Three Wolves

Many of you have already discovered the delightful items available for purchase on Amazon.com. If you have not, this is a good opportunity to enjoy some laughs, as well as think about buying some of the finer things in life. These include the three-wolf-and-moon shirt, the grizzly-ripping-through-shirt shirt, a gallon of tuscan whole milk, inflatable toast, and the list goes on.

Along with the good times of simply looking at these products (and coveting them, nonetheless), you can also read the funny customer reviews. I decided to write my own on the three-wolf shirt. Enjoy.

Oh the misleading information in the form of comments posted here about this spectacular, near pious three-wolf shirt. Those who have made this purchase have left misguided; malinformed.

Though the majority of what was elegantly said is true, i.e. honor, wisdom, power and beautiful women are indeed achieved instantaneously by donning this godlike article of clothing, there is a story that must be recounted in order that future consumers will be fully informed a priori as to the positive and negative, or mayhap detrimental, consequences this shirt will effect in their lives. Though godlike, though near pious, alas it is not piety. It is not a god itself.

It was a dark and foggy night, that fateful evening in North Phoenix. I had gone from Twin Falls, ID (where my three-wolf shirt has no equal) to visit some friends living in trailers, somewhat naturally parked in the back of Wal*Mart parking lot. After circling the store for an hour seeking a lady, much like a vulture circles it's prey, waiting for the precise moment to swoop down and attack when its foe is at its weakest, and having little to no luck, I decided something must be amiss. In Twin Falls, my three wolves and I barely make it 5 minutes in the local Wal*Mart without getting swarmed by hordes of beautiful women, all worthy of their own three-wolf-and-moon shirt. You see, I have to turn many away. Observe its power, its honor. Nonetheless, during the night of which I speak, its honor was replaced by feelings of shame; its power decrepit and deceased. I looked down, thinking "Perhaps I wore the wrong shirt." But there they were, howling up at the moon in all their glory, reassuring me that I was indeed sporting my three-wolf shirt. There must be another reason. I must find it.

And find it I did. Having left Wal*Mart still single, my wolves, the moon at which they so electrically howl, and I, accompanied by my buddies in their wussy tiger shirts, decided to go to a nightclub. Upon arriving at the door, I noticed the bouncer was cowered over in a corner, hardly able to speak, let alone attempt to impede my powerful three wolves from entering. The vibes inside were directed towards one thing: the burning crimson eyes of a grizzly bear ripping through some guy's shirt. He had yet to catch the scent of my now whimpering wolves when I hit the dance floor. Oh the shame! I began to dance, but my moves came out feminine. I tried to run; to digress. But it was too late. I felt his gaze. I felt my ego being chewed up from existence. Sure, I got a couple of good hits in, but nothing could compare to the pain I felt of losing all honor and power. My near pious ego was now completely shattered to bits.

So be warned, those who would purchase this shirt, of the age-old adage: There's always someone cooler than you.

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Chili

I'm finally getting around to writing a new blog post. This one is going to be different than anything you've previously seen.

I'm finally starting to get settled in my new place in Columbia. This has been kind of a process, but it's almost done. In another week (or two), I'll have a couch and a kitchen table. Right now I've been sitting on camping chairs or laying on my new, very comfortable bed. I haven't posted for awhile because the NPCs (non-player character) on Oblivion have been keeping me pretty busy, what with all the tasks and missions they give me or send me on. I've also been enjoying Dan Brown's new book (sorry, Seth), the Lost Symbol. It's a very riveting tale, and I hope some of you are also able to enjoy it.

I'm finally coming to the point. That is, chili. Yes, chili. Last night, it poured buckets of rain on this ol' college town, leaving huge puddles in the middle of the road on which I was traveling to find a barber shop. After almost sliding off the road 9 times, and thoroughly enjoying myself may I add, I found it (the barber shop) and it was closed. So I found another haircutting place, and got my hair cut. I tell you that story to tell you this story: as I was driving in the rain, I began to crave, or rather JONES for a nice bowl of Leon's Famous Chili. So, using my otherwise empty day, I began a cooking show called Cooking with Leon, and came up with a theme song the show, Cooking with Leon, called the Cooking with Leon Theme Song. It's mouthful, and so is the chili. It's quite dull, but I hope you like it!

One other thing, I forgot to mention that there is also a small can of el Pato chili sauce in the chili. That's all. Oh, and you can season to your liking. Make sure to test it part way through cooking to see if you need any more/additional seasonings.

Next time I will discuss the elegant 3-wolf t-shirt, and its effects on humankind.

Or not.

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Internet

Dear friends,

I know you're dying to know how life is for me out here in Columbia. I just barely got internet up and running. Download speed is 10.42 mb/s, so at least it's fast. I, however, am not that fast. I am going to be doing a vlog soon to show off my apt, as plain as it is right now. I think I need some help with the decorations. Any takers? That post will be up tomorrow (hopefully) so you'll just have to wait until then. Also, I've been really enjoying your blogs (for those of you that have blogs) from my phone, especially this one. These photos blow my mind. Good on ya, talented Mandy (on the styling) and talented photographer (on the photography). Good on ya times 2.

