STRANGER DANGER!!!!11

During spring break, I went down to San Diego with some friends. It was a great trip, with one interesting little hiccup that many parents with young children might want to consider.

It was my last day down there, and I was having dinner with some buddies at a T.G.I. Friday's before I left for the airport. The meal was winding down, and I had to take a leak, so I got up and walked over to the men's room. There was a woman standing outside the restroom, probably in her mid thirties or so. She stopped me as I was about enter and asked if I could see if there was a kid named "Andy" in there, presumably her son.

I was about to say "sure," but hesitated a moment as I considered exactly how that might appear from the perspective of the kid or even a random bystander. Imagine it: you're an eight year old in a public restroom, using the urinal, when some scruffy looking guy who's a few feet taller than you walks up and starts talking to you. All I know is that when I was a kid, my mom made sure I was extremely paranoid of people I didn't know in public places, and this woman looks like she could easily have done the same with her kids.

Still, I couldn't bring myself to just flat out tell this lady I wouldn't help her with something so simple, so I said "okay" and went inside. When I entered, I found that there was only one other person in the bathroom, and lo and behold, it's a kid. He was washing his hands at the sink. I went up to him and simply asked, "Hey, are you Andy?"

He turns and gapes at me with this look of absolute terror on his face, eyes buldging out of his head. Great, I think to myself.

"Um, you're mom's out-" Before I can finish this sentence, the little guy has dashed past me and out the door as fast as his legs can carry him. Goddammit, how did I know this was going to happen? I proceed to the unrinal and begin to do my business. As I do, I imagine the whole restaurant staff waiting outside for the pedophile that tried to take advantage of little Andy. Yes, waiting with their rolling pins and spatulas and dinner menus so they can beat me unconsious till the police show up to take me downtown.

Well, as I'm letting it flow, I see the door to the bathroom open slightly. Another kid, who looks a lot like Andy except maybe two years older, (so I'm assuming he's his brother) peers in at me. This snot-nosed little smirk crosses his face and then he leaves.

When I got outside, the mom and the two kids had dissappeared, and I was still wondering what the hell had just happened. From what I could deduce, Andy ran out of the bathroom in a state of terror, whimpering about a strange man who tried to talk to him, and this inspired the brother to go in and look. Why the hell would anyone do that? Did the older kid see it as a potential opportunity to be molested in the men's room at T.G.I Friday's and just had spring for it?

THIS RUINED MY WHOLE TRIP!!! Naw, jay kay. However...

Parents: If you're going to make your kids into jittery little roaches when it comes to "strangers," then don't send "strangers" into the bathroom to find them for you. That's common sense.

Oh, and to that lady specifically: I don't know what that other kid's shit-eating little smirk was all about, but it definately indicated one thing very clearly: he needs to be smacked. Thank you.

Happy 4/20 to Glaucoma Patients Everywhere

If you smoke pot illegally, I officially don't care.

However, if you have ever obtained a medicinal marajuana liscence for frivolous reasons, you are a malingering leach on the teat of society. I'm not saying this because I'm against the use of marajuana for medicinal purposes. In fact, I support it. The reason I'm saying this is because those who obtain medical liscences under false pretenses are essentially cheating people who actually need them.

Whenever some right-wing bible thumping senator gets up and supports outlawing medicinal pot, he's using these fakers to make his argument. It's no myth that they exist, and based on my own personal experience, the last thing many of them need is easy access to drugs.

My former roommate for example, whom I was forced to live with as a freshman, got a medicinal liscence last year. According to him, he told his psychiatrist that he'd "been stressed" and was "having trouble sleeping." I really hope it isn't this easy to bullshit your way to a prescription. I'd like to think he forged documents, perhaps stating that he had early glaucoma or something, just so I can feel like the psychiatric community is a little more credible. The irony of course, is that he only had trouble sleeping when he was high on cocaine or chrystal meth, and I refuse to believe he was ever stressed, because drugs were pretty much the only thing he cared about.

I also know of individuals who turn around and sell their medical weed at considerable mark-ups. Why do I feel like the only person who thinks this is wrong? Maybe it's because I'm at UC Santa Cruz, or maybe it's just because I'm an uptight douche bag.

Well, to all you hedonistic drug addicts out there who use medicinal marajuana for non-medicinal purposes: excuse me if my moral barometer offends you, but I think you're all full of shit. And you probably think I should chill out. Perhaps, but it's hard for me to take what you're saying seriously since that's your solution to everything. "Chill out."

"Jesus! I just sliced my jugular vein open! Call an ambulance!"

"Chill out, man. Toke the smoke."

Go to hell.

HAPPY 4/20!!!!

Bill O'Reilly is an Ass Clown

Mr. Bill O'Reilly is now officially on my list. I've never been a big fan, but now he's gone and voiced an opinion that makes it somewhat personal.

A couple days ago, yet another rally was held to "kick military recruiters out of UCSC." This was done on the grounds that the military, which maintains policies like "don't ask, don't tell," is a discriminatory organization that is violating UC Santa Cruz' antidiscriminatory clauses. The rally was, at least in the eyes of the protesters, a success. They managed to forcefully run the recruiters off of campus.

Yesterday, Bill O'Reilly's show ran a segment on the protest. The main issue being
discussed was the 80 million dollars provided by the Solomon Act, a provision that grants the UCs federal funding under the condition that military recruiters are allowed on campus.

