Put Your Penis Back In Your Pants And Stop Chasing Me

TV makes me cranky. I noticed this the other day when I was watching TV for the first time in probably 9 months. TV is a little box that essentially shows me everything I hate in convenient segments, so I am able to have little individual rant pieces about each little section. That car is ugly! God, another god damn reality makeover show! Jack In The Box is infested with salmonella-carrying roach-rat hybrids! I hate Keanu Reeves! More people dead in Iraq? Aagh! How come the Simpsons sucks now? MTV only shows shit! Mark McGraff or however the cock you spell it is VH1's personal little man-whore! How the fuck is "Joey" still on the air? If your Chicken Selects are "now" made with all white meat, what the fuck were they made of before? I keep seeing that same guy in tons of commercials; what the fuck? Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!!! I fucking hate EVERYTHING!!!!!

I think this is why I stopped watching TV. Well, I suppose part of it is the fact that I have to move shit around and rearrange the outlet if I want to plug the damn thing in. Plus, the genius advent of TV shows on DVD means I can get the shows I want, commercial-free, without having to suffer through all the beaurocratic BULLSHIT and horse-fugly ASS-MUNCHING! I once had a tolerance for commercials, so long as I was peppering each one with a healthy mocking attitude. Now the commercials have no need to be mocked, as they are such shit that it transcends having to even point it out. And now every show is like a half-hour commercial. Everything just plain sucks; thanks, TV, for reminding me.

It's so hard to break yourself off from it though. It's a drug; it addicts with a fierce passion. My body is very prone to not moving, and if something is there flickering and making sounds for an indeterminate amount of time, my body will be receptive to it for that indeterminate amount of time. I'll get verbally pissed off at TV, but even this will slowly turn into mere grunts of displeasure: "UNGH! bUH... DERFFANNAH NO NO!!!!" My anti-television nature doesn't stem from some sort of intillectualist propaganda either: I adore TV if done right. TV can kick ass. Early Simpsons is on par with fucking Shakespeare. That's right, you holier-than-thou english profeesors: I said it. Now eat me. Happy Days rules. Hogan's Heroes? Oh man. Don't get me started. I had my Matlock phase. I want to have mad monkey sex in the back of a trailer with Jim Rockford. And Dave Foley... He is God, if God were Canadian. TV is wonderful. But I can't bring myself to watch it anymore. It reminds me of how much I hate America and everyone in it. I need as little reminders of this as possible to keep me sane.

I'm not making some grand moral statement that all of you should turn off your TV's, eat carrots and roll around in grassy knolls for all eternity. I'm saying, for me, TV hurts. Ouch. Hear that? That is the sound of hurt. Find me a knoll and I'll roll, bitch. Get me a fucking carrot; I'll have orange skin and see in the dark. What'll you have, dick?

Fuck Trees

Dammit, shouldn't I be tired yet? No. All my freinds have Friday off, so they get to enjoy their Thristy Thursdays while I get to go to sleep and prepare for stupid class in the morning. So of course I don't. I always stay up with my Thursday buddies. We don't drink on Thursdays usually; I just really like calling them Thirsty Thursdays. But I still stay up later than I probably should. But I watched Who Framed Roger Rabbit, easily one of the greatest movies of all time, and easily better than remembering I have class in the morning. I never get tired at appropiate times. I'm always awake during appropiate sleeping times and asleep during all others. Whenever I'm up late, I do the backwards calculation thing that most people do at cemetaries and figure how much sleep I'm going to end up getting. So, if I have to get up by 10:45 for my 10:50 class, that means if I go to bed at 2, I'll get a good and healthy 8 hours and 45 minutes of sleep, right? That's good, isn't it? Those posters in my junior high nurses office would be proud. I'll even eat some veggies to really show them who's fucking king of living right.

But of course, it never works like that, as just because I go to bed at 2 doesn't mean I'll go to sleep at 2. I spend lots and lots of time in bed, not sleeping, wishing desperately it were due to getting some ass rather than simple unsexy insomnia. I hate that feeling of lying in bed, eyes closed, light off, everything set up for sleep, and the only thing missing is the sleep itself. It sucks. It's such a waste of time. Plus I don't gently drift away into slumber but rather am violently dragged, kicking and screaming, by that child-molesting sandman into Sleepy Time Villiage. In the morning I can never tell when I went to sleep or how far off from my initial calculation I was, and I end up tired and cranky all day. Though a cranky Jack is fun and games for all you people, for me it's like someone's trying to put out the fire in my brain with a boot. I get this "Don't talk to me" look on my face and I'm unabashedly rude. I don't like being rude, but if it keeps me from having to talk to anyone, I'll cross that line. I plop on my headphones and drown out the ugly and stupid world and be alone with my pissy self.

