InstaHang - Dictated by Dr. James "the Jack" Johnson, PhD Disclamer: He is not a certified physician.- Typed by Josiah "Baxter" Johnson

My original plan was to write a 100% factual story once a week. Promise you won't be mad.... but I sort of missed my mark, in that I haven't written in the last 11 months, and that story was 3 months after the last before it. Not to mention, not all my stories have been 100% factual... they've been about 213% factual. So, without further uhdoo, here's my story.
There was once a General of the Chinese army. He was a wealthy man, and often wore suits with a high thread count, as wealthy men do, because he was wealthy, had plenty of money, and was loaded. He also liked to look presentable, okay? Get off the man's case! Unfortunately, he didn't want to be a general. He was drafted into the military at a very young age (living in a communist country), and he excelled quickly. What he really wanted was to be a truck driver in the United States, and experience nagging dispatchers, irritating DOT inspections, live away from family and friends for long periods of time, and eat greasy truckstop food. But that is another story entirely, and does not have its hand in this one. The general's mother was a famous cook, and had her own show on the Chinese equivalent of the Food channel, the name of which roughly translates to, "What, You Don't Like Our Communist, Government Provided Food? Network". The name was forced by the communist government, and the government seemed to be hostile to the channel. However, the government officials did enjoy forcing their inferior wives to make the food displayed on the channel, and so it stayed. But his mother was long away from her job at the WYDLOCGPR Network, as she was on her death bed. The General came as soon as he could when the news was delivered to him by a small Chinese boy who was later beaten for diverting from his pre-scheduled day, as every communist child had. He leaned in to his mother to listen, as she struggled to gasp for air, every breath becoming weaker and weaker. "Son, I left," she said, stopping to cough and pull in enough air to speak. "Would you please speak up, mother?!" shouted the General, putting his female mother into her rightful place in the Communist Chinese system. "I left you a gift." she struggled to say. "Would you just come out with it mother, and please annunciate, I don't want to be here all day," said the General. His mother was taken aback, but she continued, "I left you three tons of my famous chicken. I even named it after you. It's kept in a vacuum sealed freezer so it will last." She looked at her boy with a proud expression on her face, but he just looked confused and angry. "You're just leaving me chicken?! What a parting gift that is!" her son shouted. He continued to throw over her bedside table and storm out of the room, his mother breaking into tears. What a tragic moment that would have been, right? Well, it was pretty bad, but fortunately for her she got better in a matter of days, and was thriving after a month. The General paid no mind to his mother's recovery, however, because he had work to do. Or so he thought. He sat for days, pondering what to do. There had to be some infidel to attack, right? Some evil military force, maybe a country talking smack, or a group of innocent civilians expressing their desire for an actual republic, as their name suggests, instead of a communism. But nothing came to mind. He sat pondering, while his right hand man, Ying-yang Ping-pong awaited his orders. "Sir," Ying-yang said, "what exactly are we going to do? You've had our entire military at attention for days now, but we have yet to hear one order other than to ready for battle." Ying-yang Ping-pong had a point. The General responded, "Hold it Ying-yang, I need to ponder." He sat in silence, thinking about what he could do. "Ying-yang Ping-pong, my right hand man with a ridiculous, stereotypical Asian name," the General said. "Would you please order an attack on all civilians who want a republic?" Ying-yang sat for a few seconds, with a concerned look on his face. "So, you want open season on anyone who is not a government official, sir?" The General thought it over, and changed his mind. "No, I've changed my mind," he said. "I know," responded Ying-yang, "the narrator has made it quite clear that you have changed your mind. The General was concerned by Ying-yang's schizophrenia, but shook it off and continued. "We'll attack China, those communist pigs!" the General exclaimed. "We are China," said Ying-yang. The General was confused for a moment, then realized how correct Ying-yang Ping-pong was. "Russia?" he asked. "No," responded Ying-yang, "that will probably cause a nuclear war." He thought for a moment. "United Kingdom?" he asked. "Nuclear war." "Iran?" he continued. "Nuclear." Ying-yang retorted. "United States?" the General asked. Ying-yang said nothing, he was just in shock by the General's insanity. "Sir, would you excuse me?" asked Ying-yang. "I thought you looked a little antsy." the General replied, "Do you have to pee?" Ying-yang left the room. The General sat for a few minutes, then a few men in suits entered the room. One said, "Sir, you've been relieved of your position, as you have suggested going to war with the country whose name is not spoken. They would utterly crush us, and we know it. We are not suicidal, just power hungry." With those words, the General was out of work. He got home, but General Tso yelled with a disheartened, angry look and a baffled tone, "Who the heck ate all my chicken?!" But he noticed that the perpetrator left their pants. In it he found a wallet, with a torn library card that had the remains of a name, ending in "siah Johnson". He was angry, but upon finding a Zippo lighter in the pocket, he was overjoyed, and played with it to his heart's content. This alone was enough to constitute the overused, almost expected ending of, "and he lived happily ever after." But don't fret. He died in a house fire started by the lighter only three weeks later.

