Publishing hassles

Basically, publishing is such a hassle. You have to deal with a plethora of weak-minded fools who fail to appreciate your brilliance, and are such a stickler for supposed "conventions" that people typically follow when they publish, like using citations or reading other papers. Recently I have been trying to get my work into a very high-profile journal (Woodpeckers at some Paraguayan sites [WASPS]) but have been burdened with constant unnecessary red tape that stands in my way.

For example, everyone at WASPS is such a stickler for citations on statements verifying such and such has been published and where such and such got published. Can't they just realize I know what I'm talking about? Last week I wrote a great paper on the woodpeckers that pound on my house when I try to nap that I was going to send to Ornithologica Paraguayae, but before I could save it, the power went off. I cited it in the WASPS paper anyway. I wrote it, and it had some totally good stuff in there, so I just wrote it up as a citation. I can't be bothered to make sure all of my publications are "real". I can see how that is necessary for lesser biologists who may not be smart enough to think for themselves, but I shouldn't really need facts to backup my statements, they're just obviously correct because I know what I'm talking about. Citations are so worthless. That goes for THE Citations too, man they annoy me.



In fact, why should I be forced to read lesser papers? Why do I even need to cite other people's work, it's basically pointless when I already know everything. I abhor reading, and when someone sends me an email, I generally don't read it. What could they possibly have to tell me that I don't already know? Besides, reading is boring and tiring, if you really want to communicate something to me, you should just send me a picture. So why on earth would I read some crap that somebody else wrote? When I write a paper, I generally, to supplement the citations of real and hypothetical papers that I have written/may have written/will never write/could write if I cared, just skim the titles of papers that others have written, and include those if they seem potentially relevant. That's basically good enough to appease the so called "citation police". After all, reading other people's work is just a waste of time when you're the kind of person who has been immortalized with a statue.

I figured the networks would catch on to me

Did any of you loyal followers basically see Conan last night? He was basically doing his impression of the statue that was created to worship me.


Granted, the statue was baby-kicking, and that is basically weird.

But the point is, that, as I have predicted on many an occasion, I am becoming famous.

Road to the HEWOdome

Basically, to update everyone, the technician testing is finally underway! The intensive written exam given to all of my potential technicians was, sadly, uneventful, as they all basically failed miserably. This means one of two things; either they are all legally retarded and simply couldn’t understand the questions, or they knew nothing about my publications or my beloved HEWO! ARE YOU FREAKIN KIDDING ME?!? So, I had to develop a new test to eliminate at least some of the technicians that weren’t weeded out by the written exam. Basically, I consulted Ursula and she recommended a new test known as HEWO roulette. To make a short story shorter, HEWO roulette, based loosely on a popular Russian children’s game, effectively eliminated 20% of the potential technicians. Unfortunately for the Japanese, Mongolians, and Chinese, the Russians seemed to be very effective at not getting eliminated playing HEWO roulette, resulting in a disproportionately high number of Russians remaining.


Basically, the next portion of the testing, the PENIS identification program, was also a failure. What I didn’t realize was that most of these immigrants have never even heard of an optometrist, let alone been to one. So basically, they all have horribly insufficient eyesight for HEWO searching; two Mongolians and one Chinese immigrant actually only have one eye! ARE YOU FREAKIN KIDDING ME!?! Anyways, I couldn’t understand what they were saying when they did seem to try and identify a species, due to the language barrier and all. So, I threw out the PENIS program exam and let everyone move on to the next phase of the technician testing; the 72 hour all-terrain race.

As you may or may not know, I allowed each group of potential technicians to use their respective field vehicle to find cases of ZIMA stashed throughout the jungle. This was, up to this point, the most visually exciting portion of the test. The Russians used their Cold War-era Mig Fighter jets, like the ones seen in one of the most awe-inspiring movies of all time, “Top Gun”! The Chinese used their rickshaws, the Japanese used their street racers, and the Mongolians used their yaks.

Basically, the terrain and the denseness of the jungle favored the mobility of the Mongolian yaks more than any other “vehicles”. The Japanese had a particularly difficult time maneuvering through the winding gravel roads and wrecked most of their street racers as a result. The Chinese also had problems with their rickshaws, in that they couldn’t pull them up the steep inclines of the mountains where the ZIMA was stashed. The Russians basically had some serious problems with their Mig Fighter jets. Things got a little out of hand when one of the Russians accidentally dropped some old ordinance on a local village sanctuary. But, I was able to make a peace offering by giving the village elders a headlight from a Japanese street car and the tail of a yak. Basically, I got the impression that the Russians never examined their jets before taking off, as one lost both wheels on takeoff, one’s wing fell off when it gained some altitude, and another dropped both engines as soon as they fired the jets up. As you may or may not know, these Mig pieces of crap are the reason the Russians lost the Cold War and are definitely unfit for intensive HEWO searches. Basically, the final tally for ZIMA cases collected was as follows: Mongolians, 4; Japanese, 1; Chinese, ½; Russians, 0.

