Just a couple of random thoughts...

I have been doing some thinking about words and their connotations. I've decided that some things just don't make any sense... Like how I am so damn sexy, yet still manage to fly under the radar and live amongst the "normals." But, more on that another day.

Here are some things that confuse me:

Everyone agrees that being a racist is negative, and makes you a jackass (except for those guys I know who had the raccoon in their attic. They don't mind it so much, which makes them jackasses). However, being a feminist is viewed by a large segment of the population as being a positive thing. I don't see it that way though. Most of the hardcore feminists that I know are also jackasses. Mind you, I think women should be paid the same as men, and have the same chance to be President and all, but it really annoys me when chicks think that wearing bras and removing body hair counts as giving into to masculine oppression. The truth is, nobody likes low-hanging boobies and/or pit hair that you can braid. Similarly, being sexist is bad, unless you're only sexist against men, which makes you a feminist, and therefore a progressive visionary. Makes no damn sense to me, kind of like how it doesn't make any sense to me that kamikaze pilots wore helmets. Whatevs.

Tyrannosaurus was a badass dinosaur, that would eat your face because you laughed at its tiny little useless forearms. Brontosaurus was a giant dinosaur with a powerful tail that it used to knock over mean t-rexes who couldn't balance themselves because of their creepy little arms. Yet a Thesaurus is a book. A fucking book. Of words that mean the same thing as other words. The name Thesaurus seems better associated with the biggest, baddest mofo of a dinosaur ever... the "Shaft" of dinosaurs, if you will. But, no. It's just a book. Lame. Lame-o-saurus.

Carl Weathers is an awesome dude, who was in Predator (with two guys who later became governors. Mike Foster, former governor of Louisiana met both of them, but not Carl Weathers... I asked him), played Apollo Creed, and then was Chubbs the golf pro in Happy Gilmore, who taught Reese Witherspoon (Little Nicky's angel mom) that "it's all in the hips." He is awesome. That has nothing to do with anything. I just wanted to say how awesome he is. And say that Stormy Weathers would be a great stripper/porn star name.

Awesome means "inspiring awe", "deserving of awe or reverence", or "freaking cool". Yet, Possum does not mean "inspiring po", "deserving of po", or "not a giant marsupial rodent-thing." But that's the kind of thing that you only start to really wonder about after that first six-pack of the night.

We use the words lawman and policeman interchangeably. Yet we use the word lawyer interchangeably with attorney or leach. Incidentally, leach is also used as a synonym for your mom, because of the amazing amount of sucking that both do. WHAT UP?!? But I digress... Why isn't a lawyer called a lawman? Where does that damn y come from? Also, I didn't mention that those words should be "policeperson" and "lawperson" because I do not classify myself a "feminist." So there.

One who raps is a rapper, while one who rapes is (not a feminist) a rapist. Why isn't it that one who raps is a rap-ist? And one who rapes is a rape-r? It doesn't make any damn sense, in the same way that math and marijuana laws don't make any sense.

Finally, there's this dude I know from work named Jeremy. That's all I have to say about that name... It has nothing to do with any other words or anything. He's just been bummed because I have been lawmaning (not lawyering) instead of blogging. And he should totally have the groomsmen at his wedding wear seersucker. That would be awesome. Not wearing seersucker... Well, that would just be possum.

Winning the immunity challenge

I haven't watched that crapfest of a show "Survivor" since its first season, when it was something of a novelty. However, I remember from watching the aforementioned crapfest that the contestants were always competing in immunity challenges. Winning the stupid "immunity idol" would keep you from being voted off the island or whatever for that week. Well, I have always considered myself to have won a sort of "immunity idol," except it's the literal kind of immunity. Instead of not getting kicked out of my tribe, I get to sit around and watch my tribe get sick and bitch about it, while I am enjoying my healthy awesomeness.

