The Tale Of The Three Terrific Turtles

Three terrific turtles approached a fork in a rough, rocky road. After many days, they had survived a treacherous and tumultuous trip. They had been tossed around by tigers, thrashed by turkeys, and tickled by tarantulas! All three turtles were, quite understandably, tuckered out in body, mind, and spirit. (Yes, turtles have spirits too!)

When they came to the fork, all three terrific turtles stopped, craned their heads out of their shells as far as turtley possible, and slowly twisted their heads from left to right and back from right to left. Then again from left to right and back to left, again and again, ten times total as if they were watching a tight, tense tennis match (for turtle tennis speeds, mind you).

"Huh," succinctly summed up the first turtle. "Well, where do you think we should go, tudes? Left or right?"

"That was a terrible, traumatizing trip," anxiously answered the second turtle. "I don't want to suffer like that again. We have to make sure we pick correctly."

"We can't see very far down either road, so they both look the same," calmly commented the third turtle. "Might as well just pick one and see where it leads. Why not left? That feels right!" And off trekked the third terrific turtle down the left road.

"Wait!" screamed the second turtle after him. "How do you know it's safe?"

"I don't, but there's only one way to find out!" Then the third turtle was gone. (Well, after a few hours, because turtles are very slow.)

"I'm hesitant too," admitted the first turtle. "Why don't we stay here overnight to monitor, meditate, and mull it over?" So the two turtles faithfully watched both roads all day and all night, but they did not see anything inviting or dangerous to help them make a decision.

In the morning, after a nice big yawn and a stretch, the first turtle serenely said, "Well, still can't see anything down either road, so I think our friend was right: might as well just pick one and go."

"No way!" exclaimed the stressed, scared second turtle. "I'm going to stay here another day and watch. I have to be sure."

"We can't stay here forever, though. Sooner or later, we have to make a choice."

"It's just one more day," defended the second turtle.

"Shell yourself. I don't think another day will make a difference, so I'm going ahead. Might as well hedge our bets and take the other road. I'll go right since that's what's left!" And off trekked the first terrific turtle down the right road. 

"Wait!" screamed the second turtle after him. "How do you know it's safe?" 

"I don't, but there's only one way to find out!" Then the first turtle was gone. (Well, after a few hours, and you already know why.)

So the lone remaining turtle stayed all day and all night once more but still did not see anything. He felt he had no choice but to stay, splay, and survey as long as it would take. Day after day and night after night he watched and waited, but to no avail; both paths looked equally promising and portentous.

The third terrific turtle, who took the left road because that felt right, had an arduous yet awesome adventure. He was accused of arson by an anaconda, advocated for by an aardvark attorney, and acquitted by ant arbiters! Thankfully, after all that action, he arrived at an acclaimed and abundant apple tree where he spent many days in affable appreciation. 

The first terrific turtle, who took the right road because that was left, had a tame, tediously taxing trek. Nothing of note happened whatsoever and the road was so long he thought it would never end. He became tremendously torpid, tart, and tired. Thankfully, after all that inaction, he turned up at a tall triangular tower that was home to a touring theatrical troupe of tapirs, who just so happened to be looking for a terrific turtle to join their act. He was totally and thoroughly thrilled with his new trade.


The second terrific turtle, who did not take either road because he could not see which choice was right and what perils were left, remained forever fixed at the fork. Foolishly filled with fear, he forgot how to frolic. Finally, the frigid, frosty fall came and he froze forlorn and forsaken.

Humble Pie Should Be Changed To Humble Salad

Who looks like they're being humbled?

"Frickin' Frank needs to be knocked off his high frickin' horse. I wanna make him eat some humble pie!" - Everyone at some point. Probably earlier today.

We've all been on both the giving and receiving ends of consuming humble pie. It's impossible to go through life without being a part of this grand pie eating contest. If for some reason you haven't heard the idiom before, it means to face humility and get knocked down a peg after your lack of humility has been pissing people off. No one wants you to eat humble pie if you've been perfectly humble and awesome to them. It's that sweet, selfish sense of justice that differentiates it from plain old apologies and admissions of error. And we assuage our conscience by remembering that humility is good for building character.

