The male mind, not something to be messed with. If you were to mess with it, it would only shut down the neurons required for rational thinking, and super charge the nuerons in charge of stupidity and bulls*** I can say I am fully guilty of this happening to me. It can be stimulated by many things. The most prominent is the false belief that if something is broken, we can fix it. Even more so if it is something electronic or motorized.

Our wives or girlfriends tell us that the DVD player isn't working. We tell her its not a problem and pop off the casing. Now the DVD players exposed insides are showing all full of green circuit boards, and multi-colored thingys and other pill-shaped doo-dads and wires. Sweat beads on our foreheads. Our wives and girlfriends are standing over us, watching. We turn our heads slighty to face them and point at some strange device inside with our screwdriver telling her what exactly it is and what it does. Pure Bulls*** We don't have a clue what that blue thing is, let alone what it does, but we lie because we want women to be impressed. We secretly hope they talk to their friends and tell them how intelligent we are.

Further probing into the device we come across the disc reader, or laser eye, and we grab it and wiggle it to try and pry it loose. Our wives and girlfriends warn us about the yellow caution sticker on the side of it mentioning something about radiation. We comfort her by telling her that the warning is for amateurs. Now aware of the label, we quickly move to another part of the machine, telling her that the laser eye is in perfect working condition. We put the case back on, and replace all of the screws, realizing two are missing. We figure that two screws out of four is enough. We pick the unit up, and hear the unmistakable sound of something small and metallic rattling around inside the machine, which we quickly ignore. We turn it around and blow into all of the input holes on the back, and we wiggle the power cord where it enters the machine. We proclaim loudly, that everything in the back looks fine. Again with the Bulls***ing because anything short of a large charred burn hole that was smoking would go unnoticed as normal. We plug it into the wall and hit the power button, and nothing happens. We figure, rather ignorantly, if we push the button a few more times it might work, and when that doesn't work, we push the button hard and hold it in for about ten seconds, just to show the player, we mean business. The machine still fails to start. Our next genius manuever is to open the machine back up and start banging things with the end of our screwdriver. Our wives and girlfriends protest, and we rectify our actions by saying it can't hurt it, because its not like it was working before. Eventually we will give up, giving the excuse that it was made in a foreign country, or that it is a piece of crap, or that it must be some new-fangled contraption that you've never seen before. Same thing pretty much with any other household appliance. We can fix it, and if we can't we can buy a better one. At the very least we can render it unserviceable by a qualified repair technician. You need to understand mens' mentality. If the plumbing is leaking, we are willing to allow the basement to fill up with water, before we call someone who can actually fix the problem.-

pur·ist(pyŏŏr'ĭst) n.One who practices or urges strict correctness.

With that stated, I consider myself somewhat of a purist, in regards to certain things. For example, no PepsiCola will ever pass my lips willingly, will never put a Nvidia GPC in my rig, and my coffee will always be mixed in equal parts with sugar and whole milk. Things that I have accepted as right, correct, and never to be tampered with. Yet I find myself "expirementing" with iced coffee, from that vendor that is fueling the united states. Its strange, especially for me, to pull up to a drivethru window and be forced to choose from a variety of different flavors I want my iced coffee to taste like. Regular, French Vanilla, and Hazelnut, all acceptable coffee flavors. Of course thats not enough, Blueberry, Cinammon, Raspberry, Toasted Almond, Marshmellow, Coconut, and Chocolate join the party...

So of course, my curiosity shoves descretion aside, and I start ordering some of these flavors. Below is a list of my reaction to such flavors

• Regular: Good old standby, cant really muck this one up
• French Vanilla: Another sure bet, most often ordered
• Hazelnut: Not a bad taste, but nothing I can't drink
• Blueberry: More exotic but yet palatable
• Raspberry: Reminiscent of coffee and pencil shavings
• Cinammon: Reserved for hot coffee, or so it should be
• Toasted Almond: Coffee con feet sweat
• Marshmellow: Honestly, when I tried this one, i couldn't detect marshmellow, which lent itself to wild unexplained flavors
• Coconut: Again, no actual coconut, but I could swear I tasted buttered popcorn
• Chocolate: Untested, I can barely stand chocolate in its pure form, let alone synthetic chocolate syrup

