Insert emo lyrics here

Thanks

2006-10-23T15:47:00.000-05:00

Thanks to everyone who read the very early version of my story. It's been cleaned up now, and also exists in a ten page format, so fuck that, it's not going on here. Eventually I'll think of something funny to write again.

Also, the story is so much better now then it is in the form that's on here, so don't read it. I can send you a good copy if you really want.

So I'm working on this story...

2006-09-10T21:52:00.000-05:00

For my writing fiction class. I have almost half of it done, so I want to put it somewhere so people can tell me what they think. Feedback as always is appreachiated...

He carries himself with an air of indifference, like all guys should do. He marches nonchalantly toward the parking garage taking in what he can through his filtered world. The amber tint of his sunglasses and the blaring rock music from his headphones dull his senses almost to the point of confusion. As he continues his journey to his car he spots an attractive girl coming in the opposite direction. “Eyes forward, act like it's not a big deal,” he rehearses in his mind. His eyes betray him and begin to take in as much of the girl as they can. He tries to remember if his sunglasses are mirrored.
Finally he pulls up in front of his apartment building. He lives no more then 5 minutes from campus yet it always takes at least 20 minutes to get back. Figures. Unlocking the apartment door he finds one of his roommates sitting in the living room watching TV.
“Hey asshole,” his friend throws out. “Sup faggot?” he fires back as he continues to his room. He asks himself again why he's friends with Bill. “Dude, take out the fucking trash or it all ends up in your room tonight!” he hears shouted from the other room. Oh, that's right – it's his compassion and tact. “Whatever dick, what's it like being married to your right hand?” he fires back in retort as he changes to get ready for work. It was all rehearsed since this banter takes place everyday. “Hey... not cool dude. Where you goin'?” “I have work... Jesus Christ mom don't worry about it man.” He hears Bill yell something as he shuts the door and bounds back down the steps.
He speeds in that impatient way that only someone under 30 can. He's young and he's either going to get there fast or kill himself on the way. And in that case, it doesn't really matter then does it? His windows are down to soak in the warm Spring weather that finally decides to show up around 2 in the afternoon. Rap music now blares from his car, since that's what you have to listen to look cool. He checks his mirror to make a pass as it violently shakes from bass coming out of the door. This reminds him of the time the mirror got clipped when he was pulling out of a parking spot. This in turn reminds him of the accidents he's been in and he makes somewhat of an attempt to stay closer to the speed limit.
Sometimes when he drives he pretends he'll skip his exit and keep driving. He'll go wherever the highway will allow him to visit. He would go west, maybe see New Orleans, what's left of it, at Mardis Gras. Maybe he'll drive all the way to California. Or maybe, he'll go to the airport and buy a one-way ticket to Europe and backpack across the countryside and enjoy life. He pulls off at his exit and slows as he continues on his way to work.
He hates his job, it's boring to him now; now that he's worked in the same fast food joint for almost two years running. It's mundane and he feels almost underpaid. He then reminds himself that he's only 20 and shouldn't expect to work a 'decent job'. He ignores the thought that most of his female coworkers are all 16 and 17. Work sucks, as usual. He gets back in his car around 9:30 that night. “Now I just gotta get back to the apartment and write that paper.” Just, he chuckles at his own rational. Just turn out a five pager in an hour. His stomach churns with some anxiety and the thought is pushed away. There was no point worrying about it, he couldn't start writing it in the car. He instead daydreams about the party tomorrow night and makes promises about fun he won't have.
Back in the apartment, some changes have been made. He arrives to a queen sized bed propped up against one of the living room walls. It looks like a pretty nice bed, but still used. “Dude, what the hell is this?” he inquires to no one in particular as both of his roommates are within ear shot of him. “It's a bed,” Bill informs him. “No shit. I mean.. why is it... here? Where'd you get this thing?” “Found it.”
“One of the apartments a building over got evicted,” his other roommate Ted offers matter of factly, “we also have some measuring cups and Tupperware.” “So you're gonna sleep. On a bed. That you found in the street. Right?” The question was aimed at Bill as Bill was the kind of guy who would have no problem sleeping on a bed he found in the street. Still he asks, maybe hoping there is another greater, and less disgusting, purpose for this mystery. Bill gave him his answer, “Yup.”
“Whatever man, enjoy your AIDS or whatever the hell is on that thing. Enjoy all of the terminal illnesses that you contract from that bed. Just don't let your treatment interfere with your rent payments.” He had enough, he had a paper to write.
7:15 Friday morning he's awoken by the most terrible sound ever. Something akin to a trumpet full of bees. He turns off his alarm and rolls onto his back again praying that he'll fall asleep in the next five seconds and never go to school again. “God damn,” he whispers to his self. He shuffles past Bill on his was to the kitchen to get some cereal. He doesn't bother with a bowl since he paid for it so no one else is allowed to eat it. As he's shoving Lucky Charms in his mouth with his hand he looks over at the shut door to Ted's room in envy. Ted doesn't go to school, lucky bastard.
School sucks about as much as work. He doesn't really know what he wants to do with himself and is beginning to believe that college is a waste of money – a waste of his parent's money. He settles in the back of the room at his first class. It's some general requirement that is pointless for whatever he decides to do with his life. Nonetheless he has to take it, and since he commutes, he has to take it early to get a parking spot. 50 minutes later he wakes up with about a half of page of notes. “Damn, hope she puts the slides online,” he thinks to himself. He knows even if she does he won't check it though. Motivation is not his strong suit.
After a couple more hours of classes, one involving turning in his four and a half page paper, an hour or so of sitting around the apartment, and forgetting to take the trash out again, he finds himself back at work. As he pulls into a parking spot he surveys the rest of the lot in search of familiar cars. If he's stuck here tonight he at least hopes someone interesting is stuck with him.
“Oooohhhh!” He hears a loud sound let out across the kitchen in the back. He's suddenly tackled by a very large (fat) black man. “What's up Wallace?” he asks nonchalantly. “Man, you workin' tonight?” Wallace chose to answer with a question of his own. “Yeah man.”
“And, you comin' to the party tonight, right?” the inquiry continues. “Hell yeah, of course.” “That's what's up!” Wallace walks his way back to whatever he was doing at the time. He shakes his head as he watches the wide light blue shirt float off to another part of the store. Wallace is one of the goofiest kids he's met.

