The politcal battle is on us!
Current mood: bitchy
Category: News and Politics
So as of today, the tag team match up of the century is officially ON!
VERSUS
Folks, let me tell you I haven't been this excited about an election since it was down to the wire between GW and good ol' Al Gore.
Now I really don't understand politics, but what I DO understand is math. Well, sort of. I mean, I failed Calculus a few times but that was primarily due to the teacher not speaking English, and not knowing how to get through to my troubled mind like Michelle Pfieffererer did to her troubled students in the hit drama, Batman Returns.
Anyway, back to math. Each candidate has a certain number of qualities, both negative and positive. We'll assign the following values:
A=Age, or Youth B=Blackness (which is equivalent to street cred) E=Experience P=Public Speaking Ability M=Mana (used to cast spells)
So, Obama has a limited amount of experience, but he bolsters it with a fair amount of Public Speaking Ability and a young age. 47A + 2E + 62P +100B = Obama.
Here you're expecting me to make an age joke on McCain. I'll refrain from doing that because it's the easy thing to do. Sure I could say that McCain is so old that he saw the Earth being created, but that would spark all sorts of controversy amongst my religious zealot readers, who would argue whether he is 6,000 years old or 4.5 billion years old. So I'm going to avoid it. Regardless, he has a high Age statistic but also has a high Experience rating. 72A + 357E +25P +0B = McCain.
The logical thing to do with both candidates is to find a VP candidate who levels out those statistics. Thus, Obama found one with a high Experience rating, and a high Age rating, while McCain found one with a limited Experience rating but a high "Lack of Penis" rating which will appeal to women. Who, incidentally, I just discovered were actually allowed to vote. Color me surprised. I mean, that is assuming their men allow them out of the house on Tuesday, which is generally Pot Pie night.
Essentially, we are now looking at identical candidates. So we now have to make our decision on factors OTHER than Age and Experience, a first for an election year. There are many things to consider. Obama, for instance, is secretly a Muslim. This means that he believes in a magical being who exists in a dimension other than the one we reside in. How long will he be able to hide that from the public? I suspect people will catch on when he stops in the middle of the State of the Union address and turns to face Mecha.
McCain? Well, it's a little known fact that he spent a lot of time in the Hanoi Hilton. While his fellow soldiers were being tortured and interrogated, he spent 7 YEARS in a luxurious hotel, more than likely raiding the mini bar at every given opportunity. Also, he crashed no less than 2 super expensive jets in his lifetime. Once again proving the old addage that the elderly can't drive.
And his new VP candidate? Governer of Alaska? Seriously, what the hell kind of experience is that, really? I picture her State of the State address being something like "Fuck, it's cold still."
All in all I'm looking forward to the next 3 months. It will be exciting to see who gets the nod in November. And I'm sure we can expect MASSIVE CHANGE the moment that he/she/it is in office, because that's the way it works.
I do predict an Obama victory, however. He's running for office, and when a Kenyan runs, he wins. Bottom line.
Does my ass make these jeans look small?
Current mood: fatty super fatty
Category: fatty super fatty Food and Restaurants
"That's no moon."I could hear old Ben Kanobi's voice echoing in my head as I stared in the mirror the other day.I'd come to a sad realization – my ass has grown exponentially.
This is a disturbing concept to myself, as I once was much fatter than I am today, and am in no hurry to get back to said gigantic size.I decided I needed to drop 20 pounds.So, kids, it's time for me to decide on the best way to lose some weight.I gots me a few ideas (I say "gots" because it makes me sound like I'm hip and "with it")
IDEA 1
Now I've been doing some research on this subject, and I'm thinking it could be a good solution for me.Experts say that bulimia victims get to eat whatever they want; they just don't get to keep it down.This is good news for me – I am a gigantic fan of ice cream, candy, and all things unhealthy.Visions of eating pizza for dinner every night danced in my head….mostly because I've had pizza for dinner for the last 3 nights.So, you know, realistic dreams.
Concerned that there may be some unwelcome side effects to this seemingly miracle diet, I contacted my local doctor.
