CD Clinic - Dictated by Dr. James "The Champion" Johnson, PhD Disclaimer: He is not a certified physician. - Typed by Josiah "Nipples" Johnson

So, as you may have noticed, I haven't posted since last Sunday, and today is Sunday. So, what have I been doing for the last week? Well, I'll tell you. I was on a vampire-hunting expedition in Mexico City. I was riding my Harley down the freeway when I got an anonymous call. The voice was deep, obviously masked somehow. It told me, "There have been numerous vampire sightings in Mexico City, you should check it out. I know how much you enjoy hunting vampires." I punched the accelerator, shifted into 5th gear, let off, progressed into the throttle and shifted to 6th, at which point I shot the accelerator toward the ground. I was headed South at 125 mph. After a few hours of straight motorcycling, I let off and pulled into a gas station. I was going to fill the tank, but instead decided to opt for another mode of transportation toward Mexico City. I got on a bullet train and was heading to Mexico City past 300 mph. In a couple hours, I was there. The train, however, was not headed to Mexico City, it went miles further, but I was still to exit in Mexico City. We were moving at exactly 324.758 mph. That's about .09 miles every second, or 475.2 feet every second. I kicked the window out of the train when we were about a mile from the train station at Mexico City. Once we were 1425.6 feet from the station, I jumped out the window, which took me exactly 3 seconds, landing me perfectly in the station. To keep me living and from injury, I put myself into a spin in the air, the rolled in a manner that gradually slowed me down without injury. When I was slow enough to stop myself, I was about 3 miles past the station. Whoops. Still, I was in the city. I had no clue where to find the vampires, so I walked straight into a restaurant to ask around. I saw a man with two very long and sharp teeth, biting into the neck of another person and drawing blood from there body. He looked like he'd know a few things about it. I walked over and asked, "Have you seen any vampires around lately?" He replied, "You idiot! I am a vampire!" I instinctively shoved a glob of soggy garlic bread down his throat. I was just going to make him suffer, but he died. I guess that particular vampire was allergic to garlic. One was enough for me, so I went around town eating all the Mexican food in sight. Too bad it wasn't all clean. I was bloated, tired, and needed to unwind. I began to walk down the dark streets in search of a hotel. I saw a Mexican walking in the other direction. I hailed him, "Hey! Carlos! Do you know where I can find a hotel?" He gave back, "My name isn't Carlos, sir, but there is a hotel just down the road!" I decided to trust him, but it was hard after that first lie. I had read that every Mexican was named Carlos, but he said he was not. Either he wasn't Mexican or he lied. That was Sunday night. For the next 6 days, I slept like a baby. It was quite terrible and confusing. I randomly awoke crying and desiring a bottle of milk. It must have been the Mexican food getting to my head. Last night, I got on a train, headed home, and went straight to bed.

Split Ender - Dictated by Dr. James "Dorothy" Johnson, PhD Disclaimer: He is not a certified physician. - Typed by Josiah "Toto" Johnson

It was an ordinary day. I was working as a double-agent for Blockbuster. There I was, working cashier position at Family Video. My mission was to sabotage their operation, making more people buy and rent from Blockbuster. The first customer of the day walked inside the store. "LEAVE!!" I yelled. "GO BUY OR RENT FROM FAMILY VIDEO!! WE DON'T WANT YOUR MONEY!!" He simply stood staring at me. So, I took necessary actions by throwing my carrying brick at him. He was knocked down, but he didn't leave. Naturally, I threw a kindergartner at him. (This time I was carrying one. He's a small one.) Now he left, but he stole my brick. "Hey!" I screamed. "That's my brick!!" I pursued in a sprint. That was my brick. He jumped in his truck and peeled out of the parking lot, so I jumped on the tailgate. He took a sharp turn, and I flew off of the truck, but I caught myself on the back of another guy's motorcycle, so I simultaneously flipped him over my back onto the back seat and scooted into the front seat. I was in hot pursuit of the truck. He ran into a wall, then began to escape on foot, so I followed on the bike. It wasn't long before I caught up, but he leaped over a fence. I stopped the bike, jumped off, climbed the fence, then pulled out my Rambo knife and followed. I was in between 5 and 7 yards from him at all times for about 3 minutes, going through twist, turns, and bends. He ran into his house and locked the door, but I Rambo knifed my way into his dwelling. He was terrified, so I simply said, "Hand me the brick and nobody dies." He gave me the brick, but I broke my promise. I didn't harm him, but I accidentally stepped on a bug on my way out.

