So, there has been a slight change. The owner of this blog is still me. I am still the amazingly awesome and trickiest tricky of the trickies [that sounds SO CLOSE to trekkie... which makes it doubly awesome....]
[AHEM]
Aaaaanyway, I had to switch over accounts because... Dun dun DUN... my other one was hacked!!
Some jackass was emailing me [as myself, I might add] saying things like "you really shouldn't leave your account open" blah freakin' blah...
Jerk.
SO. New account. New username [instead of Magical Program, I am the Unlikely Author... which I rather like...].
However, the magicalprogram@gmail.com account is still valid as it was/is separate from the hacked account, so you may keep sending your stories to that email to your heart's delight.
[GASP]
SPEAKING of stories, I have epic news! I have had a lovely young lady submit to me a story, and I am working on getting it all ready for publication in just a few days.
I wouldn't expect it to be too terribly soon as I am taking a trip in a few days, but know it is in the works!
[Note: it would have been done this weekend, except in the mad rush to switch over the account before I lost my mind, my drafts were all lost... lovely]
So that is my epic, very Tricksteresque news. Even though it may LOOK like the blog has changed hands, it has not. I was hacked. But I fixed their wagon. It only took 3 hours of hurried and desperate switching of emails and accounts and deleting things and....
Cheers,
TUA?
Yeah, um, no....
I think, for this blog, it shall remain "MP"
Just because I can.
Cheers,
MP
Friday, March 30, 2012
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
A Truth Universally Acknowledged Pt. 4
You know, as a single person, I am constantly aware of my lack of a significant other: TV shows, music, movies, my friends, textbooks, parents, etc... everywhere you look, there is a couple or some other signifier of romance to remind me of my singleness.
Don't get me wrong, though. As a single person, I have many freedoms: I choose where I live, what I do, who I hang out with... the list goes on and on.
And, perhaps as a reaction to the overwhelming pressures put upon singles to "find the one" and settle down, people like to remind me of these freedoms.
However, this becomes a problem when it seems like the people who most often remind me of these benefits are 1. married, 2. engaged, or 3. in a serious relationship of some sort.
Bear in mind, I am NOT referring to parents in this matter. That's an entirely different ball of wax; for the discussion at hand, they (and other married relatives) get a pass.
As for my all of my dear, sweet, loving friends... STFU.
Not only are you not being helpful, you are not being truthful, either.
If being in a relationship is such a raw deal, why are you still with your dearest love?
Oh wait, I forgot... it's because they are your dearest love.
Word.
Let's just assume, then, that when they say "Oh, you're better off single" what they are really saying is "I don't know what to say, but I want to be encouraging".
I know you are simply trying to make me feel better, and I respect that.
Just try to respect the fact that you are failing. Miserably.
Because you clearly don't think that I'm better off single, the statement comes across as hypocritical, patronizing, and serves as yet another reminder that I am somehow (in the eyes of society) incomplete and unfulfilled.
But you know what? My world isn't going to end if I stay single forever... because a single life can be just as complete, fulfilling, and joyous as a married one.
The trick is for singles not to buy into society's BS that you have to be in a romantic relationship to be happy and take ahold of the opportunities that the single life presents.
It will certainly help if you don't remind us of your blessings daily.
Cheers,
MP
Don't get me wrong, though. As a single person, I have many freedoms: I choose where I live, what I do, who I hang out with... the list goes on and on.
And, perhaps as a reaction to the overwhelming pressures put upon singles to "find the one" and settle down, people like to remind me of these freedoms.
However, this becomes a problem when it seems like the people who most often remind me of these benefits are 1. married, 2. engaged, or 3. in a serious relationship of some sort.
Bear in mind, I am NOT referring to parents in this matter. That's an entirely different ball of wax; for the discussion at hand, they (and other married relatives) get a pass.
As for my all of my dear, sweet, loving friends... STFU.
Not only are you not being helpful, you are not being truthful, either.
If being in a relationship is such a raw deal, why are you still with your dearest love?
 |
| This romance business is so passé |
Oh wait, I forgot... it's because they are your dearest love.
Word.
Let's just assume, then, that when they say "Oh, you're better off single" what they are really saying is "I don't know what to say, but I want to be encouraging".
