Nick - Kids' Show

It's me, Herbert The Clown! I'm your host on today's episode of HERBERT'S HAPPY HOUR! Sit down and wipe the snot off of your stupid noses, because I've got a great episode for you today!!

We're going to learn about colors!

This is the color "green"! Green is the color that grass grows, or the color that Herbert's garden grows in his basement!

This is the color "blue"! Blue is the color of the sky! Blue is also the color you feel when you are sad. Blue is how Herbert has been feeling since the divorce!

This is the color "my bitch ex-wife"! Bitch ex-wife is the color of a cheating whore!

Oh, look at that, kids! We're all out of time for colors! Time to go to our Word-of-the-day Corner!! We've got three special words for you today!!

Loneliness!

Our first word for you today is "loneliness"! Loneliness is what you feel when you have no one you can go to for support. You can tell when you're feeling lonely because you don't have anyone around you, or because you're drinking a bottle of gin by yourself at 7:30 on a Tuesday night!

Alimony!

"Alimony" is the invention of the devil! It's when you have to pay your ex-wife, even though she's a good-for-nothing cheating trollop who's never worked in her life!

Suicide!!

Our last word for you today is "suicide"! Suicide is what you feel when you're tired of life, and just want to end it all! This morning I woke up and realized that I've done nothing with my life! My parents kicked me out of their basement! I've got no money! Stay in school, kids, or else you'll end up like ol' Herbert!

I know we're only fifteen minutes into the show, but Herbert has to get going! His drinking buddy is here!

So long, kids, and I'll see you next week! That is, if I'm still around!

...You whiny little fuckers.

-Herbert

(Nick and Ben Dietrich.)

Nick - I Wanted The Title To Just Be A Heart But Blogspot Wouldn't Let Me

Okay, I actually like Valentine's Day. Really I do. But, I mean... how did this happen? Look at these hearts.

These hearts look very dissimilar. They are both a little bit red, but other than that I don't know how we got them confused somehow.

I love my heart. It keeps blood pumping up through my pulmonary artery, from whence it goes through my lungs and some oxygen diffuses into it! Then it goes back through my heart and to all of my cells, and then back again.That's some cool shit right there.

So really what I'm having trouble understanding is why we would ever want to dumb this down? Hearts are beautiful. Look at how intricate that thing is. Understand that your heart is working really hard to keep you alive, and chances are that you're going to screw up and die before your heart screws up and kills you. If that isn't a perfect expression of love, I don't know what is.

And then there's this bastard child over here on the right. It doesn't even have anything connected to it. How does the blood get pumped to the lungs? Maybe it's the biologist in me, but this sad excuse for a heart seems really unromantic to me.

And besides the whole heart thing, we have this guy here. Saint Valentine.

Personally, I don't really understand how he became icon for love and whatnot. If I were him, I would absolutely be honored at the veneration of my memory.

Though at the same time, I would kind of wish that I hadn't been beheaded by the Roman empire. Also I guess I would be a little miffed that I never got to experience love myself, seeing as how Valentine took a vow of celibacy.

Poor guy. We don't even really know all that much about him considering how long ago he lived. We don't even have anything he said. (Though we can imagine what he would say.)

. . .

I don't want to come off as one of those people who's bitter about Valentine's Day being around. I love holidays, Valentine's Day included. I mean, what's more deserving of its own holiday than love? I just want to make a point about how we think about it.

Because honestly, a biological heart is way cooler than what we call a heart. It's so much more intricate, so much more necessary, and really communicates what the holiday is about better than a meaningless shape.

By the same token, Saint Valentine is way cooler as a bishop who stood up for what he believed in and got brutally beheaded by the church's enemies. Celebrating an icon who lived a long life with his sweetheart and with no problems would be totally overlooking the hardships and passion of love. Not to mention it would be super boring.

So appreciate those around you, but don't let society decide how you celebrate. You don't have to be in a relationship to celebrate Valentine's Day: it's a day to show love and appreciation for all of the special people around you. It seems we, as a society, have this idea that being single is something to be ashamed of, particularly on Valentine's Day, which isn't true at all.

