You know, like most of you, I had never considered an animal, much less a puppy, to be of any value short of being a fluffy companion. A few weeks ago, my family and I bought a Pembroke Welsh Corgi puppy online. She cost about a grand, and was delivered via American Express!
The first time I boarded an airplane was when I was 14. I've already been belittled by a small dog who eats garbage because she thinks Styrofoam is food. Fucking idiot.
Like my puppy, I've explored many an ass in search for answers(""). In my quest for knowledge I've sifted through countless chronologies of literature and video-based documentaries in search of untapped and unclaimed research-based theories.
It wasn't until late into my research that I realized that I couldn't even read. I then turned to observational research. I began my new research. The basis for my theory was that animals, though seemingly savage in their natural environment, could teach us more about ourselves and our own environment.
I began with the most obvious test subject; my brand new puppy. Within just a few short moments, she taught me more than I could have ever hoped for. She boldly took a huge shit on our brand new carpet. To claim this as anything short of an under-achievement would most appropriately be called an under-statement! Wow, though... That is a whoolle lot of feces there..
brb flushing my puppy down the toilet
Sunday, October 05, 2008
Tuesday, September 09, 2008
13th Grade
After spending just enough time at New England Tech to fuck myself out of having any classes with any of my actual friends, I decided to take up the 2-year-transfer program at CCRI. The deal is I spend 2 years at Community College, and then if I don't kill myself out of boredom, I transfer to URI.
What wasn't part of the deal however was taking 3 years of varsity track and field to condition myself for the walk to class from the parking lot. If I have class from 10am-on I literally have to park closer to Toll Gate than CCRI to get a parking spot. If I use binoculars I can see the outline of the building and if I use the Hubble Telescope I can see shapes that resemble windows and doors. After taking out my compass and heading seven-thousand clicks north I reach the area where the 8am class-goers park. Usually at this point I take out my canteen and take a breather so I don't pass out from exhaustion, taking cover from the sun behind the fleet of poorly personalized Honda Civics and Mustangs that are cooler than mine.
After I catch my breath, I continue up the strenuous walkways of what should be the Community College of Olympic Rock-Climbing. Once finally inside I make a stop at the book store and pick up a power bar, a red bull, some vicodin for my calves, and a pneumatic pump to fill my lungs back up with air. Feeling refreshed, I continue onward. After several long minutes of walking, climbing, scaling, swimming, diving and fishing(?) I arrive at last...nowhere near where I'm supposed to be. From here I search furthermore, getting closer and closer to my desired room number. At last, I am here! I make a dramatic entrance complete with dancing and singing and fireworks. But yet again, I am in the wrong class. God damnit. The students laugh me out and I shamefully walk away. If only I had taken one extra second to review the schedule instead of watching porn online.
I open my backpack and consult my schedule for the second time, realizing now that my room number is NOT XXX SLUTS. I proceed further towards my room. I finally arrive, now 1 hour and 25 minutes late out of my two-hour class. I sit down and listen in. I hear the words " input" and "output". There is no way that they are talking about elementary subjects like input and output in college. Oh god damnit, they are. You know what, if this shit needs to be taught then you might as well be taught how to open your eyes and wipe your own dumb ass. I picked up my desk, smashed the teacher in the face, output my spit onto her forehead, input my fist into her gut, and left.
What wasn't part of the deal however was taking 3 years of varsity track and field to condition myself for the walk to class from the parking lot. If I have class from 10am-on I literally have to park closer to Toll Gate than CCRI to get a parking spot. If I use binoculars I can see the outline of the building and if I use the Hubble Telescope I can see shapes that resemble windows and doors. After taking out my compass and heading seven-thousand clicks north I reach the area where the 8am class-goers park. Usually at this point I take out my canteen and take a breather so I don't pass out from exhaustion, taking cover from the sun behind the fleet of poorly personalized Honda Civics and Mustangs that are cooler than mine.
After I catch my breath, I continue up the strenuous walkways of what should be the Community College of Olympic Rock-Climbing. Once finally inside I make a stop at the book store and pick up a power bar, a red bull, some vicodin for my calves, and a pneumatic pump to fill my lungs back up with air. Feeling refreshed, I continue onward. After several long minutes of walking, climbing, scaling, swimming, diving and fishing(?) I arrive at last...nowhere near where I'm supposed to be. From here I search furthermore, getting closer and closer to my desired room number. At last, I am here! I make a dramatic entrance complete with dancing and singing and fireworks. But yet again, I am in the wrong class. God damnit. The students laugh me out and I shamefully walk away. If only I had taken one extra second to review the schedule instead of watching porn online.
I open my backpack and consult my schedule for the second time, realizing now that my room number is NOT XXX SLUTS. I proceed further towards my room. I finally arrive, now 1 hour and 25 minutes late out of my two-hour class. I sit down and listen in. I hear the words " input" and "output". There is no way that they are talking about elementary subjects like input and output in college. Oh god damnit, they are. You know what, if this shit needs to be taught then you might as well be taught how to open your eyes and wipe your own dumb ass. I picked up my desk, smashed the teacher in the face, output my spit onto her forehead, input my fist into her gut, and left.
