Thursday, June 28, 2012

The Official Guide to Sam and Josiah's Humor, 1st Edition

     When Sam and I are together, I've noticed that most people in the general area don't exactly understand why we think we're funny. And don't get me wrong. We're hilarious. You just don't get it. So, I've decided to spend this week creating a list of things you should know about Sam and I, which have sub-lists within that list, so you can actually stand being around us. I'm letting you guys in on some of the best inside jokes ever, because really, that's all we have. And I'm tired of being stared at in public. So, here it is.

1. Wrunching.

     The obvious way to start this off is to define “Wrunching”.

     Wrunching: The act of creating words for oddly specific things. For example: Wrunching.

     Pickirking: Arguing over a very nerdy topic, such as Light Side vs. Dark Side, Windows vs. Linux, or for what the word is named after, Captain Picard vs. Captain Kirk.

     Squeeg: Half slapping, half pushing. Kind of like an awkward face-shove. It's weird to do, and be done to.

     Scumblessant: When something is cute, yet very creepy. Like this, for instance:


     You know what? There's no cute there. That's just all creepy.

     There have been many more, but our rule is, if we can't remember it, it really doesn't deserve to be remembered. (Important Birthdays and Anniversaries are excluded from this rule)

2. We love us some Misdirection.

     I think this one speaks for itself, and is what we use the most to mess with people. We just love to have people think that they know what we're going to say, and then say something completely different. That might not sound too weird, but the thing is, the two of us can usually guess what the other is going to use for his misdirection. That's because...

3. We have the weirdest inside jokes ever.

     Once in a while, you might catch Sam and I recite a list of random quotes that come from nowhere. They are in a very specific order, and with voices and everything. These are things that we've said over the years that were “List Worthy”, and therefore, were added to the list. I won't put the list here, mainly because it would be weird to have it in written form, cause that kind of defeats the entire purpose. The whole idea is to do it from memory, and, once again, if we can't remember one, then it doesn't deserve to be remembered.

     What I CAN let you in on, is the literal cast of very specific characters we've thought of over the years, and some general descriptions of them. Again, we have the weirdest inside jokes ever.

     Cheats McGee- Cheats is our homage to the creepy father. And creeps in general. He wears two pair of sunglasses because the first pair isn't dark enough, he has his hair in spikey braids, he always wears a leather vest, and he doesn't believe in plurals. The latter makes Cheats' name something of a paradox.

     The Stounch- The Stounch is Cheats' wife, and is that woman who wears denim dresses with white sneakers, and waits at the side of trash cans in fast food restaurants and creepily asks for people's leftovers.

     Hayley McGee- Typical teenage girl, but whose vowels are always switched with “uh”. So, instead of “Hayley McGee”, it's “Huhluh McGuh”.

     Randy McGee- Our personal favorite, because Randy is the embodiment of every nerdy eight-year-old, and therefore, is the embodiment of us. He's the kid who wears winter gloves at all times because he thinks they look cool, gym shorts, sandals with socks, floppy hats, a consistent Kool-Aid stain over his lips, and his favorite Star Wars character is Jar Jar Binks.

     Chief Awesome- A man who asks no questions. He demands, and he decrees. In actuality, he's just Ned from accounting, but he bought an Indian Headdress over the internet. He makes everyone call him Chief Awesome now. He's literally a guy in an work clothes, with an Indian Headdress on.

     Donny the Impulse Buyer- If you're selling it, he's probably thinking about buying it. His family and friends are actually withholding telling him what eBay is.

     Gary the Subtly Racist Salesman- “I see you have an African American family living next door. That's nice. By the way, I'm Gary and I sell security systems.”

     Hash- Hash is the pothead best friend that everyone should have. He's a white guy with dreadlocks, cargo shorts, a grossly comfortable hoodie, and he always seems to be sipping the last bit of a Mountain Dew Baja Blast, therefore making that annoying slurping noise constantly. If you're having a bad day, he will offer to “Hash it out” and go in for a man hug. The conclusion to this embrace is usually him asking for weed money.

4. We do not understand most of your references, and you will not understand ANY of ours.

     Sam and I grew up in a house that had minimal cinematic entertainment. That is, we had about eight movies, and a lot of them were taped over near the end by “Loony Toons” episodes, and that one special about honey bees. So, we watched these movies over and over, to the point of being able to recite them from memory.

