The Later Than Late Show with Omnihush

This place has the rants of the best Show on Earth!

Sleep

I just want to show you my sleep schedule. I started last week just to see how it holds up. Here it is:

3/16: 4-11, 7 hrs.
3/17: 4-8:30, 4 hrs 30 mins.
3/18: 4-10, 6 hrs.
3/19: 3:30-9:30, 6 hrs.
3/20: 5:50-12pm 7 hrs 10 mins.
Spring break (3/21~?): UTTER INSANITY

Let me put that into perspective for y'alls. All times are in AM unless otherwise noted.

What that means is that I've went to bed past 3am EVERY DAY of the week for the last week, and gotten an average SIX hours of sleep a day. Now, this might not sound so bad, but as a student who has to go attend 8 o'clock lectures on FRAKIN' THERMAL PHYSICS and do FRAKIN' CHEMISTRY LABS ON MOLECULES N' SHIZ, that's nowhere near enough.

They have phrases for situations like this. "Shooting oneself in the foot," and "WTF am I doing so late at night (I promise you it's not pr0n)."

I know many of you get even less sleep than me, and frankly, that scares me. How do you youngsters do it? I'm like struggling to stay awake, so much so that I sometimes just doze off in class. And when you're playing with Bunsen burners and vats of orange acid, that's NOT COOL.

So now I'm like completely nocturnal. My folks and hommies got work and school in the morning, so I'm pretty much alone. I sleep until like 3pm, and wake up and go gaming all night. It's not healthy, but hey, that's the cost of complete freedom.

So, it's only 11pm here in the East coast. Get a good nights rest while I zombify in front of my computer. Peace out, y'alls, and stay tuned for whatever comes up next.

Cici's Pizza

You've ever been here? It's like a pizza buffet. Now, before CiCi's, there was pizza, and there was buffet. Some buffets had like pizza available, but that was like warehouse mass production pizza, and it tasted like frozen cardboard. Pizza, however, was in a class of its own. There was the gourmet Italian pizza, and then you've got your cheap fast pizza.

And then here comes CiCi's pretending that they can cater to Americans by letting us eat pizza and more pizza, all day all night. Sounds great, right?

Well I had this coupon for a buy one get one free meal thing, so I went out with my buddy for a pizza dinner thing. Ok, we're both dudes. Dudes got stomachs. We're eating machines. Pizza is our diet. I went in planning to eat CiCi's to bankruptcy, and we even got bets going on.

And then we walk in. Ok, first, the screaming. Apparently, CiCi's has an arcade area built right in the FRAKIN MIDDLE OF EVERYTHING. Yeah, great, so they're like 20 BAJILLION TODDLERS IN DIAPERS running around going PEW PEW with their arcade joysticks (that sounded wrong) and throwing quarters across the room. Now, I'm tolerant when it comes to children, but gee, pizza is serious business, y'know?
Ok, so we deal with it. We pay 6 bucks for the two of us, and then 4 bucks for drinks. FOUR BUCKS 4 DRINKS, MAN. When the soda costs a third of the price of a FRAKIN BUFFET, either you're ordering the BEST GODDAMNED WINE EVER or you're eating from a dumpster. Guess which one it was?

So we get in the line. There's a salad bar, so hey, I'll take some. I take my crappy plastic plate and load up on some veggies and lettuce, some croutons and some tomatoes, whatever. And then the dressing. Salad's gotta have dressing. Ok, so they've got five kinds, each in a bowl. But four of the kinds are all white, and the fifth is like yellowish with black dots and swirls of white in it. Some had labels, but one of them was in the bowl itself. So I'm trying to find my Caesar dressing. Nope. The only thing I see is ranch, ranch, ranch, ranch, and toxic waste. No thanks, man. Salad goodbye.

Pizza! Cowabunga! Jackpot!

...

HELL NAW.
They've got variety, I'll give them that. I never knew that crap had so many flavors before.
So they've got sausagecrap, pepperonicrap, veggiecrap, macaronicrap, cheesecrap, and crapfestmajorcrap. I got a few slices of each because they at least looked decent from far away. But then as I tried to scoop up any slice, I'd lift up the whole pie. It's called CUTTING, CiCi's. LEARN HOW TO SLICE YOUR DAMN PIZZA.

