Obserlizations and Generavations

After having worked at Taco Bell for over two years now, I feel like I am pretty well qualified to make some generalizations of certain types of customers that I have noticed. Please remember that I mean no harm by these and that they are simply for entertainment purposes. If at any point you find yourself being insulted by my words, please punch your monitor in anger and get over it.

There are at least four major ethnic groups that come to Taco Bell. I'm sure there are more, considering the fact that Southern California is home to what seems like approximately 20 billion different races, most of which have either eaten or worked at McDonalds. You know it's getting bad when you pull up to a drive-thru restaurant and see things like "Baba Ghanoush" or "Khau Kalash" on the menu, and you are asked if you would like some hummus with that.

The four major ethnic groups that I see in the drive-thru are:

1. White
2. Black
3. Asian
4. Mexican

Let's start with the whitey-tighties. White customers span a broad range of the social structure, from rich to middle-class to poor to Wal-Mart Employee.

Many times, white drive-thru customers are distracted by many things, including kids, cell phones, driving, eating, putting on makeup, trying to find the location of their wallet/purse, trying to remember to ask for more mild/hot/fire sauce than they'll ever use, etc...

Cell phones, however, seem to be one of the main distractions for most white male and female customers, as you can see by this fictional dialogue of a customer pulling up to the drive-thru:

Customer: *talking on cell phone* Yeah honey, I'm on my way to pick up your industrial size pantyhose...I'm at the drive-thru right now...I'm at Taco Bell...No I didn't pick up Timmy yet...No I don't think you look fat...Honey, really, I've gotta go now...I have to order my food...No I'm not getting you twenty tacos...What do you mean it's just a light snack? That's enough food to last me a week!...Yes, I know it's glandular...Ok, I need to order now...BYE!

Me: *sleeping*

Customer: Hello? Hellllllo? Hello?!?!

Me: Hi, welcome to the Taco Bell Phone Booth, how can I help you?

Next, we have our black customers. One thing I've noticed that is almost always true about them is that they love anything that is not good for them. They will ask for extra meat, extra cheese, extra sour cream, extra everything. Sometimes I think we should offer little packets of Crisco instead of taco sauce for those people who just aren't getting enough cholesterol in their diet.

Also, black customers will often ask for fruity sodas, like Fruit Punch, Hi-C, Lemonade, Orange, Purple, OranguTang, and other sugary drinks. So basically, black customers will typically order the most unhealthy, cholesterol-filled, and/or sugary food they can get their hands on.

Coming in at number three are the Asian customers, or should I say, Asian customer. For some reason, many Asians do not pronounce the letter "s" when it used at the end of a word to show plurality. This can make it especially hard for the person taking their order, because on top of the lost "s", Asian accents are not the easiest accents to understand sometimes, so this oftentimes results in some greatly botched orders.

Fictitious Example:

Customer: I want two taco, three burrito no onion, two cheese "qwessadilluh", and two coke.

Me: Ok, what size Pepsi's did you want?

Customer: No Pepsi! Coke!!

Me: We don't have Coke.

Customer: Ok fine, two medium Pepsi.

Me: Ok, so I have a taco, a green burrito with no onions, a quesadilla, and two medium Pepsi's.

Customer: NOOO!!! Two taco, three burrito, two quesadilla, two Coke...or Pepsi!

Me: Ok, would you like any hummus with that?

Last but certainly not least, we have our good friends, the Mexicans. Oftentimes, Mexican families are very big and have a lot of mouths to feed, so they come to the drive-thru looking for a lot of food, and even more hot sauce. And since they are coming to a Mexican restaurant, many times they are under the false impression that the drive-thru order taker can speak fluent Spanish. Take myself for example. I can speak enough Spanish to take most orders, but when they start using really complicated vocabulary and phrases, sometimes there can be some problems.