"Doctor,"I said."I'm thinking of becoming bulimic.Are there any health concerns that I should be aware of?"
He was silent on the other end, no doubt trying to think of even the smallest concern.He finally responded back to me.The doctor explained to me that bulemia had many dire consequences!The acid in the vomit can rot the enamel off your teeth, not to mention it can cause your breath to stink!I thanked him for his time and bid him farewell.He, in turn, told me I should consider contacting an actual physician, and not simply someone with the doctor title."Why thank you, Doctor Funky Rhythm."I said, and hung up.
In the end I decided that bulimia may not be the best route to go in my weight loss crusade.The tooth enamel thing didn't bother me too much – I don't really "brush my teeth" as it is, mostly in respect to British people, and my unexplainable craving to drink my own urine for the health benefits means that my breath isn't rosy fresh all the time.No, what finally did it in for me was the realization that I would have to go out and spend a bunch of money on empty jars to store my vomit in.
(If anyone actually gets that reference, I'm going to be very surprised)
.. ..
IDEA 2
Well, I was going to come up with a list of why anorexia would be the way to go, but I'm running late on typing up this blog because it took me 3 hours to figure out how to get spell checker to decipher my attempt to spell the word.On a side note, somehow "gonorrhea" got added to my dictionary.Can't think of a single reason that would be in there.No sir, absolutely not.
.. ..
IDEA 3
As I debated whether or not I would be a good candidate for bariatric surgery, I got an idea.I needed to lose weight fast, and I needed it to be easy.I also didn't want to change my eating habits – in fact I wanted to eat MORE if possible!The answer was so easy!I don't know why I didn't see it before.
Why, a tapeworm would solve so many of my problems.I could eat whatever I wanted, and the pounds would just fly off.Anytime I was hungry, I'd just have to eat a little more.Because, you know, I'm eating for two now!
The idea is perfect.After all, I love pets.I've always wanted a dog, but I'm never home to take care of it.I could finally have a pet of my very own!And I could take him for walks in the park, and feed him any time I wanted.I think I'll call him Rusty!
All my problems are solved!
.. ..
Of course, I could just say "screw it" and go for the easy way out…exercise and portion control…but fuck that, I'm an American!
How my life got turned upside down.
Current mood: fresh
I write a lot of blogs for humor purposes. But this one is a bit personal. I wanted to take a few moments to tell you guys how I got to my current situation, so just go ahead and sit down and I'll tell you about my topsy-turvy life.
My family comes from Pennsylvania, the western portion of Philadelphia. Growing up, I didn't have a lot of money. We had to make do with the simple things in life, and didn't take anything for granted. I spent most of my time out on the playground outside of school, mostly playing basketball with a few fellows.
One day, while we were chatting it up and shooting some hoops, a few n'er-do-wells approached us. They were bigger than us, but that didn't stop us from talking trash to them. Well, before I knew it, my friend Billy threw a punch and things escalated from there.
When I got home, I was bruised and battered, but not seriously hurt. It was enough, though, that my mother was terrified. She didn't want this life for her son! True enough, it was only one little fight, but I had no choice. My mom's sister Vivian and her husband Philip lived in California, and offered to take me in.
I waved goodbye to my beloved mother and headed to the airport. It was the first time I'd ever flown, so it was a bit nerve wracking. When I landed, I hailed a gentleman that was driving a cab. It was unusual - the license plate was merely "fresh", and there were fuzzy dice hanging from the rear view mirror. But I was tired, and I didn't see any other taxis, so I resigned myself to the drive. He helped me load my bags into the back. "Where to, my friend?" he asked. I said "I would like to head in the general direction of Bel Air!"
It was about 7:30 when we finally arrived at my Uncle Philip's house. I exited the cab, distraught at the unusual odor protruding from the taxi driver. I thanked him, and waved him on.
I turned to look at my new home, my new castle. I felt like a prince.
Have you missed me, MySpace?
Current mood: melancholy
Category: Blogging
Hello MySpace, it's been a while.I'm not going to lie – you've changed.
