Manventures: Deadliest Cans Part One

This weekend has been less eventful than the previous two, and I fear that my apartment was not filled with fun. According to the study of Speedology, this house should have exploded.

Maybe some kind of deity has forgiven my trespass, (a deity of fun? St. Chucky Cheese?) hoping that next week’s Manventures will be so entertaining that my neighbors will quake in fear and awe while I clear my throat?

Uh huh uh huh uh huh. God damn. (I listened to this song a million times this weekend. And I listened to this one a lot, too.)

Regarding the weekend; it should have been more exciting than it actually was. The ruckus started Thursday night with a 21st birthday party, which was celebrated like a children’s slumber party. It ended with a black and white formal party which turned out to be me and ze Grif wearing suits around a bunch of people wearing sports jerseys and wife beaters who smelled like their spilled beer because after a point in their inebriated state, fratboys need a sippy cup and a fucking bib.

There was one fun part about this specific party, though Frank “the Catfish” Cutie, who sang a wonderful combination of songs (I couldn’t name them if I had all my lifelines), and danced on a glass table.

I’ve known Frank through several classes through my collegiate endeavors, but this was one of the first times that I was hanging out with him in a social event. Except for a “Whats up dude? Nothin’, glad you came!”, I only got to talk to the Catfish for about two minutes before he was consumed by the party horde.

Frank was wearing a cool suit though, his whole apparel completely white. Maybe like a phantom, he dissipated over the crowd like the fog.

I could come up with rhetoric all day. Push comes to shove I couldn't find Frank again because there were a ton of people in a small space, but I wanted to continue our conversation more than just the friendly formalities!

The day afterwards, ze Grif and I ran into Frank again. We talked about the party (and how craaazay it was), and then about the classes Frank and I share. ze Grif broke the ice and asked “Hey. You’re the can guy, right? We want to compete against you!”

Frank was curious, so I continued for ze Grif like a spouse, “I want to make a competition video, like Deadliest Catch, only with cans. Interested?”

And here we are, in this blog, announcing a collaborative effort. And I’ll Form the Head and Canned Heat will be going toe-to-toe to see how much recyclables we can procure over one Tuesday night.

One may ask, “How the duck does this relate to robots?” It doesn’t. Unless I can get my hands on a shopping cart which I will name after a Transformer. (Leave comments, damn you! Give me suggestions. Right now I am partial to Sound Wave- the audio cassette version. Not the satellite. Gotta show support for a robot in need.)

If I have to lug around cans by hand, maybe I’ll invest the money I earn into some kind of robot paraphernalia. Like an action figure with karate chopping action. Or one of those really complicated robot models that take hours to construct because the pieces are really tiny, and then you get high off of the model glue.

Aren’t blogs great? I worked out what I can do with the money over the course of writing a paragraph. If I can make enough money, I’ll invest it into one of those aggravating models and document or videotape the procedure! Are you not entertained?!

So this is something to look forward to, Robofans! Keep checking in for the next episode of Manventures: Recycling Edition, or whatever better title I can muster up. Deadliest Can? That sounds pretty good.