Good sleep is the best thing ever. However, sleep is like American television: When it's done right, it's amazing and there's nothing better in the world, but it hardly ever is and it destroys your faith in it forever. I used to sleep in too long and waste the entire day, and then a few years ago I simply lost the ability. I suddenly could not wake up any later than 9:00 AM, no matter how late I stayed up. I've always been a night owl, but as soon as I became a morning person too, my entire life became shot. I've been on no sleep forever. Sleep deprevation adds to my hilarity, supposedly, so I suppose that's good for you people, but it's probably destroying my already gone health. Lately I've been doing better, I suppose, but I've never been a completely healthy sleeper. The alarm in the morning is like a knife stabbing through my face, ie I don't really like it a whole lot. I always feel like if I could have the whole day to just sleep, I'd be alright, but that's not necessarily true, because too much sleep is no good either because it simply makes you more tired. There's the wonderful middle ground that is like having sex with chocolate unicorns, but I hardly ever achieve it. Bah! Lately I've been doing the pissiest thing ever, where I wake up naturally two hours before my alarm goes off, and of course I can't go to sleep again. Fucking ass. That's two hours you can just knock off of my life. Those add up. I've lost like 6 weeks in bed, like I was some kind of sickly kimo fuck with a broken femur and a tumor coming out of my eye, but without the fun of the pity or prescription painkillers. I also have dreams sometimes where I'm in bed, trying to get to sleep, like in that Calvin and Hobbes comic. Those are murderous. I have dreams where I'm doing normal shit all the time, and it's euthanising my ability to sleep. Sometime I'll find the secret to proper sleep. I'll bet it's in a box somewhere, you know under the sea, protected by a zombie merman pirate. You'd have to solve his ancient riddle and he'll let you sleep well for all eternity. Until I find which sea he's in, I'll have to suffer with my nightly toss 'n' turn fest. Dammit, dammit, dammit.

Lately I've been realizing the interesting nature of sleeping whilst drunk or high. Drunk, I don't sleep. I feel it's a waste of drunkeness to sleep. I'll often get into bed, put the covers on, toss once, and realize I'm wasting my wastedness and I need to ride this funky wave down whatever crazy path it'll take me. I constantly find myself in random rooms with random groups of people I've never met before that will give me pissy looks the next day when I try to say "Hi" to them, and wind up staying up forever. I gave the guy who guards the dorm building door Spider Solitaire advice for four hours once, without having any clue how to play Spider Solitaire. He didn't seem to get angry or mind that I was obviously intoxicated, which was entertaining in and of itself. While high, however, I tend to go right to sleep and enjoy the dream state. I can control shit, man! Oh shit! Every time I dream I try to control shit, and only while high can I even sort of achieve it. Granted, all I can really do is float in bed a little bit. So far. One day I'll be like fucking Superman. No, Batman. Batman was better. Yeah. Everytime I dream and I feel even the slightest bit aware of it, I attempt to flick the light switch, as they instructed me to do in Waking Life. My assumption is that if I can successfully get to a light switch and flick it back and forth, that will be the sign that I can control everything else. The closest I got was a dream where I was in the grocery store: Everything was normal enough, but for some reason I could tell I was in a dream. I went to look for a light switch, when all of a sudden an invisible force pulled me to the ground. Determined to get past the light switch barrier, despite this great odd, I began to slowly but surely crawl my way along the floor, desperately searching everywhere. I climbed stairs even (hardest shit EVER), but I seem to have dreamt up the only grocery store on the planet without a fucking light switch. But I tried, dammit. Wasn't even high that time; that shit was pure effort, bitches.

And that night I slept awesome, because I earned it. I haven't earned any sleep as of late, as evidenced by my lack of it. Sleep isn't the toy you get in the cereal; it's the toy you gotta clip 6 proofs of purchase and send in with postage and shipping and handling. It's an awesome toy, but that's a lot of cereal, plus all the time waiting for mail to be sent, especially with my fucking mail system, which is bad enough to deserve it's own post. I'll have to save that one; I'm slow to ideas. Simply getting into bed and telling myself "Go to bed, you dick" isn't enough anymore. I need to go fucking save Camelot from a nine-headed dragon before I can grab Teddy Ruxpin and get some Z's nowadays. Maybe I should literally count sheep; like, grab a sleeping bag and go out to a farm every night. Maybe I should have more sex. Maybe I should drop out of school and sleep whenever I god damn well please. There are many solutions to this problem, most of which I'm sure won't work, and most of which I'm too fucking lazy to attempt. I wonder if my laziness is attributed to my sleep trouble? That's plausible, and it would give me a nice tidy area to place all my blame.

There. At least I solved something. Now I'm going to bed. Let's see, it's 2:41, so I'll get a good 8 hours and 4 minutes of sleep, right? Right. Goodnight.

Because I'm A Whore Like That

As per Greg's request, here is my first post, entitled "English Paper":

The following is a list of words. Please judge this list of words as better than any preceding or future lists of words. Also, I read a book. Some words are big. Some words are small, but there are a lot of them. Some words will be like other words, but they will look different. This arrangement will be a good arrangement of words: some people thought some of the list should go in different places, so i did that and the list became better. Also, I read a book.

------------------------------------------------------------------

This was written as a study break during the writing of an English paper. Go figure.