Saturday, March 08, 2008
Mobil on the Run
As my time here at Mobil on the Run comes close to an end, it seems fit to reflect back on this truly weathering experience. I've been working third shifts full time for about six months now, and have decided to give it a rest for a while to help focus on school.
Rather than share my personal experiences here at Mobil, whether it be drinking, eating, playing video games; or drinking, eating, and playing video games, I'll do my part to give back to the community for all their kindness and pleasure that they have given me by buying all of their useful and important items. I'll do my best to give you some insight into the minds of the people who take care of your stupid shit, specifically at gas stations.
Note: I no longer have the internet at work since my bout with the FBI. Therefore I have WAY too much time on my hands. This is a long article. You're probably illiterate so don't count on this taking you any less than 7 weeks to finish reading.
Salutations - "How are you". Just kidding, we don't care. We get paid to say that. This is for everyone who decides to tell you just "how" they actually are. See how there's no question mark? That's not a typo, because it's not a question. We don't want to know, stop telling us.
Stories - I cannot stress this enough. We don't care about your terrible stories. We don't care where you got your car, we don't care where you work, we don't care about your kids, and we don't care what kind of toilet paper you wipe your ass with. Everything about you is uninteresting and no one wants to hear it. Shut up and leave.
*note - While writing my "We're Closed, Seriously" section, a woman came in (I've written this entire article while at work, it truly inspires me...) and started telling me about how she likes to color in coloring books. Case closed.
Pump Numbers - This is the big one: know your fucking pump number. When you pull into the parking lot, there's an oversized (though apparently still not big enough) sign with a big number on it. No, it isn't your IQ (though it might as well be), it's your pump number. Look at it, write it down, call a friend and let them know just in case you forget, anything you need to do. Don't come inside and tell me it's the "cream" colored piece of shit "over there". And another thing, it isn't "cream", it's white dipshit. You'd be surprised how many people come in and start naming off colors that I can't seem to find in the SPECTRUM. It's not cream, it's white. It's not macaroni and cheese, it's orange. Dump the gas on yourself and light yourself on fire. Stop wasting my time.
Lotto - Everyone has their stance on lottery tickets. But whether it be Powerball, scratch tickets, or any other shit, it's all wrong. "But Ed, you could win millions!". You know, you could! But you won't. Everyone might have their particular stance, but a gas station worker has only one: STOP IT. Buying and cashing lottery tickets is easily one of the most frustrating and time consuming things you can burden an employee with. It wouldn't be so bad if you could just ring them up, but we're forced to enter a different 4 digit code for each and every type of lottery ticket each and every time. Secondly, if you win: LEAVE. Don't buy forty-seven one dollar lottery tickets, go sit in your car/stand at the counter just to win five dollars, and spend all five dollars on more lottery tickets until you lose all of your money. That's ANNOYING and it's STUPID. Go take your impoverished (where did all the money go!?) family out to dinner you gambling-addicted fuck.
* Dedicated to Brian Rozzero.
Homeless People - Stop picking up pennies off the ground to buy an energy drink. You don't need energy to do nothing. Some of the best things in life are free; like an application. Get a job and stop being so homeless.
"What? 30 cents!?" - That's right. The price rang up 30 cents more than you had anticipated (and I do mean anticipated you predictable whore). Thirty cents. The two-for-thirty-cents-less deal is GONE. Are you really complaining about 30 cents? You know what, here's the 30 cents you cheap jew fuck. Get out of my store and never come back. You should be hanged in public. You sicken me.
Construction Workers - Plain and simple: wash your fucking hands. They're so dirty you look like a Kenyan (not to denote that they're dirty, just black as fuck). They look like you stuck your hands into the oven until they were fully charred into dirty blackity midnight BLACK. Stop giving me ripped up one dollar bills covered in sut and sweat. We get it, you work in construction, you get dirty. That doesn't mean your ugly ass is immune to hygiene standards. How about you construct yourself a sink and wash those filthy prongs. While you're at it, instead of using toilet paper, just use your hands? Then if you could rub your hands all over the money you're handing me so that I can get sick that would be just great.
We're Closed, Seriously - At the end of the work day, our second shift employees "close the day". This means they lock down the store, and fill out a bunch of bullshit paperwork. If you come up to the door and see eleventeen signs on the door that say "closed", how open do you think we are? Is there some kind of no-man's zone in between open and closed that I don't yet know about? Don't knock on the door, we'll ignore you. Don't knock on the window, we'll ignore you. Don't come up the the window and scream "but I only need!". Oh, excuse me, allow me to take total exception to the obvious fact that the store is closed, and the registers are offline, to help someone I don't even know get their stupid shit (usually a pack of cigarettes to help them die faster) that they don't even need. We hate you. Here, have some cigarettes and choke.
"Have A Good One" - Translation: Don't have a good one. Never have any good ones. Take your shit and go.
"The Bathroom is Disgusting" - Yeah, that's probably because I didn't clean it. Welcome to Mobil, bitch.
