The Best Spam

Awhile back I wrote one of my random posts about how sometimes your first impressions are incredibly and horrendously incorrect, and it was called Radiohead, Donkey Kong, and Mashed Potatoes. Ever since I wrote it, I've received a comparatively large number of spam comments, most of which are really weird, as is most spam. I'm guessing that for the most part they were not written by someone who spoke English fluently. However, there are some with surprisingly good grammar. The most striking thing about them though, is that they're actually really good spam. I mean, as far as spam goes at least; no spam is truly good in my eyes, as it is still spam. But it's still the best spam I've ever read though. The spam de la spam, if you will.

Once Upon a Taco.

Once upon a time, a great man came to me in a quandary. "I hold here in my hand a taco." He said to me. "While being neither a burrito, nor a sandwich, it possesses qualities of both! How intriguing."

"Weird." I said with a chuckle.

"How dare you chuckle at this, the most serious of foods!"

"No way man, tacos are hilarious. I'd even go so far as to say that they are funny down to the very core of their being."

And on that day a great challenge was issued. If I could prove that tacos were inherently laughable, I would be crowned the better writer (and I'm totally going to make him give me like, five bucks or something.) If I failed to do so, I'm just a failure, and also as a bonus I have to give him back rubs for a year (although if he declines that offer I'm open to giving someone else back rubs for a year. I need the practice so I can go pro).

Picture related, I swear it. If you've seen this show, you know how hilarious tacos are.

Now, as my opening point, I'd like to bring to the table the fact that from the root of the word "taco," we also get the word "wadding." Yes, that does mean that all a taco is is a meat wad, often times served with lettuce, tomato, and cheese. Haha. Wad. Hahahahahahah wad! WAD! I dare you to go to the nearest Bell or Bueno (whichever you think is better, which is an argument for another time (but it's totally Bell)) and ask for a beef wad.

Secondly, there's a distinct difference between the Americanized taco we know and love today and the authentic Mexican taco, which can still be found in taco stands and other Mexican eateries. I'd say the average Taco you'd find today is about 5-6 inches in length and 4 inches tall, in a hard outer shell, with meat, lettuce, tomatoes, and cheese layered on top of each other. However, in a classic, authentic taco, you're going to find something quite different. Depending on where you get it from and how much it costs, all it really is is a soft, some times fried corn tortilla with meat, onions, and lots of cilantro. It's as if someone in Mexico, circa 1930, said "you know what'd make this burrito better? Less beans and everything and so much meat that you can't close it. Yeah." That is, of course, only my speculation of how the taco started, but I think it's a good speculation. Now you can find one dollar tacos on three inch tortillas that you can barely pick up because of how much topping there is, but I'm sure you could buy a five dollar one the size of a burrito, and it'd look almost exactly like how I described it's humble beginning.

Last, but not least, I submit to you that all this time, Americans have been eating tacos incorrectly. Innumerable times I have found myself dissatisfied with my taco eating experience because the delicious meat I crave is hidden beneath a thick padding of tasteless lettuce. What if I told you that we have been duping ourselves into eating that bland filler by placing it on top of the meat we desire so greatly? It's time for a taco revolution people! A literal one, which is way easier than the other kind. All you have to do is grasp your tasty ethnic treat from the top, securing all the filling inside, and flip it upside down. Viola! You can sate your hunger for meat without having a two or three bite interlude of tomatoes and lettuce between each scrumptious mouthful of beef.

In conclusion, I submit to you that taco's are funny because they are literally a wad of food (which brings back memories of Ron from Kim Possible), they're basically a burrito that got too big for it's britches, and that they're best eaten in an unconventional manner. All you have to do is imagine yourself as Tobey McGuire in the original Spiderman movie, and imagine Kirsten Dunst as a taco. Bam, upside-down hilarity.

It's a Christmas Miracle!!1!!!!1!one!!1

I got called smart today.

A friend of mine came up to me and asked me what her belt-loop was called. I told her "a belt-loop." She apparently thought it was called a belt pocket or something. I'm not really sure.

"Man, you're so smart Greg."

I'm smart because I knew what a belt-loop was called. Cool. Although, I'm not really sure if that's a compliment to me, or an insult to the rest of the world.

People, it's called a belt-loop. Inform the masses. Increase the populous intelligence levels. I refuse to be smart.

#bandnameeuphemisms

Sometime in June of this year, my brother, parents, and I were driving through the desert towards Las Vegas, Nevada, from Kingston, Arizona. It was about a three hour trip, and understandably, my brother and I got pretty bored sitting in the back seat. Like most teenagers, we turned to our phones for entertainment. Nobody was texting really, since it was about five in the morning, but Twitter came running to my rescue. I decided that to entertain myself I'd tweet all the band names I could think of that could be taken as a euphemism (if you don't know what that is, it's a dirty joke). This is what I came up with.

