Wednesday, February 28, 2007


What the heck did I post before? I honestly can't remember why I did that. I'm having some headaches and memory loss. I don't really know what's going on. Hopefully it'll all clear up soon.

I was reading back over my diary and I was shocked to learn that my mom died. It seems she was mauled by her cats. I'll get those cats!

And I went to Mexico and killed Sylar! I was excited to read that. But then I found out it was a lie and I need new pants. I was really disappointed.

And in all this confusion, I lost Jake. I actually forgot I ever had Jake, until I read about trip to China and ongoings once there. Apparently Jake was in the Primatech Anti-Power Containment Cell, but now we have a caveman.

Well, things are crazy right now, so I don't really have anything of value to write about. I'm just glad I can formulate coherent sentences. I guess it could be worse, I could talk like Mohinder.

Tuesday, February 27, 2007


KDnoandkfOLn;j'adfjgona' Nonadg' Ketchup on the lefty side laniagndkena d goes boom with the god snapper adoniagnd

Butterflies are the Power Rangers of nature. They mighty morph from a catepillar into a butt-kicking machine.

But the cakes of mothers in the past never lie on the sunny side of the Pluto. Where is the van if not in the mountain train pick? I water green. kKINo!

Kinfolks! Kinfolks!! Butter in CD morning Kung Fu remix spatula cadaver. Never monkey sing a long kong. Yoko peanut brittle in the Saturday ruby spit. Never quiddle the fiddle biddle do. You? You! You. Collaborate the mesmorizing tale swishes past money scooters of napkin kings. OO! Kite parlay the fielder games may foot soldiers hand basket noodles on the pho houses.

Scared after thunder copy. Lover hold the clinic of sitter technology. The road oh so biology. Can't get grapes from a eulogy. Legalize the beverage of choice biscuits and gravy trains. Bob Eubanks????? Oh, Bob no. No Bob. Never Bob. Pat Pat Pat. SeƱor Sajak.

Go niddles, together Mount Yakato bubbles in the rain cloud of misfortunate despair lurking there. Shelly plucking nosehairs. Chalk licking beetle busters around the large oat clusters on a lost and merry go found.


Flag yellow matter festered inside cytoplasmic recovery programs. Loud bursts of amber grays. Yesterday's nails, tomorrow's pepper. Ever so clever above the heavy tower. Cower power thumb tornados!

Monday, February 26, 2007

Still in a Bummer

"Gah!" I said, "Don't you clean this house anymore?"

"Lefty loosey goes the train caboosey!" Sandra replied.

I was disgusted by the site of a cockroach crawling by, yet I couldn't take my eyes off of it. It was horrifying to think the state of cleanliness our house must be in. I thought Sandra was on top of all those womanly duties. Apparently, I was wrong.

We were all locked up in the closet. I could hear the three bozos arguing outside. It was clear they didn't have a plan.

"Hey, Claire Bear," I said, "How would a manatee escape from this situation?"

"Shut up, Dad! If that's even your real name. You're a liar! A liar!!"

"So, Lyle, how about those Cowboys?"

"I don't like baseball," he replied. It was just as well. I didn't like baseball either. Scoring a goal was always impossible for me back in high school.

"Hey!" I yelled, "If you let me out, I'll tell you everything."

There was some noises on the other side. I heard the caveman say, "That good deal! Ted likes."

Matt responded something like, "He's trying to trick us. He thinks he can overpower me and take my gun."

Actually, I was thinking I could ask to take a shower and run.

Ted opened the door, "You sit. Glasses answer questions for Ted and Matt."

I walked out to the sofa. "Where's Hana?"

"She leave to fight them," Ted said.

"So what do you guys want to know?"

"Why sky blue?" Ted asked.

Matt smacked him on the head. "We want to know who you work for!"

I tried hard to picture the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man in my head. It was another trick I learned from Ghostbusters.

"A giant marshmallow?" Matt asked. "You work for a giant marshmallow?"

"Yes," I said. "Now you know my big secret. Can you let us go?"

"Okay, you go now," Ted said. Another smack by Matt.

"I think you're lying," he said.

"Me want eat marshmallow!" Ted screamed.

"Alright, paper man," Matt started, "What did you do to us?"

I cleared my head. I didn't want him to be able to get any information out of me. Hopefully they'd leave once they realize they're being a bunch of wackos. They'll never find out about the anal probing.

"Anal probing!?!?" Matt was stunned.

"That taste good?" Ted asked.

Eventually, they put me back in the closet. They said they needed to discuss what to do with us some more. I guess they'll let us out when they finish anal probing themselves with their own heads.

Sunday, February 25, 2007


Well, it's official. I'm a hostage.

I was thinking this whole being in captivity thing wouldn't be so bad. Sylar fared pretty well, and that was with professional kidnappers.

These guys are a bunch of losers. Very unprofessional. You can tell they've never had prisoners before because they didn't give us all laptops. I guess not every captor can be as nice as me.

How am I posting then? One word: Raspberry. (It's a cheap knockoff of a Blackberry (Hey, Primatech's cheap (I mean, they have more important stuff to spend their money on (Like tracking isotopes so we can know where these freaks are (Too bad they can't tell when they're in my own home!)))))

Now that we got the parentheticals out of the way, let's move on. Those of you reading this could send for help. Contact The Haitian, lure him away from his video games with the promise of ice cream.

If things get really sticky, I suppose we could give Thompson a call. But I don't like talking to that idiot. He's too vulgar and not at all compassionate like me. He wouldn't have given Sylar a laptop.

The three losers that are holding my family and me captive have been quite the show. There seems to be a definitive leader, which I remember as Hana Gitelman. She doesn't want to use her own name in case they are listening, but I guess she forgets I already know all about her.

"Hostages tied" the Radioactive Caveman said. "Me eat them now?"

"No! Not yet, Ted. We need information!" Hana replied.

"But me hungry! Want food! Why Hana no give Ted food?"

"Shhh! You idiot!!" Hana yelled, "Don't use my real name!! Call me Spoon Fed!"

"Uh, guys," Matt chimed in. "They've gotten loose. And the nerdy was thinking about how he already knows all about you."

Tell her I want a laptop and some waffles, I thought to the fatty.

"And he wants a laptop and some waffles."

"No!!" Hana ordered, "Get them before they escape! And no waffles!!"

Sandra unfortunately got confused and stopped in the middle of our getaway to offer our captors some muffins.

"Ooh! Oooh! Me want muffins!! Me like you, crazy lady," Ted replied. He was soon slapped by Hana and settled down.

Ted and Matt re-apprehended us, however Mr. Muggles managed to elude them. Ha! Those fools, I thought, Mr. Muggles will rescue us.

"The dog!" Matt said.

Crap! I have to stop thinking.

Mr. Muggles darted up the stairs. There he goes!, I thought.

"Ha! You gave away Mr. Muggles's position," Matt said.

Crap! I have to stop thinking.

"Ooh! Ooh!" Ted bounced around from side to side. "Little doggie go up stairs! Me cook doggie and eat doggie!"

"No, Ted!" Hana yelled. "We have to capture him! Find out what he knows!!!"

"Me sad panda," Ted said.

Matt ran for the stairs. Ted and Hana did too. The three ran into each other and fell down. They tried again, still bumping into each other and unable to make it up the stairs.

Finally, Hana had a plan, "Wait! Ted, you go first. Then Matt!!"

"Hey!" Matt said. "You're using us as doggie bait!"

"No, I'm not!!"