Customer: Me da tres burrito supremes sin cebollas, un taco con crema, dos tacos suaves con pollo, y dos Cokas medianas sin hielo. (Give me three burrito supremes without onions, a taco with sour cream, 2 chicken soft tacos, and two medium Cokes without ice.)

Me: Algo mas Senorita? (Anything else Ma'am?)

Customer: Yo soy un hombre!!! (I'm a man!)

Me: Lo siento Senor! Me encanta su perro! (I'm sorry sir! I love your dog!)

Customer: Mande?!? (What?!?)

Me: Me gusta bailar. (I like to dance.)

Customer: Da me mi comida! Andale! (Give me my food! Hurry up!)

Me: Salud! (Gesundheit!)

Lastly, I have one pet peeve that I have come to realize over the years, and it isn't specific to any particular race of customers. I hate it when people lick their fingers in order to separate their money. I mean, I can understand how it does help, and it's fine if people can do it while controlling the amount of saliva they are spreading around that dollar bill which I am going to have to touch. But what I hate is when people generously lick their thumb, as one would do if there was some spilled BBQ sauce on it, smear it all over the bill, and eagerly hand it to me as if they think I'm just waiting to touch their dinero drool.

In fact, I'd prefer that they smear BBQ sauce on the money instead. At least that way I could have something to eat while I'm waiting to go on my break.

How To Age 5 Years In 5 Seconds And Still Look Young

Last Tuesday, I was talking to one of my bosses at work, Reyna. I don't remember what we were talking about, but at one point, she asked me how old I was. This is how the conversation went:

Reyna: How old are you? 15?
Me: *raises eyebrows*
Reyna: 16?
Me: *blank stare*
Reyna: 17?
Me: *blank stare*
Reyna: 18?
Me: *starts to laugh*
Reyna: 19?
Me: *shakes head*
Reyna: 20?
Me: Do I look 15 to you?
Reyna: *laughs* Well, I don't know.
Me: I'm 20.
Reyna: *looks surprised* Really? You look younger.


Maybe that's why kids seem to be magnetically drawn to me, because I look so young that they think I'm one of them. I even took out my wallet and showed Reyna my driver's license, because she didn't believe I was 20.

I guess I should be flattered, but I'm just confused as to why she started at 15. Taco Bell doesn't even hire at 15, unless they are illegal aliens with fake IDs, then it's fair game.

In fact, other people at my work have asked me what high school I go to. And when I tell them I'm in college, they are surprised that someone as wacky as I am at work can sit still long enough to even attend clown college.

Speaking of college, did I mention...?


THE SEMESTER IS OVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SCHOOL IS OUT!!!!!!!!!!!!! PARTY TIME!!!!!!!!!!!! EXCELLENT!!!!!!!!!!! WOO WOO WOO WOO WOO *PICK SLIDE*

Illiteracy For Dummies

Let me preface this by saying that I love to read and write. I taught myself how to read at an early age, and though I haven't been reading as much as I would like lately, I still enjoy the experience of reading a book cover-to-cover, which is the style nowadays. I've enjoyed writing since 11th grade, when I wrote the poo-flinging monkey story, and I've been writing more seriously ever since I started this blog, which was nearly a year ago.

I guess I just have a knack for reading and writing. I don't know how else to explain it. All I know is, I must have something at least remotely special, because from what I've seen in my creative writing class this semester, reading and writing does not come naturally to a lot of people.

Take for instance our good friend, who will henceforth be called Evian. Or should I say, evïaN?Evian's writing talent has been mentioned on this blog once before, in my "The Grammar Police are on Duty" blog. He is a bright young man in my class who wrote the following educated comment about my short story, Darkside.

He wrote: "I came in late to class and only herd 1/4 of it. and new what this story was aimin toward. Awsome delivery soft and the begging hard punch in the middle and smooth drive at the end."

So when I heard that Evian was going to have his own short story read in class, I simply couldn't wait. And believe me, it did not disappoint. Well, grammatically, it was a travesty and an insult to the entire English language and all things sacred, but in the terms of being nonsensical and absolutely laughable to read, it did not disappoint.

