To Whom It May Concern, Fuck You.

Lately, I have been having the urge to tell people off in letter form, and instead of actually writing these letters, getting lawsuits, and eventually getting thrown into a Turkish Prison (again), I am just going to post them to my blog.

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Dear Yvonne Strahovski,

I would love to count the ways in which I love you, but every time I do, I always lose count, and have to look for a towel to clean myself up. So no, not today. Today I want to talk to you about your place in our society. Yes, I know you are Australian, despite what your last name is, and I have moved passed that. To be quite honest, I have never seen any human being as good looking as you come from Australia or most counties for that matter. The fact that you are born in Australia almost redeems Mother Nature for all of those fucked up critters that live on that crazy, topsy tervy, continent of yours. Seriously though, what the fuck is up with the bugs there?

JESUS WEB-SLINGING CHRIST!!!

Before your fine, Arian ass came along, I had no clue what Australia was. When it was brought up in conversation, I just assumed that it was some kind of new, carbonated beverage, or a type of burrito concoction from Taco Bell. But then, you proved that TV hot is still really hot. I only watched an episode or two from the first season of Chuck, and even though I did not think too highly of the show at the time, I saw you in that corset and pigtails- while you put up a front as a bratwurst peddler as a cover for your super sexy spy persona, and I fell in love. Kinda.

I watch the show regularly, partly because I enjoy the show, but mostly because you are smoking hot, and that show is the only place I can find you. This brings me to the point of this letter. I think you should guest star on the hit Television show “House.” I have the perfect story arc for you too: You are Dr. Remy (13)’s new girlfriend. You will do all of the standard lesbian girlfriend stuff. I have no clue as to what that is, but I assume it has something to do with changing tires and feeding the cats.

I know that the gratuitous sex scenes may be uncomfortable, especially because they will be broadcasted on national television, but I for one think this will be a great opportunity for you. For one, you will be able to add a new character to resume (or whatever the fuck actors have) Not only that, this could show fans, critics, and talent agents your acting range. Also, think about what this could mean in terms of awards. If you play Remy’s lover well, you or the entire show could get nominated for or even win an Emmy. It hits on that whole gay equality crap we’ve been hearing so much about.

I guess what I am trying to say is that I want you to make out with Olivia Wilde.

Love

Doug Moser

P.S. Call me (XXX)XXX-XXXX

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Dear Michael Bay,

Please, for the love of God, stop making movies.

Sincerely,

Humanity

________________________________________________________

Dear Brittany Murphy (dated December 19, 2009),

You’re a dumb bitch and I hope you die.

Sincerely,

Doug Moser

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Dear Facebook,

I am not sure if you know this about me, but I do not like stalking my friends. Or, at least I didn’t, until you forced me to. Don’t get me wrong, I know that I can log off of you, but you know my weakness. You know that deep down, I like knowing that I make people laugh and that I like getting attention for doing so. So you make sure that I am notified whenever someone likes my status or if a friend comments on one of my pictures. You know that I feel validated when they do, and when they don’t I get obsessive, and I start trying to figure out why they are not paying attention to me. Here’s what happens:

“What? Ashley Caggiano did not like any of my motivational posters? The BITCH!!! Did she even look at them? Let’s have a look at her profile… Wait a goddamn minute, She has 166 friends that her attention could be focused on instead of it being focused on me! What the fuck is this about?!?! Facebook, tell me these people’s names and what town they live in. While you’re at it, make my status say, “Doug has got some anger issues, a knife, a list of names, and a reason. Try and stop him, Trashley.”

Why am I shirtless?

See what happens when you give me access to the personal details of peoples’ lives? People die. And it’s not even like I want to know that personal information. You are a part of the internet. The last thing people should do is be incredibly open about their lives on you. For one, No one gives a shit. They may act like they do, but they don’t. And secondly, who knows what person is facebook stalking you. That homeless guy down the street could be your facebook stalker (He could have a laptop, you don’t know).

I guess what this all boils down to is: I respect my friends enough that I don’t want to know every last little detail about their day. They deserve some time that I am not breathing down their neck,  and they cannot have that when I am commenting on and liking all of their shit.

Thank you,

A not-stalker (for realsies)

Doug Moser

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Dear Ernest Hemingway,

I know that you are dead and all, in fact that is why I am writing. It’s not that I think you faked your death; I know that you died. I am writing to you because of the manner that you died.

See, everyone sees you as a badass because you wrote stories about war. Stories that you actually lived (Kind of). You were in WWI, and went to Spain as a reporter for the Spanish Civil War. Towards the end of your life, you spent most of your days in Cuba, getting drunk and fishing for sharks or some shit.

But how you died… it was so unmanly. So unmanly, in fact, that I have no choice but to revoke your badass club membership.  I am sure that this news upsets you, especially because John Wayne is still in, and everyone knows that he was gay. But he didn’t kill himself. He died probably due to an overload of awesome (or possibly dick. It’s one of those two.) and his head exploded. He is still missed. You however, moved to Idaho, and shot yourself with a shotgun.

I don’t know what is more disturbing: that you killed yourself with a shotgun, or that you willingly moved to Idaho. I understand that you were mentally ill, but still does not explain the move. Not even crazy people want to move to Idaho. Maybe you did not know how much of a shit hole Idaho is, and once you moved there, you could not live with the fact that such a terrible place existed, do you offed yourself.

I’m sorry- let me get back to my point. You killed yourself. That is the second most unmanly way to die. No matter how you kill yourself (you don’t want to know the least manly way to die, but I will say that it involves an electric motor, some anal beads, a pair of ice skates, and a unicorn.), if you kill yourself,  you lose over half of your badass points that you have earned throughout your life. And there’s nothing you can do to bring them back-because you’re dead. What the fuck are you going to do?

And to be honest, “For Whom The Bell Tolls” is almost impossible to read if you are not being forced to read it.

Sincerely

Doug Moser

Leader of the Awesomesquad, and Chairman to the Council of Badassery

_________________________________________________________

Dear Thursdays,

Why must you suck so hard and with such gusto?

From Russia with love

Doug Moser

__________________________________________________________

Dear Doug Moser,

I am sorry to tell you that I only suck with gusto for you, and that is only because you make me suck with gusto. I am not a particularly difficult day of the week to get along with, but you force the worst out of me. I think you do it because you hate yourself. I think you need some counseling; I am worried about you. Or, maybe I am not a difficult day at all, and you are just a bitch. I’m just saying…

With a hatred that scares the piss out of the Devil,

Thursdays

P.S. will you do me a favor and tell Monday to fuck off. He has become way to egomaniacal lately. Thank you.

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Dear Maxim Magazine,

Before I go into my complaint, I would first like to thank you for destroying the fond memories of my childhood is the sexiest way possible. Let me explain. I recently got your latest issue (February 2010) and I was thrilled/ a little disturbed to see Amanda Bines stripping on the cover. This is not the first time that you did something like this. You also have had the likes of:

Hiliary Duff,

Avril Lavigne,

Sarah Michelle Gellar,

And Marge Simpson

I am not sure why you feel the need to force my innocent crushes into a full state of gorilla lust, but thank you all the same.

But that is not why I am writing this. Actually, I am writing this for almost the exact opposite reason. Basically I am tired of seeing half naked dudes in your magazine. I understand that those are the ads and the message that they want to convey is “You will get laid by using our product!” and I cannot blame them. However, I will say this: Do you know what appeals to men more than half naked men? Half naked women. I know, I was shocked when I found out too, but it’s true. It is a scientific fact that every living man, no exception, loves titties. [citation needed] Seeing as though you are a magazine that focuses on how hot female celebrities are, you already know this. What I do not understand  is why do you sell your ad space to companies whose adds do not have some hot topless chick being objectified in them. Do they pay more? Is it because you want your readers to look at the specimans that you supply, or is it some kind of social experiment that you are trying to conduct?

In any case, stop. When I look at your magazine, I look at a few  things, the jokes, the workout tips, the tips for meeting women, and the pictures of all of the women posing in lingere. Not, I say, NOT the Abercrombie boys playing a homoerotic game of rugby. If I wanted to look at a magazine just to see a bunch of shirtless dudes, I would buy a gay porn magazine, like…umm… I don’t know, Penis Quarterly?

All I am really asking for is a better boobs to boys ratio.

Fist pound,

Doug Moser

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Ok, Blogs over. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here. Seriously, this is not a physical place. There is no place for you to stay. How would we accommodate you? Also, we’ve got a monster truck rally that needs to start setting up in 20 minutes. So, yea… Get the fuck out.

Peace

My friends and how they worship me: Jimmy

Well, I should be writing a paper for my contemporary poetry class, or reading for my rhetorical grammar class, but fuck that noise. I’ll just talk to you guys. So, how have you been? That’s good. I did see the game. Two words: Amazing amazing. Yea I know that was just one word written twice. Don’t question it. No, it’s not that big of a deal. Who is really going to care? Everyone else is laughing, why can’t you. Ok, Ok we’ll talk about this when we get home. I said we’ll talk about this when we get home. Why must you insist upon making a scene in front of my friends. This is why we are never invited to any parties. [I grab a beer.] Because, I need to drink when I’m around you, because you are intolerable. I’m sorry- that was harsh and I didn’t mean it. No, don’t cry, I’m sorry. It’s just the beer and you nagging me about writing a word twice pushed me over the edge. Oh great, people are starting to stare. DON’T TELL PEOPLE THAT I THINK YOU’RE FAT! [turning to everyone else] I don’t think (your name) is fat. I never said anything like that; I just said that (s)he is intolerable. [turning back to you] Great, now I’m the bad guy! Well, since I’m the bad guy you can walk the fuck home.

[I get up and storm out of where ever the fuck we are (internet?) I drunkenly put my key in the ignition. The tires of my car screech like a banshee on the rag as I peel away from the curb. I’m flying down the interstate, listening to one of my CDs I made with the most depressing songs on my iPod. The song Stan by Eminem comes on. In true ironic (keep the word ironic in there if you don’t know what ironic means, if you do, use the term “coincidental” instead) fashon, I lose control of my car and go through the guard rails of an overpass. The sound of crushing metal and my screams are all I can hear as my car lands upside down. I stop screaming once I realize I’m not dead. I let out a short laugh as I unbuckle my seatbelt. “It’s gonna take more than that for god to kill me,” I say. The car then explodes into a fireball large enough to catch trees twenty feet away on fire (my car runs on napalm). After a few seconds after the blast, I climb out of the mangled chunk of scrap metal that once used to be my car, raise my middle finger to the midnight sky, and head the rest of the way home on foot.]

fuck you, sky

-Wow, what does it say about me if that is the imaginary relationship I think up?