I never really respected you, to be honest.You were pretty and I always had fun hanging around with you, but let's be honest – it was superficial at best.See?You don't even know what superficial means.I remember when I tried talking to you about politics, or religion, or science.You'd get that glazed over look in your eyes and intimate that you were bored and wanted to play some more.Again, you don't understand the use of the word intimate in that sentence, so I don't think I need to say any more.
No, I never respected you.But I at least liked you.You had a sort of "natural" look that I liked.Sure there was a bit of glitter here or there, and all kinds of stupid pictures, but you were simple.You didn't expect much.Now I'm wondering if I even like you anymore.
Like the small town girl with the cute face who overnight went from an A cup to Triple Ds you've become gaudy.You're a gossip now."Did you know that your friend uploaded a new picture?You should go and look at it.""Ooh!Rob wrote a new blog!I bet he talks about you in it.""Mike joined the group 'Gay men living in the closet.'"
Our group of friends used to be so tight.Just you, me, and my top 8 closest friends.But as time went by, you started seeing other people.The 8 grew to 16, and then became 32.The pressure to conform was too strong.I didn't want to hurt my friends feelings – besides, I don't even KNOW64 people.Still, I loved that you were able to tell me which of my friends loved me the most.And now you can't even do that, thanks to your whorish "Random" feature.
I remember when I first met you, MySpace.So young, but eager.You were ready to conquer the world.You used to laugh when I talked about my ex."Facebook?That bitch.I'm so much better than her."You'd say to me while I took a picture of myself in the mirror.Now I look at you, and you're becoming just like her.All the things I liked about you are leaving, and the things I hated about her are coming to the surface.I don't know who you are anymore.
Our relationship was on the rocks.I stopped coming around every day.We used to spend hours with each other.Now I can only bear to be with you a few minutes here and there.I knew that you and I were destined to grow apart the day I received word from one of my friends that I had been "purchased."How could you let that happen, MySpace?I just want to live my life in peace.Two years ago, a comment by a friend meant that I learned what they were up to, and how they were doing.Perhaps a funny video.Now it's just me being bought and sold like a Guatemalan child slave.
I'll tell you what else, MySpace.I've been talking to my ex.She's grown up.She's a lot prettier than she was back then, and a lot more fun to be with.Some of my friends really like her, and more and more people can't stand you.She wants me back, MySpace.
And I might just have to go.Unless you can grow up too.
been a while since I posted any of my old stories...
Crackhouses and Juice Boxes
detours
"I want to be a police officer!"Me at age six.Front teeth missing, but a smile you could see from a mile away.When you're a kid, the future is crystal clear.A fireman.A police officer.An astronaut.We knew what we wanted to be, and weren't bothered by things like college money, mortgages or child support.As the years went by, we'd sit at the lunch table, drinking our juice boxes and talking about what we were going to be.
As the years went by, the lofty goals of most of us changed as reality set in.Davey Adams, the future astronaut, couldn't get past remedial algebra so he took a side road to become a machine shop operator.Frank Rowling's fireman dreams were shattered the day he burned himself on a hot stove.He's a Senator now, I think.
My dream never died.God bless my dad, as he helped me on the path.All my classes were chosen carefully.My extra curricular activities were all picked to help me make the transition.When I graduated, I entered into the Criminal Justice program at my community college, and graduated at the top of my class.I had offers to join the squad at four different precincts a week before graduation, but it didn't matter.I wasn't in it to get the cushy job in the nice neighborhood; I wanted to make a difference in my own community.
It would be an understatement to say that my town isn't the nicest neighborhood.It's gone downhill ever since people began moving out of the city into the suburbs.I like to think that I make a difference every day, even when I don't make any arrests, and don't bring anyone down.
The first detour on the road of life happened on June 30th, 1992.I'll never forget the day.I stopped to help settle a random traffic dispute.A man hadn't been paying attention, and rear ended a young lady who was in a hurry to get to class.Jill was never on time for a thing in her life, and blamed it on everybody but herself.By the time I arrived, she'd already thrown pretty much everything in her purse at the poor man and accused him of being everything short of Adolf Hitler himself.
