Grow Up, America

Let's talk about contradiction, shall we?

Over on Cartoon Network, you can find advertisments for that silly Monsters vs. Aliens movie. It features Seth Rogen, one of the biggest potheads and marijuana advocates in Hollywood. You can also find those insufferable "Above the Influence" commericals immediately following. HEY KIDS, SETH ROGEN IS IN THIS MOVIE! (But pot is bad. I know he makes it seem harmless, but... shhh...)

Meanwhile, Family Guy runs an entire episode dedicated to the legalization of marijuana. I was told that during the initial premier... guess what ran? That's right, Above the Influence, who is like a well-funded version of the kid at the party who mocks the other kids getting high down in the basement. Meanwhile, nobody like that kid, and he's for SURE going to be a virgin until he marries a fat girl at age 28.

Never mind that their "Facts" about marijuana are speculation at best and out-and-out BS at their very worst. This is a group of people who can see the writing on the wall. Our country is slowly coming to the realization that our marijuana laws are ludicrous. The stigma was shaken off long ago. Why else would you have seen out-and-out contempt for Kellogg's when they pulled their sponsorship of Michael Phelps? The national reaction was one of "Who gives a shit? He won EIGHT GOLD MEDALS!" and that's the way it should be.

Seriously, who funds this shit? Above the influence of WHAT? Since when are stoners and potheads like the gays in their efforts to recruit legions of misguided youth? You know what I've never heard in all my years of being in the marijuana culture and being a longtime advocate (I am a Libertarian, after all)? "Smoke this, or you're a fag." You know what I hear ALL THE TIME? This fucking nonsense.

(side note: it took me five minutes to find that commercial, because all I could find was mocking parodies... still, look at the comments section. It's pretty interesting)

I don't like the person that I become when I drink too much. I am whiny, depressed, self-abosrbed, and sometimes contemptuous to the point of confrontation. I DEFY you to point out to me when I am baked off my ass without me telling you first. You'd never know, but I am always in a good place. ALWAYS.

I drink but maybe once a week now, and it's never more than three in one sitting. I feel better, I've lost weight, and I'm more active. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go watch TV and probably find a Bud Light commercial on somewhere.

Seriously, FUCK YOU AMERICA.

The Thrill of the Chase Is Total Bulls--t

You know, there's something I've been meaning to get off of my manly, hairy chest for quite some time. You are all allowed to think whatever you want, but I know at least a small part of you are concerning yourselves with what I have to say... I recently was fortified in that belief by a simple series of strokes on a keyboard.

Anyway. In case you didn't already figure out theme here, the thrill of the chase is indeed total bullshit. I understand that there are other species who do this as a matter of determining who makes the best mate. Aren't we evolved enough as a species to completely forego this process? Why do we keep doing this to ourselves? I have seen people do things recently that have left me in that sad state of being both stunned and completely unsurprised, all in the name of dipping the wick.


Here's the deal: you should just immediately bypass the rest of this because I am what I am. I am a gunshy, complex, wallflower-esque person when it comes to putting my ass on the line in order to just get a date. Allow me a diagram if you will.


This is me normally. Notice how approachable and well-adjusted I am.



This would be me trying to approach someone I find of interest. Please note the sweat, the sweat stains under the arms, the pulling at the clothing, etc. You also can't tell from this rendering, but I have wet myself. Never mind the concept of carrying on a conversation, I'm totally screwed here.

Do you see what I'm getting at? Coming out of a relationship is hard, but the hardest part is remembering exactly what it is that made people want to date you in the first place. I'm at the same point now that I was at the end of high school: completely devoid of romantic suggestion. And just like any other normal human being, I refuse to blame it on myself. I will continue to blame it on the shortcomings of others and their total failure to recognize my perpetual state of awesome. I mean, come on...

What's not to like?

North on I-380

When I visit my folks, it takes me to a town called West Liberty. For those of you unfamiliar with the cornucopia of culture that is southeastern Iowa, it's about fifteen miles away from Iowa City. It's pretty much a straight shot from WL to Cedar Falls, mostly going via Interstate 80.

There's a reason why I consider this trip so special. It's mostly because once you get out of the booming metropolis of Cedar Rapids, there's not a whole lot on the road that's going to keep you occupied. I know that sometimes deer get a sense of daring and will try to cross the road, but that's not going to keep you completely focused on the road.

