x3loveme2times (12:49:59 PM): I hate you
x3loveme2times (12:50:07 PM): bye
Sunday, December 24, 2006
The Ultimate in Getting "Big"
Everyone knows that cool things that guys do are directly proportionate to how big their dicks are. Let me tell you a little story about how I can barely zip my pants.
Okay, it isn't really a story but I've got nothing better to do or say. The other day Fowler and I took an early day from school and were chillin at my place when we saw a video trying to explain a technique for ripping a phonebook in half. The guy used a little bitch ass phonebook that was probably the size of two magazines put together and ripped that shit in half. Feeling like if one were to master this promordial art that their package would suddenly inflate like a fuckin Thanksgiving Day Parade balloon I had to try it. I grabbed a (bigger) phonebook of my own. After trying to get the technique right for a little while, I ripped that shit in half like a fuckin beast. Simultaneously fireworks shot off in every direction and grafitti fell from the heavens as if Zeus himself was giving me a congratulatory pat on the ass. I rip motha fuckin phonebooks in half, bitch.
A second feat of the ages was pulled off yesterday after the super-holiday-blowout-bananza-slammin'-thumpin' dance/party thing yesterday (12/23). After getting home we decided to go for a walk since we were stone drunk. Not 30 seconds later, Pat Bailey (aka P. Blizz.) pulls up in his rig and offers a ride, more beers, and a chance to go get stereotypical by taggin' up some school shit. We meet up with Brian Sypher (aka B Syphes aka The Undertaker aka Shit that kid loves his grandma). For absolutely no reason he and Nick Solitro (aka ..Nick) start tearin up some random sign. We all start yelling and calling them pussys because theres obviously no way they're going to rip it out of the ground. As it turns out B Syphes don't play that shit and ripped it out of the ground by himself.
While I'm at it I might just throw an explanation your way as to why we call Pat, P. Blizz.(ard). Other than his completely irrational and explosive temper (purrree ice) of course. Anyway we had a field trip in Spanish to the Hospital, in which we drove our own cars. Pat drove Ben, me and Holly(?) there. On the way back to school we got in the car and left Holly behind all by herself. She caught up to the car due to traffic in the lot, and asked to get in. Ben replies "NAAAH, WERE BIZZYIN OUTTA HEA!". Much to my surprise, we really did bizzy the fuck out of there. Pat floored it, and we left Holly by herself with no way to get back to school.
Is that funny shit? Why yes, it is.
Okay, it isn't really a story but I've got nothing better to do or say. The other day Fowler and I took an early day from school and were chillin at my place when we saw a video trying to explain a technique for ripping a phonebook in half. The guy used a little bitch ass phonebook that was probably the size of two magazines put together and ripped that shit in half. Feeling like if one were to master this promordial art that their package would suddenly inflate like a fuckin Thanksgiving Day Parade balloon I had to try it. I grabbed a (bigger) phonebook of my own. After trying to get the technique right for a little while, I ripped that shit in half like a fuckin beast. Simultaneously fireworks shot off in every direction and grafitti fell from the heavens as if Zeus himself was giving me a congratulatory pat on the ass. I rip motha fuckin phonebooks in half, bitch.
A second feat of the ages was pulled off yesterday after the super-holiday-blowout-bananza-slammin'-thumpin' dance/party thing yesterday (12/23). After getting home we decided to go for a walk since we were stone drunk. Not 30 seconds later, Pat Bailey (aka P. Blizz.) pulls up in his rig and offers a ride, more beers, and a chance to go get stereotypical by taggin' up some school shit. We meet up with Brian Sypher (aka B Syphes aka The Undertaker aka Shit that kid loves his grandma). For absolutely no reason he and Nick Solitro (aka ..Nick) start tearin up some random sign. We all start yelling and calling them pussys because theres obviously no way they're going to rip it out of the ground. As it turns out B Syphes don't play that shit and ripped it out of the ground by himself.
While I'm at it I might just throw an explanation your way as to why we call Pat, P. Blizz.(ard). Other than his completely irrational and explosive temper (purrree ice) of course. Anyway we had a field trip in Spanish to the Hospital, in which we drove our own cars. Pat drove Ben, me and Holly(?) there. On the way back to school we got in the car and left Holly behind all by herself. She caught up to the car due to traffic in the lot, and asked to get in. Ben replies "NAAAH, WERE BIZZYIN OUTTA HEA!". Much to my surprise, we really did bizzy the fuck out of there. Pat floored it, and we left Holly by herself with no way to get back to school.
Is that funny shit? Why yes, it is.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
The Justice Machine
I came home from school today and my brother was watching "Flavor Love", a new hit TV feat. Flava Flave. It wasn't 10 seconds into the show before his big black gap-toothed ass started mumbling incoherently using words like "brung" and "youz". Now my momma always taught me to be educated and not-black so I guess I'm less tolerant to blatant ignorance than most others. When I first saw the obnoxious clock that he totes around I figured that it must have been some sort of stylish flak vest presumably to prevent all the people in the world who want him dead. However I am informed that's not the case.
