Doctors: The Modern Day Voodoo Shaman....wait...I don't feel like being serious today, I wanna be SIWWY WIWWY!!!!SLDFJDOIFJWO;FOIJ: Five Bucks? Sheesh

Hola!
Once again, due to "The Mid-2o's Mind Fog" and my relentless, irrational obsession with margarine (One of my ongoing fantasies that reoccurs every few days or so is that I drown in a gigantic vat of margarine, but I continue to breathe!. -- my lungs miraculously evolve to breathe margarine -- while scarfing down tons of delicious...mmmmmmm....margarine.........)
...That's the foundation of a quintessential 3rd grade poem!:


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Margarine

by Jeffrey Partyka


I like margarine
it tastes so good!
I wish I could eat a lot of margarine.
But I'm wearing a hood.

I wish I could drown in margarine
But I could still breathe!
All around me is margarine
And I could still breathe!

Air has no taste I don't like air
because it's not margarine.

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Anyway, my original intent on writing this blog was to trash the doctors that misdiagnosed me regarding my digestive disorder, thus leading to nearly a year of unnecessary and excrutiating abdominal episodes. However, I've suddenly become more whimsical today and silly and will just write "Whatever" comes to mind, hence "WhateverFest '05'!! (This is a festival that happens...Whenever...)

OK, let me talk about what may be a key moment in my life that has made me more edgy, far less conservative in a behavioral sense, and....dare I say??....more hip?!.....Yes! I actually feel hip today, and contrary to what my stylistically cynical self has repeatedly claimed for my entire life: My IQ has not been reduced to the Josh Hartnett/George W. Bush range of 79 -
86.5....Besides, even if that did happen, I would still be WELL above the Southern Baptist biblical genius range of -256 up to 7.


And what was this key moment, you ask? ....[loud snoring can be heard from all around]...Hey! Wake up!......OK, that's it! You SHALL BE deprived of your daily choco taco that you normally receive for reading my blog!.....[the loud snoring continues]...........[whimper]....OK, fine........:

I got a new hairstyle! I've added colored highlights to my hair!!

I must say that I noticed the changes immediately, in more ways than one. I noticed a marked increase in my hairstylist's attraction towards me: In the past, she would give me this look of "failed potential", as in: Yeah, you're almost my type....but not quite......Now I was quite happy with this arrangement, as I tend not to be turned on by skimpy clothed 'dancer'/hairstylists whose souls are defined by 'Supercuts techno' and whose makeup habits are responsible for the
extinction of over 50 Whale species in the Atlantic Ocean alone!...(Who knows about the Pacific, Indian and Arctic Oceans!)

I noticed, though, that AFTER the addition of my hair highlights, my appearance now took on a theme of the "reformed punk rocker who is struggling to carve out a normal livin'!"...And apparently, I now was the perfect type for the Supercuts techno hair-stylist. I now wanted a haircut to blend in the colors, but I noticed that as she continued to look at my hair, the
amount of hair that was ACTUALLY being cut off was decreasing, while the amount of contact her hands made with my hair and face started to increase. She then started complaining about her boyfriend, that he's always getting bombed, and that she doesn't like it......She then started asking me all sorts of "Do you like to..." questions....

But she is not my target -- bookstore girl is. So I politely looked away and, borrowing from my experiences of listening to masterfully trite sports interviews, I answered in the most boring, inconspicuous way possible, as in: "Well, no, I do not drink often. However, it is not my place to judge the likes and dislikes of others. People are individuals, and if that's
what someone decides....then.....it's OK with me."

When I left, my hairstylist (whose name eludes me at the moment) looked at me as if I was going to be sent away to a Pakistani slave labor camp.........

I will have more to say about my hair in the near future....
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Years ago, me and my brother Dave would always play this violent game of what we called "Caaaaatch!!". Basically, we would play using either a whiffle ball or a yellow Nerf blast-a-ball (in both cases, we used these balls for their ability to do crazy curves in the air).......We would throw REALLY, REALLY hard, such that we often needed goggles to protect our eyes and
heavy sweatshirts to protect against whiffle-bruises. However, the games would often end prematurely, and it was usually because I had the unfortunate ability to throw an incredibly fast/twisty curve ball that would scream its way into my brother's balls.

I remember one particular occasion: we were playing at Midnight, and my parents were already sleeping upstairs. We were FIRING the whiffle ball at EXTREMELY CLOSE RANGE!....At one point, we were both laughing because we were doing our own version of "Caaatch trash talk", where we would mix Gentlemanly English conduct with Americanized ghetto hot-dogging...Dave came up with a really funny dis, so we both started laughing.....I then fired the whiffle ball
unexpectedly and it did a violently sharp downward turn DIRECTLY into my brother's balls.
Now Dave is one of the toughest people I have ever seen in regards to pain. But after absorbing this blow, he started screaming in bestial agony. My parents woke up believing that Dave had perished in a stabbing induced homicide......

The next day, my brother applied a salt-based paste to his balls.

...Every so often, I'll have ridiculous posts like this one, just to release the violent random energy within my brain that is often stultified by my line of work.