So, it's a negative, unpleasant, hard to swallow experience that is ultimately good for you, which is why it makes no sense to me that it's associated with pie. Pie is freaking delicious and awesome but not at all good for you! Sure, maybe if you eat way too much it becomes unpleasant deep down in your stomach, or later on it's humbling weighing yourself, but the idiom is usually about some or a slice of humble pie, not lots of it. Some pie is pretty darn pleasant.

I looked up the origin of the term, and it does actually make sense in historical context. Way back in the day, there was umble pie, which was made from all the crappy parts of deer no one really wants to eat, so not something you'd eat unless you were of humble financial situation. So it makes sense that at some point humble and umble, two words sounding very similar, got turned into an idiom. When umble pie was still a thing, the idiom had clear context.

But times change, and now pie is super tasty, whether in dessert or meat pastry form. Umble pie is long gone and it no longer makes sense to associate humility with something universally regarded as delicious and awesome. Just ask yourself, when you want to see someone knocked down a peg, and if you have to translate that sentiment into food form, would you give them pie? Hell no, even if it was a kind of pie you know they don't like, you know they'd still be like, "Cool, free pie! Thanks, that's so thoughtful of you!"

So what would we all like to give someone we want to see fall on their ass? Salad. We all know that no one really likes salad. The only reason anyone ever eats it is because they're trying to lose weight or eat healthy. No one ever really wants to eat it, it's just a sacrifice made for a greater good. Some people think they like salad, or occasionally think they've had a good salad as an exception to the rule, but they're just lying to themselves. I know because I've fallen prey to such self-denial many times. I've even homemade salads! But the reality is it's never truly enjoyable, and even when you do get some genuine tasty satisfaction, you know damn well it was only good for a salad and you'd rather have eaten something much more awesome than a stupid sucky salad. Like pie! Or pie with meat!

Thus, seeing as pie is tasty and wonderful but bad for you, and salad sucks but is good for you, I declare it's high time we rebrand humble pie as humble salad. I know it doesn't roll off the tongue quite as nicely, but it's sentimentally accurate and sure as hell makes more sense in modern context. No one will ever be thankful you gave them metaphorical salad, and that's what knocking someone off their high horse is all about.

Trump is Gilderoy Lockhart, Not Voldemort

President Trump has inspired an awful lot of literary, historical, and pop-culture comparisons. It doesn't matter whether you support him or not, chances are your brain leaped to make its own comparison, flattering or insulting. I've heard quite a few comparisons to Voldemort and as a Harry Potter nerd, it's been bugging me. 

Not only do I find the comparison to be inaccurate, but it feels lazy, an automatic response without critical thought or a measured assessment of both Trump and the characters of the Wizarding World. People that love Harry Potter and hate Trump naturally want to paint him as the big bad villain, but Voldemort is by far not the only villain or antagonist in the series. Don't get me wrong. Personally, I loathe Trump, but what I'm advocating for is an accurate, thought-out, fair comparison. If we're going to throw tomatoes at him, let's do it right and not half-ass it. In the wisdom of Ron Swanson, let's whole-ass it. Oh wait, I guess I should put it in Harry Potter terms: let's not Ron it, let's Hermione it.

So, admittedly, Trump and Voldemort do share some characteristics, but they don't line-up quite right. They are both ruthless in pursuing their goals, willing to hurt or sacrifice anyone at any time, but Trump at least seems to care about and support his own family, whereas Voldemort doesn't care about anyone and will sacrifice his closest supporters without a second thought. He framed his pure-blood uncle for murder with no remorse. They both came from wealth, but as an abandoned orphan, Voldemort never benefited from it. They both stick to their own kind and view outsiders as enemies that are beneath them, but Voldemort does so out of utter contempt and Trump just doesn't care or think about anyone outside his circle. They both hated their original family name and tried to stamp it out, but Trump's family changed it long before he was born and Voldemort actually out-Trumped Trump by anointing himself a Lord Anagram.

Moreover, none of these are the defining characteristic of Trump. Let's face it, the one thing we can all probably agree on, whether you support him or not, is that first and foremost, he's a raging egomaniac. Trump cares about nothing so much as himself. More specifically, he cares about maintaining his huge, delicate ego that rests on him feeling like the greatest thing in the world. Everything has to be about him and it has to be positive, or he goes bananas. 