Anyway this brings me to my point that I have created the final solution to all of Earths problems. I would suggest some sort of colossal incineration machine, a.k.a., "The Justice Machine". Have a problem? Throw that shit into the incinerator. The machine can fit all sorts of pesky things, like Mexican people. Is your computer giving you troubles? Don't throw it on the ground like a chump, that's boring. Neighbors dog shit on your lawn again? Crack him in the face with a bat and throw his fecal disease spreading ass into the incinerator. Cut off on the highway? Call our towing service and we'll tow the car AND his bitch ass right off our patented problem solving ramp into a firey abyss free of charge! Black people ruining the music industry again? Take an all expenses paid-for trip to MTV Studios and throw their talent-less asses in the back of a pickup truck (after you've struck them in the face with a bat obviously). For those really pesky cultures/ethnic groups don't hesitate to rent a dumptruck for the day ($19.95/hr).
The incinerator is approximately 30 stories tall and can reach temperatures of over 50 trillion degrees. There is a complimentary movie drop-in slot for all those bad movies that you just have lying around the house (this includes the entire Ernest series). In fact for every Ernest movie that you DON'T drop off in the Justice Machine, we'll send three JA's (Justice Agents) to your house to kill you that number of times. Justice Agents are mean and wear badass sunglasses (even at night). They also sport inflatable John Deere tractors to haul your dead ass away to the incinerator after they've worked you over. Also, if you kill a Justice Agent (impossible), they will come back as zombies with yet even cooler sunglasses.
Overall I don't see how this could not work. I suppose if we didn't have the technology to create a 30 story structure that heats up to 50 trillion degrees we could just litter the Middle East with Napalm...permanently. It's win-win since naturally every single person who lives in the Middle East is, no question, a terrorist.
I do have one special request. I would organize an official business meeting with Flava Flave in which we would sit in some professional business chairs and drink professional business coffee and discuss some...business. Except the catch is that his professional business chair is actually a cannon aimed into the incinerator and the business is makin' him real dead. Before I pressed the (presumably huge and red) button to fire the cannon I would turn to his watch/necklace/flak vest, whatever you want to call it and ask, "what time is it?". Yet before he has a chance to answer I say "time for you to get horribly burned to death" and the cannon fires.
My grades might be average but as you can tell I've got it all figured out.
Anyway this brings me to my point that I have created the final solution to all of Earths problems. I would suggest some sort of colossal incineration machine, a.k.a., "The Justice Machine". Have a problem? Throw that shit into the incinerator. The machine can fit all sorts of pesky things, like Mexican people. Is your computer giving you troubles? Don't throw it on the ground like a chump, that's boring. Neighbors dog shit on your lawn again? Crack him in the face with a bat and throw his fecal disease spreading ass into the incinerator. Cut off on the highway? Call our towing service and we'll tow the car AND his bitch ass right off our patented problem solving ramp into a firey abyss free of charge! Black people ruining the music industry again? Take an all expenses paid-for trip to MTV Studios and throw their talent-less asses in the back of a pickup truck (after you've struck them in the face with a bat obviously). For those really pesky cultures/ethnic groups don't hesitate to rent a dumptruck for the day ($19.95/hr).
The incinerator is approximately 30 stories tall and can reach temperatures of over 50 trillion degrees. There is a complimentary movie drop-in slot for all those bad movies that you just have lying around the house (this includes the entire Ernest series). In fact for every Ernest movie that you DON'T drop off in the Justice Machine, we'll send three JA's (Justice Agents) to your house to kill you that number of times. Justice Agents are mean and wear badass sunglasses (even at night). They also sport inflatable John Deere tractors to haul your dead ass away to the incinerator after they've worked you over. Also, if you kill a Justice Agent (impossible), they will come back as zombies with yet even cooler sunglasses.
Overall I don't see how this could not work. I suppose if we didn't have the technology to create a 30 story structure that heats up to 50 trillion degrees we could just litter the Middle East with Napalm...permanently. It's win-win since naturally every single person who lives in the Middle East is, no question, a terrorist.
I do have one special request. I would organize an official business meeting with Flava Flave in which we would sit in some professional business chairs and drink professional business coffee and discuss some...business. Except the catch is that his professional business chair is actually a cannon aimed into the incinerator and the business is makin' him real dead. Before I pressed the (presumably huge and red) button to fire the cannon I would turn to his watch/necklace/flak vest, whatever you want to call it and ask, "what time is it?". Yet before he has a chance to answer I say "time for you to get horribly burned to death" and the cannon fires.
