FEED ME MOAR PARADOX! *NOM NOM*

People way over complicate this "unstoppable force immovable object" paradox enigma thing. Just because they meet doesn't mean one has to stop movement or begin movement. Theoretically, all that would happen is the unstoppable force would be deflected in a new direction, leaving the object unmoved and the force still unstoppable. For all I care, the unstoppable force shatters into a million pieces and all those millions of pieces scatter off unstoppably. But one must also define an unstoppable object. Having an object that moves at such speed that it is virtually impossible to impede counters the laws of physics (some random scientific crap/jargon about force and resistance and stuff). Since we're operating outside the laws of physics, you can pretty much create any scenario you desire about them. There are two types of energy in the scientific (and I assume the regular) world; kinetic and potential energy. For instance, Kvetchey Karen has a great deal of potential (energy that could be used for moving) energy when she stands at the top of a flight of stairs. While falling down the stairs, pushed by Dastardly Dane (because KAREN IS SUCH A DOUCHE!), she has high amounts of kinetic (energy that is moving) energy. So a force could be unstoppable in our metaphysical realm based off of either one of these two types of energy. And while we're messing with physics, I'm gonna go deal with some Escher stuff... I'm thinking new troll workout; the Stair Master 4000. It's not actually a machine. It's just perpetual stairs.


Here's a classic:

The following sentence is true.

The previous sentence is false.

They're both right and wrong. It's a perpetual circle of varying validity. The second sentence has a loophole, though. Sometimes there's more than two sides to a story. It says that the first sentence is false; just because something is not true at the present time doesn't mean that it will be forever untrue. If I were to say That Obama is the President of the United States, it would be a true statement. In ten years it will definitely not be true. In two years, it could be true. That last statement I made is conjecture, based off an unstable fact. When we say that the last sentence is false, what we're really saying is that it's false for now. It'll be true later, so why worry about it? And since there are always three parts to a logical syllogism, I'm just gonna throw a few out there for you. Neither sentence matters; the cake is a lie; never gonna give you up; u mad bro?

Here, this one looks easy: Paradox of the Court: "A law student agrees to pay his teacher after winning his first case. The teacher then sues the student (who has not yet won a case) for payment." (trust me, it makes more sense if you read the link).

They're looking at it all wrong, honestly. The law student has made an honest agreement with his teacher, and then when the student wins no cases, the teacher sues the student for the money he promised. Alright, now stop. The court is in session. They both present their cases, and the judge rules in favour of the student, saying that he doesn't have to pay the teacher since he has had no cases. So there is no suing happening, ya dig? The case is now over. The law student has won his first case. He remains true to his word and pays the teacher the money he promised him. Why is this even a problem? Oh right, 'cause the teacher gets mo' money, and mo' money is mo' problems. If the student had lost the case, however, he would have paid the teacher the money he promised him for winning a case, and now his debt is paid off in advance.

Crocodile Dilemma: If a crocodile steals a child and promises its return if the father can correctly guess what the crocodile will do, how should the crocodile respond in the case that the father guesses that the child will not be returned?

If there's one thing I've learned in this life, it's that crocodiles are thieving, conniving bastards; they never keep their word. Also, they can't talk, and they have a tendency to eat their meals (in this case, a delicious child. Is this the Crocodile Dilemma or the Pedo-bear dilemma? I forget). Here's how it's all gonna go down:

"Hey man, I stole your kid. If you guess what I'm gonna do with him, I'll return him!"

"You aren't gonna give him back, are you..."

"Damn straight I ain't, mutha sucka!"

"Aw, snicker doodles..."

"Actually, wait, you can have him back. In about two to three days! Muahahahaha!" *chomp* 

Bam, that's what I think. Send me some more paradoxes and I'll solve them for you.


P.S. I know I'm full of BS, but if you still feel inclined to tell me so in the comments, I welcome your hate with open arms. And I'm gonna give your hate a hug. 'Cause honestly, who can hate during a hug? Besides, people tell me I give awesome hugs.

Musical trolls all up in your endocrine system!

