the hardware store gave me a free hat.

Matt and I saw Weezy again night before last. Same shirt, animosity, etc.
I played some Ms. Pac-Man at Sputnik over a couple beers, but the stick was stuck and as a result I found my little Ms. to be unable to perform her wifely duties of gathering produce and not being eaten by strange European ghosts.


At first things were great.

She'd pick up the strawberries I'd ask for, the cherries too. But I must've done her wrong somewhere along the line because I could see her, plain as day, waiting expectantly for the inevitable ghost onslaught. Unable, perhaps, unwilling to move, she just stayed there, back to the impending holocaust (she's always been a tease) just waiting for me to grab that stick and bring her back home to my loving arms, to teach her once again to love...

And I tried. Needing to hold her again so desperately I grappled with that red stick for what felt like days, but she wouldn't respond.

I had hurt her so deeply, she thought herself better off in the arms of a ghost rather than with me, to her but an apparition, the shell of a once kindred soul.


Someone spilled beer on the machine. That's all I'm saying here. Bitch wouldn't move.

more of a loretta thing

Today finds me as the new owner of The Definitive Collection: Patsy Cline Compact Disc.

I also saw some band from Baltimore sometime mid-afternoon. Then there was pizza. And I also bought a used belt, being the first belt, used or otherwise, that I will have owned in two years.

The whole deal was pretty low key.

Jan tells me this new movie based on DOOM is actually filmed in first-person perspective.

If this is true, it could be huge. DooM, if you are unfamiliar, is likely the best thing to happen to me in my life, more or less.

To me, this news is especially huge, because if it's true, it could easily become the second best thing to happen to me in my life.

And that's cool, because my new belt has been hoggin' that spot for a solid three hours.

bedrock u

Having completed the first half of my second week in college, I've com to belive that this year may be somewhat more difficult than I had previously imagined. Not difficult necessarily in an academic sense, however. In fact, my classes are no more difficult than any that I had taken in high school. The difficulty to which I refer stems from the attitude an general comportment of the rest of the student body.

That's to say the "student" body is dominantly comprised of utter fucking savages. What I encountered on the fifth floor men's room on the south hall is a pretty good example. Now, what bothered me about the whole thing wasn't so much that someone had tried to drop some serious fucking heat in the far urinal, bur more that this person missed the goddamned bowl. If you're going to display the mindblowing amount of sack necessary to shit in a public urinal, especially one in a school, at least try and it right. The whole thing is somewhat like suicide in this respect. If you're going to do it, do it fucking right and don't tell me how tragic it is that you lacked the sack to return your shit to sender.

But this in't about suicide just yet. This is about these people's inabilty to adhere to simple social norms. Simple things really. Things like not giving into community pressure that dictates in your neighborhood it is some manner of rite of passage to get your own goddamned name tattooed on your fucking bicep when you turn sixteen. At the very least they could get in a font not already claimed by the rest of fucking Puerto Rico. The matching beltbuckles are a mistake as well, I know, but they're not a permanent one.

And Ms. Perez, if you happen to be prominantly displaying both, don't cop a fucking tude and say "Shit you don't know me" if I ask you where the library is, because, infact, I know more about you based on the combination of your sweet 'hood tat, your belt, and your Boost Mobile phone hanging from that belt than you will likely know about anything.

Judgin by the student body and the unparalelled ambience of the third floor terrace, elegeantly provided by the barbed wire and indomitable smell of what seems to be airplane glue and gasoline, an outside observer might easily mistake my school for a UN established state university in the Sudan.

But shit's tight. We cool.

of parties and the day since

Friday night saw the christening of our new place, and the hull was well slathered in suds, friends. What was originally going to be a Friday night affair quickly became, once again, a Friday night affair, as Jane's suggestion to hold the event on Saturday was soundly and swiftly rejected.

The decision was made after the actual residents of Robofrance 214 came to the conclusion that it was really of no consqeuence to us whether there was a village people party across Taaffe. We called the night, and it beckoned back.

What began as a low-key gathering of a few knuckleheads quickly escalalted into an all out fucking baller-status affair with a guest list including the likes of "White guy dressed as black guy waiting for an ass kicking cause he's doing coke in the hallway and trying to steal my Ketel One dude," "talk-shit in earshot girl," "I'm gonna play these instruments loud and badly cause they're here boy," and of course the ever amicable E-weezy.

