It was no imprecation notched in my path to destiny that brought me inside Wegman's supermarket. No, it was not, but I will not attempt to offer any suitable exegesis to lay clarity upon this situation.

Anyway, I was wondering around, and in the sea/prepared meats section (I'm sure there's an official term for this section), I saw these humongous shrimp. I'm not even joking -- these were like the size of fat hot dog buns. They were soo big for shrimp. When I showed my mom, she laughed. They were expensive as hell too... I think $14.99/lb if I remembered correctly.

So, anyway, I decided to try and find images of them online to show you all. And then it happened.

What I thought would be just an innocent quick search on Google... brought me into this fucked up, surreal, underground, online society of the giant shrimps. (And no, this will not end up as some convoluted reference to the Cornell shrimp-faced ungraduate.)

Let us hold hands and travel together on a most terrible voyage . . .


upon entering the world of the giants, I met the Gomek family, feasting on the remains of a giant flamingo. . . they asked me to join them . . . I said 'no way you sick bastards,' and I carried on . . .


I broke through the storm troopers and chased down the giant shrimp men on their getaway bikes, but it was a trap . . .


they led me to their boss, mister shrimpster . . . he was an admirable foe, but he was a shrimp nonetheless, so I kicked his ass and broke into the Fortress of a Thousand Shrimp . . .




victory at last!
I hope you enjoyed this voyage and will always remember never to underestimate the giant shrimp or their allies.

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I have 2 amazing things to share with you.

First, is an amazing accomplishment. And, the amazing accomplishment is that I only did my laundry 3 times this semester! Next semester, I will strive to top that. I dare you to do the same.

The second amazing thing is a tale of 1 city... the magical city of San Francisco. As hardly anyone is aware of, I visited my friend, Mr. Chin, about 20 days ago, in the city of San Fran.

While in San Fran, I visited the very touristy spot called Fisherman's Wharf. Much to much disappointment, I encountered no peg-appendaged shriveled victims of the sea.


However, what I did encounter was a civilization of sea lions.


And, as we all know, sea lions are among the wealthiest creatures in this world. Who knows how they've come to gain such wealth? I think they're pirates.

But, anyway, my greed got the best of my judgment, and before I even knew it, I
was dressed up in a sea lion's outfit and had infiltrated their civilization. I followed the line of sea lion guards making their rounds around the main palace, where the king sea lion lived with his bevvy of sea lionesses. During the changing of shifts, I slipped past the main door and found myself inside the palace.

And yes! much to no one's surprise, the inside of this palace was the most ornate, ridiculously decorated place I've ever seen. Even more so than my dorm. The walls were made of gold, studded with diamonds, emeralds, and petrified mammoth feces. I instinctively ran towards the wall and started to rip out of pieces of gold and stuff it down my pants.

After I successfully tore apart 20 feet of gold wall, the guards caught on to my mischievous actions. I found myself in a very precarious situation. I was surrounded by an army of well trained sea lion warriors. These were the sea lion king's top lions.

One of the greatest battles of all time ensued.

I snapped so many sea lion necks. I punched my fist through so many sea lion chests. I gouged out so many sea lion eyes. There was so much bloody lard everywhere!

But in the end, I lost. I was brought to court and found guilty of animal abuse. By late afternoon, I was locked up in Alcatraz.

In prison, I met a mysterious young man by the name of Michael Scofield. I told him my sad tale and he listened silently, like a rock with no grooves. Then he looked at me, squinted, and said "What if I told you I could get you out of here?"

Me: "Break out of this prison?! That's impossible."
Fish (Scofield): "You see those walls?"
Me: "Yea."
Fish: "Those walls are 20 feet thick of solid concrete."
Me: "Okay."
Fish: "All we need to do is get to the other side of that wall and we're free."
Me: "I don't get it."
Fish: "Trust me. I just need to borrow your glasses and at 8:19 we will break out of here."

And then it happened...
The sun set over the Pacific and the moon came up. At exactly 8:19, a whale jumped out of the water (just as Michael had predicted by looking at his tattoos) and the moon light bounced off of the whale's left eye onto the right lense of my glasses. My lense then quickly heated up and created an energy field around itself.

Meanwhile, Michael Scofield took some dust from the prison floor and rubbed it over his chest. The dust and his tattoos caused a chemical reaction and yielded the rare gas oxyglycose nalaogen, otherwise known as "cute gas." He then in instructed me to hold up the energy field over the "cute gas" for 28 seconds.