Anywhat-the-fuck-ever, for my blog this week, I would like to talk to you kind folk about Jimmy “Jew Killer” Kohlberg.

Now Many of you (Lady Caggiano) maybe wondering why Jibbles got to be the focus of an entire blog before you, and you would be right to question it, but it’s my blog so fuck you. I’m writing about Jimmy. I actually feel that I have not done Jimmy proper justice in my blogs. I have mentioned him in one- maybe two of my blogs now, but he and I have a much stronger relationship than what I made it seem. It is on par with Ashley’s and my relationship, except I mention her in just about every one of my blogs.

Here are some of the facts you should know about Mr. Kohlberg:

1. He is a man
2. He is white, but he’s black on the inside
3. He is my coworker at Geagle
4. He is one of my best friends
5. He works out- probably more than I do
6. He is straight
7. He will remind you that he is straight any time he complements you
8. He likes-nay- loves the sauce, and has tried just about every type of booze that is out there
9. He was born on May 20^th, which coincidentally enough, is the same day my best friend from PA was born, except one year later.
10. He loves my motivational posters and is the main force behind why I still make them
11. He is a genuinely good person, also a pervert, but a good person none the less
12. He would make a great English major if he only liked to write
13. He somehow manipulated me into going out of my way to make sure he reads these blogs.

Jimmy, simply put, is awesome, and not just because he probably describes me to other people as a god of some sort. He is one of those friends I can regularly count on. He is usually the person I go to when I need relationship advice, and he gives me that much needed “please tell me I’m funny” attention that I ask for constantly.

One of the best things about being friends with Jimmy, however, is the conversations we tend to have on facebook or via text message. Here is one of the more recent ones. It is not our funniest, but we did a good job of covering all the topics that we usually hit during one of our conversations.

Doug 11:18pm

do you work tomorrow?

Jibbles 11:19pm

no sir

you?

Doug 11:20pm

yea 2:00 to 10:30

Jibbles 11:20pm

damn son

Doug 11:20pm

nah

i’m cool with it

Jibbles 11:21pm

i gotchya. you like brand new?

Doug 11:22pm

i do, I’ve actually been meaning to listen to the cd again, but smashley made me copies of the killers albums I don’t have so I’ve been listening to them

did you pass through Sam’s Town

Jibbles 11:22pm

yessir. good stuff. it made me kinda rekindle my enjoyment of em

Doug 11:23pm

it is a good cd

Jibbles 11:24pm

hell yea

Doug 11:25pm

i really like hot fuss too

i had no clue that they wrote the song with the lyrics “I got sold but I’m not a soldier”

Doug 11:27pm

i think i may add more motivational posters soon

Jibbles 11:29pm

do it. i love those.

Doug 11:29pm

ok. I will.

Jibbles 11:30pm

dude, im kinda drunk

youre a good dude. youre a good friend too

Doug 11:31pm

so are you

Jibbles 11:31pm

thanks dude no homo

Doug 11:31pm

ditto

Jibbles 11:32pm

lol youre fine dude no worries

Doug 11:32pm

ha ha right back at you

Jibbles 11:36pm

so how are the chicas in your life bruhh

Doug 11:36pm

DOA

ha ha

no they are not interested

how’s the gf?

Jibbles 11:38pm

lol

shes good. youll get some awesome chick. you deserve it

Doug 11:39pm

hell yea I do!

there is this girl at the place i go tanning at she is very cute, and friendly

i am not sure if she’s interested though

also, i kind of forgot about this because i was very drunk at the time, but some of the girls i was at that party with want to fix me up with girls they know

Jibbles 11:41pm

dude. youre shredded. every chick thats friendly with you is prolly wanting your weiner.

no homo

youre like… fuckin he-man

Doug 11:41pm

not He-man

Jibbles 11:41pm

dude

Doug 11:41pm

close, but not exactly

Jibbles 11:41pm

you even have the haIR

Doug 11:41pm

ha ha, yea i do

Jibbles 11:44pm

dude

the whiskey.

its a trip to the moon

Doug 11:45pm

no, that’s just the roofies

Jibbles 11:47pm

hahahahahahahahahahahahaha

i literally lol’d

Doug 11:48pm

i’ve been getting people to do that a lot lately

whoda thunk I’d be funny

Jibbles 11:52pm

haha dude youre a writer. who do you think writes for comics? writers.

Doug 11:52pm

good point

Jibbles 11:53pm

i just reread what i sent. am i retarded? maybe. lol

Doug 11:55pm

no it was a good point

obvious maybe

but also funny

because you are tipsy

Jibbles 11:55pm

oh. im tipsed to the mesopotamian (sp) valley.

Doug 11:56pm

that doesn’t make any sense

Jibbles 11:57pm

its in iraq

between the tigris and euphrates rivers

Doug 11:57pm

i know that

Jibbles 11:57pm

lol ok well it means im halfway around the world with whiskey

Doug 11:58pm

oh, ok. i did not catch that part

Jibbles 11:59pm

lol i never mentioned it. my bad if its like tryin to follow a story bein told by someone with downs.

Doug 11:59pm

it’s cool

Today

Jibbles 12:01am

im kind of crass

im sorry

lol

Doug 12:02am

no

it was funny

Doug 12:07am

now i’m wondering what it would be like if someone with the Syndrome of a Down told me a story

Jibbles 12:07am

hahahahahahaha

well i just took a piss lol

Doug 12:08am

i am glad that i have that effect on you

no homo

Jibbles 12:08am

hahahahahaha

hahahaha

In ten years, when I have a severe God Complex, we can all look back and say “So, this is where it all started. Thanks a lot Jimmy. You Douchebag.”

But seriously, he fills the “Doug is awesome” quota before anyone else has a chance to. If you don’t believe me, look back up at the conversation. He calls me he-man. He-fucking-Man! (that sounded both gay and like bad English) My brother and sister have to work overtime on deflating my ego while I am friends with Jimmy.

this picture is 100% accurate

That conversation basically sums up most of the conversations between Jimmy and I.  They usually have the elements of Music, girls, how awesome I am, promises that jimmy is not gay, how drunk jimmy is, work at Geagle, and my motivational posters.

Speaking of motivational posters, Jimmy loves them so much that he likes it when I make fun of him via the posters. With that in mind, Here are the ones of Jimmy:

Awesomesquad Assemble 3!: Attack of the Fashionista

Well, here we go again.

Wait, that isn’t the right tone for this blog. Let me try again.

JESUS-DRADLE-SPINNING CHRIST, ANOTHER AWESOMESQUAD BLOG!!!!! EVERYONE GET DRUNK AND  PARTAAAY!!!

Woo! Doug wrote another blog!!!

[clears throat] That’s better. I am particularly happy about this blog, since I haven’t updated ya’ll since September on this topic. Here is a refresher: I have decided to create my own superhero team, and I have been scouring the interwebz for suitable people. Here is my list of people so far and their job:

Me: Leader/ something I will discuss later in this blog.

Ashley Caggiano: Second in Command/ Jane of all trades

Everett Bradford: Weapons Technician

Jessie James: Mechanic/ Vehicle Builder

Criss Angel: Mindfreak. More commonly known as WITCH! BURN HIM!!

Damien Walters: Gymnastic Trainer

My brother or the owner of my gym: boxing instructor (I will update this too)

Derren Brown: Mentalist aka less cool Criss Angel

GMZ: Hacker

Emily Kohlberg: Psychologist

If you want a full description of why I picked these people, and who our  nemesises (what the fuck is the plural form of “nemesis?) are, look at the first two.

Before I go into the updates, I would like to congratulate Lady Caggiano for being promoted to the Second in command in my team. Ashley, I would say that you owe me oral now, but that would constitute sexual harassment, and even my team cannot avoid those lawsuits. Instead, I will make the idea of oral optional. Congratulations again.

For the first update, I am going to talk about the name. If you remember, I hadn’t come up with a name for my group, so I left it up to you guys. Unfortunatly, I forgot that no one really gives a shit about me (otherwise you would post a comment) and you left me hanging. After a while, I realized that I had already come up with a pants-shittingly fantastic name for the group. Yes, the group name is “Team Anal Rape and Murder Our Enemies.” TARAMOE for short. I can hear it now, a bunch of pissed off Muslims in some shithole of a country that is in the Middle East (Originally, I thought the Middle East was a burger joint for the longest time. I just found out yesterday what it really is). They are shooting at things with no regard for human life, civility, or even ammo rationing. But suddenly, the winds pick up. A thundering roar comes down from the sky like a meteor. They begin to piss themselves with fear.

“Derka, Derka, TARAMOE derka, derka!” They cry out.

A kick ass Plane designed by Jessie James shoots two rocket powered chainsaws at the enemy’s machine gun turrets. They explode with such huge fireballs that even Michael Bay would think it’s over the top. As the Plane is hovering (yea, my plane can hover, What of it?) over the group of terrified terrorists, the bottom hatch opens up. Lady Caggiano rappels down a rope while firing off an AK-47 with one hand. She is followed by Everett Bradford, who is shooting flames out of his one hand, electricity out of his other, and wielding a sword with his other. I fall straight to the ground, about forty feet. I am wearing a cloak similar to the one in Assassin’s Creed. My brother and/ or the owner of my gym throw down my pole arm, or what I like to call “My justice stick.” I reach up and snatch it out of the air. My partially conceled face smirks ominously, and I tap a keg of whoopass on the terrorists.

like this, only 1573 times more badass

The boxing instructor, and Damien Walters repel down to the desert floor, but you shouldn’t be looking at them; you should be focused on how awesome I am being. Shit, you missed it! I just stabbed a guy with my justice stick (wow did that sound gay) it went straight through him and caught another baddie between the ribs, puncturing his right lung. I pull it out, spin it around while it makes that cool “whoosh” noise, and beat the faith out of  another guy right before I send my palm at an upwards angle towards his nose. The cartilage pierces his skull and enters his brain. He is dead before he hits the ground.

Somewhere in the background, Damien Walters is doing back flips or some strange shit.  By this point, the battle has moved away from him, so he just looks like some random dude doing flips and shit in the desert.