Now, who does that sound like in the Wizarding World? Gilderoy Lockhart! Like Trump, Lockhart only truly cares about himself. Everyone else is either a fan or an object to be used. Like Trump, he doesn't care about actually achieving things, only being perceived and adored as an achiever. He just wants to feel like a winner and will cut every corner he can. Like Trump, he'll claim he can do something incredibly amazing, just for the attention when he damn well knows he can't and has no intention of ever doing it.

Like Trump, even when he's clearly making a fool of himself in action over lame-ass Cornish Pixies, he'll play it off with a pitiful excuse that somehow attempts to paint him in a good light. Like Trump, he will twist the truth, blatantly lie, and outright deny anything negative to come out on top and maintain his inflated ego, no matter how ridiculously obvious the truth is. I'm pretty sure that if Trump could magically wipe people's memories, he would. He's got a lot of Inferi in the closet to make disappear. 

On the darker side, like Trump, Lockhart will easily allow others to suffer so long as he benefits. Dude was willing to let Ginny die in the Chamber of Secrets, and who knows how many blind eyes Trump has turned to the suffering of those beneath him. Like Trump, he craves the adoration of women but does not respect them as they are just shiny trophies to him. If the series had been mature audiences only and not family friendly, I'm willing to bet we would have been reading about Lockhart sexually assaulting women with the help of charms and potions. Or heck, probably without any magical aids too since he was so famous he could get away with it.

Sorry, wow, that got really dark there. But, like I said, if we're going to go for it, we're going all the way. Trump and Lockhart might not be a 100% perfect comparison, but I think it's the best and most accurate comparison to the Wizarding World. I know I'm not taking crazy pills because in google image searching "Gilderoy Lockhart Trump," a lot of links came up, so clearly I'm not alone in making the comparison. Which also means I'm not as clever or unique as I'd like to think, but that's okay, my ego—although at times delicate and fragile—is at least healthier than theirs so I think I can handle it.

Sadly, I don't think Trump is as harmless as Lockhart, but I hope that America will metaphorically be Harry and Ron and stop him, forcing him to backfire his own weapons on himself. Please, please, please let Trump end up in the equivalent of St. Mungo's, safely secured and unable to harm anyone else ever again!

Foolproof Guide To Failure When Seeing Your Ex

The time has finally come: you're going to have to see the ex that dumped you in a social or professional situation. You're not ready and filled with fear, anxiety, and dread. Well, fret not, here is a foolproof guide to assure maximum failure and embarrassment!

Step 1: Panic

This one interaction is going to decide your entire life's future. You'll never love anyone else; it's just not possible and you're not capable. If you don't impress, they'll never get back together with you and no one else will ever love you. This failure will start an avalanche and the rest of your life will crumble and fall apart. You'll never succeed at anything and have to move back in with your parents and live in single, jobless misery for all eternity. You need freak the fuck out because everything, and I mean absolutely everything, is at stake here!

Step 2: Lose Focus and Perspective

Don't pay attention to anything else in the lead-up to your interaction. Lose all focus at work or in the job hunt, ignore what's going on around you and in your loved one's lives, stop exercising, stop eating, stop all your hobbies and chores, stop showering and grooming, stop flossing and brushing, just drop everything. Focus entirely on thinking about your ex and what will go wrong when you see them. Nothing else matters or exists.

Step 3: Get Plastered First

When the day and time finally comes, you need to pre-game hard. Don't just have a tiny little drink to loosen up but still have your wits about you. No, get absofuckinglutely plastered. You need to be a drunken, slobbering mess with no inhibitions and your deepest emotions— the ones that you've desperately been trying to hide for years—brought to the forefront. You need to be ready to spill the beans of embarrassment.

Step 4: Say the Worst Things Possible

Forget the polite, respectful, dignified, calm and collected small-talk. Go right for the jugular, your jugular that is. Come right out and confess your undying love, rehash the most vicious old argument, or say that you hope they're miserable without you and alone because they're a cold, heartless monster that no one could ever love. Or better yet, do all the above. Say any and all of the horrible thoughts that pop into your head. Heck, practice beforehand so you can perfect your performance. This is your time to shine. Squeeze all the embarrassment juice you can out of that lemon!