Every decade has its own stereotype for music. In the 60's you had classic rock, 70's was the golden age for rock, 80's were the beginning of electric synth and disco (even though I'm convinced that even people in the 80's didn't like disco all that much), 90's had some of the best rap produced ever (and I say that because it was people actually using their voices, and not auto tune goodness) along with other beginnings of indie pop, and 2000+ was the hip hop/pop scene. Every decade has people who are essentially zealots that worship this era. For instance, you can click on literally any Sugar Ray music video and find a treasure trove of people saying things like (and these are actual quotes):

"Listening to this takes me back to my childhood. Before Lady Gaga. Before shitty music was played repeatedly over the airwaves. Before Jersey Shore, when MTV actually played music. When the most competitive we ever got was over a game of horse in Tony hawk's pro skater. When Nickelodeon played actually funny, enjoyable cartoons. When kids got fresh air and played basketball or baseball in the park for fun, instead of being cramped up in a basement playing cod. Man, I miss the 90's." 

"amen to that hell kids todayare a bunch of lazy tards who think they know real msic" (I really wish this guy would have been kvetching about grammar and spelling, because I love myself some good irony).

"I cried when I watched this video because it reminds me of how much "now" sucks, and how great "then" was."

This one was on Billy Joel's music video for We Didn't Start the Fire:

"1st of March is Justin Bieber's birthday. He's been infecting the whole world. Because of him, the world of rock is going extinct

So on his birthday, we all will go to his "Baby" official video and push the 'dislike' button so that the 'dislike' bar becomes 10 times bigger than the 'like' bar.

If you are a rock fan, join with me and thumbs up me, copy-paste this message to all rock videos. We have six months to unite and fight against this little cockroach."

Sweet Jesus, man, are you starting a religion or something? Look, I'm not a big Bieber fan (because I'm not a 14 year old female, mostly) but I'll admit that he has at least some talent. I can't sing and play guitar at the same time worth crap. Little cockroach? That's harsh man. 

Look, the point is that on some level, every person is a big fat depraved, barbarous fiend and/or troll. Kids in my generation who listen to pop and hip-hop, and those only, are a little more passive aggressive about it, but it still kind of ticks me off when someone just flat out says that they don't listen to old music.

But all that stuff I can stand, because I'm perfect, and I can find aesthetic value in pretty much any of the multiple manifestations of music. If you really want to perk up some ears, though, just tell people you don't like music at all. This isn't a joke, either. I know at least two people who have said this to me. Seriously? What is wrong with you people? There's even science behind the awesomeness of music. I can confidently say that if you don't find any pleasure in listening to music,  there is something psychologically wrong with you. Then again, the two people who have said this to me are the types of guys who are on the robotics team and spend the night at teachers houses because they were working on a project (true story) and who not only still play Runescape, but get so excited about the wildy coming back, along with free enterprise, that they post it as their Facebook status and tell everyone at school (also a true story. And ashamedly, I knew exactly what he was talking about...).

Oh, and while I'm talking about hormones, here's this video that Matt and I made for an Anatomy project. Because hey, who doesn't want to learn about the endocrine system from two high-schoolers with a video camera?

 

Edit 2/20: I just found this on a video of Jump Around by House of Pain. "Ok listen you all kids who were born yesterday and think 2Pac and BIG are gods:You are eminem and 50Cent generation,you are Jersey Shores and Jackass generation,you know nothing,and it's ironic that me,a person who does not cares about rap,knows the whole history of the genre and you pseudo-rappers keep worshipping 2 CRIMINALS who distorted the whole rap purpose.Until you kow exactly who Public Enemy,Big Daddy Kane,Grandmaster Flash,Digable Planets,De La Soul,are,shut up." (and even worse, it was the highest rated comment on the video).

This primarily pissed me off because he says that we, the Eminem generation, don't know anything. I love Eminem. I'm just gonna put that out there. And his song Stan (feat. Dido) has named the greatest rap song ever (by me), reaching no. 1 on the charts in six different countries. It came in 3rd during a survey for the best rap song ever produced by Q magazine. It placed 290 on the Rolling Stones Magazine's list of the top 500 songs ever made. Here, let me say that again. The Rolling Stones Magazine (yes, the famous one) declared this song to be in the top 300 songs ever made in the history of everything ever made ever. Do you know how many songs have been made? The answer is higher than I can count. My best guess about this guys problem is that he's not black. Racists. Haha.

*due to formatting issues, one of the quotes (the one about Justin Bieber killing music) was cut off. It's fixed now, and what I say after it makes way more sense now. Haha.

I am Landers, hear me roar.

You know what's a great feeling? Being important. And I'll be honest here; I am not an important person. I am, in fact, pretty insignificant. But no more insignificant that you, o great beholding, judgemental eye.

But anyways, it is fun knowing that my ancestors were better than yours. Granted, your ancestors may be pretty cool, but did your ancestors build this?

The answer is no, unless we're related.

