Friday, December 16, 2011

Man v. Baby

So I just watched this video about teaching babies to survive in real-world drowning scenarios. It was creepy and weird, as my brother who introduced me to this video suggested it was. Needless to say a number of thoughts ran through my head regarding my own survival skills. Naturally, I am thinking of more real life situations, like, say, dropped off the coast of deserted island-type-things, not this bullshit backyard swimming pool stuff. Anybody can survive in a pool. People jump in them things for fun, right?
Anyways, I am not a strong swimmer by any means, nor am I particularly buoyant. So who would survive between me and one of these ISR trained babies? Let's look at the facts. I understand tides and currents,at least in a very basic capacity. The baby does not. I am fairly confident in my ability to eventually start a signal fire, which also aids in warmth and cooking. Not the baby. Speaking of cooking, I can cook, and I'm sure I would be able to gather some edible plants and/or berries to eat, if not hunt or trap some local wildlife for consumption and therefore, survival. I could, to some extent, dress my own wounds, search for or build shelter, and avoid or make diplomatic relations with potentially angry, restless natives. Baby is totally fucking striking out over here.
But, if of the two of us, only the baby would be able to swim to dry land, you may find yourself asking, "How the hell is any of this relevant?" I am completely aware of the one survival skill I lack. The skill of graceful navigation of/above water. Nonetheless I see me as the overall survivor of our little dilemma. Knowing full well that only one of us can possibly survive, and that once on the aforementioned island, I am the only one with the necessary skill set to etch out sustainable existence, there is but one logical move. I would flail my way to shore using the baby as my personal floatation device. And survive. Boom.

Thursday, May 26, 2011


So it has been quite awhile since I've updated this thing, and I have decided that it's time to get back to business. Only days ago I was thinking to myself that I might never BLOG again, but then something strange happened. I received a phone call from The Macho Man himself, Mr. Randy Savage. He was calling from his cell phone while driving down the highway. "Adam" he says. "You gotta listen to me, brother. This heat down here in Florida is killing me. The locals are crying out for relief, and only Space Jaws of Doom can provide that relief."

"What the fuck?" I replied in bewilderment. "Nobody outside of West Michigan reads this stupid thing."

"Not true, my man, not true at all. Why, I've got sources that tell me you've got readers as far away as Australia!" said The Macho Man. "The world needs your razor sharp wit and cut-throat views on society and pop culture." This was all getting pretty weird. I was still speechless, so once more Mr. Savage came back with, "By the way Adam, I recently had some DNA tests run, and it turns out that I am your fa----------." Then he was cut off by the sound of smashing, crashing, and burning. I assume he simply went into a tunnel and lost reception.

I have no idea what he was trying to tell me that day. As far as I can figure, he was informing me that he is my fastest growing demographic, representing readers over the age of fifty who were once pro wrestlers. Anyhow, I was inspired and have decided to write a few words down today.

This brings me to the point of the day: clearing up some inaccurate stereotypes about Americans. Now that I am internationally renowned, I feel a certain responsibility to my readers and my nation to break down the walls between us all. One love, brothers and sisters, one love.

It has come to my attention that some people think that all tattoos are simply a sign of low class, poverty, and trashiness. Not so, not so at all, I say. Like the Dayaks of Borneo, or the Maori of New Zeeland, these tattoos represent a rich culture, defining a person's tribal heritage, and rank within that tribe. I, of course, am of the SpaceJaws tribe, and have reached the rank of Charles Bronson, first degree. Are we seeing how this works yet?

Another interesting thing I heard recently is that all American musicians are rapists. I don't know where you people get this shit, but it is pretty wild how things become twisted and tarnished across language barriers and international borders. I'm sure you are simply hearing about the phenomenon or people being blown away by tasty, American jams. If that's the case then I, myself, have raped many a pair of ears and eyes, with my blazing riffs and stunning on-stage presence, respectively. I hope I have dispelled any rumors on that subject. Remember, some of the people hearing this live almost ten thousand miles away, and probably eat dogs and cats. So we, as Americans, must be patient.

Lastly, word on the street is that some citizens of nations far and wide are under the impression that everybody in the U.S.A. lives in some sort of run-down trailer. Shit. I guess this is pretty much true, although I would like to point out that some of our trailers have been around a really long time, and have actually grown basements.

I think that's all for today, folks. I may have some more on this subject in the next couple of days, so stay tuned. Now I'm off to Chicago, home of the tallest trailers in the world. Feed the sharks some hot dogs, buy some comics, who knows? It's just good to get away. Peace.

Adam out.

p.s. Hey Matt Dwyer: Go eat your own dick. Or if you're not hungry, feed it to a Kangaroo.