Don't Be Personal - If you happen to see me playing Age of Empires or Worms Armageddon instead of helping you, just wait until I'm done. I just reached the Imperial Age and I'm building TWELVE PALADINS. I need to upgrade those Paladins, idiot. They aren't going to upgrade themselves. Don't ask me what I'm doing. For all you know, I'm writing an article about how much I hate people who do that, so don't.
"The Machine's Broken" - No it isn't. Translation: I've been working here for six months and I still don't know how to use it. Alternate translation: I really just don't feel like using it. Another alternate translation: I don't like your face so I'm going to make sure you don't get what you want.
* Dedicated to Stephen Trinkwald
Strippers - If you're a stripper, how about inviting me to your strip club for a free lap dance when I'm NOT working? (this occurred)
*Dedicated to Jarrod Blanchette (Blanton)
Put Your Change In My Fucking Hand - I'm literally making new topics as they happen to me here at work. If I'm reaching over and holding my hand out for your money, it means "please scatter your change all over the counter in the most inconvenient way possible". No wait, it means don't do that, you rude fuck. My hand is even closer than the counter was. This is especially enraging when there's a shitload of change involved. This is common courtesy. I do it, you should be doing it. Learn some manners you cum buckets.
"You Forgot To Give Me My Change" - I did? Sorry, I'm frunk as duck.
Wah Wah Bitch Bitch: Why You Shouldn't Bother - It's okay for me to complain ALL THE TIME because it makes me feel better. Why shouldn't you have the same right? Well, I've mathematically proven that nothing you say matters at all to anybody:
1) Consider this: x = the amount your opinion/concern matters (value assigned on a base 0-10 scale, 10 being the most valuable). This is the overall value that we're here to explore.
2) Therefore, y = the importance of your concern in relevance to the importance of dealing with your concern (as opposed to ignoring it, and on the same numeric scale as x).
3) That being said, ideally x = y (or if you're stupid, I care equally as much as the matter is of importance).
4) Now lets take z, and assign it to the amount that I value doing my job within my last 2 weeks here at Mobil (again on a 0-10 scale). Obviously this is a factor in the equation and as such it must be added.
5) So at this point, to find out how important your complaint is, we can sum it up with x = yz.
6) So let's be generous and say you have an extremely important concern in terms of importance (i.e. a gas pump exploded and several people are dead). This gives y a hefty max value of 10.
7) We can start by plugging this into the equation at hand: x = 10 * z.
8) Our next step is to assess the value of z, or how much I value my job. This comes in at a strong zero.
9) Upon adding this information to the equation, we now have nearly completed the mathematificationarianisms, and we now have x = 10 * 0.
Need some more help? I'm sure you do.
10) x = 0
Several people are dead. However there are still 3 Paladins in queue. Your complaints don't matter. Shut up.
"You Have Nazi Symbolization All Over Your Ceiling" - I honestly don't know what's up with that. We actually do. If you're around, stop by and check out the vents. My guess is that Mobil = Nazi Corporation. No, seriously, I'm not joking at all.
"I Would Like A Honey PAALMA Dutchmaster" - Translation: this is my first time trying weed.
Some miscelleaneous facts or guidelines to follow:
- Don't push the panic button to prove to your friend that you're right in an argument over whether it's the panic button (i.e. silent alarm) or not. ...it was.
*Dedicated to Jarrod Blanchette (Blanton)
- Don't use the coffee machines, don't use the bathroom, don't even touch anything. No one has cleaned any of it, you'll probably get Hepatitis C just from breathing in the air.
- Stop being a clumsy fuck and spilling your coffee all over the place. And if you do, just clean it up, you're an adult.
- If you're gay, DON'T come in and tell me that I'm cute (this HAS happened).
- If you're cute, DO come in and tell me that I'm cute (this HAS happened, but she was probably 40 and not cute).
- If you buy some shit, give me exact change, walk away, and don't hear me pop the drawer open, it's because I canceled the sale and took all of your money.
- If you want some condoms, just say it, you bitch.
- If I'm playing music really loud on my laptop, don't talk over it, just wait until the song is over.
- I will not card you unless you have a rattle in your hand.
- I wear a Boston Red Sox hat. Like another team? No one gives a shit.
- If I'm not at the register, I'm probably taking a shit, sleeping, or I was taking a shit and then fell asleep. Go away.
I could literally go on forever. I think you should be spared. If you think I might respect your opinion even a little bit feel free to give me some feedback or possible suggestions for topics, though I'm sure they'll all be pretty terrible. I've still got another full week of 8 hour drunken shifts.
nwfndh8red@gmail.com - for suggestions
nwfndh8redautodelete@gmail.com - for complaints
Here's to bidding this place farewell, *gulp*
Rather than share my personal experiences here at Mobil, whether it be drinking, eating, playing video games; or drinking, eating, and playing video games, I'll do my part to give back to the community for all their kindness and pleasure that they have given me by buying all of their useful and important items. I'll do my best to give you some insight into the minds of the people who take care of your stupid shit, specifically at gas stations.
