Irony astounds
Monday May 22nd 2006, 4:25 pm
Filed under: General Skullduggery,Links for the Glum,Random bits of cheese

First, exhibit A

and exhibit B

and this just makes me laugh.

All of that being said, I’ve taken a job at a counseling center for troubled youths. My official job title is ‘Child Care Worker’. You could cut the irony with a spoon.

A bit of history…
Monday May 08th 2006, 9:49 am
Filed under: My shit luck with all things,Random bits of cheese

At first glance, people often wonder about me. What’s his deal? They may ask themselves. Where did he come from? What the hell happened? Why is he beating that mime? Well the answers are distant, and vague at best. But in short, everything comes down to nature vs. nurture. As for my genetics, they have baffled my family, as well as a few doctors ever since I hit puberty. But the real question comes down to environment. How was I raised? one might ask. As to that, we must go back pretty far.

Baby books. We all have them, our parents bought them during pregnancy in the hopes of documenting their baby’s first everything, along with mementos such as hospital braceletts, hair clippings, first lost tooth, first blood and urine samples, etc.

It’s easy to trace chronology when looking at the baby books in my family. My oldest sister’s baby book is bursting at the seams with information regarding everything from her first toy to her favorite things to spit up. The second oldest sister has a baby book which covers the important things in the early years- first word, birthdays, first days of preschool, you know, things for parents to be proud of. Then there’s mine. It’s obvious that mom and dad got tired. And rightfully so. My baby book is depressingly bare. Or rather it would be, if I took it at face value. But looking through it, I just have to laugh. Because it’s so funny. And not to keep from weeping.

First we have this:

Is it... a lizard?

GAAAHHH!! WHAT THE F-…. Oh. It’s just newborn baby Siege. Those of you who think I’m cute can save the oohs and ahhs. Nine months after this picture was taken, I would look like this. And about a year after that, this would happen.

Back on the subject of baby books, and of genetics, we have the first lack of entry to chronicle my lineage.

Somehow, I was born.

Or not. But hey, a baby was being born! Who wants to sit and painstakingly draw out a family tree when they could be announcing the birth!

Stop the presses!

Okay, so I’m without family, nameless, and sexless. It should be noted that the first thing I did in this world was pee on the doctor who delivered me. You’d think that would have clued them in. But it must have pissed off the doctor (no pun intended). Maybe that’s why he didn’t have me immunized for any disease or infection that could be waiting in the hospital.

No needles?  Eh.  He'll be fine.

But no worries. Today, my immune system is as dangerous to infection as the rest of me is to mimes. Besides, they were probably too busy showering the new baby with gifts to worry about some stupid shots, right?

a rattle?  a pacifier?  anything?



Why mom chose red ink for this, I’ll never know. Apparently I had given her so much trouble with the one hand, she didn’t bother trying for the other. Can’t exactly blame her, as she was recovering from her third C-section. I just find it amusing that my cute baby handprint looks like something you’d see in a window during the aftermath of a zombie outbreak.

At this point, you’re probably thinking, “What an ungrateful sot. He’s made it to college, so he must have had great parents. He should have to watch Joe Don Baker eat sausage for an hour as penance!” Well you’re right. At least about the loving parents part. Let’s hear from them:

Or not.

Here we come to birthday number two. All for the best, as I spent the majority of the first one chucking ice cream on the floor.

oh just forget it already.

This is one of the only actual entries in the entire book. If you can’t read the writing, it basically talks about how everyone got sick for my birthday, and the festivities had to be postponed. Twice. I eventually got to have presents two weeks later.

or at least birth suggestion

Clearly, it isn’t an actual birth certificate. This is just something the hospital puts out for benefit of the parents. At least in most cases. For me they didn’t bother. Wonder why? Let’s take a closer look:


Ah. So that’s it. No doctor would put their reputation on the line by aplying their ridiculously illegable signature to that statement. They were all busy looking at me asking each other, “Is it… supposed to do that?” One other thing the book tells me is popular nicknames for me. Apparently, someone was fond of calling me ‘Short Change’. This could be in reference to my stature. Or it could be that they felt that they had been duped. Either way, it would be one of the first of many nicknames to grace my presence in the future, including Siege, Yeti, You In The Shorts, Machete, and Please Place The Weapon Down Sir.

So ends the history lesson. Fell free to pontificate on that as you will. As for the mimes, they just really annoy the piss out of me.