Troll Books

A common thing that happens is the sudden increase of books sales of a popular book due to the fact that it is popular. An even more common thing that happens, is a jack in book sales of books with similar titles. Like The Life of Pi in comparison to Life of Pi.

And so, it is in this trollish mood that I present to you, three (almost) troll books that I’ve found.

Cloud Atlas vs The Cloud Atlas

Now, to be clear, this first pair is a completely legit pair of books. Neither one is a troll book, but it’s amusing to see the reviews on Amazon, complaining about how the book, The Cloud Atlas, didn’t match with the movie, which was base on Cloud Atlas, at all.

Stupid humans.

Fifty Shades of Grey vs Fifty Shades of Gray (Subtitle: Tsk, Tsk, Tsk…)

This, by far, has been the best troll book that I’ve seen. The title literally contains one change of letter – from “grey” to “gray”, but it gives the author total legitimacy over her book and no one can complain – it’s their fault they didn’t notice. If one were to buy this book, one would get a 55 page book containing 50 different shades of gray in the form of African elephants.

LMFAO

Life of Pi vs The Life of Pi

We all know Life of Pi, that famous story about a kid surviving the ocean with a tiger. Amusingly, there is a book, matching the same name (with an additional “The”) that is actually about the number pi, with single short blurb about pi and then, for the rest of the book, you get pi up to 100,000 digits.

That’s not the funniest part though.

If you scroll down on the Goodreads page for The Life of Pi, you’ll see that some people have given this book five stars not because of it’s wonderfulness about the 100,000 digits of pi, but because “What a wonderful story about Pi Patel!”

Wow… You people don’t even read the summary do you?

So, moral of the story? Watch your titles.

I owe you one

Wow. I’ve only made 7 posts this month.

This is pathetic.

Ok, since I owe you a post (or more like multiple posts) I’ll write you one. But can I please mention that this might be the perfect place to mention this good old adage?

One good blog post a month is better than 30 shitty ones.

– My Mother

So. There we go. I should probably also remove the “Daily Blogger” badge, but let’s face it, would I really do that? (Shake your head, please.) You may say, why? And I may say, because I’m too prideful, or too embarrassed or too lazy to take it down. Whatever. Just know that it’s not happening.

Ok, so a blog post.

Well, I had a brilliant idea in mind, but I just lost it. So I’ll talk about my WONDERFUL LUCID DREAMING EXPERIENCE.

Actually, not. You see the problem is, if you want to lucid dream, you actually have to work at it. Like, you have do stuff. And you know how much I hate doing stuff. Ok, some checklists I’ve found:

  1. Keep a dream journal
  2. Meditate for 20 minutes before sleeping
  3. Eat avocado (actually not really)
  4. Do the WBTB and WILD techniques. (Hell knows what the heck they are)
  5. Draw A’s on your palm
  6. Sleep

Of all of them, number 6 is the only thing I do. (Well, I also eat avocado, but that doesn’t count.) First off, let’s be honest, who in their right mind goes around drawing freaking A’s on their palms? And da hell is WBTB and WILD? I don’t know about you, but personally, I find this to be wayy too much work. (Winky face.)

So I guess no lucid dreaming then? Aw shucks. I guess then, according to World of Lucid Dreaming DOT COM, I’m not gonna be able to find my ideal partner and fulfill my… sexual fantasies. What bullshit.

Hellbears

Today, I was introduced to the infamous Haribo Sugar Free Gummy Bears. Actually, clarification, I was introduced to the reviews on Amazon for the infamous Haribo Sugar Free Gummy Bears. Hell, I did not actually eat them. I’m not that stupid.

So, I just wanted to say that my life is now complete.

For those who don’t know, apparently, these gummy bears contain lycasin which tastes just like sugar, but completely screws with the digestive tract. It causes bloating and huge diarrhea bombs. The poor people who ate these gummies, well, you’ll have to see for yourself.

What I need to share though is this recipe brought to you by one of the smart reviewers of these gummy bears. Here, is the popcorn of death.

HOLIDAY POPCORN OF DEATH:

4 qts. popcorn
1 1/2 c. sugar
1/2 c. white karo
1 c. butter
2 tbsp. vanilla
1 bag colored marshmallows
4 c. Killer Haribo Sugarless Gummy Bears

Boil sugar, Karo and butter to big bubble stage, add vanilla, and then add Killer Gummy Bears until they melt. Pour over popped corn. Mix.

IMPORTANT: DO NOT TOUCH THIS MIXTURE WITH YOUR BARE HANDS. WEAR PUNCTURE PROOF LATEX GLOVES.

