I Hate Needles

My wife and I intend to be responsible parents, so we decided to get some life insurance to make sure our fetus will be provided for in the event I die in a tragic Whirlyball-related accident (currently the #1 cause of death for Zillionaires.) This was a reluctant decision on my part, and not just because my wife and the fetus would soon have a vested financial interest in my death. I was hesitant because the insurance company required my wife and I to undergo a blood test before our coverage would begin.

Now, for the record, I hate needles. This is the main reason I didn’t opt for a paternity test when I found out my wife is pregnant. I decided that even if the child bears no resemblance to me, or is of another ethnicity, or has a weak mastery of the Force… I’ll choose to delude myself into thinking the kid is mine simply to avoid facing a needle.

Concerned Friend: “Dude, your kid doesn’t look anything like you…”
Me: (awkward laughing) “Ha ha… That means he has a chance in life…”
Concerned Friend: “Ok man, whatever you say.”

Understand though, this has nothing to do with the bleeding involved. Hell, I bleed all the time. Instead of using the needle, I pleaded with the nurse giving the test to let me tinker in the garage for five minutes, as invariably I’d come back bleeding from somewhere.

But she insisted on the needle. After seeing her tools, it became clear. First off, why is it that nurses and dentists feel compelled to set out all of their pain-inducing instruments in plain sight? Is the whole process not unpleasant enough that it needs an element of psychological torture to it? The worst part is that it’s simply impossible to focus your attention on anything but the sharp and shiny tools in front of you. The nurse could have been showing spectacular cleavage and I wouldn’t have noticed… that’s how bad it was.

I was transfixed on the needle, as I realized the device was really more of a spigot. The “needle” actually had a little valve on it so the nurse can shut off your profuse bleeding while she changes vials.

That’s right: Vials. Plural. It’s like she’s doing her winter canning or something. I was going to be tapped like a keg.

Sure enough, she pulled out a heroin-user strip of rubber. She tied it tightly on my arm, causing my veins to bulge out prominently. I couldn’t take it. I asked the nurse to give me some nitrous oxide to knock me out. I pleaded with her to prick me in a less-sensitive area… I suggested my ass, like they do for shots. She didn’t budge.

And then she injected me. My eyes were closed, but I could feel the blood flowing out of my arm. Why do needles have to be so sharp and pointy? Honestly, I’d rather have blood drawn with a switchblade. At least then all my whimpering and theatrics would be justified.

It was over two minutes later. Apparently, she was able to top off a few milk jugs with my blood in that time. My arm felt weak, but the nurse refused to put my arm in a sling. Like my wife, she had no sympathy for me.

So there will be no flu shots for me this winter, or any winter for that matter. And I’ll pass on donating blood too. And, I don’t see how anyone can be an intravenous drug user. The same goes for diabetics. If I was put in the position of having to give myself a shot of insulin, or die… I’d be pretty indifferent. Both are about equally undesirable in my book. It would probably come down to a coin flip.

The Xbox Headset Graveyard

Xbox Headset Gaveyard

A long time ago I spoke of the daily battle of life. C’mon, you remember. The grueling pursuit to secure a small portion of sanity during our brief stay in this cruel world. You know, the one where our only hope is to shine as bright as possible while the dwindling fuse of the cosmic big bang burns down. Ring any bells yet?

Well the thing is, I forgot to pay tribute in that commentary to the fallen soldiers, our gone but not forgotten comrades. In other words, those whose necks have already been guillotined by the sharp steel blade of time. In that vast sea of corpses, I know of no product or commodity that has seen a worse fate than that of the original Xbox Communicator headset. The number of casualties is astounding, yet profound and inspiring at the same time. But the struggle continues and I know for a fact that right now, as I type this, more death and disfigurement is underway.

Look within yourselves Zillionaires, for now is a moment of reflection, reverence, and respect for the dead and wounded. I present the Xbox Headset Graveyard photo gallery:

The Chizzler’s Headset

Chizzler's Headset
War is ugly and this photo proves it. A mixture human hair, skunk fur, muck, and duct tape keep headset together at the moment. I feel half dead just wearing it.

Send me photos of your dead or dying headsets and I’ll add them to this post. Or post an epitaph in the comments. Rest in peace, Xbox Communicators.

The Best Xbox Headset For Free Phone Calls

Logitech Xbox Headset

Picture a night of Halo 2 mayhem. Sweat dripping down each brow, eyes glued to the television, constant bantering between players. The end of a round has come. Everyone pauses to communicate. Somebody says, “Wait for me, I’ve got to use the restroom.” Unfortunately in order to speak, you have to be connected to your headset, which is connected to the controller, which is then connected to the Xbox, meaning you have to be in the same room as your battle station. Those days are over my friend. Go get yourself the Logitech wireless xbox headset.

After the round, I walk across my apartment slowly with no intention to rush due to my wireless freedom. I can still hear the action in the kitchen while I crack open a Zywiec (polish beer). It’s a constant portal into the virtual world at all times. As I guzzle my beverage an idea comes upon me.

The next morning I fired up the Xbox and created a party in Halo 2. Then I put on my headset, turned off the television, but kept the Xbox on, and walked around the house doing my morning chores. About an hour or so later, while I was brushing my teeth, I hear Chizzler on the other end. We were able to have a conversation without calling each other, or better yet, knowing when it was about to start.

I suspect in the future, everyone will be wearing headsets and communicating this way. There won’t be phone calls anymore, anytime you want to speak to somebody, you just say “Where you at?” Personally, I can’t wait for the future. You too can join in on the fun. I’m never going back to wired communication.

The New Zillionaire on the Block

Truth be told, Internet Zillionaire began as a scientific experiment: As far as writing ability goes, could we produce better content than a group of monkeys chained to typewriters?

While the scientific community watched our experiment unfold, we soon realized that matching the professionalism and work ethic of monkeys would be nearly impossible for us. They were better groomed. They were more punctual. The monkeys even had fewer episodes of throwing feces at each other. Clearly, we were in over our heads. Ultimately, when the monkeys were able to reproduce the entire works of Shakespeare, we admitted defeat.

Fortunately, 9Rules wasn’t interested in sonnets or prose. They were more than willing to feature our disjointed thoughts on remote controls, wedding vows, and saving the universe on their site. And we were pleased to be able to reach a new audience that wouldn’t hold us to the impossible standard that primates set. So here we are, the newest members of the 9Rules network, eager to give you a look at life through the eyes of imitation high-rollers