I know you are simply trying to make me feel better, and I respect that.
Just try to respect the fact that you are failing. Miserably.
Because you clearly don't think that I'm better off single, the statement comes across as hypocritical, patronizing, and serves as yet another reminder that I am somehow (in the eyes of society) incomplete and unfulfilled.
But you know what? My world isn't going to end if I stay single forever... because a single life can be just as complete, fulfilling, and joyous as a married one.
The trick is for singles not to buy into society's BS that you have to be in a romantic relationship to be happy and take ahold of the opportunities that the single life presents.
It will certainly help if you don't remind us of your blessings daily.
Cheers,
MP
Saturday, March 10, 2012
No Words Needed.
 |
| Really? Really and truly?? |
Do I even need words? I don't think so...
Cheers,
A seriously geeked out MP
Good Evening.... Infidel
So, to make up for not blogging in.... *coughmumblesplutter*.... weeks, I shall post a brief entry on my recent experience.
I got to see Jeff Dunham live.
Word.
For those of you not familiar with Jeff Dunham, let me sum up.... he's a middle aged loser who plays with dolls [his words, not mine].
He is actually quite the talented ventriloquist and comedian, and I went to see his live show just a few short weeks ago.
We literally laughed ourselves sick [none of us could talk more than a few words at a time the next day]... to say that he was freakin' funny would be quite the understatement. Add in to the mix that he's fairly good looking [though he doesn't hold a candle to British ventriloquist Paul Zerdin] and you've got one hell an evening.
Now, even though it would have been quite Trickster to do so, I did not record any of it because that is highly illegal, and I feared the wrath of the copyright gods... so here is a link to a past performance featuring Achmed, the Dead Terrorist.
Enjoy.
Cheers,
MP
I got to see Jeff Dunham live.
Word.
For those of you not familiar with Jeff Dunham, let me sum up.... he's a middle aged loser who plays with dolls [his words, not mine].
He is actually quite the talented ventriloquist and comedian, and I went to see his live show just a few short weeks ago.
We literally laughed ourselves sick [none of us could talk more than a few words at a time the next day]... to say that he was freakin' funny would be quite the understatement. Add in to the mix that he's fairly good looking [though he doesn't hold a candle to British ventriloquist Paul Zerdin] and you've got one hell an evening.
Now, even though it would have been quite Trickster to do so, I did not record any of it because that is highly illegal, and I feared the wrath of the copyright gods... so here is a link to a past performance featuring Achmed, the Dead Terrorist.
Enjoy.
Cheers,
MP
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
A Plea.
Trickster told me to start the blog, I did. He told me to ask for reader stories, I did. He told me to post often, I do. I have been a faithful lackey and followed aaaaall of his directions....
And yet... he still keeps picking on me.
I know why it is. There is only one cause of such a thing. The blog must be kept up, and the posts must keep coming...
And no one is sending me material.... and it has to come from somewhere....
Therefore, until I start getting new submission again, Trickster is going to continue to pick on me so that I have something to write about. Isn't he a kind master?
I have only had one reader submission to date. The only conclusion I can reach is that people just aren't experiencing the Trickster.
Because, let's face it... if people HAD Trickster tales to share, they wouldn't just leave me to bear all the responsibility myself. Right?
...
So, if on the off-chance you HAVE had a brush with the Trickster, and are simply too shy to share... please, I beg of you, send it to me! Dig deep! Spare me! Save me!
Because if you don't, more crap like what's to follow will continue to reign down upon me....
The Scene:
5:15 AM yesterday morning. I awake naturally.
This is not unusual - I often wake at this ungodly hour. Something about being a biological (though definitely not mental) morning person or whatnot.
Anyway.
I realized I had a whole big ton [yes, a big ton - significantly bigger than just a regular ol' ton] of stuff to do today, so I decided to stay up and get started.
I had it all planned out: Be done with homework by 5:45, shower at 6:00, be ready to leave and proctor my friend's class at 9:00.
I stayed up. I read my class material. I showered. I did all of these things....
... and then fell back asleep.
I awoke (for the second time that day) about 15 minutes after I was supposed to be at my friend's classroom.
After much rushing, cursing, throwing things, swearing, fumbling, and articulating my displeasure in colorful terms... I made it to the classroom.