That there is what is now known as the Springfield Little Theatre. It was build in 1909, just two years after Oklahoma was made a state, and was originally called the Landers Theatre. It still puts on plays, a lot like how our Performing Arts Center does here in Tulsa. My family sold it in the '70s sometime. It's a pretty pimpin' place, complete with ghost stories and such, and you can read about it here and here. Also, Lucas Grabeel, that guy you probably know as that hot chicks brother from High School Musical, got his start there, and while attending the centennial in 2009 I got the chance to get a picture with him. He was really short, and his hands were softer than a baby's bottom. That's about all I can say about that. I lost my picture though, so this one of him and my brother will have to do.



We look pretty similar. It's close enough.



http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_mcooZ--4gM8/R1CNC0Mnn_I/AAAAAAAAHlM/-H6GJWgWDoI/s1600-R/grinds-my-gears1.jpg

"hey"
"Hey! What's up?"
"Not much, you?"
"Oh, you know, just hangin' out. Watching Sean Connery be awesome."
"Cool."
"Yup. So, how've you been?
"Okay."
"Just... plain old ok?"
"Yeah, just ok I guess."
"Ah, okay, I get that I guess. Sometimes it's just hard to wake up in the mornings."
"Yup."
"Yeah, I"m pretty good I guess. Got no reason to complain."
"Haha."
"What's so funny?"
"I dunno."
"Haha alright. So, what else is up?"
"Nothing really."
"Fun..."

This, people, is a real conversation I had with this chick via text. It's actually a conversation I have pretty much every day, because she wont stop texting me, and I don't have to heart to ignore her more than three times a day. This is what grinds my gears. If you are one of those people who replies with one and two word texts for apparently no reason, while I (or whomever else you're texting torturing) am struggling to keep up a decent conversation, I hope you have a good excuse. A good excuse like your arms got blown off in 'Nam and you're texting with your nose, or you're busy holding Jackie Chans hand and are extremely distracted by his incredibly youthful appearance for being over 60 years old. Please, don't text me with this crap. Try to imagine you're having a conversation face to face. Is that all you'd say to me? "Yeah, cool, yup, okay, alright, fun, haha, I dunno." For serious, people. Get it together.

All kinds of moments!

Recently and friend of mine was talking about how she was "so blond" and how she constantly had "blond moments." Now, I'm normally not one to get inflamed about something like this, but I, being a proud brown-haired white boy, am a little irate at this blatant discrimination against all other forms of hair that just so happen not to fit into the perfect Aryan race. So in the spirit of killing Nazis, here are my best guesses of what other "moments" would be like.

• Brown moment: this type of moment is best described as doing something outrageously ordinary. You probably spend a lot of your free time reading My Life is Average. I understand that many stories are actually about My Life is Awesome, but even you reading those makes you understand on a deeper and more depressing level how mundane your life really is. Also, please excuse me while I submit an entry to Urbandictionary.com about soiling your pants.
• Ginger moment: a ginger moment is a little harder to pin under just one denotation. Firstly, it could be used in context with someone doing something extremely nerdy. For instance, when that kid nobody likes, Jon Lovitz, corrects your grammar, or makes a reference to Runescape in a conversation, he just had a Ginger moment. It also may be used to say that someone did something extremely annoying. It may also refer to a moment when someone realizes they have no friends. The last may be caused by the first two, thus causing what I refer to as "the ginger cycle."
• Black moment: *the following has been filtered for racist content* a black moment is best described by *censored*. Once the *censored* with a *censored* and *censored* Zippo lighter. *censored* kool-aid and *censored* white girls *censored* Escalade. *censored* Jay-Z. It may also be used to describe an intensely emo moment, or when someone totally ruins a conversation by blurting out something depressing.

So there you have it.

The Cacaphonies of Slumber

I recently spent a few nights over a a friends house. These friends are famous of housing all kinds of their acquaintences from church, school, etc. and I was in one of the guest rooms with a guy who shall remain unnamed. This particular man, though, just so happens to make an insanely wide array of noises in his sleep. I awoke at around six in the morning and spent about an hour laying there, listening, trying not to listen, giving up not listening, and then laughing to myself at these noises. I came up with a lot of different metaphors and similes to describe them, and these here are some of my favorites:

• It's like someone took the metal edge of my cell and put it to a stone grinder.
• I think this man ate a running hedge trimmer right before bed.
• Every time he breaths it's like he's ripping apart strips of velcro.
• It's almost like he's crushing up ice with his face.
• This man is really two mating wooly mammoths.
• Is he tearing up phone books over there?
• He's more wheezy than Wheezy off Toy Story 2!
• His esophagus is a tuba.
• Is... is he drowning?
• His windpipe is a deck of cards. The inhale is the shuffle; the exhale is the bridge.
• I'd imagine this is what a walrus battle sounds like.
• Maybe this whole time he's been cutting cocaine, and now he's sniffing it?
• Sounds like he's... boiling water over there.
• Holy crap... Chewie?