You see, I-380 from Cedar Rapids to Cedar Falls is a chance to catch up on your thoughts whether you want to or not. You'll often find yourself being the only car on the road for miles. What else are you going to do but take stock in your life? This can either be a curse or a blessing, depending on what you're thinking at the time. For me, it was replaying two instances over and over in my head.

The first one involved me arriving in Wet Lib early Thursday afternoon. That night I went over to a friend's house and played bowling on the Wii. This reminds me: thanks Japan. Thanks for being you. Anyway, there were a few guys there I hadn't seen in a few years who were friends of mine from high school. Time was unable to deteriorate our affability towards one another. In other words: it was like picking up right where we left off.

The second one was coming back from this friend's house. He lived on Clark Street. My parents' place was across town on Maxson. Somehow, in the midst of it all, I got lost. Mind you, I'd lived in this town of 3,000 people for pretty much 20 years, and I was lost. Can you imagine how ashamed I was? My brother put it totally in perspective.

"Jesus, dude," he said, drawing out both words in exasperation. "I can't believe you."

Yeah, that about sums it up.

I would like to remind you that I was playing my radio, but it wasn't doing a damned bit of good. I-380 is too expansive and monotonous to keep you from daydreaming. Staying in Cedar Falls has shaped me in a lot of ways, and has made some things go down lately that I have recognized as sacrifices, but hey: love me, love my long trips on I-380 and the crazy shit I come up with on said trip that defines who I am.

The Five Stages of Grief, by Ralph

For those of you who are unaware, the human mind goes through five different periods following a traumatic event. They are fairly easy to remember since they form an acronym that I'm sure you've all used in everyday conversation: "dabda." If not, you need to start hanging out with me a lot more. I tend to use nonsense syllables on a regular basis. Anyway, here they are, as I would go through them. Remember, each person experiences these for different periods of time, so you may be different.


Denial. Nothing happened, I'm okay. For you see, I am the hope to the masses. If I am to experience fallibilty, they might become disillusioned. Case in point: the minute I started to recognize that maybe I was worse off than I had hoped? BAM! Economic collapse.That's right: this was all because of me.


It's important for people to remember that things can get them down, though. That way you can deal with them in a completely rational manner. This leads me to the next stage:


Anger. That's right: motherfuck the world! It was everyone else's problem, not mine! Surely it couldn't have been anything that I did wrong! Although now I'm denial over the economic problem being my fault, now I'm in stage two of the original problem. That's okay, I know how to deal with it! I'll take out on everyone around me. That surely won't fail.

On second thought, my bad. I guess I'd better move on to the next stage.


Bargaining. I'm fairly sure that when bad stuff happens to me, this stage doesn't happen. My broke ass doesn't have anything to make deals with. Unless you count making deals with God to make it all go away. Maybe that's what they mean here...

"Oh, knock it off! It's your stupid blathering that got you in this mess in the first place!"

Well, damn it. This stage does me no good. Moving on...

Depression. That's right, woe is me. God told me to slag off, the economy is in the toilet, and I made someone cry. What to do now? Drink too much and feel bad for myself! The problem is that you are told never to drink alone, so someone has the job of making you feel like less of a blubbering wussbag. It's important as the friend here to avoid trying to offer advice. This sadsack of a creature (me) is going to just get mad at you. Then where does that leave you? You probably either feel like an asshole, you'll want to punch me, or both. I don't need that right now.

Acceptance. I'm not sure what this feels like, to be quite honest with you. Every horrible thing that has ever happened to me has been suppressed and I carry it with me. I'd like to think in a small way this has made me a better man. For example...

This is an artist's rendering of me and my troubles.

So there is a bright side.

And in conclusion, there's only one thing that can be said as far as advice goes: don't get to know anyone or do anything that may cause you grief down the road. It kind of screws you up. Need proof? Read this whole diatribe again.

25 and Working In A Kitchen

I was at work last night when some drunken idiot approached me, bitched about the price of pizza, and then had this exchange with me:

Idiot: "So how old are you?"
Me: "25."
Idiot: "That's too bad... you know, working here."

He then proceeded to smile and walk away. I wished him a thousand painful deaths, proclaimed a jihad on all of his family, and then punched the doorman's counter. Sorry, Jonathon, I didn't mean to scare you.

Let me vent for just a few minutes, if you will. I know most of you don't read my stuff, and that's fine. It made me laugh one day when someone mentioned the reason that they didn't was becasue they were "too long." Really? It takes me less than fifteen minutes to write these... really?