Last night I got lazy and didn't post anything because I really didn't feel well. My tuna fish was doing some kind of rain dance in my stomach (which worked by the way, as it did rain today), while the room was spinning. I have never experienced the room spinning sensation while 100% sober, and I have to say that I just plain don't like it. Today, I wasn't as dizzy or nauseated, but I have just felt like whining and moping and complaining that my throat hurts.

Tonight, I feel much better. I think the beers helped. I usually feel completely better by the end of the day whenever I start to feel gross like that. Which is just as good, as I have no idea how to treat common ills like sore throats.

I can literally count on one hand (and one finger) the times in my life where I would classify myself as sick. I used to get some kind of crazy sinus infection twice a year, but I have never considered that to be "sick." Also, those gross sinus infections have stopped completely since my deviated septum was corrected, so now I walk around most days feeling like some kind of advanced superhuman. However, when I have been sick, it's been pretty bad. My five illnesses, in chronological order:

1. Measles -- Yes, I was vaccinated against the measles. Yes, I still got them. Mind you, I was vaccinated against those nasty German measles, and I ended up getting non-German measles of some sort. Seriously... Who gets measles these days? I am 27 years old, and have not found one single other person who has had the measles. I guess I am just special.

2. Scarlet Fever -- Another illness that pioneers used to get. I came down with this in first grade, mere days before my McDonald's birthday party. Needless to say, it had to be cancelled, which really pissed me off because I was sure that I was going to own all at the contest where you stack the old polystyrene Big Mac cartons. I even had these kickass Ducktales (Ducktales-- woo ooh!) treasure hunt invitations. Well, instead of stacking Big Mac cartons, I had to stay in my bedroom with the lights off so I wouldn't go blind like Laura Ingalls Wilder's sister in Little House on the Prairie. Pioneer freaking disease. Then some kid in my class (Dusty) caught my strep throat that caused my scarlet fever, and he ended up with rheumatic fever which will affect his heart for the rest of his life. Score: Me- 1, Dusty- 0.

3. Tonsillitis -- Seventh grade. I remember calling my grandma to come and get me from school, but I think she might have told me that she would get me in a couple of hours, and that in the meantime I should just put my head down. Putting my head down actually hurt worse, because my neck was so swollen and ridiculous that I couldn't even turn my head to the side. The only way putting my head down would have felt better is if I was putting it down and through the slot in a guillotine. I kept my tonsils though! And I have spent my life hating them ever since. I'll get you one day, tonsils. Oh yes.

4. Mono -- The staple illness of high school. Uhhh... I got it from drinking after someone. Yeah, that's it, Mom. Who? Pick one of my friends, they're all kind of slutty. Not like me. I'll be getting my wings the next time that a bell rings, not that I am bragging or anything. The doctors told me that I should stay home from school for at least a week, but I felt good enough to go back after three or four days. Then they told me not to do any heavy lifting because somehow it could hurt my spleen. So on my first day back, I helped move boxes of new yearbooks. Why? Because that's just how I roll.

5. Pneumonia -- Could have been worse. Two days before I started feeling horrible I had been cleaning out the motor of an old refrigerator in which rodents had nested. I was convinced that I had Hantavirus, which is delightful. You see, you get Hantavirus from inhaling airborne particles from rodent feces. I have no idea how you get pneumonia, but I did. I was almost hospitalized, and I did hallucinate in the health center of my college. I threatened the nurse who took my blood by telling her, "If you try to steal my underwear, I swear to God, I'll kill you." I don't remember saying that, but they all had a great laugh when I came for my follow-up. I missed one week of school, out of the recommended two. I am just a badass like that.

6. Whatever I had the night after one final and before another final in law school -- All I know is that I yelled at some guy in the after-hours clinic, and ended up getting three shots in my ass. Then I took my hardest final while hopped up on Lortab. I nailed that final, by the way. I still don't know what I had, but it was positively miserable. I tested negative for strep and flu, but apparently I was talking to someone from school in the waiting room of the clinic. Except that they weren't really there. Still, I just went on and drove myself home. Because I am safe like that.