By the same token, we seem to think that couples should get along perfectly all the time, and all problems will be overcome by the power of love. We need to look forward and understand that there's nothing wrong with disagreement; communication is key.

Enjoy your Valentine's Day. Be filled with love, because it isn't necessarily about romance, entitlement, and soul mates: it's about appreciation.

-Nick.

Zombie Snowpocalypse Part II: Back to School!

“This is bad on purpose,” Eliot proclaimed. “The government is indelibly behind this.”

Mada and Eliot's situation had worsened. Since flying away on the chopper, they had made it back to Springfield, which was a desolate wasteland, but one with enough safezones to keep them alive. Tribes were popping all over town, different survival groups. The conglomerate of them couldn't match the amount of zombies, but they could overpower them.

Thanks to Springfield's recent illogical influx of machine guns, zombies are less threatening than they once were. But Mada and Eliot foresee terrible events. They decide it is again time to move. This time they will get far out of Springfield and head back to Champaign. They are set on venturing alone, but they decide to give Brendan, who had joined one of the tribes with less followers and a more unique sound, a call.

He agrees to come with them, much to their surprise.

“That tribe used to be really cool, but the new stuff they do is boring and repetitive, I need a new purpose,” Brendan reasoned.

The three set off, machine guns in hand, and did some boring traveling scenes, but as they pass Sherman, Illinois, they realize that the entire town has turned into a united zombie front! The town charges, and Mada Eliot and Brendan mow them down. Eventually a small gaggle of the zombies overpower Brendan, though and it seems he's about to be taken out when just then, a mysterious figure attacks the pack with a knife, severing all six of their heads before giving the gang a cheerful, “long time no see, guys!”

“CORY!” the three exclaim in unison.

Cory doesn't have a gun, so he takes over the role of commando medic, with his awesome knife and his serum that he claims once healed a zombie bite that he received, months ago. He had the scars to prove it. For once, there was hope.

Also remember, it's still really cold. We have coats and gloves on and when we talk you see our breath.

Boring traveling scenes, reminiscing about things, introducing Cory and Brendan (awkward at first, but the two gain a respect for one another, or so it seems). Then, zombie cows! A whole herd of cattle rushes at the gang, and they take multiple bullets to hunt down. In the back is their psychopathic cannibal farmer leader, who has a rifle of his own and sics them on passersby. Mada is bit and takes a bullet to the arm. After refusing Eliot's insistent mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and getting Cory's serum, she appears to be okay, but she can no longer handle a gun. She passes the torch to Cory, and Cory gives her the duties of doctor.

Oh by the way they killed everyone else in the scene above, so no worries there. More traveling scenes. Then, Decatur!

As the gang fights off zombies upon zombies, literally racking up kills in the hundreds, someone makes a bad joke. Brendan sees this as an opportune time, and steps away from the rest of the crew.

“I will no longer be the bearer of bad jokes, because I've just played a mighty prank on you!”

Then he pulls out a sort of syringe and injects himself with something. Almost instantly he sprouts wings and his feet grow talons. His arms turn into machine guns and he takes to the skies. Eliot, realizing immediately Brendan's treacherous intentions, starts shooting the Brenda-beast wildly.

Mada then makes a stark realization. “Where the hell is Cory!?!?”

Eliot, still in a firefight with Birdndan, looks around, no Cory in sight. The fight continues, Brendan has suddenly become really bad at aiming at things. Eliot, however keeps hitting, because that's how good guys role.

After a lengthy battle that takes pretty much all of Brendan's life-bar, the Bird tumbles to the ground, Eliot and Mada do not think twice, and make a move for the highway.

A couple boring traveling scenes, talking about the terrible things they had just witnessed.

Some more traveling, only this time Cory's there for some reason.

“Where the hell were you?”

“Oh, I figured you guys wouldn't need me.”

“Get out of here!” Then we left his ass just outside Decatur.

Some boring, but unbearably awkward scenes of traveling. But you notice an increasing frequency of smiles with each progressing scene.

Finally Mada and Eliot reach Champaign, and Eliot sure looks badass. Dual-wielding machine guns, Mada fawning at his sheer awesomeness, he soaks in the moment as he soaks the zombies in lead.