"Yes you are. I read your mind."

"Well, you download pornography!"

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do. I read your emails!"

"Fine," Matt said, "Ted and I will go up first."

Ted made his way up the stairs. Matt followed. Hana stood at the bottom of the stairway, watching us. She had her gun extended, ready to shoot at the slightest hint of dissent.

Matt said to Ted, "You're not going to eat him."

"Ted knows," Ted said, "But Ted want to picture doggie on radioactive grill in Ted's mind. Makes Ted happy."

"Okay," Matt said. "Just don't eat him."

Ted was at the top of the stairwell.

"Now, Muggles!" I yelled.

Mr. Muggles jumped off the little decorative end table, with a little decorative vase, and latched onto Ted. He barked and bit ferociously.

"Me no like! Me no like!" Ted screamed. He managed to push Mr. Muggles off of his face, but fell down backwards.

He fell onto Matt and knocked him down. The two rolled down the stairs. Hana turned just in time to get a face full of lackeys. She was knocked down and the gun went off.

The lights went out and Ted screamed. "Me shot! Hana shooted me!"

"You just got hit by a piece of the lightbulb she shot," Matt said, pulling a large chunk of glass out Ted's rear end. "Okay, I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that thought."

"Me no like guns. Guns bad!" Ted said.

"No! Guns are the only thing that allows us to defend ourselves against them," Hana said.

"But me shot because of gun."

"You weren't shot," Matt said. "The glass hit you, from that lighbulb." He pointed up.

Ted walked over to the middle of the living room. He stood up on the coffee table and examined the busted lightbulb.

"Don't touch it! Lightbulbs cause massive dehydration and herpes!" Hana said, but it was too late.


Ted began to sizzle and electrify. Matt ran over to him to help. As soon as he touched Ted's arm, he started shaking with electricity too.

"Oh, you idiots!" Hana yelled. She walked over to the light switch and turned it off. Ted fell, crushing the coffee table. Matt fell onto a discarded leg of the coffee table, catapulting a thick clay coaster into Hana's forehead.

Hana was knocked back against a glass curio cabinet. It shattered and a large crystal bowl fell off onto her head.

She rose, looking rather annoyed, and walked over to Ted and Matt, still lying on the floor. Matt started to get up. She grabbed him by the throat and lifted Ted up by his hair.

"You knuckleheads," she said. Hana poked Ted and Matt in the eyes. Annoyed, they struck back as she ducked, and punched each other in the face. Hana stomped on their toes and roughly two hours later they decided to begin questioning us.

This is going to be a long day.

"I second that."

Saturday, February 24, 2007

New York, New York

Well, my nice pair of pants caught on fire so that means I need to buy a new pair. Luckily, I was on my way to New York City to find an old friend of mine.

Pants are always best in New York. I decided I could kill two pigeons with one tazer gun.

First and foremost, I had to get business taken care of. After that, it would give me all the time I need to go shopping and enjoy the New York nightlife. Unfortunately, The Haitian is afraid of the nightlife. He's seen too many vampire movies.

I went over to the roof of a building in Isaac's paintings. My friend would no doubt be hanging around there. He's a roofie. You'd think an invisible guy would crash at some nice mansion, convince the owners it's haunted and have the place to himself.

But not Claude. He has to be one of the most useless evolved humans ever, maybe excluding that cop I once captured. He's a joke! I can't believe he was on the force as long as he was. That loser. He'll never accomplish anything in his life. I bet he wouldn't even make a decent security guard. Oh, well, that's why we let him go. Easiest decision I ever made.

And there was Claude, just as I expected. Luckily, invisible people still have body heat. The Haitian and I had our Primatech Paper brand heat vision monocle thingies with us. I could see Claude and Peter, this sexually-repressed emo dude that's got a cool power we'd like to run some tests on.

I took my shot, and knocked Claude out sick. The Haitian fired at the whiny nurse, but he somehow stopped the electrodes in midair. He must have made out with Sylar while saving Claire Bear.

He grabbed Claude and flew away. I was about to go all Paper Ninja on him, leaping off the building, gripping his foot and taking him down to China Town, but my phone rang.

It was Claire Bear.

"Claire! I told you, we'll practice your routine when I get back from my business trip!"

"Dad! You have to come home," she said. I know her routine is important to her, but she has to learn it can wait.

"Daddy has important things to do, Claire Bear. Your cheerleading crap can wait."

"It's mom! She blacked out."

Great! Now I have to wait to get my pants and Claude. The Haitian and I returned home. I dropped him off at the playground. The ice cream truck was scheduled to arrive soon.

Then I met Claire, Lyle and Sandra at the hospital. In the morning they let us bring Sandra home. I was glad because Claire was getting on my nerves. She was throwing a hissy in front of all the hospital staff. I didn't want them thinking I'm a bad father. Being a father is what I do best.

"Hey, Dad," Lyle said, "I just wanted to say that I love you."

"Whatever," I replied, "Now help push your mother out off here. She spent 9 hours pushing you out of her womb, the lest you can do is push her out of a hospital."

We arrived home and I thought everything was just peachy. But troubled lurked in the shadows, well in the kitchen I guess.

A caveman jumped out in front of us, "You pay! You pay! You pay!" he yelled, jumping around like a buffoon. "You tell secrets or me make good fire!"

"Lyle, Sandra, Run!" I yelled, "Claire Bear, attack!"

Friday, February 23, 2007

Pants on Fire

Okay, so I lied.

I didn't actually go to Mexico and kill Sylar.

The plan was to go ahead and say I did, then actually do it making it retroactively true. So, it's not really a lie since I meant to make it the truth.

But I forgot tonight was family game night, so I didn't get around to it.

Despite lacking an epic battle between me and my arch nemesis, the evening had its own clash of Titans.

The Haitian, Claire Bear and I faced off in a game of Team Trivial Pursuit against Sandra, Lyle and Mr. Muggles. I was confident with my team. The opposition would be no match for us.

Sandra had the first question, Science & Nature: "How many Oxygen atoms are on a molecule of H20?"

"Eleventeen?" she asked.

Alright! Our turn. Claire Bear was up first for us. And she proved indestructible, answering an Arts & Entertainment and a People & Places. But finally was stumped in Science & Nature.

Lyle missed a question next. I don't remember what it was, but he answered "Olloniferousity."

The Haitian even got one correct. He was playing using a notepad he picked up from Carver Auto Sales. Since he can't talk, he goes through those things like crazy. Luckily, most businesses give them away with their company's logo on every page.

The evening progressed wonderfully for my team. Sanda and Lyle missed every single question they received. Mr. Muggles, however, was proving to be a tough competitor. He had already scored a Science & Nature, Arts & Entertainment, People & Places and Sports & Leisure pie. But it was our turn and we only needed one more pie.

It was up to The Haitian. The category, and our only needed pie, was History. Why did it have to be The Haitian? He has been failing History class in school, and I've tried helping him out. Even Claire Bear would study with him. But he wasn't making much progress. I told him to just answer everything "George Washington" while we work on a plan to cheat his way through. It consists of me standing outside the classroom window with a small whiteboard. He'd text message me the questions and I'd write the answers. It was f00l-pr00f! But until we buy a little whiteboard, he'd have to just use the "George Washington" method.

Then, he got his question: "Who invented peanut butter?"

He stared blankly at Sandra. For what seemed like hours he stared. Finally, he wrote on his notepad, but then stopped and stared again. It was clear he didn't know the answer.