Anyway. Normally the idea of working in a bar's pizza kitchen selling high-quality, affordable Italian delights is a point of pride for me. I determined after some time that what really bothered me was the request for my age. It's as if someone whose aged 25 is not allowed to work in the service industry, lest he be deemed a failure. This, of course, is all predicated on the idea that man's worth is derived by what he does for a living. Are we still at this point in our society, or was this one inexplicably stupid asshole the exception? I sincerely hope its the latter.

Trust me, I've heard all the jokes. I've heard all the jokes about how I'm working on a decade's worth of schooling. I've heard all the jokes about when I was a freshman, the printing press had just been invented. I take all of these in stride, mostly because it's my friends who are doing the ribbing. If you can't laugh at yourself, you have no right to laugh at others, after all.

So I am a 25-year-old guy living in a college town, having college friends, working at a college bar. Most of my friends are significantly younger than me, and I rarely meet someone whose older than me who doesn't already have a job that supplies them with stock options. That's fine, but let me explain something to the lot of you who think that this is something I should be ashamed of... and I KNOW WHO YOU ARE.

First off, I have friends that are 19 years old. That's a lot of years of separation. Let me assure you though: if I am hanging out with you, it's because I think you are a cool person and I enjoy conversing with you. It has nothing to do with me hanging onto my long-forgotten youth and trying to be young again. Hanging out with me for at least an hour will show you that I am one of the most juvenile people around, so that can't possibly be it.

Second, I'm happy doing what I do right now for a living. Rarely do I dread going into work. The vast majority of work days finds me happy and having a good time. This is all defined by (RECURRING THEME ALERT) the people I work with and how I think they are fun to be around. If you have ever teased me for this whether it be to my face or (even worse) behind my back to others, you are the worst kind of person. You are a black hole of humanity.

My age and my years spent in this town have been one of the greatest blessings of my life. I love the community of Cedar Falls and if it were up to me, I'd live here for the rest of my life. I love the people I associate with, and I love how I fit into all of it. There are sacrifices that must be made in the form of romantic relationships, perception of maturity, and other things that could easily be shook off it people allowed themselves to do so. Ah well.

Finally, the ultimate sacrifice for me is that I have a harder time than most meeting women. That comes with the territory, but I common theme I keep hearing is what people will think if word gets out that they're dating someone 3-6 years their senior. My parents are separated by five years. But that's beside the point. If you want to forsake the idea of someone having lived long enough to know how to treat a lady, and to do things the right way, that's fine. Spend some time with some punk college sophomore who has his whole life ahead of him and doesn't care whether or not you're a part of his longterm plans. Not that I'm bitter or anything.

So in conclusion, fuck that guy and his ridiculous modern-day faux alligator shirt. I am awesome, and there's not a damn thing any of you can do about it.

Them's the Breaks

We are a fascinating and unique species. Unfortunately, that means that we pretty much suck to deal with on a social basis. If we could be like the rest of the animal kingdom, things would be a lot easier. Not necessarily more fun, but definitely easier. Think about it: the female of most species goes into heat when she's ready to mate. Humans don't. Easier, yes. More interesting? Well, the other side of that is that you would see a lot of females in heat watching two dudes fight over the prize. Come to think of it, it's not all that different from what we're doing now. Ever watch two rams lock horns? You ever watch two brahs try to wrestle feebly in a bar while bouncers break them up? Is there REALLY that much of a difference?

My point is this: it might be possible to remain friends with your significant other following a breakup, but it's pretty unlikely. It's not nearly enough to just say that you'll make the effort. You might want to make the effort, but your thoughts and feelings betray you every single chance they get. That's the problem of self-awareness and free thought. You are way too aware of yourself and you think way too damn much.

It's mostly just vanity, really. The thought of someone you shared your most intimate thoughts and motiviations with will now spend their time with someone else doing the same thing. It's easy with your friends. You tell them something, they listen. You tell your mate something, there's a chance that they may still tell you to get lost.

What then? You're stuck feeling like an asshole, basically. You start to think of all the little things you did to screw up a good thing, that maybe you had the chance and you failed. You wonder if maybe you were a little too selfish at times. Then, after all this thought and speculation, you decide it was their fault. It's always their fault. Lying, cheating scum is what they are.

So being friends with this person is hard. Don't lie to yourself and say otherwise. Most of the time, no matter how hard you try it's just not going to work. Sometimes too much was invested, as a result... too much was lost.