E-weezy is kind of like the a-bomb. No one wants him interupting their good times, but he shows up anyway, leaving behind him a wake of skinless burning death and eventual radioactive deformity. And the motherfucker was trying to sell shrubs cold on premises.

Aside from a few huggins come latelies and the eventual police presence, however, the shit was a success. Had some good times and no one got hurt, and made the acquaintance of a few perhaps soon to be knuckleheads.

Next time we choose to pull something like this, you should come, but let'snot let big motherfuckers who sell drugs into the building this time.

gravy train...?

The template is up and running again, and now offers you new features like class, style, and a Slush Puppy machine.

goin down

So, you may have noticed that my blog is back to default settings.

Look, I've had some difficulty with the template settings, so as a result I'm planning an overhaul for the whole thing.

In the interim here are my now defuct links:

Jan

Matt, one of my new roommates

because im tired of being a liar

That's not the reason. I feel threatened. Not threatened, concerned. This concern stems from a few different roots here and there, crawling their way through the soil, until they reach that concrete retaining wall which, while underground, doesn't really exist. I haven't updated in a long time, and my deservedly enormous constituency is up in arms.
I've been busy, folks. I've got my own shit to which I must tend. Between moving to a new city, registering for classes at the Flintstone Academy, and falling ill with some manner of 23rd century turboplague, it seems I haven't allotted due time to this little endeavour. Perhaps if I had a camera and a lot of time to get excited about basement nights I could have done more picture posts like Jan, but in all honesty, that shit is just bush, man.
For real, dog. Cheap. I don't care about your new shoes, dude; they look like your old shoes. And don't, before you do. Don't say "Nah dude pull your toungue out of your ass doggie these shades of grey and blue are different than the other shades of grey and blue I had on those other shoes you aren't observant sometimes man that is why you do not get into colleges."
But it's okay cause Jan's firm grasp on html does give his shit some class, and it helps to downplay his hackery a little bit. Besides he's gotta keep the content "lite" and family friendly as he has many loyal readers in the U-12 cat. So folks, visit Jan's blog today, it's probably updated! Visit it frequently, vigilantly. He's a good guy just tryin' to make a buck, so when he shakes his cup at you, tip your hat and let the man dance.

I'll be back when I have a legal internet connection, and when that happens you'll have a legal entry from me, but till then, I'm going to follow my colleague's lead and publish a photo that otherwise needs not be published on the internet.



Chocolate love, all.

missing some dvds?

This guy probably stole them.




Seriously, look, he's wearing my shirt.

Don't ever fucking ask me why I hate the Dutch again.

tab is for beautiful people

So basically pretty much yeah like every time I watch Black Entertainment Television, I get confused when they say "Rap City." I always think they're saying "rhapsody." Which then I kind of transliterate into being "rap-sody," which sounds like something I'd like to be invovled in, or at least see or hear. Because, you see, I figure it'd be like a Hip-Hopera but cooler, because Aaliya can't be involved this time because air travel is just so insecure these days. I think i'd like it to be somewhat of a coming of age story/musical but in the hood 'cuz it's a "Rap"-sody. Like maybe we'd have Mike jones as the male lead;an inner city simpleton but with a heart of gold and maybe he has a few tabby cats(?) Louis Gosset, Jr. could be the real sleazy but easy to fall in with (but not so easy to get away from[!]) drug dealer or chop shop owner who is the element keeping Mike (Iron Lung would be his rap alias in this film) down and in the hood, cause he'd owe him money. But we all know the Lung finds a way out and into fame and prosperity, inner peace and Cribs. Though, with all the money in the world (and respect and street hype) he can't win the heart of longtime childhood friend and love interest/female lead (played by Ashanti when she turns 18.) Though he would obviously get his chance and the rap-battle for her hand in the end(you know there would be one.)

This is Louis Gosset's filmography (you should check out the Iron Eagle series, It's really good)

and sharing the light and gospel of JESUS CHRIST

That's someone's interest. I feel like they may be misleading a bit here, seeing as sharing such as the light of Christ can only be done by HE HIMself. He's a pretty high profile dude to be ripping off, you likely aren't as such, that's why he gets caps on his pronouns, and you have to live in Galveston.

These jerks are standing on Galveston:


Jerks.

Better than the inquisition, I guess.