He started to write again and revealed his answer to us: "George Washington".

"Wrong!!" Lyle yelled and started dancing like a chicken.

"Wait," I announced, "He got it right. Look, right where he finished writing it says 'Carver'. He obviously meant George Washington Carver."

"I don't think so, Daddy," my Claire Bear said to me. "That's just part of the logo on the notepad." That little traitor!

"Let's ask him," I decided. "Did you mean George Washington Carver?"

The Haitian nodded.

"See?" I said. "We get the pie!" I got up to mock Lyle by doing my own version of his chickeny dancing. Unfortunately, my dancing skills are larger than the dancing space in our house and I knocked a candle off the kitchen counter.

Of course, I didn't notice what I had done until some time after my pants ignited. Everyone started laughing at me, and I assumed it was because they realized I was making fun of Lyle.

"Your pants are being eaten by biscuits!" Sandra managed to say in between laughs.

"No, mom," Claire corrected, "His pants are on fire."

"Oh, that's what I meant. The cans of fish eyes are scary, don't you think?" Sandra replied.

The Haitian was hiding under the table. Lyle was chicken dancing again. Sandra was confused by a spoon on the table. Claire Bear and Mr. Muggles were my only hope.

"Get the extinguisher!" I yelled. Claire Bear ran off to the utility closet, but tripped and impaled herself on a coat rack.

Luckily, Mr. Muggles brought the water hose through his little doggie door and put me out.

Tomorrow, I'll have to go buy some new pants.

Thursday, February 22, 2007

The Witch is Dead

Previously on Mr. Bennet's Diary:

*Ding Dong*

And now, Mr. Bennet's Diary continues...

"Who is it?" I heard from behind the door.

"Room service," I replied, oh-so-cunningly.

Sylar opened the door and flipped on the porch light with his mind. The sudden brightness momentarily blinded me. I fell backwards off the porch.

Sylar screamed and slammed the door shut. "You lied to me!" he yelled. "You're not room service; you're Mr. Glasses and you want to kill me!"

"What was that? I didn't hear you." I hoped he had leaned forward to repeat himself, and apparently he had. I kicked open the kick-openable door and it hit him in the face.

A grand showdown like no other was underway. Sylar did a backflip, landing in the kitchen. I ran after him and he sent knives flying at me with his mind. I dodged them and ducked them and was stabbed by most of them.

But I didn't let it phase me. I was determined to kill this monster. Sylar's relentless mental tossing of various kitchen utensils was getting annoying, but nonetheless, I made my way toward him.

Then, in memory of Hank, I laid the smack down. Sylar couldn't block any of my attacks. I struck with lightening quick speed and drunken cat ferocity.

Me Kicking Sylar

Sylar knew he was outmatched. He could sense it in his gut, feel it in the dent I left in his face, smell it in the urine he left on his floor.

Suddenly, he Force Pushed me into the wall. Before I could get up, he darted like an obese lady darts for the ice cream truck.

I rose calmly and dusted off my nice suit. Then, I made my way to the door. The night was cool and calm. There were no signs of an epic battle underway. I stepped outside, alert to every sound, every move. The flutter of a butterfly engaged me in Judo Chopping mode. I was indeed a fine tuned fighting machine.

But Sylar was nowhere to be found.

And then it hit me. Another rock, that is. I turned around to see a Chevy pickup packed with drunken Mexicans kicking up dirt as it sped away. "Oye, Gringo! Regresarte a los estados unidos!" one yelled at me.

As the dust settled, I noticed an odd sight. The cantina door was missing from its hinges. It was clearly the work of Sylar. I feared for my friend Pavo, who was no doubt still inside, drunk as a Mexican ninja.

I ran inside and saw Pavo's brainless body lying underneath his favorite table. "NooooOOoOoocoOOOoooooo!" I yelled.

Outside the cantina I yelled, "You will pay! You will pay for what you did!" I knew he had heard me. I could feel his presence, like Darth Vader could feel Luke's, but I'm the good guy here, but that doesn't make Sylar my father.

Then I saw a strange chunk of material on the ground. I picked it up, it was soft and mushy. I touched it with my tongue, "Brains!" I said aloud. This wasn't Radical Wheat Monkey Brains, it had to have been Radical Pavo Brains.

Then, there was another piece a few feet away. Then another. And another. It seemed Sylar made a fatal mistake that would lead me right to him.

I only hope he hasn't stolen the Mexican Ninja Ability from Pavo's brain yet. I could picture what he'd be like with that ability. It wasn't a pretty sight.

Mexican Ninja Sylar

I heightened my awareness to prepare for the worst. I may be able to get the drop on Sylar, who moronically left a trail of brain crumbs behind, but his Drunken Ninja fighting style would be difficult to counter with my Paper Salesman Ninja fighting style. But I was ready for the challenge.

Then, I saw the remainder of Pavo's brain, sitting conveniently on a target with a sign labeled, "BRAINZ".

I started to say a few words in remembrance of Pavo, "You were a great Ninja, and an even better Drunk," I began. "Your fascination with cheese has taught me a lot and you will be missed. But I vow to you..."

I was stopped short when I noticed Sylar. He telekinetically pulled on a rope. I realized I had walked right into his trap. There was no escaping this.

The rope pulled, the bowling ball fell. But the metal conveyance flipped the wrong direction, and the ball fell on Sylar's head. He fell to the ground in great pain, nearly knocked unconscious.

I took a knee beside him. "This is it, Gabriel," I said.

"Don't kill me! I only wanted to be special enough to gain the love of AJ McLean."

I pulled out my lucky sheet of 15 LB Translucent Bond paper and folded it into an airplane. The point was sharp. With a quick jab, I put the young brain snatcher out of his misery.

The cold night wind blew gently as I walked back to the cantina. I bidded farewell to Pavo's brainless body and picked up my duffel bag. Clothing and toiletries fell out of it. Weird, I thought. What happened to Jake?

Despite the loss of Jake and my good friend, Pavo, this was a good day. I made the best of the situation and finally killed my nemesis. The witch is dead.

Wednesday, February 21, 2007

Ding Dong

"Make plenty of muffins, Claire Bear," I said, "because tonight, we're going to celebrate!"

"Celebrate what, Daddy?" my little Claire Bear asked me.

"The death of a very, very bad person."

"Anna Nicole Smith?"

"No, badder!"



With a slight push, she fell to the floor, dropping a knife into her neck, and I was off. I was off on my way to kill Sylar, once and for all.

I didn't bother calling The Haitian. Last I heard, he was out on a mission to destroy the felines who murdered my mother. I'd have taken care of it myself, but I had an urgent matter to attend to.

The Haitian and I had been planning an ultimate Sylar trap. And while my plan was perfect in every way, I hadn't the time, nor resources, to see it to fruition. I had to devise a more ingenious plot, one more cunning, more daring and more aggressive!

It was clear this adventure would be a two parter, like my trip to China and continuation of said trip.

And so I set forth, Haitian-less into the sunset.

Following the sunset as my only clue to Sylar's whereabouts, I arrived in El Paso, TX. Arriving into this cess pit of human indecency and despair, also the hometown of The Mars Volta (Of whom I'm surprised to know), I was greeted by a stench. It was the stench of Sylar, no doubt. I was on his trail, and he would be dead soon.

Then it occurred to me. The stench wasn't a murderous brain-thief, but rather, the sweet smell of tortillas bursting with refried beans, ground supposed-beef and an assortment of chiles. Yes, it was a Taco Bell.

