You have to be intelligent to play it. This is not a game for 8-year olds. This is for people past the age of, well, 16.  I just got THIS card this evening after getting my ass handed to me by a guy that looked like THIS:

<—-That’s a $20 card.

This is why I don’t play D&D——>

That–along with all other radio except Elliot in the Morning–all went extinct when I got my Zen V Plus…way back when. So I went without the sickening hip-hop, Jonas Brothers (don’t get me started), and Hannah Mont–I refuse to finish her name–for about a year and a half. Well a week ago I flipped it on because my Zen’s batteries got frozen out of juice.

And I heard this.

These are The Veronicas, if you didn’t already put that together upon pressing ‘Play’. I think they suck…bigtime. However, I think we have to thank Toby Gad for putting together the actual music behind the otherwise awful lyrics and vocals. The electric violins at the beginning: bone-melting, in a good way.

And those twins aren’t even singing…they’re whining about stupid crap.

Plane crashes. On an island. Many people die. Many people live, including a doctor, a hot female criminal, a fat guy, two Asians, a pregnant chick, a bald cripple who is no longer crippled since the crash, and a heroin addict that also goes by Charlie…but I came first. They camp out, cry, and hear weird noises in the jungle. They find a polar bear and a big cloud of black smoke that kills people. They find a hatch in the jungle and a Scottish man lives there who presses a button every 108 minutes to prevent the world from fucking up. Let’s skip ahead a few seasons shall we? Yes? Okay.

Six of them get off the island, and the island disappears in front of their eyes. Boom. Just disappears. The End.

There are six numbers–4 8 15 16 23 42–that appear everywhere, even tattooed on one of the Asian’s buttcheeks. They mean absolutely nothing. They are apophenic. HOWEVER! If we do the following equation, it just so happens that the answer to life is revealed:

Add the first three numbers: 27. OH SNAP! Then add the last three numbers: 81. Oh Snap. Now subtract 27 from 81, and you will get…54. Next, square 54. You get 2,916. Add each number up (2+9+6+1) and you get 18. That is how old the body that my brain is stationed in is. That is why it is the answer to everything, at least this year until July.

When the lamp was used to water Kate's favorite island bush...

From rubbing the lamp the wrong way.

These two “created” metaphysics. I myself know very little about the many alcohol-induced theories that these two outcasts took out of the oven, but, to combat my lack of wide knowledge in metaphysics, I can confidently say that the subject of reality sits on the top of the mountain that is my fat head. Simply said (and to help you understand the caramel-coated and capsaicin-wrought point of this blog): Think about all that bullshit you heard either in Kingdom Hearts (for the gamers) or the somewhat-nutritional material in Donnie Darko (for everyone else–and if you haven’t seen this film, I suggest you get your anus over to the closest Blockbuster and rent that sum’ bitch). Now flush that bullshit down your local toilet, which may simply be your apartment window.

We live in one reality. Got that? ONE. UNO. один. Everything that has happened (when you slapped your lawyer last year), everything that is currently happening (you reading this and eating Skittles), and everything that will happen (shark attack in Wisconsin)–these all occur in the reality that we are in now. It’s so simple that some of the idiots will be like, “what’s that mean?…Maybe I should look it up on Wikipedia or Givemeyoursoulanddebitcardnumber.com…” This reality is one reality. But there are an infinite number (or so we say because we can’t count very well).

We exist in Reality, or Plane, Number 27. In Reality Number 26, maybe everything is the same except for in two seconds, your appendix will spontaneously combust. That and you will pick the purple Skittle instead of the red one. In Reality 28, maybe everything will stay the same…until your next birthday where the stripper your friend hires for you suddenly goes into cardiac arrest instead of finishing that lap dance. Again, don’t think too hard on this. There are an infinite number of things that can happen at infinite moments in time.  Just focus on this unchangeable path that you are on now. And why 27? Because I fucking say so.

NOW. This blog. Screw NPR. Screw Perez Hilton. Vivisect C-SPAN. This is your pop culture. My way. NPR is a dead resource, Perez Hilton was in the amazing, yet vocationally degrading “Gays Gone Wild” (I kid you not, go here), and C-SPAN is boring and reminds me of C-Sections.

The 27th plane just got a little crazier.