My grades might be average but as you can tell I've got it all figured out.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
The Past Few Weekends
So last weekend (?) I picked up two nice big bottles of SOCO to enjoy during that (very same) weekend. Me Hill and Justin downed one in approx 5 or 6 seconds and that was that. We left the shit in some bushes next to Candyland at like 10pm (wtf) and drove afterwards. The excess bottle I popped in my trunk (which Albert discovered has a release hidden in the glove compartment just the other day).
So I was all drunk n' not paying attention and I forgot all about it. My dad took out my car instead of his own for whatever reason to go pick up some beers at the store. When he popped the trunk to put his 30-racks in he saw my pretty bottle just sitting there.
So I come home from doing something and my dad has a mean old look up on his face and tells me to follow him. He leads me on an awkward journey through the backyard and to my trunk, where I pretended to have no idea what he was about to dramatically reveal. Dang, I thought. This probably isn't good. So I just told him I was delivering it for someone and he let me off the hook and also gave me money to go out to eat. I like food.
My dad gave me money and told me if he ever caught me drinking he would throw me out of the house and disown me. So anyways we're drinking later that night and Geary has "grape-juicyfruit" weed delivered right to Jakes house. Being "grape-juicyfruit weed" I couldn't NOT smoke it and so I did. Even Ben did. Azeredo didn't though, because everybody hates him and his overuse of the word nigga (also jigga) entitled him to a one-way ticket to soberdom. The shit was the farthest fuckin' thing from grape or juciyfruit but it was pretty nuts and we were so gone that it didn't make a difference. Geary started shaking violently with a huge smile and started punching himself in the face. The fire eventually went out which was a signal from the gods to go home we like to believe. Everyone drove home trashed and high and no one friend tried to stop the other which is kind of sad and funny.
On a less careless note Justin and I brought Taylar and Ally to the new Texas Chainsaw Massacre movie over the weekend because it seemed fit. There is nothign more romantic than horrible torture and death. However I forgot that they are a few months younger than we are and aren't 17 yet and so they couldn't get in. All Taylar did was bitch at Justin and he drowned her out by cranking up the volume of the death metal album we had playing. That amused me because he's stone cold. Not as stone cold as Hillary though, she's a menace.
Surpringly I did more than get drunk over the pass few weekends. In between being trashed I got my ass handed to me on a platter in Mario Party by Hill. She beat Justin, Albert and I several times. Being beat by a girl at a video game is the worst thing that could ever happen to you. We made up for it by ransacking her house and stealing all her jew bagels. Just kidding, I want to kill myself.
So I was all drunk n' not paying attention and I forgot all about it. My dad took out my car instead of his own for whatever reason to go pick up some beers at the store. When he popped the trunk to put his 30-racks in he saw my pretty bottle just sitting there.
So I come home from doing something and my dad has a mean old look up on his face and tells me to follow him. He leads me on an awkward journey through the backyard and to my trunk, where I pretended to have no idea what he was about to dramatically reveal. Dang, I thought. This probably isn't good. So I just told him I was delivering it for someone and he let me off the hook and also gave me money to go out to eat. I like food.
My dad gave me money and told me if he ever caught me drinking he would throw me out of the house and disown me. So anyways we're drinking later that night and Geary has "grape-juicyfruit" weed delivered right to Jakes house. Being "grape-juicyfruit weed" I couldn't NOT smoke it and so I did. Even Ben did. Azeredo didn't though, because everybody hates him and his overuse of the word nigga (also jigga) entitled him to a one-way ticket to soberdom. The shit was the farthest fuckin' thing from grape or juciyfruit but it was pretty nuts and we were so gone that it didn't make a difference. Geary started shaking violently with a huge smile and started punching himself in the face. The fire eventually went out which was a signal from the gods to go home we like to believe. Everyone drove home trashed and high and no one friend tried to stop the other which is kind of sad and funny.
On a less careless note Justin and I brought Taylar and Ally to the new Texas Chainsaw Massacre movie over the weekend because it seemed fit. There is nothign more romantic than horrible torture and death. However I forgot that they are a few months younger than we are and aren't 17 yet and so they couldn't get in. All Taylar did was bitch at Justin and he drowned her out by cranking up the volume of the death metal album we had playing. That amused me because he's stone cold. Not as stone cold as Hillary though, she's a menace.
Surpringly I did more than get drunk over the pass few weekends. In between being trashed I got my ass handed to me on a platter in Mario Party by Hill. She beat Justin, Albert and I several times. Being beat by a girl at a video game is the worst thing that could ever happen to you. We made up for it by ransacking her house and stealing all her jew bagels. Just kidding, I want to kill myself.
