From the Archives: Arms Smuggling

There comes a time in a young man's life in which his instinctual need for migration comes to a head. The need for adventure is too great for me to ignore for long: I live off of movement. And bacon, but that's besides the point.

It's a fine line I walk.

When I was 15, I began a grand adventure. My high school had arranged a France trip, to occur during February vacation (for those not living in MA, a week in February is taken off of school, likely originating from that time being the most likely for flu outbreaks).

We flew directly from Logan International Airport in Boston to Paris, France, where I immediately saw a sign that said "surrenderez-vous." I'm not kidding. And this was in the time of "freedom fries, fuck yeah!" Of COURSE you'll be surrendering to some pimply 15 year old.

Now, during this trip into an ancient land, we went to a city called Mont Saint-Michel. Long story short, a bunch of monks saw a big rock a few hundred meters off the shore, and when the tide went out, walked over to it and build a monastery. This was because France is France, and while their vow of poverty didn't permit them to escape the nation of a thousand smells via ship, no one said they couldn't simply walk the fuck away.

Sadly for the monks, every other nearby French person also wanted to get the fuck away. So, slowly but surely, the giant random rock with a church on top became a giant random rock, property of France.

The monastery became a town. The town became a castle. And the castle still stands as is very cool to visit.

So, visit we did.

And naturally, the place had become tourist-ized to hell. "We're a castle. What do people want... bread? Food? Actual culture? FUCK NO, get me some swords n' shit!"

And so, we come to the next phase of a young boy's life: Weapon Fascination.

I was so easily allured by all the shininess. And so, I bought a *few* things.

"Yaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyy"

And, naturally, every single one of my classmates also on the trip got a bunch of swords. Honestly, we could've started the next Crusade just for shits-n-giggles.

After spending a great deal of money adding weight to my airline luggage, it was time to break the law by transporting undeclared weapons into post 9/11 America  go home.

Now, in the airport in Paris, there was a small desk set up where an American official asked us, oh, just a few questions. One in particular stuck out to me.

Something must have tipped them off, because on the back of my passport I had an orange sticker. Everyone else had a white sticker on theirs.

So naturally, I was concerned.

So we went through, hopped on the plane, and went back to the states. And of course, we had to go through customs.

I went through as the TSA serial rapist inspector took my passport and directly looked at the back for the sticker that would determine my fate.

And it was in that moment, when I felt my first heart attack coming to whisk me to the underworld, where I became really thankful of TSA educational requirements.

I'd apply there if the coworkers wouldn't melt my brains.

And so I walked probably the fastest I ever have through the door and onto the bus to take us back to school and to home.

All in marvelous liberty-loving contempt of federal and Massachusetts state weapons laws.

God Bless America.

Have you ever been on an international trip? Tell me about it in the comments. Be sure to like and share this on Facebook like the attention-seeking whore you are.

Poop: An Exploration of the Unknown

Ah, parenthood.

The movies make it seem so glamorous. There's clearly fake screaming, to be fair. But besides that, you're spoon-fed a wonderful, cozy image of labor and young children that makes your face shrivel up in a ball of estrogenic joy.

After all the definitely-not-idealized love fest, it comes down to business.

Namely, doo-ing business.




The very first diaper was mine to clean up after. Now, it wasn't my first rodeo, and I'm not the stereotypical herp-derp of a guy.

However... there may have been some things I wasn't fully aware of.

Such as...

Lesson 1: The first few poops are pitch black.

And who could forget timeless classics like...

The smells get worse.

And, well, countless other lessons that are less like a teaching moment and more like battlefield experience.

Don't get me wrong, I love my son. Very much. He's an adorable velociraptor. But he lives up to the name, and for first-time parents, there is an adjustment.

But it's a good, worthwhile adjustment. And I'd do it a billion times.

"You're lucky you got ONE."

Back in the Saddle

So. It's uh...

Hello. This is awkward.

Well, first things first, it's been 3 yea-HOLY SHIT 3 FUCKING YEARS? THREE??! I could've sworn it was, like, 6 weeks at max.

And this is approximately what I look like.

Anywho.

ALOT has happened these past 38 months. Let's see...

Oh, I got a job.




Alright, no, okay. I *do* have a job. But I have decided, after much prodding from family and friends, to re-start this pesky thing.

Are you happy now? Ya jerks.

The job is one of those jobs you try to fluff up to other people.

For example: "I work on the Institutional Trade Desk for Bloggy Bank Inc." sounds a WHOLE lot better than "I work as a call center rep."

Aaaand that's exactly how I tell people what I do. Don't judge; my pride has feelings, too. Well, what's left of it anyways.

So, I'll be back in the saddle here and get back to writing up things and drawing horrible, clumsy pictures for your entertainment/horror/now-I-need-therapy.

However, I have completely forgotten how the hell to use the program I was using...

This is my attempt at the Warner Bros. "That's all, folks!" above... Yeah. This is rough.

I'll go into other things and stories through new posts. Quick SparkNotes version of my life:

I got that job.
I got a new car.
I hated that new car.
I wanted to kill that new car.
I got married to LavaGirl. We had fire for dessert. She loved it.
Annnnd...

We had a child. A boy! Named Velociraptor.

Personally, I'm thinking "Screaming Poop Machine" may have been more accurate.

But that's it for now. To youtube to relearn drawing! Like a kindergartener! Yay!

See you soon!