And who likes Taco Bell? Dr. Mohinder Suresh! It truly was destiny. There was a reason I encountered this fast food establishment. Somehow Sylar and Mohinder are connected....but how?

And then it hit me! No, not an idea, but a rock. Some rednecks driving by in a Ford F150 threw a rock at a young man on the corner, but hit me. "Git on back to Mejico, boy!" they yelled.

Then, I realized what Mohinder and Sylar now have in common. They're immigrants! Mohinder recently came from India. Sylar must now be pulling a Mohinder, leaving his home country in search of more tantalizing brains in another country.

It made sense. Not only would heading into Mexico provide him an escape from the authorities, but he hasn't eaten Mexican brains yet. And how long can you go without having some Mexican food? It was obvious he was sneaking across the border.

I left the big city and headed out to a remote area where Sylar would have most likely crossed over.

There were no Sylar tracks to be found. Had he gone this way, he surely used his telekinesis to cover up any sign of it. But I marched on.

Finally, I came to a small village. It seems I always encounter settlements seemingly untouched by the local governmental authorities on my trips out of the country.

"Excuso me!" I said to a young man. "Tu see braino eater?"

The man didn't say a thing. Luckily, I had Jake in my duffel bag. I gave it a kick.

"Excuse me, sir," I started, "Have you seen a brain-eater around here?"

Jake seemed to be working fine because I could understand what the man was saying, despite the mismatched lips. "Yes! Brain man came by yesterday. But we no tell you where he is."

"Why not?"

"Here in this village, we have rules. The first rule is you want something you have to pass the Trial of Desire Fulfillment given to you by our leader, Pavo Maton."

"Where is this Pavo Maton?" I pregunta-ed.

"He's Mexican, and it's noon....the cantina."

Since I'm a huge Star Wars fan, I knew that cantina was Mexican for place where aliens play music.

I kicked open the saloon-style doors, and upon doing so realized they were actually regular-style doors which were unkick-openable. I turned the handle and limped inside.

"I'm here for Pavo Maton!" I yelled with the authority of an authority-yielding man.

Silence fell over the room. Several men got up from a table, turning to stare me down and reaching for the pistols in their holsters. At the table sat a man in black ninja apparel and a matching sombrero.

"I'm told I must complete a Trial before having my Desire Fulfilled," I announced.

The ninja man flipped into the air and landed in front of me. "I am Pavo Maton and I will give you a trial!" he said.

"Say it, don't spray it," I told him.

It must have lost something in translation because I was suddenly kicked across the room by Pavo.

I rose to my feet as he and 50 other Mexicans charged at me. Bullets were blazing by my head and in seeming slow-motion, I weaved my way through them and landed a kick on Mr. Maton's torso.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my Yoda PEZ Dispenser. With a quick flip of the wrist, I sent PEZ candies flying into the gun barrels of the relentless mob. Misfiring took out all but three, who threw their guns down and came at me ninja-style along with Pavo.

They were kicking in the air, flipping around and throwing punches and I was dodging it all, mostly thanks to the fact that this was their fancy, ninja-style lead up to me. Once they got closer, I would be an easy target.

Thinking fast, I unzipped my duffel bag and Jake sprung into action. That action was crawling, and he crawled out of the bag with the grace and speed of a pregnant house cat.

"Do your Chinese stuff!" I yelled at him.

But it was too late. The band of raging Latinos beat the bajeezers out of him.

Luckily, that gave me time to fold some nearby paper into airplanes, which I launched at our attackers. They were each poked in the eye, and fell to the ground, wriggling in pain.

"Had enough?" I asked, standing over their bodies.

"Si! Si! We surrender!" Pavo yelled.

I helped him to his feet and said, "I must find the brain-eater."

"I will help you, but the sacred rule of the Trial of Desire Fulfillment cannot be broken. You must complete the Trial, and then we can reveal the information you seek. With your ninja skills, surely it will be an easy task for you."

"Ninja? I'm just a paper salesman," I said, playing it cool. In reality, I knew I was more ninja than paper salesman, and more paper salesman than human.

"You must bring me the mustache of a Gringo. Only then will you find your brain-eater."

I set off to find a mustached Gringo. My expert trapping skills would come in handy! I set up a grouping of barrels for hiding purposes and placed my Microsoft Zune out in the road, playing non-stop Tom Jones. No Gringo would be able to resist. Now, I wait.

I waited for an hour or so without seeing anyone. Then, I decided perhaps I shouldn't be inside the barrel, but try hiding behind them.

"Oye!" a crazed and hairy man called to me. My name wasn't Oye, but I answered nonetheless.


"You American, huh?" he asked. It looked as though he was too.


"What's the band with Jon Anderson and Chris Squire?"


"Gah! Thanks, so much. I can finally return to the US. These people are vicious with their Trials of Desire Fulfillment, aren't they?"


"I told them I wanted to go back home and asked for my luggage back, but they gave me that odd piece of trivia for my trial. It's been years! And now I can return home! Oh, I can just imagine everything that has changed. I'd guess the war's probably over with, isn't it?"

I tore off the man's mustache and returned to the cantina.

"There is the house of the brain man," Pavo said, pointing out the window to the only pink casa with a flowerbed and a 'Home Sweet Brainz' sign hanging on it.

I approached the adobe abode (I've always wanted to say that!) and as I did, I could hear The Sound of Music playing loudly over a television set. Hmm... I thought, they do have electricity down here.

Then, through the window, I saw him. Sylar was there, in full Mexican military regalia, if a tube top and miniskirt are the uniform of Mexican military.

This was my moment. I needed every advantage, so I carefully planned my next moves. I would wait until the sun goes down for my attack. I had a lot of time to kill.

I decided it would be a friendly gesture to apologize for the mustache incident, so I sought out my compadre.

"Hey!" I yelled at him. Startled, he dropped his luggage and took off running. I gathered up all his crap and stuffed it back in his bag for him. "Guess I'll take this to the cantina and wait on him there," I thought outloud.

The place was a mess, just as I had left it. Pavo was sitting at his usual table, minus 47 goons. Jake was lying on the floor, still twitching from the beating. I stuffed him into his duffel bag and took out my nightvision looky thing and gun.

"Hey Gringo, come have a drink," Pavo hollered.

I walked over, with my Primatech Paper Company-issued equipment in hand and took a seat.

Pavo and I had a great conversation about how cheese is underrated.

Then, quivering, the crazed and now less hairy man entered. "Excuse me," he stuttered, "I just want my luggage so I can go home."

"It's right there," I said, "take it."

"Not so fast!" Pavo interrupted, "He already had his luggage. If he wants it back again, he'll have to do another Trial of Desire Fulfillment!"

"Oh, that makes sense," I said.

"And you can do the honors. But this time, no simple music trivia. Make it a real man's task."

I was a little upset, as I had already the perfect trivia question: Which band had considered the names "Sigma 6", "The Meggadeaths", "The Screaming Abdabs", "The Abdabs", and "Tea Set" before arriving at their current title?

Without Google, he would never have solved it.

But now I had to think of a task. Maybe I drank too much, but thinking was sure difficult at the time. "Bring me a mustache of a Gringo!" was all I could come up with.

"Hey," Pavo said, "That was yours. You have to make it unique."

"Okay, bring me the beard of a Gringo!" I said happily.

"We're the only Gringos here!" the man yelled at me. He seemed frustrated. "Just give me my luggage back."