Sunday, October 01, 2006
King Richid's Faire
...was probably about the strangest shit I've ever seen in my life. Unfortunately we missed the Cleavage Contest. They had really overpriced everything and half the costumes had nothing to do with the Renaissance whatsoever. They had pirates and dumb shit like this:
Yeah that's me. 10 dollars to anyone who can come up with some poorly thrown together excuse for why that hideous monster of penis-lookalike-fashion was at a Renaissance Faire. But thats not all. The following getup was also from a different (and exaggerated) timeframe/planet. Justin made history doing his first thing that people didn't find stupid by posing for this picture here:
Yeah I know I thought we were at a GWAR concert too at first. They tried to make it a family event by adding rides and silly attractions. There was this one thing that was basically a wooden swan swing, okay sounds nice. However they decided to place an insane axe-wielding berserker viking aboard the ship to make the experience feel "real". 'Cause back then (in the Viking ages all of a sudden) all the burly maniacal limb-chopping Vikings used to like to take a break for tea, crumpets, and a nice childs' swan ride. The kids were all horrified and had no fun at all, but it was a learning experience so it was entirely acceptable.
Speaking of family, we saw Shawn (Lanky) and his mom at the faire too, wasn't that nice.
While watching the Jousting contest some fat lady was getting way out of hand by yelling and screaming as if it were real and people were actually dying. There were 4 teams, and each had its own "valiant knight". Our knight was the worst. He lost every contest as fast as he possibly could and got instantly killed during every battle/joust. The woman really started to get out of hand and actually had the nerve to look back in our direction. I yelled "WITCH!". "What evidence do you have to support this theory, Sir Edward" said the King (Richit). I pointed to Justin and responded "she turned this young boy into a wench!". Clearly this was enough evidence and she was hanged (for real). This made everyone including the bloodthirsty knights very happy and everyone met on the field for generic rejoicing.
The scariest (and final) portion of this whole dumb story was the guy who ran the freak show. He was basically paid to walk around ALL day with a huge creepy molestors smile on his face. At one point he was walking around with a comically large "butterfly net", which I assume is the oversized net he uses to corral up little kids to molest. While walking by he caught me and Justin in the net and told us that he wouldn't let us out if we didn't flap our wings. Luckily Hillary was there to take a picture (that she hasn't sent to me yet, will update when possible). So yeah that was most definitely the scariest part of the entire Faire.
Also someone died on a PortaPotty.
The Faire is during the weekends and time is running out, it's $25 to get in and I recommend you do because it was a lot of fun. Just bring your wallets! (and maybe some pepper spray, too).
Yeah that's me. 10 dollars to anyone who can come up with some poorly thrown together excuse for why that hideous monster of penis-lookalike-fashion was at a Renaissance Faire. But thats not all. The following getup was also from a different (and exaggerated) timeframe/planet. Justin made history doing his first thing that people didn't find stupid by posing for this picture here:
Yeah I know I thought we were at a GWAR concert too at first. They tried to make it a family event by adding rides and silly attractions. There was this one thing that was basically a wooden swan swing, okay sounds nice. However they decided to place an insane axe-wielding berserker viking aboard the ship to make the experience feel "real". 'Cause back then (in the Viking ages all of a sudden) all the burly maniacal limb-chopping Vikings used to like to take a break for tea, crumpets, and a nice childs' swan ride. The kids were all horrified and had no fun at all, but it was a learning experience so it was entirely acceptable.
Speaking of family, we saw Shawn (Lanky) and his mom at the faire too, wasn't that nice.
While watching the Jousting contest some fat lady was getting way out of hand by yelling and screaming as if it were real and people were actually dying. There were 4 teams, and each had its own "valiant knight". Our knight was the worst. He lost every contest as fast as he possibly could and got instantly killed during every battle/joust. The woman really started to get out of hand and actually had the nerve to look back in our direction. I yelled "WITCH!". "What evidence do you have to support this theory, Sir Edward" said the King (Richit). I pointed to Justin and responded "she turned this young boy into a wench!". Clearly this was enough evidence and she was hanged (for real). This made everyone including the bloodthirsty knights very happy and everyone met on the field for generic rejoicing.
The scariest (and final) portion of this whole dumb story was the guy who ran the freak show. He was basically paid to walk around ALL day with a huge creepy molestors smile on his face. At one point he was walking around with a comically large "butterfly net", which I assume is the oversized net he uses to corral up little kids to molest. While walking by he caught me and Justin in the net and told us that he wouldn't let us out if we didn't flap our wings. Luckily Hillary was there to take a picture (that she hasn't sent to me yet, will update when possible). So yeah that was most definitely the scariest part of the entire Faire.
Also someone died on a PortaPotty.
The Faire is during the weekends and time is running out, it's $25 to get in and I recommend you do because it was a lot of fun. Just bring your wallets! (and maybe some pepper spray, too).
Friday, September 29, 2006
DragonForce Concert
Welp the concert was a success. The two opening bands sucked some serious nuts but we didn't expect anything less. DragonForce rocked our faces off and that's all we cared about. Although the real show was the people who attended. Fat ugly bitches with short hair, to spare. All of them with at least 2 or 3 inches of flab hanging off their disgusting fat smelly selves. Hey, as long as you're ugly, why not be fat too. Then of course we saw a transvestite, it wouldn't be power metal without at least one transvestite I guess. Naturally some prick with a 7ft tall mohawk showed up. I can only hope that someone karate kicked him directly into a coma.