Total Pillow - Dictated by Dr. James "Mountain Top!" Johnson, PhD Disclamer: He is not a certified physician.- Typed by Josiah "Shilo Buff" Johnson

Alright, so I haven't written anything in the last five months. Okay, I lied, I've written tons of stuff. School work, I've signed stuff, done more school work, wrote comments on Facebook, did backbreaking schoolwork, "accidentally" updated tons of statuses as comments on my sister's Facebook in a completely incoherent fashion to what she had written, did pointless schoolwork, and did some homework. But I haven't yet updated my blog. So I will now proceed to inform of what happened yesterday. I was on my way to the NYPD headquarters (New York Peace Destroyers if you remember correctly, New Yummy Pickle Dip if you don't) to offer them a peace treaty. It was a scroll ten cubits wide and fifty long when fully extended. Its paper was made from the wood of a St. Helena Gumwood, a rare and endangered breed of tree, the dowels at each end were made of ivory from the tusks of rare Cambodian elephants, and it was written in Latin with the blood of Conan O'Brien serving as ink. It roughly translated to, "Hey, sign right down there on that line at the bottom of this page for peace. Thanks." I had it printed out at Walgreens for a dollar. I marched right inside and lay the scroll down on the table. I translated and explained the rarity and importance of every material that went into the scroll. Once I had read the message, I laid the scroll down on the table for the goon at the desk to sign, and even provided the quill. He gave me a strange look, then put on his reading glasses and carefully looked over the paper for a while. After a few seconds, he looked up with a chuckle that took my soul to hell and back, then to Chuck E. Cheese's, to Menards to buy a hammer, and then back again. He asked with a vial tongue, "Are you serious?" After about five minutes of uninterrupted locked eyes and an unforgiving glare that stared into his wretched soul, he cleared his throat, then piped up, "There's a mental clinic just down the road, I'll have a ride arranged for you shortly. I exploded, "I have no quarrels with the fellows at the mental clinic! It would be trivial to have them sign this treaty!" After a few awkward moments he replied, "Treaty, huh? Looks like a bunch of scribblings on a piece of green construction paper with a blue crayon, glued to a dirty stick." He mocked the fine construction of my scroll. I went outside and walked down the street to the mental clinic. I marched inside the doors just as firmly as I had at the NYPD, then slammed the treaty on the desk and demanded that they join me in war against the putrid nation of the Peace Destroyers. The woman at the desk gave me a sinister grin and said, "Well alright then, let's just do that. Do you have any relatives at home?" Of course. She needed recognition of my noble status to ever think of joining me in war against such a foul gang as the NYPD. I replied, "Yes, as a matter of fact my father is at home, he shall be able to tell you of my nobility." She replied, "Alright, can I have his phone number?" I gave her the information she needed. She went into another room for about five minutes, then emerged with a line of soldiers wearing their nation's color, white. They strapped me into my command chair, then brought me to my room, padded as to absorb shocks from any attacks on the fortress. From there I commanded them for the rest of the night until I was released to go home. When I walked out I could tell we had won, because none of the blue colors or copper badges signifying the infamous NYPD could be seen for miles. I threw a homeless man out of his box behind my house and went to bed in it knowing I was a champion.

Bug Remover - Dictated by Dr. James "But you're not a doctor" Johnson.- Typed by Josiah "Just trust me" Johnson

Today we're going to tell you about Lucky Timmy. This was an assignment Josiah had for school, and I don't feel like listing every parameter, but the just of it is Timmy has to have two broken legs, fall into a well, and either get out of the well or die. He can't use any tools, people, animals, ghosts, or spirits to help. So here is the assignment:

Lucky Timmy, as his friends called him, was crawling to the hospital, with his two broken legs. He was heading to the emergency room to treat his stomach ulcer and brain hemorrhage. It was the middle of the night in freezing rain. Timmy had been crawling along for hours now. He started losing strength in his arms when he heard his schizophrenic voice, Kyle, who sounded just like James Earl Jones, say, "Timmy, I'm thirsty!" "Well, what do you expect me to do about it," cried Timmy, "In case you haven't noticed, I'm a little busy at the moment, Kyle!" Timmy's conscience, Jimothy, piped in, "Kyle, could you keep it down? I'm still trying to evaluate Timmy's life choices that lead him to this situation. By the way, Kyle, the majority of us subconscious beings are hungry, not thirsty." "Shut your yap, Jimothy," retorted Kyle. Timmy, eager to resolve this feud before it resulted in a subconscious fist fight, said, "Alright, Kyle. There's a well over yonder. I'll crawl over there and get you something to drink." So Timmy picked his torso up again and began to crawl towards the well, already developing hypothermia due to the freezing rain. Timmy's life sucks. Finally, Timmy reached the well. He hoisted himself up using the last of his upper body strength. Unfortunately (I'll bet you didn't see that coming), the well was slippery due to the rain, and Timmy plummeted into the well and face planted at the bottom, well below the surface of the water. Timmy was dazed and eventually regained consciousness underwater. He was in agony all over his body, but he specifically noticed that the top of his head was freezing. Timmy climbed the rocks with his hands because he could not swim well. Finally, he reached the surface. He looked up and could barely glimpse the top of the well. He felt something dripping down his face and realized the freezing he had felt underwater was due to the large open gash in the top of his head that he must have sustained when he face planted. Timmy began to wonder how he still had enough blood or physical energy in his body to actually be alive at this point, but he quickly shoved the irrelevant thought out of his head. He had more important things to worry about. After several minutes of silent recovery, Kyle broke the silence. "You know, on second thought, I'm not really thirsty anymore, Timmy. We can leave now." "Kyle...I hate you," replied Timmy. "How many times have I told you to stop listening to him," said Jimothy. "Would you guys be quiet so I can think," yelled Timmy. He began to look for something to grab onto to pull himself out of the well. Timmy grabbed the first rock, tightened his grip, and began to climb. It took him a few minutes, but he eventually got himself high enough that he was out of the water -still in the freezing rain - but out of the water. Timmy was gaining confidence in himself. It wasn't very often that one of his plans succeeded...obviously. Suddenly, one of the rocks he was holding onto broke loose from the wall, and Timmy plummeted back into the water, again smashing his head on the rocks. "You're pretty much screwed," said Kyle. "I'm hungry, Timmy," said Jimothy. In sudden blind fury, Timmy took the rock and threw it as hard as he could against the well. Unfortunately, it ricocheted and hit Timmy's skull. The rock hit with such force that it caused the brain tumor to explode and his stomach ulcer went erratic. "You should have been on the baseball team," said Kyle, cheerfully. These were the last words that Lucky Timmy ever heard.

EggGenie - Dictated by Dr. James "Papfroidle" Johnson, PhD Disclamer: He is not a certified physician.- Typed by Josiah "Oh Snap" Johnson

The other day I was driving my Lincoln, then I thought, there must be something better. After all, my car barely gets dented in an accident, it has remarkable low end torque, and has lots of trunk space and interior leg room. So naturally I wanted something more. So, I went home and decided to look for cars for sale. I found a Mustang in perfect condition for $100. It was obviously too expensive. Then I found a Porsche 911 for $25. Again, I didn't want to sell the farm just to buy a car. And that's not a figure of speech, I just didn't want to sell my farm. So I continued on to find nothing but junk, Hemi Cudas for $500, Vipers for $30, a Saleen S7 for free... I just ended up with a headache. Who knew it would be so hard to find something good? I turned on the TV to watch George Lopez, who is not at all cocky or vulgar, and he is funny like he thinks he is. Then a commercial came on for a Kia Soul with three hamsters driving it and the commercial made great points like that the Soul is better than driving a cardboard box, a toaster, or a washing machine. in fact, here's the commercial at hand: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kfJnqbudMzs
Naturally I decided to buy one. After all, they start at under $14K, and they have nearly as much metal as the average stapler, which is a lot for Kia. And, if you ever get a flat, you just take a spare right off a Hot Wheels car and pop it on. Plus they're great for storage. You just drive any ordinary weight vehicle over one and slide the conveniently flattened car right under your bed. The car is nearly as high quality as the Chevy Corvair that was so great it got heavy acclaim in books such as Unsafe at any Speed by Ralph Nader. So, anyway, I went straight to the nearest Kia dealership and walked right inside. To my immediate shock and awe, there were no large hamsters. Only normal size humans... I walked right out the door, realizing that the entire appeal was the hamsters. Then the next day I saw this Toyota commercial....