Add the popcorn to a washed holiday popcorn tin with all labels removed, seal with cellophane tape along the edge (this gives it the impression of being factory sealed) add a nice bow and card. Then eat the marshmallows while you laugh and think about all of the havoc you are going to cause.

This probably made my day. The guy used it on his asshole boss and ended up quarantining his office for three months because the paramedics thought his boss got bird flu, getting the asshole boss fired and getting a promotion. I have no proof that this story is real, but it sure was hilarious. If anyone wants to read it, you can find it here.

Sometimes, I wonder about the stupidity of mankind….

Brussel Sprouts and All

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Prompt: “Weird things remind me of her. Cabbage,  for instance.”

Dandy didn’t miss his girlfriend. Not a tad bit at all.

“You know, because all that she ever when on about was how good brussel sprouts were for the body and how I shouldn’t be eating that pizza when I had brussel sprouts right on the pizza.”

Of course, what he never mentioned was the fact that those brussel sprouts were fake and that they actually tasted like pepperoni.

“She only ever goes on and on about being healthy. It’s like that’s the only thing that matters to her. Not me. Not anything. Just being healthy.”

He’d walked into bars every day complaining like that. What was so great about being healthy? It was just making your body feel better while mentally living lifestyle of hell. Eating healthy was horrible. Dandy couldn’t get himself to believe in any of that bullcrap anyways. Cabbage could make you less likely to get cancer? Well, hell, he should smoke more cigarettes as well then. They were both made of plants.

“It’s so annoying now, cuz like weird things remind me of her. Like cabbage.”

He’ll just be standing in his kitchen choppin’ some salad up because his skin and bones female friend was coming over and suddenly he see his girlfriend flashing in his mind, lecturing in the usual way that she did, her head tilt slightly up, her right arm on resting on her hip and her left finger pointing accusingly at him. Of course, her words all went through one ear and out the other. The only word he ever retained was cabbage and so only the faint echo of cabbage ever flew out of her mouth in his mind.

“It’s just so annoying. Really! I think I might be scarred for life.”

She really was the type of “life-changing” girlfriend. He would never be able to eat another cabbage ever again.

“It wasn’t me!”

The wonders of the English language really allows for something as simple as “I didn’t say your name.” to be a sentence with many different meanings. How? Let’s try an exercise. First off, make sure no one else is in the room before you say “I didn’t say your name.” out loud. Now picture what is the scene behind this sentence. You can go simple or complicated. Once you’ve got that down, read on. Bolded words are to be stressed.

1. “I didn’t say your name.”

No, not me, her. You’ve found the wrong person to blame.

2. “I didn’t say your name.”

Maybe you’ve got earwax or something? Because I most definitely did not say your name. I was ordering a hamburger.

3. “I didn’t say your name.”

Maybe I signed it? Motioned it? Sung it? But not say. Saying things is way to boring.

4. “I didn’t say your name.”

Please, I called for my friend Mary over there. I know maybe Fogo and Mary sound like the same thing, but still, you can’t just assume that I’m calling for you.

5. “I didn’t say your name.”

I called for you, not your name. You sent the wrong thing over.

So, which one of these matched with the scene in your head?

Personality Tests Don’t Work

Due to the fact that I’ve been bullshitting the last few posts, I thought I’d write a proper one for once.

I’ve taken lots of personality tests online and usually, I can only say that my results were quite lame. Not lame as in I’m a lame person, but lame as in “how much more generic can these responses get?”. Personality tests tend to bullshit you in a couple of ways.

1. The More A’s The Better

Of the less advanced personality tests I’ve taken so far, the worst are the ones that have exactly 4 possible answers of which A = “The Creative Type”, B = “The Patient Type”, C = “The Bossy But Built To Lead Type”, and D = “Superficial, But Not Called Superficial So To Not Offend Anyone Type”. And they’re really obvious.

You’ve just created a beautiful poster for your friend’s homecoming, but another friends of yours who had been working on the poster with you as well accidentally spills some coffee on the poster. You:

A. Creatively integrate the stains into the poster

B. Toss it out and make a new one

C. Tell your friend to make a new poster

D. Scream and rip up your poster. Proceed to storm out the room in rage with foam forming in your mouth like a spoiled brat.

2. Human Nature Can Be Limited To Abe, Ben, and Jay-Z

The more annoying questions tend to be ones like “Who is your role model?” or “What is your favorite book?”. Of these, they proceed to give you a couple answers and depending on the test you’ll get people from Konrad Zuse (fyi, he invented the computer) to Jay-z.  Or even some random politician that literally no one knows. And tell me, how is this suppose to reveal what my personality is?

Of these 4 flowers, which one do you think represents you well?