We walked around "Woosta" for nearly 2 hours. I could not have possibly felt more uncomfortable unless I were to staple some sort of billboard directly over my heart with a gigantic bullseye and some large text in a bright font that said "I hate niggers". Not to mention that Ben and I can't resist the urge to talk in spanish even when it's inappropriate (i.e. at a convention for angry violent mexicans).
Surprisingly enough we made it home alive.
Also I thought I'd mention I witnessed a car accident today (9/29). The cars missed mine by maybe a foot or two. I think the lady died but I didn't help her. Hopefully it wasn't the impact that killed her but rather by choking on her cellphone. I could have sworn I heard her utter something about a sale at Macy's right before she died. Naturally she was at fault for the accident and the guy was simply unamused and dissapointed that it's still legal for women to drive.
In other news we've got a long weekend, and I don't plan on remembering any of it.
We walked around "Woosta" for nearly 2 hours. I could not have possibly felt more uncomfortable unless I were to staple some sort of billboard directly over my heart with a gigantic bullseye and some large text in a bright font that said "I hate niggers". Not to mention that Ben and I can't resist the urge to talk in spanish even when it's inappropriate (i.e. at a convention for angry violent mexicans).
Surprisingly enough we made it home alive.
Also I thought I'd mention I witnessed a car accident today (9/29). The cars missed mine by maybe a foot or two. I think the lady died but I didn't help her. Hopefully it wasn't the impact that killed her but rather by choking on her cellphone. I could have sworn I heard her utter something about a sale at Macy's right before she died. Naturally she was at fault for the accident and the guy was simply unamused and dissapointed that it's still legal for women to drive.
In other news we've got a long weekend, and I don't plan on remembering any of it.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Dan Is Ruthless
It occurred to me over last weekend that Dan, over the years, has evolved into one ruthless son of a bitch.
Last weekend we went to Maccarones house for some good old fashioned partying. Ben came over my house and picked me and Van Goor up (seen in this accurate photo: http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v687/nwfndh8red/JUSTINALIEN.jpg) up and brought us on down to get all kinds of drunk. We arrived and commenced said drinking.
Shortly after we became hungry and decided to order some Dominos Pizza. We began to call not-it until Dan offered to make the phone call. "Oh no, Dan", we said. Then we forgot because the table was brown. Dan then made the phone call and proceeded to invent himself a new stupid accent. It sounds like if Sean Connery had Downs Syndrome and was making the call from the bototm of the ocean. Dan made sure to be obnoxious to everyone and call them "pal" and "buddy". Ultimately he accomplished nothing but getting our pizza spat on. Anyway, that entire story was irrelevant and pointless.
A hilariously insensitive thought occurs: Once Dan and I made Billy Martin drink paint by telling him it was a "luck potion". And then again by telling him it was a "love potion", and that it would make him irresistable to the ladies. Oddly enough, the day after he drank the luck potion his mom was diagnosed with a rare type of cancer. We told him it was because we got the mixture all wrong, there was far too much blue in it. We then did what any honest caring friend might do, we corrected the concoction and pressured him to drink it. However, Billy was catching on. Oh Billy, what's the worst that could happen? "I don't want it", Bill exclaimed! Then for whatever strange reason Dan began to yell and scream. "Billy, BILLY! Time's running out! Billy you've only got 3 seconds to drink it!". Billy got scared that he might run out of time and drank the pain....luck potion because clearly, anything you'd yell that loudly about MUST be important.
Back to the only thing I meant to write this dumb article about. After our (spat on) pizza arrived and we finished it all, we began searching for something else to do. Ben and myself had just met a lovely little girl in our Spanish class the week before. Why not, let's give her a call! For whatever reason, she decided going out alone with 5 or 6 drunk boys that she didn't know would be an acceptable, and even pleasurable idea. We left Maccarones house and picked her up. I didn't let her have shotgun because I thought it would be for the best if I got exactly what I wanted. So that worked out, we drove back to Maccarones where Dan and Maccarone were still residing. When we walked in with Ally (our courageous friend) Dan was none the wiser. He came walking out of the bathroom with his pants down. He proceeded into the kitchen where we were all socializing and a record screeched with no plausible explanation. He stood there and we stared. He stood, we stared. "Dan, we can see your balls bro". Did Dan care? I think not. "No Dan like, dude, your balls are just like, right there dude." Dan felt no need to tuck his balls away at all. "They're my balls", he thought. "And I like them where they are". Does Dan apologize for the incident? I don't fuckin' think so. He worsens the situation by saying "wow..(sways back and forth) if I could see straight I might recognize you". Bad Dan, BAD.
Maccarone tried to touch him and Dan thoughtlessly flung him over his back onto the deck outside.
Does Dan give a fuck? You be the judge.
