Proof of Loserocity Vol 3

“Momma’s boy”
(Keep in mind that I’m 20 years old)

I was grounded last week.

I share a room with my little brother.

I have hand-me-down underwear.

I make my bed every morning.

I like vegetables.

(Also see volumes 1 and 2)
If you have more reasons why I’m a loser, feel free to let me know.

When Donita says…

I understand my girlfriend a little better than she might think…

When Donita says: “You smell good.”
She really means: “I like the smell of the cologne that I got you.”

When Donita says: “I’m sorry.”
She really means: “It’s your fault.”

When Donita says: “I’m not cold.”
She really means: “Give me your jacket.”

When Donita says: “I’m fat.”
She really means: “It won’t kill you to tell me I’m beautiful once in a while.”

When Donita says: “I’m craving something sweet.”
She really means: “Buy me some chocolate and nobody gets hurt.”

When Donita says: “Well, I don’t want to bother you anymore.”
She really means: “Leave me alone already.”

When Donita says: “I love you.”
She really means: “I love you.”

Post-Christmas Recovery

In case anyone was wondering, I had a happy Christmas and a merry new year. My post-Christmas recovery time has mostly consisted of picking the lint off of my new clothes, consuming an entire jar of Tootsie Rolls that I don’t know what else to do with, and pulling the booger glue off of the back of my gift cards. And also working off all those heaps of Christmas cookies. If you’re wondering how I’m working them off, I would say mostly by watching movies and staring at a computer screen. I’ve also spent some time reading the best blonde joke ever.

Jury duty

I woke up this morning, shoved down some leftover pizza from the night before, and ran to the courthouse cuz I didn’t want to be late and get my mouth stuffed with fines. I stumbled around the courthouse trying to figure out where I’m supposed to go until I finally found the Bailiff and signed in. I walked into the courtroom and started looking unsuccessfully for a place to sit. I felt like Chicken Little trying to find a seat on the bus. I stood and watched people staring at me until finally somebody scooched over and I sat down. I then proceeded to wait…and wait…and wait, while the whole time I was unconsciously singing “Jury Duty” by the O.C. Supertones in my head. With all that spare time to do nothing, my mind was racing as usual. I couldn’t remember the judge’s name, even though it was written on the summons. So I looked over at the judge’s bench and I saw a typical looking office nameplate which read “SILENCE.” Interesting name, I thought. Then Judge Silence came in and we did the whole “all rise” thing and the oaths and they started calling up jurors to sit in the jury box until all the seats were filled and I was left in the back. It gave me flashbacks of when I used to play basketball with friends and I never got picked.

Tweaked Quotes

After some extensive research on famous quotes, I applied my own superior wisdom and experience to improve them.

“A penny saved…gets spent sooner or later.” -Original by Benjamin Franklin

“Home is where the clean, dry socks are.” -Original by Pliny

“I think; therefore I don’t play video games.” -Original by Rene Descartes

“Football is eighty percent mental and forty percent potato chips.” -Original from “Little Giants”

“Early to bed and early to rise makes a man grow old, hairy, and oversize.” -Original by Benjamin Franklin

“Procrastination is more important than knowledge…” -Original by Albert Einstein

Attack of the TP

For some reason I find a lot of toilet paper commercials very ironic. But I don’t mean the ones with the fluffy bears that sit behind the tree. I only find it ironic when they start fighting over who has the longest roll of toilet paper. Who really cares how long the roll is if the paper is so thin that it melts in your hand at the slightest hint of moisture. I shudder at the thought of it. When the moment of truth comes, depend on the fluffiest, thickest stuff you can find. Don’t fall prey to the cruel tricks of their evil marketing schemes.


Man, I have never been this tense in my life. I’m here at the hospital waiting room, waiting to hear something back about my girlfriend. No, she’s not having a baby. She’s having her knee operated on. I was all nervous and shaking and everything and when they were about to take her to the operating room I almost blacked out. They had to take my blood pressure to make sure I was still alive. I’m shaking like crazy, even as I’m typing this. The doctors and nurses were very comforting as they told us about how they were going to shove a needle in her hand and stick a tube down her throat. And that’s all before the surgery. Then they slice open her knee, stretch open her skin, play around with her tendons, and screw in a few screws. Then they pull out the staple gun and blast a few staples into her. Finally she wakes up, hopefully in stable condition, and we all live happily ever after.

That’s bacon?

I had bacon for breakfast this morning, but there was some question in my mind about what kind of “bacon” it was. There was several possibilities of what it could have been, one being an artificial composite bacon, which we have had in the past. Although it somewhat resembles the flavor of bacon, I think it would be a little more accurately compared to cardboard. Another likely candidate was turkey bacon, which we have also had before. The spices that they use do a pretty good job of disguising the fact that it’s turkey, but it still lacks the greasy, fattening nature of bacon, which is what makes bacon so great. But judging by the texture and hardness of the material that I was consuming, I figured it was most likely dog food. You know, those yummy “Beggin’ Strips” that you see on tv. So I kept that lovely thought in my mind while I crunched it down. But I later found out that it was actually real bacon which my dad had burnt to a crisp.

A box of relief

Doing my business in the local human waste facility today, I was racking my brain trying to think of something to blog about when I unconsciously found myself staring at this little orange box. Written all over the box was the phrase, “12 hour relief.” The first question that went through my mind was, “How do they put relief in a box?” Immediately following this question was, “If indeed they can put relief in a box, how do they fit it in a box that small?” After contemplating this concept for a while, I thought about all the stress of life, all the aching hearts in the world, and all the pain and humiliation of admitting that I’m not as bright as some people. And not to mention hurricane relief. Wouldn’t it be cool if all this could be relieved by what was inside this small, orange box, if only for 12 hours? I went in for a closer look to find out how it worked, but was disappointed when I saw the picture of a dude rubbing his back where there was a small heat pack relieving his back pain.

Tagless turmoil

In an age where kids wear shirts inside-out on purpose; in an age where people expose their shirt tags because it’s cool; in an age where a plain white t-shirt comes with more instructions than a Canon 1Ds Mark II digital camera; I can’t help but wonder why they make tagless t-shirts. Sure, I don’t miss the itching and scratching. But after fumbling around in the dark trying to figure out which is the front and which is the back, I can’t say that I don’t miss them just a little bit.