     We've since forgotten how to do this, but what's interesting are the things we chose to remember. For example, Sam will randomly point to me at any time and say something like, “Sliced Pineapple”, and I will say in a heartbeat, “The Black Stallion”. Because for about three seconds in the film, there was a ham on the dinner table with sliced pineapple on it. I don't even remember the name of the kid in that movie. But I remember sliced pineapple. It's the same for Sam. I'll say “Pea Soup”, and he'll say “Rescuers Down Under” instantly. Because there was Pea Soup for like, five seconds in the movie! I haven't even seen the first one! That's how random our movie selection was!

     So, because we had such a limited selection, we probably haven't seen your definition of “Classic Movies”. I still haven't seen most of the Disney classics, for example, Pocahontas, The Little Mermaid, Lady and the Tramp, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, and many many more. And I don't plan to.

     But when we grew up slightly, we started watching nothing but The Simpsons, to the point of knowing which episode it was by what Bart wrote on the chalkboard in the intro music. Usually. We also watched a lot of, by which I mean all of, Homestar Runner, and the two of them kinda morphed into this weird hybrid humor, where we could have entire conversations using nothing but quotes from those two things. I mean, it's not like they didn't give us enough to work with.

     There is of course, much more to Sam and I's humor, and there will most likely be additions to this guide, as our humor grows more and more the longer we spend time together. Who knows, Sam has been talking about writing a guest post. This seems to be the perfect topic for it. I'll let him introduce “The Lost Quote” for you guys. It's a pretty big thing.