He started to move for his bag, but Pavo fired off a round in his direction. He fell to the floor and started to cry.

At this point, I felt sorry for the man. So I decided to help him. I walked over and lifted him up onto his feet and ripped off his beard.

"ARRRRRRCHHHHH!!" the man screamed. "You could have used those scissors!" he yelled pointing to a pair on the bar.

"Hmm...that probably would have worked." I went to get the scissors.

"Wait!" he said. "It's too late now, the ripping my hair off my face will have to work."

"Okay," I said. I grabbed his face and pulled, but no hair came off.

"Stop!" The man grabbed his beard from me and handed it back to me, "Here! I did it, beard from a Gringo, happy pappy?"

"Oh, gross," I said, "What is this?"

"It's my beard! You ripped it off my face!"

"Oh, right."

He angrily grabbed his bag and was on his way.

Pavo and I drank for hours discussing the ramifications of cheese in a can.

And then, sunset. I bidded him a farewell and was off to take down Sylar.

I equipped my nightvision looky thing. Gun extended, I rang the doorbell....

*Ding Dong*

Tuesday, February 20, 2007

Guest Poster: The Haitian's Kitties

Hello friends of Mr. Bennet. It is I, the Haitian. You may call me Adam Soo Hoo, or if you prefer, Mystery Man. My employer is busy for the day, but I got ahold of his diary, so as to record my experience on the task he has assigned me.

But first, I shall get into my history with the man in glasses. He has been my employer from as long as I can remember, which of course is not too long ago. I have accidentally "touched" myself many, many times. Luckily, I only forget things when I touch my head, so when doing "other things," my memory is safe. But it took me a long, long time to figure out that I could not touch my head, since every time I did and lost my memory, I forgot how this occurred! But when my employer found me, he helped me. He told me what had been happening, and gave me a pair of oven mitts which I know keep in my back pocket to use whenever I have an itch on my nose.

My employer has assigned me to many different tasks. Some of them have bee quite ruthless. But I do them each and every time, because I know that if I don't, he will not take me out for ice cream afterwards. And THAT is a bad thing. I think I remember my Little League team in Haiti going out for ice cream after games. But that must be my imagination since I cannot remember things, and there is no ice cream in Haiti.

But this task is especially foul. My employer has ordered me to kill the ravage beasts who killed his mother. Terrible kittens with a taste for human blood. I was afraid. Not as afraid as I would be walking up a flight of stairs, but still pretty frightened.

I was on the hunt again, just as I had done in Haiti. Except instead of using a spear, I had my trusty Primatech Paper gun. And instead of tracking packs of lions, it was the deadly game of kittens. I wish I was back in Haiti, where it was safe. I found their paw prints outside of the home of Mrs. Bennet. I followed them around the back of the house and...there they were.

I lowered my weapon. These kittens were not bloodthirsty. They were shaking, crying and looking at me with sad eyes. They had lost their mother. They were like a Haitian boy who may have accidentally touched his mother and made her forget that she had a son and kicked him out of the house into the jungle where he had to live with a bear named Baloo for 12 years. Er, I think that's what happened. I can't really remember. I just kind of fill in the memory gaps with Disney movies.

I couldn't bring myself to kill these gentle beasts. Even if they had killed my employer's mother, I could not do it. I reached down and pet each one of them with a smile, and stood back up, gazing at them with love and adoration.

The next thing that happened you would not believe. The kittens, they started to moo! I had forgotten to use my oven mitts. They did not know what they were. I looked at them with a sigh; I had failed them. Well, it was no use sparing them now. I raised my weapon and brought the creatures to justice. I had destroyed their lives anyways, there was no reason to deprive myself of ice cream! Now I must return and report my success to my employer.

Monday, February 19, 2007


It seems like only yesterday Sylar was sound asleep in his little Anti-Power Containment Cell. They escape so fast, don't they?

I often find myself wondering what he may be up to at the moment. Where could he be? He didn't even tell me where he was going. Maybe it was because I was shooting at him when he left. But the gunshots aren't that loud, he could have said something to me. Or at least called.

But I've been trying to get my mind off Sylar for a while. There's so much other things going on right now. Claire seems to hate me. Sandra's losing her memory. And The Haitian is flunking history.

I think Claire's memory erasal didn't go completely as planned. Perhaps the stress from failing a school course caused The Haitian to slip up. She seems to know that I know stuff that she shouldn't know about. Or maybe it's just normal teenage behaviour. Sometimes I feel like I've always been 44. I guess I can't relate to what kids today are going through.

As for Sandra, there's really no hope there. I'm a little saddened, but I still think her parents would leave me their fortune, even if Sandra's in an asylum or dead. So, it's a minor hiccup in the plan, but nothing major. I'm actually looking forward to the decrease in marital nighttime activities. For years I've been trying to convince her we're too old for that. But she would always insist on it. Well, okay, we're not to old for it, but she is. Maybe she'll cool it as a vegetable.

Then there's The Haitian. He used to do so well in history class. In 5th grade, a couple years ago, he even played one of the slaves freed by Lincoln. Originally, he was assigned to be Lincoln, but had problems delivering the Gettysburg Address, so I suggested to the teacher, "Hey, he's Blackish! Why not make him a slave?"

Sunday, February 18, 2007

A Tragic End

Well, it's official. My mom is dead :(

I had suspected it. I haven't received a Christmas present from her in about four years. So, I decided to pay her a visit.

As soon as I knocked on the door, a vile orchestra of tone-deaf cats sounded from inside. Using my special Primatech Paper gun, I shot twice near the knob and kicked the door open.

Suddenly, I was attacked! Rabid Tibetan felines struck at my like lightning, more vicious than any Sylar could ever be.

I fired in every direction until I had no more ammo. Then I started flinging the crazed creatures from my limbs. I managed to catch one in mid-air as he was pouncing toward my face. I held him by the neck and gave him a punch in the whiskers.

Then I kicked one and he flew through a window, shattering it. The other cats were startled by the sound and turned to see what had happened. When they saw the newly-opened window, they took off and lept out. I haven't heard from them since.

I looked around the apartment, wondering where my mom's body was and wondering how these animals could have survived.

In the restroom, I saw that the bathtub was full of water. But the water was disconnected. I turned on the faucet and nothing came out. Then, I looked up. There was a hole in the ceiling where rain must have leaked into the house.

I wanted to clean my wounds, but the water looked filthy and disease-ridden. So, I continued my search.

"Hey Mom," I said to a skeleton sitting in Mom's favorite recliner, "Is that you?"

It didn't respond.

I looked closely at the remains and noticed several scratches on the bones. My mother didn't die peacefully of natural causes. No, she was murdered. By the cats.

Those feline bastards, I thought.

I called Rufus on my cell and told him to get a team out here. They arrived, cleaned up the house and removed my mother's remains. We were going to plan a funeral, but while driving back home, the box she was in fell out of the truck and landed in a ditch. So, we just threw some dirt over it, said a few words and left.

I knew she wouldn't mind. I had more important things to attend to, like finding those cats and making them pay for what they did. I know my mother, she would have preferred revenge to a decent funeral. And she'll have her revenge!

Saturday, February 17, 2007

Cooking with Chef Bennet

I've been wanting to write some of my most secretest recipes down for a while now. Mainly so that they are passed down to future generations. My mother, who I think may have died a few years ago, taught me most of what I know when it comes to cooking.

And lately, I've been cooking more often at home too. I feel like I'm a natural born cook, so I don't mind. But since I'm usually busy making paper, going on paper-related trips and sticking transmitters inside special paper, I don't have the time to cook.