The last terrorists still alive run away screaming like little girly-men which is insulting to women because Lady Caggiano kicked some fucking ass during this battle. You didn’t notice because you were too focused on me.

“I scream to our fleeing enemies, “Derka, Derka Muhammad Jihad, jihad derka TARAMOE, Bitches,” which roughly translates to “ You just got fucking pwned by TARAMOE, bitches!”

We then head home for debriefing and our traditional celebratory hooker run.

Oh, and actually I lied. The name of the group is Awesomesquad; TARAMOE was my second choice.

Anyway, update #2: my position in the team.

Recently I have rediscovered a rare gift that I have. I was at a party; I was a little drunk, and we were playing “are you smarter than a fifth grader?” my team won because I answered a question before my mind could doubt myself. The question was “what happens to light  when it moves through water or glass?” I blurted out, “It moves slower.” I was fucking right. And since I am technically sober right now, I can assure you that I still doubt my answer.

This brings me to my contribution to the team. As long as I remain a little drunk, I gain amazing abilities. I don’t mean I gain confidence; I mean that I become good at things I am not normally good at. It happens all the time: darts, pool, Pictionary, Are you smarter than a fifth grader, driving. I become very talented at these things when I am half way to hammered. Now, for me to function, I will need to have alcohol with me at all times during an excursion, but I have figured out a solution to this. That solution is Tucker Max Death Mix. It is one bottle of Everclear, one quart of Gatorade, and one Redbull in a camelback hydration system.

my awesomesquad brand awesomepotion!

So for that story I just fucked your mind with, you should have seen me take sips in between fighting each terrorist.

Update #3: boxing instructor

I still haven’t picked one yet, mainly because they suck and haven’t been fighting for that spot. My brother said he would train to punch someone so hard that they threw up, but he hasn’t, and I don’t think the owner has even read any of the Awesome Squad! Posts, so he doesn’t have a fucking clue as to what’s going on.

But I still want one of them to be the boxing instructor, so I am just going to commit some heinous liable on both of them. Maybe this will get them off of their lazy asses and fight for that spot, Goddamn it.

1. My brother is gay. I mean, really gay. I mean, the posterchild of the gay stereotype. He seriously loves some huge black dong.
2. The owner of my gym strangles babies.
3. My brother (who is really gay) takes shits on cop cars. He then proceeded to spread the poo all over the hood of the car-using his face.
4. The owner of my gym buys mail order brides just to sell them into the sex slave trade.
5. My brother (the gay) stabs homeless people with syringes filled with AIDS.
6. The owner of my gym hates America. He pisses on the flag regularly.

If you are wondering if I am afraid that they will kick my ass when they read this, I am not, because those twunts won’t read it. And if they do, DO SOMETHING ABOUT WHAT I SAID, BITCHES. *

*please don’t kill me.

However, Misty did give me a good alternate. So now Benny “The Jet” Urquidez is in the running.

Update #4: New Members!

I know that my group is getting kind of big, but these next few people are important. I still have people that need to be added, but I don’t know who they are yet, but I’ll get to that later.  Here are the newest additions:

This dude: Ninja/ covert ops

I have no clue who this guy is.  Let’s just call him “Series of Japanese Symbols.” Hey, that’s less offensive than my original ideas “Kung Pow Chicken,” or “Engrish.” Of course, I doubt he has an extensive knowledge of breaking and entering, but I also think he is a for realsies ninja, so he probably does. And if he doesn’t I’m sure there is a website for that kind of stuff.

Danica McKellar: Mathmatician/ spy

Yes it does. Don't lie.

Everyone knows that whatever you are taught in Math classes growing up is only useful until you reach college, and then it depends on your major.  At least that’s what the Math Professors want you to think; the truth is that no one uses trigonometry in real life. But, That show Numb3rs has got me convinced that people who are Mathsy are capable of solving any crime with the magic of mathematics, and using numbers as letters. 80085. See, I just solved like fifty crimes right now, simply by spelling boobs with numbers.

And if you are wondering why I chose Danica McKellar to be in my team, it is because she is a Math genius.

I would like to convert her fractions into decimals

She as written two books about math :Math Doesn’t Suck and Kiss My Math. Both of which encourage middle school girls to learn Math.

She also coauthored a scientific paper  (dealing with some boring math shit) with a fellow student and a professor. The result of the paper is the Chase-McKellar-Winn Theorem.

If you’re wondering how a mathematician can be a spy, look at this picture.

This is Danica when she was younger. Does she look more familiar? If you ever saw an episode of The Wonder Years, she should. That’s right, Winnie from the Wonder Years is a Math genius. And a damn fine one to boot. She doesn’t do a lot of acting now, but who can blame her? She had to kiss Fred Savage in the pilot episode of The Wonder Years! That would effectively end any woman’s love for acting.The fact that she is not a lesbian now is nothing short of a miracle. Plus the fact that she kissed Fred Savage and did not run away screaming is a testament to her acting ability.

These are the remaining positions that still need to be filled:

1. Rich person who funds everything-?????- he will need to buy the tools needed to build Everett’s weapons and Jessie’s vehicles, the abandoned warehouse that we will convert into our super-secret HQ, the gym equipment for the gymnastic area and the boxing area, and whatever magic cards, top hats, trick coins, etc. that Criss and Derren will need.
2. Genetic biologist-?????- someone willing to manipulate the teams genes to give them heightened reflexes, heightened senses, higher running speed, and more agility and stamina.
3. Medic- ?????- someone who can tend to our wounds. I can handle some of the minor stuff, but it would be necessary to have a professional in the team in case shit goes down.

Update #5: the Villian

I had always been suspicious of this villian, but I just thought that the person was too strange for my taste. I did not sense any evil coming from this, that is, until I saw this video.

Now this video was a little subtle, but the point it was trying to convey is that Lady Gaga has a penis. But then I saw this picture.

I see plenty of hooha, but no gaga

I think this settles the debate about If Lady Gaga is a lady, or if she has a gaga. This did invoke more questions from me, however. I did some researching, and I discovered that Lady Gaga is actually an alien that wants to enslave the Human race. I was able to aquire a picture of Lady Gaga in her true form. Brace yourselves.

Actually, this is less terrifying than what she looks like normally.

Sadly, Lady Caggiano loves Lady Gaga, so this will cause some major conflicts to arise amongst the group. But eventually good will win out, and Ashley will fight against Gaga.

Later

The Aughts: A Requiem

Wow, this has been an amazing (stifled laugh) ten years. Just thinking of all of the 6 good things that happened this past decade just gives me goose bumps: the advent of the smart phone, the advancement of “green” technology, the death of John Ritter just to name a few. Damn, these were all amazing events in recent history. The last one, for me at least, was a bittersweet event, mainly because that asshole still owes money. I want my $3.50, Dude from Three’s company. Your passing won’t stop me from kicking your decomposing ass!

I've got 10 simple rules for you to kiss my ass, Ritter.

Hell, even this year was amazing for me. I got to go to the inauguration of Obama, I got to spend a week in an alcohol and ecstasy fueled haze in New Orleans, and I didn’t lose any friends this year. Not to mention the fact that I am labeled “sexy” by just about everyone I know now. But that is the good thing about having friends with low standards of beauty; even me, someone who is average looking by TV’s standards can be attractive if all of their friends are blind.

I could go into detail about  every single little thing that happened this year, but fuck that noise. Besides I am splitting this blog into 2 different sections the first part is going to be the 10 great events ( that happened to me in 2009, the second will be the things that most affected me in the past decade.

Something tells me this won’t be my funniest blog.

A Side: A Cheap Cracked.com Rip off-10 best events (for me) of 2009

10. The Metallica Concert

Now, I’ve already have written a blog about this, so I will not go into too much detail, but I will be the first person to admit that this was definitely not the best concert I’ve ever seen. The Goddamn speakers blew out in the middle of the concert! Really, what the fuck? Also, I almost got a speeding ticket (I flashed the cop my leg to try to get out of it). Turns out, he only wanted to see if I was drunk, which I wasn’t. But all that aside, It was still a great experience. The concert and the events surrounding it were, as a whole, an experience I was not used to, and even if the night wasn’t perfect, I need those imperfect days, because perfection is boring. Sexy, yet boring.

pictured: a total bore

If the day was perfect, then my brother and I would have gotten home before 2:30, and wouldn’t have gone to class at 8:00 the next morning (yea, I went to class. I think that makes me a hardcore learner). Oh, and by the way, this beat out Obama’s Inauguration only because no one at the Metallica Concert was a 6 and a half foot tall black guy who pushed himself in front of me right before  the show started.

9. Starting this blog/ my journal

This made the list simply because it finally gave me  a way to rant to the world, even if no one is willing to listen. And, It also gives me a place to rant on the subjects that piss me off, or use the jokes I’ve been itching to use. My Journal on the other hand, lets me be serious (angsty), straightforward (bitchy), and reminds me that I am not a one dimensional character, and that I am something more than a clown (pussy).

8. The PA trip

This may not be the greatest trip made this year, but this was the closest I have been able to get my PA friends to meet my OH friends. Also, Ashley, Aaron, Erin, and I came up with new names for your danger zone: boobs are Hotsie-totsies, balls are shenanigans, dick is shindig or, bo-jengles (I am lord of the shindigs at OSU and I do not want that to be interpreted the wrong way), vagina is twitter, and I cannot remember what ass is, so let’s just name it scamper-stamp. I was also inside a building that looked eerily similar to Hogwarts: The Cathedral of Learning at the University of Pittsburgh.

7. Getting my Associates Degree

Really this is nothing more than a fancy way of telling me that I am half way done with college, and that real life is going to hit me  like I’m some wife that’s really asking for it. Still, I have a degree, and I could quit if I want to, but I won’t because I am not one to give up so easily. It will be a cold day in Hell before I leave OSU forever not clutching my bachelor’s.

6. Becoming a zombie

My alter ego Zeke the Zombie was formed this year. He has proven to many people at OSU-Newark that Zombies are friendly, gentle, undead souls, that want nothing more than for people to write in a never ending story. He also freaked a bunch of people out when he started eating a Caesar salad.

