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.
Friday, September 29, 2006
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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