Off-Brand, Google Android OS, Kindle-like Tablet PC review.

So here I am, sitting on my huge front porch, slowly thumbing out this new column with my mother's off-brand tablet PC.

Of course, my mother -- hogging a nice HP Pavillion-- tilts the tablet "Card board edition" and magically changes the screen to operate vertically, thus advancing my pace, twofold.

Hang on, time to unexpectedly brush my teeth...

... Okay. Now instead of my mouth tasting like Pizza and Ranch Dorito-flavored scunge, it tastes like Pizza and Ranch Dorito-flavored scunge(With mint!)

If I were a smoker, it would taste like a compilation of mint, dorito scunge and the Colonel's own original recipe --'leven heeerrbs 'n' spices-- chicken-flavored ash.

Yum, delicious cherry Capri Sun, that I'm terrified to open, because it's been in an ice less cooler, with water at the bottom, condensing for Darth Vader only knows how long.

And now I can continue --attempt-- to write, after finally figuring out how to scroll on this wretchedly confusing contraption.

Bad sign: Skimmed thumb opening the straw wrapper. Tastes("Tates" according to Word to Go's keyboard for the tech-trendy sloth.) fine, albeit warm.

My review: Spring for the actual Kindle; it's faster, less confusing, and "only" a "few" hundred more dollars.

Words

One thing I’ve noticed lately is I generally over-use the word “Generally”.

But there’s no cause for general concern; I’m generally just trying to make a general point.

Aside from… that word and it’s variations… Here’s a list of words I tend to over use:

The.
But.
No.
Yes.
I’m.
F**k.
I’ve.
One.
To.
Too.
I.
Love.
You.
Cheeseburgers.
Yes.
I’d.
Like.
New.
Carburetors.
For.
My.
Breasts.

Poor Fred...

This pisses me off.

My best friend –let’s call him “Fred”— got strung along, until the bitch was found out.

Apparently for a while she kept saying that she wasn’t ready for a relationship.

Well anyway:
Apparently he saw her at Hoopfest with a bunch of people, and this guy standing next to her had his hand on her back, and kept sliding it down, down and down until he said he had to leave.

Then on the fourth, at Riverfront, him and another friend of ours were going to watch fireworks (Let’s call him, Coffee) Well, Coffee and Fred got separated and Coffee saw Fred’s girl MAKING OUT with the asshand guy!

WHAT THE HELL!?

So he’s freaking out. Eventually ends up ditched by the people he was with (Coffee and the mysterious friend with commodities of the relaxing kind) before the fireworks start. And he spots one of the guys from Bitchgirl’s group.

So, naturally, Fred goes to talk to him. Eventually they end up on the subject of Bitchgirl, and Fred drops the news about her make-out session with Asshand guy. He freaked out and apparently said: “She told me she was gonna make out with ME for my birthday!”

So now we must call Bitchgirl, “Brazenhobag”.

So apparently Fred and Brazenhobag are gonna be friends, except Fred doesn’t WANT to be her friend anymore.

Well, Brazenhobag is old news now, anyway; Fred has a date for “Monday, Tuesday, Thursday or Friday”! With a really cute gymnast I’m suddenly going to call “Wonder Woman”

So I hope Brazenhobag is happy with her probable thirteen boyfriends.

Pal.

Unexpected developments: I made a friend! OHMYGOD! *Parade, streamers, confetti, floats, beer, drunks, fights, police*

So after I posted bail for throwing an illegal parade— you know, the type of illegal parade that’s illegal because you said: “Screw the permits! This is advancement in EVOLUTION!”—I typed out this column about my new friend.

None of that, except making the friend, really happened. I did type out this post, because I’m not a robot, or a zombie or rich enough to pay people to type this post out FOR me.

Let’s call her “Pal”

Pal enjoys the following:
Horses.
Pasta.
Art.
Vintage motorcycles.
Driving stick.
Just driving.
Pasta.
Not being intoxicated in any way, shape or form.
Saying “Intoxicated” in Pig-Latin.
Using the terms “Fool” and “Supafreek”
Cutting rubber bands out of dreadlocks.
Not having a pot-bellied—or any kind of—pig.
Pasta. Did I say “Pasta” already?

There’s a lot more, but I don’t want to over-run this post.
Pal (Who is actually named “Bonnie”) is very interesting. VERY very interesting. Which is the best type of interesting.