Before I get to the main point of this blog, I just wanted to share some actual quotes from Evian's story, and analyze them. Rest assured that I have proofread these and they appear on this page exactly as they were "written" by Evian.

"We awoke in the morning so tired from the week we woke up at 12:00pm we went to hike up to a mountain that was only 20 minutes from the cabin and we toke two roles of Film in each camera we had two."

"We awoke in the morning so tired from the week"
OK STOP!!! The sentence actually makes sense up to this point, and is grammatically correct, more or less. Actually, compared to the rest of the story, this is a Pulitzer Prize quality sentence. But no, Evian had to continue on...

"We awoke in the morning so tired from the week we woke up at 12:00pm"
Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but since when did 12:00 pm, AKA "noon", become "the morning"? I was under the impression that 12:00 pm was the start of a time of day called "the afternoon", also known as when Sean prefers to wake up. Personally, I don't think that the day should start until 12:00 pm, to ensure that all us night owls get enough sleep every night. But like I say, sleep is for the weak.

"We awoke in the morning so tired from the week we woke up at 12:00pm we went to hike up to a mountain that was only 20 minutes from the cabin"
It is unfortunate that poor Evian had to type this masterpiece on a computer that was made before punctuation was invented. Otherwise, this essay might actually make an itsy-bitsy, teensy-weensy, itty-bitty, teeny-weeny bit of sense.

"...and we toke two roles of Film in each camera we had two."
First off, if you write like that, film isn't the only thing you're toking. I guess all that talk about film and cameras made Evian confused and thought he was talking about movie roles for a second. And why he took the time to capitalize Film when the rest of the sentence is already beyond repair baffles me.

Although I am impressed that he stayed in the past tense throughout the entire sentence. I'll give him that much.

As if that sentence wasn't bad enough, it is time for quite possibly the most ambiguous sentence ever written, courtesy of Evian.

"The wolf made a weird growl like two snowboarders around November I knew it was close to Christmas."

I love this sentence. Let's take a look at this as it is literally written.

First off, we have the wolf. The wolf made a weird (very descriptive word choice there, Evian) growl. The growl sounded like two snowboarders. Not only did it sound like two snowboarders, but it sounded like two snowboarders during the month of November, implying that snowboarders make different growling noises depending on what month it is. Because the narrator knows what the weird growl of two snowboarders in November sounds like, he is able to discern that Christmas is close, because he is also equipped with the knowledge that Christmas occurs sometime around the month of November.

Believe it or not, Evian wrote a 7 page double spaced story, with sentences just like those. What's even more amazing is that he actually figured out how to include double spacing in his paper when he can't even figure out how to use a comma.


Which brings me to my point. How can people get so far in school and yet be so ignorant when it comes to writing a simple sentence that doesn't contain glaring errors such as these? So I thought about it. I think the reason is that they goofed off too much in their earlier years of education, so that if and when they actually get to college, they are so far behind that they are actually more ignorant now than they were several years ago. So I think I may have come up with a solution.

Continue teaching English classes in junior high and high school for the few students who actually come to school to learn. But, in addition, for the less motivated students who maybe don't do as well in their English classes because they don't take the time or effort to do the work and learn the material, require them to take a class in the ever-growing field of Illiteracy. In this course, students will be taught how not to read and write, and they will be assigned homework requiring them to not read or write at all.

Now, you may be wondering what my reasoning for this is. As you know, students hate homework, just like cats hate dogs, fat people hate stairs, democrats hate republicans, ignorance hates knowledge (What? I didn't mean anything by putting those last two sets right next to each other! How dare you suggest such a thing!), and so forth. And if you are a fat democratic teacher who loves dogs, I'm sorry, but no one likes you.