I have never had the chicken pox, and I have never been vaccinated for it. I have never had the flu, and have never been vaccinated for it. I can't even tell you the last time I had a tetanus shot. I just feel like my immune system can handle whatever you throw at it, with the 6 exceptions outlined above. Some doctors, in fact, think that my immune system is actually too good, and that it sometimes attacks my body. That is pretty much the opposite of what an immune system is supposed to do.

Add my super-fast metabolism to my psycho crazy immune system, and you have the issue I mentioned earlier, which is that I have absolutely no idea how to treat minor problems. I have no idea how to use over-the-counter medication. Nothing works. For example, if I take Motrin, I have to take like 5 of them. Usually the doctors just break out the hard stuff on me because, even when I was little, normal medicines just have never worked. In fact, even the hard stuff isn't guaranteed to work. I have had surgery twice, and both times they had to use more anesthesia than they have used on men twice my size.

So, in summation, in real-life Survivor (which is actually real life itself), I have already won the immunity challenge. So what, if every six years or so I get deathly ill? I rarely get the colds and other annoyances that other people deal with. And, on top of that, I am always getting prescribed medicines that other people who pay top dollar for. Although as far as I am concerned, they may as well be Tylenols. I have never been prescribed a controlled substance that impressed me. I just don't understand what people find so fun about them.

Bottom line: If you want to make me sick, don't bother breathing on me. It won't get me kicked off the island. Better bring Kryptonite, bitches.

What did I ever do to you, Chick-fil-A employees?

Where I live, there is only one Chick-fil-A with a drive-thru window. Actually, there are two, but one is not on my way to the Interstate, and as good as those waffle fries are I am not willing to drive 45 minutes out of my way at 6:00 on a Monday morning. I might, however, be better off making that trip (thus having to leave my house at 5:15 am to get to work) than going to my regular CFA, because the crew of that particular unit have made it clear that I am just not welcome there.

Now, I am not bragging about my fastfood prowess or anything, but I've done some time at a Chick-fil-A myself. Actually, it was at three separate Chick-fil-A's, over an approximately seven-year period. Okay, I am kind of bragging. I was good. I mean, like, good. I was so awesome in fact that the company flew me to Atlanta (first freakin' class- what up?!?) for a super special leadership training seminar. So awesome that I took my picture with the president of the company. So awesome in fact that they gave me an Awesomeness scholarship when I was in law school. In any event, I speak with authority when I say that it is NOT hard to put together the items on their menu.

Anyway, I used to make it a habit to order from this particular Chick-fil-A damn near every Monday morning. If you want to get really technical, when I was still in school I used to eat their breakfast almost every day. The crew always used to be really good at making my breakfast, but I think that I must have done something to offend them. Or they are just bitter that I have gone vegetarian, and no longer order chicken at their chicken restaurant. There's no way that they could know that though, so I think the people who work in the back (where the food is made) just can't read.

I always order the same thing: One buttered biscuit with extra butter, one egg biscuit with cheese and extra butter, and one large sweet tea. I will show you how this would be rung up on the cash register, with each button denoted by its own set of parentheses:

(buttered biscuit)(+)(butter)

(egg biscuit)(+)(cheese)(+)(butter) or (buttered biscuit)(+)(egg)(+)(cheese)(+)(butter) - it depends on how the register is set up

(large)(sweet tea)

(total)

That doesn't seem so hard, does it? And it's not. In fact, the workers who ring up my order always seem to get it right. It's the people who read the screen in the back that tells them what to make-- they are the problem. When the cash register person rings up that order, this is what the person in the back sees:

1 BUTTER BIZ

+ BUTTER

1 EGG BIZ

+ CHEZ

+ BUTTER

Or they see some variation, of that wording, depending on the programming of their registers. They don't even see the drink. All that they have to worry about is taking the main menu item, and adding things to it. They cannot do this to save their lives, at least not when it comes to my order.