Quick Chop - Dictated by Dr. James "Water Polo" Johnson, PhD Disclaimer: He is not a certified physician. - Typed by Josiah "Land Polo" Johnson

Another day, another breath-taking story. I was walking, one night, along None Of Street, and I was a block from Your Business Avenue. I was working for Blockbuster as a cashier. I had a couple hours before work, so I went to Pete Ferguson's house. Who, you ask, is Pete Ferguson? At the time, I had no clue what so ever. But I went there, anyway. It was a big white house, over 100 years old, and he put hundreds of thousands of dollars into restoring it to perfect condition. I, however, thought it was ugly, and decided it could use some... adjustments. So, I broke out the old paint and brush, and began painting the place. I made it dark blue, textured on in absolutely inconsistent globs. I figured the windows needed repair. They weren't cracked or chipped, but I thought they should be on a house so old. I took a jackhammer to every window. Who knew they would shatter entirely out of the pane? I wonder-barred my way inside. I instantly noticed that the floor had a beautiful coat of light stain, but it didn't seem like the right shade for the house. I went to Home Depot and bought a gallon of dark brown stain, then bought an old electric sander at a thrift store. I, then, found that the electric motor didn't work. I decided, then, to buy a lawn mower engine to replace it, and made the conversion. I decided that the worn and tired sand paper on it wasn't good enough to strip the floor, so I made my own. I got a piece of cardboard, super glue, and beach sand. I actually went to the beach for it, found a partially used bottle of super glue in a trash can, and got the cardboard from the same can. I, then, glued the cardboard to the sander and glued sand to the cardboard. I took the rough sander to the house and began sanding. The paper tore big scratches and some small holes in the floor. On top of that, the engine had a hole right in the crank case, and drenched the room in oil. Once I finished sanding, I poured the gallon of stain on the floor and smoothed it a little with a broom. It was far too thick to dry correctly. Once I finished, I decided that the project wasn't worth the trouble, and the house was far too gone for repair, no matter how many improvements I'd made. I was five minutes late for work, so I walked to Blockbuster and took the shift. The manager stormed in angrily. "YOU REALLY HAVE THE AUDACITY TO COME IN LATE?! WITH YOUR HISTORY OF STUNTS LIKE THIS, THAT IS ONE THIN TIGHT ROPE TO WALK ON! YOU'RE FIRED!" I replied, "You'd think the thinner tight rope I walk, the more impressed people would be, and the more I'd be paid. You should be giving me a raise, not firing me!" He shot back, "YOU LITTLE BRAT, THAT'S NOT EVEN THE ANALOGY!! THE ROPE SNAPPED, YOU DIDN'T WALK IT!!" I said, "Well now I get it. Was that so hard?" I was, quite literally, kicked out. And that's how I lost that job.

Flex Pro - Dictated by Dr. James "The Hammer" Johnson, his doctorate was given back. - Typed by Josiah "The Screw Driver" Johnson