Anyway, my reasoning for wanting courses in Illiteracy taught in school is that the students who don't do their work in school will be totally thrown off by this class. Their rebellious nature will become so confused because they want to do the exact opposite of what the teacher wants, but in this case, the teacher wants them to learn poorly and do nothing, so what are they going to do? Naturally, if they truly want to keep their rebellious allure, they'll have to do the opposite of what the teacher wants. That means they have to learn the correct way to read and write, and to practice reading and writing outside of class since their assigned homework is to not read or write.

Because you see, teenagers, for the most part, are idiots. And seeing as how I'm now 20, I can finally say this without insulting myself. I hated being associated with the word teenager, because it had such negative connotations that I didn't follow, like hating your parents and doing drugs for example, and I didn't like being blindly put in that generalization since those things didn't apply to me.

But anyway, back to my plan. Since teenagers are too busy trying to act cool, and since rebelling is cool, they'll get so caught up in rebelling that before they know it, the semester will be over and they'll have done more homework and learned more in their Illiteracy class than in all previous grades combined. It's almost too simple.

And for the people who don't feel the need to rebel in order to be accepted, they can continue on taking their normal classes and learning their way to college, so they can be the ones laughing at the "cool" rebellious kids who have suddenly made the awkward transition into "stupid" young adults. I'm so glad I'm not cool.

Adolescence

Last Tuesday, my two plays that I wrote were acted out in front of my creative writing class. "Meet the Blogs", and "Adolescence". I have never heard my teacher laugh so hard during the entire semester as she did when "Meet the Blogs" was read and acted out by a few of the students. She was laughing uncontrollably during a few parts. She said that she loved the Volkswheel part, and she really cracked up at the "stoned" part. Gee, I wonder why? At the end of the Blog play, the whole class let out a long, "Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwww".

The entire class really enjoyed both plays, and I had several students come up to me during the break and after class to say how much they enjoyed them and how good they were and how funny they were. One of the girls who acted out the Blog play told me how easy it was to read.

So, before I say anything more about my second play, Adolescence, here it is.


Adolescence

While walking around the grounds of a local middle school, three friends are talking. Fred, Billy, and Wayne have known each other since elementary school, and have hung out with each other nearly everyday for the last several years. They are still at that tender age where they are trying to figure out how to be cool and accepted by others, especially girls, yet, like most teenagers, they don’t have the slightest clue about how to be “cool”.

Billy: So…what did you end up doing with all those goose feathers?
Wayne: We chased down that Johnson kid when he was riding his bike home and glued them on him.
Fred: Stupid nerd. He got what was coming to him...Always wearing those stupid glasses.
Wayne: Yeah seriously, we should have made him eat the feathers instead.
Billy: Why do you guys always pick on little kids like that? What did he ever do to you?
Fred: He breathes my air, doofus. I don’t share my air with nerds.
Wayne: Yeah, he’s a little punk, he wouldn’t let me copy his homework today, so Mrs. Bungmeyer sent me to detention for not turning in my 17th straight assignment.
Fred: And I saw him eating an apple the other day. An apple! Give me a break, I’m surprised his mom doesn’t follow him around school so she can change his diaper too.
Billy: What’s wrong with apples?
Fred: Apples are fruit. Fruit is nerd food. If you eat apples, you are a nerd. Do I need to draw you a diagram?
Wayne: Hey look, there’s Donna!
Fred: Oooooh, she’s wearing that red shirt again.
Wayne: Are you ever going to ask her out?
Fred: Oh come on Wayne, she isn’t the type of girl you just ask out.
Billy: What do you do then? Wait for her to ask you out?
Fred: No dingwad, if I just went up and asked her, she would probably say no. She doesn’t know me well enough to understand the Fred Charm.
Billy: The Fred Charm? Are you kidding?
Fred: What Billy? You think you can get a date with her?
Wayne: Billy couldn’t get a date with a calendar.
Fred: Haha, burn!!! High five!
Wayne: Shya!