Due to inclement weather and the disabling of my central AC unit by a wheel that fell off of one of the Migs, I’ve been forced to postpone the “HEWOdome” for a few days. Basically, this gave me the opportunity to have both my Ursula and my mother flown in to attend the “HEWOdome” technician battles. So, as your esteemed leader, I ask your patience as we all wait for the final technician showdown in the “HEWOdome”. Basically, just do what I plan on doing while waiting for the weather to clear; sip a Zima, eat some Zima-battered chicken legs, have a suite of Chinese migrants massage your feet, and read the most influential book to grace my bookshelf since “Charlotte’s Web”, “Saving the Earth as a Career.”

Let The Games Begin

Basically, as you may or may not know, I recently informed you, my loyal fans, of my “adventures” involving everything from Orientals to equipment purchases. Well, I have basically been placed in a very stressful situation with Mitzi’s “accidental” purchase of not only Wang et al., but of a suite of other potential technicians including Russians, Japanese, and Mongolians! ARE YOU FREAKIN KIDDING ME?!? If Mitzi wasn’t so skilled at organizing paperwork that I can’t be bothered with, she surely wouldn’t be breathing the same air as I am! So, basically I am now forced to develop a protocol for weeding out the weak technicians so only the strong will serve as my minions. After thinking long and hard about what can be done and asking Ursula what type of protocol I should develop to deal with this outrageous situation, I developed the “HEWOdome” technician test. Obviously, basically the most physically and mentally challenging potential HEWO technician interview process ever devised! Basically, to answer the question I know you all are thinking, yes, the “HEWOdome” technician test is loosely based on the 1985 hit movie titled “Thunderdome” starring Tina Turner and Mel Gibson. It is basically Ursula’s favorite movie ever of all time and so to honor my sun-goddess, I based my technician test protocol on this box office smash.

Basically, my “HEWOdome” test will involve 28 straight hours of written exams covering everything from my life history and the information contained in my few, but invaluable publications to the ecology and evolutionary history of the HEWO. I also intend to utilize a new bird identification program called Practical Eyesight Nectotron for Identification of Species; PENIS for short. Bascially, what PENIS does is it rapidly displays a series of 100 pictures of different bird species in under 1 minute, about 6 inches from the face of the person being examined. The person must then correctly identify as many species as possible. Those with the highest score will then move on to the next phase of testing. Following will be a 72 hour all-terrain race using their respective field “vehicles”. One major component of this race is the acquisition of a case of ZIMA I have hidden at various locations in the jungle. The persons to bring back the most cases of ZIMA will move on to the final showdown; a fight-to-the-death in the “HEWO Dome”. I will introduce various weapons into the arena to see how the potential technicians deal with novel tools and stressful field-like situations. Basically, I only have money to support 7 technicians, so unfortunately most will basically have to perish in the “HEWOdome”. Some of you may be thinking, why can you not hire everyone? You received the largest grant known to humans to study HEWOs! Well basically, to answer this silly question, it’s because I don’t want everyone. I want the best of the best, not some illegals shipped over on a cargo barge that wouldn’t know a HEWO from the nutsack of a mountain gorilla. It may hurt some of you to know this, but my type of research is not for everyone. In actuality, I am truly the only human that can do it properly. Everyone else’s feeble attempts at scientific greatness basically, obviously, lack merit. So, it is left to me to make the world a better place for everyone. . .

Wang et al.

Well Mitzi, you failed me, as expected. I don't know how hard it is to log on to E-Baysian and order me a bunch of Asians, but something has gone wrong. First off, the cargo barge ran aground into a highway somewhere.



But since they were basically on land, they decided to call and confirm our order. I was expecting to just get the Wangs, but apparently four different familes of Asians are headed our way! Are you freaking kidding me? What am I going to do with them all? I hope they get along...