Everyone's First Post

- hey, im new to this whol 'blog thing, but this is where im going to put all my tottaly random thoughts and rants! granted, youll slowly watchi t turn into a diary where i talk about the stupid shit that goes on in my boring life, but itll be tottaly random! whoah!

peace out!!!!!!!!!1

- I know you think you want to get to know me, but trust me: You don't. No description could accurately portray who I am to you, and attempt to do so would be bullshit. I am an enigma, or at least I desperately hope to be. I am so much more intelligent and complex than anyone else on here. Granted, you'll slowly watch it turn into a diary where I talk about the stupid shit that goes on in my boring life, but I promise to be angry as I say it.

- test

- This is my third attempt at a blog. I was bored one day while on the internet and decided to post this one message. You will never hear from me again.

- This blog isn't going to be like all the other blogs! I'm going to be totally different and revolutionary! All other blogs are stupid, but I'm going to change all that! You will never hear from me again.

- this is [insert name here]'s blog

- We know that you're interested in keyword linked to spam site; who isn't in todays modern world? Our web site gets many hits a day, so you can be sure we know plenty about keyword linked to spam site, but there are many other equally beneficial keyword linked to spam site sites out there for you to get information from! This is an obviously predetermined sentence in which any keyword, such as keyword linked to spam site or even keyword linked to spam site, will be inserted and repeated ad nauseum! Future posts will be very similar to this, and you'd have to be a complete keyword linked to spam site to think that I offer any real information on keyword linked to spam site or that I'm a real person! keyword linked to spam site the keyword linked to spam site in the keyword linked to spam site!

- Here's a picture I didn't take and lyrics to a song I didn't write that I can use to make it seem like I'm writing things or am creative... God I love my significant other!

(Oh, and another hearty "fuck you" to Blogger for losing two different posts of mine... I'll see you in hell.)

I Got Pop-Tart In My Bible

What a great day to do laundry. Not only was I beginning to have trouble walking around my room due to the overwhelming mass of dirty clothes, but it's a friggin' blizzard outside. I like doing laundry on shitty weather days, because otherwise I tend to feel like I'm wasting my time. Today it simply feels like an excellent excuse to stay inside. Ah. I walked around outside for a little bit: you know, to get a taste for both the weather and a ham and cheese sandwich. Nothing feels better than walking around in shitty cold-ass weather and then coming inside and taking a shower. Well, maybe things do fell better than that, but let me have this one, will ya? You always have to question everything I say! CAN'T I SIMPLY STATE THAT SOMETHING FEELS NICE WITHOUT YOU JUMPING ALL OVER ME???

The three question marks really add to the intensity of the statement, because there are times when caps lock is simply not enough.

What doesn't feel nice though is walking around in socks and then stepping on wet ground. Yuck. That totally ruins the entire day for me. Seriously, I'll be going to sleep after masturbating and brushing my teeth, getting in my pajamas and preparing to drift into beautiful slumber, when I realize the whole day sucked ass because 8 hours ago my foot got kinda wet. I'm the type of person who doesn't want to wear shoes after taking a shower on days like this. For me, showers are turning points in the day. On normal school days, a shower will be my way to wake myself up and get motivated. However, the exact opposite effect is achieved on weekends: a shower is a signifier for not wanting to go outside, do work, or otherwise move at all. The feeling I get right after I step out of the shower is one I want to bask in for the duration of the day and not be bothered by anyone or anything. Which is why I don't put on shoes afterwards. Shoes would tell my body that I'm about to go out and accomplish something, and the post-shower joy will be washed away with iron-will determination. And I fucking hate iron-will determination. I would much rather lie in bed for 10 days then climb Mount Everest or lift a truck over my head. Thusly, I tend to walk around the halls and stuff in socks or bare feet, because shoes detract from my entire experience. See, if I'm in my socks, I can trick my body into thinking I'm lying in bed when in actuality I'm accomplishing something like doing laundry and the like. I retain the laziness feeling while still doing something productive. It's the best of both worlds. Which is why it sucks so damn much that all the floors are wet on account of it being so friggin' snowy out. My feet get soaked and it destroys everything I hold dear. Everything I love is flushed down the toilet like so much displeasing stool samples.

The key is people need to wipe their god damn feet. I can understand it being wet right near the front door, but in the elevator? On the floors? You have about 50 feet of pure unadulterated carpeting to wipe those bad boys dry before you can get to the elevator. Take advantage of it. I don't want my floor-transporter as mucked as Kevin Costner's Waterworld, both in a literal sense and a that-movie-sucked-donkey-balls sense. The shoeless use these things too. People never look out for the shoeless. All the shoed think they're so great because they have an extra layer between them and the ground. But this attitude is destroying the lives of those who are far too lazy to bend over and tie something. I feel like I'm playing some playground game where the ground is actually lava when I walk, because I have to jump from one dry patch to the next in the vain and ultimately futile attempt to stay in the comfort zone. Eventually as the day goes on, heavily populated places like the front door and the elevator become so far gone that they have literal puddles in them. I feel like I should bring bread to feed the fucking ducks.