Not surprisingly, all the little children had left already.
More tears. More curses. More wishing there was someone else to have Trickster pick on them.
Telling her was the worst part.
Because I was too much of a wuss to call, I texted her instead.
She texted back: "Call if ya can".
Well, THAT certainly did a lot of good.
So I call her.
And she is an angel. She tells me not to worry about it, things happen, we're still friends [at that point I don't think I broke into tears, but don't quote me on it].
However, the next day [and I deserved this] I was peppered with jokes about punctuality and the ENTIRE department now knows the story of how I botched the assignment. Including my favorite professor [whom I have been pestering for several years now about... well... everything].
While it's all in good fun, and I'm enjoying the laughs at my expense [Lord knows I've made fun of enough people to justify it]... I'm not sure I will be able to hold up under another Trickster beating.
So, you see, if you enjoy this blog and would like to see it continue... please get me some material to work with...
... or at least send me a damned alarm clock.
Cheers,
MP
And yet... he still keeps picking on me.
I know why it is. There is only one cause of such a thing. The blog must be kept up, and the posts must keep coming...
And no one is sending me material.... and it has to come from somewhere....
Therefore, until I start getting new submission again, Trickster is going to continue to pick on me so that I have something to write about. Isn't he a kind master?
I have only had one reader submission to date. The only conclusion I can reach is that people just aren't experiencing the Trickster.
Because, let's face it... if people HAD Trickster tales to share, they wouldn't just leave me to bear all the responsibility myself. Right?
...
So, if on the off-chance you HAVE had a brush with the Trickster, and are simply too shy to share... please, I beg of you, send it to me! Dig deep! Spare me! Save me!
Because if you don't, more crap like what's to follow will continue to reign down upon me....
The Scene:
5:15 AM yesterday morning. I awake naturally.
This is not unusual - I often wake at this ungodly hour. Something about being a biological (though definitely not mental) morning person or whatnot.
Anyway.
I realized I had a whole big ton [yes, a big ton - significantly bigger than just a regular ol' ton] of stuff to do today, so I decided to stay up and get started.
I had it all planned out: Be done with homework by 5:45, shower at 6:00, be ready to leave and proctor my friend's class at 9:00.
I stayed up. I read my class material. I showered. I did all of these things....
... and then fell back asleep.
I awoke (for the second time that day) about 15 minutes after I was supposed to be at my friend's classroom.
After much rushing, cursing, throwing things, swearing, fumbling, and articulating my displeasure in colorful terms... I made it to the classroom.
Not surprisingly, all the little children had left already.
More tears. More curses. More wishing there was someone else to have Trickster pick on them.
Telling her was the worst part.
Because I was too much of a wuss to call, I texted her instead.
She texted back: "Call if ya can".
Well, THAT certainly did a lot of good.
So I call her.
And she is an angel. She tells me not to worry about it, things happen, we're still friends [at that point I don't think I broke into tears, but don't quote me on it].
However, the next day [and I deserved this] I was peppered with jokes about punctuality and the ENTIRE department now knows the story of how I botched the assignment. Including my favorite professor [whom I have been pestering for several years now about... well... everything].
While it's all in good fun, and I'm enjoying the laughs at my expense [Lord knows I've made fun of enough people to justify it]... I'm not sure I will be able to hold up under another Trickster beating.
So, you see, if you enjoy this blog and would like to see it continue... please get me some material to work with...
... or at least send me a damned alarm clock.
Cheers,
MP
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Let's be Honest with Each Other...
The Scene:
11:00 PM, yesterday evening. I'm finished with an assignment that I'm fairly confident about, I've studied for an exam that I have to take in my second class, and I'm feeling very rested as I curl up beneath my covers and drift into a peaceful sleep.
The Trickster smiled on me as I slumbered... with a certain maniacal glee that could only mean one thing.
Tomorrow was going to suck.
My alarm went off at 6:00 AM, and I awoke feeling refreshed. So refreshed, in fact, that rather than hit the snooze, I turned the alarm off and began getting out of bed. I foolishly reached for my spectacles.
[Foolishly? What foolishly, you ask? How can one foolishly reach for one's spectacles? Perhaps this isn't fair. Perhaps I foolishly leave my spectacles on the other side of my bed, so in reaching for them, I happen to stretch out across my bed... foolishly.]
