Category Archives: Phunny Story

A Story on Net Neutrality.

Internet, I’m going to tell you a story. You may have heard this one before, for it is common among all who dedicate themselves to the screens of their phones, monitors and laptops for hours a day.

Once, there was a young man named Rudy. Rudy is not married, but is in a stable long-term relationship with his girlfriend Penny, and they share a condo in Phoenix. He is a university student working on his B.A. in Business Management, and his girlfriend is attending Med School. Both work part-time jobs to keep up with the bills and tuition fees, and for the meager food they put on their table. Even though they hardly keep any money for themselves, they’re as happy as can be.

One day, Rudy signs onto his Facebook account to check on his friends and family back home in San Francisco. At least, he tries to. He opens the homepage and suddenly sees a popup on his screen he had never seen before, but it bared the Facebook name and logo. On the popup it says, “Due to the passage of the Net Neutrality Bill, you are now going to be charged for your monthly or yearly usage of this website. Please click “Continue” to have your already low budget shrivel to nothing.”

This was once an important website to Rudy, one that helped him keep in close touch with his loved ones from a distance. With the passage of this bill, he couldn’t even log onto YouTube, or Google, or even chat on video or text with his family using Skype, without an ad popping up for a great membership deal of $9.99 per month.

What was once fun and exciting about the internet was gone for Rudy. Not one week had passed, and he dropped out of school, left his girlfriend, and joined a traveling circus to live out the rest of his sad and lonely life as a Frowny Clown.

The lesson here, Internet? Don’t let men in expensive suits, who know hardly anything at all about the Internet and what it means to you, tell you how to use it. (

Goodnight, Internet. Sleep tight. If you hear strange noises from Mommy and Daddy’s room, don’t worry: we’re just watching cute kitten videos on YouTube.


Music: Rancid - "Time Bomb"



I will never, EVER tell blonde jokes again.

“I just want to blog about this and leave it behind me.”

“Oh, you mean about your instance of… silliness?”


“Yeah, I was being nice.”

Yesterday, the GF and I were invited to play some laser tag at the hit spot for it known as Ultrazone, near downtown San Diego. We were to meet in the evening and, a few hours before, I was at a relative’s house visiting and playing some awesome, kickass, balls-to-the-walls ping pong.

Gravity is not one of the rules followed in family ping pong matches.

The time to meet at Ultrazone nears, and I drive back up to the apartment to pick up the GF. I get there, we get ready to go… and then a problem arises.

I’ve been having a consistent issue with parking my car in the garage ever since I got my Rad Mobile. It wasn’t the size of the garage that was the problem, it was that I always kept forgetting to grab the garage door opener before leaving the car. At least a dozen times, I had closed my door, walked to my front door, and then SUDDENLY remember that I never closed the garage door and I’d have to walk all the way back to do it (the garage is about 100 feet away from the apartment door, which is just barely over the point of annoyance).

Last night, however, we were both just about to head out the door when I realize that I don’t have my garage opener. Slapping myself on the forehead, I head to the garage to collect the car. Only to see that the door was closed.

I only have the one door opener, so this was a BAD situation for me to be in. We tried to get a hold of the GF’s other roommate who owns the other opener, but she didn’t reply immediately and we were already 10 minutes late. Thankfully, one of my cousins who was going didn’t live too far away and he was able to pick us up, but the whole night I was worried about when I’d ever be able to get to my damn car.

Cue this morning. We find out from the GF’s roommate that she’d stop by today to open the door, and when she did, she saw that the garage was empty. No car.

Panic mode starts to set in. She comes upstairs with her BF, tells us the news, and I slip my shoes on to check the garage out for myself. I hadn’t even left the top of the stairs when something on the street catches my eye.

My car. Parked neatly on the curb.

I had parked it on the street the entire night.

My chosen portrait to be hung on the Wall of Shame.

Music: "I'm A Loser" - The Beatles

I have SOME restraint.

This is a status I saw on my News Feed on Facebook:

[Name Redacted]: YESS!!! FUCKING GIANTS.:)

This is what I wanted to comment:

“You’re doing WHAT?”

Music: "The Distance" - Cake

Fort Cheese Puff

Gather ’round, gentle folk, for there is a story to tell. It is a story of hope, of determination and strength… and a story of impending disaster for all of those involved. You will meet young martyrs, with their heart and soul dedicated to the glory and victory of their teammates. You will encounter the brutish and powerful enemy squadron, an unstoppable menace in this tragic tale.

But most importantly you will visit upon the site where it all took place, the Alamo of our time: Fort Cheese Puff.