These may not all be accurate, but I hope that one day, when you get stuck sleeping in the same room as that guy who snores and does all other kinds of weird stuff in their sleep, you remember these. Which one best fits your situation?

The Hillbilly, the Poodle, and the Prostitute

The following is a totally true story that occurred sometime in the last few weeks.

I walked briskly away from the CiCi's down Garnett toward 11th. I had just dropped off an application there. Passing by Taco Bell, I muttered to myself "ugh, I've had T-Bell too much recently. I wonder what else is down this way." I skipped Tacos Y Mariscos and found myself standing outside Bill and Ruths. I was about to enter when I noticed the trailer parked in front. For all intensive purposes, this place was called "El Taco Shack." Intrigued by the prospect of trying something new and exciting and the insanely delicious smells permeating the air surrounding El Taco Shack, I soon found myself walking towards it. There were a couple of semi-decent cars outside, and one very out of place Camry. More on that later though.

As I approached the aforementioned trailer, there was one man, tall, lanky, under bite, Einstein-like hair contained under a Steelers cap, covered in dirt, oil, and other suspicious substances from head to toe. The second he opened his mouth flap, this guy INVENTED the hick stereotype.

"Well howdy doo!" His name was Sully or something. "Sheee-it it's a nice day outside, ain't it?" I kicked some of the snow off my Converse and looked at him skeptically. "You e'er eaten 'er before?"

"No sir, this is my first." Those were all the words I managed to get off before, God as my witness, his clone walked up. Tall, skinny man wearing a blue jumper with the name "Greg" on the tag (which ashamedly, I admit, my name is very much so a hick name). He was covered in oil stains. He was obviously a mechanic.

"Waaeeel fukin' 'el, what're you doin' out here!?" Greg shouted to Sully or whoever.

"Wael damn Greg, I'm out here every Sunday!" By this point I was standing as far away from them as possible. I made my order and stepped back towards the Camry. And if it wasn't hard enough trying to understand what the poor little Hispanic boy was saying up at the ordering window over his thick accent and the two hillbillies, he had braces on, which sounded as if he'd got them within the last two days. Every word was a spit-fest, filled with way to many S's and T's. Two fluffy (see Gabriel Iglesias) Mexican men came up and watched their incredibly entertaining conversation and muttering Mexican things with their Mexican grins and quirky Mexican glances.

"Ey! You e'er tried this here beef tongue? It tastes just like roast beef. I always get it on their tortas (pronounced tor-tass). That kiddo over there," he said pointing at me, "got the quesadilla (pronounced queso-dill-ar) with the carnes asada (car-neis ass-a-da). I've had that'un before, and it's DAY-UM good!"

The little Mexican boy, or little tortilla boy, placed Sully or whatever's order up at the ordering window. He walked with a limp to pick it up, shouting back to his friend Greg "Welp, looks like it's my time to skeedaddle! Catcha later holmes!" which I guess was his attempt to be hip. It wasn't, but it sure was risible. He passed uncomfortably close to me, and I could smell with I believe was whisky on him, which only further perpetuates the claim that this man was in fact, from the back-woods, possibly making his own whisky.

I was thinking to myself "surely this couldn't get any better" when suddenly, he burst my bluegrass playing (nothing wrong with that, I love bluegrass), whisky making hillbilly bubble when he opened the door to the luxurious silver Camry. But he wasn't done yet. The second the door opened, a huge white poodle tried to make an escape for it. "Get back in thur!" he said shoving and kicking it back through the door. I backed up some, which revealed what I can only assume was a lady of promiscuous profession. A street walker, if you will. His call girl put her arms around the chest of the poodle and dragged it back into the car. When she leaned over to do this, her scanty clothes revealed a good portion of her... bosom... and I'm pretty sure her pink mini-skirt and go-go boots were made out of plastic.

I really don't want to know what was going to happen between those three later. All I can say is my prayers go up for that poodle and his rectum to this day. And that was the best quesadilla I've ever had. I hope my future returns to El Taco Shack are just as eventful.