Recently, last night actually, I gave myself note that perhaps I should alter the group of people I generally run into at night. Now, generally, Arlington nights are just a slapdash amalgamation of just about anyone who youve ever kind of liked a little bit, which is fine by me. Generally fine by me. However, with increasing frequency I'm finding myself in places with two or three people I genuinely like, and by circumstance two or three people that they like, and maybe one or two people that the thrid group tolerates, but on the whole, I would wish into nonexistence if I had that power.

Im not gonna name names here, but last night I was kickin' it pretty solid with some doggies of old, when that group of "tolerateds" arrived. They were met with a warm reception from those who knew them, and by akward handshakes/fives/finger pops and the end/confusion and general panic from the rest of us.

So with the introductions out of the way, one such tolerated began to sing and play guitar, and do other things you shouldn't do when people don't want you to sing and play guitar. He realized soon this behavior was unacceptable. He stopped. There was rejoicing. But. There were elements attempting to coerce him to continue.

He didn't, thank God, but he did say the most disturbingly ill-fitting sentence as an excuse for why he wouldn't play the guitar anymore.

Now, I'm not gonna lie, this scared me a little.

Imagine a Tommy Chong look alike, but without having been in movies, saying:

"I'm not gonna play anymore [name], does it look like I'm trying to get excommunicated from the church of scientology?"

Fuck that.

No thank you.

so much that i forgot html

It´s true, fuck slashes an commands and lower-case letters encased in

Look none of that is important.

What is important, however, is that at 8:00 E.S.T., I will be boarding a Pullman model 70 first class rocket-bus to the forest planet Endor. It´s apparently in this country, and after having seen enough of the native inhabitants, I know exactly where the Ewoks came from.

George Lucas is like six types of racist.

But that´s cool, cause I got in a motorcycle wreck a few days back.

Fucked up my leg pretty bad, and i got a burn above my left ankle that looks a little bit like a slice of cold pizza now. I think thats from the infection.




Its hard to tell.

Oh plus my brother and I almost got murdered by gang members over a wallet.

Motorcycles and Beer

As we all know, they mix.

They create a viscoliquescent solution of unadulterated cool heretofor unseen by the likes of many, many motorists. Knowing this, I contacted my man what supplies me with knowledge of wordly sorts, for he, among other things, was a motorcycle owner. Being that, and knowing quite well the afformentioned info, it should be no surprise to any of you that he as well has a propensity for from time to time, it's not like he has a problem or anything but a propensity for being drunk.

This gives him, as it does many, good ideas. Ideas like, Henry, ride my motorcycle.
I am no one to refuse a kind offer like this because after all, we're all brothers.

So I hopped on.
And I rode (free as the wind!) to the end of the block, around a Volkswagen, and upon the turn back to my apartment, Man of Worldly Knowledge took wait.

But I did not stop.

I continued, all of three blocks, at which point, I almost got ground under a chicken bus crossing an intersection without so much as the right of way.

Oh cursed I was from the windows of that '72 Blue Bird Body Company (powered by Ford Motors) school bus!

Therefore, upon my return you can understand how easy it must have been for me to have run over that cat.

My head hung in shame, nary a word upon my lips to express this feeling!

Basically, I wasn't paying that much attention.
Either way, with the blood of this cat on my hands and bike chain, I returned, to the awaiting man.

The story was not recounted.

Even though, in my mind, I felt it to be pretty fucking good.

Long Goodbye: Volume one

So, I've got this problem. Every two days or so, when I check my email, in the hopes that I may receive a message bearing some relevance and/or urgency in regards to my life, family, etc., I am greeted by a ranting, capitol-letter-subject psychomessage from Jerry Fallwell. I don't know how this guy got my e-mail, or why he has given it to every Christian internet community mailing list in existence (including, but not limited to, "Meet Christian Singles," "Singles with Christian Values," "Christian Singles with Valuables," and "Catfancy.")

And I'm not entirely certain I'm supposed to know why.

My last dose of E-ligthening from the conservative Christian right's self elected direct-link-to-God-via-CB-radio operator bore the subject line "LIBERALS TRYING HARDER THAN EVER TO DESTROY CHRISTIANITY."

Friend's he's on to us.


If want to achieve our goal of deicide by our November deadline we must move fast.

You will all be sent todays launch codes and Vigilance Kit via the new KFC snacker, to be purchased at Battlefield KFC in Manassas.

Included in the kit will be cyanide pills (2) Paul Reiser's bestseller "Couplehood" (1) my latest Boobah Fanfiction manuscript(s) (1 unless you've previously requested the full volume) O.B. applicator (Family Size Box) and finally, a collection of Darkthrone albums (3).

