My Thoughts on Avatar through Robot Dialogue

Please be kind. This is my directorial debut.

Cap'n

I know what you're thinking because I'm thinking the same thing.

"Is Higgy alive?"

"How has Higgy kept his Blogspot account?"

"Do I have to hear another excuse about the domestication of his life?"

"What does Higgy plan to use as a metaphor in reference to the neglect of his blog?"

Well yes I'm clinging to life, Blogspot will keep any piece of shit blog up, my Farmville plot is doing great thank you and I'm torn between the bastardization of Saturday Night Live and the guy below who looks like he survived an abortion.

Anyway, I bet you are feeling that we've grown apart. Well you're right. I don't care about you or your entertainment. Here are a list of things I've been doing instead of entertaining you:

• Spent the holidays with future in-laws trapped in the 1950's. This included activities such as watching tv coming through an antenna, botching Christmas Carols with my voice while Mrs. T rocked the piano, and lay in the bed in which Mrs. T's mom was conceived for 4 nights. If that isn't an FML, I don't know what is.
  
  
• Cursed out a 10 year old kid on Modern Warfare 2 calling him "illiterate" and telling him he should "read a fucking book" instead of playing the damn game. He deserved it, he was trying to punk my boy Incognito. Oh Hell to the No.
  


• Actually spent way too many moments in my life checking to see if the cotton I had been growing in Farmville was ripe enough to pick. Yeah I picked cotton. I wanted to get a sense of what my fore-fathers did before me. Next step, build a cabin.
  
  

So since enough of you have complained that I have provided you with material, I've decided to make a better effort to write the back log of stories I have in queue. At the request of my mother, I'm going to write about the early run-ins with my first arch-nemesis in my life which changed me from a shy, fun-loving child to a cynical bastard who uses racism as an ice-breaker.

As a background to this story, I need to give you a brief bio on my mother. She is all but 5'4", all but 100 lbs and all but addicted to humor. To get her fix, she used me and my sister as fodder for her humor. Ok, mainly she used me because I'm an easy target. Her motto in life is "find a weakness in someone and exploit it." Well she definitely found my weakness. Its name was Captain.

Captain had the scowl of an old seaman and the beady eyes of someone straight out of Da Nang. He had no arms, a stump for a leg, and commanded the vessel rivaling the likes of G.I. Joe and Leonardo. He had the drawn on moustache of a porn star circa 1972 and the pangs of desire for a child's touch. He haunted my dreams as a 5-6 year old and reigned terror over my bedroom and all throughout in the house.

Captain was in fact a Fisher Price "little person" much like the images shown below except he adorned a white sailor's cap.

"I want your weenis Higgy."

My mom, knowing that I had an irrational fear of "Captain," made it her goal to have him make timely appearances around the house. Captain appeared in my cereal, in my pants pocket, under my pillow, in random drawers, in a bush like the Vietcong, etc. I could go on and on with this shit but I'm afraid I would just give her the inclination to hunt down this fucker and find more places as to where to hide this scurvy perv. Everytime Captain made an appearance, I would shriek in fear and in the sissiest of manners, smack Captain away and cry like a little bitch. As I ran around the house crying "Wee, Wee, Wee", my mother would be laughing so hard she was crying and developing a bladder control issue all at the same time. She couldn't get enough of it. Even my Dad started to think she was being a bitch to me. She didn't care. So much like a crack addict, she had to continue to get her fix when the withdrawal twitches started to ensue.

Did I fear Captain may make an appearance in my onesie pajamas? Yes. Was I smart enough to throw the fucker away? No. Was I ever so trusting in my mother that Captain would never strike again? Yes. Does this make her an asshole? Yes. Do I still hold a grudge. Hell yeah I do. Fuck, I can only imagine how far ahead in life I could be if I didn't find a reason to make fun of every random douche, knob and cock gobbler I encounter. I am burdened with this disease of getting my humor at the expense of others and I have no one but my mother to blame. Like me she just had to satisfy her craving by using me as her bait. She had to keep her little sissy son in check while feeding her addiction. And I plan to do so with my future offspring. They is so screwed.