I wake up in the mornings and whip up some good breakfast for the fam. After that, though, it's Sandra's turn. She's supposed to prepare lunch and supper. But she's been doing terrible cooking lately. The kids are afraid to eat her food.

As am I.

Sometimes there's bleach, or even glass, in the food she makes. She seems to think that the jug of Clorox is milk. And glass looks like salt, I suppose. So, Claire's been the designated taste-tester.

Now, you may say, "Mr. B, that's terrible parenting!" But you'd be forgetting that she can't die from bleach-poisoning or swallowing shards of glass. My Claire Bear is indestructible.

But unlike my wife, I choose to make gourmet meals.

One of my favorite desserts happens to be monkey brains. Now, I know you're thinking "Wait! Sylar eats brains!!" But calm down. Monkey brains are a delicacy. There's nothing murderous or inhumane about it. Except the slaughtering of monkeys.

I had an argument with a good friend of mine over this matter. I cooked up some delicious monkey brains and he went all PETA on me. "Monkeys have feelings!" he'd yell.

Now, I want to take a moment to say that I'm not anti-monkey. Some of the best people I know are monkeys: King Kong, his brother Donkey, Mojo Jojo, Peter Tork, Yoda.

And the other day, I was talking to Mohinder Suresh, or rather, he was talking to me. It's hard to get a word in with that guy. And amidst all his mindless blabber, I heard "radical wheat monkey". I'm not sure what the heck that is, or why he said it, but it sounded delicious.

So, here's my recipe for Radical Wheat Monkey Brains by Chef Bennet:

One Monkey Brain
1 Tsp. Radical Cinnamon
1 Cup Wheat Grain
4 Cups Milk
1 Tsp Salt
1 Tsp Vanilla Extract
2 Cups Sugar
1 Can of Strawberries

First, pour the milk into a pot and heat it to boil. Once it begins to boil, add the vanilla, salt, wheat grain and cinnamon. Stir for one minute. Then, drop in the Monkey Brain.

While that boils, in a medium size bowl, pour in the sugar. Dump the strawberries into it and stir, stir, stir! I can't emphasize this step's importance enough. You must stir the strawberries and their juices, thoroughly with the sugar.

Remember to stir the boiling Monkey Brain too, so that it doesn't burn. If the milk evaporates, add more, or add water, so that the brain is always submersed with liquid.

Take the strawberry mixture and pour half on the bottom of your serving dish. Then after 20 minutes of boiling, take the brain out. Set it on a cloth so it can dry. Then, place it into the serving dish, and top with the remaining strawberry mixture. You can also sprinkle on more cinnamon and salt, to taste.

Radical Wheat Monkey Brains

Friday, February 16, 2007

Sylar Trap

How do I catch a crazed brain-eater? I did it once, surely I could do it again.

And so I got to work planning and plotting and eating cookies and planning some more. The cookies were really good. The planning was so-so. But the plotting. Why, I've never seen such incredible plotting before. I was sure it would work.

Admittedly, it would be a difficult capture the second time around. I wouldn't have the use of Eden's special ability, persuasion, not to be confused with her other special ability, Riverdancing.

Plus, Sylar would be expecting us. He won't so easily walk into a trap like before. I'd have to be deceitful and cunning. Two of my strongest parenting traits.

The Haitian and I gathered all kinds of drawing materials and went to work on the schematics for our ultimate Sylar trap. Of course, I did most the work. The Haitian didn't really do anything but hand me supplies. He did however make some plans of his own.

The Haitians first plan was to fish in the lake using brains for bait. This could work, if Sylar were a fish, or stole some kind of "able to breath underwater" power.

The Haitian's Plan #1

I don't know how he expected to catch Sylar by building a snowman with him.

The Haitian's Plan #2

I think his plan here was to infiltrate Sylar's school, posed as classmates or a teacher and then surprise attack him.

The Haitian's Plan #3

This plan involved him standing on a building commanding a swarm of killer birds. It was my favorite of his, but I still feared it wouldn't work.

The Haitian's Plan #4

It was up to my ultimate plot.

For my plot wasn't as silly as those of The Haitian.

My plan was one that could work.

It was pure brilliance.

The trap would be unstoppable.

There would be no way to stop the trap.

This would have to work.

My plan was perfect.

I accounted for everything imaginable.

Sylar will be mine!

Thursday, February 15, 2007

My Woman

She may not be much of a looker now, but you should have seen her 20 years ago. OK, that's a lie. She wasn't much of a looker back then either. And come to think of it, she's never been that smart either. But here lately, she's been a complete idiot.

Claire Bear and I are trying to help her out, but it's difficult. It's like trying to load software on a PC without any media drives.

I'm starting to wonder if The Haitian is causing it. She's had her memory erased by him so many times. But he's supposedly FDA approved. I can't see how that would be causing her to become delusional and dumb.

Personally, I want to blame TV. She's what you could call a "shut in" and spends an insane amount of time watching television. And recently I read a report on how Soap Operas will kill you. It was on someone's blog, so you know it's true. These blog people do a lot of research and really get to the center of a story like major news channels cannot.

And Sandra sure loves her soap operas. But with the memory erasing, she finds it hard to follow the story arcs from week to week. I guess all you really need to know is that some good-looking people had some affairs, kissed some other good-looking people and got slapped. It should be easy enough to follow along.

Her memory problem has been quite a bother to Claire Bear and me. Lyle too, I guess, but we don't really care about him.

Sandra hasn't been making supper. I usually cook breakfast before I head off to work. But since I'm busy making paper, she would handle supper in the evenings. But she's been falling behind with her duties.

So, Claire Bear's been trying to help her remember things.

"This is a plate. Plates are our friends."

Now we just need her to stop throwing "our friends" at the Pomeranian. Any suggestions?

Wednesday, February 14, 2007


Well, we got lots of responses. And finally, the winners. Included are some honorable mentions as well. If you are one of the winners, be sure to email me and let me know your forum name so you get your promotion.

Photo #1

"Alright! Who ate the last of the key lime pie?!?!" - Robocop

Honorable Mentions:
"Be very very quite, I'm hunting Sylar's." - Darkflame
"Who do I have to shoot to get some breakfast around here?" - Tramlaw

Photo #2

Darth Vader: "Elmo, Come to the dark side!" Elmo: "That tickles!" - Javi H

Honorable Mentions:
"I want a paternity test, because I'm not his father!" - Kristyg921
"Are YOU on the List?" - Beatles_Fan_1990

Photo #3

"I say do you mind, were trying to have nearly killed sex here." - Darkflame

Honorable Mentions:
"Oh! It's supposed to be simulated?" - Robocop
"Maybe it wasn't a good idea to let The Haitian watch." - Catalina12

Photo #4

Come on, Greg, focus on the director and you won't feel like a pedophile. - ChristyK

Honorable Mentions:
"Why couldn't it be save the policeman. save the world?" - KristyG921
"Sure, she was cute in "Remember The Titans" but if she doesn't stop following me around I swear I'm going to beat her over the head with this mic." - Cheek3471

Photo #5

"Petrelli gets to fly, Mendes can paint the future, Claire regenerates and what do I get stuck with? I can fart Care Bears!" - Mr. Bean

Honorable Mentions:
"The Care Bears got my back, yo!!" - Tramlaw
"This is how I roll." - Semimafia

Tuesday, February 13, 2007

Charitable Deeds

I do a lot of charity work in my free time. And earlier I was helping entertain some of the ICU patients at the local hospital. They say laughter is the best medicine.

