Thunder Volcano

Boundless enthusiasm for something stupid

Archive for the ‘Hilarifying’ Category

I Told You That Story So I Could Tell You This One

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Back in high school, my brother Duke was in a creative writing class that he largely treated as a joke because he was in high school and high schoolers are assholes.  A day or so before the end of the semester, it occurred to him that he should probably write something for his final project.  Given that it was Christmastime and that we went to a Catholic high school, he wrote a heartwarming holiday anecdote about animal abuse.  Despite it being a creative writing project, the story was far more grounded in reality than he cared to admit at the time – he pretty much compiled a series of unconnected true events and then got Creative with some of the facts.  I won’t spoil it by telling you which parts are and aren’t true, but to answer the two questions you’ll have (in order): kind of; and no, not really.  Without further ado, here’s Duke’s story:


It was a clear, crisp, starry night. The temperatures outside were nearly cold enough to freeze Crisco on the back of a dog. Yes, that Christmas Eve was the perfect night to travel around the neighborhood singing carols, reveling in God’s creation. Fortunately, I was inside with the heat turned up watching cartoons. My family had returned from church and had already devoured our traditional Christmas Eve duck. While my parents were ensconced in their room, furiously wrapping the bounty for the following day’s festivities, my brother and I were keeping ourselves occupied by avoiding cleaning the kitchen.
I had just settled down to get my nightly dosage of Scooby Doo’s zany hijinx, when my brother’s dog, Shelby, came waltzing into the room wearing a crazy disco shirt and my brother’s underwear and sporting a three wood duct-taped to her back. Dangling from the club, three feet in front of her snout, was a red Milkbone. Deftly maneuvering the club, Shelby managed to smash my mother’s entire collection of stained-glass angels, before somehow managing to get her feet entangled with the club. As she writhed on the ground, frantically trying to get her paws on the Milkbone, my slightly demented seven-year-old brother (I was nine at the time), Baron glided into the room, clad in his customary ratty green bathrobe and moldy slippers. His eyes glittered and he had a maniacal grin on his face. In his right hand, he proudly held aloft his favorite roll of duct tape – which he frequently claimed to be, “Good for what ails ye!”
Suddenly, there arose a tremendous Crash! followed by the spectacle of plates rolling into the living room. Seconds later, my loyal, if none-too-bright, dog, Leibschen, emerged from the kitchen, grinning dumbly at us from behind the coat of white powder that covered her once-black face. Leibschen then nonchalantly wandered away as if nothing had happened. When Baron and I peered in on what had once been our kitchen, we discovered that Leibschen had been filching some Christmas cookies off the table and had managed to upend the whole table. Baron and I opted not to disturb the scene of the crime and moved on to more important things.
Following floured footprints, we tracked Leibschen down and got most of the powder off her face. While re-fluffing her fur, we decided that Leibschen definitely needed a new Christmas “doo”. I colored her light brown eyebrows a fluorescent yellow and trimmed the whiskers off the right side of her face; Baron used Crisco to stylishly spike the hair on her back. Little did we know that Leibschen used her whiskers to help maintain her direction. We only discovered this when she spent the rest of the night constantly making left turns.
Following that little fiasco, we decided to let the dogs out before they could completely destroy the house. When I opened the door, Shelby came running out at full speed, hit the icy deck, and went helplessly skidding all the way down the stairs with a series of audible thumps. Leibschen, on the other hand, got up a good head of steam and took a left turn right into the Christmas tree, bringing it crashing down on the coffee table, adding to the ever-growing pile of glass on the living room floor. Leibschen scrambled her way downstairs and was not seen for the rest of the night.
Soon, there was a “plumping” sound at the front door. On inspection we discovered that Shelby had materialized with a ham twice the size of her head protruding from her mouth. On any other night we may have considered this strange, but on that particular Christmas Eve, we took no notice. As Shelby was sitting amongst the rubble in the living room attempting to inhale the ham, the doorbell rang. In the doorway stood an enormous woman clad in a fuzzy pink bathrobe roughly the size of our pool cover. She bellowed her asinine story about how our dog had stolen her ham. After listening to this tirade for several minutes, Baron and I declared that we owned no dogs and quickly closed the door.
Back in the living room, Shelby had devoured almost the entire ham before collapsing in a blob amongst its tattered remains. We decided that it would please my parents to no end if we were to wash the grease and the meat off the dog, so we plopped her in the tub. Just as we were finishing rinsing her, Baron mentioned how funny Leibschen had looked with all that powder on her face. On that note, we decided to go for the same effect with Shelby, but to a greater extent. Baron scampered into the kitchen and grabbed the flour which we applied liberally to the dripping wet dog. Voila! An albino porcupine.
Just as we were admiring our handy-work, we heard our parent’s door open. Thinking quickly, we ran out to the couch and casually pretended to be watching the Scooby Doo Christmas Special. As my parents came down the hall, one of them made an unintelligible noise. My dad immediately began to try to scrape the flour off of Shelby, but to no avail; it had quickly hardened into a thick paste. My mom walked over to the couch before very slowly and calmly asking, “What is all this?”
Baron and I gave each other a sidelong glance and then replied in unison, “All what?” My mom just sat there, thinking this over and giving us the frowning of a lifetime. Realizing that the jig was up, Baron burst into tears. When I looked over at him and saw the pasty flour all over his face and that weird yellow stuff all over his robe, I burst into tears, too.
My mother considered us for a moment before coming over to comfort our sorrow. When our tears had subsided, she looked us both in the eye and said, “I’m sure this isn’t as bad as it looks. It really isn’t a big deal. It should only take an hour or two to clean up. And then … you still never cleaned the kitchen.”