I feel like people in this city are in denial about the existance of winter. People don't wipe their feet or shovel their walks or wear warm clothing because they like to pretend it's not snowing out. See, back in my hometown of St. Paul, Minnesnowta (See what I did there? Play on words, baby. See, see, 'cause Minnesota gets lots of snow, so I inserted the word "snow" into the place on the word that rhymed with snow to signify this in a joking manner... Get it? I can explain it again...), we knew and accepted the winter. It was like the hobo that lived in your backyard: You couldn't really do anything about it, and it was pretty annoying, but you dealt with it, knowing it would leave eventually. Everybody shoveled; everybody wiped their feet; everybody knew how to deal with winter because we had all come to terms with it. Here in Chicago, it seems like people are hoping that if they ignore winter, it'll go away. If they go about their regular business and pretend like the weather is keen as a peach, bad old Father Winter will stop nipping at their nips and move along his jolly way. Don't bother getting the ice off your car or plowing the streets; it's not winter out.

But they only seem to deny its existance as far as the preparation for it goes. No one shovels; plows are few and far between; everywhere is slushy and gross. This city is full of deceptive puddles, which are yet another inflamed cyst and the asshole of my life. You know, places that you think are solid ground but turn out to be giant deep sloshes of ass. Fuckin' hate that shit. Can you not see my passion? Socks get all wet, shoes change color, lives are lost. Metaphorically. I don't know. Shut up.

I saw a man with 3 feet of sidewalk to shovel with a snowblower. How god damn lazy are we, people? Don't try to play like you didn't know winter was coming. Law of averages does not imply that because it's happened every other year that it's not going to happen this time. Get an orange and a marble out to symbolize the Earth's rotation around the sun and you'll notice that when the sun, which is hot, is far away, things get cold! And snow falls down. And you have to put up with it because you're not god damn Atlas and you can't simply move the Earth back to sunny Acapulco-style warmness because you don't feel like wiping your god damn feet when entering a building. Lick my nuts and make a sandwich, you cocks.

Glitter Pain

You know what this country needs? Another positive, heartwarming movie about an uplifting basketball coach. We haven't had very many of those, and I think it's about time this country learned, through film, that you can do anything you set your mind to. I think MTV Films should do it, too, because they always produce quality movies. Oh, and I think we need more singers who want to be actresses. Some of them could be in the movie. And then their song can be the theme and the music video can incorporate clips from the movie! Wow! I'm surprised no one has latched onto this excellent marketing strategy yet.

It would also be really nice if we had some sort of TV show where undiscovered singers can make it big, because if there's one thing this great country lacks, it's pop singers. The past twenty years has shown us a real slump in young, attractive indivudals who make lots of money by having their vocals watered down and appearing on VH1. And this show could also feature singers who overexaggerate how bad their singing voice is on national television, because, I tell ya, that certainly never gets old! And then we could give those people record contracts because they're so silly! Ha ha!

Oh, and while we're at it, where are the expose pieces in magazines about celebrities, huh? I mean, I know where Iraq is on a map and can easily explain to you how our politcal system operates, but I don't know a damn thing about the personal lives of celebrities! I am really interested in Paris Hilton, but since she's just a lowly model, actress, heiress, sex scandal participant and snobby celebutant bitch she doesn't get any press. It's sad, really. And where have Mary Kate and Ashley Olson been all this time? It's like a friggin' news drought when it comes to inconsequential celebrities! I swear, if our children don't know crucial things like who Jessica Alba is dating and what took place at Britney Spears' wedding, our nation is going to be in trouble. Uneducated youth is not something to laugh at. This is their future we're talking about.

God dammit, America needs to make some changes. We put so much importance on trivial things like tragedy overseas and literacy. What we need is more schlocky movies, god dammit! And if I don't hear a song with the words "crunk", "club" or "drop it like it's hot" soon, I'm gonna go nuts! These are the most criminally underused terms, and frankly we need to amend this. Come on, America! We can do this!

Getting Hit By Bulls

Ah, board wars. Ever chance upon an online message board and read a board war? They're fabulous. I absolutely love them. Basically, for those of you who have actual lives, a board war is when people online go into a message board of some nature and attack another message board member. The appeal is the anonymity, and the fact that a scrawny 15 year old pasty virgin can feel like a big man by saying "fagit" to someone they've never met. Someone will get angry at someone for posting something they find unpleasant and will begin the war by responding to their post with something along the lines of "shut up, coklicker", and then all hell breaks loose. Whatever the original topic was is hereby lost forever and the new topic is who's on whose side. There's always the people who chime in now and then and say both sides are "fukin fagits" and basically say both sides are assholes. Lots of naughty and politically incorrect language is incorporated, and, from an observers point of view, all those involved come off as juvinile pricks. But you dare not post on the board that everyone there is a juvinile prick, because by doing so you immedietly become one of them. The best thing to do is just sit back, read them, and realize how fucked up everyone on the internet is. Here are a few of my favorites:

- Excerpt from "Alright Coke-man You Want Tron You Got Him" or "Caspar Wars Aftermath" on IMDB.com's Freddy Vs. Jason message board:

"With that last post Tron your idiot rating goes from a 14 to 17.3. Try and make some sense. But anyway I came with a new idea…I call it the Tronathon show!

