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By the way, I give my soul to the devil. Hee-haw.

I Accept
I Accept Even Though I Didn’t Read It Because It Looked Really, Really Long And Boring
I Do Not Accept

So in an attempt to alleviate the boredom that had been plaguing me during the summer doldrums, I decided to hop in a car and go down Miami.

I hate Miami. And I'm not going to deny that. I mean come on... why the hell would anyone besides a tourist/someone who legitimately lives there want to venture there? Now I'm not talking about like Kendall, or Hialeah, or any of those other pseudo-Miami cities... I'm talking Miami-Miami. I hate going there.

***Top 3 Reasons Why Steven Hates Miami***

1) In Miami, motorists have the collective driving skills of dead fish. There are four kinds of Miami drivers: Island drivers, Old People, Native drivers, and Tourists. Island drivers drive at about 750 miles per hour and weave in and out of lanes; and that's them in a drive thru. The only laws they follow are the laws of physics; and if they could break those laws, they would. Old people are usually transplanted New Yorkers who drive cars that could qualify as converted aircraft carriers. They drive 20 miles per hour with the left blinker on, which has been on since they left the dealership in Queens, NY. Native Drivers, meaning people who have lived in Florida for some time, all drive the same way. I am one of them. We all clench the steering wheel really tightly, curse a lot, and pray like crazy: "Oh God, Oh Go... WHAT THE HELL IS THIS ASSHOLE DOING!?!?!" I was once passed by a dirt mover that you would find at a construction sites. Tourists drive their rental cars and drive with the same rules that apply in their country. That could mean you may see them driving on the left side of the road, taking no rights on red, using the sidewalk as a valid lane, and for them car washes are certainly game for passing zones.

Surely, you must have...

Stared at an androgynous person?

Feigned appreciation for Pauly Shore?

Privately mused on Donald Trump’s hair?

Dreamed of shaving David Hasselhoff’s chest?

Made an homage to anything?

Considered returning the Gift of the Magi for store credit?

Pondered cannibalism as a solution to world hunger?

Envied your lazy-ass cat’s lifestyle?

Eaten stale cereal because you and the microwave had an argument?

Skipped to class to go play videogames?

A new study conducted by the University of Florida shows that George W. Bush is good for the average guy’s self-esteem, especially among the more “loserly” ones. The study also found that the nation’s self-esteem is inversely proportional to Bush’s approval ratings.

I went undercover on the street to record the public’s reactions:

• Dan Furrows, a generic guy, stated, “Bush was the first president where I went, ‘Hey, I could do that.’”
• Bobby Smith, a truck driver from Jacksonville, commented, “I always thought being the President was a job requiring great intelligence and diplomatic ability. I thought it involved a firm grasp of world economics, leadership skills, and charisma. Now I know that all you need is money, the right connections, and a moderate amount of geniality. I don’t have to be anything special. I just have to be slightly above mediocrity and wear a good suit.” He continued, “Oh, and male. And white. And Christian. But I’ve got that part down pat.”
• Ted Benson, a white-collar worker and father, stated, “My child is…my child is…well, let’s just say he’s a brain short of Einstein. Heck, he’s a brain short of being human. However, now I have reason not to give up hope. After all, he may get C’s and D’s, but hey, he could be the next President. Now if only I were rich and well-connected.” Benson’s brother commented, “My son, he’s already got a DUI. He’s practically on the road to success already. Now that’s my boy!”

As a kid, I had an irrational fear of the kind of small, scaly creatures you never saw packaged with Barbie or any of her Animal Lovin’ Friends. One night when I was young a gecko decided my bathwater looked like an inviting swimming hole. (Contrary to what Geico would have you believe, geckos are not annoying, insurance-hocking Australians.) What should have been a traumatic experience instead lead to my deciding lizards weren’t so scary after all.

My fascination with small animals had only increased in the dozen or so years, so by the time I had my first run-in with an anole, there were very few vertebrates (and a number of invertebrates) squirrel-size or smaller that I didn’t absolutely adore. I drew the line at any individual animal that was currently carrying bubonic plague, but I have been known to coo over the mangiest of squirrels, some of the less menacing grass snakes, and even a sewer rat I saw scamper across the road one night in Baltimore. I’m sure everyone expected my predilection for small animals to result in an unfortunate wildlife encounter sometime, but I personally had always anticipated losing a finger to a “precious little caiman.”