But that won't phase me. I'm activating pizza mode now.
I take a bite. It's kinda warm, but definitely not fresh. And as I finish my bite, the PIZZA CHEESE just slips off, topping and all. It just... slips off. And I'm left with flaky bread and tomato sauce. This happens to EVERY. SINGLE. SLICE. And by the end, I'm rolling up all my cheese into a ball and just stuffing it into my mouth. Sigh...

Oh yeah, meanwhile, during my eating experience, some kind of middle school sports team came in. Don't know what season they've got going, but they were handing out trophies. And the SCREAMING. CLAPPING. CHEERING. Their coach was like standing on his chair halfway across the room, making victory speeches to these kids, who I'm sure were all just starved for crappy pizza.

Finally, because things always get worse, some sort of HUGE group came in. I think they were high schoolers, or maybe more middle schoolers. I dunno. It was like a MIX OF INSANITY. They got into a GINORMOUS line and clogged up EVERYWHERE. No seat was left open and the arcade area was now a battleground of SCREAMING and NONSENSE. Kids were climbing up on chairs and girls were shrieking in laughter. It was pretty bloody funny, alright.

Yeah, so that was my CiCi's Pizza experience. I dunno, man. I left after eating three small slices. I was simply too overloaded by the atmosphere, and the exotic taste that CiCi has managed to achieve. Yeah, I may be exaggerating, but that's simply because the whole package was so overwhelming. CiCi's Pizza was such a unique experience, and I think y'alls should go sometime. If only to smell the flowers.

And watch as they rot under the pressure of horrid pizza.

Searching for jobs and exploding toilets

I came to SComm today ready to complain all about the crappy economy and how it's so hard for a college frosh to find a decent job. But I won't do that. I'll leave that to the "real" bloggers, and not bore you with money talk. So I was kinda thinking of a topic while taking a dump (spring break = waaayyy too much free time). And I got a few lame ideas, I finish my #2, wipe, flush, messy etc. Sorry 'bout the mental image. IT BURNS.

Yeah, and I'm ready to leave, when I hear this gurgling sound. The toilet I use is pretty ancient. It's got a small drain for the load, and it's pretty plain. But the thing is, it's got low drainage capacity. If I had to rate the "flush power" of my toilet on a scale from 1 to 10, with 1 being can't flush water to 10 being can flush the Men in Black, I'd give it a 2.

But hey, it's a frakin' toilet. College dudes don't maintain -anything-, much less toilets. That's what Mario is for.
Anyway, after I hear this sound, I dare to take a look. And inside the bowl there's no water. I mean, there's a small pond at the mouth, but it's not rising like it should. Now I'm no toilet expert, but that water should be rising and making bubbly sounds and whatnot.

So I'm like, I'll just flush it again. So I do that. The flushing knob (yes, it's not even a handle) has no resistance. It's just limp, and the water stays low. This forces me to roll up my sleeves and open the toilet cap. I've done this before, so I just pull on that chain thing and things are supposed to start working again, and I can go back to my life without having to worry about some stupid toilet.

I say "supposed" because that's how things theoretically should work. Do you think it did?

...It did. Oh, it worked, alright. After a few seconds of pulling, all of this water just started GUSHING out. Clean water, mind you (THANK GOD). It was squirting out everywhere and the water was now rising really, really fast. Being the blazing fast thinker I am, I quickly throw my electric stuff out our small bathroom and close the door.

Yeah, one problem. I forgot to throw myself out too.

So now I'm standing there next to an exploding toilet. The water has now gushed out of the bowl (I didn't even know toilets could hold this much water), and is all over the floor, inches thick. I finally decide to reach back in and reclose the chain valve thing. Nothing happens. I like Calvin and Hobbes as much as any guy, but this was really freaking me out. I don't want to report to insurance that my house was flooded because of an accident I had while taking a dump.

But thankfully, a few more squirts, and the water stops. I realized that I still had on socks, so those get taken off. And now I'm standing barefoot, drenched, in toilet water. AWESOME.
I opened the door (thereby soaking my hallway's carpet) and mad dashed for a mop. It didn't work too well, so then I got a broom and a duster. I was literally scooping up buckets of water and dumping it into the bathtub. This continued for a few painful minutes as I struggled to rinse out mops and dust more water.