So Mom, I would like to personally thank you for placing the fear of God in me with regards to pedophiles and little people. Your ability to warp my fragile mind has made me a bigger asshole today. I love you for it.

Group Therapy and the Scandinavian

Since Mrs. T is watching Grey's Anatomy on the DVR (why the hell she eats this shit up, I have no damn clue) and I am backed up from Applebee's (Zambrano-ing may ensue), so I'm writing this as a race against time before I shart myself. Speaking of which, here is some random shit in my head.


Now that I own a house the only time I go out is when with other couples since single people can't stand to hang out with my kind anymore. And honestly I can't blame them, because we are an uninteresting folk.

However going out with other couples has shown me that I'm not alone in my lameness. It pretty much ends up being "Couple's Therapy" where I can find solace in mediocrity and comfort in knowing my life is just as uninteresting as the rest. There I can see these guys become shadows of their former selves as their minds become numb to the same vaginally-altered logic I endure. Don't get me started on my 3 year long argument about the proper pronunciation of the word "ruined."

Anyways we had one of these therapy sessions at Applebee's tonight and here is the result of said therapy:


A mother turtle and a baby turtle are about to cross a road. The mother turtle told her son that she would cross the road first, then wag her tail when she deemed it ok for her son to cross. So the mother turtle starts to cross the street and gets halfway across before she gets trucked by a Semi. Her son is distraught and after a short time decides to walk along the side of the road.

At the same time, a mother skunk and her son are about to cross the same road. The mother skunk told her son the same thing as the mother turtle told her son and she began to cross the road. The mother skunk got halfway when the same Semi blasted through her in the same fashion as the mother turtle. The son skunk mourns his mothers untimely death and walks along the side of the road as well.

The two newly ordained orphans meet along the same road, each of which is crying. The skunk asks the turtle, "Why are you crying?" The turtle replies, "My mother just died and I don't even know who I am." The skunk says, "Well you're timid, green and have a hard shell, so you must be a turtle. " The turtle replies, "Wow...I must be a turtle." The skunk then says, "I'm sad as well because the same thing happened to my mother and I'm young and I don't even know who I am." The turtle then says, "Well you're black and you're white and you stink like shit, so you must be Puerto Rican."



Yeah this was the highlight of my evening...I really need a mancation.



On that homoerotic note, which of the following things should I feel most gay about?

1) I can't get the new Miley Cyrus song out of my head. "Party in the USA" really strikes a chord with me.
2) This past week I had a shitty day at work and in order to cheer myself up, I bought Guitar Hero: World Tour so that I could play "Beat It" by Michael Jackson. Greatest. Song. Ever.
3) I allowed myself to wear tight spandex and strap into a harness with a large Scandinavian named Henrik as shown in this video here:
http://www.lifepursuitvideo.com/asppublic/Video22153.aspx?CLIENT=22153&VF=cathywarner_091909-1757.flv
I'm the one who looks like a 4th of July themed contraceptive.


Aight I'm done. Now I'm off to throw out the first pitch into the toilet.

Oh Suburbia, How You Drain Me

You may be thinking to yourself, "Is Higgy filled with empty promises?" The answer is yes. I've promised new material time and time again but funny shit just isn't popping in my head anymore. You may follow up with, "Why are you even writing this now?" Well actually my dog licked my foot to awaken me from my suburbian slumber to let me know she needed to park a Welfare Baby amongst its cousin out in my yard. You'll probably come back with, "That was a shitty euphemism" and I'll say "Exactly."

Pretty much I'm milk toast. Lame. Consistent with feminine hygiene products. But I know you are yearning for proof that my penis is slowly being eclipsed by my overnourished gut. So I'll open the door to my day today all of the way until the moment prior to my dog beckoning me to open the door as if I'm the Jeffrey to her Fresh Prince. Damn the dog has me trained well.

Typical Day in the Newfound Suburban Higgy:

-I showed up to work at 9 to find people still had not replied to my emails asking them to copy and paste the shit they were already working on.