Wow...

2006-04-22T23:17:00.000-05:00

Nevermind, I decided I was funny. Now I just gotta move on.

How to Fail at Girls

2006-04-04T23:58:00.000-05:00

Yes, girls. But first, let me establish something about my form of journalism. Now, I'm not the kind of person who speaks out of their ass, heavens no!, I like to maintain a certain degree of journalist credibility. This way, when I write something, you know that I know what I'm fucking talking about.

Example: I didn't just start making shit up about Mexicans and using various stereotypes just to make a humorous story about a shirt. There were minutes of effort put into that fine piece of literary work. Three of which were spent looking a boobies on collegehumor when the ADD kicked in.

So, that being said: I'm a fucking expert at this. I've had one girlfriend in my life. I've been to parties where multiple girls have been 'all up ons' and still managed to drive home safe to wack off that night. With that being said, let me teach you how to keep your spank bank full and some money in you're pocket.

Think of the right thing to say when it's too late.
If a girl is flirting with you, don't say anything, otherwise she might think you're interested. So shut up and look around nervously. Or better yet say 'ok'. Nothing kills a conversation better then those two simple words. Let's look at an example from my life:
Me: Yeah, so I'm going to this party Friday.
Jessica Alba: Cool, I don't have any plans yet for Friday *looks at you suggestingly*
Me: Ok.
Jessica Alba: I think you're cute.
Me: Oh... So I gotta get back to work. Cya.

Take backs are even worse.
Girl: Nick when are you getting you're new place?
Me: Don't worry, you aren't invited.

Funny, yes. Times I cried/masturbated myself to sleep that night, 47... no wait, 0.