But seriously: how about those CUBBIES?

Please Forgive Me, I May Be An Idiot

If there's one thing that frustrates me more than the introduction of the word "Webisode" into the vernacular, it's my inability to get people. See, I can read 1-3-1 zone defense from my seat at center court better than most people. I know what the difference between a "Sam" Linebacker is and a "Mike" Linebacker. No, they are not brothers who meet at the annual Linebacker Family Reunion. But damn, those people can barbecue, son.

See, I have been on the earth longer than most of you (I'm gonna go out on a limb and say that most of you reading this are less than a quarter-century old). I still don't know anything. I still make futile attempts to reason with God like he's a Repo Man taking my HDTV. One thing I've learned is that God is not anyone's Celestial Bellhop. But damn it all if I still don't feel like trying.

The only thing I can really do is acknwoldge and accept my own shortcomings. I come on too strong at times, I have the social skills of an Irish professional drinker (which is both a curse and a blessing), and I indulge too much in life's little distractions. For those of you who say that I forgot about being in school for my eighth year, I say this to you: FUCK OFF. Mind your own damn business.

That's about all I can do. The good news is that making those acknolwedgements can help you identify social problems before they arise. There are a few instances where it still doesn't help you because temptation can be a powerful influence. So all I can say when those kinds of things happen is this: my bad.

The other thing I can do is keep the faith. I live in a social circle where most of my friends think that God is basically a trading card in a Magic: The Gathering game. I know none of them say it to me, but they find my belief in God to be misguided. Let 'em think so. Attempting to find proof either way is a waste of everyone's time because you just won't find it. I know what I know, and that ain't a whole hell of a lot. I like to think there's someone else who is looking out for me. I know I can't do it on my own. Look how much trouble I've gotten into so far.

The Glad Game

These are a list of little things that make me glad. I call it "The Glad Game."

• The first day that it becomes prudent to wear a hoodie.
• Football Saturdays!
• When a song comes on the radio that you like and know all the words to. This inevitably leads to you singing like Freddie Mercury.
• When you're making out with a girl for the first time and she elects to take her shirt off, saving a lot of potential stress.
• Days that are sunny, and hovering at around 65 degrees.
• Drink specials that you'll actually take advantage of (note: 4.50 Jagerbombs don't do a thing for me, okay?).
• Night time at 2 a.m. and it's completely quiet.
• New bag day.
• Having your parents cover the dinner check as though they're doing you a favor.
• Having a good game in pickup basketball.
• A cute girl saying "hi" to you as you're walking opposite directions.
• Finding an episode of "Mythbusters" that you haven't seen yet.
• Hearing UNI mentioned on National TV.
• Your girl coming over to sleep at your place despite hers and your busy schedules the next morning.
• Getting a new HOODIE!
• Knowing that George W. Bush is gone in January.
• Your favorite bartenders knowing what your usual drink is (this goes out to you, Sorg and Philly).
• Good tip nights.
• Getting a new text message.

Got any more? Share them.

Why I Won't Vote For Barack Obama

But first, let me tell you why John McCain sucks.

Ironically, John McCain used to be a lot like Barack Obama. He was given a lot of credit around 2000 for taking stances that went against the party line. Even if I don't agree with a candidate, I'll respect his or her ability to actually do what they feel is best. McCain used to be this way. Now, he is a whiny lapdog for the GOP. He keeps knocking Barack Obama, calling him a celebrity. I find this to be McCain's official conversion to the dark side. It also turned him into a magnificent pussy, and a douchebag.

John McCain honestly believes that he can put together a campaign that does nothing but show everything wrong with his closest competitor. That would be a great way to do things of Wal-Mart trailer trash could vote twice. I'm sure Republicans would like nothing more than that as the 2008 elections approach, but it doesn't work that way.

And that is why John McCain is a wiener.

Now, on to our regularly scheduled program.

Barack Obama is a position right now where all he has to do is show people that he's not full of shit. He has created a campaign that people desperately want to believe in. I find the optimism of people to be both encouraging and desperately needed. There was one inevitability, however: when it became clear that he was in fact the frontrunner, his skeletons would come out. So far it seems he's just like any other politician: a conniving bastard. But I'm not looking for a nice guy to be my leader, I'm looking for a leader. Ask Lou Piniella if he cares whether or not people think he's cuddly. The Cubs are in first place. END OF STORY.