5. the zombie baby purchase

This was going to just be about my Halloween party, but then I realized that the greatest part of this year’s Halloween season was one single piece of décor: the Zombie baby. This year was really the year of the Zombie. Other than the zombie baby and Zeke, there was also: my first viewing of Zombie Strippers, me reading Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, and I obtained a Zombie Apocalypse readiness kit from a co worker. Out of all those, however, the zombie baby had the greatest impact on people. We worshipped it at the STD initiation party. It was the real host of my Halloween party. All my friends loved it, and most parents I know hated it. And, AND it has made a cameo in every facebook album I have added pictures to since then.

4. New Orleans

This was a magical place where I first tried USA approved absenthe, where I got to drink in the middle of the street while  standing (laying) only 10 feet away from a cop. I laughed as an incredibly flamboyant gay man made fun of the O-H-I-O chant, and something else that I am pretty sure the parties involved would rather have forgotten by everyone on the trip. Isn’t that right, Bobby? I also did a Hell of a lot of walking in 90+ degree weather, tried gator, crawfish, and gumbo, and I copped a feel of a lady mannequin in a porn store. Overall: it was a fun trip.

3. Turning 21

This was a magical time which I discovered that I gain amazing abilities when I am just a little drunk, and that a jagerbomb should never, NEVER, be made with anything other than redbull. The Monster jagerbomb I had was terrible. I also got hit on by my sister’s best friend, who is dating my brother’s friend, and I made a terrible (and a little angry) pass at a girl from Highschool. Sorry Mande, I was drunk, and you looked especially fine that night. Call me.

2. Benching 225

Yes, this beats New Orleans and turning 21. Both of those events had large amounts of alcohol involved, and if you know anything about me, it’s that alcohol and I are good friends. Do you know what else and I are even better friends? Punishing myself at the gym. I wanted to bench press 225 last year, but I started to work out on my own, and I was much more antisocial then than I am now, so I did bench press with dumb bells instead. Well, I started working out with new people on Mondays, and after several week of trying and failing (at one point I lost control and the bar came down on my throat. I was more pissed than anything, but that’s a whole other story), I finally got it. I wrote my name up on the chalk board and felt like a mother fucking beast while doing so. Next goal : 250-bench, 325-squat, and 330- deadlift.

1. Getting published

I feel that this picture takes on a weird meaning with my aunt wearing the santa hat.

Seriously, who did not expect this? Put your name in the comments so that I can find you and beat the retarded out of you with a frying pan. Writing is what I want to do the rest of my life. I like entertaining people, I like making people laugh, and I have an reservoir of creativity that is overflowing and gushing out of my fingertips. Getting published in this decade was one of the many goals that I set in place that I never really thought would happen. And unless Yvonne Strahovski knocks on my door within the next minute and lets me make sweet, sweet love to her down by the fire, it will be the only one that I actually accomplished. I even held my first book signing this year in honor of that book. Yea, it was with my family, but fuck you. How many Goddamn pieces of writing have you gotten published?

Note: do not reply to that last comment if you are: Ashley Caggiano, April Spears, Jon Holmes, Erin Tobin, Jarod Anderson, Terry Gomes, and anyone else I know who was published in Taproot.

Side B- Things of the decade that have shaped me

I would like to make the note that the year is when I was first effected by the thing, not when it was made, started, or born.

Place- Old School Gym- 2007-present

This one shaped me both physically and emotionally. Really, that is the only place left that I am not in my comfort zone 100% of the time, and I kind of need to keep it that way. It is a gym, if I am not experiencing some type of stress, I am not doing it right. I need that place. I get along pretty well with everyone, even my former best friend, and a lot of people that I thought I would not like when I was in high school. And then there is the one owner’s workout, The Insanity Workout as I have dubbed it. When you are doing said workout, two thoughts cross your mind regularly: “I’ve got to be fucking insane to be doing this,” and “What did I do to make me so mad at myself? Let me know so that I never do that again.” I would have gone with the second one as the name, but I could not boil it down to one word and it be accurate. That workout has taught me how to work through pain way better than just working out my normal way. It also built my endurance, and it has been the only work out that I have ever done that has made me throw up and/ or pass out when I got home.

Website- T-shirt hell-2003

I think this would have been the obvious choice. I have 4 weeks’ worth of their T-shirts for Christ’s sake. This website has singlehandedly desensitized me more than South Park, Family Guy, Drawn Together, or any late night programming on HBO could ever dream. Their balls to say whatever they want, whenever they want, and they don’t give a pig- fucking shit who they piss off. That is the most pure form of comedy on the planet, folks. Making fun of everything without discrimination. In a sick, ironic kind of way, they are probably the most tolerant people on the face of this planet, because they get to vent those frustrations out to the world in funny T-shirt form. Their philosophy is “If everyone is equal, then everyone should be made fun of equally, fuck them if they cannot take a joke,” and they made that my motto, even if only by threatening me with assrape.

Viral video- Greatest freakout ever- 2009

This one video has made me question myself and humanity more than any other video I have ever seen. Did I act like that when I was a teenager? Am I a perv for enjoying this? Is this what all teenagers are like? Do I really want kids after seeing this video? Am I as crazy as this kid? Is this what every person who plays WoW is like? Where did his parents buy that magical stripping blanket? Would I attempt to sodomize myself with a remote control if I got really pissed off? The answer to most of those questions is a solid NO. I cannot even begin to think of how pissed off I would be for me to attempt to stick something up my ass to get my point across. And, even if someone did get me that mad, I would probably just take the remote (or whatever) and beat them with it.

Book- Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone-2000

I had a hard time deciding on the movie, TV show, book, and song groups for this, mainly because I wanted to keep the said medium in this decade, but I had to go against that rule for the book. Harry Potter was the book that made me like reading and pushed me towards my love of writing. The Sorcerer’s Stone showed me what I could do with all the random daydreams I had. Hell, it showed me what magic really is; It’s not the wands, broomsticks, or mythical creatures- it’s that spark of passion that we all feel inside of us. It is love, it is instinct, it is that little voice inside you that keeps you from doing something that you know that you will regret, it is the thing that makes you learn from other’s mistakes, and the mistakes you have made. Magic is the soul, the spirit, the aura if you will. It is the fuel that keeps us going even when you feel like you just want to give up and die. That is magic. The sorcerer’s Stone taught me this. But I didn’t know this until I was old enough to understand it. Now that I have become a hardcore pussy on this topic, let’s continue.

Movie- Scary Movie- 2001, 2002

I don’t know if you know this, but I love parodies. I know, I know, that revelation must be shaking the foundations of the fundamental beliefs that you base reality on. Now, I know I had seen parodies before Scary Movie, and I never saw “Scream” or “I know What you Did Last Summer” before I saw Scary Movie. But all the same, I fell in love parodies. It is because this movie, not South Park, may I repeat- NOT SOUTH PARK, that I write so many parodies. I am actually not sure when I saw Scary Movie, so let’s just go with late 2001, early 2002.

Celebrity-Jon Stewart-2004

This was a fairly simple choice. He made me laugh at the news again. If you have read my blog about the news (if you haven’t, read it-NOW) you know how amazingly depressing the news is any more.  I hated the news, and then Jon said to me “we know that everything sucks, Let’s make fun of it.” And make fun of it he did.

TV show- Jackass/ Viva La Bam- 2004

These were the last shows on MTV that I watched before it went to Hell. Some would argue that it went to Hell long before that, and I would not argue against them. But, these shows displayed some brilliance deep within their stupidity.  A brilliance that I cannot explain, and it is not my place to explain. After these shows left, we got Tila Tequila and MTV morphed into a giant mound of butt pudding.

Song- Reach for the sky by Social Distortion- 2008

I am trying to live by what this song says- that by worrying about the future, and dwelling on the past makes you miserable in the present. And what if tomorrow doesn’t come? Then you have wasted your life looking at a future that was never going to come into fruition. I know that I will always be thinking about the future and what may or may not happen to me, but I want to learn how to live in the present. I want to reach for the sky cause tomorrow may never come.

Person that I know- My brother 2005-present

Sorry Ashley and Jimmy, but this had to go to my brother. He got me drinking at 16. He was the one to first show me T-shirt Hell, and he introduced me to Metallica, Social Distortion, Slayer, ACDC, and many others. Also, I am sure some of you have heard tales of going to parties with my brother. I have seen more with him than I have seen with most of my friends.  For the longest time I thought he was an asshole, and he is, but I have learned a lot from him. My only wish is that he gave me some of his game with girls. He’s a straight player. It’s ridiculus.

Event- my parent’s divorce- 2003

I tried to think of a different event that changed my life more. I mean I really tried to think of a happy one like : getting the rank of Eagle Scout, graduating high school, hitting puberty (this only happened last week, but it still counts as this decade), but no. Every major event in my life for these past 10 Goddamn years seems to revolve around that one fucking event. Why am I living in Ohio? My mom moved to Ohio and I was given a choice to go with her, or to stay with my dad. I still do not know why I moved but I did. Don’t get me wrong; if I could go back in time, I would make the same decision. Why do I have such a vile sense of humor at times? Because the day my parents told my siblings and I the news, I said to myself “Doug, your life at school sucks. It has always has sucked. Your home was the place that you could go to avoid at least some bullshit. Well, no more. But if my home is going to fall apart, I will be damned if my school life is going to suck too.” Then, I started to say sarcastic things when a classmate said something stupid. This made more people like me. Of course, then I decided to move and I sent all that work right to Hell. I was introduced to T-shirt Hell months after I was told, and I knew my parents were appalled by some of the things on that site, so I started visiting there religiously. Why am I attending OSU? Again the move. I would have probably gone to either Duquesne or Penn State if I stayed in PA. I got sucked into the buckeye mania after moving to Ohio, and my friends from high school were going there. Every event (other than getting Eagle, but it still made it difficult to finish- I had to drive to PA for both my Board of Review, and my ceremony.) had been effected by that.

so this is my last post of the year. I hope you enjoyed my rants, and I hope you will continue to visit my blog in the following decade.

and as a special gift to my readers, many of you whom have not seen a picture of me before 2004, I want to show you what i looked like in 2000, and what I look like now.

2000:

God, even I want to beat myself up.

2009:

C'mon, of course I went shirtless with this pic. Now, BOW TO MY EPIC ABS!!!

Thank you for reading.

Product Placement! (I Expect That My Check is in the Mail.)