The damage to her car was bad, and it had to be towed.I offered to take her to class and explain to her professor what had happened, and hoped that maybe he'd take pity on her.She smiled and hugged me.When I dropped her off, I asked her if she'd be able to find a ride home.She told me she'd just call a cab, and I told her I got off duty about the time her test would be over.I asked her if she'd like to go to dinner, and she said she'd like that.
We were married almost a year later.I was a cool, calm cop on the streets.I'd had crackheads shooting at me, and seen horrible things, all the time keeping a cool head and not letting it get to me.That day, as I stood on the altar waiting for my bride to remember her wedding was at 1:00 and not 1:45, I was more nervous than ever.But when she showed up, she looked radiant.Flowing white dress, perfect hair, perfect eyes, perfect woman.The nervousness faded instantly and there wasn't a happier person on the planet.
Fast forward another year and the second detour came.I came home from a particularly brutal day on the job, and found Jill crying on the porch.My heart sank, and I immediately put my arms around her.She held onto me, crying and I didn't ask a single question.For three hours we sat on the porch.As the sun set in the distance, she simply looked at me and said "I'm sorry."
The day you find out that the woman you are meant to spend the rest of your life with won't be around to see your third anniversary is hard.Jill had cancer, and it had advanced pretty far.She had waited too long to see a doctor.They gave her six months with chemotherapy.When she told me she didn't want the chemo, I was shocked.I asked her why, and she broke down into tears again.
It turns out the cancer wasn't the only thing the doctors found.Jill was almost two months pregnant as well.If she took the chemotherapy, she wouldn't be able to have the baby.Suddenly, she looked up at me, resolute."I will have this baby." was all she said through gritted teeth, and then was silent again.
Six months later, detour number three came in the form of Sam.The most beautiful child anyone had ever seen.He had his mother's eyes and my lack of hair.I looked at Jill, frail and delicate, as she held her son.The strongest woman I'd ever known in my entire life, she hadn't shed a single tear since that night on the porch.My tears that day were a mixture of happiness and grief.
Jill began the chemotherapy a few weeks after Sam's birth, but it didn't matter.Four months later and I held Sam in my arms, weeping as they buried the woman I loved more than life itself.I wish I'd had her strength and resolve.I didn't know how I was going to make it without her.
My chief understood when I asked for a transfer the next day.The cushy desk job in the rich neighborhood wasn't as fulfilling as being on the streets every day, but I had Sam to think of now.
The years passed and I dedicated my life to Sam.I worked with him every night, teaching him the alphabet, numbers, and how to put them together.At parent-teacher conferences, his second grade teacher told me how smart he was.He had a smile that brightened everybody's day.She laughed and told me how the day before, they had career day and Sam told everybody how he wanted to be a Police Man, just like his daddy.I remember my dad telling me that if that's what I wanted to be, that's what I could be.I couldn't wait to tell Sam the same thing.
He sat outside the classroom, playing with his friends and drinking the Hi-C orange juice box that I'd brought for him.His face lit up when he saw me come out, and he grabbed my hand to introduce me to his friends.My eyes misted a bit as I saw Jill standing before me, her eyes, her ears, and even her smile.
The first detour in Sam's life came when he was nine years old.He waited at his friend's house for his dad to come pick him up after work.It wasn't anything unusual for his dad to be late; he worked long hours to make sure that Sam had everything he wanted.Sam smiled when he saw the police car pull up to the driveway, but frowned when he saw that it wasn't his daddy coming out.It was Uncle Jeff, daddy's partner. He came inside the house and said something to Mrs. Adams that made her cry.Sam didn't hear too much, but there was something about a crack house arrest, and a problem at the station.Uncle Jeff walked over, knelt down and Sam saw that there were tears in his eyes.Sam hugged him, and he cried a little more.
Chocolate Jesus!
Current mood: accomplished
Category: Blogging
A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far, away......
