I drew you this.

Even though I didn't reach 20 followers - I still did it.

That feeling you're feeling is guilt.

I dunno how to draw unicorn bodies, so a head will have to do. Don't act like you deserve an unabridged unicorn.

They see me rollin'.

In high school, rolling someone's house with toilet paper is the height of borderline-illegal entertainment. No one admits that they think it's cool - cause that'd make it lame. But we all did.

The tricky thing is that it can be construed as a compliment or a startlingly pathetic insult - so you want to plan wisely who you're going to assault.

For example, I decided to roll my buddy Ford once. I took a few friends and we did a pretty excellent job.

The next day, as most Rollees are, he was upset. But then we noticed he was more upset than we thought he had a right to be. So we tactfully asked what was wrong. Apparently the same night, someone broke the door on his garage. Of course, they thought the rollers (big, dumb us) and the vandals were one and the same.

It eventually got worked out that we were innocent, but to this day that hasn't been solved. Hopefully this post will help locate the culprit. If any of you have seen a prowler who only targets garage doors of houses that have recently been rolled - please call this number;

9

Thank you.

One night, a few weeks after I got my license, we rolled someone else. I can't remember who it was - but that doesn't matter much.

Ford, Jarrett, Warren and I donned our black clothes, jumped in my black car, and set out for no good.

When we got there, we parked my car at a safe distance and sat there for a few minutes to prep for what lie ahead: Absolutely no danger, and with almost no consequences, period.

As we were about to make a break for the yard, Jarrett decides it's too hot and starts to take off his hoodie. Now, Jarrett was our token black friend. That is only important right now because Jarrett took off his appropriately black hoodie to reveal a blindingly white tank top - which I'm pretty sure had characters from Winnie the Pooh on it, but I don't want to say for sure.

So this was Jarrett.

Three guys eventually got him to take off his shirt. That was a proud moment.

When we had finished, we ran back to my car as if anyone knew or cared we were there, and sped off into the night.

As we approach our hometown, Jarrett says something unpleasant.

Jarrett: Hey, I think that's a cop behind us.

Ford: No, it's not a Crown Victoria.

Then, as my heart was beating up my eardrums, they politely argued about whether or not a police officer could drive a car other than a typical Crown Vic in our small town. After a few seconds it gets quiet, then suddenly;

Ford: Nope. That's a cop.

Blue lights penetrate my vision as I realize with dismay that I was seconds from turning into my driveway.

FACT: Cops are attracted to turn signals like a moth to the flame. Do not use them.

As I pull to a stop, my selfish feelings are put aside when Ford slowly says;

Ford: Wow. Look at all this toilet paper.

Before the cop can leave his car, we play a quick game of hot potato with a hastily TP stuffed duffel bag. It winds up in Warren's lap, who looks positively terrified about this. A knock on my window snaps all of our faces up to meet our maker.

That man saw four boys, one shirtless, all in black - and the one in the toboggan has a big black duffel bag.

I can't even draw that.

The rest was a routine traffic stop. He saw me go over the yellow line a couple times and he let me go with a warning.

The moral of the story doesn't really exist. Except, hey parents, at least we weren't setting anything on fire.

TallBirdStory.

As a child, I was all for animals. I thought they were little magic angels, immune to parents and bedtimes. If I saw a dog, I would pet it - really hard - and being licked in response only stimulated my desire for its attention. Even when I was scolded for petting against the dog's hair, he still LICKED me. I couldn't disappoint animals.

I would later find out that this so called "licking" was really an attempt to punish my hand.

This next part is called

THE BETRAYAL

I really liked the idea of a zoo, where animals conglomerated together. However, the fact that I couldn't pet them didn't appeal to me. Plus it was always too hot and smelly. Like igneous tuna.

So instead, I was taken to a tiny locally owned petting zoo. I bet its still there, just look for the sign "Awful Lie-To-Children Folks LLC".

I don't remember anything except for this next part, because it was pretty scarring - and I liked the Backstreet Boys, so I was tough.

On those terms, imagine I walked right up to the ostrich, totally ignoring the neat wolves and dragons.

Eye contact is made.

Wait no, he looked more like this.

Notice the cold, calculating eyes. These eyes do not understand trivial matters such as pain or birthdays.

Also, note the horns and matching goatee. Alarming!

