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I come from a small town, enjoy laughing and being the weird one to help others smile. We should hang out sometime.

Wednesday, July 20, 2011


This evening I wanted to make a blogpost. Then I got distracted by Facebook... then I came back! Now I realize I lack a solid topic to blog of. Sad isn't it? Luckily the gnomes planted an idea in my head.... TOYS!!!11!! Now my toys aren't quite exactly the toys you tend to imagine. You're probably envisioning choo-choos and cars and Barbies. I envision.... my closet.
       "Your closet?!?!", you ask incredulously.
     "Why yes, my closet.", says the hulking figure that looms before you. Somewhere in the dark recesses of your cobwebbed mind you begin to recognize this behemoth. With horror you recall this colossal shadow is, in truth, a soporific young man!!!
              You begin to panic and seek an escape route, but it is too late. You have been trapped and you must continue listening to this monotonous fellow describe his life away....

           "Now my closet is full of wonderful toys. When I say toys, I imagine you envision choo-choo trains and Barbie dolls. These aren't my toys. My toys are swords (short, long, and broad) nunchucks, sais, kamas, tonfa, tri-sectional staves, bo staves, recurve bows, and escrima sticks. I reminisce my childhood days, spent in a small town, where I learned to play. What sick turn of events would make these things my toys? Zombie Apocalypse? Well to tell the truth my parents have all the blame. They're the ones who took me from being just some four year old jumping around trying to be all 4 ninja turtles to the cold calculating machine I am now. Okay okay,  I realize I'm not a cold, calculating machine. I'm much funnier than that ^_^   Whenever I play D&D I'm always Chaotic Good, being as that is what I identify best with.

Corny reference aside, I have spent the majority of my life "playing" with all these things. And I have to admit. I take a sick pleasure when I'm outside with my mother smacking practice swords back and forth. Not because we're hitting each other with sticks, but because all the hoodrats going by on their way to the mall are always trying to act cool until they see us. When they see us twirling around and the swords clacking, they gape. I imagine it looks rather interesting as my mother puts her hair up in the Japanese style when we do such. But swords aren't my real passion. For me, it would have to be escrima sticks. And for that I head to my father. Escrima sticks are just sticks. But they are training for learning dual shortswords.
Not to mention they sound so much cooler when my father and I spar. It's all clickitty clickitty clack clack click.
              What am I trying to say with all this? I'm weird, I love it, and you should come play with me sometime!!"

    All this time you've been cowering in the corner with your head between your legs, attempting to fend off that strangely penetrating voice that demanded you listen to it. Ever so slowly you lift your head and search for him. He is gone. He has cleared out faster than a Weight Watchers meeting on Buffet Night but he has done it silently. Eerie silence follows you walk out into the light, to face the Fire Nation.

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