<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-870661814614690895</id><updated>2011-08-09T16:43:16.456-07:00</updated><category term='In the News'/><category term='Memories'/><category term='Guess What Happened'/><category term='Advice'/><category term='Random Thought'/><title type='text'>Orphan Fish</title><subtitle type='html'>Jus' thinkin'...</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://orphanfish.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/870661814614690895/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://orphanfish.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Malady Pines</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11231949197087117762</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>11</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-870661814614690895.post-4983949040534641903</id><published>2010-07-07T22:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-12-14T13:47:59.421-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Ice Cream Hair</title><content type='html'>Once I bought an ice cream cone. It was vanilla. As I began to eat it, I noticed there  was a tiny hair on top of it. It didn't really bother me too much, so I started to take it off...&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;As I grabbed the hair and began pulling, it got continued to get longer and longer. It ended up being, like,  8 inches of hair that coiled all up in my ice cream cone.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;This may or may not have happened to me. It was a long time ago. It's possible somebody told me about it happening to them and I have simply just stolen their history.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/870661814614690895-4983949040534641903?l=orphanfish.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/870661814614690895/posts/default/4983949040534641903'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/870661814614690895/posts/default/4983949040534641903'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://orphanfish.blogspot.com/2010/07/ice-cream-hair_07.html' title='Ice Cream Hair'/><author><name>Malady Pines</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11231949197087117762</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-870661814614690895.post-8409031325561980512</id><published>2010-01-05T23:02:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-22T18:16:01.828-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Advice'/><title type='text'>Relationship Advice</title><content type='html'>Boys shouldn't use exclamation points in their emails to girls. It makes them sound excited, sensitive and needy. And that's bad. Emotionless, cold-heartedness is what you want to convey. And you do that with periods or ellipses. Never exclamation points or question marks.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/870661814614690895-8409031325561980512?l=orphanfish.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/870661814614690895/posts/default/8409031325561980512'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/870661814614690895/posts/default/8409031325561980512'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://orphanfish.blogspot.com/2010/01/relationship-advice.html' title='Relationship Advice'/><author><name>Malady Pines</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11231949197087117762</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-870661814614690895.post-5803353855001373134</id><published>2009-07-22T22:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-02-27T23:30:56.249-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='In the News'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Memories'/><title type='text'>3 Years to Life</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;This Jr. High teacher got to sentenced to 3 years to life for having sex with her 13 year old student. That's quite a big window there. This kid also had sex with another teacher at that school. Wonder what she's going to get. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.ksl.com/?nid=148&amp;amp;sid=7245167"&gt;http://www.ksl.com/?nid=148&amp;amp;sid=7245167 &lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This is my Alma Mater (can Jr. Highs be Alma Maters?!). None of the teachers there wanted to have sex with me. Once a teacher held me after class, and I thought, woh, maybe this is it. But nope. She just told me she had intercepted notes from students about how I smelled bad. Then she gave me a lecture about deodorant and how my body's producing new odors as I age and all that nonsense. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Good. I didn't want to have sex with her anyway.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/870661814614690895-5803353855001373134?l=orphanfish.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/870661814614690895/posts/default/5803353855001373134'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/870661814614690895/posts/default/5803353855001373134'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://orphanfish.blogspot.com/2010/01/3-years-to-life_05.html' title='3 Years to Life'/><author><name>Malady Pines</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11231949197087117762</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-870661814614690895.post-4579671886952733004</id><published>2009-07-07T11:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-28T21:18:13.798-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Random Thought'/><title type='text'>Uncle Earl</title><content type='html'>I'm an only child. Twenty-seven years old. It &lt;i&gt;just &lt;/i&gt;hit me that I am never going to be an uncle. I guess I always knew it in the back of my mind; but I never really confronted it. I'm never going to have nieces or nephews. Never going to be Cool Uncle Steven that defies his siblings' wishes and feeds their kids unhealthy, teeth-rotting food that makes them fat. It's actually kinda depressing. Like, really. I'm not even kidding. It's probably not as bad as being told you can never have kids, but it's gotta be close.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/870661814614690895-4579671886952733004?l=orphanfish.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/870661814614690895/posts/default/4579671886952733004'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/870661814614690895/posts/default/4579671886952733004'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://orphanfish.blogspot.com/2009/07/uncle-earl.html' title='Uncle Earl'/><author><name>Malady Pines</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11231949197087117762</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-870661814614690895.post-3972380558940512002</id><published>2009-05-27T16:01:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-12T13:23:52.289-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Memories'/><title type='text'>Quills</title><content type='html'>When I was about 8 years old, I spent the summer barefoot. Then I stepped on a bee... &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Some years later, at age 12 or so, I went barefoot again. This time I stepped on a porcupine quill. Couldn't get the bloody thing out, either. I was screaming so loud as I tried to pull it out that my mother decided to take me to the clinic. They yanked it out and gave me a lecture on the dangers of going shoeless. I also ended up having to cancel my plans with a buddy to see &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Mask_(film)"&gt;The Mask&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;However, since then, I've discovered the awesomeness of sandals. They're like this beautiful compromise between going barefoot and wearing shoes. Ya don't have to deal with the shittiness of socks at all... unless you're one of those weird people that wear socks with their sandals. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;If you've never tried &lt;i&gt;sandals&lt;/i&gt;, I highly recommend them. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/870661814614690895-3972380558940512002?l=orphanfish.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/870661814614690895/posts/default/3972380558940512002'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/870661814614690895/posts/default/3972380558940512002'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://orphanfish.blogspot.com/2009/05/quills.html' title='Quills'/><author><name>Malady Pines</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11231949197087117762</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-870661814614690895.post-2597497292665799931</id><published>2009-04-20T15:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-27T16:03:42.032-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Yard Work Sucks</title><content type='html'>I have never done yard work. Have never mowed a lawn or raked a leaf. I grew up in an apartment building; still live in one today, actually. It's sort of awesome. Though I wish I had a puppy. I've never had a pet bigger than a hamster... and he hated me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/870661814614690895-2597497292665799931?l=orphanfish.