Episode 1) puberty hurts 8:00pm Trons house, his mommy knocks on the door

(Trons mum) Tron your baths run..

(Tron) (nervously) don’t come in my room mom, I am doing stuff!

(Trons mum) it better your homework, because I don’t want to have to offer myself to your teacher again in a bid to stop him failing your dumbass!

(Tron) it is mom…honest.

The next day… (Trons family are eating breakfast in the dining room, Tron comes downstairs_

(Tron) err…mom?

(Trons mum) what the hell do you want!?

(Tron) I…had an accident…

(Trons mum) what kind of accident?

(Tron and his mum go upstairs and into Trons room, to find a patch of the mysterious in Trons bed)

(Tron mum) What the f uck is this? You little *beep*

(Tron) im sorry mom…don’t beat me again…please!! Will Trons mom beat him? Did he actually do his homework? Will he forever be a pathetic loser?...Tune in next time folks! "

Notice the clever use of "f uck" to avoid having the ever-important curse word be censored? Wow. Color me impressed. I have no idea what any of this means, but I really like the fact that whomever wrote this took this much time and seemed to really care deeply about mocking someone named "Tron", who, in my book, needs no outside mockery. His name is fucking Tron.

- Excerpt from "fastest time beating Halo2" from Halo 2 message board:

"don't be so ridiculousy stupid, u and i and everyone on this forum knows that u did not complete all modes in just one hour, even if u r joking go away and never come back.
p.s. ur ignorant"

I love it when people with a painful amount of typographical errors call others "ignorant". I also love the "even if u r joking go away and never come back". No joking around when it comes to making a virtual man kill virtual aliens on a television as your gut gets larger. This is serious shit and this attitude shall not be tolerated.

Message boards are a great way for lame nerds to get out their inner asshole to other assholes without having to express their deep-seated anger to people that could actually beat the shit out of them. It's also a great opportunity to learn new vocabulary: For instance, did you know that "gay" means "bad"? Or that a "pussy" means both a vagina and a person with insecurity and self-esteem issues? Or... well, I guess that's it. That's really the only vocabulary used at all. But I also learned that if you want to get your point across better, CAPS LOCK IS THE WAY TO GO. Also, incorporate many exclamation points, to accentuate the passion you feel about your statement. Be sure to add a number one on the end, you know, for posterity. Smilies are always accepted; in fact, more so than actual words. However, text smilies just don't cut it in todays modern world. You need to download some from some site so that you make a smily face shoot something or give the screen the finger or have sex with another smily. The truly skilled online board warmonger will use their extensive knowledge of Photoshop and archived photos to show the target having sex with six black men, leading a Nazi rally or saying something along the lines of "i sUckz!!!!!" Truly gifted wordsmiths will have their post removed by an administrator, while even more gifted wordsmiths will steal someones password and start a message under their name called "i sUckz!!!!!" If these people spent the kind of time and effort they do on message boards on something other than video games and beating off, we might have a brighter future and they might all have girlfreinds. These board wars are so petty and silly that it just furthers my belief that everyone on the internet is a jackass, which I guess furthers my belief that everyone in general is a jackass. Which I guess makes me sound like one of those message board posters. And I can try to come up with some justification as to how I'm better than everyone else, but I'm really not, and I'm ok with that.

But here's what I want you readers to do: Have a board war, right now, in my comments box. Do it. Go hog wild. Pull no punches. Not only do I love when I got comments, I love it even more when they're hateful and angry. Now's your chance to stoop to a level so low you can't see it from your current footing. Trust me, we'll have a good time, and maybe even learn a little something in the process.

Totally Random! Tee Hee!

Once again, I really don't have anything in particular to post about. I always feel weird posting in such a circumstance because I always feel like I come off as shit and that I should be giving my all in every writing. But whatever. I've been a tad emotionally drained these past two weeks, what with getting back into the swing of school work and not having sex. I got good drunk last night. I don't mean "good and drunk" because if I did I would have gone back and changed it without you even knowing that I had done so. No, I meant "good drunk", as in opposed to "bad drunk" which I had been the past few times. I drank plenty last night, but only enough to put me in that hazy middle section where I have comprehension. This was a good thing, because I previously had bouts with vomiting and sucking on random nipples. I get pervy, I'm told. I can't help it. I'm a horny man to begin with. Get some booze in me and I'll fuck anything that moves. Or anything that I even imagine to be moving. Thankfully no one will fuck me, so I don't have to suffer through the post-drunken-sex awkwardness of the next morning. Being unattractive has its advantages, I guess. But I was proud of myself last night. No awkwardness or making people uncomfortable; just good old drunken party-down Jack. Aw yeah. We watched Secretary, which does not help in the keep-it-in-my-pants category, but I managed to conceal my horniness enough to not let Mr. Dangly out to play. I like Ritz crackers while drunk. Doritoes are pretty good too.