Basically anyways, I was initially basically surprised about this, but basically thinking about all of the important work that needs to be basically done saving the world, I decided this would basically be an excellent opportunity to obtain additional help in the field, basically. However, all of my field assistants must pass a rigorous interview with me. So I decided to interview the 4 families that were coming. This was difficult because they don't speak much English, I guess they must be stupid or something. Again, I basically couldn't understand their unpronounceable names, so I was again forced to give them collective names. In addition to the Wangs, we will shortly be expecting the arrival of the Khans, the Gorbachevs, and the Kawasakis. I wasn't really able to interview them thoroughly, but considering the circumstances, I'll give them a pass. The important thing is that they assured me that they had their own field vehicles. I am eagerly awaiting their arrival. Plus, I need a pedicure and some sweet-and-sour chicken drumsticks.

Is this all I’m worth?

As expected, Ursula and her parents couldn’t live without having me join their family tree. Perhaps because of my amazing skills and intellect, or because they’d like to increase the probability of purging their gene pool of uni-brows and female hirsutism. Basically, I was recently contacted by Yuri, Ursula’s father, with the terms of the dowry he is willing to offer in order to have me marry his daughter. So after waiting with anticipation for 5 months without telling anyone, you can imagine my surprise when today I received an old dishwasher, a blue bowling ball, 41 coconuts and an angry cat! ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME?!? I was expecting a luxury car, gold, diamonds and/or other various gemstones, and livestock! The man’s a freakin’ goat herder and he can’t spare a single goat!?! Does he have any idea how much a petrified owl-monkey-testicle-laden ring costs?!? Although he claimed that’s all he could afford, I think I’m playing hardball on this one. I’m not some second-rate biologist and, although I’m not one to brag, I’m the best damned biologist in the world! I momentarily considered putting myself back on the market, but I do realize that I’m unlikely to find another person like Ursula, my Sun-Goddess. I truly believe she’s the only one that loves and admires me as much as I love and admire myself. For this reason, I’ll give Yuri a chance to supplement this meager dowry. In the meantime, I’ll need to have Mateo take a break from massaging Magnum’s feet and dispose of this non-functional dishwasher in the forest somewhere.

Ursula is the luckiest woman in the world!

Basically, as you may or may not remember, Halloween is the most special of special holidays. Never has the day been more exceptional than this past year when, as you may or may not recall, I went, as I do for all important major holidays, to Slovenia to spend this extraordinary day with my Sun-Goddess, Ursula. As we went to the Halloween ball dressed as the two greatest musicians in the history of music or history, Rob and Fab, the two transcendent musical virtuoso geniuses from the band known as Milli Vanilli, I had a surprise in my pocket. Obviously, this isn’t the first time I’ve had a surprise in my pocket for Ursula, as I’m sure she, her goat, and most of her neighbors within a three-block radius can basically tell you, and by that I’m basically referring to my amazing sexual prowess although I don’t like to toot my own horn, although Ursula basically does. I hope I’m not making you uncomfortable, but if I am, that’s just the price you’ll have to pay for being my loyal unquestioning and subservient followers. Because I am a biologist, mentor, and artist, in the interest of pedagogy I have provided a biological diagram of Ursula's goat:

Prior to departing for Slovenia, I had used some of my research funds to commission a local Paraguayan jeweler, Roberto, to make an engagement ring in the form of Kurupi, the Guarani god of sexuality and fertility, out of the petrified testicle of a free-ranging owl monkey. Basically, nothing can better symbolize our love and commitment for one another. Not only did he make the aforementioned ring that I would later bestow upon my almost-sole-reason for living, Ursula, he also made me a matching ring that he said was of “Jasy Jetere” god of the siesta, whatever that means, out of the owl monkey’s baculum, whatever that is.

As we left for the aforementioned party, me with the extra testicle in my pocket, I was giddy. I couldn’t wait for that special moment to arrive, that moment of pure ecstasy that we had experienced on the dance floor each of the previous two years when our favourite song, “Girl you know it’s true”, was played for our slow dance of the evening. The excitement was almost too much to take. This would be the most important moment of Ursula’s life. I quickly grew impatient and when the song “Blame it on the rain” came on, I briefly lost control and peed a little bit in my pants. I then regained my composure and waited patiently for two more songs after which I approached the DJ, who likely recognized me, and demanded that he play our song. As I walked back toward Ursula, the song came on and our eyes locked across the dance floor, just as they had done two long years before. What happened next was obviously magical. I dropped to one knee and reached into my pocket. All at once, I emptied the rest of my bladder and began to sob uncontrollably. As I kneeled, sobbing and in a pool of my own urine, I began to slowly utter the most profound words to ever leave the mouth of a human being “Will you…” and it was at that point that the sobbing became so uncontrollable that my speech was obstructed by the streams of snot pouring down my face. I continued “Will you…” and then collapsed to the floor where I crouched in the fetal position and lost control of my bowels. As I laid in my own waste incomprehensibly stuttering and shaking uncontrollably, Ursula knelt down and I asked if she would join me in saving the Earth and do me the honour of being my wife and, legally, number one follower. Obviously, she did not feel comfortable answering at that point in time for fear of making all of the other women, men, and hermaphrodites in the room jealous. She assured me that, as is custom in her culture, she would give me an answer after five months while her father attempted to amass a proper dowry, and she made me promise not to tell anyone in the meantime. Well, five months is up, and we’re officially engaged! I’m supposed to find out my dowry tomorrow, and I’m sure a proper Slovenian dowry for the World’s Greatest Biologist will be quite impressive.