If any of you have read my whole five paragraphs in my about section, you already know that many of my ideas for writing comes from my mind ranting at Giant Eagle. Most of the ideas that I come up with are genuinely bad, but I am able to rework them into pants-shittingly awesome ideas (see: The Adventures of SuperStocker.) Well, a coworker and I randomly got onto the subject of which brand would beat the shit out of its competitors in a fist fight. It slowly evolved from there to this strange, fascinating, and (in my typical fashion) offensive story. Naturally, I view you, nameless computer screen, as my best friend, and I would like to share the story with you.

Now, what you are about to read is part one in a ? part series that will probably make food companies orgasm at the free promotions. I will add another part  to the story over the course of whenever the fuck I feel like it. Oh, and in case you want to keep track, every word that is in bold is a brand name, or a product name. I only bold them on their first use in each part as to not confuse you with thick lines. You could use this as your shopping list, that is, if you need exactly what I write, and want to plagiarize me.

Enjoy bitches, and Enjoy, bitches.

Bob Evans and Jimmy Dean, two respectable, sought after suitors, live in the town of Chiquita. Surprisingly enough, Chiquita is not in a tropical location, but is a Podunk little town in the Midwest. Anyway, One day, Mama Michelina decided to have the two suitors battle it out for her daughters. (Normally, this type of feud over a woman was customary in 16^th century Europe, but apparently it also happens in current day America. Don’t question it; just continue reading.) The winner of the fight between Bob Evans and Jimmy Dean would win Marie Calendar’s fine ass. The loser would have to settle for Marie’s sister, Shubert.

The fight begins at noon in the town square. The entire town of Chiquita shows up, and forms an impenetrable ring around the two men. With their swords drawn (they duel old school), the men start slashing, and gashing, thrashing, and flashing at each other. After several minutes of epic dueling that I don’t feel like describing to you, Bob Evans stood over his opponent, sweat dripping from his brow.

The referee ran over, lifted Bob Evans’ hand up and yelled, “The winna of the hand of Marie Calendar’s fine ass is Bob Evans!”

The crowd roared with overacted applause, and Jimmy Dean slunk back towards a tree and began to cry like a little bitch. Marie Calendar and her sister, Shubert, went over to congratulate Bob Evans when a yell came from behind.

“Marie Calendar is a whore,” the voice said in a saidy fashion, “And we’ve got a tape to prove it. Two new men entered the circle of town’s people. One was an older gentleman with thick classes, a bow tie, and white jerry curls, and the other was a gruff looking man, sporting a brown leather jacket, a red scarf and a 70’s porn stash.

The older man stepped forward, pointed to Marie Calendar and called out, “Hi, I’m Orville Redenbacher, and I layed a massive fudge log on that woman’s bare chest. And it was massive. My shit is twice the size of my competitors.”  “Pop Secret, Pop Secret,” he then coughed into his hands loud enough so that everyone could understand.

(note: I was totally going to make a “Poop Secret” joke here, but I did not want to patronize you with cheap poop jokes. No, I will patronize you with extravagant and complex ones.)

“He’s right,” the cheap Freddy Mercury look alike cried in a thick (and probably inaccurate) German accent, “I am ze Red Baron, and I bring to ze stupid American town of Chiquita a video from ze motherland of Deuchland.” He began to flail a VHS over his head.

“More like Doucheland,” a stupid American from the crowd called out. I would not normally call Americans stupid, except that we totally are, and these people did not know what a VHS was, and this story takes place in like the 90’s, so they totally should.

“Shut your filthy American mouth, you filthy American” the German said stupidly (because every nationality is stupid, not just Americans), “Or I will bring the Hagan Daaz Nazis to take over this town.”

The town’s people gasped in a predictable fashion and began to whisper amongst themselves.

“That’s right,” The red Baron warned, “The Hagan Daaz Nazis will be all over this town like Jiffy Peanut Butter on Schwebel’s bread.”

The gasps became more frantic, and the whispers now consisted of “Food reference” and “the fourth wall is broken”

“Hey,” Orville yelled as he snatched the movie out of the Red Baron’s boorish hands, “I’m Orville Redenbacher, and I want attention put on me again. I shat on that woman, and I shat on her good. I guarantee that I did or else my name is not Orville Redenbacher.” He put the VHS onto the VHS player and hit the play button on the TV that had been sitting in the center of the ring the entire time. What, you didn’t notice? Well, you were obviously not looking hard enough. It was right there. Also, I changed my mind. The town’s people did know what a VHS was.

“This Orville Redenbacher made people appear in the magical talking box. HE’S A WITCH, BURN HIM!!!” one town’s person cried, completely contradicting what I just said (what a douche). I guess it was too much to ask, though. This story is set in the mid 1700s.

Light piano music comes on, and the words Café Steamers (Marie Calendar gets pooed on) fills the screen. The movie then cuts to two men, one being Orville Redenbacher and the other being The Red Baron squatting over a nude Marie Calendar. Redenbacher squeezed out a foot long chocolate hotdog which landed in between the lady’s lady boobs. The tail end of it whipped back and slapped her in the face.

Now that I have burned that mental picture into your head, I shall continue.

The crowd gasped, held back screams and their own vomit, and that creepy Hispanic guy, Snyder Del Monte, began touching himself.

“Turn it off! Turn it off!” Bob Evans screamed, “I have seen more than enough.” “Marie,” He said, turning to her, “I cannot love anyone who was in a German Schiza video with Orville Redenbacher. And I refuse to marry you.”

Jimmy Dean, who apparently stopped sobbing like a little bitch Stepped forward and said, “Marie, I love you for who you are, not what you’ve done, and If you are willing to marry a loser, I would be happy to be that loser.”

“Oh, Jimmy!” Marie cried as she ran through the center of the circle (the TV and VHS player disappeared let’s just say to keep the plot moving). When they met, they met with a passionate kiss. Even though Jimmy Dean was disappointed that he was not going to be the first one to pop Marie’s cherry, he hadn’t gotten laid in a while, and he was up for anything (and I mean anything).

They were married, in the St. Ives Baptist church- the only church left in town that did not refuse to allow the shit whore Marie Calendar inside. One day, the happy couple welcomed a son onto this planet. Sadly, he was mentally retarded, so they named him what every good parent would name their mentally challenged child: Special K.

End of Part One.

So, I’ve Decided to Rename my Dick.

So, I’ve decided to rename my junk

Yes you read that right, rename- as in my dick and balls already have a name. Yes, they do. Here is the story.

My senior year of high school the marching band and I went down to Florida. But before that, in Physics, Conner Randal (I don’t remember his real name so, let’s just call him that) and I were talking about the trip.  Jeff was not going, because he is “too cool” for band, but in reality, he was waaay too cool for band, and also not talented at music whatsoever. Anyway, since I was going to a state with a high Latin American population, we got onto the subject of hot Latinas.

Jeff said, “Latinas are almost always hot. You should try to score with one while you’re down there.”

“Yea!” I exclaimed, “I bet there will be tons working at the hotel.”

That was basically the end of the conversation, but my mind kept going. I couldn’t stop thinking about how awesome it would be if I could nail a hot Cuban day laborer while I was down there. what insued was a fantasy that I am going to share with you now. Brace yourselves.

"Yo quiero ser tu mujer," the sexy latina whispered into my ear.

My friends leave the hotel room without me, either because they are dicks, or I secretly know what’s going to happen so I leave after them because I don’t want them cock-blocking me. Either way, I am walking down the corridor alone and dripping with sexual energy. Or maybe sweat, I cannot tell because of how horny I am. As I head toward the elevator, I see an incredibly sexy maid drop her feather duster. Ignoring the fact that this hotel is the only facility left on the planet that still employs the “feather duster method,” I pick it up and hand it to her. our eyes meet. We stare, only for a moment or two, but we stare all the same. She looks just like what you would expect a woman who is some kind of Spanish would look like, but 500 times hotter. Why she is working as a maid and not a model, you ask? Because that would not be consistent with the story, now would it?

“Oh, muchas gracias senior,” she said as she took the feather duster with my hand, and tickled my epic pecs with the feathers.

“Don’t mention it,” I said smoothly, while lighting a cigarette.

What I look like when I light up.

She then said, “Oy Papi, I am so hungry, do you have anything to eat.”

I gave her a little smile and said, “Well you can have a taste of El Churro Gigantico.”

At that moment, my mind came to a screeching halt. El Churro Gigantico. That was all I could think about. That name- for my dick. Can you say Hells to the yea?!?! From there, keeping with the ethnic foods theme, I named my left ball “Matzo,” and my right, “Swedish Meat.”

But that was four years ago. I have grown as a person since then (Or at least for purposes of this blog I have,) I don’t hang out with anyone that I did from highschool, and I feel I should name my junk something that  reflects who I am now. I have compiled a list of names for my dick, along with the reason I am conseidering it, the pros of the name, and the cons of the name. Here they are:

1. Pheonix

Name for balls: ?

Reason: Because just as a phoenix dies and is then reborn, a boner will go flaccid and then become hard again.

Pros: The phoenix is a fucking awesome creature, plus they’re mythical, so people could come to believe that my dick is that of legends.

Cons: Phoenix is also the name of a mutant in the X-men series who generally tends to fuck shit right up. No that might not sound so bad, but in the movie, she also killed people, and I don’t want my dick to be associated with murder- or do I? And, it could also lead people to believe that I am a fire crotch. I would rather people believe that my shindig is dangerous than believe that it is covered in red hair [gag.]

2. President Taft

Name for balls: members of his cabinet- Richard Ballinger, and Jacob Dickinson. I swear I did not make those up.

Reason: because my dick is always getting stuck in things

Pros:  Taft will finally be remembered for something other than the bathtub incident

Cons: Taft was a racist by today’s standards. And my dick does not see color, mainly because it has no eyes.

3. Tommy Lee

AKA walking bag of STDs

Name for balls: Motley and Crue, or just refer to them as his Motley Crue

Reason: I think this one is self explanatory

Pros: this could insinuate that the real Tommy Lee is a dick, or that my dick is huge

Cons: my dick will contract Hepatitis from being named that

4. The Fountain of Youth

Name for the balls: ?

Reason: because what woman doesn’t want to look young forever

Pros: I could get cougars with a name like this

Cons: I could also get hags and women with a piss fetish. Also, I could get sued for false advertizing

5. Tommy Gun

Name for balls: loaded magazines 1 &2

Reason: because my dick can shoot projectiles that could have the potential of being named Tommy one day.