Note: I no longer have the internet at work since my bout with the FBI. Therefore I have WAY too much time on my hands. This is a long article. You're probably illiterate so don't count on this taking you any less than 7 weeks to finish reading.
Salutations - "How are you". Just kidding, we don't care. We get paid to say that. This is for everyone who decides to tell you just "how" they actually are. See how there's no question mark? That's not a typo, because it's not a question. We don't want to know, stop telling us.
Stories - I cannot stress this enough. We don't care about your terrible stories. We don't care where you got your car, we don't care where you work, we don't care about your kids, and we don't care what kind of toilet paper you wipe your ass with. Everything about you is uninteresting and no one wants to hear it. Shut up and leave.
*note - While writing my "We're Closed, Seriously" section, a woman came in (I've written this entire article while at work, it truly inspires me...) and started telling me about how she likes to color in coloring books. Case closed.
Pump Numbers - This is the big one: know your fucking pump number. When you pull into the parking lot, there's an oversized (though apparently still not big enough) sign with a big number on it. No, it isn't your IQ (though it might as well be), it's your pump number. Look at it, write it down, call a friend and let them know just in case you forget, anything you need to do. Don't come inside and tell me it's the "cream" colored piece of shit
Lotto - Everyone has their stance on lottery tickets. But whether it be Powerball, scratch tickets, or any other shit, it's all wrong. "But Ed, you could win millions!". You know, you could! But you won't. Everyone might have their particular stance, but a gas station worker has only one: STOP IT. Buying and cashing lottery tickets is easily one of the most frustrating and time consuming things you can burden an employee with. It wouldn't be so bad if you could just ring them up, but we're forced to enter a different 4 digit code for each and every type of lottery ticket each and every time. Secondly, if you win: LEAVE. Don't buy forty-seven one dollar lottery tickets, go sit in your car/stand at the counter just to win five dollars, and spend all five dollars on more lottery tickets until you lose all of your money. That's ANNOYING and it's STUPID. Go take your impoverished (where did all the money go!?) family out to dinner you gambling-addicted fuck.
* Dedicated to Brian Rozzero.
Homeless People - Stop picking up pennies off the ground to buy an energy drink. You don't need energy to do nothing. Some of the best things in life are free; like an application. Get a job and stop being so homeless.
"What? 30 cents!?" - That's right. The price rang up 30 cents more than you had anticipated (and I do mean anticipated you predictable whore). Thirty cents. The two-for-thirty-cents-less deal is GONE. Are you really complaining about 30 cents? You know what, here's the 30 cents you cheap jew fuck. Get out of my store and never come back. You should be hanged in public. You sicken me.
Construction Workers - Plain and simple: wash your fucking hands. They're so dirty you look like a Kenyan (not to denote that they're dirty, just black as fuck). They look like you stuck your hands into the oven until they were fully charred into dirty blackity midnight BLACK. Stop giving me ripped up one dollar bills covered in sut and sweat. We get it, you work in construction, you get dirty. That doesn't mean your ugly ass is immune to hygiene standards. How about you construct yourself a sink and wash those filthy prongs. While you're at it, instead of using toilet paper, just use your hands? Then if you could rub your hands all over the money you're handing me so that I can get sick that would be just great.
We're Closed, Seriously - At the end of the work day, our second shift employees "close the day". This means they lock down the store, and fill out a bunch of bullshit paperwork. If you come up to the door and see eleventeen signs on the door that say "closed", how open do you think we are? Is there some kind of no-man's zone in between open and closed that I don't yet know about? Don't knock on the door, we'll ignore you. Don't knock on the window, we'll ignore you. Don't come up the the window and scream "but I only need
"Have A Good One" - Translation: Don't have a good one. Never have any good ones. Take your shit and go.
"The Bathroom is Disgusting" - Yeah, that's probably because I didn't clean it. Welcome to Mobil, bitch.
Don't Be Personal - If you happen to see me playing Age of Empires or Worms Armageddon instead of helping you, just wait until I'm done. I just reached the Imperial Age and I'm building TWELVE PALADINS. I need to upgrade those Paladins, idiot. They aren't going to upgrade themselves. Don't ask me what I'm doing. For all you know, I'm writing an article about how much I hate people who do that, so don't.
"The Machine's Broken" - No it isn't. Translation: I've been working here for six months and I still don't know how to use it. Alternate translation: I really just don't feel like using it. Another alternate translation: I don't like your face so I'm going to make sure you don't get what you want.
* Dedicated to Stephen Trinkwald
Strippers - If you're a stripper, how about inviting me to your strip club for a free lap dance when I'm NOT working? (this occurred)
*Dedicated to Jarrod Blanchette (Blanton)
Put Your Change In My Fucking Hand - I'm literally making new topics as they happen to me here at work. If I'm reaching over and holding my hand out for your money, it means "please scatter your change all over the counter in the most inconvenient way possible". No wait, it means don't do that, you rude fuck. My hand is even closer than the counter was. This is especially enraging when there's a shitload of change involved. This is common courtesy. I do it, you should be doing it. Learn some manners you cum buckets.