Aqua Shot - Dictated by Dr. James "Pilates" Johnson, PhD Disclamer: He is not a certified physician.- Typed by Josiah "The Mosquito" Johnson

I used to work as a football coach for Applebee's. Yes, they have a football team, and yes, this is a 100% factual story. As far as you know. So the first day on the job the team and I were gathered in the restaurant. "Alright, Billy, you submerge around to the 9th line and throw the ball to Jimmy, then Jimmy will papfroidle the ball to Carl..." "Uh, sir, what you just said didn't make any sense. And nobody here is named Jimmy, Carl, or Billy!" snapped Billy. "Yeah!" agreed Carl and Jimmy. "Listen guys, I may have never worked in any sort of sport, watched any sport, or in any way was affiliated with a sport or gained knowledge of one, but believe me when I say that I know exactly what I'm talking about. Now, Frank, Carl is going to yodel the ball around Rufus to you, then you go for the slam dunk." Frank complained, "Coach I'm not named Frank, and with all due respect, you're not making any sense!" "No, Frank, the other team is just getting in your head, don't let them do that. Especially since if Jimmy can't make it, say he dies, then you'll have to papfroidle the ball to Carl." He asked, "Is that going to hurt?" I responded, "It's going to be more excruciating than giving birth to 50 children at the same time in 5 seconds with every bone in your body broken! Now lets get on the bus and go to the game!" We all boarded the bus. I was dead set on winning, although the team seemed to have other things on their minds, as they all looked very confused. One of the players piped up, "Who are we playing against, anyway? After all, we are a team for a restaurant!" The truth was, we weren't really working for Applebee's, there was no Applebee's team and therefore no game, and I knew nothing to do with football. I responded, "We're facing Burger King. We're working for Applebee's here, a very prestigious, and might I add existent, team, and I know everything there is to know about football! We're going to win, you believe that!" We arrived at a Burger King in Pennsylvania, and I decided I'd just throw the ball at customers and yell things at the players and they'd play. I was right. After being kicked out I had a lot of explaining to do. But I decided to explain nothing, and instead I got on the bus and went home. And that was the end of that day, and that "job". The moral of the story is, I have no clue what a papfroidle is, but I made it up and it's fun to say. Sound it out if you can't pronounce it.

Smart Mop - Dictated by Dr. James "Oh My Bumblebees" Johnson, PhD Disclamer: He is not a certified physician.- Typed by Josiah "Quotes" Johnson

Back in 1969 I was drafted. Not to go to war, actually to work at Wal Mart. They were desperate for cashiers. Anyway, one day I was working the check out when I saw a group of men kid napping an old man. I approached them as any good employee would, and asked the obvious question. "Do you intend to pay for that?" "What?" one of them asked. "You heard me, don't play coy." I then proceeded to get out my price gun and look for a tag. I couldn't find one. "Price check!!" I yelled frantically. The manager came up. "Hm... well I could have sworn we were fresh out of old men, but I guess not. I'll take $3.50 for him." They only laughed, not paying any respect for a manager, managers being about 3 times more important than the president of the United States of America. Their mocking was not to be taken lightly, so I socked the ring leader right in the nose, or so I intended. I actually ended up hitting the old man, but he looked like he had it coming. "All right. You boys obviously think $3.50 is too much for this rather unorthodox purchase. But when it comes right down to it, we have to pay $1.00 for each old man from our Wal Mart slave camps, then we have to pay $1,000 in shipping costs for every 500 old men transported. Then at the camp we have to pay the slavers 40 cents for each catch, so we end up spending $3.40 on each old man, and therefore only yield a profit of 10 cents for each purchase. You wouldn't normally have much room to haggle here, but because of the low profit margin and the government cracking down hard on slavery, we're cutting the whole line of slaves. So how much would you be willing to pay?" For about 20 seconds they gave me a deep and confused stare, after which my manager broke the silence with cut-rate price offerings. "How about $3.25?" They laughed again, so I took the old man back, then prepared for a fight. It seemed strange that they only ran, until I realised I was holding my manager and they were running with the old man. "Help me!" the old man shouted. "Well that's odd." I said to my manager, "They usually give up all hope long before they even reach our stores... unless we really were fresh out of old men and that's a customer they kidnapped!" The manager slapped me on the back of the head, then said, "You really do come up with some crazy theories! Now get back to work." So I assumed my post. About 4 uneventful hours went by, and I though about it and decided he was right. They couldn't have kidnapped a real man. Then the unthinkable happened. An old lady walked out the door without paying for her head of cabbage. Naturally, I tackled her and took the cabbage. I felt proud. So, overall it was an ordinary work day.