Finally, my bathroom floor was back to a bearable condition. The toilet somehow got clogged during this whole order (like, WTF?) and was now teeming at its rim. I took the plunger and wrested my toilet to the death. I barely managed to win, and finally, the water drained back to normal like it should. The rest after that was just towel cleanup.

So yeah. Thank god for dorms. I can't imagine what I would be like as an actual homeowner. I'd probably set my house on fire making cereal, then put out that fire by flushing a toilet. I seem to have the magic touch of death for anything mechanical. It's the complete opposite for when I use electronics. Huh.

I'm sorry that I couldn't make this very funny. Even though it's late night broadcasting, our viewership still ranges from the young to the ancient. Toilet humor usually isn't very humorous, so... k, I'll stop now. Remember, next episode will be full of MAGIC, RAINBOWS, and BACKSTABBING. Peace out.

PB&J: Poopie brains and jam

Today I learned something new.
If you think about it, that's actually quite amazing. For a genius like me, whose IQ is at levels you could only reach in your wildest fantasies, I haven't found something I didn't already know since the dawn of mankind. Until today.

You see, I didn't know that brains taste like strawberry jam. But now that I know, it's all good.

So here's the story. I was sitting on a bench in the local park, doing a little brain warm-up by proving the Erdős-Gyárfás conjecture, when all of a sudden, a little punk skater kid rode up and poured some milkshake on my pants. Now, what he was doing with a milkshake, I can only guess, but the point is that his action was completely arbitrary and insolent.
He came up to me and tried to apologize. Or so it seemed. But, I, having an analytical mind that even Sherlock Homes would envy, saw through his plan. I figured out that he wanted to get closer so he could dump the rest of his drink on me. I quickly stood up, and in one swift motion, whipped out my handy-dandy portable sledgehammer. With two quick smashes, I blew his skateboard up into a bajillion microscopic pieces.

At this point, the kid was probably crapping in his pants. He tried to run, but I guess there was too much sludge in between the cracks or something. Try to visualize it to get a better picture of what's happening.
I then stood up and looked down at my pants. There was a milkshake stain on a rather private region. I had only one option left...

I quickly got up, let out a monstrous roar, and chased all the nearby innocent park-goers out of the area (all while foaming at the mouth). Next, I took the sledgehammer and I bashed the kid's brains out. Then I ate them.

...Yeah. Basically, that's what happened. The police never caught me, probably because my smarts can reflect radar.
So let this be a lesson to you all. If you pour milkshake on my pants, I WILL eat your brains.

Stupid people ar sooo immature

This episode I rant about people who are full of themselves. For all you dumb guys out there, it means you have a superiority complex, or a monstrous ego. I, your humble host, am obviously not one of these people. My smarts comes from true intelligence and wisdom, unlike people who are full of themselves (will be referred to as "poopies" from now on), who only pretend to be better than others.

The reason I'm hating on poopies today is because I recently ran into one. Quite literally, actually. So, I was minding my own business, doing my daily 15 mile morning jog (which all manly and macho people like me do), when all of a sudden this weirdo decided to pass me on the left. He didn't even say anything, or even acknowledge my existence. He was listening to some darned music and just thundered right by.

I mean, what's his problem? Why couldn't he just be content with running behind me? Did he think that he was so high and mighty with his iPodmabobber?
Well, I decided to give him a piece of my mind, so I charged straight at him and tackled him to the ground (the grassy area, because I'm very generous). I ripped his headphones off and tore through them with my teeth, spraying him with drool and bits of wire. "Who do you think you are," I shouted at his face. He looked very surprised, but I didn't really care. After all, losers like him should just be ignored.

So then I got up and continued to run. The idiot tried to call the police, so I turned around, grabbed his phone, and threw it into a lake. I then splashed some water at him and a few of the onlookers (we had gathered an idiot crowd). Then I kicked some fat kid's ugly dog. That was the highlight of my day.

I think we've drifted a little off track. But since I'm the host, I can do whatever I want. Anyway, as I was saying, this poopie was a total jerk. A jerk, by the way, is the derivative of acceleration. I know this because my IQ is at least 10 times higher than yours will ever be. Now you see, I'm not being stuck-up, because I'm only saying fact. It's not boasting either, because I was doing that, I'd simply list out the countless ways why I'm so much better than you. But since all of you are insignificant, I don't need to do that. Jeez.

Yeah, so if you ever come across that guy, give him a kick in the balls for me, ok?

