Have you ever noticed how the more expensive food is the more it starts to taste like crap? Fancy restaurants usually offer a total of three menu items of tiny proportions and are uncooked. I think people like to trick themselves into liking things based on how fancy it is. "Uh, I think I'll have the BLACK burnt coffee, with dark chocolate, and a side of fish eggs." Yeah, that sounds great. "Oh, and please throw in a couple of slimy uncooked oysters too."
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Ah, the wondrous vibration of a cell phone in my pocket! What's that? Oh, it's a text message. I'll answer it later IF I want to. You see, communication today has many advantages over the years of past. Text messages, for example, are like conversations that you don't have to commit to! It's wonderful. I got a text earlier today from a person that I simply didn't care to talk with, so I ignored it. Next time I see this person I will act as though nothing ever happened.
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Growing up in a home with a father who is a preacher amounts to a very interesting way of doing things. Given that we were a home full of humans (not angels), we still experienced many of the same emotions of those in homes around us. We just expressed them in completely different ways. My father would occasionally reach his boiling point of anger due to the lawnmowers dis-function and we would hear a series of loud yells filled mostly with the German words "Dad-Gummit!" I never really knew what they meant, but I always pictured a really mischievous father who would go around causing things to work improperly. For example, if my father dropped his wrench into a tight space under the sink, I pictured Dad Gummit coming along and knocking it out of my father's hand. This would then cause my dad to yell out his name in frustration. It all made perfect sense to me as a child.
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You don't think of Monopoly (the board game) being a self esteem booster or a game that ruins your image of self worth, but an alarming study done by Yale University leads us to believe that the outcome of a monopoly game has significant effects on our self image and possibly even cancer.
Recently while playing Monopoly with a couple of college buddies I was able to further solidify the study done by Yale. Men HAVE to win or else we slump into a deep depression which can only be reversed by causing another player to go bankrupt. This is all very true stuff. I have to admit that my attitude while playing was somewhat shameful now that I look back and see it in clear light. I legitimately started having hateful thoughts of my best friends when I landed on one of their properties stamped with a hotel. This is especially true when landing on 'Boardwalk' or 'Park Place' which are considered to be one of the highest esteem boosters in the monopoly business. This is of course true because any time someone lands on them while they are inhabited with large red hotels the checkbooks are emptied and the wallets cleared out. This creates an interesting phenomenon among the players. I will try and break it down in an understandable way.
Owner of Boardwalk: Self Esteem is boosted as demonstrated in Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs
Debtor to Boardwalk: Feels depressed/develops restless feet syndrome (a condition that can only be solved by the most powerful medicines)
Bystanders: If you are a bystander you genuinely feel badly for the person landing on Boardwalk
I'm going to go out on a limb and be completely honest with all of you. I lost that game of monopoly. I was the guy landing on hotels struggling through my small remaining bills and mortgaging all of my properties simply to pay for a forced night on the Boardwalk. I know what your thinking, "How can such an intellectual, rugged, and dare I say handsome guy lose in a game of monopoly?" I understand your disbelief completely. Much to my dismay, being handsome has literally no effect in the outcome of monopoly.
And what's more surprising than that is that no two people play monopoly the same. It appears that the rulebook is too large or to difficult to comprehend that Americans have simply made up their own rules to the game. This is proven by the fact that every family in America have their very own set of rules that go into effect immediately upon entering their home. Last night after sneaking past my friend when I landed on his property I was asked to either leave the game or pay him the money. Embarrassment, guilt, and beguile all flooded my emotions at different angles. This caused me to squeak out a little toot. Although the rulebook states that 'sneaking' is legal, his house rules came into effect rendering me bankrupt.
It is a proven fact that losing this game actually makes you feel bad and begin to question why your even continuing on with any further goals you've set. These things are all very true! I'm not making it up. I seriously think monopoly can make or break a person. This gives justifiable understanding to people like Martha Stuart who simply "cheated" in a game of "monopoly". Of course, she tried to use a get out of jail free card until she realized that she wasn't playing the board game anymore. Or people like Osama Bin Laden, who simply took the game of "risk" a little too far.
