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Mountains Explained: An FAQ on Mountains

Posted on by patrickhmorris
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Q: How do mountains form?
Several ways and all are too complicated to explain to morons. Are you a moron? Are you sure? If I say, ‘tectonic plates’ and your first thought is, ‘I love that band,’ go to the next question.

Basically, when two plates collided, something hast to happen. Think of all the car accident scenes in a Michael Bay film. When two cars crash into each other, various things can happen, but whether the car flips over, slides under, crushes equally or does a forward flip, you’re left with one thing: a movie that is a big mountain of shit.

Q: Could I make a mountain in my back yard?
If you have control over the tectonic plates in your backyard, yes. Otherwise, I suggest just chucking your garbage into a pile until you satisfied with the height.

Q: Why are some mountains bigger than others?
They aren’t. Some are just further away from you than others.

Q: What are the most famous mountains?
Everest, K2, McKinley, Vesuvius, Kilimanjaro, Kilimanbingo, Whassasisiupthere & Mt. Funk.

Q: Why do all James Bond ivllains put their bases in the sides of mountains?
Cause having it in the basement of the Stop & Shop isn’t nearly as bad ass.

Q: If a mountain & a million wolves got into a fight, who would win?
The wolves because a million is more than one (stupid).

Q: Are Islands just the top of mountains coming through the ocean?
Islands are wide enough rocks that can float on water. Walter Stands was the first person to successfully swim UNDER each of the canary Islands. He also holds the worlds record for most successive sneezes (45 million) and would have sneezed more if he hadn’t blown his brains out with a potato gun.

Q: What movie do mountains hate?
The Neverending Story. Mainly because of the rock biter, but als, most mountains think Atreyu was pretty gay.

5 Facts You Should Know!

- Minute Bol at 7’6″ once tried to climb Mount Everest and smoke weed to become the “highest person ever”. Unfortunately, he realized being a freak was good enough.

- ‘Mountain’ comes from the Latin word, ‘mounternevous’ which means, “boob like”.

- More people have died trying to roll the R of the non-spanish Mt. Killimanjaro than have died trying to climb it.

- Volcanos erupt when they hear retard jokes. That’s why the expidition to Mt. Vesuvius lead by Lunando the Mongoloid was such a bad idea.

- At any given time, over 2% of all mountains are filled with baby mountains

How to Ride on the Subway when Drunk

Posted on by patrickhmorris
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There are only a handful of reasons not to have a drink (and most of them are lame excuses). Pregnant? My mom drank when I was in the tummy, and I’m fine(ish). Got to wake up early? How do you plan on falling asleep without fairy dust cocktails (equal parts Gin, Scoth and either Vodka or more Gin)? The only excuse that makes sense to me is the excuse of driving. Drunk driving is no joke. It might be fun, but it’s not fun-ny. That’s why a place like New York City is one of the greatest cities in the world. The options for public transportation make a designated driver as useful as a non-alcoholic beer. However, while it’s a big plus to have a subway, riding it while having a bit of the tipsies in you can be a challenge. Here are a few helpful tips that will make your ride as smooth as…those things…what are they called? You know, the things that you shouldn’t put water on? Mogwai? Is that a real thing? Are they smooth? Anyway…

The stance
Chances are that riding on the subway has to be accomplished in the standing position. Grabbing a seat is great, but unless you’re on a lame train line like the J or 2/3, you’ve got to keep your legs in the upright position. Also, sitting on the train pretty much guarantees you’ll fall asleep and wake up in some part of Queens that doubles as a land-fill. I generally position myself in a stance where my legs are spread a little more than shoulder distance apart and staggered a little. Once you’ve established this position, you can tune your thoughts right to how much you have to pee. You’re going to have to learn to hold it. Subway bathrooms are not an option. I don’t care what the emergency is, pretend they don’t exist. There are only three places I’d like to pee less than a subway bathroom:
1. A porta-potty after a chili eating contest
2. On a giant piss eating bug
3. Abe Lincoln’s grave

Don’t count the number of stops left
It prolongs the trip and I immediately think, “Tourist” when I hear someone say, “Five more stops.” Tourist and Terrorist seem awfully similar to me. I’m sure the pentagon knows.

Take off those sunglasses
You think I can’t see your eyes, but I can. You’re looking at a sign that says, “You’re a complete asshole!” If your parents were hoping to raise a dick who has zero judgment, they are the best parents in the world.