I’m happy that I made an interesting friend… on Facebook…

Horoscope for Libby Logan(Sign unknown)

Today you feel like being a complete utter bitch to someone you don’t even know.
Though you lack the capacity to use proper grammar or even spell correctly, you go about your endeavor as inevitably as a sparkplug driving a piston.
You set out to complete the task given to you by whatever personality your schizophrenia has enthroned as your own personal God and succeed in making the not-so-random person of your choice feel absolutely terrible.
Watch your back dear (Zodiac sign), for one day you may find a knife in it, as you have put knives in the backs of others. One day, you will get your just deserts.

Buddy. (First post in a while)*Column-style*

Today, I’d like to write about a friend of mine, who I’ve taken for granted recently.
Someone who, for a good amount of months, I wasn’t talking to.

Let’s call this person, Buddy.
Now, Buddy, is in fact (Bear with me on this) a girl. Now that we have an understanding:

Buddy is like any teenage girl, except she masters a small army of birds, co-headed by two maniacal poodles named Suzie and Coco. Of course, these are their code-names.
Their real names are Dr. General “Suzie” Bloodletter P.H.D. (in old) and Lieutenant-General “Coco” Evil-Loud-Bark.

Sweet dogs.

As I sit here —overheating in the summer air, inside, where it’s SUPPOSED to be air-conditioned— I can’t think of anything else to write about the poodles. So I’ll just get into it about Buddy.

Buddy is a musician. Yes, musician. She writes and performs her OWN songs, which are generally really good. She plays actual shows and records with other local artists who are “actual musicians” themselves.

Well anyway, Buddy and I got into a spat about something stupid, and, of course, I’ll admit, I was sort of the… wrong… one…

After months of me being wrong, I finally decided to apologize and grovel for forgiveness—as my nature urges me.

I sent her a Facebook message (Meaning I beg, apologize some more and beg again.) and she, eventually, sends back “Sure. I’ve got no problems with you.”

*Queue confused look and question-mark breeding ground above my noggin*

So I added her back on Facebook. A half-hour goes by and I –trying not to be awkward— finally work up the courage to try to talk to her.

The conversation goes as follows:

“Me: So what have you been up to?

Buddy: Recording. And I actually have to go clean the bathtub right now. So I’ll talk to you later!

Me: Haha alright then! See ya!”

All-in-all I think it was a success.

I strongly urge you to go to www.myspace.com/wonderwonderful and listen to the songs posted.
Or bees will infest your ears and have wild, late-night bee parties that you're not invited to.

Matthew Thiessen and the Twitlebrizombies.

Relient K is a best-selling Christian/Rock/Punk Pop/Alternative ensemble from Canton, OH.
But are they any more than that?
Recently I've been reflecting on the times I say something witty and seemingly response-worthy to "Celebrities" on Twitter,
and I can tell you that although their tweets seem human in nature and like there are people behind the expensive phone, *typing out the wit-filled, informative and supposedly sympathetic, social-status earning, one-hundred-forty-character(Or less) sentences* the recognition and the fancy clothing, there aren't ordinary or extraordinary people waiting to hear from you.

Celebrities on Twitter only talk to other celebrities on Twitter, so don't waste your time tweeting to them, they won't reply to it, or even see it.
Though Relient K's members don't seem to be the "Twitlebrizombie" type, (due to their repertoire of Christian tunes giving them a social stigma in today's "Class of citizen" that one mostly sees on TV as "Ordinary people who don't seem to believe in God") I have wasted my good time following and trying to connect with one who certainly acts like a "Twitlebrizombie":

Matthew Arnold Thiessen (Relient K, Matthew Thiessen and the Earthquakes), *born in St. Catherines, Ontario, Canada* has left my tweets unobliged, disregarded and continues to talk only to other "Twitlebrizombies" who ignore other doting fans.

Though I'm slightly skewered on a spit of sadness, I still regard Mr. Thiessen as one of the greatest of generational musicians.
I don't expect him to socialize outside of his social rank, having had associations with people such as Adam Young(Owl City), Family Force 5, and a combination of Kelly Clarkson, Katy Perry and Glenn Ballard. Nor would he if he were in my position, I expect.

But one can't help but wonder "What would it be like?"
I can't help but imagine myself tweeting jokes back and forth with Mr. Thiessen, carrying conversation and creating sort of a friendship with him.

I can't deny that, as I was writing this, I thought up an image of Mr. Thiessen sitting at a computer, reading this aloud to his Relient K colleagues and having them all laugh humorously at me and at how pathetic I must seem.
And I can't deny that I would prefer that over being completely ignored by a once "Most-played" on my iTunes list.
But I guess being ignored is just the bane of our social status as normal citizens.






Always writing something,


Joshua Gerlach.