Pros: This could insinuate that I am a prohibition era gangster

Cons: There are dozens of more awesome guns out there these days. A Tommy gun is very, very outdated. Most of them probably don’t even work anymore. Can you see where I am going with this?

So those are my ideas so far, but I still need more. This is where you, my readers come in. If you have any ideas for what I should name my junk, then I want you to put the idea in the comments below. You can  post a comment even if you don’t have a WordPress account; just leave your email (no one sees it. It is to notify you when I reply to it.)

My one rule is that the name you come up with  must follow is the “How to lose a guy in 10 days rule.” IE, no cutesy, girly crap, it has to be masculine, and incredibly awesome. Also, if you have suggestions for my balls for #s 1 and 4, they would be greatly  appreciated.

Oh, and Misty (I know you’re reading this), your comment on my last blog gave me the idea for this one, so thanks.

Peace

Oh, and if you were wondering if i got laid on the Florida trip by a sexy maid, i did not, but I did get hit on by a bunch of girls from Spain. So that was pretty cool.

The News Has Never Been So Sexy, or Disturbing.

Have you noticed how depressing the news is anymore? It doesn’t matter what news station you watch, because after five minutes of any station, you will have a sneaking suspicion that someone is trying to kill you. Also, have you noticed how incredibly hot the Anchor ladies are becoming? Seriously, some of these women need to pose for playboy, or at least Maxim. Shit, I would settle for a Tijuana bible of some of them.

Breaking News: I am pitching a tent!

But it makes sense, you need incredibly attractive women reading the news or ranting incoherently like all pundits, because, lets be honest- the world is not headed to Hell, it is sprinting there, knocking over little old ladies that get in its way. We need hot anchor ladies just because boobs make men smile, and we need something to make us feel better after watching anything on Fox News or MSNBC. This does cause some problems however. For instance, it starts arguments between my dick and my brain about what we are going to watch. My brain doesn’t like to watch the news, because the news makes my brain cry. My dick loves watching the news because the anchor ladies makes my dick cry in a good way. This would lead to many a evening where I would have a headache and be left feeling very frustrated (if you know what I mean.)

This went on for several days before my dick and brain decided that their silly arguing was not getting us anywhere. The three of us decided to search for other means of entertainment. We started with (much to the chagrin of my brain) sticking my dick in random objects. This lead to some comedic and oftentimes tragic consequences, and I am sure one of said consequences ended up on youtube somewhere.

Anyway, from there I discovered a little invention called the internet. It was amazing! All of the most beautiful women in the San Fernando Valley were all in this one place, getting fucked 24/7. I was going to attempt to break into the internet and see if I could get in on the action, but then I discovered the true face of the internet. S&M,  Simpson anime porn, and most evil video of all: 2 girls 1 cup. I had to take three showers after watching that video, and I still felt unclean. And then there was this thing (I swear, Cracked.com showed me this.)

when photoshop goes horribly, horribly wrong...

After that, I decided to quit arm wrestling the Cyclops, and went out to look for some sweet panooch myself. As it turns out, I am incredibly awkward, do not know how to flirt, and second guess myself when I think a girl likes me. Oh, how I wish those were jokes.

The point I am trying to make is that I used up all of my other resources for arousal; I only had three options left: becoming a peeping tom, gay porn (there’s got to be some chicks in it, right?), or the news. Deciding that the former two were more illegal and contained waaay too much sodomy than I care for, I decided to go back to the news. My brain developed a plan to deal with all that noise that those pretty on air personalities produce. That plan was called “Operation: Mute That Bitch.” I would turn onto the news station with the sexiest anchor ladies, and press the mute button. I would then imagine what these women were saying to me. I will give you a brief example of our conversations.

Jillian Hottits- Thank you for watching Doug Moser, I missed you. I missed you so hard.

don't speak, just look pretty for the camera.

Me- I missed you too baby. What do you want to do tonight? What the Hell is he doing here?

Douchebag Scallywag- Sorry Doug, but I will be jumping in between you two to sporadically kill your erection.

what a douche

Jillian- Your huge, throbbing, man erection

Douchebag- Yes, I will be deflating that. By the end of this program you should feel like your dick is bipolar.

Me- Get off the Screen, Douchebag!

Jillian- Sorry Doug, but you know the rules. Anyway, did you bring the whippedcream?

Me- I sure did!

Jillian- Good, now squirt it on my big fake boobs.

Me- But you are just a TV screen, I can’t put on your che-

Jillian- JUST DO IT!!!

Me- OK, OK, just calm down. [sprays the whipped cream on the TV, over Jillian’s chest]

Jillian- Oooohhh baby, yea just like that. Now lick it off.

Me- oh, yeah! [starts licking] mmm… you taste so good. Do you like the way I lick you, baby?

Me- Baby?  [looks up] Oh, what the fuck!

Douchebag- This just in: Doug Moser is licking whipped cream off of my suit, proving once again that he is my bitch.

Me- Fuck you

Douchebag- No sir, fuck you.

Me-Put Jillian back on, you slimy, cock gobbling excuse for human placenta!

Jillian- What did you call me?

Me- I didn’t call you anything, baby. Now, where were we?

Jillian-  I was just about to tell you what I want you to do to me.

Me- What do you want me to do to you?

Jillian- I want you to-

Douchebag- suck my old hairy balls

Me- NEVER!!!!

Douchebag- and then I want-

Jillian- you to gently kiss me all over my body. Start at the neck, and slowly work your way down to my navel. Then, before you head down south, I want you to lick my belly button while you –

Douchebag- fondle my big, floppy man boobs. Then you should-

Random black buy that stands in front of a map of the US- DIE MOTHERFUCKER!!!

the most terrifying weatherman ever

Me- Oh, shit no! the racist stereotype is back! Please don’t shoot me, For the love of Yaweh!!!

Stereotype- IT’S GONNA RAIN, BITCH!!

Me- Please, I’ll do anything! Just don’t kill me!

Stereotype- Fine get down on your knees.

Me- Ok, Ok. [begins to sob like a little girl]

Jillian- seeing you cry like that makes me so hot. Mmmm yea, sooo hot!

Me- Thank God you’re back! That racist and inaccurate stereotype was going to kill me.

Jillian-  It’s ok, baby. I’ll make-

Douchebag- You toss me salad, then I’ll-

Stereotype- MAKE IT RAIN, MOTHERFUCKER!!!!!

Me- fuck it, I’m done with this shit. [turns off the TV, wipes away the remaining whippedcream. goes into the bathroom, turns on the shower, climbs in, and curls into a ball and weeps uncontrollably]

I may go to Hell for this post.  Hope you enjoyed it!

Reese’s Peaces are nothing but feces

pictured: a pile of shit

Jimmy, you’re welcome.

Newark Campus Legends: My Maybe Lesbian Professor

WordPress! I missed you! I assume you didn’t miss me because of the combination of the facts that you are a metaphysical inanimate object and I am an asshole.

And my readers! If you are reading this, you probably forgot all about me. I’m sorry it has been so long. NaNoWriMo and school have been kicking my ass. Oh, and as for NaNo, I failed. Miserably. I was pissed off at myself for not finishing, but oh well. NEXT YEAR!

Any way I did complete some type of writing thingy this past month. Currently I am writing another blog that I hope to have finished next week. If you love Cracked.com articles, you are going to be disappointed when you realize that the upcoming blog is a cheap bastardization of their patented listing techniques. Also I wrote a poem called Sensing My Apocalypse. It is probably one of the best poems I have ever written. I even have it laminated at the Writer’s Studio! I am planning on submitting it to Taproot this year, but I will let you guys read it too. Here it is.

Sensing my Apocalypse

Have you ever heard a dead man’s voice?

That changed words’ meanings, killed your choice

Have you ever looked into a dead man’s eyes?

Old cold tombs, sealing past lies

Have you ever stared at a dead man’s face?

Once preaching the superiority of his own race

Have you ever held a dead man’s hand?

Which brought drought and plagues to this land

Have you been cradled by a dead man’s arms?

Who falsely promised no future harm

Have you felt the beat of a dead man’s heart?

Who tricked, and ripped, and stole other’s art

Have you ever smelled a dead man’s breath?

Rotted teeth tell tales of meth

Have you ever tasted a dead man’s lips?

His twisted smile, sensing my apocalypse

 

For I have heard his whisper and seen his silhouette

He left his mark that I shall never forget

For I have felt his touch and smelled his stink

Putrid revelations make me fear to think

For I have tasted his hair and licked his skin

For I am dead too, I am man, I am sin

 

Wasn't that poem upbeat kids!

I would like to point out that this poem is mine. I wrote it, and if I find out any of you stole it, I will castrate you (ladies, I will do the female form of a circumcision on you.)

Well on that bright note, on to the blog.

In October I spun a yarn about a legend on the Campus of OSUN. Mr. Sturger vs Ms. Slope. Well I have another. This one happened my Freshman year of College. I was so naive back then [reminiscing while the song “Good Riddance(Time of Your Life)” plays] that was back when I didn’t think any of my friends would betray me, but this is not about that. No, no. This is about my maybe Lesbian Professor. I had written these down in facebook notes. I will put them together for you, my readers. And I will keep them they way that I had written them (sans grammatical errors). The entries  span most of my first quarter in college, so  not only was my writing not developed as well as it is today, my jokes are probably corny and most likely for shock laughs. I apologize in advance for that.

Well without further ado, Newark Campus Legends: My Maybe Lesbian Professor.

My Maybe Lesbian Teacher [Part 1]

Friday, September 29, 2006 at 4:11pm

On Tuesdays and Thursdays, Vanessa Landolfo, Dana Dehays, and I have a class (im not saying which one*) at 7:45 in the morning. Our professor is nice but is funny, Ya Know Funny. She as this short bowl hair cut and wears weird clothes. For instance on Thursday the 28th, she walked into the class room wearing a blue Asian shirt. Ya know, the kind of shirts that middle class white boys wear. Also she said that her “Partner” takes a lot of pictures of her cat. She also said that she was getting divorced and that it shocked her. Now she maybe married to a man, or maybe a woman. But I have a theory, she either thinks of her partner as her spouse, or they went to a state where gay marriage is legal. Now these arguments do not automatically mean she is a lesbian, but Dehays and I will keep you posted.

* I just want to point out that I am a recovering retard and that I did mention what class it was. So hooray Freshman me and my stupidity!