Day 1: Beatboxing Grandpa

Day 1: Beatboxing grandpa

I'm too cool for school, so I skipped it today. I felt that if I went, my brilliance would hurl everyone else into a downward spiral of shame and depression. So, naturally, I went to the park to meddle in my highly advanced thoughts.

To tell you the truth, I was actually hoping for someone to come and start a fight. I just thought that having an argument would bring a little sparkle to my day. No one came, unfortunately, so I resorted to counting the number of hot chicks who ran my way. Probably having something to do with the fact that all the girls around my age were busy taking classes and edumacation shenanigans, but my final count ended at 1. But that was only a dude with gigantic man-breasts (hey, I had to lower my expectations a little).

Anyway, as you can tell, I was bored out of my expansive mind, but that's when I realized something. Instead of waiting for trouble, why not go and seek it? With this profound thought, I ran over to an old grampa nearby and socked him in the face.
At least, that's what I tried to do.

As I learned after this entire ordeal, it turns out that oldy here was actually the grandmaster of some ancient Egyptian martial art or something (apparently, legend says that they could fire laser beams from their eyes).
So there I was, getting pwned by some grandpa. He pinned me to the ground, sat on my head (I swear he cut the cheese on purpose...), and proceeded to steal all of my cash (which, coincidentally, I had stolen from an old lady who was crossing a street two days earlier).

Needless to say, I was humiliated, angry, and my head reeked of old man's cheese. I had to get my revenge.

So I dramatically said to him the first thing that popped into my brilliant mind (pauses and all): "I challenge you... to a rap battle!"
In retrospect, this was probably a bad move on my part, especially considering the fact that I can't rap, and barely listen to it.

The Egyptian gramps broke it down on the spot. He did his Egyptian 2D dance jig, ripped out some soulful lyrics, and beatboxed, all at the same time. I could only stand and watch in awe with a twitching eye.

Once again leaving my fate to my brilliant mind, I hatched up a retreat plan. I stepped in front of him and did my little song. In iambic pentameter.
Yeah, that's right. This old dude just rapped and beatboxed and now I'm about to go all Shakespeare on his rump.

At this point, I'd like to cut off my story and just say that it didn't end pretty. The gramps stole my identity (ha! sucks for him) and took over my house. So now, here I am, sitting alone in the park with only my laptop to comfort me...
I don't think I'll be the same ever again...

Summary: I suck and now my house is a garbage bin

Day 2: Army of personal Maids

From where we last left off, I was sitting all by myself in the park with nothing but the laptop in my hands and the clothes on my back (actually, those got torn off too by a mob of screaming fangirls).
Well, I am now sitting in my $3,000,000 mansion, wearing a sexy half million dollar suit, and have a babe in each arm. I'm also making origami jet fighters out of Benjamin's. How about that for economic depression?

You might think I've gone insane. Heck, you probably thought that from the moment you read my first sentence. But I assure you, all of this is true. In fact, this very show was recorded by one of my personal maids. (Help! Please save me! My master is EVIL!!!)

Remember that Egyptian grandpa who beat the crap out of me? Yeah, well, I sued him. For a total of... (drumroll please, my personal orchestra) One. Billion. Dollars. Basically, I figured that I would use my awesome intelligence to trick the courts into giving me free cash. If I pestered them enough, they would eventually have to give in to my charm. The following is what I sued him for:

$14.56, which was the amount of money I had in my wallet at the time
$35.44, which is how much my "house" was worth
$5,000, because I went easy on him during the "fight" since he's so old
$5,383, for making me think this all out (a.k.a. "legal fees")
$10,000, for the time I wasted washing the stink out of my head, since time = money
$50,000, for the trauma I received from having his saggy lumps on the back of my neck
$200,000, because he bruised my back when he pinned me to the ground, which made my sleep terrible, which then caused my job interview to go wrong the next day
$234,567, for being such a cool number (a.k.a. the amount I payed to bribe the judge and jury)
$500,000, because his rap hurt my feelings, which in turn effected the earnings that I would have made in my future career as a rapper
$999,000,000, for stealing my precious identity, which is worth more than the Hope Diamond
I, of course, won, as you'd expect with all of these legitimate reasons piling against him. The dumb old man left the courthouse with a billion dollar debt. I felt a microscopic bit of guilt for him, so I reluctantly hired him to work as my personal bodyguard.