Yeah, I fell back asleep. I intended to leave the house at 6:50. I woke up at 6:51.
I was out the door at 6:59:47 [Oh yeah, I was counting seconds at that point]
Anyway, I made it to class on time, so I felt somewhat better.
This feeling dissipated very quickly after my first class.
My major exam, in short, was a fail. Hardly a damn thing we studied was on the actual test, and the two questions we were required to answer did not fall into the realm of the "damn things we studied".
I started crying.
Yeah, not pretty.
After that, though, I recovered fairly well. I remembered more than I thought I did, and I was able to make at least a solid, passing grade [I can hope, anyways...]
And then I reached the final question.
I had no clue. None at all. A question worth a fourth of my major exam grade, and I have no idea.
Frantically, I search my brain for anything remotely resembling an answer.
I come up blank.
In a moment of desperation, my pen is poised to press onto the paper the most eloquent, vague, and impressive sounding garbage I can muster.
However, at the last minute, I stop.
Considering the fact that this professor has had 15+ years of education, 40+ years of teaching, and 60+ years of life experience... I can be fairly confident his hyperbole detector will go off in full force within seconds of eyeing my "Well, it can be said with a fairly certain level of plausibility that..."
This ain't happenin'.
It's Thursday. It's cold outside. We're ALL tired of exams at this point.
So, I wrote the following eulogy:
"The meaning of XYZ eludes my memory. I would make a guess, but I don't want to make you read eloquent BS this close to the weekend"
Feeling liberated, I turned in my exam and picked up my other assignment that he was handing back.
The inscription [next to the insufferably low grade] was as follows:
"You can do much better than this!"
...
....
And not a single damn was given.
Cheers,
MP
11:00 PM, yesterday evening. I'm finished with an assignment that I'm fairly confident about, I've studied for an exam that I have to take in my second class, and I'm feeling very rested as I curl up beneath my covers and drift into a peaceful sleep.
The Trickster smiled on me as I slumbered... with a certain maniacal glee that could only mean one thing.
Tomorrow was going to suck.
My alarm went off at 6:00 AM, and I awoke feeling refreshed. So refreshed, in fact, that rather than hit the snooze, I turned the alarm off and began getting out of bed. I foolishly reached for my spectacles.
[Foolishly? What foolishly, you ask? How can one foolishly reach for one's spectacles? Perhaps this isn't fair. Perhaps I foolishly leave my spectacles on the other side of my bed, so in reaching for them, I happen to stretch out across my bed... foolishly.]
Yeah, I fell back asleep. I intended to leave the house at 6:50. I woke up at 6:51.
I was out the door at 6:59:47 [Oh yeah, I was counting seconds at that point]
Anyway, I made it to class on time, so I felt somewhat better.
This feeling dissipated very quickly after my first class.
My major exam, in short, was a fail. Hardly a damn thing we studied was on the actual test, and the two questions we were required to answer did not fall into the realm of the "damn things we studied".
I started crying.
Yeah, not pretty.
After that, though, I recovered fairly well. I remembered more than I thought I did, and I was able to make at least a solid, passing grade [I can hope, anyways...]
And then I reached the final question.
I had no clue. None at all. A question worth a fourth of my major exam grade, and I have no idea.
Frantically, I search my brain for anything remotely resembling an answer.
I come up blank.
In a moment of desperation, my pen is poised to press onto the paper the most eloquent, vague, and impressive sounding garbage I can muster.
However, at the last minute, I stop.
Considering the fact that this professor has had 15+ years of education, 40+ years of teaching, and 60+ years of life experience... I can be fairly confident his hyperbole detector will go off in full force within seconds of eyeing my "Well, it can be said with a fairly certain level of plausibility that..."
This ain't happenin'.
It's Thursday. It's cold outside. We're ALL tired of exams at this point.
So, I wrote the following eulogy:
"The meaning of XYZ eludes my memory. I would make a guess, but I don't want to make you read eloquent BS this close to the weekend"
Feeling liberated, I turned in my exam and picked up my other assignment that he was handing back.
The inscription [next to the insufferably low grade] was as follows:
"You can do much better than this!"
...
....
And not a single damn was given.
Cheers,
MP
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