Be friends with cockblocks.
It's easy not to 'be gettin' wit'' girls when no one around you will let you! Instead of going through all the bullshit of screwing up yourself, just have someone else tell you you can't have her, I'm glad those fucking assholes made my life that easy!

Have 'standards' and 'morals'.
Go to parties sober and turn down drunk chicks because it's wrong. But so is having to steal your friend's porn.

Don't meet them.
If you don't know girls you can automatically fail. Suddenly this is the easiest class I ever took. It's like trying to take a women's studies course as a guy, you're just gonna fail anyway.

So follow my advice and you'll be laughing to the bank. Unless you work at Panera Bread. Then you'll still have no money. So you'll be laughing all the way.. to the... place.. with that... thing..

*first draft alert* I'm super fucking tired and my train of thought just ran out of coal! Save me bed!

World Economy Summit

2006-01-16T00:53:00.000-05:00

Stick with me on this one, I even have notes. This shit is gonna be so good that'll make your eyes bleed. Then you'll be all like "damn I wish my eyes wern't bleeding so I could read that again, but it was so worth it." So after you wake from passing out do to the blood loss you rejoin me as you begin to read again...

I have a plan. Not just any plan. No, this plan has steps. And each of those steps is a ... step... that builds onto my plan. "Nick stop teasing me, what's the plan?" Fine fine. I plan to control the world's economy. Not all of it, but I plan to make Bill Gate's fortune look like pocket change. And this is where the steps come in, join me:

Step 0.5: Sell drugs. I need some money to start.

Step 1: Open a chain of restaurants
Ok, now this is the real start. The inspiration for this comes from my manager Kyle, my muse if you will. But less gay. The restaurants will be depression era themed. In the 70s everyone was really into fondue eateries with the cheese and shit on your table. Well get ready to pretend to eat like a homeless person. Each table will have a trash fire where you cook your food right there. You can grill it on the lid or roast it over the flames. Health food freaks will go crazy for it, I mean have you ever seen a fat homeless person? I'll call it 'Hooverville', named after the slums that were named after the president who received the blame for the depression.

Step 2: "Special" Advertising
Not gay special. And no, not retarded special. This is " ruin the 'sport' of competive ice dancing" special. My buddy Pete wants to be a figure skating coach. That's all fine and gay, but I see wonderful advertising potential. Working as the team agent, I'll whore us out to the highest bidder where your logo can be emblazed across the chest of a 19 year old with the bust of a preteen. I expect a big contribution from the oil industry. The sooner Exon is associated with ice, the sooner they can do more drilling in Alaska.

Step 3: Fat Pants
Look at you, you fat fucks. You really let yourself go. Yes, America that is aimed at every last one of you. What happened? You used to go out and do things, now you just sit around and watch TV. What's that, you didn't know the food at Hooverville was bad for you? And you've never seen a fat poor person? That's ok. I'll help you out America, just come on down to The Lardium, we got the clothes you need. And ribs, I know you love ribs America, just as much as you love your pacemaker and Hillary Duff, she's a nice girl.

Step 4: Who said I was gonna put all this shit back in the market?
Hell no, this is my money. Oh shit, that's why. Sorry about the depression world.

Step 5: World War III
I'm forseeing this one. All that money hoarding is probably going to cause a shortage. The inflation will most likely trigger another depression. Someone is going to get pissed off somewhere and God knows world war is right around the corner, gotta get that economy rolling somehow. At this point I'll flee to Spain, beause hey, it worked for the Nazis.

There, now if that doesn't get me in the history books, nothing will.

My strongest and weakest asset...

2006-01-10T02:46:00.000-05:00

...are the same God damnit. Or at least I like to pretend they are. I've come to the conclussion that I have ADD. No, don't try any of that science mumbo-jumbo-shit on me, I've already rationalized.

So how does it affect me both ways? I'm glad you asked. My mind tends to race from idea to idea. All of which are absolutely terrible. But, with a little creative touch and some drawing from the parts of English class when I was awake, I can formulate those for hilarious results.