- I left at 1:30 to perform my most recent effort in Heebery. I went to the local Gamestop to trade in another neglected video game that I spent the entirety of my Labor Day Weekend completing so I could earn $9.57 towards the purchase of a future $59.99 video game which will end up getting traded in a similar Heebish fashion. Oh that's right, Jews actually realize that math is pretty fucked up.

- I made a pitstop at the MovieStop to pick up Season 5 of The Office in Blu Ray. This was procured based on the aforementioned Moench method.

- I worked at home for about 3 hours still awaiting replies from people who bitch about the work we do but don't feel the need to confirm we've addressed their issues.

- I went to a free class on greening up my lawn at the fucking library. Please don't make me repeat myself. Before this, I had not stepped into a library since college and I sure as hell have never attended an optional class in one. I was the youngest student in this class by at least 20 years.

- I came home after having McDonald's for dinner and wearing a polo that has become too tight due to the fact that maybe I just ate fucking McDonald's and decided, "Shit, I may want to do some Wii-Fitness." So I beat the computer in a Jackknife competition against the computer by completing 10 Jackknife situps half-assed. Being that this extraordinary act didn't fully strain the sinew underneath the lard, I kicked it up a notch and completed 20 more which earned me a new Yoga pose. Ego boosted.

- After my 30 powerhouse situps, Mrs. T and I watched the best show on television hands down. For those in the know, it is referred to as ABDC or America's Best Dance Crew. Host Mario Lopez from "Saved by the Bell" fame kept it "fresh" as dance crews proved their prowess in competition. Mrs. T and I quickly identified the tranny participating amongst the crews. Go us.

- Once the tranny group was eliminated, Mrs. T fell asleep and I watched an episode from Season 2 of Dexter. Wow my life is riveting.

- As I was about to pass out I thought to myself that in 10 days I'm jumping out of a damn plane. Thinking about that brought up a few issues in my mind:

1) Will one pair of Depends brand adult diapers be enough?
2) Is my life adequately insured so that in the case I go KERRRRSPLAAAT on the ground, Mrs. T might benefit from my demise and have a chance in hell of paying off this house?
3) Who will tend to my lawn after learning the great techniques from Cindy, the master gardener intern, if I do end up being liquified?
4) If for some reason we have a close call but we do land safely on the ground, will I hold it over Mrs. T's head forever and be able to demand makeup sex whenever I damn well feel like it?

It was at this moment the dog licked my foot and I realized the following:

Who the fuck am I kidding? On demand sex is never going to happen. The only thing jumping out of this damn plane proves is that I'm more her bitch than I ever thought.

And friends, this is why you should never own a dog.

Holy Balls It has Been Awhile

I doubt any of you still read this damn thing but here is a recap of my life since my last post:

1) Bought a house
2) Continued to "Custer" around Injuns at work. Surprisingly, this has yet to illicit violence towards me.
3) Moved into said house with Mrs. Turtle. Realized that my way of being handy around the house in no way, shape or form satisfies her requests.
4) Attended a few weddings. More to blog on this topic.
5) Gained about 20 lbs.

Yep...20 lbs. I've let myself go. Not only did I gain 20 lbs, the people around me let me know I had gained weight. Here are a few signs that you've plumped up.


1) Your Uncle rubs your belly and ask if it is kicking

2) Your lovely fiance tells you that gastric bypass is in your future and stomach flaps come standard with the package

3) Your father who is 34 years older than you tells you that he's never been this fat in his 60 years of life

4) One of your co-workers who you haven't seen in 6 months tells you, "The engagement seems to be treating you well. You've gained weight haven't you?" This was probably the most polite way I've heard someone bluntly say to another person, "You ate your former self."

5) You walk around your new hood, being all domesticated and shit, and get out of breath after walking for 10 mins.

6) Your silhouette looks like an upside down question mark. Que?

7) The coup de gras. You are eating a Butterfinger and a piece falls out of your hand. You are overcome with much worry that Heaven for fucking bid, that piece of toffee goodness does not enter your pie hole. After much searching on the ground for said piece of candy, you look down and realize your gut jutted out just enough to catch it.


I'll save you the trouble and effort of planning an intervention for me.