In closing, be sure to know the house rules before playing, and keep in mind that you may lose all dignity rendering you a pointless vegetable, much like Michael Moore.
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The real man defends his country, the modern man plays war video games.
The real man stands for what he believes in, the modern man doesn't want to offend anyone.
The real man obeys his Creator, the modern man obeys his desires.
The real man works hard for what he has, the modern man wants a handout.
The real man loves a woman and only one woman and no other woman is involved, the modern man desires several woman or several men.
The real man looks for the best interest of others, the modern man only cares for himself.
The real man believes in the word of God and will not give in or back down or hide away in some dark corner! The modern man hides in that corner and has no beliefs.
Listed above are truths that distinguish a real man from the man that this world is trying to push on us. I am sick and tired of the new man. I'm tired of the man who leaves his family behind for another woman. I'm tired of the weasel that has no beliefs or values or standards that he would die for. I'm tired of the new man who takes MY hard earned money and sits on his couch playing video games. I'm tired of the new man who chooses to believe we decended from monkeys instead of a creator who perfectly designed us. I'm tired of the effeminate man who thinks of himself as a woman and who acts as a woman and reverses his role and has union with another man. I'm tired of the man who believes that everyone has their own opinion and none are more right than others.
Let me say something, there is one Lord and there is only one right way to live. God decided what a man would be. God decided his role on this earth. We are the main breadwinners, we are the leaders of the family, we are the defenders and protectors, we are the bold who would never sacrifice our beliefs simply to keep from offending some insignificant twirp who has a messed up thought process. I am tired of hearing people tell me that there can be 'different' kinds of families and all are just as well as the others. No sir, there is one family, one man, one woman, one SINGLE marriage, and the two involved will love each other unconditionally and work hard to push through the problems that every other whimp would simply give up on.
I am not afraid to be the man that God says I am to be. I will not back down because some stupid law says I can't speak out against homosexuality. I will not believe that everyones view and opinion is equal. Our creator designed us and created laws for us and there is only one way to live. The family in our country is falling apart simply because the men and women involved couldn't care about anyone but themselves. When we try and do things our own way, we will fall. Fathers who leave their families for other woman deserve to be punished and they will recieve punishment.
I hope this wasn't offensive. Nah actually I don't care if it was offensive.
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Recently after being volunteered by my boss to substitute teach, I had the opportunity to teach a college class of all girls, who were also older than I. Yes, the previous statement is full of bells and whistles, and you probably can't think of anything that could have POSSIBLY gone wrong, but that's because you don't know me well enough. If you knew me well enough you probably wouldn't be reading this article simply for fear of what you might hear. "Oh goodness, a young attractive male, teaching a room full of unsupervised school girls, and he's so young and attractive." You're probably saying to yourself. Thank you for the flatterys but it doesn't make up for the way I was treated in there.
I began my day with the ultimate question, "What should I wear??" Of course, if you know anything about teaching, the answer should be obvious. A suit! "A suit demands respect and attention, even from a wild pack of young females." I thought to myself. This couldn't have been further from the truth.
Class began at 9 AM and at exactly 9:03 I was standing up at the front with a messed up tie and a ruler in one hand directing two of the students to the dean. "Now the first thing we need to do is a short quiz." I said to the class. Immediately afterwards several wods of paper hit me in the side of the head. If you believe that previous statement you are far too gullible. I was ACTUALLY hit in the head with a bunch of high heeled shoes, in which each girl came and picked up promptly after throwing.
"Can we just like not do anything this hour and just like study for the next hour?" Said a large ethnic female with an attitude of "sass" the size of Arizona. "Umm like no." I said as I responded with a finger snap and a headbob to the side.