A. Pitcher Plant

B. Buttercup

C. Dandelion

D. Daisy

3. It Really Depends

If you think you can respond to “What do you like to do to relax?” without saying “Well, it depends…”, I seriously worry for you. Too many questions require a straightforward answer that really differs on a daily basis. I might think I’m seriously shy one day and then the bossiest person ever the next (trust me, this has happened before). I might wake up feeling shitty one morning because it’s Monday and then extremely excited another morning because I’m going to Disney. Which one are we to assume?

What is your favorite hobby?

A. DIY

B. Gardening

C. Community Service

D. Reading Cosmopolitan

4. I Don’t Even Know Who I Am!

If you don’t even know what type of person you are, how can a 5 question test, who has never interacted with you nor met you at different circumstances, be able to accurately explain what kind of person you are in less than a minute? How can 5 questions even fully encompass the complexity of human nature? If you, who spent how many years alive being yourself, don’t even know who you are, how is a test, which doesn’t even have a consciousness, tell you who you are?

If you took the time to answer the three questions listed above, I will reveal your results for you:

If you answered mostly A‘s you are:

The Creative Type

You are very creative and like to think things out creatively. You really like DIY because it forces you to think creatively. The Pitcher Plant is a bizzare flower in which can only be like via creative means. Therefore, you are CREATIVE.

If you answered mostly B‘s you are:

The Patient Type

You tend to be very patient and quiet in nature. It is very hard to aggravate you and you will patiently fix anything gone wrong. You picked the buttercup because it is a… patient plant? (Excuse me while I bullshit.) You’re favorite hobby is gardening because it tests your patience a lot. Especially when growing plants that don’t like to stay alive.

If you answered mostly C‘s you are:

The Bossy Type 

You like to be on top of everything. You tend to be the one to come up with idea, but you won’t be the one to actually do the work. You picked the dandelion because it’s an aggressive and annoying  plant that just can’t be killed no matter how hard you try to dig it up, just like you. And you really like community service because you can boss people around there for free.

If you answered mostly D‘s you are:

The Superficial Bitch Type

I’m sorry for offending you, but, bitch, you suck ass.

So, did you like my personality test?

The Wrong Four Leaf Clover

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Prompt: While scrolling through Facebook, a women sees a picture of herself in a post about fashion victims.

Being a women of strong and eccentric tastes, Betsy was never the most popular one is came to fashion in her circle of work buddies. Nothing that she wore was ugly, but not everyone fully appreciated modern art on the human body.

After throwing on a pair of sweatpants once she got home, she sat down on her couch to surf the web. Today had not been quite the best day.

There was always tension in the air whenever it came to what she wore. Betsy wasn’t even sure why she still worked for this old fashioned conservative company. No colored suits, no neon shoes. Literally nothing original.

Being the idiot she sometimes was, she forgot about that whole “everything must be black and white” and wore a purple undershirt. The first thing that greeted her the moment she arrived was about 20 sets of malicious eyes trying to bore holes into her purple, no, not even purple, light lilac that almost seemed white shirt.

Next thing she knew, her boss was in front of her with big accusing eyes and Betsy knew that a nice scolding was to follow along with some large amount subtracted from her paycheck. What ridiculous and unreasonable people.

After being forced to chlorine bleach her shirt in the laundry room (Why in the world was there a laundry room in the first place?), she of course burned a hole in the collar of the shirt. Most certainly someone would notice and that would be the end of her, so she took the shirt off and just went with her jacket all buttoned up. Someone noticed her.

It is said that bad luck comes in threes and Betsy was sure that this would be the last of horrible happenings today. Up until know, it wasn’t wrong yet. But as she scrolled through her Facebook news feed, an unsightly title came showed up.

“Work Dress Codes: The Victims of Modern Fashion”

Betsy frowned and clicked on the article taking her to her company’s blog (which for the record had maybe 5 followers). This wasn’t much of a surprise and she was sure that her name was going to be in there somewhere. But never did she know how many times they cursed and insulted her way of dress.

And then there was her, in only her bra, bleaching her lilac shirt in the laundry room. Beneath the picture was a caption.

“As fellow co-workers, we have always been worried for our friend Betsy. The common courtesy of wearing only stiff uncomfortable black and white clothing just has not seemed to click in her mind (as you can tell in this picture). We worry for our friend and hope that you will too. A burst of color is inappropriate for  work settings as formal and important as ours and it is in our deepest wishes to maintain this boring monotonous color scheme to improve concentration and headaches.”

Betsy was furious. After proceeding to post a long angry comment, she decided that maybe, it was time to move on to the another place to work.

Maybe bad luck came in fours.