I saw Cex in concert with Aloha and Weather on Friday, and it was a somewhat disappointing show, which was disappointing because Cex is typically not disappointing in concert. Needless to say, I was disappointed. Aloha was not very good, but everyone in the audience seemed to believe otherwise. They apparantly all came for them, too, because the crowd almost completely dispersed by the time Cex came onstage. (And he's from Chicago too! Fuckin' represent!) They ended their show abruptly early and didn't appear to be giving their all, even though they were still damn good and I enjoyed their performance. The whole thing seemed so incestual: The bassist from Weather is also Cex's bassist, who in turn is married to Rjyan aka Cex; Cex's drummer is also in Aloha, whose schtick is to have every member play several different instruments. Aloha was one of those bands whose concept sounds good on paper, but doesn't quite deliver in actuality. All of their songs seemed like they were building to something that never happened. And their bassist was just silly. He was trying exceptionally hard to be noticed. He was the only member who could only play one instrument, but he tried to make up for it by mouthing along to the words in an overly dramatic fashion. The bassist from Weather just got added to my "To Do" list: She was fucking HOT. Female bassists are hot by nature, but she also sang and wore tight thrift store t-shirts and had the whole chub thing going on, and..AH! I say god damn! I got Cex and her autograph on a Pokemon card (the only thing I could find to write on) and a poster and she drew a picture of a bunny aving and saying "Hello". I almost creamed my jeans right there. And she had the sexiest cutest voice ever, and she played a beat-up two-string bass she built herself and adapted to be played with a bow. God damn. Fucking goddess. She and Cex had this amazing chemistry, you know, being married and all. Rjyan is a lucky man. The Pokemon card was Wheezing, by the way, in case any of you were wondering. He's the evolved form of Koffing and has 60 HP.

That and more TV (and I think I ate probably at some point) was my weekend. That without any of the fun stuff was my week. And on I continue. I'll try my damnedest to come up with more to write, but I really haven't been inspired to do much of anything other than masturbate lately. It took me a while to have it sink in that masturbate is spelled with a U. I guess I always just assumed the "master" in there was intentional, as though you were "master" of your penis and were whipping it until it produced some results. But I guess, looking at it, it looks right with a U, so I'll let it go.

Or maybe I'll just grab it harder. Ooh yeah. That's it.

The Movie Will Start In Ten Seconds

I wish I had more time to read. I wish I could read what I wanted to read instead of fucking schoolwork. I wish if I had time to read that I'd actually do it instead of getting distracted by porn or TV.

Whatever.

It's a tad odd not having anything in particular pissing me off lately, which is my piss-poor explanation for lack of posts. Basically as of late life in general has been pissing me off, and if I were to post about that it'd come off as some god-i-hate-my-dad-i-sometimes-hit-mypillow-out-of-angst type blog bullshit:

"I look outside and, like, everything is just... you know? Like, it's just, you know... God. Do you ever, like, just look? And, like, everything just seems like shades of grey and falling leaves... Ashes to dust, man... There was this guy once... Like... I don't even know. Man."

Actually, that came off as a step above most people's posts. Dammit, I'm too damn good. I can't help it.

Yeah. But I do feel bad not updating as often as I oughta be. I remember the hey-day, man. There was so much hey, it was nuts. They named a whole day after it. Back when I posted at least once a day, and each one bit like a barracuda; enough to warrant changing the name to "biteaccuda"; it'd be lame but appropiate; there are too many semi-colons in this sentence; all my grammar-nazi readers will be pissed; oh well. So seeing as how I have no particular subject that causes me intense brooding grief that can only be dealt with by typing nasty words, I'll have to revert to one of many oft-mentioned and quite overplayed verbal rantings. Stop me if you've heard this one:

Fuck playgrounds made of plastic. I suppose if it suited you, you could turn this into a literal context and go have sex on playgrounds as I have delved in in the past, but I mean in more of the typical Jack fashion of "Grr". Like an angry "I don't like you very much" grr. You know, that kind. All these damned new wave inhuman and cold plastic vehicles of childish abandon are ruining a generation of children. I am a staunch advocate of taking good care of children so that they may one day grow up to be the kind of people that don't piss me off. (Granted I'm not gonna have kids, because I don't think I live up to my parental standards.) One of the staples of a healthy and beneficial childhood, which in turn spurns a healthy and positive adult life, is playground play. You know, falling off the tops of slides and eating sand and getting splinters and getting beat up by the neighborhood bully kid and grass stains and tripping and falling on your face and putting your eye out and getting bee stings and head, knee and wrist injuries. Kids need to get the shit beat out of them, and I don't mean in a child abuse sense. Child abuse ain't cool. Don't play that shit, yo. No, I mean kids learn how to survive real life on the playground. They get broken bones and bruises and scars and cuts and bloody noses and all that good stuff and it teaches them not only how to deal with them, but how to have a good old fashioned mom's-gonna-be-pissed-when-she-finds-out fun, which is essential to their general maturation.

But now, possibly due to lawsuits or dead kids, most playgrounds are of the plastic variety. My home in Minnesota has one of the last wooden playgrounds I still see around two blocks from my house, and I still fucking play on that shit. But now everything's orange slides and blue bars and monkey bars too short to play chicken on. And I say "boo" on that. If kids don't get hurt while young, they miss out an important part of their early development and grow up to be Republicans. Play is educational, and we don't want kids to find out too early that education sucks. They need that early period of good ol' rowdy times, which are all but forgotten in the stale world of lame playgrounds. I want kids bumping their heads playing Don't Touch The Ground Tag and daring each other to jump off the top of something. Kids need pain, kids need to cry, kids need to rip their clothes while playing kickball, kids need to get all bloodied up and return to play nonetheless. It's good for 'em.