Billy: You guys don’t think I could get a date with Donna?
Fred: Billy, let’s put it this way. Donna is a majestic blue ocean, and you’re pond scum left over from a rainy day.
Wayne: Whoa Fred, where’d you come up with that gem?
Fred: It’s the Fred Charm baby. Whenever it kicks in, it makes my vocabulary…bigger…by…a lot.
Billy: Uh huh…
Fred: What’s your problem Billy? Just because I’m a super stud doesn’t mean you have to be jealous.
Billy: How can you be a super stud if you’re too much of a pansy to ask out Donna?
Fred: Who’re you calling a pansy? You’re just a stupid dinglewuss know-nothing.
Wayne: Hey now, let’s keep the profanity down to a minimum here guys, no need to get all excited over nothing?
Fred: Billy’s dissin’ my manhood dude, he called me a pansy.
Billy: Oh get over it Fred, Donna doesn’t want to date a crybaby.
Fred: Don’t make me beat the snot out of you Billy. You know I can too.
Wayne: Come on Fred, anyone can beat up Billy. He’s half the size of anyone in sixth grade. Even the girls push him around sometimes.
Billy: Can we just drop it and move on?
Fred: Once you say that I am a super stud.
Billy: (sarcastically) You’re a super stud.
Fred: You didn’t mean that!!! Say it like you mean it, or I’ll give you a dreaded Rear Admiral.
Wayne: *gasps*
Billy: You wouldn’t dare.
Fred: I’ll do it if you don’t say it.
Billy: Y-Y-You’re a s-super s-s-stud.
Fred: Scream it at the top of your lungs.
Billy: YOU ARE A SUPER STUD!!!!
Wayne: Fred! Donna looked over!
Fred: Oh crap, act cool, act cool. Be calm…
Wayne: Dude, she’s coming over here.
Billy: What’s the matter super stud? Got your panties in a bunch?
Fred: Shut up, durfwad.

Donna: Hey guys, what’s up?
Wayne: Hey.
Billy: Hi.
Fred: H-H-Hiiiiiii…
Donna: *looks at Billy* So, I hear you’re a super stud.
Billy: Wha? I…uhh…
Fred: NOO!! I’m the super stu…I mean, uhh, hi, my name’s Fred.
Donna: *keeps looking at Billy* Uh huh. So, what’s your name?
Billy: Billy.
Donna: Billy? I like that name. I’m Donna.
Billy: That’s a nice name too.
Donna: Thanks! You’re so sweet.
Billy: I, uhh, like your shirt too.
Donna: Do you?!?! Red is my favorite color! Say, do you want to come over to my house after school and hang out for a while maybe?
Billy: Sure, that would be cool.
Donna: Ok great, I’ll meet you outside in the amphitheater after lunch.
Billy: Ok…bye.
Donna: Bye bye Billy. *leaves*
Fred: *mumbling* You piece of monkey puke…
Wayne: Way to go Billy!!!
Fred: …kill you and your stupid name…
Billy: Thanks Wayne, I can’t believe that just happened!
Fred: …rip off your arm and shove it…
Wayne: So what do you think you’ll do at her house?
Fred: …twist it so far you’ll have to have it surgically removed…
Billy: I dunno, maybe watch a movie, go get something to eat.
Fred: …never walk the same way again…
Wayne: That’s so cool dude!
Fred: …dogs will look at you and run away whimpering…
Wayne: Fred! What are you mumbling about?
Fred: Oh, nothing.

Billy: He’s just jealous. Don’t mind him.
Fred: Shut up turdmeister.
Wayne: Billy and Donna sittin’ in a tree…
Fred: Shut up dorkwang.
Billy: Well, looks like I’d better get ready to go on my DATE with DONNA.
Fred: I’m gonna beat you so hard…
Wayne: Ok, bye Billy, have fun man.
Billy: See ya Wayne, farewell Fred. Don’t wait up. *leaves*
Wayne: Don’t worry Fred, there will be plenty of other girls for you. You’re only 13.
Fred: Only 13? You mean, I’m already 13 and I haven’t even had a girlfriend yet!
Wayne: I’m 14, and I haven’t had a girlfriend.
Fred: Yeah, but I’m a super stud, and it’s different, and…*trails off*
Wayne: Life goes on Fred.
Fred: But why does my life always have to suck though? I hate being a teenager.