Goofy Bands - Dictated by Dr. James "Lolly Gag" Johnson, PhD Disclamer: He is not a certified physician.- Typed by Josiah "I Hate Nicknames" Johnson

Yesterday's story ended with me at home after escaping the dungeon owned by the infamous NYPD gang, an acronym for New York Peace Destroyers. My Lincoln was in the impound missing the passenger seat and I had missed a day of work at Enterprise. I got a call. It was long, boring, and just took forever to get to the point. It went exactly like this, "You're fired." It took me a lot of patience to get through the grueling elongated message, but after about forever it finally ended. Being out of a job and practically broke, I needed to find another source of income. I decided to do the unthinkable. Get caught up in crime. I went to the back of the NYPD impound and jumped the fence, then found a Lincoln the same year as mine, removed the passenger seat, then installed it in mine and started it up with my spare key. As soon as the engine roared to life I was in trouble, as one of the gang bangers had noticed and had his gun on me. I floored it and slammed through the gate, then went home. Once I arrived, I noticed a note taped to my front door. It read, "I'm a note on your door. Read me." It was fascinating. I then proceeded to my back yard and picked up a stick off the ground. I took it out front, then the first person I saw got a beating for their money. Unfortunately, I saw a mirror as soon as I got outside, so I ended up with quite a few bumps and bruises. I decided to hit the hay after a long day of mugging. The next morning I awoke and got into my car to head to a convenient store to rob. I walked right inside, then said "Give me the money!" The guy behind the register looked at me kind of funny, then asked, "Do you have a gun?" "Of course not!" I exclaimed, "I'm not some kind of hooligan!" "Well I do, and you better leave now if you don't want me to call the NYPD on you." I left, then as I drove I thought about what he had said... was he affiliated with their gang? It's a sad day when a simple convenient store has to be in cahoots with a dirty low life gang like them for protection. Then I realised, I suck at being a crime lord. The answer wasn't one I liked, but I was out of options. I went right to the NYPD and marched inside, then said to the man at the desk, "I'd like to join your gang." He laughed at me rather menacingly. Little did he know that this seemingly innocuous act would result in his imminent death. Needless to say, I declared a gang war upon him. I went outside and got into my Lincoln. (The car...not the dead president) As I was driving down the sidewalk, I realized the consequences of my actions when a gangmobile rolled out around the corner in front of me. Since, he was obviously embarking on a quest to slaughter me, I floored it and slammed into his driver's side passageway. It was obvious that I had paralyzed him until he got out and walked. It must have been a miracle. He walked right up to my door and handed me a menacing device....a slip of paper he referred to as a "ticket." He obviously wanted me to eat it, but, of course, I realized it was poisoned just by looking at it, so I told him I wasn't hungry. But the truth was that I was very hungry, so I gave in and ate it right there. Realizing that I would die if it went down, I quickly choked it up onto his shoe, then popped the car into reverse and put the pedal to the metal, narrowly escaping his clutches. I pulled the emergency brake while simultaneously turning and shifting into drive, then pushed it back in and floored it once the car had turned 180 degrees. He fired shots at my back window, strangely holding the gun upright and not on its side like any gang banger would. I wondered if he was a double agent, or if he was in disguise as an ordinary man. After about a minute, three gangmobiles slided out behind me from a corner with their ridiculous strobe lights engaged. At this point I noticed that they were probably there to induce a seizure on opponents of theirs who were epileptics. It was a sick weapon to use, but that's just the way of the gangster. As the game of cat and mouse raged on, I noticed that their cars had much better performance than mine, because they were falling behind only slightly and they were obviously the worst drivers I'd ever seen. After five minutes of weaving through traffic, I got onto the highway, then I saw that it overpassed another highway. If I could somehow get onto that highway, which had no road connection in sight to the one I was on, then I would lose the gangmobiles. So, as I was rolling along the overpass, I leaped from my car's window and landed on the top of a semi. I thought I would swiftly jump out the window and roll onto the roof of the truck as would be expected in any fiction story, but being 100% reality, I broke every bone in my body and I was lucky to be alive. Fortunately for me, I had a wolverine-like way of healing in only seconds, so the pain lasted only shortly. I then swung down the side of the truck and kicked through the cab window, pushing the driver out in the process, then drove the truck down the highway. Then I woke up. Apparently I fell asleep at the wheel the second I turned the engine on in the Lincoln, and I was now back in their dungeon. Darn!