So, yesterday, I again did not post. Again, with perfect reason. I was tired. Get over it. So here is the first post out of the two today, and this one will make up for yesterday. So back in my glory days I was a bathroom attendant at Barnes & Noble. (What, they can't have bathroom attendants?) Every day, somebody would walk in needing to take a load off, and I would charge them to use towels, water, soap, and other things that should be free. Well one day, that all changed. *FLUSH* *WASH HANDS WITH SOAP AND WATER* *DRY HANDS WITH PAPER TOWELS* "How much do I owe you?" I replied, "What? You don't owe me anything! We haven't even met before!" He said, "Oh, thanks." Then he left. "Wait!" I shouted after him. "You forgot to pay the money you owe the store!" Too late. He was gone. The day went as normal for the next two hours, although I was shaking with fear, knowing that I would be in trouble for this little stunt. Then, the manager burst in. "WHAT RIGHT DO YOU THINK YOU HAVE TO GIVE PEOPLE WATER, SOAP, AND TOWELS FOR FREE?!" he shouted. "Over here, sir." He was shouting at the wall. He was never all there. "Oh, hi. Do you work here?" He was obviously deep into one of his novels, as he usually is. "Could you keep it down?" I said an inch from his face. "I'm trying to study, got a big Saturday test tomorrow." He replied, "Oh, alright, I'll leave you to your studying." I shot back, "DON'T START THIS!!" I was furious. I stormed out of the building, and decided to call back an hour later and quit work. What right did he have forcing me out of a job that way? So, I set out looking for a job. I found a thrift store that I'd never been in before, so I walked inside. "Hello." The man behind the register said. "You sold me those sombreros before, right?" "No," I replied, "you're not reading the blog correctly, I haven't been in here yet." He replied, "Oh, yeah. I must have not read that part. Well welcome to my humble abode." "You live in here?" I questioned. He replied, "No, what gave you that idea?" "That's what abode means." "Is it?" he asked me. "Yes." I said. He replied, "Oh, alright, then." I left that store. He wasn't worth my time. "Hey!" he yelled. "I am too worth your time!" I shot back, "Again, you're not reading the blog right! I didn't say that to you, I simply though it!" "Oh, okay! My bad!" No duh, his bad. So I continued into a suburban neighborhood. I saw a big white house, so I went inside. "Whoa!" a man said as he jumped back. "How did you get into my house?!" "The door was unlocked." "No it wasn't!" "Well it is, now. Get over it. Do you have any job openings here?" He asked, "Inside my house?" "No, in your back yard. Yes, inside your house!" I replied. "No! I don't have any job openings in my house! Now leave and lock the door behind you however you unlocked it!" I replied, "I doubt I can lock your front door with my Wonder Bar, but I'll try." I walked out the front door. I closed the door and place my Wonder Bar in, then pried in many directions and forms. After lots of work and bending, twisting, and cracking of his door, it became firmly locked in place. I bolted it shut for good measure, then did the same for every other door of his and barred his windows to be generous. I continued on to a dock. "Do you have any jobs?" I inquired as I snuck up on the docker. He jumped back into the water, then gathered himself to reply while treading water, "Sure. I'll give you a dollar if you get out of my face." I replied to his reply, "Well if that's measured by the hour, it's below minimum wage. And is this a full time gig or part time?" "Just leave!" "Well I have to know the hours and pay before I get right to work! And is there a payroll booth or do you pay me upfront? Does it matter where I leave to? Can I just go home and do whatever? What if there's an emergency and I have to come back to this dock during my job? Are there other people trying for the job? Do you need my resume before hiring, or do you just trust my leaving skills? Is there a uniform I have to wear? What if I just wear normal clothing, would that lower my pay, or could it raise my pay because you don't need to buy a uniform? Will you call me for random times to work, or are the hours set in stone? Do the authorities know that you're paying below minimum wage for leavers? Do I have to belong to certain political party before working for you? Do you know that I have to get time off on election day to vote for a president? Do I need to have welding skills for this job, or what about sewing skills? I can't sew. Do I need any ropes or chains for this job? What about pulleys, do I need pulleys?" He replied, "JUST SHUT UP! You can have a job. Just come in tomorrow at 6:00 A.M. and I'll tell you what to do. Okay?" "Sure thing, boss, I won't let you down!" I went home with a smile on my face, threw a new job party, kicked out the partiers, went to bed, the woke up at 7:30 A.M. and watched a Spongebob Squarepants marathon until 6:00 P.M. *RING, RING, RING* I answered, "Hello? What? What do you mean I'm fired? If you meant today, why did you say tomorrow? Sure, today was tomorrow yesterday, but let's live in the here and now! ...okay, I'm going to stop you there, you're confusing me deeply. Alright. Bye. See you at work tomorrow. I won't? Oh, right. Okay. Bye. See you at work. Oh, right. Okay. Bye. See you at... oh, right. Okay. See ya. Or not. Whatever." I hung up. I was out of a job. What have we learned? Don't trust dockers for work. People usually don't offer jobs inside their homes, either.

Blendy Pen - Dictated by Mr. James "I'm Not Yelling At You" Johnson, his doctorate was taken away. - Typed by Josiah "I'm Yelling With You" Johnson