Then, as they reach the Union, behind it comes a giant zombie with knives for fingers! And a headdress with knives where the feathers should be. It is he, Chief Illiniwek! And He's out for BLOOD. Because he's NATIVE AMERICAN.

While this is happening, a swarm of zombies pop out, and to the horror of our two survivors, among them is none other than Brian. But this isn't the Classic Brian we all know and love, this is Zombie Brian. And he is bearing down on the two at a speed which all other zombies simply lack.

Eliot fears that Brian will attack him, but the Chief is also bearing down on him, and while Eliot knows he can survive a zombie bite thanks to Cory's mystical serum, he knows that NO ONE, not even he, can survive a knife bite. He continues firing at the Chief. The Chief closes in on Eliot and the brave young but cut hero runs up the Chief's arms and kicks him in the chin.

Just as Eliot fells the Chief, he turns to see that Brian wasn't going for him all along. He had Mada pinned on the ground and was going for her sumptuous neck. Mada squirms free and grabs the gun that Eliot dropped while kicking the Chief. As she picks the gun up she notices a shadow emerge behind her. She looks to Brian and yells “I always loved Eliot and not you!” and then starts shooting the shit out of him. Eliot meanwhile picks up the other gun and shoots the risen Chief standing behind Mada.

The two, facing eachother, shooting things at the other's back, begin to makeout wildly and awesomely. This goes on for twenty minutes.

After the two run out of bullets, (as in, all their bullets. They were shooting for twenty minutes. They had to reload a lot.) They begin the trip to Eliot's dorm in silence. The unspoken plan to hole up and wait for this whole thing to blow over.

The amount of zombies is sparse in Chambana, but the two are both crazy agile and manage to avoid all would-be attackers. They get to Eliot's dorm, PAR. As they enter Eliot's hallway, they hear a menacing laugh. “No, it can't be him, we both thought he was dead!” They exclaimed in unison, which is impressive as it was the first thing either had said the whole time. The shock of this simultaneous statement made the two join eyes, but only for like half a second. And standing there, in PAR's main lounge was the one they never considered they would see.

Conor O'Brien.

“But I shot you in the back of the fucking head!” Mada exclaimed.

“Yeah. That.. that hurt pretty bad.”

“You died, I saw your brain and stuff!”

“Yep, I was unconscious for like four days. It seems you only hit the part of my brain that operates daytime Conor.”

“Then how are you alive!?”

“2 AM Conor is feelin' fine. Well actually I'm pretty tired. But just shut up, Mada. I know you only have negative things to say to me.”

Conor pulls out two katanas, presumably the ones from his house.

Mada finds a katana, Eliot goes to pick up another katana, but Mada stops him.

“No Eliot, this is my battle to fight. I have to finish this.”

After a long sword fight in which the whole time it looks like Mada is going to lose, she stabs Conor in the stomach.

“You know this won't kill me, Mada.”

“I know one way that will do the trick!” Mada retorted. And she bit him in the neck. And then again. And then she invited Eliot over.

Both of them were there for two hours. Full as fuck, eating, crying, sweating, and going through the struggle that is ingesting Conor O'Brien. As they finish crunching the last bits of his dry ass knuckles, they turn to see a group of zombies behind them, standing still, mouths agape.

Eliot turns to Mada, “I guess we were the zombies after all...” Mada rolls her eyes. They hug anyway. CREDITS.

--Eliot Sill

Nick - Shindigs!

Despite what previous posts would have you believe, I do occasionally go to parties, get-togethers, and shindigs of all kinds. Whenever people talk about meeting up and hanging out at someone's house with a bunch of other people, they usually use the verb "partying" to say it. As in, "we're going to party hard tonight!" or, "I did a lot of partying this weekend!"

But what does partying really entail? It's one of those tricky turns of phrase that means something different to everyone, much like "snack" or "busy." I can't answer for why some people say that they are busy when they have a little math homework to do instead of when they actually have very pressing matters to attend to, or why some people say they are going to have a snack first and then proceed to eat a full meal. Perhaps these people are equally bewildered when I say that I am going to "party" and I proceed to stand on the balcony and have long and overly sentimental conversations with people instead of dancing to the obnoxiously loud music.