*warning: maturity levels may be tested*

Passion Pit

Enya

The Strokes

Explosions in the Sky

Big Smith

Rammstein

Flogging Molly

Finger 11

Blue Man Group

In response, my brother came up with these.

Notorious B.I.G

Bob Marley and the Wailers

The Flaming Lips

Third Eye Blind

M.C. Hammer

Doug E. Phresh and Slick Rick

Bang Camaro

If you're a fan of funny tweets, you should follow me (IncredibleGreg) or my brother Doug (McDouggery). Each tweet is like a tiny, condensed blog, if you want to see it that way.

Sometimes...

Sometimes I feel like I can't make fun of politics because it'd be too easy.

Sometimes I feel like if llamas controlled everything, the world would be a better place.

Sometimes I get the feeling that women have a strange complex within themselves that force them to go after dudes who are obviously a lollapalooza of suck-fest-ness.

Sometimes at night I think something, then stop myself and say "no, that's retarded."

Sometimes I watch movies with subtitles in different languages.

Sometimes, when I hear "wish upon a star," I like to imagine some little alien wishing upon Earth from someplace far away.

Sometimes, when I go to social events and I notice people sitting off by themselves, reading or texting, I make fun of them, even though I'm sitting off alone making fun of people.

Sometimes I make random noises.

Sometimes I listen to Christmas music in the Summer.

Sometimes I intentionally put myself in a bad mood for no good reason.

Sometimes when I'm bored I talk to myself.

Sometimes when I'm walking around I skip just to weird people out.

Sometimes I make random lists about stuff.

Sometimes I feel inspired to do something, but waste it on some worthless piece of turd idea.

Sometimes I'm overly suspicious about other people's motives.

Sometimes I try to imagine what it'd be like if I wasn't alive, but it just hurts my brain, because if I wasn't alive I couldn't be thinking about being alive because I wouldn't know what being alive was like, and then *blam brain-a-splode*.

Sometimes when I concentrate I make funny faces.

Sometimes when I'm hyper I get shifty eyes.

Sometimes I can type like, 100 words a minute.

Sometimes I get fed up with the rules of society, which makes me want to study them so I can learn about how much they suck, just to justify my hating them.

Sometimes I'll spend up to an hour on Wikipedia clicking link after link learning as much as I can.

Sometimes I think it'd be fun to do something illegal.

Sometimes when people analyze everything I do it makes me hate them.

Sometimes all I feel like I need to be happy in this world is a good hug.
Sometimes I rhyme just because I can.

Class: unrelated to desired career. (for the time being?)

The other day I was trying to think of a way to get myself motivated for high-school Chemistry (which for some reason is taught out of a college level textbook?). Understandably, I had some difficulty. One solution I came up with was that I'd think to myself "every time I go into Chemistry class, I am a chemist!" And then I remembered that the only kind of chemist I'd ever be interested in is this kind. I got to thinking about my other classes as well, and my careers didn't match up with anything I'm really interested in.

• Every time I walk into Chemistry class, I'm a chemist.
• Every time I walk into Biblical Exegesis, I'm a Biblical scholar.
• Every time I walk into Government class, I'm a politician.
• Every time I walk into Anatomy class, I'm a physical therapist.
• Every time I walk into Greek class, I'm a scholar.
• Every time I walk into Algebra II class, I'm a failure.
• Every time I walk into Literature class, I'm in a book club.
• Every time I walk into History class, I'm a historian.

Is there any way we could have a sign language class? Or maybe I should just drop out and join ROTC. The military could be a good career. Admittedly, being a physical therapist wouldn't be too bad. If I was one, however, I'd want to work with injured soldiers, helping them regain a little bit of their civilian lives after suffering a serious ouchie. That'd be cool. And sign language, that's always been a dream of mine. Think maybe it could count as a language credit? Spanish is practical, but sign is elite; I'd be able to fit in with all the cool deaf kids.

Don't get me wrong, I love all most some of my classes just for kicks. Greek class is the flea's sneeze (it's like the cat's meow, but not). I just don't know if the schedule that's available is really an optimal use of my time based on what I want to do in life.

Has anyone ever seen Accepted? (It had Jonah Hill playing a fat idiot before he was a really famous fat idiot). I wouldn't suggest it, it's an awful movie. But it raises a good point that when people have the option to pick classes that they would enjoy immensely, they can draw learning out of some pretty crazy places. For instance, a bunch of skateboarders are studying applied physics by calculating equations about force and gravity and mass and all that good crap to see if a trick is possible, and then they're just like "dude" and they go out there and do sick flips and junk. Sitting in a classroom doing physics = whack. Spending half the class on a half-pipe doing tricks you just invented using physics = awesome.

Just a thought.

Fat, hilarious, famous idiocy.