An inaccurate depiction of the former Fort Cheese Puff. Instead of it lying on a slope, picture this bunker instead on flat ground surrounded by woods, and instead of wooden planks building the sides and roof, replace them with cheap particle board. Now take all of that and downsize it by half.

The exact date was not known when this battle took place, but it was during the warm spring of 2002 outside of Sacramento, CA. A group of young boys set out from Roseville to partake in one of the greatest rituals of manhood; the sport of Paintball. One of the young boys, Kevin, was celebrating his birthday and invited his close friends to spend a day blasting at each other with paint, sweat, and leftover pizza crumbs. It was just before dawn when the boys packed inside a van and drove off to their battlefield miles from home.

A short hour later they had arrived at their destination, and the games began. After a crash course in the game, the boys were quick to adapt to the survival instincts and quick-thinking strategy behind paintball. They spilled blood multi-colored paint that day by the gallons, finally beginning to understand the animal that lived within them that hungered for war and violence. With the beast awoken, their resolve to win at the end of the day grew stronger and stronger with each passing round. These boys were becoming men; and as men, they were learning to become warriors.

Half of the day passed seemingly in minutes, and during their designated break, outside players began to trickle in. These were older, more experienced men who had gone far in their way to improve the quality of their paintball guns, their tactical mindset, and the courage to face any player who crossed them. As these advantages were new to the young group of boys, they could easily see that they were outnumbered in skill (and age, but don’t tell them I said that).

With the older players forming their own team, it was now up to the boys to rally together and prove their worth. The stage for the upcoming battle was moved to a more wooded area of the fields, leaving behind the dirt trenches and haystacks they had grown used to. Now, not only were they to test their new resolve to win over the more experienced enemy, but they too had to adjust to the new area. They quickly gained an assessment of what was around them: trees, empty oil drums, and cheap particle board.

An idea struck to one of the boys, and he ordered the rest to gather all of the particle boards together and build a makeshift bunker out of them. With careful coordination, they were able to manage this feat and secure what they deemed to be a tactical stronghold. One young boy, Travis, thereby dubbed the newly-constructed barricade “Fort Cheese Puff”.

The boys filled themselves into the Fort, the barrels of their guns pointing to every direction. They were to hold this spot to the last man.

A young lad named Lance turned off the safety on his gun.

The round began.

Bring it, bitches.

The first few moments were eerily silent. They could hear each other breathe, almost even hear each trickle of sweat drop from their foreheads. But nobody moved. Their eyes traced the direction of where their guns were pointing, scanning the brush for any foreign movement. It felt like years were passing.

One boy in the group, Phillip, plucked up the courage to speak. “Maybe someone should double back to the barrels, see if they’re coming from the back.”

Before anyone could tell him yes or no, he stood from his spot. They heard a sudden splatter from a paintball make contact right above them. Phillip dropped to the forest floor, a fresh blotch of pink paint sprawled over his visor.

The air around them now suddenly exploded in noise. Paintballs were firing at them from every direction, and it didn’t seem like there was one silent second between the blasts coming from the treeline and the impact against the barricade. One would not have been exaggerating to mistake the paintballs for hail, or the sound of its impacts rivaling that of a severe thunderstorm. One by one, each young soldier knew that their time spent here was time waiting to be shot, so the fort was abandoned, and they flung from their hiding spot to engage their enemies head-on. However, the only things that met their heads were speeding balls of paint, and they were quickly dispatched of.

To the boys, the battle felt like it dragged on for hours. To the enemy, it was only a matter of three short, painful minutes.

Fort Cheese Puff was a catastrophe from the beginning. To have every member of a team holed up in one location only spelled swift and certain doom. But they braved the odds and defended their fort for as long as their shortcomings of skill and agility would allow them to, and their sacrifice was shown to the older players as a sign of determination (and complete n00bish-ness).

The boys returned home that evening with fresh bruises, and fresh lessons. They would learn invaluable tools today, but they will also never forget the tragic event that befell them; the Fall of Fort Cheese Puff.

Pour one out for the fallen comrades of Fort Cheese Puff.

Music: "El Scorcho" - Weezer

A Brief Description of Star Wars Day

...Or else this lightsaber goes up your ass.

It was a joyous day for nerds across the galaxy.

Intergalactic Star Wars Day, also recognized by “normal” people as May 4th, is a holiday made by fans and for fans to celebrate Star Wars and its many inspiring characters, diverse planetary systems, quirky droids, and powerful space ships. Since the inception of the franchise in 1977, fans young and old have increasingly delved themselves in the Star Wars universe, inspiring novels and video games based on their all-time favorite movie.