Prior to pinpointing the particulars of my party-time preferences, we should discuss the differences dividing divergent party deeds.

You see, the kind of party we're talking about is very important. Some parties have tons and tons of people I don't know. Some have a small but well-acquainted group of people. Still others have a central focus on a particular game or theme.

As any of you who know me are probably already aware, I am awful at parties involving lots of people. I'm awful at all parties, but I'm bad at these ones in particular. They usually begin with, end with, and are punctuated by me standing against a wall and occasionally saying hello to people I know. These are especially difficult for me when we're talking about a college party, where I know a maximum of maybe five people.

Then we have theme parties and common interest parties. I lump them together in the same paragraph, but they are pretty distinct categories. Theme parties are where people, unsure if they share any common interests, attempt to create a common interest in the form of a theme that must be adhered to. For example, I went to a robot party full of people dressed as robots. Unfortunately, I had no access to robot materials, so rather than standing in the robot-kitchen talking about robot-costumes with other robot-people, I ended up on the wallflower-couch resorting to my usual big party strategy of being boring.

Common interest parties, however, are a name I give to a party where everyone has something in common to discuss. For example, this weekend I hit up an awesome Oregon Trail (the computer game) party. There was much competitive spirit and talk about dysentery. These kinds of parties are nice because there is something for everyone to talk about. They did not, however, have Nick Dietrich in mind when they created this kind of party. Nick Dietrich has to be the best at everything and will sit by the laptop attempting to become the best at Oregon Trail into the wee hours of night after everyone else has grown bored of the game.

The last kind of party is the kind that is small and where I know everybody. This is the environment in which I thrive. These parties are simply not prepared for Nick Dietrich. It doesn't take long for people to begin drinking, which gives Nick Dietrich the opportunity to talk to them for hours on end. There is no better way to have an insightful conversation than with a person who has drank just enough to tell you all sorts of things they ordinarily would probably not tell you. In this way I cultivate friendships through shared secrets, given only mostly willingly.

I understand that this sounds like I'm a weird person who is trying to take advantage of his friends, but in reality I just like making connections with people. Also, the whole "get them to tell me things they ordinarily wouldn't" actually backfires into me telling people all about myself far more than it works in the correct direction.

I guess the reality is that I'm someone who just likes to talk more than I like to dance or play beer pong or other forms of partying, though that's not to say I don't do high-energy things at parties sometimes too. One time I went exploring at a party and found a drum set, but that's a whole different story.

I guess the moral of the story here is that Oregon Trail is a cool game.

Party hard,
-Nick.

Conor - On Love, Lust, and Loneliness

I first see her as I'm walking up to the cafeteria. I can still remember her brownish hair, sortof pouty facial expression, and grey t-shirt as if/because it was yesterday, around 7 o'clock. From the moment I set eyes on her, I know, I know deep down in my heart that she is the one for me for the next 15 to 20 minutes.

I begin my conquest. For educational purposes, I will spell out my strategy here for our readers.

1. Step one. See her.

2. Stare at her, unapologetically, as I walk up. I attempt, several times, to make eye contact. There's a high probability she's similarly obsessed with me. After all, we both have so much in common. I'm wearing a plaid shirt. She's wearing plaid shorts. We're both under seven feet tall. All I have to do is make eye contact. I don't. If my friends weren't waiting for me right behind her, I would have turned around and made my approach a few more times, until she inevitably acknowledged, if not my rugged good looks or charming personality, at least my persistence. But alas, I have to go into the cafeteria with my posse.

3. Fail at acting natural when I spot her coming into the cafe, later. I stop paying attention to what's going on for a second or two, and I'm forced to ask my friend what he just said and apologize for spacing out. Apparently I was in the middle of a sentence when I spaced out, so, getting back into swing of things is awkward.

4. Silently whisper "I love you" when she walks into view again. I repeat this step until I'm confident that on some level, she knows.

5. Fall into the dessert line that I see her in, despite the fact I'm really full and do not want any dessert. For lack of a better idea, walk by her and apologize when I almost bump into her. Dejectedly get a chocolate chip cookie.

