I was driving to Borders today (a bookstore) with my friend Jonesy when I was suddenly struck with an epiphany. *pause for dramatic music, cue red curtain being drawn* I came to the realization that men are like books, but more expensive and irritating as they cannot be placed upon the shelf when their usefulness has run out. How, you ask? Read these following reasons:

The Disturbing Similarities Between Men and Books

1.) A book tells some of the most fantastic stories and none of them turn out to be true.

2.) You can talk to a book all you like, but it won't answer.

3.) You can fall asleep with a book, but it won't snuggle.

4.) If you do fall asleep with a book it will be cold and end up poking you in places you don't want to be poked.

The next few questions come to mind: A book is made of paper and can, therefore, be recycled. Can a man be recycled? Wouldn't that imply that he could be useful for more than one thing? And, if that is the case, could that possibly be considered an oxymoron - man and multiple uses?

The only difference I've found between men and books is in regards to smell. A new book has that sweet freshly cut paper odor and an older book smells like friendly old memories. A man, however, smells like a month old decaying organism has been stuffed up his butt and left to rot, dance and play video games until it's ejected rather rudely into the cold, cruel world. Woe to all that are within the vicinity of a man during this frightening period for your brain cells will still be dying three days later from the stench riddled backlash.

**DISCLAIMER**
Keep in mind, guys, I'm only joking. Somewhat. Hehe.

Have I ever mentioned that I'm a tad uncoordinated?

I dropped off the Bug-mobile at Pep Boys right after work for the tires to be mounted and commenced to wait three and a half hours. When I had called, they told me "Sure, tires? Within the hour, no problem". My sense of time must be off.

I head back later on in my friend's SUV (being sans car, obviously). I have a passenger with me - a guy I barely know that works with the above mentioned friend. He needs a new belt for his car so it worked out nicely - I drive him to Pep Boys to get my car and he takes my friend's car back after getting his car part. Great!

I don't drive SUVs very often...(this is the part where most people tremble in fear). So, the guy in the passenger seat (let's call him D) is veritably clutching every available surface the entire way. At one point he reaches over and grabs the wheel. "Watch out for that curb, girl!", he says.

There was no curb. I deny this. He begins stating he has never had to grab the wheel before and he used to teach people how to drive. I, in my vast realm of intellect, deny the curb. "It must have moved," I say. "Moved? What?!", D spats back. I have a great ability and it's called Bullshit. So, for the remainder of the ride I inform D that since the tsunami caused the Earth's axis to tilt even further and the Earth is perpetually spinning, the curb was indeed moving. Obviously, it had a violent vendetta against me and was trying to take out it's frustrations on the chick that can barely see over the steering wheel. Truly, this argument proved that it was not I that tried to assault the curb. Indeed, I was the victim in this curb-icidal tragedy.

...I think it was at this point that D decided I was insane and wanted to leap from the car (regardless of the speed) and run to safety. Luckily for him we had just pulled into the parking lot.

I get my vehicle and turn the ignition just as D comes back outside to head back to his work. I'm concentrating so hard on making sure I drive perfectly on my way out of that parking lot (to prove to D that I'm not a bad driver, not at all!) that .. ahem .. something escaped my notice.

I didn't nudge this curb or gently bump it. My car didn't excuse itself politely and move on. No, no. For about five seconds, I owned this curb. White on rice? That's nothing. I was so far in this curb's personal space that I could have been European. I took that curb, slapped it around a few times and stuck it out on a street corner.

Ego? What's that? I got nothin'.

I am a loved NightBug. My friends value my insight, intelligent conversational skills and...alright, who am I trying to kid?!

Let's look at a little excerpt from dear, beloved, soon-to-be-dead-via-nefarious-and-ever-so-painful-means-of-torture friend, shall we?

Quick Background:
Bryon, from the blog "My Twisted World" is convinced that I have the worst luck of any other person on this planet. He also thinks I can consciously control this "black cloud", as he calls it and that I occasionally allow it to visit him. If I can do this it must be subconscious. However, I will learn to control this wondrous power and allow it to live with him permanently. *cue ominous thunder and creepy picture - ooh, scary*



Bryon's Take On Wishing Me a Safe and Happy Lunch:

"....arrival at the park would have been uneventful. However, upon exiting her car, Adrienne would have unwittingly disturbed a small ant hill inhabited with dreaded fire ants. The ants, now VERY pissed, would have formed a committe to exact revenge. An army would be formed with all the queen's best soldiers. They would attack from the ground. A temporary peace treaty would be signed with the African killer bees that recently migrated, so that they could carry out the air attack. As Adrienne would be eating the last bit of her politically correct non meat based sandwich on fat free pita bread dusted with spices NOT processed by slave child labor from Nicaragua, she would just barely notice the buzzing beside her head and the approaching three mile long line of some really pissed off fire ants.
Once the first stinger entered her neck from the killer bees, she would immediately shriek and start to run to her car, stomping on the fire ants, who would clasp their legs together and form a line to trip Adrienne. Once she hit the ground face first, flinging her glasses six feet away, she'd feel around for them not unlike Velma of Scooby Doo fame, only to get bitten repeatedly by the ants. However, their attack would be in vain, because Adrienne would defeat the army by slamming them with her copy of the book she was reading, entitled "Yeehaw: The Official West Virginia Vacation Guide". She would defeat the swarm of killer bees by proclaming them a "nuisance and against all Cary ordinances". Then once safely back in her recently dented Saturn, though swollen and spectacle-less, she would drive back to the office, having a flat tire and dead battery along the way. Upon re-entering the office, her badge would not work in the kronos clock, her phone would be ringing off the hook, and her supervisor would announce that she had to work overtime to complete more of HIS paperwork as she was sitting down in her chair which had been littered with the remains of her stuffed ninja warrior hamster.

Again, I say...damn that cloud!"

Now, girls and boys, let's recap what happened later on that day, shall we?

While driving home on the interstate, I got a flat tire. Yes, a flat tire. I couldn't change this accursed creature of rubber and metal for one reason: I am too wee to loosen up those factory tightened lug nuts even with a lug wrench. Trust me, I have tried in the past. They just won't budge regardless of the foul words I hurl in their general direction. So, I had to call some friends to arrive and help me - i.e. do the work for me while I sit there and make smartass comments the entire time.

Once this tire was changed, I couldn't get onto traffic. My spare tire won't allow me to exceed 40 MPH and weasling that midget car onto a highway that has speeds that are regularly higher than 65 MPH seemed a bit fool hardy. So, upon the advice of Blowup Doll Victim Friend #1 (Jones' hapless roommate - poor man) I drove along the side of the road for two and a half miles until I managed to get off on an exit and finally get home.

Somehow, Bryon cursed me. He's snickering to himself as we speak, I'm sure. The war is on. Excuse me. I must don my Super Villain NightBug alter-ego (I have so many) and begin my schematic drawings of nefarious torture techniques.

Oh yes, and there is no free candy. I tricked you.

With the proper costume and a sidekick to belittle, the world would be a safer place. Read on and learn why (Ooh, the excitement, the anticipation, the...hey...hey! Guys?! Where is everybody?!):



Scenario One:

An evil villain is attempting to snatch Batman's purse!

NightBug to save the day! I'll talk about plant physiology in a droning, monotonous voice until I induce seizures in this arch nemesis thereby incapacitating him until the arrival of the police. After a few quick poses (my good side only, please) for the reporters, I'm jetting away in my Super Sedan to stop another crime!

Scenario Two:

Someone just stole the Green Lantern's ice cream cone! The vile toddling perpetrator is standing over his weeping and prostrate body and maliciously laughing at his emotional pain!

Taking candy from a baby isn't easy, but NightBug is far too clever to be defeated just yet! A handy dandy portable hair dryer will solve this problem! WHIRRRRRRRR! Take that you malevolent 18 month old fiend!

What's this? It's my Super Cell a-ringing. Time to go back to the office and don my Uber-Spiffy and Secret identity. Hair gel and glasses and NightBug is concealed!

...I need more coffee...

The men in my life are surely the most twisted individuals.

My dear Jonesy decided to give his roommate a gift that would just keep on giving - a blowup doll of a very fat, very hideously deformed woman. Truly, a gorgeous and sensitive Christmas gift. It was greatly appreciated - in the box and hidden away.

Jonesy was sad. And who wouldn't be? His thoughtful gift was left unopened and unloved. Surely she must be cramped in there, he thought. Maybe his roommate was just busy at work and unable to get her "ASSembled". Jonesy, being the considerate seed of evil that he is, decided to help.

His roommate arrives home on a Sunday, dragging and tired from a long weekend. The one thing he needs now to relax prior to beginning yet another ardous work week is a nice, hot shower. He prepares himself, pulls back the curtain and finds, to his shocked and half asleep horror, the Blowup Creature from Hell blown up to her massive proportions and awaiting him in the stall.

For his painstaking efforts, Jonesy was punched (sometimes love hurts, I hear) and the Hell Doll was taken into the living room where his roommate quickly, loudly and with lots of creative verb usage took a small axe (yes, they keep sharp weapons everywhere - murderous bachelors) to the one woman that wanted to be his dearest and nearest.

I wish I could have seen this. Alas, I only got to hear about it. But, I was able to meet his dearly departed when, sitting in my gimp closet and playing UT, her deflated body was flung on top of my head. Oh, the horror. I'm scarred for life and must now plot revenge.