Guest Post: The 5 Stages of Grief (or “Learning That You Suck at Ukulele”)

Hi, Swirls of Truth readers. My name’s BBK and I’m an alcoholic. (Not really. But kind of.) Anyway, I hail all the way from The Big Blog of All the Shit I Knowa brilliant and sexy blog that will give you mind orgasms for days. (Not really. But kind of.) Without further bullshitting, here’s my gift to LividFrost and you, her intellectually gorgeous readers. Cheers.

Playing an instrument is an indication that you are a cultivated, intelligent, marvelous specimen of a human being. Enough said. Because of this, it is reasonable to believe that merely picking up an instrument automatically makes someone a cultivated, intelligent, marvelous specimen of a human being.  Post hoc ergo what a bunch of crap.

Infallible logic in mind, I picked up ukulele a few months ago: Oh, what a great travel instrument, I thought. Shouldn’t be much harder than guitar – easier, actually. However, being a person who has the tendency to run away at the slightest suggestion of inadequacy and failure, I hit a plateau and it has been two months since I last even took the damn thing out of its case. You know the feeling. For those of you who don’t, you’re in denial, so let me take you through the rest of The Five Stages of  Grief.

1. Denial

Oh no no, this is totes fun. I can play the uke. Listen, listen, it’s “I’m Yours” – isn’t that awesome? What? Do I know any other songs?… Does a faster version of “I’m Yours” count?

2. Anger

F–king ukulele, you’re ruining my life. Stay in tune, goddammit. I can’t f–king believe I spent a hundred dollars on you, you stupid piece of sh-t. How the freakin frack fruckin farshiminnahanahahna hard is it to learn an E chord? Why the hell is my pinky so motherf–king short? Stupid barre chords.

3. Bargaining

O great Flying Spaghetti Monster, I promise promise promise to be a proper Pastafarian if you just give me the strength to not smash my beautiful, inspiring ukulele against this concrete right now. If you present me with this one favor, I will swear off watching “Duck Dynasty” forever.

4. Depression

What’s the point? Nope. Just nope. I will never – NEVER – be able to play the ukulele. Who was I kidding? I suck at uke. I suck at instruments. I suck at life. Pass the bottle.

5. Acceptance

I, BBK, suck at playing the ukulele, and I am okay with the possibility that I may never so much as pick it up again and that there are more things to life than trying to do something you were never really truly fullheartedly interested in anyway.

Bonus: Rinse, Lather, Repeat

Oh no no, this is totes fun. I can play the uke…

And there you have The Five Six Stages of Grief. Go forth and be smarter, my friends.

BBK is a fellow semi-insane Asian and the manic-depressed student half of a supposed partnership over at The Big Blog of All the Shit I Knowwhere she writes about culture, Scientology, and ideas that will save the world or something cute like that.

Don’t BS Me

I just bullshat a post (ha ha, bullshat is a funny word) and I got more likes than anything in like forever. Are you guys trying to encourage me? Because I’m not biting for the bait.

I’ve been really tired lately. And when I get tired, I get really cynical. I guess you’re meeting my lovely cynical side right now. So, what is the point of this post? To write something longer than 400 words so I don’t look like I was cheating. (Though I don’t know what I would be cheating on.)

Ok. So. Uh. Hello. This is a blog post. And you’re suppose to write words in a blog post. And when you click publish, this post will be visible to the rest of the world for them to read to their own enjoyment. Now mind you, that doesn’t mean that someone will actually read it. Being available doesn’t mean people will know about you.

(Only 149 words… What…)

In a blog post, you should have words. Not letters, but words. I used to write with letters and I ended up with things like “ejoslide” and “goitjeg”. (Ok, not really.) These words need to form a sentence. A sentence for those who don’t know, is a group of words that starts with a capital letter and ends with a punctuation mark and conveys a full idea. Ideally, this would not work as a blog post:

Big blue whale.  Green leaves. bark of tree. Running through. the e-mail. sending off.

Ideally. Because if you were trying to be, say, artsy, you could proclaim this as a beautiful work of art. Or a poem. It would be a horrible poem though.

(272… c’mon…)

Also, a blog post needs to have a topic. For example, this blog post that your are reading right now, is a horrible example, because it has no focus. What does liking a BS post have to do with the making of a blog post? They’re totally not related. So if you decided to rant about socks, don’t tell me about the time you saw your grandmother’s panties. I don’t want to hear about it.

And now, I’m just placing words on a page just the reach the words count. I’m tempted to just throw in numbers as words, but I don’t think that count them in the word count. Well, let’s see. 1 2 3. Nope. I guess I was right. Horray for me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to leave now. At 400 words.