Ah, but there is no handle on this sword. I'm slicing my hand open with my own incredibleness. Just to write this much I've must have looked off three times. Not to mention the daydreams that I had to surpress. And God help me if you're talking when I write. Next thing you know my philosophy teacher is gonna know all about some hot chick Kurt 'railed' last night.

I'm gonna keep on the emo path for awhile and keep talking about myself. I've changed, I know it. But I guess every good trait you pick up, a bad one follows. I've become more confident, outspoken. Yet I feel more insecure. I don't try to be image conscience - it's just me making up for my insecurities. I also feel like I open my mind more. All of the ADD ideas swirling around come out, I love to make people laugh. But I also do it at other people's expense. Speaking your mind labels you an asshole, and maybe I am. But for some reason that doesn't bother me. I don't want to be that quiet kid anymore, I want to go to a party, get wasted, have sex, and do it all again the next day.

So look: I'll always be Nick. I don't plan to change who I am. Even if I get different groups of friends, my best will always stay the same. Seriously guys, I know the group has had some drama lately and there's been some anger. But there doesn't need to be. We have other friends, hang out with them. The group is always there, and we'll always balence our time. We might have all changed some, but don't hate each other for how we've changed. Each of us is still the same at the core and as long as that stays true there's no reason why we can't be best friends. I feel like we're teetered between a present we cannot attain and a past we've fully expierenced. But I think it'll all work out in the end.

Sorry if there was no funny this time around. These are just some things that have been sitting on my mind. And when it's 3 AM and you're wide awake why not. Join me next time as I plan to take over the world's economy.

Attention Readers

2005-12-14T11:15:00.000-05:00

Testicles.

That is all.

Chasing that Unreachable Goal

2005-11-24T23:16:00.000-05:00

I've recently done some reflecting on my college career, these 1.45 years I've spent at the "Great Second Choice". Towson University, an under-achievers paradise, but I digress. I've realized that so far, my college career has been a complete waste of time, and I've learned it all from my good friend Van Wilder.

So, the fact that I stayed up till 3 AM on a Saturday watching Van Wilder in my basement is clue enough that something is wrong, but hear me out. I'm sitting there on that couch that will forever smell like my grandfather and I start thinking "Man, I can't wait till I go to college." ... "Wait, shit. I already go to college." Hell I even wanted to be the awkward Indian kid, he sure as hell was having more fun then I was. These college movies tend to paint what I like to call a "holy-shit-that-is-completely-false-in-every-way unrealistic view of college". Come with me as we compare my life to those in the moves...

Mode of Transportation
Movies: The mode of transportation is the first step in coolness. Even if someone has a shitty car it's cool. Everyone has some sort of bitching mode of transportation, like a pimped out golf cart.
My Life: totaled my car when a deer jumped on it while I was driving down the highway so my grandparents drive me around.

Living Space
Movies: Kick ass dorm room; everyone has one. Dorms are like apartments, but you can do whatever you want and you have limitless money to decorate them.
My Life: Live at home in the same bedroom that I decorated in first grade.

Friends
Movies: Limitless.
My Life: Pass.

Sex
Movies: People get laid all the time, and everyone is hot. There is no such thing as ugly people and everyone wants to have sex with you with just a little coaxing and some Miller.
My Life: Only attracted to girls with boyfriends, only girls that try to flirt are either huge flirts or ugly. Let's not leave out the fact that the furthest I've gone is a slide out into third.

Parties
Movies: People party all the time. Why, in one week, Van Wilder partied 8 times, 9 if you count that time he ate a taco. College is one huge campus wide party where everyone drinks, gets laid, and never gets arrested.
My Life: Parties consist of watching my friends smoke pot and then play Super Smash Bros. for three hours. Chug a glass of Vodka and then pass out on a security guard.

obviously I need to catch up. I figure next Saturday I can just: snort a line of coke, fuck a cheap hooker a few times, get shot, and make it home for work Sunday morning I should be straight. Now I just gotta get my grandparents to drop me off downtown...