This year, the nerd-bridled holiday will take on a special significance. 30 years ago was the theatrical release of ‘The Empire Strikes Back’, one of the most famously anticipated sequels of all time. ‘Empire’ brought in new pivotal characters of great importance to the series, such as the wise old Jedi Master Yoda, the dangerous bounty hunter Boba Fett, the suave and charming Lando Calrissian, and the evil and tyrannical Emperor Palpatine. Aside from the new slew of characters, the most mind-boggling plot twist in the story took place in this sequel, when Darth Vader tells Luke Skywalker the terrible truth of their familial relationship.

You mean the hot girl that I.... NNNNOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

To a typical nerd, May 4th is a day for them to publicly come out to the world of their affection for the movie series. Many wear costumes, host movie screenings, or duel with toy lightsabers at the nearest park. It is a day long anticipated each year, even to this writer.

My ideal Star Wars party would not only include movie screenings and lightsaber dueling, but also a themed dinner. Blue milk, Cream of Womprat soup, fried Mynock wings, Gizka steak, and a nice warm slice of Bilaberry Patooga. Mmm…. Patooga. I’m getting hungry.

No matter what planet you’re on, what species you are, or whether your allegiance lies with the Rebel Alliance or the Galactic Empire, I wish all of you had a very eventful and magical Star Wars Day.

May the 4th be with you. Always.

How I Broke My Aunts’ Boob

If that’s not an attention-grabbing title, I┬ádon’t know what is.

There’s now an infamous story in my family regarding my childhood that I think deserves a bit of publicity. Even though I sort of spoiled the ending for you, I thought that you might be entertained as to how it happened. So far I’m pretty sure that this is the only unique incident on record, but if I’m wrong, I would love to know.

When I was a child, I used my head for everything. It didn’t matter if I was eating dinner, dancing erratically to Michael Jackson, or breaking down one of my brothers’ latest Lego creations; my forehead always seemed to want to be involved in every day-to-day activity. My most prominent scar on my body is also located right above my right eye, from tripping over NES controller cords and landing right on the corner of the fireplace.

Not an accurate account or depiction, but I'd feel damn awesome of myself if it were.

Naturally, I learned to use my head even in the simple form of a greeting. If I hear my name a’calling down the hall, I’ll rush forward head-on to whoever called my name, with no remorse for any damages caused or done to me. I was aggressive, but I was still cute. Some members of my family would take advantage of my head-butt greetings by placing a fist before me instead of wide, open arms. And you know what? I still ran into them.

Some of you have wondered if I was ever dropped as a baby to become who I am. Well, now you know that it was pretty much the opposite.

So, back to the story: I was hanging out at home, doing my usual things; dancing erratically to Michael Jackson, breaking apart my brothers’ latest LEGO creations, etc, when my name was called from the front of the house. Naturally I stop whatever I’m doing and run like a bat out of hell towards the source of the yell, discovering that it was my Auntie Pam. I ram my head into her chest, she still hugs me, and all seemed well.

My Auntie Pam used to have implants. I say “used to” because, a couple of days after that head-butt, she noticed that one was leaking. That’s pretty much it: I broke my aunts’ boob with my head.

After learning of this tragic tale through my mother, I have since apologized to my aunt for any grievance I have given her. Knowing that she may not be the only victim to my destructive forehead, I also passed along my apologies to all members of the family.

But MAN. That is one story I won’t ever forget.

That's the last time I try doing the Moonwalk...

Music: "Tom Sawyer" - Rush

Zara is a goddamn genius


LANCE sits on his bed, laptop in front of him, bobbing his head to music. He is currently webcam chatting with his girlfriend, ZARA, who lives in San Diego.She’s playing songs that she used to play while she had a bass guitar, recalling memories and commenting on the music itself.

One song in particular, “Beat It” by Michael Jackson, starts to play. Lance smiles and types on the keyboard in the chat window to Zara.


We [Lance’s cover band] want to cover this song, but not even Andrew Tae can improvise a demanding solo >.> And we rely on him for the hard shit.


It’s ok :O Just ask Eddie Van Halen.

Lance does a double take, staring intently at the words that sprang up in the chat window. He rolls his eyes and types again in the chat window.


Oh, OK! Problem solved! Where would we be without your insight?!

Zara laughs with tears streaming down her face. She can hardly compose herself.


We’ll just write him a fucking letter! ‘Cause he’s like, totally our BFF!

Zara lets out another string of laughter, before wiping her eyes and typing back in the chat.


X””D My stomach hurts

Lance continues to give the “furrowed eyebrows” look to his girlfriend, before typing a final line in the chat.


I’m blogging this, damnit.

Music: "Beat It" - Michael Jackson