"You Forgot To Give Me My Change" - I did? Sorry, I'm frunk as duck.
Wah Wah Bitch Bitch: Why You Shouldn't Bother - It's okay for me to complain ALL THE TIME because it makes me feel better. Why shouldn't you have the same right? Well, I've mathematically proven that nothing you say matters at all to anybody:
1) Consider this: x = the amount your opinion/concern matters (value assigned on a base 0-10 scale, 10 being the most valuable). This is the overall value that we're here to explore.
2) Therefore, y = the importance of your concern in relevance to the importance of dealing with your concern (as opposed to ignoring it, and on the same numeric scale as x).
3) That being said, ideally x = y (or if you're stupid, I care equally as much as the matter is of importance).
4) Now lets take z, and assign it to the amount that I value doing my job within my last 2 weeks here at Mobil (again on a 0-10 scale). Obviously this is a factor in the equation and as such it must be added.
5) So at this point, to find out how important your complaint is, we can sum it up with x = yz.
6) So let's be generous and say you have an extremely important concern in terms of importance (i.e. a gas pump exploded and several people are dead). This gives y a hefty max value of 10.
7) We can start by plugging this into the equation at hand: x = 10 * z.
8) Our next step is to assess the value of z, or how much I value my job. This comes in at a strong zero.
9) Upon adding this information to the equation, we now have nearly completed the mathematificationarianisms, and we now have x = 10 * 0.
Need some more help? I'm sure you do.
10) x = 0
Several people are dead. However there are still 3 Paladins in queue. Your complaints don't matter. Shut up.
"You Have Nazi Symbolization All Over Your Ceiling" - I honestly don't know what's up with that. We actually do. If you're around, stop by and check out the vents. My guess is that Mobil = Nazi Corporation. No, seriously, I'm not joking at all.
"I Would Like A Honey PAALMA Dutchmaster" - Translation: this is my first time trying weed.
Some miscelleaneous facts or guidelines to follow:
- Don't push the panic button to prove to your friend that you're right in an argument over whether it's the panic button (i.e. silent alarm) or not. ...it was.
*Dedicated to Jarrod Blanchette (Blanton)
- Don't use the coffee machines, don't use the bathroom, don't even touch anything. No one has cleaned any of it, you'll probably get Hepatitis C just from breathing in the air.
- Stop being a clumsy fuck and spilling your coffee all over the place. And if you do, just clean it up, you're an adult.
- If you're gay, DON'T come in and tell me that I'm cute (this HAS happened).
- If you're cute, DO come in and tell me that I'm cute (this HAS happened, but she was probably 40 and not cute).
- If you buy some shit, give me exact change, walk away, and don't hear me pop the drawer open, it's because I canceled the sale and took all of your money.
- If you want some condoms, just say it, you bitch.
- If I'm playing music really loud on my laptop, don't talk over it, just wait until the song is over.
- I will not card you unless you have a rattle in your hand.
- I wear a Boston Red Sox hat. Like another team? No one gives a shit.
- If I'm not at the register, I'm probably taking a shit, sleeping, or I was taking a shit and then fell asleep. Go away.
I could literally go on forever. I think you should be spared. If you think I might respect your opinion even a little bit feel free to give me some feedback or possible suggestions for topics, though I'm sure they'll all be pretty terrible. I've still got another full week of 8 hour drunken shifts.
nwfndh8red@gmail.com - for suggestions
nwfndh8redautodelete@gmail.com - for complaints
Here's to bidding this place farewell, *gulp*
Sunday, July 08, 2007
Oh, well, shit.
Like the majority of you I've been to an unhealthy amount of parties so far during the summer of '07. Often memories are created (or destroyed). Recently I attended a party, I didn't know the host or most of the people there, but we brought beer for a night of BP so it was all good (in the hood).
After a few hours of games one of the kids that I didn't know fell asleep on a treadmill (he drank oh say about, 2 beers..). Obviously we turned the treadmill on and it crushed him into a corner and fucked up his face. He decided that it would be better (safer) to pass out upstairs in the living room. We found him a few minutes later, passed out. Where can we find some sharpies to write on him? Quite the predicament indeed. Upon opening of the first draw in sight, we netted a brand new box of assorted sharpies. God intended this. We started drawing a large penis on his face until he woke up in a daze. He ran to the bathroom vomiting wildly everywhere as we laughed at the funny looking dilapidated penis on his face.
When he was done throwing up, I returned to my post at the winning end of the beer pong table (made from coolers, shoe boxes, and innovation). The cleanup crew upstairs used paper towels to clean the mess, and then threw them all in the toilet, clogging it. Since I wasn't helping clean I had no idea. I ran upstairs to drain myself, flushing the toilet afterwards. I began to raid his fridge until alarmed by a familiar sound, running water. The toilet had flooded the bathroom and was pouring down the stairs into the basement where we were playing our games. I ran downstairs to notify everyone only to discover that the pipes in the basement had burst and water was pouring down like a monsoon drenching everything.