Step 5: Run Away Crying Immediately

Do not, I repeat, do not give them or any innocent bystanders any time to react. As soon as you know you've done as much damage as possible, bring on the crierworks. Let the tears flow, choke up, and run away as fast as you can, mumbling about how much you both love and hate them. Don't stop, and don't even head for your car. Run away in a straight line until you're far out of sight.

Step 6: Come Back Before Everyone Leaves

Come back after a decent amount of time has passed, enough so that everyone has gossipped about the travesty, but not so long that everyone is gone. Go back and mumble about having left your keys. Doesn't matter if you actually left them or not. You can fake finding them. But walk all around the room looking for them, so that you have to walk by everyone but not looking anyone in the eye. Then find your keys and this time walk out as slowly as possible with your head down. This is your walk of shame and you gotta make it last.

Step 7: Consider Suicide or Moving Far Away

You may be tempted to think that, even though you did great damage to yourself, this situation and all your problems can be fixed. This is a dangerous lie we tell ourselves. It's just not true. You've embarrassed yourself and screwed up your life so bad that there's no going back. You either have to kill yourself or move far far away and never speak to anyone that was there ever again. Whichever you decide, just burn it all down and disappear forever. Mope for the rest of life, never doing anything but feeling sorry for yourself and forget that anyone else has feelings and problems too. Don't let yourself be happy!

15 Trivial Things That Drove Me Crazy Watching Love Actually This Year

It's absolutely no secret that "Love Actually" is not only my favorite holiday movie, but one of my favorite movies of all time. I watch it every single year, often twice, especially since last year I discovered it's the only movie I own with a German dub. But, as we all know by now, my love for something does not mean it won't drive me crazy over dumb trivial things:

1) "Love actually is all around." Okay, I'll ignore the all lower-case as a stylistic choice, but where are the commas??? Aren't The Brits are supposed to care about grammar? I think you mean, "Love, actually, is all around." And the film should be titled "Love, Actually." Aaaaaaagh.

2) Maybe you're alone again because you're a moody hipster with a stupid typewriter who doesn't make copies instead of just getting a laptop like a normal person and constantly backing up like any decent author.

3) Mark isn't holding his head due to the emotional agony that his best friend's wife just found out he's in love with her, he's holding his head because he's walked outside in the thick of London winter in only a shirt and flimsy sweater and his brain is literally freezing to death. Layers, Andrew Lincoln, LAYERS!!!

4) Originally, Rowan Atkinson was supposed to be an angel who disappears at the end of the film after helping out Hans Gruber and Future Jojen Who Is Still Referred To As Love Actually Kid And Holy Crap Still Looks Like A Kid. I'm convinced Mia is his polar opposite: a hell demon trying to earn her horns. It's the only explanation for how she can be so utterly, unequivocally, unbelievably evil!

5) President Poophead and Mia deserve each other. I can't believe the movie didn't have them get together. It's so obvious. He should have had a torrid affair and left his wife after falling in love with her, only to lose her when she earns her horns and returns to the depths of Hell. Justice served!

6) James Bond, yes! Harry Potter, YES! David Beckham, HELL YES! Wait...what about Lord of the Rings? HOW could you forget LOTR??? I don't know if I still have a man-crush on you, Hugh Grant...oh, who am I kidding? Of course, I do!

7) Jimminy Cricket, look at those scrawny little chicken legs. Your arms are bigger. Don't skip leg day, Karl!

8) Professor Snape's greatest sin isn't cheating on Professor Trelawney, it's letting her do all the gift shopping for their family while he puts in zero effort or care. What a deadbeat dad.

9) If the fan base I saw at the 2011 Rose Bowl is a fair representation of the Wisconsin college student population, there aren't this many attractive girls ever gathered together in a single bar, much less the entire state. This is probably the most unrealistic thing in the whole movie. 

P.S. Remember how we kicked your ass, Wisconsin? Rah rah TCU!

10) You can't learn a language or an instrument in two weeks! Especially not enough to be conversational or perform in a concert. If it was, every jackass high school boy would have been the douche with a guitar trying to impress girls, as well as the douche attempting to seduce the pants off the hot foreign exchange students by speaking their native tongue.

11) Why is Jamie's brother at the family Christmas? If you shag your brother's girlfriend, it should be standard policy that you don't get invited! Jamie doesn't need the lure of love as motivation to piss off from his crummy family.