After I began teaching again I noticed a man in the back of the room with an offensively crooked hair piece. "Is that Donald Trump?" I thought to myself. In fact it was the dean of students informing me that I had no right to send anyone to see him, given that I was just a substitute. Embarassment flooded my face as I turned the color of a babboons backside.
The time was now 9:10 and I decided to give in and let the girls study for their next hour. I was cheered on with an applause as I left the room because I was now the 'cool' teacher who allowed them to do what they wanted. I guess some things really do work out in the end. My day ended with a post-it note I left on their teachers desk that read, and I'm not making this up, "The girls were great! We got through most of the work you assigned and it went well."
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Just when you start to regain a little confidence, someone has to come along and symbolically pull your shorts down in front of a girl, exposing your small, insignificant...softball skills. This is what happened to me last weekend when I was invited by a few guys from college to play a 'friendly' game of softball.
This was the first time I'd played since grade school, but I had full confidence that I would go out there and show everybody how athletic I was.
The beginning of my troubles began immediately after arriving at the stadium (unkempt elementary baseball field.) "Hey Daniel! Why don't you go ahead and grab all the gear out of the back of the truck!? Thanks." Everyone else had gone on ahead of me while I was left to 'Water Boy' duties. Ten minutes after being asked to grab the stuff, I arrived with a smorgasbord of metal and wooden bats, a few balls, a cooler, and a small remaining slice of dignity.
Shortly afterward we began to 'warm up' (throw the ball back and forth within a twenty foot distance.) We did this until we thought an adequate amount of warming up had occurred, and then we proceeded to partake in an activity so crucial to a man's position in social class, that if you fail, you will likely become the center of humiliation and atomic wedgies. Of course, I'm talking about picking teams. This is an activity where everyone picks two of the coolest people out of a group to be 'The Captains'. The Captains are so cool that they get to pick everyone who they want on their team. Everyone just loves The Captains. They are loved so much that everyone else lines up along the fence with only the smallest hopes of being picked by one of them. The coolest people are always picked first. Generally they have a cool nickname like 'The Crusher', or 'Thunderthighs'. "I got T-Bag on MY team," one of the captains will say. "I wish I had a nickname," I thought to myself. "Something like, 'Tyrannosaurus D', or something like that." In the meantime, everyone else was being picked. Finally, we reached what is likely the most pivotal point in a man's life. The final two. Here I stood next to a tall fat guy eating a corn dog. "There is no way they are gonna pick THAT guy" I thought to myself. Just then he was picked and I was standing against the fence with the former image of a man impressed into my jockies. "Ah, well I guess we'll take you then." The guys on my team said. This is a modern form of what ancients used to decide who would be sacrificed to the volcano god. "Las Wun Standing wil be Sakrifised." They used to say.
If being picked last wasn't bad enough, my fiance was sitting on the bench watching it all. "Oh Sweetie!" She yelled, "I would have picked you first if I was choosing!" All the guys started laughing and pointing their fingers at me. "Psssshh, you actually think I care about being picked?!" I said, as tears began to well up, blurring my vision.
Soon after, I was called into the outfield by the rest of my teammates. "Hey D-Bag (pipe)! Get over in the right corner quadrant past the left basemen!" Of course, I didn't know where that was, so I had to ask. From here on out, I was the laughing stock of the game.
After the other team had scored a few runs, it was our turn to bat. Finally, it was my turn and everyone in the outfield came into the sandy area because they werent expecting the ball to fly very far. Before I knew what was happening, I was standing on the home plate with the bat swinging behind my head like I knew what I was doing. As the ball approached, I swung with full intensity at the air. I completely whiffled. Everyone started laughing, including my 'former' fiance. Jk, she's still my fiance.
The rest of the game went pretty much just like that. I created entertainment for what is generally a plain ol boring stupid dumb game played by losers. I learned something that day. I'll never play a public sport again, until I die.
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