I'm here to talk about your personality! (Follow-up for 3/2/11)

There are more than a few reasons that I'd like to take the time to write a follow-up to my somewhat controversial blog "I'm here to talk about body parts!" One is that I don't really have anything else I want to be doing, but another one is because I did receive a lot of negative feedback focused on the point that I only mentioned that men are interested in your personality and focused mainly on the anatomical aspect of it. Which is true. I was there to talk about body parts, you know...

But all that aside, and without further a-do, I bring you what I perceive to be the somewhat truth about the attraction between personalities.

It's no secret among the general population, especially among teenage girls who feel inclined to inform everyone in an extremely verbose manner how awesome their best friend is. Just a few adjectives I hear on a regular basis when listening to these lengthy descriptions are as follows: crazy, insane, hilarious, perverted, perfect, gorgeous, awesome, etc. Most of these words have something in common though. They describe a character trait, or better yet, they fit perfectly how many people would describe someone's personality.

Now, I understand that many people's besties are of the same gender as them, but even the people they simple enjoy "hangin' out with" (or whatever you kids do these days) share similar traits. For instance, I enjoy socializing with people I can have a good laugh with. People I share similar interests with. People who like the music I like, and the movies I like, and all that good jazz.

It's vital to listen to this point I'm about to make, lest you miss the point of this whole blog; your best friends and you significant others are practically the same thing. Imagine: you're a single teenager, and your snookie-wookums Alfredo, the Golden Retriever, has just passed away. Who do you run to? Your best friend. Imagine: you're a teenager in a happy relationship, and your cutsie-pootsie Henryetta, the Yorkshire Terrier, has recently moved on to a better place. Who do you go to? Your significant other. These are the people who make a difference in your life; your best friends and your "best friend" (if you catch my drift) are the people who you seek the comfort of in times of need. These people make you smile when you're down, hear you out when you're misunderstood, fix you up when you're broken, and correct you when you're wrong.

Now let us juxtapose this with my previous article, where I said that if a person is lacking in either physical attractiveness or an attractive personality (based on the man's point of view and preference), you're lacking a huge factor in compatibility. Saying otherwise be like eating straight chlorine and saying it was salt (the Angelina Jolie kind of salt I guess).

And it doesn't take a rocket scientist to understand that similar personalities will be more likely to make a deeper, stronger connection than those that differ. I personally am a big fan of Lewis Goldberg and what he calls the "Big Five."

• Openness to experience - This category is pretty self explanatory. This person is probably that fun loving hippie you hang out with. They're into discovering new things and being creative. Cool.
• Conscientiousness - This is probably one of the hardest words to spell ever. It's a good thing that these people lean more towards being careful and precise in their work and working off a schedule. This is probably little Miss Perfect in your class, who is hyperbolically disappointed in herself when she got a 98 out of 100 on an exam, or reminds the teacher of homework assignments.
• Extraversion - This dude (or dudette. I don't discriminate) is what your parents would probably call a "social bug." Don't try calling anybody that now-a-days. Sayin' that is liable to get you punched in the mouth. But there are greater sins...
• Agreeableness - The agreeable person can be spotted in their natural habitat sitting on a couch, surrounded by a group of their friends, listening to their problems and pumping out advice like Gandhi on speed, while bungee-jumping, just because that's how Gandhi would roll if he were still around (and on speed).
• Neuroticism - You know that chill guy who sits in class balancing his chair on it's back legs, hardly studies, and still gets all the answers right? That's this guy. He's super secure in who he is, and he's cool with it, and if you've got a problem with that, well, that's just fine with him. Not anything he can do about it, 'cause he's just being himself, and people love him for it.

You notice how under absolutely none of those little bullet points, anyone is ever described as "ridiculously attractive" or "sexy?" That's cause there isn't really a direct correlation between personality and looks. You could probably argue that more attractive people are more out-going, simply because those people are more accepted by society, but as far as there being any science behind that I'm not sure.

Anyways, like I was saying, similar personalities match up better. Social people like to be around social people; chill, relaxed people enjoy chilling in a relaxed manner with other chill, relaxed people. When we as humans, a social creature, look for potential partners, we begin by doing some actual, literal looking. Visual stimulation reaches the brain and tells you whether or not you're physically attracted to the person. Physical attraction releases hormones which create a desire to be near that person and get to know them. This is where personality enters the picture; if the person you're trying to get to know better has absolutely nothing in common with you, small talk is going to be a little bit more on the "sucky" side. You probably wont enjoy being around that person if they just so happen to be the biggest melancholy Mandy on Earth, unless you have a similar personality, and likewise if you're a little bit more on the mellow, deep, somewhat depressing side of the spectrum, hanging out with that one chick Daisy who basically emanates light and giggle ferociously every fifteen seconds is going to be absolute murder to you. Looks are just as important as personality. Simple as that.

I hope this has been enlightening to all of you who thought I was a little off my rocker after reading my other post, and I hope that some of that good 'ol controversy that we all love so much will find it's way to a more reasonable conclusion.

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.