My Eyeball is a No Fly Zone

This is what really happened:

This is how it happened in my head:

I am way too germaphobic for this kind of nonsense. 

Have you seen fly eyes? Those buggers see from like six thousand perspectives and still manage to land themselves in the moist death zone that is the human eyeball. 

They must be drunk. There isn't any other explanation. 

Did you know flies either spit or poop (or both) almost every time they land? That's right kids, Bill spat and/or defecated in my eyeball, and someday, if you work hard enough, maybe he will in yours too.

But no, really. I hate flies.
Hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate (bzzt) them.

Piranha Pants

Pictured above: pants.
Hahaha. Haha. Ha.
Hah.
No.
Really.

It's days like this when I remember that I have no artistic potential whatsoever. That orange lump up there is sporting a button, zipper, and pocket, but if you guessed "menacing piranha eye", "excessively pointy, man-devouring piranha teeth", and "terribly rendered piranha gills"... well, you'd be wrong. But I mean, I get it. And being understood feels great probably.

I have made numerous attempts to update. I have brainstormed ideas, drawn doodles, and written blurbs, and ten out of ten dentists agree, they have been absolutely terrible.

Buuuut not updating is also kind of terrible, so I'm going to make myself do it anyway.
I am going to write the post I intended to write, it is going to include doodled pants, and I'm going to make sure they aren't of the flesh-eating variety.

Because piranha pants are really only well suited for men who no longer want to be men (who also can't afford the surgery that doesn't leave you at risk of also having your legs eaten off).

That was a terrible joke.

Admitting you have a problem is the first step to recovery.

What Makes You Beautiful (Hopefully It's Not Just This One Thing)

Geez guys stop de-beautifying everybody with your serenades, gosh.

(Disclaimer: if you live under a rock and somehow have not heard "What Makes You Beautiful" by One Direction, this post will be significantly less humorous than it is attempting to be.)

(Double disclaimer: I like One Direction. Please don't kidnap/murder/say mean things to me.)

How Margins Work in High School

First, there's the assignment. It usually goes something like this:

(bushiness of hair and roundness of glasses directly correlates to teaching ability. If you have these traits, you pretty much have to be a teacher.)

In grade eight:

It won't fillllllllll

And, eventually, grade twelve rolls around, and your essays start to look more like:

It won't fitttttt BLEED PAPER, BLEED, BLEED MY ARTICULATE WORD CHOICES BLEEEEEDDDDD I need bigger paper.