...Now that I think about it, he probably isn't the best candidate for someone I trust to be around me at all times.
Maybe I should hire that jiggly guy at the park instead...

Day 3: OMNImode

There comes a time in life when a guy just has to unleash all of his anger on the world. For me, that time was today.

Just yesterday, I was the king of the universe. I had everything I could ever want at my fingertips. But then, all of a sudden, everything fell apart.

It happened when I was taking a dip in my "sea of money" pool. I heard this loud whistling sound, and it seemed to be getting louder ever second. Well, naturally, I turned my head to look, and guess what I saw?

A cruise missile.

1364 picoseconds later, my mansion was in flames. To be honest, I was speechless. I couldn't budge. My Benjamin's were burning into nothingness around me, but I didn't even flinch.
It was then when my lightning fast reflexes kicked in. I leapt two meters into the air and out of the pool, spun around, and lobbed some nearby grenades at the direction the cruise missile's trail lead (What can I say? Being smart amplifies my physical strength). I definitely heard the Wilhelm scream.

I grabbed a few personal possessions and ran for my life. I barely managed to escape the mansion crashing down on my head. Luckily for me, I spotted a kid riding a bike. I knocked him off his bike, stole his oversized jacket, and rode off into the sunset.

So far so good, right? But here's where things get really hectic. I was whizzing along in my minibike, when three helicopters started following me overhead. One of them shouted something about "dues", and then started a count down. He reached zero, and I found myself riding in the midst of bullets, bombs, and explosions.

Not wanting to get shot, I knew what I had to do. I got off the bike and activated something I like to call "OMNIMode".

Less than a minute later, all three copters were smoldering wreckages, and I was standing on a pile of bodies holding the head of one of the pilots, with a massive erection. Uhh... I'll have explain the details of my rampage another time.

Day 4: of lawyers and men

Oh man, I so deserve a Nobel Peace Prize. Listen to this: I saved a lawyer who was about to be blown up into smithereens. Amazing, huh?

So, here's how the story goes. I saw this guy in a cheap suit standing by a river while talking on his phone. A black briefcase was resting by his feet. What what you do if you were me (Which you most definitely aren't, because my smarts would make your/my brains explode)?
Well, I thought it was a bomb, since lawyers are constantly under attack from other other lawyers and their OBJECTION's. Besides, I was feeling especially generous after my house was bombed two days ago.

So I ran up to him, grabbed his phone, shouted a few choice words into the receiver, and ripped the flippy-lid clean off (I've always wanted to do that). To save him from imminent doom, I grabbed his suitcase, poured some gasoline on it, and set it on fire. For good measure, I roundhouse booted the lawyer clear across the river.

I somehow wasn't satisfied yet. I knew that the lawyer-haters would stop at nothing, so I decided to fight fire with fire. I leapt across the lake and knocked him unconscious (I wouldn't want to have him run away from my protection). I first wrapped his body around in a bulletproof vest, straight-jacket style, which immobilized him (this will make him a less obvious target). Then I continuously dunked him in the river for 10 minutes (this will cleanse his body of disease). Next, I chained up his feet and tied them to a tree branch (this will make him blend into the scenery). Finally, I spray painted his entire body and face a mixture of puke green and crap brown (this will make him inconspicuous).

After all of these good deeds, I can safely say that I saved his life. Once again, that's me, Omnihush, saving a lawyer from a bomb and any possible future attacks. Now that I think about it, I still haven't let him down yet... Oh well, he's probably safer there.

So, smart gentlemen of the Nobel Prize committee (or whatever you weirdos are called), I'll be awaiting my letter with baited breath.

Day 5: Nobel Prize(s)

Today was another day adding to my recent string of awesome days. I woke up in the morning to find a letter sitting on my front porch. Inside was an invitation to receive the Nobel Peace Prize I rightfully earned from the events of my last outing. The award ceremony was going to be held that afternoon in the well known country of São Tomé and Príncipe.

Luckily, my neighbor's family was planning to travel there for vacation today, so I just robbed them of their tickets (I also stole all their kitchen utensils, forcing them to eat with their fingers). Soon after, I arrived at the local airport. I intimidated/smooth talked the flight attendants into giving me the co-pilot's seat and enough free peanuts to last a lifetime. The flight took a few hours, but I actually arrived there earlier than when I left (loltimezones).