There is the rare breed of kid (which I am proud to say I was included in) that finds ways to hurt themselves on seemingly sterile playground equipment. For any kids reading this (and you shouldn't be; I have naughty language and you should be asleep) climbing on top of monkey bars often does the trick. Depending on the height of the slide, climbing on top of that always works too. Diving into the slide headfirst usually gets you pretty banged up. Try exploring areas you weren't meant to be, as though it were some sort of video game that you got tired of. Jump off the swings. Really far. Try to beat your record. I still do this. Land on things other than your feet. Fall straight down. Whatever it takes. I myself somehow managed to get my head caught in the spinny tic-tac-toe thing as a child. I don't remember how I got it in there, or out for that matter, but it was an adventure. Use your imagination. If you mom tells you not to get down from something before you hurt yourself, that's usually a good sign. Stick with whatever that was. Keep an open mind and I'm sure you'll be crying and using band-aids a'plenty in no time.

It's not that I like to see kids in pain; I just honestly think it's an important part to growing to get hurt on the playground. Just like reading, painting, peeing in the neighbors yard, and Mr. Rogers, pain is essential and leads to a positive adult life. I believe in you, kids. Make me proud.

I Said No Tomatoes, Bitch

I have trouble with directions. This probably stems from my lack of driving, on account of the fact that driving sucks and no one should do it ever. I had trouble enough back in the mean streets of St. Paul, Minnesota, but now I'm in the heart of Chicago, where everything goes six different ways and nothing makes any sense. Will Wonka and Dr. Suess must've collaborated on these streets because there have numerous accounts of me walking in a straight line and somehow ending up on a different street six blocks over. I never have any clue where I am. Every new place I go to takes at least two trips to officially figure out how to get there, and those two trips are always riddled with strife and adventure. I've never seemed to be able to realize that if I've been walking ten blocks without finding something Mapquest tells me is 0.1 miles away, I'm probably going the wrong way. It always pisses me off to get off at the train stop and go in one direction forever before turning around and finding the place one block away in the opposite direction of the train station. This happened to me last night as I attempted to go see the Found Magazine exhibit at the Center For Intuitive and Outsider Art. The flyer said it closed at 8, and of course by 7:30 we were stuck in greying snowdrifts like the Arctic adventurers and their trusty and ultimately delicious pack-dogs. We clomped (seldom do I get the chance to use that word; it fits so appropiately here) steadily through the gross piles of slush and squallor that was once brightly adorned snow, but now has been brought down by the horrid ravages of our Mother Earth. Luckily I had my street-tough Lugz on (the "Z" adds just enough street to do the job right, for when an "S" just won't cut it), lest my shoes be horridly soaked through and given me that disgusting wet sock feeling... Ick. It was a trek, my friends, which all could've been avoided if one of us were the least bit bright or perceptive. Damn us. DAMN US!!!

Well, we made it time luckily and got to see the exhibit. Quite interesting, I must say. Everyone who is given the opportunity should go see it. My favorites included a picture from a mother to her baby of a pregnant woman with two smiling stick figure fetuses in her belly, really really poorly done white boy rap, Muscular Christianity, a flyer that said simply "I CONTROL YOUR FAMILY - Dr. Hooray", and a warning against the neighboorhood bully cat. They had what appeared to be a kid's school project, which was a series of "What If" questions. I swear, this kid is going places. He is a freakin' genius. His list went as follows:

1. What if I grew corn for hair?
2. What if I were George Bush this year?
5. What if I were the Statue of Liberty?
4. What if I were Martin Luther King, Jr.?
6. What if I were as big as the Statue of Liberty? (crossed out)
3. What if I were my dog and my dog was me?
7. What if I was a me?
8. What if I were a what if on a papper?
6. What if what if any weird thing can happen!

This child is seriously going to grow up to be one of our greatest and most imaginitve minds. Nurture your childrens imagination, people, I mean it!

There was an old scrapbook someone found that really creeped the hell out of me. It was simply a collection of magazine and TV Guide clip-outs of little boys and child actors. Everyone from Mr. Culkin to Tommy from Third Rock From The Sun to all the Home Imporvement kids, as well as kids in soccer uniforms from K-Mart ads... I felt dirty just looking at it. He also liked Sliders and Star Trek. Hmm. Most of the findings are just cute and funny or just stupid and silly, but this was honestly frightening. I had to rehabilitate myself with viewing some childs old sketchbook, where you get to see her progression from childish artist to abstract shading and surrealistic still life. Very interesting. Found has always been an interesting view into peoples lives and the human condition. And all that shit.

