Slime Mold

When human beings look at nature (or at anything for that matter) they see what they want to see. Evolutionists see chance, Creationists see order, and PETA sees masses of the oppressed. I being who I am look at nature and see myself peering right back at me. In my mind there is no organism that relates to me, and, by extrapolation, to the human condition, than slime molds. Now hang with me for a sec. 

A slime mold is a slimy type of mold. But not only is it slimy and moldy, it appears to be sentient. Slimemolds, unlike every other mold, is capable of motion. "A mold capable of motion," you say? "How astonishing. This is a mold that has unlimited freedom, a mold that can go anywhere, do anything, a mold, which when compared to its immobile bretheren is truly gifted." 

Now what do you think this mold does with its freedom- Does it go to parties- Does it have adventures- try to see the world- try to better itself- try to be the best it can be? No, not even close. A slime molds spends entire life, spends its great gift of freedom finding the path of least resistance to the nearest food source. 

Think about it.

Famous People Suicides.

Blogs should always be christened with an "I Hate" post, named so because it is a post about something the author absolutely can not stand. Now the title may have mislead you into thinking that I hate famous people commiting suicide. Actually I have no real feelings about that either way. What I really hate is depressive one-uppers. 

You know the people I'm talking about. These are the people who devote all of their time to telling you abot how much worse theirs lives are than yours. If you got a C- on your quiz, they failed theirs, If your girlfriend broke up with you theirs got hit by a truck, If you haven't gotten any action for the past few months, someone cut off their junk and threw it out the window of a moving car. You come to them looking for sympathy and leave wanting to punch them in their babymakers.

Fortunately I have figured out a way to deal with these one uppers, a way to send them away with their emotional hardcore tails hanging between their emotional hardcore legs. Every time a depressive one-upper one ups me with a depressing tale I will calmly respond with a macabre tale of a famous person's suicide. Here are a few examples:

Me: That test was freakin hard. I got a C-, Whats up with that

Depressive one-upper: Yeah, I hate that class, I actually have a G.

Me: Kurt Cobain was unable to deal with the rising pressures of fame and shot himself at the pinnacle of his career.

D1Up:*Sheds a single tear*

Me: Yesterday I was walking down the street and a dog bit me.

D1Up: Yesterday I had testicular cancer.

Me: Nick Drake overdosed on anti-depressants just weeks after recording the most sparse and chilling folk album ever.

D1Up: Maybe my life isn't so bad after all

` Me: My nose is running really badly.

D1Up: I'm scheduled to be executed for a crime I didn't commit.

Me: Ernest Hemingway, author of the only book ever to make my cry, was in one of the only world wars, but the only person he ever shot was himself.

D1Up:....

Me: I only got like 6 hours of sleep last night

D1Up: The memory of the slaughter of my family is so haunting that I haven't slept at all for the last year.

Me: Ian Curtis hung himself from the coat rack in his closet, which was so close to the ground that to actually allow himself to die he had to bend his knees, and even then the tips of his toes touched the floor.

D1Up: You're such an arsehole, I don't know why I even talk to you.