Friday, January 27, 2006

Sure, He Slipped In Apple Juice, But If You Call It Pee It Becomes So Much Funnier

Man, here I am, 2 am and studying for a damn test in damn Human Sexuality. I hadn't cracked the book until this point, relying on my general cocky attitude toward tests that I know everything I'll ever need to know about the subject without even thinking about it. But after unsuccessfully describing the perenium, I figured I'd better hit the books. After hitting them, I realized I knew what a perenium was already. But nobody calls it a perenium. I'll bet even doctors don't call it that. It's about time we kick out all these medical terminologies and replace them with our modern slang. Of course, this might mean that the vagina is labelled without clitoris and there is no wrong answer to the name of the shaft. "I suppose you could call it 'Philolligaggle' if you really wanted; wouldn't be my first choice..."

But no, I gotta get damned technical and learn all these things that really give me no insight into human sexuality, other than restressing in my mind just how gross naughty bits are, and I learned that in 2nd grade (but don't ask me how). I ain't gotta see no ramen-noodle looking bosack or the inner workings of the vulva. There are colors and textures I attempt not to associate with sex, such as uncooked-cow-red and yellow-pussy-and-bubblicious. I ain't need to know what nasty things my penis is talking to once inside a vagina. I don't ask, it doesn't tell. I don't need to be able to point out where a Cowper's gland is. Yes, Cowper, I appreciate your contribution to the field by feeling around inside your butt and discovering this fun little guy that turns your penis into a waterpark, but it isn't entirely necessary to my overall well-being to see where it hangs out and who it's friends are. I know where the clitoris is, and what else is really needed, huh? I know where all the fun stuff is, the rest of this is just the people at the party that I don't know very well and who don't make very interesting conversation. Everybody wants to be best friends with a glans, but everybody ignores that creepy loser the Fimbrae. I heard Fimbrae still lives with his mom. His favorite band is Kraftwerk and he won't shut up about it. Plus, he's blue, and that color is very not in season right now.

When I took this class I was expecting it to be more of a psychology class, because it was labelled as such. Silly me, believing what I'm told again. No, this really turned out more like a high school health class, except slightly less giggles and slightly more videos of sex-change operations. Damn this horny brain of mine, believing every single thing that has the word "sex" in it is going to be by nature fascinating and give me stiffies to no end. I have had not a single stiffy in that class; I want my money back. All these tubes and pouches and piles of meat and bloody concoctions don't do it for me. Plus then they go into all these dick diseases that make my penis go all Tonglen and my testicles start to feel heartburn. Testicular Torsion? I really, really didn't need to hear about the possibility of my testes twisting on themselves. I also don't want to hear detailed accounts of priapism or Peyronies disease, my trouser Bowser just feels all these horrid tingling sensations, like an inverse erection. These stories make my dick never want to have sex again and hide in the corner for eternity, which is going to be difficult on me because then I gotta face that same corner, and really there's not a whole lot to look at there. It's just a whole lot of wall.

Maybe it's just the stress of being unprepared for a test I have to take in a few hours and being really fucking tired. Maybe all this stuff is supremely important and all these ladies will be all over me once I can tell them how common Klinefelter's syndrome is (1 out of every 700 births, ladies, come get it), but seeing as how that ain't happening and neither is my becoming either a doctor or a creepy psychiatrist who writes his notes using his tongue and a giant vat of pudding, I don't see myself needing any of this information other thant to pass this test. And than after that, what's the point? I'll forget it seconds after taking the test, if I bother to retain it beforehand in the first place. I'm used to staying up late and looking at vaginas, but this is the least sexy session I've ever had. I hope I don't imagine all these arrows pointing to every vagina I see from now on, telling me where everything is and it's function, nor do I want the image of a cross-sectioned penis in my head every time I masturbate.

God damn I'm tired. Fuck this shit.

Tuesday, January 24, 2006

I'm So Confused Anymore

Most of the memories I have of myself from when I was younger are of me acting dumb. And I mean at every age. Yeah, I was dumb as a kid, all saying naive comments that made all the growned people laugh and take in the simple innocence of youth. But later on when I was a teenager I was dumb too. Because teenagers nature is to be dumb, to think more highly of themselves than they deserve. You get a little older and you start to realize how you've grown since then, how you've become a more mature and intelligent person. You think of the things you did and said and enjoyed and felt and think how far you've come along. But you haven't really. Another 5 years from now I'll look back at what I've got written here and say to myself, "Wow, the old me was so foolish! I'm glad I've moved on to the smart, upstanding individual I am." This will likely be followed by me running into a wall and falling to my death off of the highest cliff, in true ironic fashion.

Essentially, then, no matter how smart we are or think we are, we are always fools in retrospect, and hence always fools. If my present self is an idiot to my future self, then my present self has no right to feel superior to my past self for my past self's idiocy. All work I've ever done has looked poor in comparison to work I'm doing now, which in time will be loads of shit. Maybe I'm looking at progression and growth backwards; I should instead be viewing it as an ascent from the past instead of a descent from the future.