You've got a friend, on the internet!

2005-09-27T20:48:00.000-05:00

More like, a couple hundred of them. Do you have trouble organizing your 326 friends? I sure as hell do. Do you want your 4525 friends to know what you're doing at every waking moment? Fuck yeah. Do you wish there was a place that you could reveal all of your deepest secrets, or bitch about nothing, but so your 3242546 friends could read it? Well here are some steps on how to use the internet. You'll feel like a whore in no time!

Join a 'social network community' or eight. This is very important because it establishes that you have a shit load of friends. If you go to a university use facebook to make yourself feel better then those people from your highschool that went to community college, which is way cheaper then your school and they'll probably transfer there in a couple years and be a lot less poor then you. Everyone should join myspace, everyone. Just to even things out join a couple of obscure sites so you'll seem cutting edge.

Log onto AIM and never log off. Also, never take your away message off. Ever. AIM isn't for people to have multiple conversations at once, it's set up so your friends will know where you are at all times! You should also change it as what you are doing changes. Don't post what you will do, no one cares about the future, we live in the present!

Create an online diary. Livejournal, xanga, blog; the more the merrier. Make sure that everyone knows how that party was 'so awesome' even though you blacked out an hour in after a bet that you couldn't bong a bottle of Jack. Everything else should be boring and completely insignificant. Remember that time you ran out of butter and your toast was really dry? Your friends totally want to know about it. If you can customize the theme then you should pick the busiest background you can find and then make the text the same color. Also, post some big ass picture so people have to keep scrolling all over the place just to read it.

And that's it! You're well on your way to abandoning your life to the internet. Now, if you excuse me, I have to go see if anyone changed their away message.

Mexican American Relations

2005-08-15T00:15:00.000-05:00

Not those kind you sick fucks, this is the thrilling conclusion to the last jumbled mess I posted! I was last examining what could have possibly been wrong that we are now 'Together at Last' and why we had been united. What could have happened? Given the current exchange in world politics the logical assumption was the America did something wrong. Again. But what could we have done to piss off a place that's so easy to make fun of (Dukes of Dysantary - swear to god it's that easy)? I had some thinking to do.

General hypothosizing just wasn't cutting it however. No - if I was gonna dive into this conspiricy I was gonna do it right - deep and raw bitch! What I needed was a Mexican person, but where? I mow the lawn so that rules that out... Of course: dishes. I'll ask Victor from work, he seems Mexican...

"Victor!" A blank stare, had someone informed him that I was questioning him? I needed to abort. "Soupbowls... vamanos or something." Bastard. He's good. I decided to wait a couple hours and catch him off guard, when he's washing silverware. "What are your feelings on the theft of Santa Anna's leg? What about border patrol? NAFTA, what about NAFTA bitch! You broke my ipod didn't you you son-of-a-bitch!" This was getting nowhere, he wouldn't crack.

So it turns out Victor was from Peru. An honest mistake. I did learn something from this exchange, the shirt was lying. Victor was 'deported', yeah more like 'stabbed in the heart by the Mexican mafia'. This was obviously a sign to stop prying - to leave well enough alone. But I needed answers, I needed the truth, I need taquitos from thinking about Mexican crap all day.

Damn those things suck. One of them tasted kind of pulpy, like paper. Could this be a clue? Of course, American logging corperations were illegally tearing down Mexican forests and they plan to kill the president! I later recieved a letter in the mail. Turn out I ate the one shoved in the Taquito.

South and Main at 7.

I sent a reply informing them that that intersection did not exist nore did I recieve a date on which to arrive.

That Taco Bell on Bel Air road... when conveinent. at 7.

Damn these guys suck. So then I worked for about four days in a row and completely forgot about the whole conspiricy thing. Turns out they were gonna blow me up or something but fell asleep in the dumpster. Damn these guys suck.

But I still needed answers. I decided to head to the local precinct where they were detained. "Out of my way, I'm a detective."

"No you arn't." the officer informed me.

"Oh yeah, I forgot. Can I just talk to the dirty Mexican guys?"