We scurried around pulling knobs and levers with no regard to what negative effect they might have. In the end, Jarod plunged the toilet and saved the day. The beer was safe and it was time for Denny's.
Sorry, Andrew.
After a few hours of games one of the kids that I didn't know fell asleep on a treadmill (he drank oh say about, 2 beers..). Obviously we turned the treadmill on and it crushed him into a corner and fucked up his face. He decided that it would be better (safer) to pass out upstairs in the living room. We found him a few minutes later, passed out. Where can we find some sharpies to write on him? Quite the predicament indeed. Upon opening of the first draw in sight, we netted a brand new box of assorted sharpies. God intended this. We started drawing a large penis on his face until he woke up in a daze. He ran to the bathroom vomiting wildly everywhere as we laughed at the funny looking dilapidated penis on his face.
When he was done throwing up, I returned to my post at the winning end of the beer pong table (made from coolers, shoe boxes, and innovation). The cleanup crew upstairs used paper towels to clean the mess, and then threw them all in the toilet, clogging it. Since I wasn't helping clean I had no idea. I ran upstairs to drain myself, flushing the toilet afterwards. I began to raid his fridge until alarmed by a familiar sound, running water. The toilet had flooded the bathroom and was pouring down the stairs into the basement where we were playing our games. I ran downstairs to notify everyone only to discover that the pipes in the basement had burst and water was pouring down like a monsoon drenching everything.
We scurried around pulling knobs and levers with no regard to what negative effect they might have. In the end, Jarod plunged the toilet and saved the day. The beer was safe and it was time for Denny's.
Sorry, Andrew.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Insane Anti-Weed Commercials
So a little late in response to my anti-alcohol commercial criticism, but still justified I believe, comes part two. This section deals specifically with the inaccuracies of the anti-weed propaganda commercials seen daily on various channels on TV.
A particular commercial comes to mind:
The scene is set in a public park, a boy and (potentially) his girlfriend are sitting on a bench. Sound like fun? You bet. Well Jimmy Obvious decides it's a good time to whip out his weed and smoke a blunt. His boring ass girlfriend refuses to take part in the smoking of the blunt, which is understandable at this point. However a few seconds later the developers throw a curve ball at you in the form of a hideous alien from another planet who decides his cocky ass is going to land his space ship wherever the fuck he wants. The pizza-headed martian lands his space ship in the middle of this park apparently looking for some boontskeet from a completely different species.
The boy, Jimmy, is completely unmoved by the hideous creature. Naturally(?) his first course of action is to offer the strange being a hit off his blunt. The little patsy throws his head away in a total 180 degree display of faggotism. When the girlfriend lays eyes on the completely irrelevant and far-fetched incident, she magically falls in love.
WHAT A SLUT!
The moral of the story being that smoking weed will instantly and indefinitely make your loved ones hate/leave you is a completely biased and unsupported assumption made by a staff of poorly educated propaganda artists with absolutely no street credibility whatsoever. If any of you are like me, if I was stoned and a little alien landed in a shoddy little spacecraft I would probably beat his ass and steal it or be completely paralyzed in shock by the event itself. The last thing I'd be concerned about is my whore girlfriend getting probed and raped by aliens from some distant planet.
Remember kids, if you smoke weed, you get to see aliens n' shit! WWEeeeeeeEEeEeEEeeee
This is fucking stupid.
A particular commercial comes to mind:
The scene is set in a public park, a boy and (potentially) his girlfriend are sitting on a bench. Sound like fun? You bet. Well Jimmy Obvious decides it's a good time to whip out his weed and smoke a blunt. His boring ass girlfriend refuses to take part in the smoking of the blunt, which is understandable at this point. However a few seconds later the developers throw a curve ball at you in the form of a hideous alien from another planet who decides his cocky ass is going to land his space ship wherever the fuck he wants. The pizza-headed martian lands his space ship in the middle of this park apparently looking for some boontskeet from a completely different species.
The boy, Jimmy, is completely unmoved by the hideous creature. Naturally(?) his first course of action is to offer the strange being a hit off his blunt. The little patsy throws his head away in a total 180 degree display of faggotism. When the girlfriend lays eyes on the completely irrelevant and far-fetched incident, she magically falls in love.
WHAT A SLUT!
The moral of the story being that smoking weed will instantly and indefinitely make your loved ones hate/leave you is a completely biased and unsupported assumption made by a staff of poorly educated propaganda artists with absolutely no street credibility whatsoever. If any of you are like me, if I was stoned and a little alien landed in a shoddy little spacecraft I would probably beat his ass and steal it or be completely paralyzed in shock by the event itself. The last thing I'd be concerned about is my whore girlfriend getting probed and raped by aliens from some distant planet.
Remember kids, if you smoke weed, you get to see aliens n' shit! WWEeeeeeeEEeEeEEeeee
This is fucking stupid.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Insane Anti-Alcohol Ads
From gravity-altering alcoholic beverages to mind-imploding use of natural herbs, it's been proven that you will instantly die from any amount of use of either of these evil substances.