But I'm a pessimist, people, you knew that.

Sunday, January 22, 2006

Honky-Tonk Rodeo Clown Seeks Same For Ovulation And General Good Timery

Have you ever taken a shit and then gone to wash your hands and had chocolate stains all over your shirt? I tell you, it is an odd duck of an experience. Because you know you just ate a candy bar and you know you didn't juggle your leavings this time, but something in the back of your mind still tells you these awful, awful things. Looking at the man in the mirror, he is not yourself, just some wierd fellah with brown stains on his shirt. You start to contemplate how you became this charecter you see before you, until you decide to switch shirts. The difficulty, of course, is switching shirts without anyone noticing. Thankfully this has not really been an issue yet because when it happened last night everyone else had gone to sleep. I had to put up with no embarresing questions or accusations, which tends to happen when you give men beer and chicken wings. They accuse, crack wise, belch. But they do not tolerate chocolate on your shirt. This cannot be tolerated.

I can't eat candy for a week now, anyway; it is Chinese New Year and that is bad news bears to do so. I am neither Chinese nor a member of the Carrot Patrol, but I'll go along with my roommates reques because I ain't want no shit from him if he sees me riding the Kit Kat pony, plus it couldn't hurt to forgo the sweet stuff for a week. I'm not religious, supersticious or traditional by many means, but I tend to go along with things out of a "Whatever" outlook on life, followed closely by a non-commital shrug ofthe shoulders. If you plan to shrug, don't make it look too obvious that you prepared your thought process in advance and have several sheets of notebook paper plotting the angle, trajectory, impact and timing of the shrug lining the walls of your bathroom. Nay, make it look nonchalant, like you shrug all the time and this is just one of those times that you are doing it. I promise you, little questions will be asked if you play it smooth. You can do this. Anyhow, yeah. I figure it don't matter much either way on the candy issue so I might as well adhere to the customs of our Communist brothers, right? Plus I basically just do what other people tell me to anyway; it is easier than having to write lists or buy Post-It notes.

I was eating what I thought was an innocent candy bar, one that causes not a lot of trouble, but I guess this one had a vendetta. Plus I had like 10 beers. A seemingly harmless Snickers bar (though it could have been the Kit Kat bar I had too, maybe the two in conjunction, the sneaky bastards) seemed to have found bits of it's chocolate onto my shirt prior to my using the restroom. It was only after my deuce that I realized this. This caused the confusion, as I figured it had to be the candy bar, yet I still was racking my brain trying to figure out ways that it might have been shit.

1. Did I lose my watch in the bowl?
2. Did I black out for a second and do a faceplant into the small civilization I just conjured up?
3. Did I feel the shirt was missing key elements of brown coloration and used my quick thinking skills to utilize the tools I had around me?
4. Maybe that wasn't toilet paper.
5. Maybe the me from the mirror dimension has some issues he ought to see a specialist about.

No, none of these seemed as plausible as the candy bar. But the fact that it was a Snickers got me. I expect this from Carmello, maybe even Twix, but overall Snickers tends to be one of the goodguys when it comes to hand smudges. I usually eat it while still partially wrapped, too. But, I guess this kind of thing happens to the best of candy bars, we all just have to deal with it at some point. It was just unfortunate the timing had to be as it was.

It is the year of the dog coming up, and all.

Wednesday, January 18, 2006

Judge My Emotions Based On What I Wrote Below

I wish they had a disclaimer on each movie that let you know ahead of time if it will be lame after multiple viewings, like having a number to tell you how many viewings it'd be good for.

Anchorman - 25 (less if you have roommates who repeat the lines constantly)
Serenity - 2
Crash - 1.5
Encino Man - 0 but that's okay
Soul Plane - Come on, I think you know already

Also, a disclaimer about which movies hold up after you are no longer a child. If a movie you saw as a child doesn't hold up as an adult, it should let you know so you can never watch it again and forever keep that nostalgia in your head. I wish I could once again be one of those 20 somethings who still thinks Darkwing Duck is the shit, but unfortunantly, I just can't.


Oh, and sort of related, I am angry with someones online profile. They stated, incorrectly, that Bart Vs. the Space Mutants was the best Simpsons video game of all time. This is simply not true. In the long line of Simpsons related video games throughout history, Bart Vs. the Space Mutants may be a contender, but is by no means the best ever. I believe you only say this to prove that you are an old-school gamer and are aware of moderately obscure video games. These things are an absolute necessity to make the online community aware of, true, but to make faulty claims is simply not excusable. Shallow individuals like yourself will respect your insipid name-dropping, but anyone who has played Bart's Homework will certainly be forced to rush to their little online journals and vent incessantly on the comparison. With heavy-hitters in the Simpsons line, including Virtual Bart, the Simpsons arcade game, and even the newcomer Hit and Run (won't earn you any old-school points but a realist will see this was a decent game), one can easily see that Bart Vs. the Space Mutants, though a good game, certainly, was simply an early attempt to convey the adventures of Bart Simpson in the early stages of video gamery. It is respectable, by all means, but to put it above the other obviously superior games (Krusty's Super Fun House being my personal favorite) comes from an attempt at internet egoism and not hard facts. (Oh and I know how silly this all is cuz I don't even remember the site this guys profile was on nor does it matter even but I felt it needed to be said so thank you thank you for your time good day)