I visited this Chick-fil-A four Mondays in a row about two months ago before I gave up for a while. I ordered my usual, and this is what I received:

Monday #1: One egg biscuit with no cheese and regular amount of butter, and a buttered biscuit with extra butter.

Monday #2: One cheese biscuit with no egg and extra butter, and a buttered biscuit with extra butter.

Monday #3: My order was correct! Huzzah!!!

Monday #4: One chicken biscuit with egg and no cheese and regular butter, and one regular buttered biscuit.

Once! They got it right ONCE! They didn't even really come close the rest of the time, extra for when all they forgot was the cheese and extra butter. Extra butter really isn't all that important. All it does it make me sound like a fatass for ordering it. It's not even really butter anyway... It's "bun oil." I know. Sounds yummy! It actually is yummy, but that's beside the point.

I gave up for some time, immensely frustrated. Then, this morning I returned. I was going to be late for work anyway, because I had a doctor's appointment. Side note: My doctor agrees that I am extremely stressed out, which causes panic attacks and a weird pain in my temple that makes my eye a little blurry. I wonder what causes it? Probably the total fuckery that I deal with on a regular basis, including when I am just trying to order my damn breakfast! (Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale...) Anyhoo...

I pulled up to the drive-thru speaker, and made sure to articulate my order very clearly. One egg biscuit with cheese and extra butter. One buttered biscuit with extra butter. One large sweet tea. I held my breath.

When I got the bag, it felt like it was the right weight. My hopes rose. I opened the larger of the two wrapped biscuits, and carefully inspected it. Egg! Cheese! Greasiness! It was everything I'd hoped for. I happily hopped onto the Interstate, and proceeded to drive with a large sweet tea balanced between my knees, my iPod turned up and my eggy-cheesy-buttery goodness in my hand. It's important for me to keep current with my auto insurance, because driving like this is bound to go badly for me one day.

I munched my way through the first biscuit, and pulled out my buttered biscuit with extra butter. I saw a sticker on top of the foil that said "NO BUTTER." I thought to myself that maybe they ran out of the "EXTRA BUTTER" stickers, and they were just trying to mark this one as different. I opened the foil, and there it was. No freaking butter. Not even cut in half. They just wrapped up a biscuit chunk and threw it in my bag. They probably flipped me the middle finger as I drove off. I picked at my boring little biscuit for a little while as I sulked, but it wasn't nearly as good as it could have and should have been.

I was robbed, once again. It cannot be an accident at this point. Well, I refuse to be a pawn in their sick little game. Laugh now, Chick-fil-A crew. Laugh it up!! You won't have me to kick around anymore, because I QUIT!!! I'll just go back to my usual breakfast of ADD medication and Coca-Cola, and I won't even miss you. Well, maybe just a little.

Sigh. Who am I kidding? I already miss those little spelling-challenged cows from their advertisements! Wait... I think I just figured out who taught the guy making my food how to read! Stupid cows.

Fort Awesome's Guide to Elevator Etiquette

It just so happens that whenever I go to work, I have to ride in two separate elevators. One of these is in the parking garage, and then the other is in my actual office building. I hate elevators. I mean, really hate them. What I hate even more than elevators are the stupid, random things that people do in elevators and while waiting for them. Not a day goes by that I don't want to go completely berserker on some idiot who can't handle the simple task of riding in an elevator. I have decided that what the world needs is a handy dandy guide to elevator etiquette, and that it is my job to provide that guide. So here it is:

ELEVATOR ETIQUETTE:

1. When you walk up to the elevator, and the call button is already lit, you don't have to press it again! Do NOT do it! It won't make the elevator get there any faster, and all it does is piss off whoever actually pushed it the first time. Like you think I couldn't handle the mega-impossible task of pushing a freaking button, and had to step in and show me how it's done. Idiot.

