"Many Bothans died to bring us this information..." Well, maybe they weren't very good spies then, were they, Professor Failbot?

I saw a car wrecked on the side of the road, but the blinding force of joy and ultimate cumulation of Schadenfreude emanating from my magnificent smile that causes rainbows and unicorns to hide their faces in shame made me drive right past him. Besides, I doubt he would've wanted to listen to me laugh at him while trying to help. My desire to be a good person is dwarfed only by my undying hatred for the occupants of the freeway, even the innocent ones.

Men and women are different creatures. Though we're both (technically) humans, we're very different from one another. And rather than expend gratuitious amounts of mental energy trying to figure out why we're so different (Ki), I just lazily accept that things are the way they are and move on. And while women have a lot going for them, I have to say that one amazing reason to be a man is simply just being able to stroke your beard. Few things are as satisfying as sitting around with a beard like the guys on ZZ top, the amish farmer or Santa Claus and raking your fingers through it while reminiscing on the meaning of life. Ladies, want a great way to eliminate stress from your life? Grow a beard. It will cut all guys out of your life AND give you a surefire way to just relax in the evening. "Problems? Stroke a beard." Catch-phrase is patent pending. (Ki: I do not mock your intelligence nor vigorous study of all things, including Social Psychology. If I had kids, I'd do the same thing)

Work is funny. A lot of people don't like having to shred the garbage in the back of Lab, but I actually enjoy doing it. It's kinda fun throwing tons of garbage bags onto a conveyor, let them slip slowly into a giant bowl that resembles the Kraken's Maw and watching the jaws of steel gnash up the bags in under two seconds. When I stand on top of the ladder, I pretend I'm tossing bound and gagged infidel prisoners onto a torture device before being messily devoured by my heinous pet creature while their screams form a macabre symphony of the night for me to dance to. It's very rewarding. No pun intended for comparing people to garbage.

If I had the money, I'd have a fish tank the size of a football field in which I'd keep my pet Kraken. I'd name him 'Cthulu Fthagn', or just 'Legs' for short. Feeding would be a bitch, but raising cattle is easy, right? His tank would be right next to Japeth the singing Goat "An avalanche is coming and I do not feel prepar-r-r-red" and the bamboo hut that houses the attack-squad of Killer Koala Bears armed with tiny rapiers.

Oh, and for the record: when you're at work and you threaten to stab your roommate in the face with a pair of scissors, make sure your co-workers know that he, in fact, is your roommate. It makes the situation marginally less awkward.

And when the room-Operator tells you not to put your head in the Bowl during a run, for Gods sake, DON'T DO IT.