My strategy is flawed. Somewhere in between the initial sighting and the parting apology, I fail, 9 times out of 9. This is okay, most of the time. Most of the time I find it as entertaining as anyone else. I earned several nicknames this summer, all of them derogatory, but entertaining. Conor O'Brien, King of the Friend Zone. Untouchable. All of this is great. Both of these nicknames are fine. I think the King of the Friend Zone not only refers to my unnatural ability to enter deep friend zone territory in record time, but the fact that I am King. King. Untouchable could possibly refer to how well I fight.

I am the least forward person in the world. A majority of the relationships I've been in have come to me. There's only been one I've actively pursued, and I'll talk on that later. To a large degree, I lead what I call a reactionary life. I do not do things, I only react to things. Obviously this isn't completely true, but it definitely applies to a majority of my romantic life. If you like me, I'll like you. I will look at you in a different light. Now that I've noticed this, I've developed this horrible defense system, where if you like me I automatically look for your flaws and try to not like you. I recognize how dumb this is. I try to fight off that reflex.

The other way things could go is If I like you initially, I will become your friend. Your very good friend. Because I don't know how to become anything else. I'm good at being a friend. I don't want to sound like I'm complaining about platonic friendships. I GUESS THOSE CAN BE OKAY SOMETIMES. Several of the best friendships I've ever had are completely tension free co-ed engagements (but if we're ever to both be suuuuuper drunk or something I'd be willing to make some mistakes with you, Mada Larson) and it's the best. But at the same time I'd like to have another option. A button that allowed me to say the right things and dance and shake my hips and give me a stronger, more pronounced chin. I want a button that allows me to take risks, to do something when I don't know exactly how things will turn out. I wouldn't push that button often. It'd be like a movie. The ghost of my dead father would appear and be like "son, take this button and press it when the time is right" and I'll be like "It'd be really sweet to know what this button did dad" and he'd be like "the answer's in your heeeeart" or something cryptic like that and then he'd fade away. I'd immediately press the button and BAM, pronounced cheekbones and good teeth.

A year ago I was in the best relationship I've ever been in. I was dating a girl who I had become really good friends with towards the end of my junior year, and we started dating over the summer. I had pursued this girl. I wanted to be a part of her life, so I sortof forced my way in. It was a difficult situation, with several things, such as Kentucky, Tennessee, Georgia and her overreaction to Michael Jackson's death in our way, but it was the strongest I'd ever felt about someone. A lot of my close friends know how happy that whole thing made me. I was in love, and then one day I just wasn't. There were a lot of factors involved, again, but it was shocking how fast that was just gone. No one was as dissapointed as I was. Except for maybe her.

I like people, a lot. I like finding new friends and having adventures with them and what have you, but a shocking amount of people just seem uninterested in meeting people. This is a feeling I can't understand. College has been sortof overwhelming thus far, because there are just so many people. This shit is like, 20 times bigger than my middle school. People to the left of me, and wouldn't you fucking know it, people to my right. Whenever I'm throwing a frisbee around with my friends or having dinner with people, I find myself just constantly spacing out and looking around at the people walking by, the people sitting around us. I think it's a very basic form of longing. I want to know them. I want to know who they are. I want to know what they like, what the love, what makes them them. [editors note: I did not want to use italics twice in one paragraph, but if you type "them them" it looks sortof dumb. I hope you understand and forgive my overuse of this technique.] I'm always afraid of walking by someone who could be my best friend, or THE ONE. [editors note: My first instinct was to italicize "the one."]

So I'll keep bumping into people I become inexplicably obsessed with and apologizing, hoping that will translate into conversation. I'll keep looking around nervously as if I'm afraid that someone is hunting me, when in fact it is QUITE THE OPPOSITE. I am the one hunting. I am the hunter. I am.

I'm getting business cards made so I can hand them out to the ladies. They say: "Conor O'Brien. 18 years old. 6 feet tall. Used to be a pretty big deal, back home. Personality overcomes his other drawbacks. Sortof self-absorbed, but at least he tells all those stories about himself and his old friends with flair. Sweats with the best of them."

That'll get em.