My Maybe Lesbian Teacher- Part 2

Saturday, October 14, 2006 at 11:15pm

For every one who wants to know if my teacher is a lesbian or not, I’ve got news for you! our teacher is… actually we do not know. But Dehays was talking about it to a girl named Abbey Scherer in our English class. Abbey Scherer is actually in the sociology class after us. One day our teacher was late to their class, and everyone was talking when one person said, “Hey do you think our professor is a lesbian?” This question of a professor’s sexual preferance sparked chatter about the classroom. The entire class decided that one day they would ask her. One day (in the other class), at the end of class our professor asked, “Are there any questions?” One kid stood up and asked the class, “Should I ask her?” the class said no. So just like I did last time I left you with no answers, sorry, but eventually we will answer this question that has plagued Sociology classes since at least this quarter. One day, one day…

My Maybe Lesbian Teacher- Part 3

Saturday, October 21, 2006 at 10:43pm

Well everybody it comes to this number 3 out of ? part series about the age old question: Is my teacher a lesbian, or is she just very odd? Well I have got news for you…No, we did not find out whether or not she likes to munch rug, but we have two more things that will confuse and probably annoy you. My friend, Abbey Scherer has given me some interesting information about her class on Thursday. Apparently, in her class, our teacher told them that she had a boyfriend in college. Abbey also told me that the professor said that she also read a book about homosexual relationships. Now I gave you two new pieces of information, but still no answers. I will leave everybody deciding at least one more time, and the notes will continue.

My Maybe Lesbian Teacher- Part 4

Tuesday, November 14, 2006 at 12:05am

Everybody, I have news for you!!!!!
My teacher is a Lesbian…No not the one Dana Dehays, Abbey Sherer, and I were wondering about. No, but another Professor. Last week she made a comment about being a lesbian, I just thought it was a joke, but Dana and Abbey asked her and she said that she was. Today she mentioned her partner and Nichole Susi and I decided that she most likely was. The odd thing about this is that she doesn’t fit into the lesbian stereotype, she is attractive. Anyway sorry that I do not know if our professor that I have been describing is or not but I will let you know.

My Maybe Lesbian Teacher- Part 5

Wednesday, December 6, 2006 at 12:39am

After ten fucking weeks of wondering, you, me, and the rest of the world will finally know the answer of the question: Does my teacher like the ladies or the fellas? The answer is… she is in fact a dyke. I will let you soak in the answer for a few seconds, because I know this must be earth shattering for you. ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………… Dehays has recently found a book that my teacher had written named, “We’re Here! We’re Queer! Get Used to Us!” Not only that, whenever we would do activities about discrimination she would use discrimination of homosexuals before discrimination of women or blacks.
So I hope everyone who has enjoyed these notes of mine will continue to read about my wacky adventures. And I thank you for being so patient. I would also like to thank Dana Dehays, Abbey Scherer, Vanessa Landolfo, and Nichole Susi for allowing me to mention them in my notes, and both

my teachers for letting me write about them.*

*I did have a picture to go along with the conclusion, but people smarter

than I suggested I take it down in case the professor ever read this. In lue of that, I will give you this artist’s rendition instead.

Peace

Oh, and looking back over those entries, I think it was kind of obvious that she was a lesbian. This blog post will be a testament to how naive I was back then.

Metallica: WTF Magnetic

Don’t you just love fall? All of the leaves start changing colors, The TV starts playing shows that actually don’t suck, Christmas season officially starts (just kidding, it started in August), And most importantly, the dead rise from their graves to feast on the flesh of the living. I am not sure why it always happens this time of year exactly, but there are always documentaries with terrible dialogue on TV this time of year; especially during October. I have decided that this probably due to the amount of candy that is in the stores these days. Seriously, there is a fuck ton of candy around right now.

1 fuck ton of candy

So, as usual with my bliggity-blogs, it is time to tell you what interesting things have happened in my life since my last bliggity-blog. The most important thing is that I dead lifted 320 pounds two Mondays ago. For  the fraction of my readers who do not deadlift on a regular basis, dead lifting is when you keep the arc in your back and lift a weighted bar off the ground. That is probably a dangerously bad definition, so I’ll post a video.

Yea, I did that, with twice my bodyweight. I was so psyched about that accomplishment that the next day I decided to try to bench press 225 lbs. That attempt was not so successful.  I would call myself a woman, but that would be an insult to women, especially because the owners showed me a video of a woman who bench pressed 550. This is the conversation:

Me- Hey, can you spot me, I’m gonna try to bench 225.

Owner- Hell yea! You are finally gonna get on the board? Sure I’ll spot you right after this video is over. (while we are watching it) She is about to bench 550.

Me- Damn

Owner-yea, you are about to do half of what she is doing.

I am pretty sure the owner did not intend to figuratively kick me in the balls, but he did. Especially when I could not get 225 up. I was pissed mainly because my chest is strong enough, but my triceps (the back of you upper arm- you know, the part of the arm that if older women don’t work out, it sags and flops around) aren’t strong enough yet. Hopefully next week.

Now for something completely unrelated, here is my blog.

Oh Metallica, how your music entertains me. Whether it’s the fast paced music that helped jumpstart the thrash metal genre, the slow songs like Fade to Black which you can both hold a lighter up for, and head bang to, or even the songs from Load and ReLoad which were not the best, but who can deny that The Memory Remains is a great song. C’mon, they based it off of the movie “Sunset Blvd.” Even if you hate Metallica, you should at least admit that their music isn’t entirely thoughtless like other bands out there. I’m talking about you Papa Roach.

What's Aragon doing in a Modern Rock band?

As some of you may know, I went to the Metallica concert this past Thursday, and I decided that I should share the experience with you. The concert, and the trip to and from Cleveland seemed to have a one word theme: clusterfuck. Thursday was a clusterfuck of events.

The day started out with me at the gym. Nothing too interesting other than me almost severely injuring my back doing squats. I won’t go into details, but I tried to squat 285, and failed. There is no joke here, I’m just a dumbass who decided that he did not need anyone to spot him. I could have seriously hurt myself.

After working out, I went home, showered, and visited my new favorite website (cracked.com) until my brother arrived at 4:00. We headed to Cleveland, while listening to Metallica’s latest album. It was the first time in- I don’t know how long- that he and I spent brotherly bonding time together that didn’t involve alcohol. I was actually kind of nice, come to think about it. We talked about girls, our family, and Grampa’s Cheese Barn. Somewhere on I-71, there was a billboard that said’ “Visit Grampa’s Cheese Barn.”

My brother took one look at the sign and said, “Ya, know what? Fuck Metallica, I want to go to Grampa’s Cheese Barn.”

To which I replied, “I don’t know, we already have the tickets. And I have a feeling that if we go to Grampa’s Cheese barn it won’t be what we are expecting and it may emotionally scar us for life.

My brother laughed at this, and we proceeded to have a conversation of a building shaped like an old man, bent over with his pants down and his butt cheeks spread apart, and the entrance is the anus. Try to get that mental picture out of your head.

We got to Cleveland, and headed to where the concert was. Neither of us knew where that was exactly (at all), so we decided to follow a guy wearing a Slayer T-shirt, because what bad has ever come of following a stranger that likes death Metal?

The guy is the slayer shirt got too far ahead of us, so we couldn’t follow him anymore, but by then we saw so many people with Metallica shirts on that we knew we were headed the right direction. Once we got inside the arena, I thought it was going to be smooth sailing from there on out; I was wrong. This one security guard, with a hair lip that looked good in comparison to the rest of her face, took one look at me and said “You can’t have that chain in here. You gonna need to take it off. At this point, my brother had his ticket scanned, and was on the other side of the metal detectors. Annoyed, I turned and left the building, and power walked back to my car. While I was on my way, I remembered that it was my dad’s birthday, and I promised that I would call him before the concert. Nothing very interesting came from our conversation, other than me finding out that my little sister ruined the surprise of what we got him(tickets to an OSU football game). She could not have done it in a more unsmooth way. She asked him, “Are you coming out for the game?”

And he replied, “What game?”

My sister then blurted out, “oh, never mind, just kidding.” Sigh, a great surprise ruined by my sister’s big mouth.

Anyway, I was walking back to my car as I talked to my dad and worried whether or not I was going to be let in if I was too late. As I walked passed an abandoned building with signs for the fire department or some shit and I decided that that place was a perfect hiding spot for my chain. I hastily and unceremoniously tossed my chain behind one of the signs and quickly turned back towards the arena. Other than me feeling like I was both littering and could be apprehended for suspected terrorism( I was dressed as a Muslim, it is typical garb for Metallica concerts) that plan went smoothly. At least until I realized that I still had my pocket knife on my keychain. Not wanting to waste more time or potentially get my knife stolen and used in a murder, which I would then get framed for, I decided to thow it out. Saying a solumn good bye to it, I dropped it into a nearby garbage can and headed towards the Arena.

I got in with no further problems, and my brother and I found our seats. Oh, and great seats they were. Directly in the middle, in the balcony. My brother said that he could throw a rock (aka his chapstick- ha what a girl) and hit Lars Ulrich in the balding head. I laughed, not so much at my brother, but at the thought of hitting Lars in the head with something. Don’t get me wrong, I love Metallica, but Lars is a bit of a wiener. If you don’t believe me, fuck a pinecone.

The show was already in progress when we found our seats, some French band named Gorrrorrorrorrurrrrrrrrr (the dude fucking growled it. That is probably pretty damn close to the actual name) was the opening act. I couldn’t understand a word the lead singer was saying, but since he is French, I’m assuming all the songs were about baguettes, hairy legged women, and surrendering to the Germans.

The Next band to play was Lamb of God, which when my brother realized that they were about to play, he had an orgasm. Don’t ask how I know. I could actually understand this band, and they were  pretty good, so hooray for them for being intelligible. Right after Lamb of God finished their set, these two hardcore metal heads sat down to my left. In what I assume must be 80’s heavy metal fashon, they both pulled out their cell phones, and started texting. Who can blame them, really? Texting is very hardcore. “Woo! Leather n metal lol!!! These guys were too hardcore for the new Metallica, and they left in the middle of Metallica’s set. What cock bags.

While we are on the subject of people I was sitting near, it was a good thing that I did not have my chain with me, otherwise I would have chocked the two fat bitches that were sitting behind us. They were louder than the music at times. They were like two fat white howler monkeys.