At the end of the 28 seconds, Michael Scofield pulled a hammer out of his ear and a herd of rabbits popped out of the ground suddenly and began to eat their ways through the stone wall. He squinted and muttered "Perfect." I looked at him and said, "Carry on my wayward son. There'll be peace when you are gone."


After we broke out of prison, I returned to Ithaca. I swore to myself, though, that one day I will return to San Fran. I will return to the Fisherman's Wharf and get revenge of those wretched sea lions that have become the bane of my existence.

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I woke up to the sound of pouring rain. Then it happened!

A bolt of lightning tore through the skies--through my roof--and punched me in the face. It was the most painful punch in the face I have ever felt. It was more painful than the time I was boxing a Russian giant... time for a flashback.

The date was the 164th day of 1486, before many of you were born. In fact, it even precedes my current birthdate. However, as you must already know, a true warrior like myself is reincarnated numerous times. So, on that fateful day, I stood tall, 4' 8" (back then, the average male height was 3' 11"). My name was Homres Raskalnivotor. I was quite handsome and often stared at myself in the mirror.


I had just killed a snow monster and was carrying him home to feed my village of 164. Then it happened!

A Russian giant jumped out from behind a boulder the size of the sun. I was caught by surprise and dropped the snow monster. At the instant, the Russian giant sucker punched me in the face. He then whispered into my ear, as I lay on the ground bleeding to death, "Çäðàâñòâóéòå. Ìíå íóæíî ïîãîâîðèòü ñ Åëåíîé. Çäðàâñòâóéòå. Åëåíó, ïîæàëóéñòà ãîâîðþ äîìà."

Translated into English, those words were "Killed. You will be reborn. Alive. Lightning punch, seek prophecy of äîìà." I will never forget those words, as difficult as that may be, considering they seemed like complete gibberish.

... flashback ends. In a state of agonizing pain, it all became clear to me. The time has come for me to fullfill the prophecy of äîìà.

As I'm sure you learned in school, äîìà was an ancient Russian god. He walked and lived amongst men, but no one mistook him for one, for he had green eyes and legs as long as the Euphrates River. He may have been known for acts of kindness, often producing golden roubles from the shedded hairs of wild blizzard wolves, but he is best known his prophecy.

The prophecy of äîìà reads:
Fly high, into the mighty sky, and smile down, into the eyes of a clown, and land slow, like a child who cannot grow, into the district of angels, where girls wear pearls of solid gold.

And ergo, in two days, I will be living in Los Angeles, a magical and friendly land where there is so much gold that even the clams produce gold and give it for free to the smiling girls and boys who say "Thank you Mr. Clam." Then, the magical, talking, gold-producing clam responds, "Anytime, sirs and madames."

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As many of you might've guessed, I was recently invited to wwe smackdown and the premiere of ecw to prove my warriorhood. That's how most stories begin, and that's exactly how this one began.

I always arrive in style. To these events, I arrived in an ambulance. Little did I know, I was about to get ambushed by a couple middle aged guys wearing blue TEMS shirts, some random street wrestler in a fake leather jacket, and Taz, a might warrior who was carrying a cleverly disguised weapon.


After I successful fought my way out of that mess, I entered the arena to face my real challengers.


My bro came with me and we said our goodbyes. He knew there was only a 2% chance of my surviving the night. But then again, I also drink 2% milk.


Undertaker was my first opponent. He had an infamous reputation of disemboweling his opponents alive and crushing their skulls in his gigantic, smelly armpit as they scream for mercy and a higher-paying contract.

However, as Vince Mcdonalds, the inventor of unrealistic fighting, soon realized, I was a seasoned warrior who read the Book of Calamari Wresting (BoCW). As it turns out, the Undertaker, who used Macabre Ghoul's Claw style of wrestling was unable to defend himself against the slippery jabs and python-like tongue whips of CW.

And then it happened! Vince sent his minions into the opium ring and true, undeniably mayhem quickly ensued.


As you can clearly see from the pictures above, I am winning the battle against the 187 other wrestlers that were all simultaneously attacking my groins in the opium ring.


I win!! I win!!! But, don't let my bestial cries of victory fool you. Fifty-four of my 289 organs exploded during the course of these battles, including my 4 lungs and 2 gills. I lost 8 gallons of blood, including 4 pints that bled from my body through my opponents' hearts and 16 pints that were discovered 2 days lat0r in an old, abandoned well in the Mexican village of San Buanito belonging to an old chupacabra farmer known by all as El Bano.

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