You all know what must be done.

fella

Get this tunic


Or don't. Either way Old Navy is going out of business.

this is my father

The one and only

Today, my subjects, is Easter. Apparently the name Easter along with that sexually ambiguous rabbit are both of pagan descent. Makes sense, primarily because i can see pagans playing the early nineties computer game sensation Descent (chapters I-III) online using Bunny as their handle.

Somehow.

However, rooted in pagan lore as it may be, Easter is a big deal here in Guatemala.

Not Easter necessarily, but the preceding ¨Holy Week¨ in which thousands of small brown men dressed in slightly larger purple robes carry around these huge platforms with large wooden Jesuses (Jesi)all over town, thus reaffirming the faith of this country´s citizens and pissing me off all at the same time.

Not he Jesus thing, I mean that´s cool, no disrepect, but when I´m living on a very busy street, and I just need to run to the store and get some potable water when I have an enormous hangover on a Tuesday afternoon, and I can´t open my door because some 6 year old kid parked his ice cream cart there, I just gotta say, that´s not scorin any points for Jesus.

I´m sure he doesn´t care that much though.
I wouldn´t if I was dead and gone and visually misrepresented in public effigies being carried all over a town that didn´t even exist when I was alive.

But no worries.

I have to admit it is quite brewathtaking to bear witness to these people´s faith. I went out on good friday to watch what´s supposed to be the moset grandiose of all the processions.

There were several effigies, but one in particular caught my eye. Rather than portraying our lord and savior carrying a bejewled cross (which was clearly not in the Romans´ budget on the true date in question)with three drops of blood total on his face, this one was all white, and showed Christ in a glass coffin. There are two reasons this one struck my fancy:
a)It kinda looked like Lenin´s tomb, what with the glass coffin.
and b)The coffin itself was being held up by several little white midget angels that despite their blanched complexion, bore a striking resemblence to Paul Mooney.





It´s been a stressful week, too many tourists to really be able to deal with and it´s been hot as fuck.



But that´s not important, cause I have to go on a date with a Lesbian.


/h

Round 2

Alright the title of this post may be a tad deceiving since I'ts likely only to be realized by a line or two following the real subject.

The real subject being how I got screwed on my clown trip.

My primary purpose for living in Guatemala for as long as I have has been to learn Spanish. This is no mystery to anyone who may have known that I live here in the first place, however many people are not aware of why I would choose to live in a developing nation in Central America for so long. The truth is, I really was interested in doing this so as to be able to connect for effectivley with the young children I would be helping, for the second time, in Cuba. However I was recently informed that that trip has been modified so as to help Tsunami victims in Sri Lanka.

Which is fine.

I love western asians.

However, now I can't even do that.

The cost and distance and allaround commitment are just too much for me to bear.

I can't fucking afford it.


So now, with my entire purpose of learning Spanish having been negated, and my inability to participate in something I've been waiting for for nearly a year, I don't know what to do.

Except fucking vomit all over everything.

That brings us to the round 2 section of this entry.

I got food poisoning again. I think. It might've just been my seeing keegan shirtless and wasted at the superbowl party, though, who knows.

Regardless. I'm fine now.

And Im gonna go get some third world Burger King.


atown down motherfuckers.

What'd you do today?

Living in another country, especially one in Central America, you can pretty much bet your life on getting some manner of food poisoning. However, having staved off this particular infirmity for just over 2 and half months, I figured my raw ass motherfucker of a stomach could handle anything. Quite the contrary. At approximately 9:22 P.M. on Dec. 5th, I signed my own gastrointestinal death certificate. Evidently this stir fry I ate had like, HELL of MSG in it. Plus the meat was rancid or something I dunno. So, with the MSG on top of the shit street-meat that was in my stirfry, not only was my body rejecting the food, but my stomach was physically eating itself. I mean, that I can deal with, I mean these things happen right? It was when I threw out my back from throwing up so hard that I kinda gave up on life altogether and decided that if I could ever walk again that I would buy a load of razorblades and do the deed. Well, today I walked again. But I decided the razor blade idea may have beena bit hasty, so instead I just went and got some Burger King.

Shank

n: a homemade knife, v: to be stabbed from behind


The second one makes plenty of sense to me, that's what shanking is. Everyone knows that because it's spawned the nationally observed holiday of Shanksgiving.

However the first is strange, cause nobody homemakes shanks, unless their home is prison.