Hungry?
Well there’s only some foods that are subway acceptable. If a food has a smell, keep it the fuck off my train. The only thing ok to eat is nothing.

Cover it up
I have no idea why drinking a beer in a paper bag is ok, but, as far as I’ve seen in movies, it is. I mean, we all know what I’m drinking right? Even a little girl on the train can tell I’ve got something that is “no no” in the bag. Can I put a knife in a bag and it would be ok? Would I ever be drinking a soda out of a bag? I think I should get a ticket for that. I mean, your kinda wasting a cop’s time and actively trying to make them look stupid, right? To me, a paper bag says, “leave me alone” and cops should respect that. Since when has it been illegal to be a mess?

Getting some space
There are two best ways to give yourself space on a train. The first is to pretend you are blind. For some reason, people respect that and clear out. Maybe it’s because they think you’re just going to randomly grab them and fiddle around with their sexy parts because you think you’re trying to open a door. The other best way is to wear a jacket made of live raccoons.

Pan Handlers
What’s the right response when someone asks you for money? I’ll tell you this – they don’t want the straw you’ve been drinking your beer out of. I know that for sure. I find it’s best to ignore these people unless you want to give them a dollar and discover the next morning that you gave some guy who was playing a bag of hair a twenty by mistake. And if you’re really drunk, then you just gave a guy who has a shopping bag and listening to his iPod $20. No one plays a bag of hair, idiot!

Criminal Status

Posted on by patrickhmorris
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My brother means no offense. How do I know that? He tells me right before he says something incredibly offensive. We’ll be sitting at a bar, having a beer, discussing something like what it means to be successful and he’ll say, “No offense…but you’re too ugly and stupid to be successful.”

None taken.

So it’s with that concept in mind I say: No offense, but the tragic murder of the Yale student this past week has made me laugh. The murder itself isn’t funny, but the way it’s being reported is. Journalism used to involve tiny note pads, knocking on the neighbor’s doors and asking people’s friends and co-workers questions to figure out what a potential suspect was really like. Now that makes as much sense as a JC Penny catalog because of sites like Facebook and Myspace.

Unfortunately, for every teen busted for being tagged in a picture holding a beer can, there are as many desperate stretches to paint a picture of someone through the information on their page. I especially liked a moment in a NYTIMES.com piece about the person who would later be arrested for murdering the 24 year old Yale grad student. It delved deeply into possible motives by painting an illustrious portrait of Raymond Clark and his girlfriend Jennifer Hromadka. When talking about Jennifer they pulled in this golden nugget:

Jennifer wrote on her MySpace page that she’s not perfect, but cautioned people not to judge her.

“Who are you to judge the life I live? I know I’m not perfect and I don’t live to be, but before you start pointing fingers make sure your hands are clean!!” the 23-year-old wrote.

That’s some incredible journalism. I wonder if the journalist managed to actually go to myspace or simply looked over her co-worker’s shoulder while she surfed through Jennifer’s page. While the fall of journalistic integrity could be a valuable rant, I was more focused on the fact that Jennifer’s myspace status was under such judgmental scrutiny.

What would happen if, for some reason, I was placed in a very public investigation and MY facebook page was scoured for psychological insight? Here are actual Status Updates and what a criminal psychologist could potentially write about me. I encourage you all to do this for yourself and see how “normal” you seem.

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Would a poached egg over a brownie be a bad way to start the morning…or a perfect way to set the tone for a stay at home Sunday?

The suspect has a very unusual and unhealthy diet. He thinks he is a god who is above dietary concerns such as high cholesterol. He barely ever leaves the house and leads a secluded life – fantasizing about his next victim.

Off to the land down under – Mexico

The suspect has the geographical knowledge of a 4th grader. Oddly, his college transcript says he majored in Geography which means the college degree was acquired fraudulently. Probably lures his victims through an intricate series of lies.

The over under for how many hot dogs I could eat in one sitting is currently 6. What do you guys think?

He is always seeking approval and looks at normal activities as cumulative goals in the same way a serial killer internally competes to rack up a high kill count.

Governors Island…the blindest island in New York

He is a hateful person who murderously dislikes handicapped people, viewing them as inferior people who are a drain on society. He has a problem disconnecting people and objects – thus explaining his ability to kill humans in such a potentially gruesome manner.