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/870661814614690895/posts/default/2597497292665799931'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/870661814614690895/posts/default/2597497292665799931'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://orphanfish.blogspot.com/2009/04/yard-work-sucks.html' title='Yard Work Sucks'/><author><name>Malady Pines</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11231949197087117762</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-870661814614690895.post-712597735388949444</id><published>2009-03-19T17:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-28T21:22:56.025-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Guess What Happened'/><title type='text'>Disturbs</title><content type='html'>I saw &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/David_Draiman"&gt;David Draiman&lt;/a&gt; at Walgreens the other day. I've always imagined what it would be like if I ran into the frontman of a band I didn't like. I'd be all, like, criticizin' their abilities and mocking their songwriting skills &amp;amp; such. Even bringing them to tears in some instances. But nope, that didn't happen at all. I just stood there by the condoms staring at him while he played with his lip-spikes. Like I was some star-struck 13 year-old girl. I'm pretty displeased with myself. I should have at least asked him to do the wah-ah-ah-ah thing. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But man, this guy even sucks when he's just standing there doing nothing. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/870661814614690895-712597735388949444?l=orphanfish.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/870661814614690895/posts/default/712597735388949444'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/870661814614690895/posts/default/712597735388949444'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://orphanfish.blogspot.com/2009/03/disturbed.html' title='Disturbs'/><author><name>Malady Pines</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11231949197087117762</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-870661814614690895.post-2456366456943959406</id><published>2009-03-17T21:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-12T13:23:41.149-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Memories'/><title type='text'>Disfigured Palm</title><content type='html'>Scott stabbed me in the hand with a pencil in 3rd grade. I still have a piece of the pencil embedded under the skin on my palm. Man, I'm looking at it &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;right now&lt;/span&gt;. Then one day he hit me in the face with a chalkboard eraser and made my nose bleed.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;... Then he moved away.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Then&lt;/span&gt; I was in English class in 12th grade, and guess who came to my class to give a presentation about how he wanted to be a chef. It was Scott. I just kept looking at him and thinking, hey, you don't remember disfiguring my hand do you? I never confronted him about it, though. And I regret it. Over the past 20ish years, I've been the &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;freak&lt;/span&gt; with the piece of pencil in his hand.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/870661814614690895-2456366456943959406?l=orphanfish.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/870661814614690895/posts/default/2456366456943959406'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/870661814614690895/posts/default/2456366456943959406'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://orphanfish.blogspot.com/2009/03/disfigured-palm_17.html' title='Disfigured Palm'/><author><name>Malady Pines</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11231949197087117762</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-870661814614690895.post-4857974069610297629</id><published>2009-02-17T21:27:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-09-28T21:18:51.843-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Random Thought'/><title type='text'>Recovery</title><content type='html'>Why do people think Bipartisanship and Compromise are good things? Sometimes they just seem like adding a dose of &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;wrong&lt;/span&gt; to something that could be right. What if an investment of only $10 separates Economic Recovery from unrepairable Economic Collapse; but that $10 had been conceded to appease a party that was ultimately made up of a bunch of yellabellies? Or the opposite. What. If. &lt;div&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;My way or the highway&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;Take no prisoners. &lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;All or nothing. &lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;...and so on and so forth. The way it should be, g'dammit! F'reals. &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Recognize!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/870661814614690895-4857974069610297629?l=orphanfish.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/870661814614690895/posts/default/4857974069610297629'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/870661814614690895/posts/default/4857974069610297629'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://orphanfish.blogspot.com/2009/02/recovery_17.html' title='Recovery'/><author><name>Malady Pines</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11231949197087117762</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-870661814614690895.post-1990849985061282652</id><published>2009-02-13T16:39:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-09-12T13:23:31.052-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Memories'/><title type='text'>Silly Putty</title><content type='html'>Back when I was a youngster, my father told me that if &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I can't see them, they can't see me. &lt;/span&gt;He was giving me tips on how to play Hide-and-Seek. That phrase stuck with me and up until recently, to avoid people I didn't want to talk to anymore, I would just turn and face the other direction. It didn't work, because they could still see the back of my head. They'd be all wondering, da hell&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/870661814614690895-1990849985061282652?l=orphanfish.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/870661814614690895/posts/default/1990849985061282652'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/870661814614690895/posts/default/1990849985061282652'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://orphanfish.blogspot.com/2009/02/silly-putty_13.html' title='Silly Putty'/><author><name>Malady Pines</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11231949197087117762</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-870661814614690895.post-6724972020845737454</id><published>2008-05-10T19:37:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-10T20:06:12.793-07:00</updated><title type='text'>New Blogland</title><content type='html'>Decided to abandon Movable Type and just go with Blogger for the OrphanFish.net blog. Movable Type was just too much of a hassle and not something I felt like investing time in learning. All I really wanted was something compact and simple, and I couldn't seem to get that with MT. This is good enough.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While deleting MT from the site, I decided to just get rid of all the old entries rather than move them again. Most of them were my New Zealand entries, which were sloppily written and, at times, didn't even make that much sense. =) Anyway, that's all for now, I guess. $10 says I never write in this thing again. :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/870661814614690895-6724972020845737454?l=orphanfish.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/870661814614690895/posts/default/6724972020845737454'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/870661814614690895/posts/default/6724972020845737454'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://orphanfish.blogspot.com/2008/05/orphanfish-blog.html' title='New Blogland'/><author><name>Malady Pines</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11231949197087117762</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry></feed>