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2. It might seem like I am repeating #1, but I'm actually not. This point is just really similar to #1, and just as important. Once inside the elevator, do not push any floor buttons that are already lit. Again, it will not make the elevator get the desired floor any faster, nor will it make the doors close. There is a separate button for that and again, pushing it more than once will not make the doors close at light speed.

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3. If there are 6 floor buttons, and riders in the elevator are going to 5 of those floors, you should not push the 6th button, just to be funny and to make them all light up. I am talking to YOU, old lady who has done this now THRICE in the parking garage. The next time that you do this, I will fight you. I mean, really FIGHT you!

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4. When you walk up to the elevator, and there are a number of people already waiting for the elevator, it is incredibly rude to push your way to the front of the pack. If you don't fit on, you are just going to have to wait for the next one. Or take the stairs. Especially if you are going to try and box me out of the elevator when I am parked on the roof, and your lazy ass parked on the second floor.

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5. If you are talking on your cell phone and there is only one other person on the elevator with you, it's okay to keep talking as long as you whisper and try to be as unobtrusive as possible. If there is more than one other person on the elevator, hang up immediately. Nobody wants to hear your business, especially me.

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6. If you are not on a cell phone, and you are simply talking to the person next to you, that's okay. But you should use an appropriate "inside voice," and you should refrain from any potentially offensive topic. For example, do not talk about your trip to the "lady doctor," do not talk about your dog's diarrhea, and do not talk about how last night you had to kick your boyfriend's door down because some "hoochie mama" was in there and you had to beat her ass. All of those are actual conversations that I have unfortunately overheard in elevators in the parking garage. None of them are actual conversations that should have taken place in elevators, or anywhere in public for that matter. I don't need to hear that.

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7. If you will be riding all the way to the top floor, it would be a smart idea to get in an try to move to the back of the elevator. It makes no sense to be a "door hog" and force everyone else to crowd past you at every stop. You might be a control freak once you get to your office, but you don't need to be a control freak on the way to your office.

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8. Personal space is something that should be respected as much as possible, even in the close quarters of an elevator. This means that you should force yourself against the walls as much as possible, even if it makes you uncomfortable. Trust me, I am standing as still and straight as possible, trying to make myself into a small little package that doesn't touch the people around me. Do the same, and do not jostle me any more than is absolutely necessary.

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9. If you know that you must ride on an elevator as part of your daily routine, try to keep the aftershave and perfume to an absolute minimum. Not only is your taste in scents questionable at best (Hello... Malibu Musk? Do they still make that, or do you just have a stockpile from 1993?) but there is nothing worse than having to ride in an elevator crammed against a person who smells like someone I might have made out with in high school. Some memories should stay repressed, and I will thank you for helping me keep them that way.

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10. Wait for people to get off of the elevator before you get on. It doesn't make any sense to rush in there and force everyone to have to push past you. If you do this, you are both ignorant and douche-y. And probably a virgin.

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And, I know that most people like to make lists that consist of 10 items, but here's a bonus:

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11. Pretty simple, but hugely important. DO. NOT. FART. Even if you are making some kind of horribly embarrassing face that makes it obvious how hard you are working to hold it in, I will not judge you. I will judge you, and possibly run over you with my car, if you get out before I do, leaving me in there with your stench. It burns my eyes a little, and also it will make people think I did it, when they get in and I am just standing there looking uncomfortable.

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If you follow my simple guidelines, not only will you be happier, but more people will like you. You might get that promotion that you want, and you will have great hair and look thinner. At the very least, I won't end up on the news because you pushed me over the edge on which I am already precariously balanced because of your previous elevator idiocy.

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Thank you, and happy riding. In the elevator, I mean.

Superman v. Jesus

I know someone who is taking a class that (for some reason) has something to do with film and religion. The teacher is a big movie buff, and the entire syllabus revolves around watching various movies and such. Anyway, the other day the teacher decided to explain his belief that Superman and Jesus can actually be considered parallel characters.