My class actually liked this one more than I expected. I wrote this play rather quickly. I basically just came up with an idea and started writing, and in less than a couple of hours, I was finished.

They really laughed at the whole "apples are nerd fruit" part, Fred's uncharacteristic metaphor, and Fred's mumbling. When Donna ended up ignoring Fred and going for Billy, a few girls in the class gasped and got all excited. And at the end of the class, if you remember my blog about the comments I got from my Darkside short story, the "Flaming Cross" guy stood up and said, "Sean is busting out this drama stuff...A+ for that man!"

I guess you could say...

*In a Garth voice* "I like to write."

Meet The Blogs

It is finally finished. My first screenplay, written for my creative writing class. It will be acted in front of my class this coming Tuesday, and I will make a blog with reaction from my classmates when that happens. This took way too long to write. I hope you enjoy it!


Meet The Blogs

Narrator: After a hard day working in the local cavern, Blog the caveman returns to his cave. He lives in prehistoric times (the Stone Age to be exact) with his wife, Blogerella, and their daughter, Blogetta. Blog is of less than average intelligence, Blogerella is his overly critical and nagging wife, and Blogetta is their talkative teenage daughter. The scene begins as Blog enters the cave…

Blog: Hullo dear.
Blogerella: Blog!! Did you wipe your feet before you came in the cave? You got mud all over the dirt!
Blog: Blog sorry, Blog step in doo-doo.
Blogerella: Well, get the broom and clean it up.
Blog: Yes dear.

Narrator: Blogetta enters the cave.

Blogetta: Hi Daddy, hi Mommy, I…eww, what’s that smell???
Blogerella: Your father stepped in a brontosaurus burger.
Blogetta: Ohh Daddy, not again!
Blog: Blog no fall in this time.
Blogetta: Eww, I remember when that happened. Mom wouldn’t let you in the cave for two weeks! Your stench withered the plants in the garden!
Blogerella: Not to mention scaring half of our neighbors away.
Blogetta: I know!!! How was I supposed to get a date when my dad was sitting outside the cave, covered in dino dung?
Blogerella: There there honey, you’ll find someone soon enough.
Blogetta: Yeah right, I’ll probably end up with that guy who throws rocks at pterodactyls for fun…what’s his name?
Blog: Bloggo, he have good aim. Blog try to throw rock one time, but Blog miss and hit neighbor’s Volkswheel.
Blogetta: That’s nice dad. Anyway, I’ll see you guys later. I’m going to a rock concert with my friends and afterwards we’re gonna go get stoned.
Blogerella: Excuse me young lady?? What do you mean by “get stoned?”
Blogetta: C’mon Mom…Getting stoned is slang for a game I play all the time with my friends where one person has to avoid being hit by small rocks that are thrown by everyone else. It’s not like we have any good games to play – it’s the Stone Age. Why? What did you think it was?

***************

Narrator: Later that night, Blog and Blogerella are sitting at the dining room rock, having an argument.

Blogerella: …and if you don’t clean up that mess right now, when I’m done with you, you’ll need to see a roctologist to remove all the boulders from where I’m gonna stick them!!!
Blog: Yes dear! Blog go clean up now!!

Narrator: Blog leaves the room. Blogetta enters the cave.