Last weekend we went to Maccarones house for some good old fashioned partying. Ben came over my house and picked me and Van Goor up (seen in this accurate photo: http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v687/nwfndh8red/JUSTINALIEN.jpg) up and brought us on down to get all kinds of drunk. We arrived and commenced said drinking.
Shortly after we became hungry and decided to order some Dominos Pizza. We began to call not-it until Dan offered to make the phone call. "Oh no, Dan", we said. Then we forgot because the table was brown. Dan then made the phone call and proceeded to invent himself a new stupid accent. It sounds like if Sean Connery had Downs Syndrome and was making the call from the bototm of the ocean. Dan made sure to be obnoxious to everyone and call them "pal" and "buddy". Ultimately he accomplished nothing but getting our pizza spat on. Anyway, that entire story was irrelevant and pointless.
A hilariously insensitive thought occurs: Once Dan and I made Billy Martin drink paint by telling him it was a "luck potion". And then again by telling him it was a "love potion", and that it would make him irresistable to the ladies. Oddly enough, the day after he drank the luck potion his mom was diagnosed with a rare type of cancer. We told him it was because we got the mixture all wrong, there was far too much blue in it. We then did what any honest caring friend might do, we corrected the concoction and pressured him to drink it. However, Billy was catching on. Oh Billy, what's the worst that could happen? "I don't want it", Bill exclaimed! Then for whatever strange reason Dan began to yell and scream. "Billy, BILLY! Time's running out! Billy you've only got 3 seconds to drink it!". Billy got scared that he might run out of time and drank the pain....luck potion because clearly, anything you'd yell that loudly about MUST be important.
Back to the only thing I meant to write this dumb article about. After our (spat on) pizza arrived and we finished it all, we began searching for something else to do. Ben and myself had just met a lovely little girl in our Spanish class the week before. Why not, let's give her a call! For whatever reason, she decided going out alone with 5 or 6 drunk boys that she didn't know would be an acceptable, and even pleasurable idea. We left Maccarones house and picked her up. I didn't let her have shotgun because I thought it would be for the best if I got exactly what I wanted. So that worked out, we drove back to Maccarones where Dan and Maccarone were still residing. When we walked in with Ally (our courageous friend) Dan was none the wiser. He came walking out of the bathroom with his pants down. He proceeded into the kitchen where we were all socializing and a record screeched with no plausible explanation. He stood there and we stared. He stood, we stared. "Dan, we can see your balls bro". Did Dan care? I think not. "No Dan like, dude, your balls are just like, right there dude." Dan felt no need to tuck his balls away at all. "They're my balls", he thought. "And I like them where they are". Does Dan apologize for the incident? I don't fuckin' think so. He worsens the situation by saying "wow..(sways back and forth) if I could see straight I might recognize you". Bad Dan, BAD.
Maccarone tried to touch him and Dan thoughtlessly flung him over his back onto the deck outside.
Does Dan give a fuck? You be the judge.
My Brother Is Fat and Stupid
I dug up this article from them site Austin and I created ages ago, www.gnarliestshitever.com.
Although is might have had one of the greatest names of all time, it didn't have the greatest developers of all time. Unfortunately we got bored and decided it was too much work. I read it to myself recently and I still thought it was kind of funny, because my brother is just as fat and stupid and beefy-titted to this day.
The Article Read As Such:
As some of you might know I have a little brother named Mike. He just recently eeked his way into highschool with straight D's. Mike is 14, but you wouldn't know it. On top of being a dumbass, he's fat. On the scale, it's rather difficult to differenciate between him and a barge ship full of cannonballs. I decided to write this article today only because I'm simply astounded (really) by his frequency of break to keep-in-one-piece ratio. By that I mean that my brother manages to break everything he gets his porky little hands on. He breaks the unbreakable.
It started when he broke my computer the first 3 times (this isn't funny this is the truth). Presumably from downloading too much gay pornography (I've got my system set to self-destruct whenever a gay porn film is downloaded/watched). However, I managed to fix my system by spending hundreds and hundreds of dollars and plenty hours of work. I passworded my computer and rarely had the problem ever again.
He moved on. The next victim was one of the shelves in my own bedroom. He destroyed the shelf in my entertainment center housing my XBOX. We concluded that from walking all the way up the stairs, that he probably passed out from exhaustion directly onto the system itself, smashing the shelf into pieces. He left the shelf broken and never told anyone about it, naturally.
Next, Mike decided that he'd like to break something a bit more valuable than a shelf. While on my recent vacation to Florida, my family had bought a unique wooden carving of a dragon. This piece cost my family upwards of $90. Mikey smashed this wooden dragon into pieces while I was not home. Again, leaving the pieces of the dragon on the floor. When I came home I stepped on one of the sharp wooden shards. It hurt, but I didn't cry.