Equipment Borrowing Protocol

The WGB’s greatness in the world of science is not in any way novel. In addition to my spitting good looks, my boyish charm, and my ability to make everyone around me seem like they are one genetic mutation away from being legally retarded, I am particularly crafty in making sure that all of my focus is on the WGB, and I let nothing stand in the way of my mission to save my planet or my time spent with the most beautiful, bipedal creature to grace the Earth; my Ursula. As much as I would like to help everyone else with their projects that, dare I say, lack merit, I am simply too busy saving the planet and studying the greatest bird of all time, the HEWO. So, basically, I have devised a protocol in which I am able to make other, less meritous projects, donate their equipment to help me save the world from utter devastation. As you all remember, I received a massive grant to carry out research on the HEWO and have put all of the aforementioned grant money to good use. However, there are still things that I simply must have that, rather than waste my own money purchasing, I borrow from lesser researchers. Take, for instance, my borrowing of a hovercraft from the University of Paraguay’s Sea Turtle Project. Initially, the turtle project coordinators were hesitant to loan me their only field vehicle, but after convincing them that my project required a hovercraft, they let me borrow it for “just one week.” But, as any real scientist knows, saving the planet isn’t going to happen in a week!
So, upon acquiring my new hovercraft I set out in search of the elusive HEWO.

What the turtle project ignoramuses didn’t inform me of was that hovercrafts are not very useful in environments with trees! Are You Freaking Kidding Me!? How did they not know that! So, needless to say, I spent much of the day bouncing off of trees like a friggin’ pinball and began to bleed from my ears because the stupid craft was louder than a turbo jet. And, more importantly, I never even detected a HEWO! Eventually, I found a new helmet with built in hearing protectors and was able to find my way back out of the woods, but the hovercraft suffered some damage in the process. Because I was bouncing around and ended up going backwards through a portion of unfamiliar habitat, I ended up driving the hovercraft over a cliff and landed in the tops of some trees.

I suffered a severe laceration to my smallest toe that required a dollop of Neosporin and a large bandaid. Unfortunately, My equipment borrowing protocol does not discuss how to remove a hovercraft from the canopy. It does, however, explicitly say that all borrowed equipment should be returned in worse condition than it was in when it was borrowed. This is suggested in my protocol because if the equipment is returned in equal or better condition, then this would indicate that said equipment was not used as it should have been. I borrow equipment with the understanding that it is worthless and it has served its purpose only when it’s broken or damaged, thereby indicating it was used. Bascially, the sea turtle crew didn’t understand my genius protocol and seemed unhappy with the location and condition of their hovercraft. They tried to explain to me that I needed to get the hovercraft out of the tree because I borrowed it. But I told them that because I was done using it and no longer needed its services that it was their responsibility to purchase a helicopter to remove it from the treetops. Are You Freaking Kidding Me?!? How do they not understand that the loss of their crappy hovercraft is but a small price to pay to have me save the world?

The Podiatric Massagial Arts

Basically, as you may remember from yesterday’s post, I sent my technician Carl to a technical college to learn how to perform professional foot messages. I also had Mitzi, my project secretary/planner, look into recruiting a crew strictly for massage purposes. This post is to let all of my fans know the great news . . . Mitzi was able to purchase Carl’s entire family!

They are scheduled to board a cargo barge today and should be arriving at my field house within the next week. Mitzi has told me that the description on E-Baysian.com described the Wangs as basically well trained in the massaging arts. As was the case with Carl, their names are basically unpronounceable and I was forced to give them all one, collective name; the Wangs. The Wangs’ purpose will be to massage my feet during scheduled 20 minute breaks and at night while I watch the two greatest shows of all time; American Idol and Dancing With The Stars. Some of you may be wondering why I need Carl's entire family. Well basically, the basic truth is that I don't really need all of them, they were a package deal so I had no choice but to buy them as one. However, apparently, basically one of the Wangs cooked for a Chinese restaurant and, because I am such a fan of chicken legs, I intend to utilize their culinary talents to cook me some delicious chicken leg fried rice, chicken legs in garlic sauce, chicken legs and broccoli, General Wangs chicken legs, and Zima-basted chicken drumsticks.