By far French Vanilla and Hazelnut are fine choices for an iced coffee...strange enough, Blueberry isn't half bad either. Raspberry is a different story, tasting reminiscent of pencil shavings

Day 1:
Our twin engine plane crashed into the ocean today. Apparently we got struck by lightning, at least thats what Bob, our pilot, told us. Thank the heavens we crashed near a tiny island. Fortunately no one was seriously hurt, so we were all able to reach the dry ground the island provided. Once we were there we assessed ourselves for injuries. I had nothing besides a raised bump on my head. Sean was ok, just a little shaken. Paco was bleeding from his nose, which he said was a result of the whiplash he recieved from the crash while he occupied the small cramped bathroom. Bob checked out to be ok, with the exception that during his swim to the island his pants ripped off and were nowhere to be found. After making sure we were intact, we started to retrieve as much as we could from the debris washing ashore. Luckily we found a giant crate of canned food, and supplies (which included this pen and paper). Sean and Paco retrieved a couple crates that washed up further down on the shore. Opening the first crate, we found some more supplies like a spool of rope, a saxaphone, a handgun with ammunition, a box of matches, a can of kerosene, and several usable tarps. Well so much for our trip. We are all exhausted so we decided to sleep under the cover of the forest and sort things out in the morning. I decided to chronicle this "adventure" hoping that when we get rescued I can become rich and famous by writing a book about my expirence. Hah! Everyone said I was stupid. I think I will get some shut-eye, its getting too dark to write much more.

Day 2:

We woke up to a bright golden sun in the bluest sky I have ever seen in my life. The wind was blowing lightly across the ocean making the air salty smelling. If we weren't in the pickle that we are in, I would think I was on vacation. Bob, still pantsless, got out the matches and built a fire to cook some of our food so we could eat because we were all hungry. We all laughed as we made jokes about his lack of pants. He explained that we may be here for awhile, because he is pretty sure that we were off course but if we setup a couple signals, like smoke or wrote in the sand, someone inevitably would notice and come rescue us. He also told us not to worry because he was trained professionally in wilderness survival. We all decided to get started with the tasks at hand. Paco and I were in charge of making a fire. Sean went to find a big stick to write in the sand with. Bob said he had to go find something, but wouldn't tell us what it was. I figured, well he's the trained survivalist. Getting our fire started was easy because there was a lot of dried driftwood lying around. Sean came back with a long stick and several welts on his face. He said he must be allergic to some berries that he found in the forest. He said he felt fine though. Eventually Bob returned, and strangely his eyes were red and watery. No one said anything to him, but I'm guessing he ate some of those berries, too. We built a suitable shelter with our supplies we recovered from the crash. We ate again, this time some soup. We used our finely built fire to warm it up. Pure genius! Well, this is actually kind of fun.

Day 3:
Today we had a bit of a problem. Sean's reaction was getting worse. Bob continued his search for his mysterious item or thing or whatever he is looking for. Paco and Sean started to bicker at each other about their names. Paco continually called Sean, "SEEN" because, as Paco states, that is how it's spelt. I went down to the shore to see if I could find anything else that might have washed ashore, but no such luck. Strange enough, when I was looking I heard what sounded like a faint sob or some such noise traveling through the breeze. Maybe it was just in my head. Bob came back finally, looking like he did yesterday. I, rather helpfully, told Bob he should avoid the berries he was eating. He didn't look at me, and told me that I should mind my own damn lumpy-headed business. I can only assume he is referring to the giant bump on my forehead that I got from his bad flying. I am not going to play his game. I will let it go for now. I am tired.