"Yer too late, we already released them. They were too stupid to blow anything up. And they didn't have a bomb, just a box of t-shirts."

"No! I need to talk to them.please tell me you know where they work." I pleaded desperately while ignoring the forshadowing for the end of this terrible story.

"Accually they're the janitors here. They should be here in about an hour."

"Conveinent." But I needed to bide my time until they arrived. I went across the street to the local Starbucks. I then remembered I hate coffee, so I went to the Starbucks across the street from that one and got a soda - you know, so I wouldn't look stupid. That took about 5 mins.

I showed up at the police department exactly one hour later. "The Conquestadors" as I named them in my bordem showed up about 20 mins later (rim shot). "Jose, Carlos... we meet again! For the first time!"

"You, how do you know our names?"

"Because you're Me... Lucky guess. But I'll be asking the questions here! What do you want from me?"

"Why didn't you buy the damn shirt?"

...

Missing The Mark

2005-07-12T00:05:00.000-05:00

Did you ever have it. Yeah, that. That thing, the one special thing right there within your grasp, yet somehow fuck it up. When all the cards are in place, any other analogy you can think of. Well yeah, I know, I know. Now before you start bitching at me "Nick the internet isn't a place for feelings!" you gotta let me finish.

I'm not talking about love here, I'm talking about something more, something deeper. T-shirts. Yes, I had the greatest t-shirt ever - and I didn't buy it. To this day that terrible decision haunts me, mocks me. I feel like a shadow amungst the living without... it.

So let me tell you the tale of "Together at Last" the best God damned t-shirt ever made. I came across it a few years ago in Ocean City. Myself and a friend were browsing through one of those gay ass t-shirt stores, you know the ones that are wedged between the Sunsations on the boardwalk. Sunsations - least useful store ever. Another time, another place. So back to this shirt. Accually it's better then just a shirt - let's call it Shirt like how our god is so awesome he can just be God. It's hard to put into words the insanity that was at work here. Like, take a crazy Mexican hobo, give him some crack, and tell him to make shirts with an air brush. Yeah, it's that fucking awesome.

Shirt has a picture on the front. A drawing 101 exercise - at first. A highway cutting through the desert with a sunset. Then to spice it up let's flank the highway with lowriders... k. And we're talking super pimped out virgin Mary airbrush work on the hood pimped. Then out of nowhere, Jesus is standing in the middle of them. And just to round it off put a Mexican flag on one side, a US flag on the other and caption it "Together At Last". Christ that's alot going on.

But wait, why are we together at last? How long have we been seperated from our lawn mowing cousins?

Stay tuned for more.

Times a changin'

2005-06-05T22:56:00.000-05:00

So I finally decided to update the blog, wow. Only been since.... March? I got a lot of positive feedback from my last post so maybe I was abit afraid to update. Yeah. Sure. I'm not lazy at all.

anyway, this post, like all my others, will be held together with a thin vail of conscience-ness-ess. Cohesion has never been my forte (did you know that's Italian for loud? Mind fuck, I know) but somehow this shit makes sense. With that being said - article:

So, why am I thinking about time? Good question. After spending a year in college now, I've done some thinking about where I've been and how I've changed. It's pretty remarkable how in so few years I've changed so much.

Even five or six years, back to 8th grade, I think about myself, and damn I hate that kid. I was annoying. I'd piss myself off. "Dude, kid, shut up." And I guess I was chubby - the bodies way of saving up for a growth spurt (shut up Eddy, I wasn't fat you fat fuck).

Freshman and sophomore years of highschool are kinda blurry, maybe someone was secretly feeding me crack in my sleep. I think I played a lot of Smash Bros.

Cut junior year, kind of the building blocks for who I am now. I was making/made a lot of the friends I have now, I count it up as a period of self discovery. And senior year is pretty much what I am now.

Self discovery is some crazy shit. Remember that. My was of dress has changed at least five times up until now, what the fuck? I'm like a schizoid fag trapped in Sears.