So yeah, Obama is great and is giving people hope. But I am still a Libertarian, and I know of a candidate that is still better suited for me than Obama. His name is Bob Barr, and he currently has 6% of the popular vote according to recent polls. Bottom line? I'm not alone, and I'm not throwing my vote away. BELIEVE DAT.

Being Oggled By the Mind's Eye

In case you didn't know, someone, somewhere, really wants to hump you. Imagine that for just a second. They would consider it a major coup in their life's journey if they could have sex with you. You, you naive bastard. I am sure that there are people who are desiring relations with me, although they might not necessarily be doing so now. Give them time, though.

Stop moping. Whether you are skinny, fat, black, white, single, married, or "In An Open Relationship," someone thinks you are worthy of their sexual exploits. My advice to you is to go and find one of these people. If you're not single, this should be relatively easy. Trust me: your significant other imagined you naked at some point today. You'll feel better, and your mind will be clear, if only for a second.

Why do I say this? Because right now there's somebody out there who wants to do me. I know this because it's happened before. I remember how I felt after a good batch of shagging. AWESOME, and never any less than that. I tell you all of this now because nobody knows the merits of sex better than someone who isn't having it.

Now, go in peace.

Sexism In Modern Times

Attention, fools:

I give you this.

I want you to read the article. Then I want you to look at the pictures provided. I want you to hear the anecdotes not from the girls being interviewed for the piece as if their opinion means dick to their overbearing twat of a father, but from the twats themselves. I want you to realize that it's incredibly important in this day in age to realize that we, the youngest generation with the power to truly change things, have to recognize a problem.

Also, you have to know that these girls are going have MASSIVE fucking daddy issues their whole lives.

A "purity ball?" Hey, let's party like it's 1799! Instead of Prince, we can get Prince Wilhelm IV of Prussia! Instead of karaoke and party games, we'll be auctioning off black people in a faux-slave auction. Seriously, we're already half way there to putting women back in the fucking kitchen where they belong, right?

A purity ball. Jesus Christ, save me.

I found this on someone's Facebook notes. I'm not much for labels, but I'd say she's as close to a modernized feminist that I know. She, naturally, is outraged. I'm sure she has her reasons, including lashing out at a borderline-psychotic attempt turn back the clock because we are all scared. Scared of what, I don't know. She has her reasons, I have mine. Let me tell you mine:

It's because of people who believe in this "purity ball" shit that I don't get laid more often.

Roll with me here. What is a purity ball, essentially? An effort by a group of creepy wannabe daughter-fuckers to ensure that their seed remains theirs and theirs alone. There's a guy in the article who has the nerve to take his daughter to one of these things despite having fathered nine children with seven women. I don't care how much you say you've changed and the light of Baby Jesus has touched you: FUCK. OFF. That's the kind of contradiction that lasts for life. You are an alcoholic you're whole life, whether you've been sober thirty years or are piss-drunk now. You don't force your son or daughter to go with you to your AA meetings, you pompous fuck. Leave them out of this.

The whole socially conservative movement gets its bread and butter from the impressions made on youth. It's far easier to mold the mind of child who doesn't have contradictory viewpoints being told to them. I grew up in a household that features a Democrat for a dad and a Republican for a mom. I'm now a Libertarian, and I think they're both morons. But at least I love them for showing me that absolutely NOTHING in life is all one color. I guess it's at least a little true that you can't have an understanding until you despite someone for their viewpoints. How sad.

In this case, these purity balls represent a bunch of piss-ant macho males fucking their daughters' minds up totally. Want to know why so many girls who make virginity pledges lose it in the back of a Ford Taurus on a gravel road just outside town? DADDY. ISSUES. See, it's paranoid fathers who plant that seed in girls' heads. "Sex is bad until you're married," they'll say. Well, girls need more than one positive male role model, just like boys should have as many positive female role models as possible. They'll eventually think they've found it in the arms of Chip the Small Town Quarterback, who ironically took a chastity pledge of his own at Bible Camp.

We are the only species on earth that believes sex is something to be ashamed of. Mind you, that's not something is instinctive. It's shamed into us by adults when we are young. They do it for our physical protection more than anything. I get that, and I respect it. We are now in an age, though, where people realize their sexuality at a younger and younger age. There's absolutely no reason whatsoever to keep from embracing it. How about a message of "Sex is a wonderful, personal thing. But with it comes responsibility." How much responsibility can a person learn when they hear "No. Shut up. Sex is evil. Now sit on your dad's knee while bounces you up and down." A bit of a contradiction, to say the least.