I'm willing to admit that alcohol is proven to be unhealthy, and everyone who knows their ass from their own head knows it too. But the anti-alcoholism ads, especially in our schools, have stepped so far over the edge of reality that I've grown more trust in vintage cartoon characters (not the modern ones, they're forced by the media to be superficial and politically correct, unlike the old-fashioned racist and honest cartoon characters). To be brief, I'll use the specific ad that was shown to the senior class in 2007. At first it was a pro-war recruiting tool used to try and fool teenagers into believing that the army is what it isn't. It's all guns and helicopters and fighter jets and dominance over foreign countries. After a few good solid minutes of propaganda it suddenly took a turn for the worst in the form of an anti-alcohol (anti-fun) ad.
In this ad, a teenager is seen handing a beer to one of his cohorts. I made the assumption that any second now a message would be made along the lines of "don't drink", or, "don't give in to peer pressure". Well, a message was made alright. The very moment the receiving student made contact with the beer, the students warped into outer space where there is no gravity. The student began spinning in slow motion, wildly out of control! However, the other student who had been handing the student the beer was completely unaffected.
The message is clear: Do not drink alcohol, if you are a pussy.
Coming soon: Insane Anti-Weed Ads
I'm willing to admit that alcohol is proven to be unhealthy, and everyone who knows their ass from their own head knows it too. But the anti-alcoholism ads, especially in our schools, have stepped so far over the edge of reality that I've grown more trust in vintage cartoon characters (not the modern ones, they're forced by the media to be superficial and politically correct, unlike the old-fashioned racist and honest cartoon characters). To be brief, I'll use the specific ad that was shown to the senior class in 2007. At first it was a pro-war recruiting tool used to try and fool teenagers into believing that the army is what it isn't. It's all guns and helicopters and fighter jets and dominance over foreign countries. After a few good solid minutes of propaganda it suddenly took a turn for the worst in the form of an anti-alcohol (anti-fun) ad.
In this ad, a teenager is seen handing a beer to one of his cohorts. I made the assumption that any second now a message would be made along the lines of "don't drink", or, "don't give in to peer pressure". Well, a message was made alright. The very moment the receiving student made contact with the beer, the students warped into outer space where there is no gravity. The student began spinning in slow motion, wildly out of control! However, the other student who had been handing the student the beer was completely unaffected.
The message is clear: Do not drink alcohol, if you are a pussy.
Coming soon: Insane Anti-Weed Ads
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Koeniger, the Racist!
So on Wednesday, March 8th I had some work to make up in Physics (all of 3rd quarter).
After she helped me through some problems she wrote up a new one. Towards the top of the chalk board are some useful equations, numbered (god knows the fuck why). Koeniger then asked me which equation to use to solve the problem at hand. I looked up and decided number four was the way to go. I tell Koeniger, "I choose numba' fo'". My intent being to explain to her, in a stylish manner, that I had picked number four.
After a few seconds of silence, she leans over her desk and whilst speaking softly (because she knew it was wrong) asks: "Why are you talking like a black person?".
Need I say more?
Yes, I do.
Towards the beginning of the year we were doing a lab during her class which involved clamps of different sizes. There was a unique clamp among the bunch, bigger and blacker than the rest in girth and color respectively. When Koeniger referred to the clamp as "Big Blacky", the class chuckled. Get it? Black people. Anyway, in response to the laughter, she exclaims "What? It's not like I called him big NIGGER." We went silent in disbelief and then erupted into laughter all over again. Oohh black folks...
Well at least her racism and cultural ignorance is limited to that of African Americans. That we can all agree on.
Except for this time when Bernardo (no longer in our Physics class, weird) was trying his very best to learn. He asked Koeniger a question about the material we were covering. Koeniger, being old and irritable responds "I can't even understand what you're saying! Speak up! Speak English! No comprendo!" Bernardo, understanding her belligerent abuse of the Spanish language says, "I don't speak Spanish, I speak Portuguese".
Koeniger responds angrily: "WHAT'S THE DIFFERENCE!?"
Is Koeniger a racist? Yes.
Is Koeniger a bad teacher? I'll say.
Is Koeniger culturally (and possibly generally) ignorant? Indeed.
Do you have a relevant Koeniger story? If so, email it to nwfndh8red@gmail.com for me to post up.
After she helped me through some problems she wrote up a new one. Towards the top of the chalk board are some useful equations, numbered (god knows the fuck why). Koeniger then asked me which equation to use to solve the problem at hand. I looked up and decided number four was the way to go. I tell Koeniger, "I choose numba' fo'". My intent being to explain to her, in a stylish manner, that I had picked number four.
After a few seconds of silence, she leans over her desk and whilst speaking softly (because she knew it was wrong) asks: "Why are you talking like a black person?".
Need I say more?
Yes, I do.