Having a few hours to kill, I explored the capital, São Tomé. To my delight, the town has more brothels than America has Dunkin' Donuts, Starbucks, and McDonald's combined. The downside was that I got so involved in worldly pleasures that I forgot the time, and when I finally realized, the ceremony had already started.

There was a problem, though... I still hadn't finished my current business. So, I ended up taking the entire harem with me. I quickly trained a bunch of mules with my pan flute and rode them to the award center. I slammed open the doors of the auditorium, with 10 scantily-clad women running behind me. But hey, the hero always arrives late, right?

I walked down the isle. Dead silence. Stunned faces stared at me and those behind me (mostly at the latter). I leaped onto the stage, kicked the other Nobel Laureates off the stage (they fell into the orchestra pit, while screaming bloody murder and madness). I ran up to the podium with my girls surrounding me. I had them take all the Nobel Prizes. You know, up close, those Nobel Prizes look like those chocolate coins. I tried eating one, but it wasn't very tasty. There were 12 of them total, two for each category - too many to carry, so we had to be creative...

...Anyway, I opened up another can of "OMNIMode". This prompted me to grab all 10 of my girls in one arm, construct a grappling hook out of strands of hair, hurl a table out the window, and throw myself out of said window, all within a couple of seconds. I also had a couple of ninja shuriken with me, which I threw at a couple of ugly people in the crowd.

We then body surfed our way back home across the Atlantic (the details of which are too hot for this broadcast). All's well that ends well.

Book 1: Plead from the editor

How To Be Successful In Life, 67th edition

(authors: Omnihush and your mom)
(publish date: sometime near future)
(dedicated to: the love of my life, who has already achieved the state of Absolute Divinity)

I believe in reincarnation. That is, when you die, you don't. Instead, you're reborn into the world as another being. Given a second chance, as some say. Well, for me, this would be my 67th chance.

I started on this endeavor roughly 2508 years ago. Since then, I've learned a lot about the ways of the world. Part of my intellectual insight comes from the fact that I've been pretty much everything. One lifetime, I'm a barbarian with nothing on his mind but loot and *ahem* (not necessarily in that order). The next, I'm a fly, doomed to be squashed. All of a sudden, I'm a royal king, ordering grapes to be delivered to my mouth.

Heck, we might even have crossed paths in the old ages. Nonetheless, this great journey has all led us to the same place. Here. No matter what bad/good karma you have gotten in the past, we've all averaged out to the same place. Do you know what that means?

No, sadly, we're not the tip of the sword. Quite the contrary. We're the bottom feeders. And that is why I'm writing this book. I hope that by sharing our secrets for all the world to read, I will give our karma a great boost.

I don't care how awesome of a person you are (I still love you), if you a reading these words on your screen right this moment, you're at the same level as I am. Having 66 lifetimes more experience then you, you can trust me.

As you all know, the ultimate goal in our lifetime is to obtain enlightenment. I felt that two lifetimes ago, while I was but a humble African swallow living a spartan bird's life in the Congo, I nearly found the light. I will go into the details in the 15th chapter of our book, so I won't spoil it here. Let's just say for now that I met a premature end. I must have been a real sinner last life, since I now find myself close to ground zero.

So, this is, in fact, a call for help. I already know how to be successful, but I want your input as well (humor cures writer's block). I will of course credit you for your contributions, so the afterlife will know that you helped write a groundbreaking book.

As I write, I will post periodical updates, especially chapters that can relate to our current situation. So grab your pens and put away your swords, we're gonna get a crakin lakin'.

Book 2: Cooking papa

Excerpt from chapter 43: How To Cook In Life - Male Edition

So you want to be a cook? Never fear, for I was a chef on a pirate ship in my 26th life!

The first thing that you have to know about cooking is that chicks dig it. If you can cook, you can be assured that the girl of your dreams is in the bag (no, not that bag).

Let's start out with the easy stuff. First, go to your kitchen. Do you have large white rectangular prism that civilization calls a "refrigerator"? Good. Now open it. There should be one second for the "frozen" stuff and another, bigger one for the "cold" stuff. Now, look for something that resembles pizza. Take it out, open the wrapper, and but it on a plate. Close the door, head over to the microwave, and pop it in. Grab your handy-dandy 20-sided die (R.I.P., Mr. Gygax) and roll a number. Set your timer/dial to that number. Now wait.
PROFOUND MOMENT: Try singing a song. The speed time passes is inversely proportional to how bored you are.
Now pop it open, spit manly saliva onto your fingertips, and set the plate onto the table. Enjoy!

