Women Love Balls - Bobby Anderson's Report on 'Pride and Prejudice'

My Report on Pride and Prejudice
by Bobby Anderson

Pride and Prejudice, by Steve Austin,  is a book about a whole butt-load of women who want to get married.  Like a lot.  All they seem to talk about is dudes, and how to trap them, like when mom stopped taking the pill so Darryl wouldn’t leave to Seattle with his band.

Also this book is full of balls.  All they used to do back then was have balls.  Whether you were enjoying your own balls at your home, or riding a crap-load to enjoy balls elsewhere, that’s pretty much all they did back then.  This American time period was defined by it’s balls.

Dinosaurs! My Report on Bears (by Bobby Anderson) - From "The Schoolwork of Bobby Anderson"

(Bobby Anderson is a boy with raging ADHD. That should about explain these pieces.)


by Bobby Anderson

My report is on dinosaurs, which is way cooler than the one I was supposed to write on bears (which are also cool but not as cool as dinosaurs are.) Also, it is a little known fact, but bears are not giant lizards. This alone makes them less worthy of my report.

Dinosaurs were discovered in 1805 by Sir Issac Dinosaur, and named after him thusly. He found some dinosaur bones in the dirt and dug them up and was all “Holy crap, this is the raddest thing ever!” Then he smoked a pipe as archaeologists in those days did. Mom’s boyfriend Daryl smokes like a chimney, which probably makes him an honorary archaeologist.

My favorite dinosaur is the triceratops (which is latin for “Stabby face.”) Triceratops didn’t eat cavemen, mostly because once a caveman was stabbed up, it couldn’t get it into his mouth, so instead they ate plants and leaves and sticks and probably lettuce. Triceratops had three horns, each used for a different purpose. The first horn was for stabbing cavemen. The second horn was for drawing in the dirt and the third was like the vice president, there in case the first two horns should no longer be able to fulfil their duties.

Edward from Twilight Gets Beat for About Three Pages - From Cattywompus

Edward Cullan rolled on the ground in agony, the policemen slamming their boots into him. Chief Charlie Swan watched with a look of quiet reserve. Bella watched, as did Jacob, who just really only showed up when Edward and Bella weren't doing well. Which was basically now.

"Dad stop!" Bella said, "I love him!"

"Wait," Jacob said, taking off his shirt for reasons not readily apparent to the plot. His chest was muscular, and glistening.

"I love Jacob!"

Chief Swan raised an eyebrow. "Bella, pancakes or waffles," her father said. Edward said nothing, he was being curb stomped.

"Pancakes are my favorite!" Bella said.

"I like waffles better, you can put whipped cream on them," Chief Swan said.

"I like waffles better too, Dad," Bella said seriously, and Chief Swan shook his head. He turned to Edward.

Occupy Wall Street, and Awkward Thanksgivings

Son: "Hey dad, know how I've been saying people like you are bleeding the country dry should pay more taxes? Could you pass the potatoes?"

Dad: "I don't know, I earned those potatoes. I'm not sure I should have to share them with the whole table, especially dirty, shiftless hippies who show up and just expect potatoes."

Son: "Well maybe if everyone could enjoy some potatoes, we'd be OK with you having as many scoops of potatoes as you could possibly get. Just so long as everyone gets some potatoes."

Dad: "When you say everybody, you mean you. If you had some potatoes, you wouldn't be so keen to take the potatoes of others, would you? So it's really not an issue of equal distribution of potatoes at all, it's you upset about your personal lack of potatoes, then using a bunch of socialist nonsense to justify the fact that you're asking for a starchy handout."

(Just wait till you have to figure out how to divide the pie.)

The Only Cure for "Female Hysteria" is Kind of Creepy

So I was reading the wiki on "Female Hysteria," a condition in the 1800s that was sort of a catch all "woman be trippin!" diagnosis. It's about to get medically creepy.

'Hysteria was widely discussed in the medical literature of the 19th century. Women considered to be suffering from it exhibited a wide array of symptoms including faintness, nervousness, insomnia, fluid retention, heaviness in abdomen, muscle spasm, shortness of breath, irritability, loss of appetite for food or sex, and "a tendency to cause trouble".[1]'

And the cure is...

"Since ancient times women considered to be suffering from hysteria would sometimes undergo "pelvic massage" — manual stimulation of the genitals by the doctor until the patient experienced "hysterical paroxysm" (orgasm).[1]"

Wait, so the cure was your doctor double-clicking your mouse? That used to be a job? Well, it couldn't have been a major thing, maybe one or two a-

ADVICE - 11 Ways to Avoid Making Occupy Wall Street Look Bad

Movements gain steam by passion, and end from stupidity. With that in mind, here are 11 ways the Occupy Wall Street protesters can avoid ruining it for everyone.

1) Don't leave your location worse than you found it. 

That goes all the way from not leaving a cigarette butt on the ground, to not breaking windows or shitting on a police car. People will remember what you DID far more than what you SAID.

2) Don't wear masks. 

Words coming from someone hiding behind a mask bounce right off people, because they know you don't believe in what you stand for enough to say it on the record. At best, they suspect you're hiding your identity because you're about to do something shady. (If you are the Batman, you are allowed to skirt this.)