It is a time of great strife. Mankind is slowly turning to the dark side. God, greatest of all Jedi Knights, looks down upon the world and is forced with the decision of whether to destroy all that he sees, or save it. Despite the advice given to him by his cabinet, he decides to spare us.
Enter Jesus.
The story of Jesus is legendary. He healed the sick, turned water into wine, and was also wicked good at frisbee golf. Perhaps the most miraculous of his miracles was the fact that he was born in the year 0. Coincidence? Or fate?
Fast forward a few years, and our boy J has pissed off the wrong group of people. They decide that despite all the good that he’s done, it would be in their best interests to nail him to a few pieces of wood.
Fortunately, Jesus was able to defeat his opponent in Mortal Kombat, and three days later, he rose again.
Fast forward to 2006 years later, and we prepare to celebrate the death and resurrection of Jesus. Yes, on Friday we observe his great sacrifice. And then, on Sunday, we will get together with our families, laugh, tell stories, and celebrate his triumphant return the best way we know how.
Ummm....
To...
This may be confusing to some people, but there is a good story behind it. One day, while Jesus was walking through town, a leper came onto him.
"Jesus!" the leper said.
"Yes, my child?" Jesus told him.
"Please, can you heal my leprosy?" the leper pleaded.
"Unfortunately, my son, I have already used my Cure Critical Wounds spell for this round. As you have already lost your Saving Throw Vs. Disease, there’s not a lot more I can do for you." Jesus told the poor man.
The leper hung his head. "But, I’m hungry. And no one will give me food, as I am a leper. All I have in this world is my pet rabbit, Mister Pennington."
Jesus’ eyes lit up. He raised his hands and used his magical powers. Suddenly, the leper’s pet rabbit was a gigantic block of chocolate! The leper cried out in surprise, and then began to chew on the chocolate.
"Thank you, Jesus!" the leper exclaimed. Then, as he nibbled on the only friend he ever had, he walked away sobbing.
And that’s why we have chocolate rabbits on Easter.
The Most Important Blog - EVER.
Current mood: artistic
Category: Blogging
This is serious stuff. I want you to take a few moments to prepare yourself. If you're watching TV, I would ask that you shut off MTV so that you aren't distracted. I demand your full attention.
If you're eating, please take a few moments to cram down the last spoonful of Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream. Make sure you throw the carton away now that you're done with it. And make sure to wash the spoon, we don't want to attract ants.
I apologize for the inconvinience, but I humbly request that you take but a few moments to pause your Itunes music that is blaring in the background. What I'm about to say is so important; nay, VITAL, that I would be terribly upset if you missed a single word due to the latest "Solja Boy" remix going.
If you're reading this blog on your laptop via the wireless connection at your local Starbucks coffee shop, I simply ask that you bookmark the page for later viewing. Your double-mocha-frappa-latta-ccino is far too delicious, and would lessen the impact of what I'm about to say. The sounds of your neighbors discussing what books they've read about in the paper tends to distract as well.
I understand that some of you receive my blog alerts on your cell phone, and utilize the modern marvel that is technology to view my page on your 2 inch by 3 inch screen. I promise you - this is so huge that such a small screen cannot possibly convey the complexity of my statement. Please move to the computer in your den, or your laptop in the bedroom to view this blog. Or, if those options are currently unavailable, I would ask that you refrain from viewing the blog on your Nintendo Wii, Playstation 3, or Xbox 360.
Speaking of cell phones, I know that a lot of people use the cellular air cards to access the internet anywhere in the country. Please, if you are driving, pull over and take the time to read this blog on the side of the road. The shock may cause you to take your eyes off the road just long enough to drive into the mother of two in her H3 that is to your right. I would not want to be responsible for your car insurance rates skyrocketing out of control!
If you are at the library utilizing one of their computers with free internet, please direct the other people in the library, all of whom are using the computers around you, to my page. This is, after all, the most important blog you will ever read. It would be un-American not to share with them this find.
That being said, I have a major announcement to make. I dare say legendary. I fully expect this to be on the front page of every newspaper website there is tomorrow, hovering slightly above an unflattering picture of Hilary Clinton and a tiny link to a side story about Kosovo.