I understand that that (not a typo, eh?) previous explanation was long-winded, but please bear with me (I should have said that earlier). Baby steps, kiddo, baby steps.

Now you've graduated from cooking kindergarten, so we'll try the intermediate step.

Go to your local grocery store, get a few dozen carts, and empty said store.
PROFOUND MOMENT: Racing shopping carts is not only fun, it also gives the store clerks some much needed adrenaline rush to help brighten their moods!
Take all the stuff and haul it back home. Now, here's the tricky part. Look on the packages, and memorize the names of each "ingredient." I'll wait for you.

Ok, now, think about what you have just read, and list the 20 weirdest sounding names out of those (see chapter 107 for step-by-step illustrated instructions). Take a huge bowl (anything less than titanic is unacceptable) and stuff those 20 items in. Grab something equally as big (such as your leg, or a Dreadnought-class battleship) and start stirring. Stir for roughly two hours.
PROFOUND MOMENT: Although stirring builds character, manly men use Blendtec blenders for all their cooking/destroying needs.
Now you have your slop. Think of a really long, fancy sounding French name (e.g., French fries, French toast, French horn, fromages puants de l'eau d'égout) and that will be the name of your "gourmet dish." Enjoy!

Oh, so now we're getting to the HOT stuff. You have all the skills from cooking for a prince to surviving on shrubs and grasshoppers. So now, we take the next step. Prepare to go... advanced.

Put down your cooking utensils. Head over to the phone. Dial a Chinese/Mexican/Italian/whatever restaurant. Place order. Sit back, relax, wait, and enjoy!

And there you have it. Master these levels (only the advance level is ever truly successful), and you'll be set for life.

Book 3: Damn that Murphy

Excerpt from chapter 98: How To Find Out Who You Were In A Past Life

I bet all of you have asked yourself the question, "Who did I used to be?" I have a strategy for tracing anyone's ancestry up to 67 times back.

When you are physically and mentally reborn, your memory is wiped. You have absolutely NO connection to your past life. Any dreams, hallucinations, or wishful thinking of yours is, for fact, wrong. So, how do I know about my history, if not by memory?

After you are done reading and committing to memory the following three paragraphs, put down the book and try to mimic what I'm about to say (be sure to mark your page!). Take your dominant hand, or if you're ambidextrous, both hands, and hold it out in front of you at a 90 degree angle. Pull your arm back until your hand(s) are at your chest. Make sure your palm side is parallel to the curvature of the Earth. Now clench into a fist. Now unclench. Clench again. Unclench again. This series of Martial Arts will help you lose some calories and increase blood flow (see chapter 50 for exercise techniques).
PROFOUND MOMENT: Exercise often to relieve stress. Beating up small kids is great exercise.

Flip your hand over while keeping it in the same x-y-z coordinates (see chapter 4 for beginner math). Now, take your other hand, or if you're ambidextrous, your nose, and trace each and every single line you see on your palm (not your fingers). Start from the upper right corner, and restart to the left, down, respectively (refer to diagram in Appendix B). Each trace, add one to your mental counter.
PROFOUND MOMENT: An urban legend says that counting to infinity will insure you a spot on TLTLS talkshow in your next lifetime.
Make sure to count EACH and EVERY SINGLE line, no matter how small or winding.

Your final count should be anywhere in between 0 and 500. Now, take that number, grab a calculator, and divide it by your age. We will call this number X. We're not done yet. Find any full deck of standard playing cards around your house. Remove all non-integer value cards from it. Throw the pack into the air and wait for it to fall to the floor. Pick up ONE face down card from the floor. Read the number. We will call this N. Now, take the Nth root of X. This final number represents the maximum number of years you have left to live.

If all goes well, you should now be fretting over how short your life is. So forget about what has happened in the past (who cares, anyway?) and look to how you can make the most of your remaining time in the next chapter.
PROFOUND MOMENT: Never admit that you don't know the answer to the question. Instead blame the questioner for the terrible specificity of the asked question. Or Murphy's Law. It's always Murphy's fault.