Day 7:

Haven't written in a long time. We found Sean down wandering down on the beach the other day. He apparently got thirsty and drank some ocean water. I looks like he went to drink from the water and got stung by a jellyfish. I ascertained this because I discovered a jellyfish hanging out of his mouth. His face was swollen. I tried not to laugh, but I couldn't help it. Paco is continuing to call him SEEN, which is getting on my nerves now. I actually threatened to kill Paco with MY gun if I heard him say the word SEEN one more time. He punched me in my wounded forehead and stole my gun and threw it into the ocean. He then proceeded to say "SEEN" forty two more times repeatedly. Yeah I counted them Paco. Thats right Paco, you better watch out. Bob was gone all day today. I think the stupid prick is lying about trying to find something. Plus I think he's stealing cans of food. Our supplies are running really low. I am going to sleep down on the beach tonight, because Paco keeps whispering SEEN. He knows I can hear him. That son of a b****...

Day 14:
Sean disappeared. I don't know where he went to. He wasn't at the tree where we propped him up the other night. That stupid prick Paco is whining about heat stroke and no water. He's an idiot. I will kill him soon. We have no food so I am very hungry. Jokingly I told Paco that his name rhymes with taco, and he got offended, claiming I was being a racist. I just told him that I am calling it as I see it. Bob has stopped going for his mysterious treks. He just sits down and stares at Paco all day long rocking back and forth, like he's thinking about something really hard. I better keep an eye on him. My headwound is finally starting to get better.

Day 17:
The sun is relentless. The three of us are starting to get blisters from sun exposure. We found that idiot, Sean today. He was stuck up in a tree and wouldn't come down. He kept mumbling something about how the trees were his friends, because they told him so. Taco threw a rock at him, and knocked him out of the tree. He fell down and landed on a big rock, which promptly killed him. Apparently, rocks aren't his friends, HAH! I was kind of happy, because I really didn't want to look at his swollen stupid face anymore. I got really thirsty today, so I snuck down to the shore and drank some ocean water. I decided not to tell Paco or the Pantsless Wonder, because if they found out about my secret, they most likely would drink all of the water and I wouldn't have any. I feel more refreshed now that I discovered the water. It tastes good, and the fiddler crab I met, told me that it was full of nutrients. I believe him because why would a crab lie?

Day 24:
No food. Must find something to eat. I tried to eat a stick today, but it was too hard to swallow, and it kept yelling at me, calling me a murderer. Taco is getting really annoying, me and Eugene decided he will be the next to die. Eugene is the only friend I have of this hell of an island. He listens to me. Imagine man's best friend could be a fiddler crab. I drank more water today, refreshing my parched throat. I banged my head wound today against a tree today. I was trying to avoid a flying hamburger that keep trying to dive bomb me. I swear that it is trying to kill me, but fortunately for me, I am quicker than it is. I caught Bob today eating sand. He said it tasted like cinnamon and sugar toast. I will remember this for future reference. Good news, Eugene lead me to a phone today. It is made out of an old seashell. I tried it, but just my luck, I didn't have a quarter.

Day 33:

Taco died today. Granted it was not by my hand. He told me he was going to the shore because he heard they were having a special on ground beef. I didn't believe him, but I followed him just in case. I was right, there was no meat on sale! Taco is a damn liar. He got really mad when he discovered that there was no meat for sale, and started running around yelling something about the coupons he had were going to expire. I saw a shark swim by Taco, and he ran into the oceanyelling "Wheres the meat sale?". Just then that damn flying hamburger tried to strafe me again. I dodged it and it flew away. When I looked back at Taco, he was gone and the water was red. When I ran down to the beach to find him, I got swarmed by a squadron of flying hamburgers. I tried to grab one, but missed. They are quicker than I thought. One blindsided me and as I passed out, I heard it yell something about sesame seeds. When I woke up, I found Bob rubbing some kind of herbs on my leg. When I asked him what he was doing, he looked at me wild-eyed and said he was "flavorizing" me. I have a strange feeling that I should avoid Bob. Eugene told me to be careful because Bob was hallucinating and going crazy. He is a very wise crab.

Day 45:

The sun is killing me. Thankfully, my water supply is still intact. I think Bob is hunting me. I determined this because large rocks and sharpened sticks keep flying past me, whenever I walk past him. I saw that shark again, I think I may ask him tomorrow if he knows where I can find a net so that I can catch those damn flying hamburgers that are increasingly bothering me. Yes, I will definitely ask him tomorrow, he certainly knows his way around.