This whole process was becoming far too familiar. I decided to test him. I was curious if he was doing these things on purpose, or if he was just, a dumbass. I gave my brother a brand new bright green tennis ball. I told him to keep the ball safe at all times, no matter what the situation. I chose this item because even when I tried, I could not break this ball. After all, how do you "break" a tennis ball? It can't be done...right?
Wrong.
I came back later that afternoon and asked Mike for the tennis ball. You guys know me, always playing tennis. My brother looked as though he were confused, but he did not say anything. When I asked again, he started choking. I punched him in the eye and he forgot that he was choking. I figured that if he kept choking afterwards though, that it's possible that he could die. That was unacceptable however, because in that case, I would probably be late for my tennis match. I karate-chopped him in the throat and he coughed up a rather round and green item. It was almost as if he tried to eat and digest and tennis ball shaped and colored figure. I took the item to my secret underground laboratory and analyzed it for several straight hours. It was indeed my tennis ball.
When I inquired as to why he tried to eat the ball he responded only that he could not figure out how to break it. And by default in the Mikey handbook, if you can't break it, eat it.
Although is might have had one of the greatest names of all time, it didn't have the greatest developers of all time. Unfortunately we got bored and decided it was too much work. I read it to myself recently and I still thought it was kind of funny, because my brother is just as fat and stupid and beefy-titted to this day.
The Article Read As Such:
As some of you might know I have a little brother named Mike. He just recently eeked his way into highschool with straight D's. Mike is 14, but you wouldn't know it. On top of being a dumbass, he's fat. On the scale, it's rather difficult to differenciate between him and a barge ship full of cannonballs. I decided to write this article today only because I'm simply astounded (really) by his frequency of break to keep-in-one-piece ratio. By that I mean that my brother manages to break everything he gets his porky little hands on. He breaks the unbreakable.
It started when he broke my computer the first 3 times (this isn't funny this is the truth). Presumably from downloading too much gay pornography (I've got my system set to self-destruct whenever a gay porn film is downloaded/watched). However, I managed to fix my system by spending hundreds and hundreds of dollars and plenty hours of work. I passworded my computer and rarely had the problem ever again.
He moved on. The next victim was one of the shelves in my own bedroom. He destroyed the shelf in my entertainment center housing my XBOX. We concluded that from walking all the way up the stairs, that he probably passed out from exhaustion directly onto the system itself, smashing the shelf into pieces. He left the shelf broken and never told anyone about it, naturally.
Next, Mike decided that he'd like to break something a bit more valuable than a shelf. While on my recent vacation to Florida, my family had bought a unique wooden carving of a dragon. This piece cost my family upwards of $90. Mikey smashed this wooden dragon into pieces while I was not home. Again, leaving the pieces of the dragon on the floor. When I came home I stepped on one of the sharp wooden shards. It hurt, but I didn't cry.
This whole process was becoming far too familiar. I decided to test him. I was curious if he was doing these things on purpose, or if he was just, a dumbass. I gave my brother a brand new bright green tennis ball. I told him to keep the ball safe at all times, no matter what the situation. I chose this item because even when I tried, I could not break this ball. After all, how do you "break" a tennis ball? It can't be done...right?
Wrong.
I came back later that afternoon and asked Mike for the tennis ball. You guys know me, always playing tennis. My brother looked as though he were confused, but he did not say anything. When I asked again, he started choking. I punched him in the eye and he forgot that he was choking. I figured that if he kept choking afterwards though, that it's possible that he could die. That was unacceptable however, because in that case, I would probably be late for my tennis match. I karate-chopped him in the throat and he coughed up a rather round and green item. It was almost as if he tried to eat and digest and tennis ball shaped and colored figure. I took the item to my secret underground laboratory and analyzed it for several straight hours. It was indeed my tennis ball.
When I inquired as to why he tried to eat the ball he responded only that he could not figure out how to break it. And by default in the Mikey handbook, if you can't break it, eat it.
Excuse Me?
As many of you know I'm interested in a lot of foreign/underground music as well as traditional Americanized music. As you also know, I like to promote it by buying (mostly shirts) merchandise from them.
However, why do I end up having this conversation every day?:
Student: "Hey Ed, what does that word say on your shirt?"
Me: "...It's clearly visible, you douchebag, but it says (Insert Band Name Here)."
Student: "Wow, that name sounds (Insert Wrong Nationality Here)."
Me: "Yeah, they sing completely in (Insert Corresponding Language Here)."
Student: "What? They don't even speak American!?"
Me: "No, not everyone in the world speaks 'American'."
Student: "So you can't understand what they're saying?"
Me: "...no."
Student: "Then why do you listen to them."
Every time someone has the balls to ask me that I die a little inside. It's called "music", not a "monologue". If you find yourself asking this question, go read a book. I know what you're thinking: "Im so gunna say that 2 him and hes gunna b so pissed!".
Wrong, just dissapointed.
However, why do I end up having this conversation every day?:
Student: "Hey Ed, what does that word say on your shirt?"