So, as you may have noticed in the title, I had my doctorate taken away. Fear not, it wasn't taken away without my willingness. I actually ran into some title clearance issues and went to the college to ransack the place and force them to take it. All went well. So, now I give a brand new offering of entertainment, edge-of-seat thrills, yet no comedy, because this is all real and serious. So, back in '99 when I was a Pan American pilot, I was flying passengers and cargo from Miami to Los Angeles on an over night trip. As I got the plane into the sky, I taped the controls in place and made a small child watch to make sure nothing went wrong as the copilot, staff, and myself all went to the first class area for coffee and steaks. As we were eating our steaks, I turned to the copilot beside, a Mr. Walter W. Walters, and inquired, "How's the steak?" "Excellent." the fresh from flight school pilot replied, "But wouldn't it be safer if one of us took control, and didn't rely on a six year old and some duct tape to keep the plane steady?" "Hey!" I exclaimed, "Are you captain? No! Do you have an entire three time units of experience? Maybe! But you made those units up! I do, and they're all years! And besides, that 6 year old has D's in school! He's passing, so he's fine! And that is no duct tape up there, that is gorilla tape!" He shot back, "Sir, regardless of the type of tape or grades of the student, you have no right to put this all on him and tape!" I gave this juicy piece back, "Are you going to go up there and fly the plane?!" "Pff, no! I'm eating steak!" I replied to his reply, "Then calm down. The best pilots are small children, ages 6-6. Its' proven by scientists. And Gorilla tape has a way of flexing when it senses danger, so it can literally steer us out of danger." "Really?" he asked. I vibrated my vocal chords and moved my tongue and lips to make this cocktail of movements, "Would it calm you down?" "Yes, it would." he gave me. I gave back, "Then yes." We continued eating in silence for four hours while the food kept coming, then I got up and walked to the side door of the plane. "I wonder how well these chutes work." I said. The copilot replied, "Who knows?" "Only one way to find out!" I offered. "You're not really going --" CLICK - LEAP - "Ahhhhhhhh!!" I had strapped the chute to a male passenger, about 30 years of age, and plunged him outward to test it. It worked. Not well. Who knows how he ended up? So, I walked to the front of the plane to find that the kid was staring out the window shaking. The tape was torn, but who cared? I sat down and took control, dismissing the kid. I looked at the map and landed at the nearest airport. I had made slight miscalculations, and we had moved in that time from Miami to Moscow, not LA. I evacuated the plane, shrugging off comments about us being in Russia and assuring many that we were, in fact, in a Russian neighborhood of Los Angeles. As they went their own ways, I saw the tip of a Russian military submarine poking out of the water. I jogged over to it, then opened the hatch and hopped in. I delivered a kicking to the butts of everyone inside, and forced the Russians out. I went to Los Angeles myself in the sub. After that adventure, I got out on the LA dock, then bumped into a physoc. Ew. I hate physocs. They're gross creatures with no manners. I walked around the physoc and went my own way to a hotel. I got a room and went straight to sleep. All in all, it was an ordinary day.

Mighty Bite - Dictated by Dr. James "The Chihuahua" Johnson, PhD Disclaimer: He is not a certified physician. - Typed by Josiah "The Penguin" Johnson

So you probably wet yourself with all the excitement of the last post. Well, get ready for some more urination. This took place about a year ago. I was travelling the country, looking for work. I carried a resume which disclosed that I finished two grades of school and attempted both seven times together, while giving up on only second grade, with thirty attempts. The resume also told of my jobs as elementary school inspector, which all ended up in disaster, all, of course, due to the poor schools in the area. I also carried a forged doctorate from Harvard. Who's going to know, right? So, I made my first stop at a principal's house. This, indeed, was one I had already worked for. "So, Bill," I offered, "do you think you could land me a decent job?" He replied, "My name is Steve, not Bill. And after your work here, there is no way you'll get a job." I didn't quite understand. "I'm not picking up what your putting down, there, Ed." He sighed. Wonder why. (I'm not meaning that I wonder why. I am telling you, the audience, to wonder why right now in sympathy.) "You always were a slow one." "Then explain this!" I offered. I whipped out my gold metal for first place at one of my track meets back in '88. I had him dumbfounded. "Since you're not reading the top line or the core of what I'm saying, here's the bottom line: YOU WILL NEVER GET A JOB FROM ME!!" I couldn't believe he was so incredibly jealous of my skills. I left that house, but I did not continue my job hunt elsewhere. That was a wake up call. The way he yelled and such was a strong indication that, inside, he was grasping for some skill in his administration. He wouldn't tend to the needs of the little guy inside of him, but I would. I returned with a false mustache. "No. You won't get a job from me." He slammed the door in my face. How had he known the reason for my visit? The answer came to me almost immediately after the question did. He could peer into my mind and soul through my eyes. His super powers wouldn't hinder me, though. I returned with shades. Can't see through those. "You really are persistent." he said. He must have mistaken me for another person who applied for a job there. The disguise worked. "Tell you what. I'll give you a chance. Don't screw this one up." I was in. I landed the gig. I'm not going to tell you more about this one... it's embarrassing.