I Burped And Farted At The Same Time

Most phrases and sayings I don't understand at all. "Go about it half-cocked"? What the fuck? I use the whole cock every time. But I do understand "sad sack", because that is exactly what I feel like when I'm sad: a burlap sack full of some sort of sludgy material, sitting in the corner of a garage, getting soggy and attracting flys. I go about feeling depressed very stereotypically: I listen to Nine Inch Nails; I stay in bed as long as possible; I accomplish very little; I take far too long to decide things like whether I want to eat or not and whether I could get away with not taking a shower again. Basically, I act like I would normally, only I feel like a sack while doing it. It really annoys me to be depressed. I say to myself "You dumbfuck. What could you possibly be sad about?" To which I respond "You're right..." and feel even worse. See, when I'm sad, I wallow. I bask in it, like it was a big pool of macaroni and cheese. I don't try to repress my emotions; that's silly. I have them for a reason. Plus it gives me a fabulous excuse to be antisocial and angry at everybody, which again I would do anyway. I listen to a lot of music while sad. Happy music really pisses me off while sad. Happy people really piss me off. Basically, everything pisses me off. Again, typical behavior, but I'm less mocking and more maudlin. I never slit my wrists or blame other people; that's bullshit. I just be sad, pretty much. I do write poetry, however. Check it:

Why?
Why?
Why?
I am alone with my tears
And my ignorance of poetic structure
ANGST
Mad is just sad with an M
And without an S
Why won't Dad let me stay out til 1?
No one understands me
Except Dashboard Confessional
Sigh

Brilliant, eh? Yeah. Thought so. I think the source of all this emotional pain is my current state of physical pain. My back and neck hurt, my left leg is all bruised up, both my shoulders are basically out of commision, and numerous other problems I'd prefer not to share here. All in all, I am an old fucking man. I hate it, because I'm too young to be old. I can hardly move most of the time and have been sleeping terribly. All this physical pain usually brings the emotional pain I feel to the forefront. I've pretty much always harbored depressive tendencies, but I can keep them at bay pretty easily. But when my body hurts, it reminds me of all the other things in life that suck. Everything sucks. Grr.

So before I start sounding like one of those blogs that is petty and annoying and that I make fun of all the time, I'm going to go back to sleep. I promise to shut up after this.

Magic Dart!

Well, here I am back in Chicago, back at college, back to self-loathing and manic repressive tendencies. Joyest of joys. This may see me back to a daily schedule though, so check back more often than you have been, oh faithful reader. The furniture of my third roommate who moved out last semester is finally being taken out, after 3 god damned months and many an angry phone call and e-mail. So that's good news. I can see out the window again which makes the room look less like a prison cell and more like a prison cell with a window.

My whole body is pretty fucking sore, after traveling for 14 GOD DAMN HOURS yesterday. My train was two hours late and the baggage claim is a bich and a half, not to mention the 8 hour train ride itself. Somehow I was under the impression that taking the train would be faster than driving. Silly me.

I wonder how naive my roommate is? I hope a lot, but it doesn't seem like it. I only ask because now I have to time my masturbation around his schedule, which is pretty damn annoying, let me tell you. I can't tell you the number of times he's walked in the door to me exiting several internet sites and retracting my hand to an appropiate position, then casually trying to be smooth and make it look like I'd just been checking my e-mail, for some reason with the headphones on though it was obvious I wasn't listening to music. Aargh. I'll bet he thinks I'm some kind of sex fiend or something, because he walked in on me and the gf eating biscotti when she came to visit. Actually, so did a couple other people. Does a sock on the door not mean anything anymore? I thought that was a universal symbol of "Go away; I'm fucking". Well, whatever. If I have the reputation of being a sex maniac, it's probably due to the fact that I am one.

Hey, why do people put condoms in the toilet? You're not supposed to do that. It clogs up the septic system and they're not environmentally safe. Maybe if they were hippy condoms, but no hippy I know uses such things. I think my suitemate just threw that in there to be like "Look, everybody! I had sex!" I'm sure he just bought a box and threw one away. Bah. Maybe I'm just bitter because someone else got some and I didn't. But I'm sure a liscenced plumber would wash his hands of the whole situation. He should anyway; they're probably all shitty and gross.

A man on the street asked me for change today. This is not really news because this happens often, but this man was dressed nice and had headphones on so I was prepared to not give him anything. His teeth were a tad faulty, but who am I to talk? But all he asked for was 90 cents to catch a bus, and he was at a bus stop. Believable story, and the price was right, so I conceded. Afterwards, he told me that he wishes I "find a good wife". I wanted to run back and give him more money for saying this, but he didn't seem like the crack addicted type. Too bad. I'll give anybody any amount of crack if they wish me a good wife. I think that's just plain awesome.

Spinal Tap is a great movie. Did you know Christopher Guest is an Earl? I didn't. How about that. The man that wrote "Sex Farm" is a mother fucking Earl. That's one step below king, man. Damn. Earls invented sandwiches. I love sandwiches. I could go for a sandwich right now.

Sex Scenes At Starbucks inspired me to break out my copy of The Downward Spiral again. Thank you for reminding me how horny I get after hearing that album... Dammit, this post is starting to sound like one of hers.

Well, I'm done. Click "Next Blog" now.