My only complaint with this story is that my mom (who was and still is an English teacher) helped Duke revise it and in doing so convinced him to change the original ending.  The rough draft was the saddest goddamn thing I’ve ever read in my entire life.  I can’t really do it justice here, but originally my mom paused for a long time after coming into the living room and then started slowly and wordlessly picking up the scattered fragments of our treasured family heirlooms.  The End.  I think I almost started crying when I read it.


Written by Baron Volcano

02/24/2013 at 8:48 pm

Long Story (5th Edition)

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So there’s a girl I’d been sort of seeing for a short while (i.e. about a week), and after the first time I slept with her she asks “did that make you like me more?”  I say “after” as in “almost immediately after.”
I was half asleep and more than half drunk, but I still managed to say what I feel is the only logical thing: “…What!?”
“I was just hoping that would make you like me more.”
So not only was she serious, she really wanted this to be true (I still can’t figure out which answer would be more depressing).  I tried to avoid the question, partly because I wanted to avoid the “you’re just saying yes because I want you to” trap, and partly because that’s insane.
“Oh my god, that didn’t make you like me less did it?”
Well, that tactic didn’t work.  At some point she also said that “this was a mistake.  We’re never doing this again.”  Well, I’ve heard that from girls before.  Luckily, I’ve had a lot of practice in the art of Mumbling and Then Falling Asleep, so I eventually made it through the night.

The next morning, she treated me to a rather lengthy list of my faults (none were sex-related, for what that’s worth).  Some highlights include:
-I’m stupid for getting tattoos based on liking what they look like.  Her tattoos have meaning.  One is based on a Modest Mouse song, another on a song by TV on the Radio.  These tattoos say something about her.  She did not appreciate my suggestion that what they say is “I like this song.”
-I don’t like ketchup.  This was honestly the biggest sticking point, and one that’s apparently insurmountable.
-“When I met you I thought you were so cool, but you’re really not cool.”  This one I agreed with.
-My driver’s license says my eyes are brown, when they are clearly hazel.
-It’s pathetic that I can’t get up before 2:30 PM without an alarm.
-I never smile (not true) which means that it’s (apparently) impossible for anybody (i.e. stupid people) to tell when I’m joking.
-My whole life is meaningless.

I don’t disagree with all of these, but it’s kind of a low blow when a 22 year old advertising major calls your life meaningless.  I thought about trying to steer that one towards existentialism but big words tend to make her head hurt (she once described herself as a “very punctual typist” and called me an asshole when I suggested that “punctual” may not have been the right word) and she was severely starting to wear on my reserves of tolerance for stupid people as it was.  Plus she uses the same argument tactic my roommate does when he’s drunk – forcefully repeat the same one or two stupid arguments until the other person stops caring.  She actually takes it a step further by continuing to make stupid arguments at somebody who has given up and doesn’t care.  This conversation also involved her telling me several times that she never wanted to see me again.  Every time she mentioned that, I just said “ok” and resumed wondering if she’d stop talking (answer: no).  (It’s worth mentioning here that I dealt with this the way I did because a) I was too sleepy and hungover to feel too strongly about anything, and 2) she’s pretty damn hot and if I told her to shut the fuck up she might have put her clothes back on.)

Now, a short backstory: I’d known this girl for like two weeks, tops.  I was introduced to her through a friend and she and I played an online Scrabble game that somehow ended with her inviting herself to my apartment to drink beer in my bedroom (follwed by some sort of “Was that sexual? Tee Hee.” comment).  The bedroom beer drinking was postponed in order to go drink at a terrible bar (which I had to drive to, so I didn’t have my normal defense mechanism of getting hammered and being an asshole).  At some point during the night she told me that I’m (and I paraphrase) “tolerable, but mostly because you have great hair.”  The next day she told me I’d get more compliments if I told people to touch me.  Note: this does not work.  Even if you specify that it’s your hair, you get weird looks.  I did get told that I have really soft hair, but I was told this by a dude so we’ll count that one as more unsettling than anything else.
Other notable events during that one week (in no particular order):
-She started a text-message conversation with “I miss your face.”  Comments of the “I miss you” variety were quite common, to the extent that I once got an “I miss you” text message while I was still in the elevator at her apartment building.
-She repeatedly grabbed me by the belt to make out with me in the toy department at Target.
-I was told “I want to hurt you.”  She was gnawing on my cheekbone at the time and sounded serious.
-She asked me several times “Isn’t it sad that our time together is so limited?” and/or “Will you miss me when I’m gone?”  These are both in reference to the fact that she’s leaving town after her (expected) graduation in May.  Considering that it’s February, that would make our “limited time together” roughly seven times as long as we’ve known each other.
-She got drunk and started sending me pictures of herself.  Not sexy ones, unless you are turned on by pictures of girls drinking (and I am).  On the plus side, she has a penchant for see-thru shirts.
-She started calling me by pet names (well, we had known each other for almost a week).
-The first time I saw her in person after being introduced to her, she showed up at my bar shitfaced then stared at me wide-eyed and speechless when I said hello and asked how her night went.
-On at least one occasion, she repeatedly told me I looked like a hobo.  This was, I believe, because I was wearing a plaid shirt – hobos being known for having very specific fashion sense and a strong affinity towards certain fabric patterns.  Though now that I think about it, it may be because I was wearing a hat.  Every time she saw me wearing a hat, she’d get genuinely confused and ask why I was wearing a hat.