Thursday, June 14, 2012

Sobbing and Lock Picking

     I was always afraid of asking for help while I was growing up. That's not to say I didn't, but it took a lot for me to get to that point. Maybe I was afraid of being mocked for not knowing how to solve the problem, or yelled at for not taking care of it myself. It was my problem, after all. So, when ten-year-old me saw a book in the locked family van that I wanted to read, the thought to go ask my dad to unlock the car, or at the least, lend me the key from the hook above the kitchen door to go unlock it myself, didn't even occur to me. However, what DID occur to me, was to pick the lock.
     The idea came from one of Sam's favorite video games, so obviously it's to blame. Basically, in all of the graphical glory that the year 2000 had to offer, he would take out a lock pick from his inventory, and after some awkward jabbing, the previously locked door would swing open, allowing for some otherwise illegal breaking and entering. It seemed... so simple...
     So I had my plan. I was going to easily pick the lock of the driver's door of a soccer mom van, therefore allowing me to get the book, get out, and nobody would even know what happened. Now. What to pick the lock with? Any minimally intelligent person would immediately start looking for a hair pin, because that's what everyone uses on television. And because I had two older sisters, one could argue that the pins actually multiplied on the floors of our house. However, apparently I did not reach the minimum standards of intelligence, and actually went the extra mile into complete idiocy, because a hair pin was not what I picked to do the job, nor was it a skinny metal object at all. No.
     I picked up a dried twig that was lying on the drive way to pick a lock.
     Looking at that sentence just makes me ashamed of myself, but yeah. I thought that the best option for lock picking was a flimsy pine stick. Then there was the picking in and of itself. I had no idea how to do this, and for those of you who are wondering, still don't know how to do this. But apparently I had high hopes because I didn't hesitate for a moment before trying. The way I was jimmying the lock, I was a professional in my eyes. After this, I would be able to open doors for people who locked themselves out of their house, or get into cars with the keys left in the ignition. I was going to use my lock picking skills for good! I'm going to be the- SNAP
     Wood wasn't a good choice. Twigs tend to break when they're put under, say, any type of pressure. It's a quality that we seem to share, because to this day, I have never felt fear like that again. That fear that makes it hard to breathe, and the tears just run down your face without you making a sound. At least... for the first couple of seconds. Then you get your breath back, and the deafening wails of terror and sorrow come from the depths of your lungs, and you don't even know what sort of pain awaits you when your father finds out. So, obviously, what I had to do was settle down, gather my thoughts, and tell my dad. Get it over with. Rip off the band-aid.
     Nope. I tried to get my sister, Rachel, to help me.
     “R-r-rachel?”
     “Yeah?”
     “C-c-could you help m-m-me with s-s-s-something?”
     “Uh... sure?”
     “Thank y-y-you.”
     Between gasps, I told her the situation. She knew my dad better than I did, and the fact that she didn't tell him either didn't exactly lighten my burden of fear for what's coming.
     “Okay, so there seems to be a bit of the twig stuck in the lock. Let me see if I can jimmy it out of there. I'll use a hairpin.” She was able to pick one up off the ground without even looking. They must go through these things like crazy.
     After about ten minutes of trying, she gave up. “Sorry, Josiah. I just cant get it out of there. But let's try to actually use the key. If the key still works, nobody will even know.”
     A glimmer of hope! Yes! Maybe I won't be killed today! Wait! No! The key doesn't work! I'm gonna die!
     “You're not going to die!” Rachel yelled at me, through my relentless sobbing. “Listen, you're going to have to tell Dad.”
     “WHAT?!? That's suicide!”
     “Well, he's going to find out eventually. It's better to tell him now, then to just wait until he finds out.”
     “That doesn't make sense at all!”
     “Yes it does. You know it does. Tell Dead. I mean, Dad.”
     “You did that on purpose!”
     “Maybe.”
     I've come to the conclusion that Dad was already pissed off before I even went to him. Because even breaking the family van's lock doesn't justify how livid my father was at me. Every fear I had of him while walking to tell him what I did didn't even begin to prepare me. So, I'm going to say he was pretty angry before I even entered the room.
     So angry, in fact, that he actually put me in the van by unlocking the passenger side, and then using the unlock mechanism on that door to unlock the rest of the doors (which became common practice for the next couple of years) and drove me to the bakery my mom worked at so that I could tell her what I did. Which is fifteen minutes away from the house. Fifteen minutes in a van with a very angry driver, made angrier by how hellish his son turned out to be, only to be yelled at some more by a very angry mother who was interrupted at work to be told that her van was vandalized by her before-stated hellish son.
      I just wanted to read a freaking book.
     So we got there, and my dad pulled my mom aside so that I could tell her the story. It took about five minutes to tell it through the sobs and gasps for air. But finally, I finished the story. I shut my eyes tight and awaited the oncoming storm of public humiliation and probably death.
     I had never heard my mom laugh like that. And only a few times after that did I hear it again. My dad started to protest her reaction but she quickly said “Timothy? Would you like me to remind you what you did when you were his age?”
     My father's silence was answer enough, and he just shook his head as my mom got up to get me an eclair.
     “Okay,” she said while putting it in front of me, “Tell it to me again. And don't cry as much.”