Finally, the main event, Metallica. The Arena goes black. What little light that is shining shows smoke drifting lazily over the stage. A recording of their song “Ecstasy In Gold” starts playing. The crowd starts cheering, and I feel goosebumps start climbing up my forarms. These goosebumbs sprint up the back of my neck and down my spine once the drums start. The song, like a war march, is strong, orchestral, and has a voice even without lyrics.

As that song finishes, another sound comes through the speakers: a heartbeat.  People begin to cheer, and I know that the band is approaching the stage. Suddenly, lasers kick on, and the band begins to play. The lasers danced like dozens of neon anorexic strippers on speed, dazzling me, blinding me, making me want to throw up a little. I wanted to sing along, but the song is so fast paced and I haven’t memorized the lyrics to the point where I can confidently sing along.  It would have been perfect if the douchebag next to me wouldn’t have been texting.

I won’t bore you with the details of the entire concert, but there were still more interesting things to come. During one of Metallica’s greatest hits(I mean this song is a “they play this at every concert,” hit This song is their “freebird”) more commonly known as One, the sound system blew out. At first I yelled, “What the fuck” which if you think about it, is a perfectly reasonable response. For a minute I seriously thought I went partially deaf. The worst part is, I thought that, and then just shrugged it off, because this concert was that important for me. The sound quality once the speaker blew out wasn’t terrible, but my side of the arena was getting the echo from the working speakers.  This caused every one of Kirk Hammet’s solos to be a clusterfuck of random sounds.

I really feel bad for Metallica in all of this. It wasn’t their fault the sound system went down, in fact, I’ve got a sneaking suspicion that Lex Luthor had something to do with this. He hates Metallica almost as much as that dude from Megadeth that no one gives a shit about (look that joke up). Think about it. You haven’t been in Cleveland for five years, and the next time you go there, you’re being inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Wouldn’t you want to put on an amazing concert for that city, even if it is home of the Browns? Fuck yes you would. But then, the new Roadie fuck up the sound system and you may have lost your fan base in an entire city. They did eventually get it fixed, but towards the end of the concert it went out again, and that sucked.

After the concert was over, my brother and I headed back to my car. I retrieved my chain from behind the sign, and said a silent prayer for my pocket knife. I really liked that knife; it had my name engraved on it, how could I not like it. It combines my two favorite things: Me and cutting things.

Anyway, it was about midnight when we left Cleveland, and headed back to my house. The trip was relatively uneventful, other than when I got pulled over for going 76 in a 65. That was the first time I have ever gotten pulled over, and luckily for me, the cop only gave me a warning.  We got to my house around 2:30 Friday morning, and I immediately went to bed, because I’m stupid and felt morally obligated to go to class the next day.

So that is my story of the Metallica Concert. If there is one thing that I learned from the whole experience, it is take all potential weapons off your person before leaving the car. Oh, and there are only 5 hot girls in Cleveland, and they were all at the Metallica concert.

good night and good…ummm… fuck?

Newark Campus Legends:Mr. Sturger vs. Mrs. Slope

Everyone, I hope all of you are all as excited as I am. Chances are that you are not so excited that you shaving your genitals and rubbing tapioca pudding all over your shirtless torso as I am doing now (yes, while I am typing. I’m just that talented.) Well, you should be. This is not only my first blog in almost two weeks, it is also the first blog that I have written since classes started back up last Wednesday.  And oh, are they fifteen credit hours of pure joy.  The classes I am taking are Engilsh ***-Critical ******* for ******* Majors ( you’ll see why that is censored in a minute), Spanish 104 aka Why does an English Major need to take this?, and Geology- which is more commonly called “Rocks” by those who don’t give a damn about Geology (everyone.)

Look at how pretty this rare stone is. It's a shame i don't care.

Something interesting about my Spanish class – the building that the class is in (Hagerty Hall to those of you who know main campus Ohio State) is apparently haunted by a phantom. The only proof I have of this is a creepy organ playing during the class time. Seriously, who plays the organ at 6:30 on a Thursday? No, who plays the organ ever? Even churches are migrating to acoustic guitars and drum sets.  That phantom seriously needs to get with the times. That is the only proof I have so far, but I will keep you posted.

In other Me news, I got another major part of my Halloween costume last week. This costume is proving to be the most elaborate and expensive ever. I will be so pissed if it is not as good as my Garth Algar costume from last Halloween. That one was my best so far, and I am determined to beat that. I am hoping that it will be better than my best four costume ideas combined. Which would look something like Garth dressed as a convict Moses who was about to be put to death via the electric chair, when he got ran over by a car. I am not going to tell you what the costume is going to be, but I can assure you it is going to be a doozy.

So at work on Saturday I found out I have a nice ass. Let me explain. On Saturdays during the college football season, employees at the grocery store that I work at are allowed to wear OSU shirts. Saturday I was wearing my long sleeve shirt under my apron, and my one coworker commented that we hadn’t seen each other for a while, and that my shoulders have become broader since the last time we worked together. My coworker then said, “I hope you’re not offended by this, but I’ve noticed that you have a really nice ass.”

I laughed, but laughter is usually my default action when I feel awkward. I guess it was a little strange to me when it came from George. However, that did explain why he gave me those anal beads and the Gatorade with a roofie in it earlier in the day, but no matter…

To be honest, the situation did happen, but a woman said it, not a man. Oh, and there was no anal beads or spiked Gatorade that I remember, but the day was a bit of a blur.

While we are on the subject of women flirting with me at places of my employment, I got hit on by a 50ish year old woman at the Writer’s Studio on Monday. She said she wasn’t, but I knew that was bullshit. I forget how the conversation started, but it ended with her commenting on my eyes (apparently they are beautiful.) Before I was able to thank her, she stated that she was not flirting with me. Me thinks the lady doth deny too much. I am starting to suspect that I may not have a personality. Basically, I am basing this on the theory that the better looking someone is, the less of a personality they have. But then again, ugly people probably made that rule up to feel better about themselves.

Anyway, on to the blog…

Every county, state, city, town, major university, and cavernous vagina has some kind of legend. OSU-Newark (Nerk or OSUN as I will be referring to it for now on) is no different. Infact, there are many legends that swirl around the Newark campus like a turd in a toilet like:

1. The ghost that haunts the men’s locker room in Adena
2. The human hand that is hidden somewhere James Stjohn’s room.
3. The laying girl statue (Suzy Creamcheese as I have named her) mysteriously appeared on campus after a brutal murder of a girl occurred in that same spot in 1976
4. Pornstar legend John Holmes graduated from there in 2008, surprisingly 20 years after he died. Making him the first zombie to ever receive a Bachelor’s Degree.
5. The “circle of friends” statues come alive at night and kill any late-night jogger

No, this is not a convicted rapist; this is John Holmes. But there still sin't much of a difference.

There are dozens more that I just made up, but I would like to tell you about one that came upon me surprisingly, and deals with people I actually know. Now to protect their identities, I will not use their real names, but I will hastily make up names so that no one (other than the readers who know who I am talking about-which is just about everyone) knows who I am talking about. This is more to prevent some major shit to go down in my class. It would be interesting, and make for one hell of a good blog, but unnecessary drama that I feel is, umm… unnecessary.

My class mate and “friend,” Burger hates our English professor, Caroline. And to my knowledge, she hates him back. Now, it could be that he just says that she hates him, but there could be some animosity that I am not seeing. Anyway, months before the class started (yea, MONTHS) he was already talking shit on her and how he dreaded the class. He said that he was going to have to work twice as hard in that class to get a half way decent grade.

Here is my theory of why they don’t get along: Caroline hates men, and Burger is a chauvinist. I’m just throwing it out there. You should hear some of the things he says sometimes

Anyhoo, so when class started last week, I was expecting him to say very little base on the simple fact that he hates her, but to my surprise Burger is talking the most out of the entire class except for that one annoying bitch. There is always one of those in every class. Anyway, Burger will just spout out whatever he is thinking whether it is right or wrong or a fully developed thought, or just a mind fetus that was miscarried. What’s even stranger is that at one point, Caroline said that she was born in Mississippi, to which Burger replied, “Really, Mississippi? Hmm…” He said it with a genuine interest that I do not believe was faked. At this moment of their personal connection (all be it brief connection) everything I know was turned on my head. Swirls of color and and blurred shapes exploded all around me as loud indistinguishable noises stabbed my eardrums. It was like watching a Michael Bay movie, if a Michael bay movie made sense.

Now you may be wondering “Doug, why are you considering this a legend?” or “are you really this bored to make this crap up?” or even “why are you wearing that thong?” and my answer to these 3 questions is “Because it feels good.” And for the first question, I am not the only one who knows about it.

Earlier this week another one of my classmates pointed out what I was noticing myself. She even knew that they hated each other. I was amazed that I wasn’t the only one who knew, and we both laughed about it, sitting on our respective towers watching the actors play out the melodramatic, yet overly dramatic soap opera. In next Friday’s class we will find out who is the father of Alisha’s baby. And then we will critique the scene using historical criticism.

One person makes a situation like this a blog post, two people make this situation a conspiracy, three or more people make the situation a legend. Wednesday, as I was headed into work at the WS, I saw one of my old classmates from Spanish 102. I told him that I was in the English class that I am in. he then explained to me how there is this kid he knows that is in that class. He told me that this kid hates Caroline and that he has been talking shit on her about for the past year.

To which I replied, “wait, who is taking a shit on who, why do you know this, and why are you telling me?”

After several minutes of confusion, retelling of the information, and an explanation between the difference between talking shit on someone and taking a shit on someone (one that involved the most disturbing PowerPoint presentation ever) I realized that he was talking about Burger. We laughed about it, and I shared the information I had. Soon after, I headed into work, while my friend went home to probably make more German schiza slideshows.

Basically, this is giving me something to do for this class time for the rest of the quarter. Ya know other than learning Englishy things and stuff. And it gives me a good opportunity to people watch two people who hate each other and how they act in a group. This is my little social experiment. Yea, I’m not a diabolical douchebag at all.

Well, it has taken me a week, several blog topics (one of them being none) and a lot of my self esteem, but I finally finished this blog.

Enjoy bitches- I guess I should have put that at the beginning. Oh well.

Oh, and I feel that at many points in this blog I used pictures that would have been better if they were of  women in  bikinis, so here is one. You’re welcome.

Peace