Anyway, a day and a half after she claimed to never want to see me again, I received the following series of texts, which I didn’t find on my phone until I was at iHop at four AM (and in suitable mental condition to be eating late-nite shitty pancakes).  For context, it’s worth mentioning that these were sent at 1:30 AM on February 15th:
“2nd times a charm. Speaking of charm, you have none. Thanks for the happy v-day txt! Just kiddinggg because you never sent me one!”
[A picture message of several pills on somebody’s palm]
“Drugs on drugs on drugs.  Maybe it’ll work this time?”
[A picture of baby food]
“I even got you a v-day present.  I bet you feel like the absolute worst now, huh?”
“Or you can ignore me.  That also works.”

Needless to say, I was a tad confused.  There was slight context for a little of that, but not enough for me to be able to wrap my head around any of it.  But I’d resolved to see this out until it stopped being entertaining, so I had a responsibility.  This came into play when she invited herself to my apartment again later that week.  I showed up at her place circa 2 AM, as is my custom, and she asked “why are you here?  Did I call you?”  Just like Fight Club!  Except instead of the night ending in hours of weird sex, she kept telling me the same uninteresting story over and over and over and over and I think there was pizza.  Oh, also this is when she gave me my Valentine’s Day baby food.  She seemed really upset that I hadn’t eaten it by the time I left for work the next day so I told her I’d eat it at work (which, to my credit, I did do).

On the bright side, I get to see her again since she left her credit card and ID in my car somehow.  Well, I don’t know that her ID was left in my car since I found it under one of my windshield wipers a week later, but the credit card was definitely in there.

Written by Baron Volcano

03/03/2012 at 1:46 am

Ride on my Mustache Chariot

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I had a job interview this morning, and in what I hope is the first time in recorded history, the guy I interviewed with asked me if I have a mustache.  There’s a possibility that this was a job-related inquiry, especially judging from the hopeful tone in his voice when he asked.

Written by Baron Volcano

05/03/2011 at 12:39 pm

More Lazy, Self-Referential Jabbering

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WordPress helpfully offers a list of the search engine queries that people used to find this site, so as part of my ongoing effort to find things to write that don’t involve me putting in any actual thought, I started perusing this list.  The results were a 50/50 mix of entertaining and baffling.  Here are a few of my favorites (in rough order of least to most awesome) with commentary:

samoas cookies with a purple sneakers
The list was – by far (say, 95%) – dominated by phrases relating to Samoas and/or Coconut Dreams (though notably few mentioned Caramel deLites, the lame politically-correct title applied to Samoas in some states).  My first inclination was to assume I know a lot of people who liked that post but haven’t quite figured out the “bookmark” button.  But on second thought, it’s entirely likely that a lot of people on the internet are really interested in reading about these cookies for some reason.  Either way, I have no idea how the hell anything I have ever said relates to purple sneakers.

putting on uniform
I cannot possibly figure out what anyone would hope to gain by doing a google search for this phrase.

thought of the day about air
Are there a lot of people writing profound thoughts about air?  If not, there’s apparently a market for it.

why was there an egg in the fucking volcano
This is also sort of an odd thing to Ask Jeeves, but now I really want to know the answer.  Hell, I’d settle for knowing where this question comes from.  The most likely explanation I can think of involves the phrases “Dave Poole” and “drunken rage.”

“case of relish”
Can you imagine trying to find a place to purchase large amounts of hot dog fixin’s, only to stumble across an article about ejaculating condiments?  I hope I provided insight into this person’s quest for lots of mashed-up pickles.  Failing that, I kind of hope I made somebody swear off the internet forever.

how to become a semen volcano
There are few times in my life when I feel truly proud of myself.  But somehow, knowing I created something that’s relevant to this pervy dude’s absurd (and hopefully entirely sincere) question, I just swell up with pride.
It is also worth noting that this is the only search in the list that I didn’t repeat.  I’m not sure I want to find what this dude was actually looking for.

Written by Baron Volcano

05/01/2011 at 7:38 pm