So the point of all this? Everyone says "be yourself" but I'm still not sure who I am. People change many times before truly deciding on one self for them. I think the line should be "discover yourself". Diversify, listen to rap and classical, dress like a raver, a punk, a prep. Live it all. Then you can be yourself.

Ok, that was pretty awesome. That was not the goal of this article but God damn I think it made sense anyway. To the five people that bother to read this: discover

The Human Condition and You

2005-03-15T15:29:00.000-05:00

Ok, so you gotta be wondering what I know on the human condition, and personally so do I, but I just wanted to relate a story here.

This goes back a little while, sometime last semester. I was sitting across the backseat of my friend's car as we were driving around, you know, for the hell of it. And as I'm sitting there I start to think - one of those 'drift out of conscience' moments. One of those times when you suddenly get struck by the almighty genius where you cure cancer or come up with free clean unlimited power. But what ended up coming out of my mouth sounded a bit like this:

"So you know those body builder chicks, like the real buff ones? Well I was thinking, why do they still have to wear a top, I mean, it's not like those really count as boobs anymore. And they sure as hell don't turn me on or anything."

So yeah, that's my thesis on the human condition. Some day someone out there is gonna be stretched out in the backseat of a Jeep Cherokee, banging over the coblestone of Fells Point. But when this person's brain smacks into the inside of their skull they might cure cancer or aids, or better(can you say multiple male orgasms?). But until then, seriously, why do they have to wear tops?

Time to re-re-re-sell out

2005-03-09T23:18:00.000-05:00

Oh shit, it's back. Shaddy's ba... no fuck Eminem.

So I gave up on the story, I mean, we all saw this coming. Me, do something? HAHAHAha... yeah...

So, why? Becuase I got conned into facebook. Ok, I didn't, but I blame it all on Pete. Just because I can.

Accually, it just made sense, this way all those new amazing people I meet can learn about my fucking amazing life! If you're gonna be a whore you might as well go all the way. I'll start the bidding at $15...

So this facebook thing is kinda cool I guess. Oh that guys still alive? Ha, she looks so drunk there. Isn't he in my psych class? Hey it's that cute girl from english! It's all good and fun.

So in conclusion I like ham.

Holy no updates Batman!

2004-11-10T01:17:00.000-05:00

Yeah, I started writing a story, so I've had a different outlet for the creative juices.

But because I'm a bastard, I'm going to use this wonderful free webhosting to post my story mwahahaha!!!

More laughing, haha I already gave up..

How to fun size your life.

2004-11-04T20:03:00.000-05:00

As I was eating some of the left over Halloween candy, I was suddenly struck by genius. As if the lightning of God came down and blessed me with the holy fire of self help I will change your fucking lives. You better sit down, and try to lower your heart rate because reading this will get your blood pumping. Hell, I had a heart attack just coming up with it!

This is the idea of 'funsizing' your life. Just like those candy bars that you can eat in two bites, why not live life in those 'two bites'? Example:
> Always skip your first class, and make sure you sleep through it. Even if it's a night class. Sleep is always fun.
> You should only go to about 15mins of class. This funsizing will ensure it doesn't get boring.
> Now this part is very important. Only eat red meat. This should help shorten your life span to a 'fun size'. Quick and econimical.
> Work part time, say 20 hours a week. Only show up to work about half the time. You'll need this time to eat more beef.
> Smoke.
> Drive really fast, your time is running out and you need to get places faster.
> Play with explosives or something. Hell I don't know
> Send me $20.

There, now you know the secret to funsizing your life. I've had so much fun since I started! I'm failing school, and I have heart disease! Join today!

When science goes to far.

2004-11-03T21:26:00.000-05:00

In our recent times we have made great strives in the fields of science and technology. Why just 15 years ago almost nobody had a computer and now we all have god damned livejournals for our relationship problems. But sometimes things are done in the name of science that never should have happened. The Nazi experiments on the Jews, reality TV, and Ranch Pizza.