Monday, January 16, 2006

That Dog's Ridiculousness Quotiant Just Went Up Like A Million Percent, And I Dare You To Argue

Am I bitter? Am I surly? If I were a biscuit, would you eat me? How long would I sit in the pantry before you threw me away? I feel like I hate a lot more than I used to, and quite frankly, I hate it. I feel that my blogging persona is this cranky little warthog who has nothing to do with his time but nip at your heels and steal your livestock. What do I do with the livestock? I don't know; it's a simile, dude, shut up. I wonder if people percieve me as just an angry loner who's only slightly cleverand deservant of mention, and then I wonder if maybe that perception is correct. My last post made me feel like I'm bitter and pissy all the time, but it was pretty representative of my other posts. Is it representative of my actual personality? I feel like I'm a happier, more fun person in real life. But I don't know if this is accurate. Someone help me.

On a related note, if anyone ever wears a shirt that says "Punk Sounds Better On Vinyl" I will punch them in the gut.

Wednesday, January 11, 2006

Long, Flowing Locks Descending From Your Taint

So I suppose I ought to write something here, huh. That's like what people do here, is write shit. Write. Like, words and such. Series of words all placed in a row, meant to, I dunno, what is this meant to do? What is this for? Learning? Laughing? Loving? I never know what to write, so more often than not I simply don't. I really am not one to put down the things that happen in my ever-so-exciting daily life. That shit is dull.

"I saw my friend Eric on the street as I was walking to class. I had my headphones on, so I believe he said 'Hello" but I honestly can't be 100% sure. Either way, I said 'Hello' in return, then I had to get to class. I was five minutes late already because I took a shit before class and it went a little longer than expected. It was good though, no recipricol issues and not a whole lot of leftovers. All in all, what a great day I had today. All the things I did today add up to a hearty bowl of soup known as life. And I lived it. Bam."

But that's what people do on blogs. You just write about shit that happened to you during the day, every day, for no real reason. Nobody cares. What you did was not as interesting as you think it was, and you don't even find it that interesting, trust me. On top of that, even if something exciting happened, I feel lame as fuck rushing back from it, excitement dripping from my pores, ready to shit it out into words so all can know the amazing thing I did.

"I went to a concert! Oh man, and there was music at this concert, and people performing the music! Oh, the fun that was had. If you were there you would know. You totally would know what I was talking about la la la! The music was music I liked, and I liked it! Quick, look up the artist name on Google so you can leave a comment that sounds like you know what I'm talking about!"

Again, that's all people do here. And I've never been a diary type person who catalouges events in their lives; it's depressing. I don't need a list of things I wasted my time on. Plus, even if I was having a good time, writing it here seems so... empty. Meaningless.

So what else do people write about? News events. But I've never felt the need to be a middleman to some news item you were already aware of. There are people for that, I'm not one of them. I hardly ever put links on my posts because it just doesn't feel right to act as a conduit for the diaper known as the internet. I hate the internet. Fuck you Facebook and fuck you MySpace and fuck you pornography (sorry sorry sorry, porn, I promise I'll come back around very soon) and fuck you everyone who spends their life sitting in front of a fucking screen (and yes that includes me).

So what does that leave me to write about? What I always write about: stupid shit. Silly observations and bitch-sessions, parodies and primevals. And sentences I like the sound of. Poetry and philosophy, comedy and anger. All at once. But often I have none of the above, so I go days stagnant. Should I feel compelled to write here? No. But I do. Why? Because it is one of the few things in life I actually enjoy doing.

And I don't have to get up to do it.

Tuesday, January 03, 2006

From A Hundred

This modern age you and I live in has updated and modified the way our teachers convey information to us. No longer are we tied down by the shackles of chalkboards; rather we use Power Point and other such computer programs to show students the Pythagorean Therum. A chalkboard may never break down in the middle of a class, but can the text from subsection A smoothly flow into the text of subsection B with circling formations and twinkly lights? Maybe, but it would involve a lot of running.

Every time I see a teacher attempt to lecture us on something using a display from a computer, I secretly hope that somehow, some way, pornography magically appears on the screen in front of everyone in the most embarresing way possible. A student opens up their e-mail to do their presentation on Parkinson's disease, and accidentally opens "pissmamas003.mpeg", shocking the class and letting us into the secret world they live after school is out. I guess I just immedietly associate computers with porn, as my computer is laced with evidence, so much so that I'm always wary about school assignments or even letting someone use my computer. But I do think it would be a glee to watch an entire class squirm from watching a teachers private butt-fuck sessions on a giant screen. At least it'd wake people up.
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