I basically anticipate this being a scrumptious change to my typical dinner of baked 6-legged chicken that I am currently forced to make myself. I know what you all are thinking; What is to happen to Mateo, my former foot massager? Well, basically I have promoted him to massaging the feet of my giant rabbit, Magnum. You may also be thinking; Well wasn’t Rogelio in charge of caring for Magnum? No worries my concerned followers, I have Rogelio currently working out the issues associated with the radio-reception acquisition protocols I recently enacted.

The Adventures of Carl . . . My New Technician

Basically, as many of you probably recall from the majority of my previous posts, Ursula and I speak on the phone an average of 28.8 times per day, which equates to about twice for every hour I am awake. I typically have had to carry two cell phones myself in addition to making my technicians carry one each so if something happened to a phone or one of my technicians carrying a phone, I would have numerous backups. The usefulness of this backup technique has been proven in recent weeks, as my technicians keep losing the phones through field “accidents”. It is as if they never realized that trying to traverse a wet, rock-covered 60 degree slope may result in them falling down! Even when I shout directions to them from the foot of the hill, they tend not to listen and ultimately slide back to the bottom, losing the phone on the way down. So, in an attempt to solve these aforementioned issues, I simply moved my field site to an area where the HEWOs inhabit areas with more roads.

The first thing I did was apply for the largest grant I could, and of course all I had to explain was how I was single-handedly saving the planet. Of course my reputation preceded me and they basically doubled the money they were giving away. So, I basically improved all of my equipment by throwing it out and buying all new stuff. I also purchased a new, “international” technician from somewhere in Asia; Wong Fu Xing, or as I call him Carl, as I cannot figure out what part of his name is the first part. So, after outfitting my project with some new rigs, radio and communication equipment, and Carl, I was ready to begin developing protocols to determine the best service locations for calling Ursula. The largest hill in the area seemed ideal and I sent Carl up there to test his field abilities and my new radio equipment.



Unfortunately, basically Carl could not understand what the protocol described but failed to tell me in a language I could understand, so I pointed to the hill and put the radio to my head to indicate what I wanted. Carl shook his head and I assumed he knew what I was telling him. So, I took the time to grab a Zima and get my bunions massaged by my new Martha Stewart Self-Bunionator. Basically, just after I dipped my toes into the warm bubbly water, Carl came into my field house covered in dirt and panting. Basically I was telling him I didn’t know what he was saying when I saw the unthinkable . . . my brand new field truck hanging from a cliff, held in place only by my new field boat. ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME!?!?

Luckily, the truck was not my new LandCrawler4500. I was so angry, the first thing I did was call Ursula to seek her advice. I could barely say her name, as I was crying so much because my bunions hurt. I was prepared to ship Carl back to the Orient, but my sun goddess convinced me to give him another try. So, I first made him get back into the truck dangling from the cliff so when they towed it back onto the road he would be able to drive it back down. He did, however, lose his vehicular privileges and I made him carry the 105 lb backpack radio I recently bought from a military surplus store to the top of the hill.

Basically, its true range, although unknown by mortal men, has been estimated to be hundreds of miles, so I assumed I would be able to reach Ursula and not have to pay for “minutes” allotted by cell phone companies. Six hours after Carl left for the top of the hill he returned, stumbled into my field house all sweaty and pale and started speaking in languages I couldn’t understand. So I basically handed him my newly developed protocol discussing the proper way to explain to me situations that arise in the field and instructed him to go outside and read it, as he was laying half way out of the door letting the cool air out of the field house. Basically, Carl came back into the house 5 minutes later and pointed to the very old, rotted cable that attached the phone to the backpack radio. Apparently, the store I bought the radio from did not perform any equipment checks and I was thus under the impression that the radio worked. Exhausted and frustrated, I immediately ordered a brand new Hummer with an XF3 satellite dish attached to its roof.

From now on, I will just have to drive to the top of the hill to call Ursula. Luckily, for a measly $10,000 I was able to specially order a second Martha Stewart Self-Bunionator to be installed in the back of the Hummer, so while I talk to Ursula I can soak my feet. I’m also considering sending Carl to become trained in foot massages, as he doesn’t seem good for much else.