The teacher gave three main reasons for this comparison, which are all interesting. Unfortunately, the teacher was wrong, as follows:

1) Proposal: Superman and Jesus were both sent down to earth by their fathers to help mankind and do good where needed.

WHY TEACHER IS WRONG: According to the New Testament, Jesus was sent by his father (God) to help mankind by showing them "The Way." According to everything totally awesome, Kal-El (Superman, to those who don't know any better) was placed in a spaceship as an infant by his father (Jor-El) and rocketed off to earth mere moments before his home planet, Krypton, imploded and made a giant mess all over the place. Kal-El became Superman after the kindly farm folk who raised him taught him to be a good person and use his powers to help people.

2) Proposal: Superman and Jesus were both half human and half other-worldly.

WHY TEACHER IS WRONG: Jesus was allegedly God walking as a man. How that worked out biologically was anybody's guess. Did God just plant a holy embryo in Mary, fully formed and ready to incubate? Or did Jesus actually possess half of his mother's genetic material and half of that belonging to the Spirit in the Sky? There is no possible way to know that answer. However, I can say with 100% certainty that Superman was not half human. He was totally Kryptonian, and just happened to conveniently be able to blend in with humans and work at a newspaper.

3) Proposal: Jesus and Superman both possessed "alien" powers.

WHY TEACHER IS WRONG: Jesus' powers were the result of his divine parentage. Some of Jesus' abilities have been compared to those that yogis in India have exhibited, the power of the yogis being the result of years of meditation and such. So whether Jesus' overall awesomeness was the result of God being his daddy, or his just being a more enlightened human than me is up for debate (and one that I am not interested in getting into here). What I can say that the teacher got right is that Superman's powers are actually "alien," in that he was literally from another planet. Superman also gained strength from the earth's yellow sun, while some have theorized that Jesus is actually based on stories of Horus, the "sun god." Interesting? No, not really.

The teacher of this class was waaaaay off base in knowing his Superman, if nothing else. He had a good point though, as there are a couple of things that Jesus and Clark Kent have in common:

1) Neither Jesus nor Clark Kent were very into bragging about their awesomeness. Both tried to stay under the radar. Clark Kent was obviously trying to protect his secret identity and continue to live a normal life amongst the people of Metropolis. Jesus was just too cool to be flashy about it.

2) Both received messages from their fathers. Jesus--in the way of parting clouds and booming voices and whatnot, Superman-- in the form of recorded messages that his parents sent with him before they died in the horrible implosion of their homeworld.

3) Jesus' girlfriend/wife/BFF, Mary Magdalene, was unfairly labeled a whore by the church for no apparent reason whatsoever. Superman's girlfriend, Lois Lane, was once portrayed by Teri Hatcher, who I will now unfairly call a whore for no apparent reason whatsoever. Also, Mary Magdalene and Lois Lane both have alliterative names. Coincidence? I think not.

4) Both had physical weaknesses. Superman's weakness was Kryptonite, while Jesus' weakness was eating any non-Kosher foods, such as pork or shellfish.

5) Jesus and Superman both had secret identities. While Superman masqueraded as mild-mannered report Clark Kent, Jesus spent his days moonlighting as a carpenter.

6) Both wore distinctive footwear. Superman had the red boots, and Jesus had the Jesus sandals. Except that Jesus didn't call them Jesus sandals, he just called them "my shoes."

There are probably more similarites, but I won't list them all here. Instead, look for them in my forthcoming book, Jesus and the Rest of the Superfriends.

Peace out, biznitches.

Raccoons in the attic, and other things you can shoot at indoors

This morning, a friend of mine was late for work because someone tried to break into her home at 4 am. Her husband was in another city at the time, and she reacted to the sound of the broken window by grabbing a gun out of her nightstand, and firing a warning shot... Straight into her bedroom ceiling. Her tactic obviously worked, as the intruder ran away without actually entering her house.