Sobakawa Cloud Pillow - Dictated by Dr. James "Yodeler" Johnson, PhD Disclaimer: He is not a certified physician. - Typed by Josiah "423" Johnson

As you may have noticed, I hadn't achieved the victory of posting on this scrumtrulescent site yesterday. As you may have guessed, there's a perfectly good reason for it. I was out hunting ninjas while scaling a mountain and defusing three bombs. Yes, I really did that. No, it wasn't hard... for me. So, there will be, to make up, two posts today. As you very well may be confused as to when there should be posts made to this site, I disclose to you that my plan is to post every weekday, with weekends off; weekends being Saturday and Sunday, not Friday. So, to make up for yesterday's excused absence, I shall give you the plot to yesterday's action/adventure. I was sleeping in my bed, as is the norm at 3:00 AM. It was a calm night. I was in my $1,000,000 beach house, where I spend most of my time. That figure, of course, depends on how you look at it. I have lots of sentimental time in that house, although I purchased it with merely $35, and there is absolutely no work done to it. It is without a shadow of a doubt worth, without sentimental value, $12.36. I would say $12.3624895, but the American system of currency does not allow that. The other $999987.64 is purely and accurately sentimental value. If you must get technical, some may not consider it a beach house, either. It is a large box next to a puddle. There is no sand, but there is certainly no lack of gravel, as it is next to a gravel road. As far as I'm concerned, though, it is my $1,000,000 beach house until the puddle dries up. Then it is simply my $1,000,000 house. I'm sure it could fetch double that if purchased by that wasteful dog Barrack Obama. Just putting in my two cents. Or, rather, my $1,000,000. So, there I was, cat napping. Striking me from presumably nowhere was a tightly clenched fist. I woke up, gathered my thoughts, and followed the path of this fist. It led me up a wrist, an arm, over a shoulder, up a neck, and to a face. This was no other face than that which belonged to the man who punched me. He looked to be the sombrero vendor from a spell ago, although his nose was covered in far too much fist for me to immediately recognize this dastardly fiend. Once my arm recoiled, though, pulling away the hand which was in the form of a fist, I cam to the realization of just who this was. He uttered the words, "Get up!" I was not scared one bit. I arose to give him yet another strike to the face, then a kick to the shin, a knee to the gut, and a slap to the face for good measure. He was in complete pain, blanketing his anger entirely. He had obviously escaped the prison which had imprisoned him in prior engagements. I immediately cuffed him. (I always keep handcuffs with me next to my brick. Again, not a kindergartner. Too heavy.) Upon the cuffing of his wrists, I pulled him over my back and sprinted him precisely 27.632 miles to the penitentiary. They were surprised, to say the least, that I thwarted the escape of this man. In light of my actions, they gave me a duty to hunt down and attack 15 Puyuoplian ninjas. (they pay good money to make sure you haven't heard of them, now they're outed.) While I began my trek to a mountain where they were thought to be hiding, I got a call on my phone. Yes, I was mobile, but no, this technically is not a mobile phone. It's amazing what can be done with over 1000 miles of electrical wire. Anyway, I answered my desk phone to gather the information that I was expected to defuse a series of three bombs that were, coincidentally, located in the same mountain. I was up to the task. Once I had reached the mountain, I instantly saw the three bombs I was to defuse. They were all bolted to the sides of the mountain. I quickly got to each one without notice from the ninjas, and retrieved every one. I was scaling the mountain to get to the ninja camp, when they instantly leaped into my presence and began the attack. I began to defuse the bombs and kick ninja butt. Seven ninjas came hurtling towards me in kicking position, yet I flailed my left arm in precise increments of both distance and time, forcing their bodies into rocks, which knocked each one unconscious. Simultaneously, I clipped the correct wires with my right arm to defuse the bombs. I put the bombs away in my pants at that moment, then determined that I had eight ninjas left to defeat. I pinpointed every one's position and initialized the attack. I was a fiery ball of kicking, slapping, punching, and flailing passion. I conservatively moved each body part well over 700 mph. Every ninja was gone. I gathered those laying on the surface of the earth's crust (the ground) and brought them to the prison. I also gave them the bombs. I was paid a breath taking $35 for my efforts. That night, my box became a double wide.