So, I found my poor hopeless child and began with a great opener.

"What is the difference between Mechanical Engineers and Civil Engineers?" I asked.

I think he tried to lift his shoulders, in an effort to show he hadn't known the answer, just as I had planned on.

"Mechanical Engineers builds weapons, Civil Engineers build targets."

He didn't laugh. But I suspected in his condition that he was incapable of laughing. I'm sure he liked the joke.

"If walking is healthy, then why does my mailman look like Jabba the Hut?"


"What did the horse say when he fell? I've fallen and I can't giddy up!"

I refused to let this young man down. So, I pulled out my best.

"A pirate goes into a bar with a steering wheel down his pants. The bartender goes, "Woah man! There's a steering wheel down your pants. Isn't it annoying?". The pirate replies, "Aye, it's drivin' me nuts!"

And he sat there like some kind of crash victim lies motionless on their own blood and left foot.

Then, a doctor came in. "How's it going?" he asked the kid.

"Well, it'd be nice to laugh again," the little prick replied.

"I got a joke for you," the doctor said, "Two engineering students were walking across campus when one said, "Where did you get such a great bike?"

"The second engineer replied, "Well, I was walking along yesterday minding my own business when a beautiful woman rode up on this bike. She threw the bike to the ground, took off all her clothes and said, "Take what you want."

"The first engineer nodded approvingly. "Good choice; the clothes probably wouldn't have fit."

"HA HA HA HA HA!!" the kid laughed for what seemed like hours at the simple joke, "That sounds like something he'd do!" he was pointing at me.

"Well, you get your rest," the doctor said as he left.

"Listen up," I said with my hand over the kid's mouth, "My jokes were great! I'm a very hip and funny guy. And I certainly would have taken the clothes over the bike."

I let him go and he looked at me as though he'd seen a ghost. Then he started to cry.

Ah, crap!

"Hey," I said, "I'm sorry. Things have just been rough lately. You see, there was this guy, Sylar, and I had him all nice and locked up. But he escaped. My wife is losing her mind. And Jake never wants to go get his nails done. I tried taking Jake to get some waffles and he didn't even order anything. I went to the restroom and he was still there when I returned! Sylar would have killed all the patrons and escaped. But Jake, he's not even a challenge."

"Sounds like you miss Sylar," the boy said.

I nearly teared up, but I kept it together. "Yes, I think I do. I have to get him back. For all I know he could have found some other nerd to hang out with. Probably a geneticist. They're all so pretentious and think they're so much better than us computer nerds. If it weren't for us, there wouldn't be any science. But I'll find him and bring him back home soon."

The kid just smiled.

"You can't tell anyone about this." I lifted my finger to my lips as I backed out of the room.

"I won't. I promise," he replied.

Just to be safe, I sent The Haitian in anyway.

And I have been receiving your photo captions. We'll have winners tomorrow, so if you haven't submitted something, do it now.

Monday, February 12, 2007

Life Goes On

This morning while I was cooking I felt out of focus. It was as though something was missing from my life, but I hadn't realized it yet. I tried filling the void with hobbies, breakfast and Bears from Around the World. But none of it was working.

When I'm having a bad day, I listen to my favorite song, over and over and over again. Sometimes I sing along! When I was a kid though, I'd get made fun of for singing it out loud, so I kept it in my head.

Something about that song brightens me up. I guess it reminds me of the life I've built. I too have a couple of kids running in the yard. But unlike Desmond, one of my kids is indestructible.

But this's strange. It's unidentifiable. I don't even know if I feel bad. But I don't feel good. It's a strange emptiness.

I'm going to do something about it!

We have a new prisoner down at work. I finally let Jake out of the duffel bag. Seeing as we have an open cell, I figured it was the least I could do.

Today, I'll get to run through prisoner orientation with Jake. That should be fun and take my mind off things. In fact, I'll take my Beatles CD and listen to my song over and over. Maybe Jake will sing it with me.

But...I am worried about one thing. Jake is like a translation amplifier. Whatever language goes in, comes out in English for me, Chinese for him. I wonder what The Haitian hears?

So, I hope that doesn't affect my song.

I guess we'll see. If Jake doesn't cheer me up, then there's always waffles. I just need to remember life goes on. I have to put on my pretty face and live my life!

Sunday, February 11, 2007

Politician-Kidnapping 101

Well, a while back I made a big mistake, which I blame on my wife, while trying to kidnap a guy. He got away, so now I'm going to have to get him again.

There were two people to choose from. I went with the weaselly politician. Why did I pick him over the crazy lady? I flipped a coin! Honestly. I'm not hiding anything about that man.

So, rule number one. Never insult the man's pajama bottoms.

"Those stupid-looking pajama bottoms make your butt look big."

Well, once you insult a man's pajama bottoms you unleash a monster of anger seeking his just revenge.

Not to mention dirty feet.

And of course, being kicked hurts. Nerds aren't made for kicking. I'm sure if it weren't for having a gun, he would have kicked The Haitian instead. Guess I should get him a gun too. Apparently, the power to kill a yak from 200 yards away with mind bullets doesn't help much against a half-naked Republican.

So, remember kids, never insult a man's pajama bottoms, unless you want to be kicked in the face with a dirty foot and left in an empty parking lot because The Haitian forgot where he parked.

"Um...I'm pretty sure we parked on the ground."

Saturday, February 10, 2007

Sylar on the Loose

As much as I've tried to keep my mind off of it, I can't stop coming back to it! Sylar is on the loose. I'm sure you've heard already.

While in custody, I took him to get his nails done. We ended up at a Primatech press event and he ate a kid's brain.

I can't begin to imagine what he must be doing now that he's outside my jurisdiction.

He's no doubt wreaking havoc. The thought of havoc being wreaked upsets me. As an American. As a father. As a husband. As a human being!

We can't sit idly by and allow for such moronic people to frolic around defacing property and debraining our children. It is time we rise up and take a stand against the Sylars of this world.

So, I say to you, join me. Say "nay" to those who would take your brain. Say "nay" to those who would belittle your actions with monumentous acts of idiocy. Say "nay" to drugs. And say "nay" to Proposition 244 which would require all business owners to limit their paper consumption to 50 lbs a day.

Like my recently-deceased (I think) mother always said, "Just say Nay!" Of course, she was mentally unstable and often talked to horses. Though she did so in a stable, so perhaps her unstable mind was stabilized by the stabled horses.

Friday, February 9, 2007

Professors Who Drive Taxis

I was over in New York a while back where I met this Indian genetics professor. His name was Mohinder Suresh

Turns out his father's research could be very valuable to us. It's all complicated paper stuff, you wouldn't understand.

Eden was a good friend of his. She really cared for him. I warned her not to, never get attached, I always say. Unless of course you adopt one of them as your own child and hide it from everyone. That's completely different.

But Eden never knew what to think of him. She couldn't tell if he was into her or not. She'd always come to me and ask me what I thought it meant. She assumed, being a guy, I could translate his words into his true meaning.

But even with all my manliness, this was a tough code to break. See below.

Eden: "I'd like some ice cream."

Mohinder: "Yes, but would the ice cream want you? Is it in the nature of ice cream to desire the uncold beings we call human? And yet some can be so cold. Killing elderly professors for their theories."

Meaning: "I don't have enough money for it, sorry."

Eden: "Do you like this shirt?"