Like all things, the story of Ranch Pizza started out with good intent. The original concept was proposed by a Melvin Harahoo in 1963 and won a government contract. It beat out it's competitor, a robot gorrilla used to rape people. I'm not exactly sure what this contract was for but my guess would be to make the Soviets insane, or waste money. Originally the ranch was supposed to go on top, but do to budget cuts they were forced to remove the tomato sauce. That is when things were terribly wrong...
Melvin was found dead the next day. Some say it was the angry pizza god spirits, but his wounds more closely reselmbled gorrilla rape wounds(still coulda been the pizza gods). After that more people who were involved in the project began to die. The government finally decided to end the project and Ranch Pizza was never heard from again.
In 1996 a grave digger came across Melvin's grave. In it he found the secret and dark recipe for Ranch Pizza. Not sure what to do with it, the digger hid it in his house. This man would later become the president of the United Stat... no wait. the Towson U cafeteria staff. Blind with power he accidently unleashed this terrible horror onto the unsuspecting students. I mean hey, there are pleanty of kids, who cares if a few die?

So remember, if you ever eat Ranch Pizza, you're eating a piece of history. Also, it tastes like shit. Really really bad.

If someone can understand all that, could you explain it to me?

And let the fight begin.

2004-11-02T21:02:00.000-05:00

Oh yeah, can you feel the heat? Can you? Say my name!

Ok all kidding aside, here we are again in the great election orgy. Both sides pushing and pulling like some kind of proverbial cat fight. It's hot(ok, now all kidding aside). Election time is an interesting time to be an American, and at first it's fun. You get to debate on your issues, talk some smack, ect ect. But then it just doesn't end. The arguing, the fighting, all over an opinion.

Arguing over politics is like competing in the special olympics, even if you win you're still retarded.

But can you really win? I mean even after all this if Bush wins, am I suddenly going to say, whoops I was wrong, the war in Iraq is just? Of course not, everyone has an opinion. That's what's so great about America, everyone has an opinion. Of course, nobody does anything.

So for once I decided to do something, I got my ass out there and voted. And I hope all you on the other side of the screen did too.

peace out, rock on, and may Allah bless you.

Day 2

2004-11-01T20:53:00.000-05:00

It is now the second day since we were shipwrecked here and the hope of being saved begins to wane. It is overtaken by the desire to survive, and yet a deep feeling of des... ehem, wrong place.

So I gathered a few more thoughts on this whole blog concept that I feel like sharing with you all, my dear readers. The whole concept of the blog is like some weird voyeristic diary. You put in your most intimate thoughts and feelings for the world to read. How can you bad mouth your closest peers when they can read how you think about them? Well you don't, which then defeates the whole damn purpose. Or you boldly go on in the name of art or science(or whatever god you worship) and let the feelings flow. Me? Well, I gots no beef with anyone right now, so this is a bridge I'll cross when I get to it(major cop out, sue me).

Today.
I had a test in economics. It sucked.
Tomarrow.
I have a test in American history. It will suck too.

Why the hell did I take hard classes? This is my second time through pre-calculus and I still don't get it. I don't see math major in my future. Econ, no chance. The professor could be teaching in pig latin, which was translated from German, into French, and back into English and I still won't get it. I guess that leaves English, I am pretty good at that. And I am still tempted by Psychology, to bad you don't get Jay-juice in college(some people will get this.

That's about it for today. Drop me a line, public.

And it starts...

2004-10-31T22:39:00.000-05:00

Ah, the blog. The core unit of the internet. I've mocked it, who wouldn't. We all have at some point. Yet here I am before you today posting on a blog. Why? The same reason as everyone else. Attention? A place to rant? A forum to let your emotions bleed out upon the earth? Yeah, attention.

So now I command you to read about my pathetic life, and what a better day to start then Halloween.

Well, jack shit happened today. The ever celebrated day of college parties and I drove between White Marsh and Towson a few times. Awesome. Seems my friend Eddy is in a bit with his mom. All of that is between them, but it put a good damper on my day. So what else do you do? Start a blog? Sure why not. Welcome to my life.

*Insert emo lyrics here*