I have ranted long enough. You are more than welcome to disagree with me, but at least hear me out when I say that these purity balls are an effort to ensure no outside information is heard. That is all.

Life After Facebook

A long time ago, you could date someone with little to no hassle. Nowadays, it's possible your friends will get pissed off at you if you never posted a small and meaningless blurb on an online profile about how you are now "in a relationship." Back in the day someone who annoyed the piss out of you in a social setting could be easily forgotten, even if you gave them your name. Now? You're fucked son. Next time do a background check on someone who wants to be your friend.

Yes, I'm talking about facebook. Facebook has the serious possibility of being the downfall of our society. Buy N' Large might not even get that chance. I'm having a hard time envisioning a future where humanity's every move will be registered through one mega-site (damn you, mini-feed), but that future may not be far off. Listed below are some ways to prevent this future from happening.

Stop saying "Facebook Official." This one ranks right up there with people who type "LOL" when they meant to make a joke. Frankly, my mindless hookups and failed one-week relationships with that crazy bitch at the bar are none of your concern. Likewise, I get a migraine whenever I have to read the following sequence on my mini-feed:

• Dipshit is listed as "in a relationship." (3:06 pm)
• Dipshit is in love! (3:13 pm)
• It's complicated with Dipshit. (3:19 pm)
• Dipshit wonders what the future holds. (3:25 pm)
• Dipshit is no longer listed as "in a relationship." (3:40 pm)
• Dipshit is crying themselves to sleep. (3:53 pm)

Congratulations: now everyone on the internet knows you're a God damned basket case. And don't try and offset this by making your profile restricted. People still talk without computers, you know.

You are not a ninja. Nor will you ever be one. In some sort of practical joke that went too far, literally millions of people spend at least part of their day on Facebook trying to upgrade their ninja skills by challenging other Facebook ninjas and (most importantly) having no respect for other friends' time and intelligence by repeatedly requesting that they join them as online ninjas. This could be remedied by Mark Zuckerberg simply creating a "fuck the fuck off" button to click when someone sends you this request. This would only work if the fake ninja was told explicity that he should have intercourse with himself, of course. I'm okay with that, though.

This presents a danger because like fantasy sports, it's something that needs to be relegated to a small corner of the internet. Anyone who talks openly about their ninja quest is simply going to be rendered mentally atrophied in a few years, and it's important that they not spread their seed. Think about it: would you consider someone's Donkey Kong Kountry exploits quality conversation? Of course not. Do us all a favor: dispose of these people. They will be our downfall.

Fuck you, mini-feed. I do a lot of things on Facebook purely for shits and giggles. The rest of Facebook's expansive community doesn't need to know that I wrote on fifteen people's walls, that I joined a group commemorating Woody Woodpecker's 84th anniversary, and that I repeatedly tried to Facebook flirt with a crush. I am an idiot. Talking to me for five minutes in person will make this apparent. Stop clogging other people's shit up with meaningless updates. This also holds reciprocal. I don't need to know that Dipshit is cluuuuuuubin it up with Asshat and PinkyDick. If I really wanted to know, I'll ask them.

The Following Phrases Will Make Me Hate You

Anyone who uses the following words or phrases in front of me without any semblance of irony or humor will be shunned. Know this. It might save you a lot of trouble.

Airplane Reading/Summer Movie. They are pretty much the same thing. Many people will define airplane reading or summer movies as "Easy to digest mentally" or "brain candy." I call them "The mental equivalent of an Outback Bloomin' Onion dipped in chocolate sauce, covered in bacon bits, slathered in sour cream, and then topped off with butterscotch and semen." In other words, it might feel good, but you know that it's eventually going to make you rot away and even as you're eating it you know that something isn't right. The other thing that bothers me about these people is that if they finish their "airplane reading" they will ask you if you've read it. No, I have not read Summer of Deception Rebecca Sue H.P. Grafton. Tease me if you must about having read Catcher In the Rye, but we both know that your insecurity will suffocate you someday.