There were two guests on the show. The first was some rich republican asshole who'd written a letter to Rumsfeld suggesting he withhold the money. The second was a UCSC senior who works as editor for a major campus newspaper.

Basically, the segment ended with O'Reilly interupting the student, pointing his big meaty finger at the screen scoldingly, and announcing that he hoped Santa Cruz loses it's 80 million dollars in funding.

Oh Billy. This is what happens when political extremists meet. The people in the middle are overlooked. I'm sure Mr. O'Reilly is of the opinion that everyone at this school is a left-wing commie who wants to see the president burn at the steak and believes the military is inherently evil. Therefore, we all deserve to lose that 80 mil. Well, Bill, while you won't see me praising Bush, or shouting "Semper Fidelis" and doing pushups, I wasn't at that stupid rally and I don't agree with what those jackasses were preaching or doing. We're not being forced to join, and obviously their presence is not a breach of policy since we rely on 80 million dollars worth of federal funding granted to us assuming we let them have access to students. Most importantly, I believe that people at this school are generally smart enough to understand the nature of the military, and decide for themselves whether they want to join or not. We don't need our right to make that choice hindered by a bunch of hippies who think that deoderant and humanity are sins.

For the record, I have no problem with the idea of protesting. They can picket and shout all they want. However, when you block enterances and forcefully eject people who have the right to be here, I start having issues. Hey, how about I start a rally to block people's access to your rally? Maybe I'll hook a fart machine to a giant amp and blast it over your incessent chanting the next time you guys get together. That way, nobody will be able to hear your opinion, just like you make sure nobody can talk to a recruiter. If you think it's your right, then it must be mine.

Speaking of fart machines, back to good ol' Bill O'Reilly. Mr. O'Reilly should quit lumping large groups of people (in this case the whole Santa Cruz student body) into one category and judging them accordingly. I know it's a lot to ask of Mr. O'Reilly, after all, his show revolves around that entire principle, which can basically be summed up as:

Republicans= GOOD. Democrats= BAD.

Now, I know a lot of people at this school are guilty of doing the same thing, though they usually swap the positions of the words "good" and "bad." However, I'm not one of them, nor are plenty of other fellow students I know. So screw you, Bill O'Reilly. You have even less credibility now then I granted you before.

Return to Castle Daltonstein

I have recently been commissioned by the Environmental Protection Agency to attempt another interview with Daltonius. The EPA hopes the information provided by the interview will aid them at an upcoming senate hearing where they intend to discuss new environmental threats to humans and Californian wild life.

The last time I saw Daltonius, he was living in a disused septic tank at an abandoned fairground in Fresno. Since then, the EPA had relocated him to an especially desolate corner of Death Valley, as children in the Fresno area were being born with rare health conditions and unusual numbers of fingers and toes. They were also waking up in the middle of the night, screaming to their parents that they had seen "The Dalt" peering in at them from outside their windows with that shit eating grin of his.

The agent in charge of the relocation effort that moved him into the desert, which was code-named "Operation Chi-Mo Exodus," had this to say about his encounter with Daltonius:

"We showed up fully garbed in radiation suits, breathing compressed air as we usually do. When we entered the septic tank... oh God... well, this is what they pay us for I guess... the situation had clearly become worse since we were last there. I couldn't see him at first... his own excrement coated the floor quite thoroughly, and he appeared to have made angels in it. And the smell... Jesus Christ the smell.... It was like what you'd get if you ate your own shit and then shat it out, and then that shit came to life and ate more shit and shat that out too.

"We found him in a darkened corner, half laughing half crying, partially submerged in his feces... He was cradeling that pink lawn flamingo he was always fooling around with, except he was nawing on it's plastic head and muttering in tounges about how it's flesh would soon become his own.

"When we told him why we were there, what we were doing... he didn't seem to even acknowledge our presence at first. He just stared into space, locked in a half-catatonic trance. We resolved to remove him physically, but the moment we touched him he sprang from his catatonic state, bouncing around the room like some horrible hob gobblin, shouting "YOSHI" in a high pitched squeal and rapidly flipping his toungue in and out of his mouth while throwing his crap at us. The tranqs proved effective before anyone was seriously hurt."

"We locked him up in the back of the van and began the drive into the desert. When he eventually came to, we offered him some food and drink from the cab. He rapidly devoured his food, and drank his water. He then proceeded to ejaculate into the empty cup, hold it up proudly, and ask, 'Refills, anyone?' When nobody responded he simply slumped over in his compartment with a sulky look on his face, and downed it himself a moment later.

"When we finally arrived at our destination, passing the 15 foot electric fences and security check points, we drove into the middle of the holding compound. The moment we opened the back of the van, he jumped out excitedly like a dog who's just been released into the park after a long car ride. 'Wheeeee!' he yelled jovially. He immediately began digging in the sand, chasing prarie dogs, and marking his territory.

"The team snuck back into the van while he was distracted. He noticed we were leaving without him the moment we started the engine. As we pulled away, he managed to latch on to the rear bumper and get dragged along the dirt. I had to climb into the back of the van while we were moving, open the door, and smack him with a broom handle until he fell off. The entire time he was yelling "Shit fuck Nascar 'taters!" over and over again in rapid succession. That was the last I ever saw of him."

Well, with that lovely account, I can clearly see Daltonius has further spiraled downward into his neverending oblivion. I can hardly wait to talk to him. I will provide a full transcript of the interview after it is completed.