I was glad to hear that she was okay, and I was a little bit disappointed that she didn't get to bust a cap into some bad guy ass, because I know that would have made her really happy. Listening to her story, I was reminded of a different story that I heard a couple of years ago from a pair of friends from law school.


My friends, whom I'll call "Bill" and "Bob" discovered that they also had an intruder in their home. However, they were not alerted by the sound of breaking glass, but by the sound of scratching in the attic. For a couple of weeks, they thought that a rat had taken up residence above their living room. They decided to go up in the attic one night, and stake out the area to see just what they were dealing with. It turned out to not be a rat, but to be a raccoon.

Bill and Bob decided to eradicate the raccoon by using stealth and intelligence. They failed.

At first, they attempted to trap the raccoon, but it wasn't interested in any of their bait. Raccoon-1, Bill and Bob-0.

Then, they decided to use their skills as hunters to kill the mighty beast. Bill dressed all in black, Rambo-style, and took a hunting knife into the attic. He sat there and waited until he saw the raccoon, and then he raised his knife to end its life... Except that he totally pussed out and couldn't do it. Bob was upset to learn that Bill had not "stabbed it in its face," but Bill responded that could not, because it wouldn't stop looking at him. Raccoon-2, Bill and Bob-0.

I could tell that things were really starting to go downhill when Bill and Bob decided to shoot the raccoon through the ceiling of their living room. Although they did succeed in pissing off their landlord, they did not kill the Super Raccoon of Terror. Raccoon-3, Bill and Bob-0.

Finally, Bill and Bob got slightly drunk and decided to take the firepower outside. They attempted to kill the raccoon by shooting through the facia of the house. The bullet ricocheted off of their roof, and one of their neighbors called the police. Bill and Bob soon gave up on their attempts to remove the raccoon. Raccoon-4, Bill and Bob-0.

Interestingly, once they decided to leave the raccoon alone, it just left of its own accord. I guess it just got tired of their shenanigans. Or it decided that it had proven its point, and it was time to move on. Either way, the final tally was Raccoon-5 (extra point for getting bored and leaving), Bill and Bob-0. The raccoon definitely proved itself a worthy opponent, while Bill and Bob proved that people who are lawyers used to be law students who do astoundingly stupid things.

All in all, the point of these stories is twofold:

1) I know at least three people who have fired guns into ceilings, and

2) Any story that involves shooting guns inside will definitely become the kind of legendary anecdote that will live on for generations.

Lame Attempt at a First Post

So here is exactly what the title says... My lame attempt at a first post.

All I can really think of today is how bitter Stephen King sounds in a recent interview wherein he slammed Stephenie Meyer for being a terrible writer. That's not really all that I can think of, it's really just the most recent thing I've heard of... Pretty lazy on my part, actually. Anyway, I can't help but agree with him that Ms. Meyer's writing could be better, but I still think she tells a good story.

Stephen King is probably just upset that a new, inexperienced writer has been dominating the top of the Bestseller lists. Or he's just angry that someone took his first name, added "ie" to the end, and made it a chick name. All I know is that Stephen King has written around 40 books (so sayeth Wikipedia), and has sold between 300 and 350 million copies worldwide. His first book, "Carrie," (published in 1973) sold 13,000 copies in hardback, but 1 million copies its first year in paperback. Stephenie Meyer, on the other hand, has written only 5 books. Her first four books (the "Twilight" series) have sold over 40 million copies already. Her first novel, "Twilight," has only been released since 2005.

While Meyer may not have sold as many books as King, it certainly doesn't seem like she's hurting. In around 35 years, Steven King has sold an average of 10 million books a year (if you use the 350 million copy figure). In 3 years, Stephenie Meyer has sold an average of 13.3 million books a year. Advantage-- Stephenie Meyer.

That concludes everything that I felt like mentioning today. I know... pretty lame and ridiculous. Also ridiculous- Stephen King's hair for the past 30 years. (In my opinion, anyway. Which is awesome.)