32 Across: A place you’ll find bellybutton lint

He plays games with people – which is a common trait among cinematically depicted serial killers. A confession from him would surely be a cryptic message sent through the media.

You go to an acupuncturist to get acupuncture. You go to a chiropractor to get chiropracty?

The suspect is distrustful of doctors and people in authority. He disregards all science as heresy and believes healing can only come through rituals and sacrificial ceremonies.

Wants to remind you to call your mothers. They miss you/me.

He believes all people are connected to one mother being, which may or may not be extraterrestrial. He thinks his main purpose is to protect this, “mother” against those who wish her harm at all costs.

Wrote an article on puke

The undoubtedly guilty suspect has a fascination with excretions such as vomit and blood. He believes we are all sick and must be cured through his ritualistic killing. Has a general infantile predilection towards the world.

Chuck Loves Mandy

Posted on by patrickhmorris
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In every 5th grade class, there’s a Mandy Motts. She’s the girl that is from a less fortunate family that wasn’t able to provide the care and direction every young girl needs. In “I’m not trying to be sensitive speak” she’s the fat, ugly girl who came from inbreed parents and has urine breath leaking between her mangled teeth. She’s the butt of all jokes, the girl with no future and the one person you pray you’re not forced to sit next to.

My elementary school was too small to have a basketball court, a place to play kick-ball or even swings. We had nothing more than a giant tire to play on. I mean, sure, it ws fun, but after the first minute or so, it lost its charm. As a natural trouble maker, I began to find entertainment in the art of rumor starting. My rumors, however, didn’t spread through the school yard as I would have liked. Most people rolled their eyes when I told them that our teacher had paid me $4 to set her car on fire and people called me a liar when I said our principal, Mr. Dunstill, had caused the Vietnam war.

I started to get fed up with people’s lack of a reaction. I was so desperate to get a reaction I decided to start a rumor that was a bit more personal. I decided to tell people that Chuck Tabor liked Mandy Motts. Who was Chuck Tabor? He was the quiet kid who had reached the 5th grade only because teachers got tired of holding him back. No one knew how old he was, but his 5 o’clock shadow always amazed us.

As I was planning my next rumor to spread (something having to do with the lunch lady’s plan to feed us urinal cakes) Chuck came storming towards me. I didn’t bother to figure out what was on Chuck’s mind so I started running. He chased. I kept running.

Well, jogging really. See, Chuck wasn’t what you would call an athlete. He chased me at a speed that would make a Segway look like lightning, but he refused to give up no matter how far ahead of him I got. After circling the play area for the 30th time, I began to wonder if this chase was ever going to end.

Then, in a pure moment of inspiration, my brain sent me a plan:

- Listen, Patrick, you could keep running forever, but this man has the determination of a hooker. He’s gonna get you at some point. Plant yourself in front of the recess monitor, let him push you on the ground and get the oaf in trouble so fast he won’t have a chance to do any more damage.

I accepted this plan from my brain and posed in front of the recess monitor as if I were a Roman emperor ready to address the Senate. I felt powerful, I felt proud and when Chuck approached, I felt his foot pummel my testicals.

I collapsed to the ground before the pain really hit me, but man did it pull into the station with a might force. I tried to scream in agony, but the only thing that leaked out was a quiet whimper.

The recess monitor grabbed both Chuck and me by our elbows and dragged us to the principals office. Apparently getting severely assaulted in the balls was a reason to get in trouble.

My little (pronounced ‘whiddle’) testicals were in such pain, I didn’t even bother trying to get out of trouble. I confessed to starting the rumor. I confessed to being cruel for my own entertainment. My punishment was to apologize to Chuck and to Mandy. Chuck accepted my apology. Mandy, however, after having me explain why it was I started the rumor, was angry and exacted her revenge by kicking me in my balls. For the second time in an hour, I collapsed on the ground and whimpered through silent screams.

If I were to say I learned a lesson, I’m sure it wouldn’t be the right one. For what I went through, in the end, it wasn’t worth it. Almost twenty years later, Chuck and Mandy got married. Sometimes I imagine them growing old and telling the story of how their romance started way back in the 5th grade over a little brat’s recess rumor. Sometimes I imagine showing up at their house and drop kicking them both in the crotch to settle the score. Either way, I’m wearing steel toed boots whenever I go back to Vermont.