12) I can't decide what I like more: the bodyguard's surprisingly amazing voice or the kids dancing to an undanceable Christmas carol. I just can't decide and it's driving me mad because I'm American and someone has to be declared the winner.

13) This kid has ruined all future Christmas pageants because I will forever be extremely disappointed that there isn't a kid made up as Spiderman for no good reason.

14) He barely put his wife in the grave five weeks ago and he's already crushing on someone new. I don't think the Dementors have to do much to make Brits feel as if all has gone cold. They clearly already are ice queens.

15) Is that a Pixar lamp? Oh...no...oh my god...the insanely archaic G4 iMac is "the new iMac" in this movie. That's how old it is. I cannot unsee it and I can't pay attention to anything else in this epilogue.

3 Terrible Implications Of The Santa Clause Universe

The Santa Clause and The Santa Clause 2 are both mainstays in my Christmas movie rotation. They're cheesy as all heck, but I love 'em. The Santa Clause 3: The Escape Clause, however, much like the Star Wars prequels, Indy 4, Die Hard 5, Spiderman 3, Superman 3 and 4, Blues Brothers 2000, Exorcist II, and The Matrix sequels, is an abomination and does not exist as far as I'm concerned.

But hey, two out of three ain't bad at all; even Messi and LeBron don't score 66% of the shots they take! Despite their cheery mirth and glowy warmth, the universe that's set up in The Santa Clause movies (you know, just the TWO of them) has some dark and terrible implications:

1) The Elves Are Slave Labor That Never Get A Day Off

When Scott Calvin comes to the North Poll for the first time, having been freshly donned the new Santa Claus, the elves are ALREADY hard at work on next year's toys...on Christmas...right as children are barely waking up and getting THIS year's toys. The elves apparently never stop working. Ever.

To really drive the point home, the head elf, Bernard, acts really put-out by Scott's questions, even though they're all perfectly valid and understandable considering he's just been appointed the new magical Santa for life after accidentally causing the death of the old one. Bernard—though hella charming because he's played by the super awesome and underrated David Krumholtz—is curt, full of eyes rolls, and super impatient because there's tons of work to do and Scott is slowing him down and he clearly fears that things might spiral out of control on day one if he can't get back to work cracking the candy-bead whip. Can't this new Santa jerk just get it through his thick skull already? The elves are under so much pressure that even their leader feels like he doesn't have time to meet and greet the new boss.

Scott is obligated to be Santa, does not at all have a choice, and will not get paid. If Santa, the big boss man, the head honcho, the taco supreme, is bound by a contract he was never allowed to read first and is not being compensated, then there's no doubt the elves are bound by an even worse contract. They are clearly slaves. 

2) Parents Ignore Free Presents They Didn't Buy Their Kids

The films establish that kids are in touch with and still believe in magic, which is why they believe Santa is real, but adults have lost that belief in magic and therefore don't believe in Santa. But, Santa does exist in this world, for realsie reals, and every kid in the world either gets presents or coal directly from him, made by the elves, with no involvement of their parents. This means that every parent in the world doesn't believe Santa is real, yet turns a blind eye to the free presents that show up for their kids on Christmas morning. 

No parents are ever shown having a confused conversation with each other over where that damn kayak came from. This means they're all willfully ignoring the creepy appearance of stuff they didn't buy into their locked home by an unknown party, or in subconscious denial. Either way, it's a pretty serious and messed up psychological issue affecting every single parent in the entire world.

3) Santa Magically Knows All Your Secrets

No letters need to be written to Santa to get what you want in this universe. He already knows what you want, thanks to magic. Not only that, he also knows if you've been, on the whole, naughty or nice this year. While that's typical for the Santa Claus myth, these films take the "he knows when you are sleeping" trope to the creepiest extreme.

See, he doesn't just know if you've been good or bad, he knows exactly what sins or good deeds you've committed. Each and every one. He knows your name and where you live without ever having to ask. And most blood-curdling of all, he knows not just what Christmas presents you want, but all your deepest, darkest, innermost desires. That's precisely how he seduces his future Mrs. Claus; he knows exactly what to say and do to please her, and boy does he play every card he can.

Forget big brother government because in this universe, Santa is the privacy-invading creepster supreme. He alone holds the power to expose every person in the world. He can blackmail anyone at anytime. He can manipulate anyone he wishes, bend them to his will and make them dance like a string puppet because he knows all the right buttons to push.

