese dip while we wait for kick off and wings. I take my fast acting lactaid tablets and chow down. I have tested the power of these wonder tablets against queso before and have known them to stand the test of time. 

The queso arrives and I devour some melted cheese decadence. The jets are playing the dolphins so I am not that interested in the game. Andrew and i discuss the finer subjects of life such as movies, women, beer, and books. 

The night progresses and it is now fourth quarter. The fish just scored an amazing touchdown and we decide to pay and be on our way. It is now that i feel an unease in my stomach. I ignore it and leave a decent tip because I am a sucker for a blond with glasses. As I stand up I notice that my stomach, which is quite big, normally feels filled to the max. I didn’t over indulge because I didn’t even finish my single of wings. I decide its best to leave and make my way to my truck.

As I am heading home I feel a shift in my bowels and know the ride is in peril. I will not be able to make it to my porcelain thrown at home. I make the reluctant decision not to crap my pants and my truck so I stop at the QT.

I head inside with a mere nod of my head to the attendant and enter the restroom. I notice he has the caution wet floor signs out and a mop bucket waiting for him to clean the bathroom. 

I make it to the seat and experience a roller coaster of pain and defecation. It is awful. The local Richter scale registers me at a 3.4. Mountains have been moved, California has drifted further into the ocean.

I clean up and prepare to leave when I notice the smell. It is gut wrenching. This smell is on the chemical weapons level. I can’t let the attendant witness this destruction and mayhem of a bathroom, he doesn’t get paid enough. I flip over the restroom in service sign hoping to deter fellow patrons of the QT from entering. Luckily I have a can of Oust spray in my truck because my truck smells like a gym.

I exit the store to grab my can of rescue. The attendant gave me a weird look when I left. I reenter to find him not behind the counter but walking towards the restroom. Before I can make any effort to stop him from opening the door and receiving unknown horrors upon his nose, he grabs his mop and enters.

I can see his every reaction. Light travels faster then smell so all seems clean, the smell reaches him and it hits his body like a wave. He shows disgust, curiosity, and nausea all in one go. he bends at the knees. This man is going to faint. As he falls out of the bathroom he looks over at me with eyes that i will never forget. I feel like I am witnessing the death of his soul. He will never be the same after this. I have killed this man’s will to live.

I stand the motionless with my jaw open. No words can make it better. I just look at him with sorrow and shame. I leave the oust on the counter and leave the store with my head hanging. 

I don’t believe I will be returning there anytime soon.

Nº. 1 of  22