Blogetta: Guess what?? I have a boyfriend!
Blogerella: You have a boyfriend???
Blogetta: Yeah!!! Isn’t it great?!?
Blogerella: Who is he?
Blogetta: I…uhh…well, he’s really nice, I met him tonight.
Blogerella: Uh huh, and what is his name?
Blogetta: His name? Well, umm, his name is…umm, Flog.
Blogerella: FLOG?!!?!!?
Blogetta: Yeah…he’s really not as bad as you think…
Blogerella: Not as bad as I think?!? Flog is a rocksucker! He beat my pet saber-toothed kitty with a stick and then drank the mammoth milk I put out for her.
Blogetta: Well, he is a little immature at times, but…
Blogerella: At times? I saw him moon a triceratops once! I’ll bet he learned his lesson after that one though. That poor dinosaur’s horn got lodged in so far that it nearly broke off when…
Blogetta: Oh Mom!!! That’s disgusting!
Blogerella: I know it is honey, that’s why I don’t think you should be dating him.

Narrator: Blog enters the room.

Blogerella: Blog! Our daughter wants to start dating Flog.
Blog: Blog no like Flog. Flog throw rocks at Blog all the time. Bad Flog.
Blogerella: Yeah, see? C’mon Blogetta, you can do better than Flog.
Blogetta: I knew you guys would act like this. Just because he’s a little different doesn’t mean he’s a bad person.
Blogerella: He’s more than a little different. He has a boar tusk nose piercing! He even braids his armpit hair for crying out loud!
Blogetta: Yeah well, so he is a little eccentric…
Blogerella: He eats raw woolly mammoth eggs, shell and all.
Blogetta: Eww, really?
Blogerella: I even saw him drinking out of the tar pits once.
Blogetta: Hmm, maybe you’re right Mom…
Blog: She always right.

***************

Narrator: The next day, Blog goes outside to go hunting for dinner. As he hunts, he chants this prehistoric song to himself.


Blog: Blog go hunting for triceratops
So family can eat dino chops
Blog run up to try and hit it
Blog no look and fall in a pit

The pit wasn’t so bad per se
Except for the spot where Blog lay
Piles and piles of dung
This’s where it gets flung

Blog escape from pit and decide to go hunt brontosaurus
Less chance of ending up with a horn wound and a sore ass
But Blog realize brontosaurus are big
They make Blog look like a little twig

Maybe Blog will go hunt something smaller
Instead of hunting something much much taller
Blog better hurry up and get something fast
Then maybe Blogerella will be happy at last

Narrator: Blog returns home to his cave after the sun has set, carrying something indistinguishable in his arms. He is greeted by Blogerella. Blogetta is also in the room.

Blogerella: You stupid Neanderthal! What could you have possibly been hunting that it took you all day?
Blog: I bring many tasty stones for you to cook your famous Rock n’ Casserole.
Blogerella: And it took you that long to bring home a few measly rocks?
Blog: But…Blog…
Blogerella: But nothing! I have had it up to here with…
Blogetta: Mom, why are you always so hard on Dad? He always tries his best and I think that you should be more understanding of him and less critical and negative.
Blogerella: Who asked you? This doesn’t concern you!
Blogetta: Yes it does Mom, I’m a part of this family too. And there are better ways to solve problems than yelling and criticizing.
Blogerella: I don’t have to listen to this. I can’t believe it, my daughter is telling me how I should live my life. Since when did you become Miss-Know-It-All?
Blogetta: I’m just saying you’ll get a better response from Dad if you stop yelling at him. I don’t even remember the last time I heard you say “Thank you” when he did something for you, or even a simple “I love you” from time to time.
Blogerella: That’s because he never does anything for me besides screw things up!
Blogetta: Come on Mom, you know that’s not true. Look, all I’m asking is that you’ll try to be more positive with Dad. Congratulate him instead of criticizing him. If he does something wrong, help him learn the right way to do it, instead of yelling at him for being ignorant.
Blogerella: (Sighs) Okay fine. Blog, I’m sorry I yelled at you. I’ll try to be more understanding and positive with you in the future…I…love you.
Blog: Blog love you too.