Fantasy Sports Analyst. Are you fucking kidding me? First off, I find nothing more insufferable that dipshits who discuss fantasy sports with people outside their leagues. I will make some concessions about guys (and it's almost always guys... sorry, ladies) who discuss their leagues with each other. But some people find it wholly necessary to listen to a guy on ESPN who is telling you to consider picking Schuyler Robertson from the Fresno Grizzlies AAA team because he's bound to break, and you'll like a genius. When ESPN breaks from their coverage of gruesome racing accidents or Brett Favre's latest Perot-esque renegging, this sends me into a pit of great annoyance. It all boils down to this: for what? You spend your time researching your fantasy sports team because you think it makes you more masculine? Replace "fantasy baseball" with "fantasy role-playing" or "Magic: the Gathering" and you still have the same idea. Some dipshit on ESPN telling you about it doesn't make it cooler.

LOL, LMAO, or any derivative thereof. Back when the internet was in its infancy (I am old enough to remember this very well... wanna fight about it?), the term "LOL" stood for "laughing out loud." I know this seems very elementary, but follow me for just a second. When you were chatting with someone online, you could show appreciation for a joke they just made by letting them know they succeeded in making audibly chuckle.

THAT IS ALL THAT IT MEANS.

Fast forward to now, where millions of hopeless troglodytes use it incessantly, most often as they are referring to something they themselves have done, using "LOL" as either a joke surrogate or to let you know that they were trying to be funny but have likely subconsciously conceded to the fact that they are despicably unfunny. A word of advice to these people: you are not funny. Stop trying to be something that you aren't. I don't go around wearing applebottom jeans and the boots with the fur so I can pretend everyone in the club is looking at me. They should have every right to kick my ass for being such a poseur. You need to do the same. Either that, or take funny classes at the learning annex.

One Single Photograph

I've learned quite a bit about myself in the last couple of months. Up until just recently, I didn't know that I could have literally dozens of attractive girls say "I love you" to me just for getting them quality pizza at a reasonable price (EAT MOJO'S PIZZA.). Say what you will, that can be quite the spoonful of sugar for one's ego.

I also found out that I handle being single in a strange fashion. I hadn't been single for three years. Then, suddenly, I was. The quickest lesson to be learned is to remember that you are a person on your own, and that your significant other should never, EVER define who you are. If you're going to do that, get a fucking hobby. Trust me: crocheting will never tell you that it needs to be crocheted by other people. The Chicago Cubs baseball team will never call you up and tell you "Look it's not you, it's us."

Anyway. That's the simplest, most rudimentary thing you can learn. The thing that I learned shortly thereafter is that you can invest a lot of time into a relationship, but that doesn't mean it was meant to be. Then you're stuck with a lot of memories that can be good ones, but they aren't tangible enough to warrant justification.

I have one single photograph left that I will keep for the rest of my life that will serve as a monument to my most recent relationship. I have no ill will, and things must be as they are. That being said, you can't start a 4,000-mile road trip with your car in reverse. Believe that.

ITEC Adventures

I will soon be posting pictures of UNITUBA's time in Cincinnati, Ohio. Suffice to say it was draining, and I could have slept for 40 days upon my return. But it was...

FUCKING AWESOME.

Believe it.

Ruminations soon. Yes, I'm still alive.

Oh Dear

I was Facebook cruising and came across a wholesome group page called "You know you're a band geek when..." and one of the wall posts was someone trolling for their website in which they get too drunk to remember having sex but it's all on VIDEO!

Although titillating, I find this to be kind of absurd. Let me do these people a service: here's some groups you SHOULD have posted that message on, instead of a marching band page. Not to make the claim that band kids are asexual (NOTHING is further from the truth), but... well, yeah.

Anyway. Some suggestions:

• "Girls Gone Wild" Fans
• I Am An AIM Porn Bot
• I Have Jerked It In Public
• Males With Rape Fantasies
• Males With Fantasies About Being Raped
• If It's In Another Area Code, It's Not Cheating
• Bacardi 151: A Legal Roofie
• I Heart Soulja Boy
• Sperm Guards For Keyboards
• Fans of Nickelback
• I Hit On My Applebee's Waitress
• Natty Light: God's Nectar
• How Do YOU Spell Fun? A-D-D-E-R-A-L-L
• Go White Sox!
• You Know You Enjoy Videos of Drunk Girls Getting Plowed When...

This advice comes pro bono. You're welcome.

Surviving Moments of Unawesome

The human mind is a wonderful thing. A glorious, magical, insanely stupid thing. Your mind is the one and only tool in how you perceive the world. Your mind has absolute power over conceptions of reality, and you know what they say about absolute power corrupting absolutely.



In short: every single person on this planet is a befuddled douchebag of a human being.



I give you this man as proof.