Huge, huge announcement. Are you ready?
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I just farted, and it really, really stinks. I fear I may have pooped my pants.
Today I put in my official application for graduation. In June I'll have two associates degrees and a computers certificate. I'll be able to walk with any number of 20 year old graduates.
I own community college.
Now I'm not sure what to do. I have to go to a "big person" college, I'm afraid.
The problem is, I'm so incredibly intelligent, and so amazingly awesome, that I just don't know which of my skills I should provide to the world.
I mean, I can write incredibly well, and weave epic tales. I have a knack for journalism.
I also have a mathematical brain - I can analyze numbers, and I love trigonometry.
Then theres the side of me that is deep and philisophical. Perhaps I could be the next Jean-Paul Sartre?
And I'm decent with computers.
Being a genius is a difficult thing. I have so much to give, but I have to decide. Let's not forget the fact that I am, quite simply, gorgeous. I have incredible eyes, and incredibly symmetric eyebrows. As a child I had bright blonde hair. So perhaps I should just focus on finding that perfect mate, who is also a genius and beautiful, so that we can raise amazing children who will conqueor England?
Rambling. About the gas station.
Current mood: awake
Category: Automotive
Routines can be terrifying.I go to work.I go to school.I have an hour long commute each day to work, so I tend to do a lot of thinking.My mind wanders, thinking of what I should be doing, and I find myself not paying attention to the little things.
But every once in a while, your mind snaps open and you find yourself seeing things in a whole new light, even for just one split second.Tonight was one of those nights.I visited a place that I visit three times a week, and I really never notice.I never knew how interesting the gas station can be.
It starts with the misery in the parking lot.Three or four cars at stations, filling up.I realize how impersonal it has become.No contact needed, just swipe your card, fill your tank, and go.Unneeded contact, in fact, UNWANTED contact.If you look at someone, they tend to look away if you catch their gaze – but most of the time they're simply staring down, or watching the numbers roll on the pump.Never talking on their cell phones for fear of explosions.
I finish filling the tank, stopping at $32.53, remembering how you used to have to ensure that it was at an even $1 or $0.50 so the attendant didn't return you a handful of miscellaneous change.I walk inside and shiver at the sight of the hot dogs, sadly spinning on the metal rollers.They're shriveled and sad looking.But I bet they're delicious.
You never really notice what they have for sale at these places.$1.99 roses for the one you love.$9.99 hats for the guy who left his house, and realized halfway to work that his head was cold.$2.59 for a two pack of cheap, bic pens for the emergency situation where you need a pen.All products that I've purchased at one time or another.
The soda fountain has a special – 64oz drinks for 72 cents.64 ounces of pop is more than a human being should be able to handle.Gluttonous, piggish and completely repulsive.I shake my head in disgust and fill up my 44oz diet Pepsi.
The cashier is a man that I see there all the time. I'd put him in his late 40s or early 50s.Any type of conversation with him is nerve-wracking; he hates life and makes sure you know about it.Today is no different.He tells me that his daughter is pissed at him because he won't buy her a cell phone."I make $8 an hour at a shitty gas station job.My wife hates me because I don't have a career.I worked for the same company for 27 years and they shut down.What am I supposed to do, start over?"I shrug my shoulders and say "Yeah, that's tough."
It's important at the gas station to have the headlines displayed on the way out the door.That way, if you're feeling downtrodden and defeated, you can cheer up at the "Unemployment up!" or "War in Iraq continues!" or "Tom Brady and Cyborg Squad defeated!" that greets you on the way out.
The trip ends on a good note – as I leave, a pretty girl smiles at me as she walks in.As the door closes behind me, I hear Angry Cashier answer her "Hello, how are you today?" with "I'm not dead.Not sure if that's good or bad."
I press the little "trip reset" button that helps me gauge my gas mileage, and head home to write a myspace blog about gas stations.Maybe tomorrow I'll write about an ingrown toenail I had once.
bitchy
melancholy
accomplished
artistic
smart
awake