May the force be with you,

Master Leon

Comments welcome.

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In a Word, Treats

I've decided that I'm a terrible person. Or at least a terrible blogger. If you, my avid fans, are remotely comparable to myself, you'll sit at your computer each day exactly the way a bowling ball floats in a pool of feathers, be it at your desk, kitchen table, living room sofa, piano, hot tub, bath tub, or on your own bed, and click refresh on your google reader akin to a woodpecker beating ferociously on the top of a poor squirrel's head who only bumped into it after being pushed around by a sleep-deprived, grumpy owl named Archimedes and having fallen from higher branches in the exact way that same bowling ball would fly if it had wings, and being chased by a sappy, love-sick, female squirrel that curiously has feelings like unto a human's feelings at the loss of love, or the improbable chance the love of the human's life turns magically and irreversibly into a squirrel, which curiosity is negated due to the idiots at Disney Corp's belief of anthropomorphism, anxiously anticipating the exact moment your blogger friends update their blogs. Get a life.

No, don't. I haven't even told you anything yet! Be patient.

As I was saying, I'm a terrible person. I have this expectation of my blogger friends. I'd like for them to write a new blog daily. At least. More, if time, that ever-pressing-forward, ever-hasty, invisible element that effectively affects wrinkles on those who live long enough to feel the full effects of gravity, permits them. I've even been known to get on fb and tell some, or one, of them that they need to blog with greater frequency. Yet it's been over a week, and I haven't done so much as say hello. Are you starting to understand what makes me terrible? Hypocrisy.

So I'm going to share a treat with you, my friends. Remember back to 2nd grade, when going on a field trip to the anthropology museum, there was always that snotty-nosed kid with plaid shorts and a popped collar whose mom graciously stuffed his pockets so full of treats that even a carefully trained donkey would hesitate to pack across the city to a museum, only to enable the poor child to make friends. Poor treat-boy. Yeah, today, I'm that guy. Except instead of a pocket full of treats, here are some nigh-pointless videos with some fully pointless words surrounding them! I've been reading a book called the Elements of Style, in which the author, author of Charlotte's Web, nonetheless, warns writers not to say more than needed. How am I doing?

Back to the videos. Mayhap some of you have already seen these. If so, it's OK. They're silly enough to still count as a treat. Remember when I used to add videos to my blog? If not, see here, here, here, here, here, aquí and here. Mind, none are as good as the Hess's, one of which you can find here. And as anyone intensely reading a document as riveting and suspenseful as this post is wont to do, you need not worry that clicks on these links will navigate you away from this page, only to necessitate clicking the back button, hitting backspace or sliding 3 fingers towards the left on your MacBook's trackpad in order to re-arrive at this page which will then need 3.5 more precious seconds to reload. They won't. I, with my finely-tuned coding skills, have employed some fancy HTML code so that they will open in new windows, or depending on your browser setting, tabs, allowing you to open all of these videos simultaneously for your future viewing pleasure. You can thank me later.

i. I made a video to make Shane laugh (and boy did it work!) and to show off the new screen recording feature of Snow Leopard (Mac OS X 10.6.0.0.1 or something). It features me making some funny faces and liking everything on Shane's fb wall. Five minutes later, the filthy fb buggers deleted it with this message.

Filthy fb buggers. So I put the video on YouTube. Enjoy.

ii. It seems that much of my life lately has been inspired by the one and only Shane J. Earl. He made a video (if you're on fb, you'll be able to see it) and put it on fb. I facetiously chuckled throughout the whole thing, wholly knowing that a parody video by yours truly was forthcoming. Disfruta. (Note: for those who do not know Spanish, no worries. The language is just nonsense anyway.)

OK, so the filthy mudbloods over at YouTube disabled the audio on this clip. Good news, though. If you are on fb, you can still see it here! That's how you beat the system, friends. Loopholes. If one video host doesn't like something, try another.

iii. Since I'm a nerd, much like the statistician who secretly wishes he would have done graphic design and moved to Europe to master the skill, and on top of fb and blogging, I am also highly addicted to twitter (I'm up to 8 legit followers!). One of my buddies posted a link to this. Funniest thing I've ever seen. And I want one. Note: I can't claim this clip.

I hope you enjoyed today's post as you would enjoy a chocolate mousse cheesecake home-made by Chris Shrope, a chill, laid-back, aspiring gourmet chef/photographer, surfer dude who enjoys a nasal passage full of sodium chloride after a nice day of surfing and shooting video. I hope you comment if you did or if you didn't or are impartial or indifferent or redundant. I also hope you follow me if you haven't yet! :)

Now, get a life.

Peace.

PS - Just so you know, I'm moving to Columbia to be a statistician this week! Wednesday through Friday to be exact. You can see how sad I am here. But really, I'm excited. Jenova's excited. My mom's excited (that she gets her spare bedroom back). Fred Durst is excited. The government is excited. More on this next time.

PPS - This was weird.

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