Mohinder: "Could destiny be in clothes? Humans have worn clothes since the dawn of time, and yet a few remain in the nude. What is this desire to wear clothes? Is it merely a way to hide our bodies from those who would eat our biscuits if given a chance? Or is it a way to express ourselves to those very people?"

Meaning: "Yeah, but you'd look better out of it."

Eden: "I think we should talk."

Mohinder: "And yet life doesn't speak. Or does it? We often find ourselves needing to talk. We talk to the prophets who talk to God himself. We talk to the characters on our TV who talk to each other, ignoring us. We always talk. And what is the purpose? What can be accomplished through communication alone? Is its only purpose to facilitate action? Or is there inherent usefulness in this verbal game of chess?"

I don't know about that one. Any ideas?

Thursday, February 8, 2007

Technical Difficulties

Okay, maybe I was just a little wasted and that's why I forgot to write something here. But I'm going to blame it on my Blackberry.

Wednesday, February 7, 2007

Some Distractions

Well, I'm having a hard time relaxing lately. I can't stop thinking about killing Sylar. But I'm the calm guy. I have to stay focused.

And so I came up with this. Claire Bear and I play this game all the time, especially after a brain-thief breaks out of his containment cell.

Check out the pictures below and post a caption. The best will be announced later on. So, have fun and try not to think about Claire Bear's imminent death.

Photo #1

Photo #2

Photo #3

Photo #4

Photo #5

So there you have it. The one's who come up with the best captions, and by best I mean humorous, will win a Primatech Paper Special Agent Promotion! So if you're not already a "Ketchup Bottle" you could be! And if you already are, you can move up. So comment or email Submit a caption for all of them, just one or maybe three. The choice is yours. Just label it with the right number!

Tuesday, February 6, 2007


My solace.....ruined!

But I don't want to talk about that. In fact, for now, I just want to forget all about Gabriel Gray.

Instead, I'm going to talk about how I'm looking forward to the Star Wars TV Show.

It was announced that there would be a live action TV Show in 2008. And so...

Gah! I have to get Sylar. He's out there, and is going to come after Claire again. But The Haitian's here, we have things well guarded. There's nothing to worry about.

Come on, Bennet! Focus! Just write about something else...

Ah, CS! Counter-Strike: Source. I play all the time. It's a great way to forget about the outside world and the troubles associated with it. I should finish writing in my journal AKA diary and play a few rounds. That'll keep my mind off of things.

Yes, a great game. You should join me sometime. Aside from being fun and distracting it helps hand eye coordination so you can shoot Sylars better.

Gah! Can bullets hurt him? I shot him already and nothing! Stupid Hank. "Yo dawg, there be just one power doin' what it do up in there, man." Gah! Gah! Gah!

Monday, February 5, 2007

The Pinnacle of Solace

Well, I've arrived. Without trying to sound too much like Mohinder Suresh, I would like to point out the great destiny inherent in this day. I woke up knowing it would be a great day. And then I get the mythological call of the siren, Hank.

Sylar is dead! Oh, yeah!

So I set off on my mystical journey. After facing the trials along the way, I arrived at Primatech Paper Company where I found myself amused with the humor of Hank.

Then a trip down memory lane.

With all that epicness going on around me, I had started pondering my own death. Deciding that I didn't want to burden my family 30 years or so down the road, I made my pre-arrangements.

And now here I am. At the peak of Everest. No, metaphorically I mean. I'm actually inside Sylar's cell.

I didn't look around the cell for Hank. I hope I don't regret it and he jumps out of a corner giving me the willies. They'd catch it on our security tape and it'd be so embarassing.

But I wanted to stay brave. Looking around for Hank would only come off as cowardice. It's what he would have wanted me to do. Looking only builds tension.

So, I stood strong and made my way to the table.

But before I could remove the sheet, I had to write an entry in my journal AKA diary.

What is there left to write? I'm here. This is the moment that the entire day has driven me to. Perhaps even my entire life.

It's as though I'm the Jesus of this epic tale. Or better yet, the Luke Skywalker.

I was born a humble little infant, like any other human. Except for maybe Sylar who was born a turd of pure evil. And I grew and learned and adapted and had asthma.

It was an enjoyable childhood. An enjoyable ignorance of what was to come. My later childhood, things went sour. I was picked on by the rest of the students.

My mama, who I think may have died recently because I haven't gotten a Christmas present from her in a few years, always cheered me up. "You are special," she'd tell me. "Don't let the others get to you. You will do great things."

And indeed she was correct. I've done so much incredible things already. And will continue to do incredible things for a good thirty more years or so.

Few people know what I know or have had the chance to do such a thing. It's as though I met the devil himself. But he couldn't harm me with his evil sorcery or pseudo-documentaries.

Some often wonder if I made a deal with the Devil during that meeting. Well, I assure you I did not.

Despite what they say about me, I'm a good guy. At least half of me is. And I'm fighting the good fight. I travel down the halls of Primatech with my twelve disciples in tow.

I took a moment outside the cell, looking at the sheet-covered corpse on the table. Though I'm not a religious man, I could hear God speak to me.

"Go forth my son. You must complete your destiny and bring salvation to the world. Only through you can they hope to escape a life of brainless misery."

I agreed with God, as portrayed by Andy Griffith.

"As you go into the cell, I plan to take a restroom break," God/Andy said.

"Who will watch over me?" I asked.

"Have no fear, my son. My deputy will take over in my momentary absense. Now go, remove the sheet. Complete your destiny. Complete your metaphor."

The death of Sylar itself was a metaphor within my metaphor. I, with my h4x0r rims, represent intelligence, truth and knowledge. Yet, Sylar removes brains from people. He is anti-knowledge. And it is metaphorically through me that the world will become wise.

It's the destiny Andy Griffith bestowed upon me.

How will I bring wisdom? By examining what's under this sheet. By studying and deciphering the genetic code within this metaphorical Darth Maul. And by using my discoveries to combat the Emperor. Unless I work for the Emperor. Then I'm not sure whom I'll combat. But that can be figured out later.

Now, I must remove this sheet.

Sunday, February 4, 2007

Solace After Death

So, I bought myself a coffin.

But I still have a lot of work to finish up my funeral pre-arrangements. I figure it's worth it though. Even though I'm certain I have a good 30 years left, I could go at any time. Like Sylar. I'm sure he expected to live indefinitely. But, nope! He's gone. And he didn't make pre-arrangements.

I don't want to burden my family with trying to arrange my funeral and pay for it all while still mourning my death. So, I'm taking it upon myself to handle it for them.

I'm not a religious man, so that takes a ton of costs out of it. No crucifixes, no priest, no holy water. If they could have my last rights read by Yoda, I'd go for it though. But the website I found didn't offer it.

The headstone was one of the best parts.

I was going to go with Han Solo, frozen in Carbonite. But John Kaczinsky beat me to it.

So, I decided to go with something else.

Oh, that cracks me up everytime! My sides are hurting as I type this.

For the ceremony, since I couldn't find a Yoda to perform, I went with this guy instead.

Of course, my wake is going to consist of a 12+ Hour Star Wars Saga viewing so I can see it all one more time. Hopefully, I can find some video editor to add a Force Ghost Me to the end of ROTJ.

Then, I want everyone to jam out to Ob La Di and Funky Town while I sail away into the ocean.

ARRRRCHHHHH! I forgot about my headstone. Um, well...I guess they'll have to fish me out after the ceremony and bury me. Yeah, that'll work.