Wednesday, June 6, 2012

Battles and Back Stories

     The drums of the barbarians became louder and louder, as they neared the gates of Thruyald Castle. The uneasiness of the soldiers stationed at the wall grew as steadily as the horde's march. The Thruyaldian General took notice.
     “Easy, Men,” The General began, his long wavy hair flowing in the breeze, “While the forces of their army are great in number, we are great in spirit! We will defend this place with the honor and pride of our Fathers, and their Fathers!”
     “Sire, the Barbarians have halted!”
     “Their leader must want to have word with me. Maybe they wish to negotiate.”
     “Negotiate, sire?”
     “Sure. Why not?” The general went up to the wall above the main gate, and called out to the horde,       “Where is your leader, that I might speak with him?”
     One of the thousands that made up the vast army stepped forward onto the field. “I am the leader of this army!” He shouted, a red braided beard hanging off his face and ending near the gut. “And I don't wish to negotiate! I could hear that idea from here, and it's a terrible one. We have you greatly outnumbered, and this invasion seems like a pretty sure thing.”
     “Tell me! Why are you doing this? We are a peaceful city, and have done nothing to your tribes!”
     “Oh, I'll tell you why we do this! One day, long ago, a Thru..Throu...”
     “Thruyaldian.”
     “Right! A Thruyaldian knight came to one of our camps, and we gave him shelter for the night. My father, a humble blacksmith, brought him into our own home to keep him from the harsh weather. He gave him food and drink, and was very hospitable. Then, in the middle of the night, the knight stole my father's best work, a jewel encrusted sword, and killed him with it. He rode off into the night with my father's legacy, and his life. On that day, I vowed to-”
     “Okay, stop.” The General said, hearing enough.
     “What? Why?” Questioned the Barbarian, a little pissed off that he was interrupted.
     “You're doing it again.”
     “Doing what?!”
     “You're vomiting back story.”
     “I am not!” Exclaimed the Barbarian, brandishing his axe.
     “Yeah you are! You do this every time! I ask you a question, and then you just go on this monologue.”
     “I want you to understand why I'm doing this!”
     “Yeah, I get that, but can you at least change up your story? I mean, why is your murdered father always a blacksmith?” The General asked, annoyed at the repetition.
     “I don't know, because blacksmiths are awesome? And they provide humble beginnings for a back story!”
     “I think it's because you're ripping off the story of the Spanish guy from The Princess Bride.”
     “No I'm not!” The Barbarian whined. Although he totally was. “Here's a question! Why am I always the bad guy?” He asked, with an army of bloodthirsty men behind him.
     “You're not always the bad guy!” The General explained, “It's just that I'm always the good guy, and we need a bad guy. So, you take the role of the bad guy when we need it.”
     “But we always need it! There has to be a bad guy!”
     “Exactly. Which is why you're always the bad guy.”
     “But you just said that I wasn't always the bad guy!”
     “You aren't!”
     “What?”
     “What?”
     “....”
     “....”
     “Okay, I'll stop with the back story. Can we just get back to the battle?” The Barbarian finally shouted up to the General. The horde was actually sitting on the ground at this point, waiting out the long argument between the leaders.
     “Fine,” the General agreed. He cleared his throat and got back to Generaling. “Archers, at the ready! Aim! Fire!”
     A dark cloud of arrows shot up from the walls of the Castle, arching down to the army below. Thinking quickly, the Barbarian Leader shouted his orders, “Shields up, men! Shields up!” The horde quickly brought out their wooden bucklers and metal shields, protecting themselves from the coming onslaught.
     “Wait a minute, the barbarians don't have shields!” the General yelled. The shields that the armies of evil were holding just a moment ago, vanished into thin air, therefore leaving them open to an arrow massacre.
     “What? Of course they have shields!” Shouted the Barbarian. The shields returned to the hands of the horde, who were all sighing with relief.
     “No they don't! That makes my archer attacks pointless!” The shields disappeared again, making the barbarians terrified, and making the archers feel necessary. The arrows came down faster and faster, becoming closer and closer to the barbarians.
     “Fine! Then you don't have arrows!” Declared the Barbarian Leader. And not a moment too soon, as the arrows were just inches away from the weeping defenseless army. They took the time to sigh with relief once more, and again, the archers felt useless.
     “What!? This is stupid! I'm coming down there to settle this, once and for all!” The General ordered for the gates to be open, and he alone came out of the castle. He crossed the bridge over the moat, and came up to the Barbarian Leader, who also went forward to meet his enemy.
     “So it is to be decided with single combat, eh?” The Barbarian made clear. “Very well. Let us begin!” The Barbarian raised his axe into the air, and let out a battle cry, to which the horde behind him joined in. The General wasn't phased, and drew his sword from it's sheath. The Barbarian's eyes widened. “The sword! My father's sword!”
     “What?” The General asked, confused at first, but then rolled his eyes as he came to understand what was going on. “Oh, you've got to be kidding me.”
     “You're the... Thursdayan...”
     “Thruyaldian, you idiot.”
     “Yes! You're the Thruyaldian Knight who killed my father! Today is a momentous day! Today, I get my revenge! Today, I get back my father's sword! Today, I'm the GOOD GUY!”
     “You said you'd quit it with the back story...”
     “I'M THE GOOD GUY!”
     “Fine,” The General sighed, “Yes. I'm the man who killed your father all those years ago. And I should have killed you too. I guess.”
     “That was your biggest mistake, Murderer! AAUGH!!”
     As the Barbarian cried out in vengeful anger, he raised his axe over his head. But, before he could deliver his final blow, a humongous dragon came out of of nowhere, breathing fire on both armies, killing them all instantly. She circled around the two leaders and finally landed in front of them. And in the ancient language of the dragons, she said the words that all warriors, good or evil, fear the most.
     “Kids, it's time for dinner!”