Towards the beginning of the year we were doing a lab during her class which involved clamps of different sizes. There was a unique clamp among the bunch, bigger and blacker than the rest in girth and color respectively. When Koeniger referred to the clamp as "Big Blacky", the class chuckled. Get it? Black people. Anyway, in response to the laughter, she exclaims "What? It's not like I called him big NIGGER." We went silent in disbelief and then erupted into laughter all over again. Oohh black folks...
Well at least her racism and cultural ignorance is limited to that of African Americans. That we can all agree on.
Except for this time when Bernardo (no longer in our Physics class, weird) was trying his very best to learn. He asked Koeniger a question about the material we were covering. Koeniger, being old and irritable responds "I can't even understand what you're saying! Speak up! Speak English! No comprendo!" Bernardo, understanding her belligerent abuse of the Spanish language says, "I don't speak Spanish, I speak Portuguese".
Koeniger responds angrily: "WHAT'S THE DIFFERENCE!?"
Is Koeniger a racist? Yes.
Is Koeniger a bad teacher? I'll say.
Is Koeniger culturally (and possibly generally) ignorant? Indeed.
Do you have a relevant Koeniger story? If so, email it to nwfndh8red@gmail.com for me to post up.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Dunkin' Dipshits
I think by now the majority of people who know anything about me have come to terms with my insatiable appetite for Dunkin' Donuts. I normally order some form of a breakfast sandwich because it helps dull the intense pain and boredom of going to school. But sometimes the food can cost more than just your hard-earned (or stolen, whichever) money. The following situation really happened and is 100% true to life.
I pulled up to Dunkin' after ordering my sandwich/sammich to pay and obtain it. The woman promptly handed me two coffees. Having compassion for all of gods creatures, even the lesser ones, I politely explained that there had been a terrible mixup, and that I ordered a sandwich. The woman nodded at me, gesturing primitively that she understood the situation. She took the coffees back and proceeded to hand me a bagel (that really fucking awful kind that pigeons and homeless people and homeless pigeons wouldn't even eat, poppyseed...). "You're almost there", I thought, "you dumb bitch". She became embarrassed in lieu of her errors and grew red in the face. She, again, took back the food and fumbled around like a crippled person who comically loses one of their crutches in some serious but amusing accident that we find funny only because it's not happening to us.
Round three. The woman finally comes to the window after what felt like hours of intense sandpaper friction on my balls and poison-tipped darts repeatedly thrown in my eyes. She has the bag, she has the sandwich, she has done it! I put the bag in the passenger seat, my intent being to relax and eat it at home. When I turned back to spit in her face for being so insolent and useless, she tried to give me the fucking coffees. Can you believe it? She fucked up again. If you knew your child was growing up with a severe mental disability why wouldn't you just throw them away? I don't understand it. Why do you think man invented dumpsters? Because in the dark and primal times preceding the dumpster you could only fit maybe 3 dead baby corpses in there, and it was prone to the possibility of tipping over when you threw the living ones in.
Anyway, she was far too large to fit in the cleverly designed garbage opening for fat lazy Americans who if you'll notice ALWAYS throw all their garbage into the first of two garbage bins, resulting in one can overflowing with garbage, and the other near empty. So I pulled a Charlie Murphy and slammed her thick head on the counter until her eyes fell out. She was obviously hopeless, I mean, she couldn't even work the kitchen right. I hope you burn in the fiery evil depths of hell, whore.
I pulled up to Dunkin' after ordering my sandwich/sammich to pay and obtain it. The woman promptly handed me two coffees. Having compassion for all of gods creatures, even the lesser ones, I politely explained that there had been a terrible mixup, and that I ordered a sandwich. The woman nodded at me, gesturing primitively that she understood the situation. She took the coffees back and proceeded to hand me a bagel (that really fucking awful kind that pigeons and homeless people and homeless pigeons wouldn't even eat, poppyseed...). "You're almost there", I thought, "you dumb bitch". She became embarrassed in lieu of her errors and grew red in the face. She, again, took back the food and fumbled around like a crippled person who comically loses one of their crutches in some serious but amusing accident that we find funny only because it's not happening to us.
Round three. The woman finally comes to the window after what felt like hours of intense sandpaper friction on my balls and poison-tipped darts repeatedly thrown in my eyes. She has the bag, she has the sandwich, she has done it! I put the bag in the passenger seat, my intent being to relax and eat it at home. When I turned back to spit in her face for being so insolent and useless, she tried to give me the fucking coffees. Can you believe it? She fucked up again. If you knew your child was growing up with a severe mental disability why wouldn't you just throw them away? I don't understand it. Why do you think man invented dumpsters? Because in the dark and primal times preceding the dumpster you could only fit maybe 3 dead baby corpses in there, and it was prone to the possibility of tipping over when you threw the living ones in.
Anyway, she was far too large to fit in the cleverly designed garbage opening for fat lazy Americans who if you'll notice ALWAYS throw all their garbage into the first of two garbage bins, resulting in one can overflowing with garbage, and the other near empty. So I pulled a Charlie Murphy and slammed her thick head on the counter until her eyes fell out. She was obviously hopeless, I mean, she couldn't even work the kitchen right. I hope you burn in the fiery evil depths of hell, whore.
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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