I have no point to all of this other than to once again remind you all the Chad Kroeger and the rest of Nickelback should spend all of eternity listening to their own music and getting shocked with 400 volts of electricity every time it sucks.

Or perhaps I do. Wait, it's coming to me...


Oh yes, now I remember. As much I try to pass myself off as a decent human being, sometimes I'm confronted with actions that I myself don't approve of. This causes cognitive dissonance. Of you don't know what that means or are Chad Kroeger (or possibly both), go look it up. Anyway, I think I am awesome. Therein lies the problem. When I do things that are unawesome, this presents a conflict. Here's a briefing on how I can cope, using a recent example:


I asked a girl on a date who was already seeing someone. Some people will tell me I should have done more research before I asked such a question. I could have let this unawesome incident get to me, or let my friends (as well-meaning as they were) tell me I was a doofus. I did not. Instead, upon hearing this news, I dismissed it as in instance where 70% percent of all the cool chicks are taken. Sometimes you have to put your ass on the line and ask one of them out. You have a 30% chance of scoring a cool chick. The last I checked, batting .300 will get you far in baseball.


Do you see what I'm getting at here? When I was pursuing my Crush of the Week people always used to tell me "What's the worst she can say? No?" This is advice I've finally started taking to heart. It will reap benefits someday, rest assured of that. The funny thing is when I excersize this newfound philosophy, all my friends (especially those who have known me for a long time, back when I was explicitly insecure) are bewildered and ask me why the hell I did such a thing. The answer is simple:


BECAUSE I AM AWESOME.

testing

Truth Nuggets

• Lewis Black said it best when he said that the teachings of Jesus Christ may make you into a better person, but just because you follow the teachings of Jesus Christ doesn't mean that you're immediately a wonderful human being. KNOW THIS.
• People who make a joke about something on the internet and then follow it up with "LOL" are endlessly irritating. Stop laughing at your own joke, you dipshits.
• If music is the language of emotion, then bad music must be the equivalent of shitting yourself after straining too hard to fart.
• If you enjoy something, it doesn't automatically mean that its creator is a genius. The guy who invented the word "hyperbole..." now THAT guy is a fucking genius.
• Take a little bit of pride in everything that you do. If you aren't proud of something you're doing then stop doing it. That seems pretty simple, right?
• Biz Markie once said "If it's gonna be this kind of a party I'm gonna stick my dick in the mashed potatoes." One of these days I will find a party that is that kind of party with mashed potatoes. It's hard to find parties these days with mashed potatoes, but when I do, I will hump the bowl.
• I've said it before, and I will sure as hell say it again: thinking you are a fantastic person is not arrogance, cockiness, or anything of the like. You cross the line into arrogance when you hurt others around you with your actions. Otherwise, go nuts.
• Sidebar to the previous bullet: this is why you hear me say "You're damned right I am" a lot.
• The older you get, the less it seems you know. This is why teenagers really fucking piss me off.
• Philosophers might have a lot of profound things to say about the nature of life and loyalty the day that the Cubs finally win the World Series.

Amusements: The Running Diaries of A Madman

So as of right now, here's my situation: my computer monitor got fried in what I'm assuming to be a lightning storm, one of my summer jobs is quite literally a wash due to an ill-timed act of God and now my bills are piling up, and the most unacceptable and soul-crushing thing of all is that I haven't been on a date in forever.

See, it's all about perspective, people. Take notes. Get study groups together. You'll get in "A" in life if you know how to prioritize as I clearly have.

I suppose I could give you some musings or thoughts about the recent high-powered floods that have turned most of Eastern Iowa's municipalities into large, foul-smelling swimming pools, but I'll leave that to the experts. Guys like Bruce Aune who have done a stellar job in convincing us that we're all going to fucking die. A Roland Emmerich-style disaster movie called "Flood" and based on a true story can't be too far behind, right?

This was supposed to be the summer I got my life back in order, began going back to school full-time, and graduated with a bachelor's degree before the age of 30. Well, right now it's not looking so hot. I had a fairly lucrative gig set up running a taco stand (check that... THE Taco Stand) at Riverfront Stadium this summer. Well, that's not happening as of this moment. The lack of cash flow is now baring down on me in unprecendented ways, and this may mean that I might have to forego yet ANOTHER semester of not going to school in time to graduate before Trucker Movies become popular again.

Oh well. If anyone has anything to say that would help, think about it, and then contact me.