And it's not like he's a magically benevolent being who would never even think of wielding power selfishly. Santa was once a regular person complete with psychological issues, relationships, and personal grudges. If you ever upset him, he can destroy your life without breaking a sweat. No man should ever have such power...

Over-tightening Tire Lug Nuts Should Be Illegal

I was peacefully gliding down the Angeles Crest Highway, listening to tranquil music, enjoying the beautiful serene scenery, and not even having touch the gas pedal as pure momentum carried me calmly down the mountain. All was well. And then, just up ahead, big rocks on the road. 

"No problem, I'll slow down and drift into the other lane to avoid them. Oh crap, cars coming the other way. Well, that limits how much I can maneuver out of the way. Bam. I hit one. That doesn't sound good at all. That sounds like it did damage." That was what went through my head in a matter of seconds, and I was right. A few miles later, it was obvious I had a flat. 

Thankfully, turnouts are plentiful on the Angeles Crest, but I still had to bide my time waiting for one that was sizeable and safely level, which is fairly nerve-wracking when you're driving down a one-lane mountain highway with no room for error. Eventually, I did and was able to harmlessly pull over into a huge turnout with plenty of room to change out to the spare tire. 

Changing a tire in the mountains was definitely daunting, but hey, it wasn't my first rodeo. I'd changed a few tires in my day, so it shouldn't be a problem. Boy, was I wrong. I put the torque wrench on a lug nut and casually tried to pull. No budge. Huh, okay, I'll come back to that one. Try another one. No budge. Another. Same. The other two, nope. What the hell? 

Turns out, the lug nuts were so drastically over-tightened, it took me an hour to get them all off. I had to take breaks because the effort was so draining, not to mention I was afraid I was going to pull or break my back. And although I'm certainly not super duper strong, I'm no weakling either. I've now put in fifteen hard months of serious weightlifting. I won't bore you and brag about numbers, but let's just say that with what I can deadlift, I should have no problem loosening a little itty bitty lug nut with the law of physics aid of leverage via torque wrench. So the fact that it took me an hour, tells you just how insanely over-tightened they were. I don't know how I got it done, but somehow, with brute strength and sheer force of will, I eventually got them all loose. 

I wish I could say it was smooth sailing from there, but the vaguely illustrated diagram and instructions in the car manual for where to place the jack for the rear wheels were so bad, I had spent an hour and a half to change a tire when all was said and done. Quite humbling. But that's neither here nor there. We're here to talk about needlessly over-tightened lug nuts.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out how and why they were overtightened. You don't even need to google it; it's pretty obvious. They were over-tightened because whichever shop last rotated/serviced my tires use a pneumatic wrench to tighten them, and pneumatic power can reach some serious RPMs. That means lots of power, more than enough to satisfy Tim The Toolman Taylor. Why would anyone do that? Simple: it's faster and easier. Efficiency to service more customers and make more money, and laziness to make their job easier. Understandable. 

However, it should absolutely, positively, no questions asked be illegal. People can hurt themselves trying to loosen over-tightened lug nuts. People can be put into danger on the side of the road if the time it takes to change a tire is lengthened. People can get screwed and stranded if they can't loosen them. I'm pretty sure that a year ago, without the strength I now have, I wouldn't have been able to get them loose, leaving me stuck in the mountains with no cell signal. Although I'm confident I would have been able to flag down help from strangers, highway patrol, or the forest service, I shouldn't ever be put in that situation when it's completely unnecessary. No one should.

Any automotive repair service business is responsible for ensuring your vehicle is safe to drive. Part of that safety means ensuring that lugnuts are not over-tightened to the point where anyone, of any size or strength, can't loosen them by hand with a torque wrench. People have to be able to change a tire themselves. When businesses overtighten pneumatically and take that ability away from customers, they screw them over and put them in potentially dangerous situations. It's unnecessary, it's immoral, and it's unacceptable. It has to stop. 

I propose that pneumatically tightening lug nuts should be illegal. Businesses should have to do the final tigthening by hand with a torque wrench, thereby ensuring they aren't over-tigthened and can be loosened by hand. No excuses. I can't believe this isn't already law. Fellow drivers, it's time to stand up and revolt!