And those are not extra Stranglin' Limbs sprouting from his neck - that is a boo-boo from his glory days in the Jurassic era. The cavemen called him la chupacabra. I don't know what that is, but it sounds scary, so this thing was totally that thing.

Once our eyes meet, a statement is made. I don't understand it, but I gather it is mostly a poor attempt at trash talk. My innocent eyes see past the threats.

I start to reach for the monstrous bird, but just as he is about to fulfill his quest for blood, the petting zoo owner reminds me that I have no food. He only delays my fate. I grab a handful of the offered ostrich food as he fills me in on the correct feeding position.

Now, here's the kicker;

I guess he feels the need to say something to me, so he unnecessarily states "Go on, he doesn't bite."

I reach again for the living fossil, this time with a great big motive in hand.

The bird wastes no time and clamps down on my baby hand. He then LOCKS his beakjaw. Probably. I was crying more than studying the situation.

Thinking quickly, and may I say efficiently, the pet owner then shoots the beast with some sort of awesome gun. The bird evades the bullet, flies above our heads, squawking something like "Hail Hitler", and then plummets back into the depths of Hades. Where it so belongs.

Actually that's the only part that didn't happen, and the only part that should've.

I don't really recall what happened after that, because my unblemished childhood was pretty much over. That dinosaur violated me.

Animals now, en masse, give me the stink eye and I just can't impress them. I think it's always been this way, but now I am aware.

As a sub-story, years later, walking through a ZOO - ironically - I'm telling a couple friends this very story. I finish as we approach the emus. They look the same as the aforementioned satanbirds, but they're shorter and I'm pretty sure have self-esteem issues. Not seconds after I say the words "But emus are completely different birds", the freaking thing lurches at my stomach, luckily only accomplishing a slight shirt-bite. This forever seals the reputation of long-necked birds.

I started an organization, a lot like PETA. All you have to do is say mean things to ostriches and emus when you see them. Roadrunners acceptable.

Look what I did.

I have now added an exciting banner that took me at least several minutes to create. It has no deep meaning behind it, I just decided to draw a rainbow. Then grass. Then, as I realized it may misrepresent myself as a ninny, I drew tough-guy scissors who are showing that rainbow what's up. They cut that rainbow.

My first post has explosions.

I desperately want to be thought of as funny. In my opinion, humor is one of the most important traits a human can have, along with the ability to be comfortable in a conversation, the ability to specifically make me comfortable in a conversation, and puppies. All of these things - important.

The worst part about all of this is that some people think I'm hilarious. Which is either not true, or I just suck at harnessing my skill. And in any case, since I don't think so, being told I'm funny usually results in me thinking I have to spit out a joke to, like, prove it or something. And the complimenter ends up wishing to either erase their words or evade me.

On that note, if I ever *try* to be funny - sweet potatoes - watch out. It's an agonizing sock hop of emotion that very closely resembles those baby sea turtles that never get to the ocean because a stupid albatross is hungry. I am the lowly babies - all of them, collectively, to more easily convey sympathy - and my friends are the ravenous birds. I wind up resenting them for a few minutes because they didn't think highly of my outdated popculture reference about Michael Jackson.

On the brightside, and a completely different train of thought, you know that thing that you consider a personal weakness? My weakness is hearing, and subsequently *listening*. Anyway, I'm sitting here typing, and I hear a ruffling noise. It sounds like someone went to Walmart without me to get candy, and instead of taunting me with their plunder, they crinkle the plastic bag in my ear.

I let it be for awhile, but then my brain is telling me that the sound is coming from calculating roaches around me as they plot. This type of thought generally leads up to me hopping out of bed - maybe too girlishly - and combing throughout my dorm-room for the source of this devilnoise.

So it turns out that it's a broken sprinkler, sparsely slapping the sidewalk outside of our dorm, three floors down.

Now, the reason this is so exciting for me is that my bed is on the opposing side of the room to the window. Also, once I found the sound, my roommate still couldn't hear it - even standing right next to the window.

I have deducted, since I've been practically deaf until now, that I was bitten by a radioactive-spider. Or, no, probably a radioactive-something-with-ears. But I don't like to think of something evolved enough to have ears being close enough to my bed to bite me in the night. Spiders either, actually. I'm rambling.

In conclusion;

There's a chance I'm funny.
But I definitely have superpowers.