Me: "...It's clearly visible, you douchebag, but it says (Insert Band Name Here)
Student: "Wow, that name sounds (Insert Wrong Nationality Here).
Me: "Yeah, they sing completely in (Insert Corresponding Language Here).
Student: "What? They don't even speak American!?"
Me: "No, not everyone in the world speaks 'American'."
Student: "So you can't understand what they're saying?"
Me: "...no."
Student: "Then why do you listen to them."
Every time someone has the balls to ask me that I die a little inside. It's called "music", not a "monologue". If you find yourself asking this question, go read a book. I know what you're thinking: "Im so gunna say that 2 him and hes gunna b so pissed!".
Wrong, just dissapointed.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
In Lighter News
The highly anticipated DragonForce concert is this Thursday. I plan on getting really drunk and really beat up in a mosh pit. It will be Bens first concert with us and should play out to be a good time. If you have to ask "who's DragonForce?" then you're just a loser and we aren't actually friends, I just pretend to like you.
Hopefully when we end up getting into an accident driving home it won't kill too many people. Speaking of horribly painful things, one of the opening bands is called "Horse the Band", which single-handedly made me hate the idea of naming things in general because I honestly thought that there was no way that their name could be any worse than the music that they play. "but ed u like lissen to devil music LOL!"; I wish socking someone in the jimmies was socially acceptable for a male but consider your uneducated bandwagon ass lucky. Go listen to some Green Day, I heard they just came out with another album that complains endlessly about losing their girlfriends and how much they bleed when they cut themselves afterwards.
Me Justin and Hillary are planning on going to King Richards Faire over the weekend. It's going to be stupid and pointless, just how I like it. I hope they sell battle-axes so that I can bring it into school and kill my friends. Just kidding, I'd probably use a gun. However, you get discounts at Ninja-World if you tell the guy that you're to bring the weapon you're buying into school to hurt people with (seriously). You gain an extra 5% off for each teachers' crushed skull that you bring in as proof.
After all, why wouldn't you kill your teachers with battle-axes?
Hopefully when we end up getting into an accident driving home it won't kill too many people. Speaking of horribly painful things, one of the opening bands is called "Horse the Band", which single-handedly made me hate the idea of naming things in general because I honestly thought that there was no way that their name could be any worse than the music that they play. "but ed u like lissen to devil music LOL!"; I wish socking someone in the jimmies was socially acceptable for a male but consider your uneducated bandwagon ass lucky. Go listen to some Green Day, I heard they just came out with another album that complains endlessly about losing their girlfriends and how much they bleed when they cut themselves afterwards.
Me Justin and Hillary are planning on going to King Richards Faire over the weekend. It's going to be stupid and pointless, just how I like it. I hope they sell battle-axes so that I can bring it into school and kill my friends. Just kidding, I'd probably use a gun. However, you get discounts at Ninja-World if you tell the guy that you're to bring the weapon you're buying into school to hurt people with (seriously). You gain an extra 5% off for each teachers' crushed skull that you bring in as proof.
After all, why wouldn't you kill your teachers with battle-axes?
New Blog
I find myself bored as shit a majority of the time, and decided I would attempt to create a new medium of uselessness to occupy my time with.
In The News:
Ben and I got fired from our jobs today. They say it was because we scheduled a delivery without permission, but I think it's because we loaf around and do nothing all day and get paid for it. The whore of a manager/owner didn't even have the balls to tell me I was fired to my face, she waited until I came in and had one of the other employees to do it.
The old lady who told me was 75 years old, but that didn't stop me from comically busting a $700 antique chair over her wrinkly old cranium. In all seriousness, we did really get fired. I can't wait to tell Bens dad so that he erupts into an unstoppable berserker rage and tears through the shop like an 9 foot 300 pound gorilla that just had 50 cc's of angriness injected directly into his brain.
The owner was supposed to call me today at 4pm, but she did not. Or, maybe that's because I turned my phone off to charge it. My phone is a piece of shit. TMobile is a piece of shit, too.
Fuck the Home Again Consignment Shop.
In The News:
Ben and I got fired from our jobs today. They say it was because we scheduled a delivery without permission, but I think it's because we loaf around and do nothing all day and get paid for it. The whore of a manager/owner didn't even have the balls to tell me I was fired to my face, she waited until I came in and had one of the other employees to do it.
The old lady who told me was 75 years old, but that didn't stop me from comically busting a $700 antique chair over her wrinkly old cranium. In all seriousness, we did really get fired. I can't wait to tell Bens dad so that he erupts into an unstoppable berserker rage and tears through the shop like an 9 foot 300 pound gorilla that just had 50 cc's of angriness injected directly into his brain.
The owner was supposed to call me today at 4pm, but she did not. Or, maybe that's because I turned my phone off to charge it. My phone is a piece of shit. TMobile is a piece of shit, too.
Fuck the Home Again Consignment Shop.
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