Why I Hate LIfe

Some things will never change. Zelda games will always be good, and Radiohead albums will always be overrated. My brother will always immerse himself in grandiose jackassery, and my girlfriend will always butcher the bejesus out of song lyrics. Examples:

• For reasons too convoluted to explain, my brother has pledged to donate $100 to a charity the first time he fails to see an inter-racial couple in Davenport. Oh, and he calls Davenport "the QC." Jackass.
• For her part, my girlfriend, singing to the dog, actually turned "Eli the Barrow Boy" by the Decemberists into a happy little ditty. For those of you who are uninformed, "Eli the Barrow Boy" is about a poor barrow boy (named Eli. See? It all makes sense) who works himself to death trying to buy a nice dress for his dead love. Then, after his death, his ghost keeps working, but is never able to afford the dress. How did Jamie make this a happy song? By adding some U2-esque "yeah yeah yeah!"'s to the end of it. Anyone who has been watching South Park knows what I'm talking about.
• Oh, and as for the first two-- the new Zelda, "The Phantom Hourglass," fucking rocks. And though I haven't heard the new Radiohead album, I'm sure it is completely overrated because it isn't "the Bends." In case you didn't know, everything by Radiohead other than "the Bends" sucks balls.

As for me, I will forever be bereft of money, I will never poop more than once in a single day (unless I'm sick or I drank waaaaaaay too much the night before) and I will always wait far too long inbetween blog posts. Sorry. But here's the thing. I hate, hate, hate this semester of school. It's miserable. It makes me not want to do anything, because once I'm done with my schoolwork my brain is so bored and underwhelmed that I can barely tell my dog to shut up. In honor of David Letterman, who I never watch anymore because he is up against Stephen Colbert (easily the funniest man in America right now), here are the top ten things that make me hate this semester with a passion:

1. The fact I have three classes in a row of technical communication. I don't get this stuff, and worse, I don't care to know it. It is all very boring, intricate detail work that could sometime help me get a decent paying job in the real world. That gets in the way of my life plan-- to have several rich relatives die and leave me all of their money, then get really loaded every day and assume the world works by magic.
2. No matter how long I rinse my mouth out with Scope, I still can't wash out the aftertaste from this summer, when Spiderman 3 took a dump in my mouth.
3. My hippie douchebag grad class. Here's what we have to do-- write a play about Iowa's environment that stylistically and thematically pays homage to "the Laramie Project" or "Twilight." Those plays were about the brutal murder of a gay man in a small town, and the LA race riots, respectively. Sorry, Iowa doesn't have those things. If you can find me one person as passionate about ethanol as people were about the race riots, well... well, I guess I still wouldn't give a shit. Sorry.
4. The girl in my "Write like a Woman" class (yes, I'm taking a "Write like a Woman" class, fuck you) who talks with the pace and pitch of a squirrel addicted to cocaine. Here is a typical comment from her: "IthinkthisisaSADstory. ButIdon'tknow (giggle giggle). Icouldjustthinkthatbecausemyfamilyisreallyweird. (giggle giggle). MaybeIshouldstopreadingthesestoriesatoneinthemorning (laughs out loud, looks at floor)." Listen girl. I don't give a rat's ass if your family is weird. I don't care if you read the story at 1 o'clock. Grow some balls (or, in this class, ovaries) and just say what you think.
5. I don't have any money to travel. You know, I would like to see America. I really would. I can't, however, because this country is spread out wider than a sorority girl's vagina and the government doesn't believe in cheap public transportation.

You know what? That's enough. In this blog, as in real life, I should probably stop at "sorority girl's vagina." That's a good rule. But just so you don't think I'm a complete whiner, here's five things that I have enjoyed this semester:

1. The illustrious and beautiful Jamie bought me a book of short stories entitled Fabulous Small Jews. And, as a bonus, even though the title was enough, the stories are really good! They're all about old Jewish people living in Chicago. Maybe I like them because I can relate so much.
2. Snapple Fun Facts! Did you know kangaroos and emus can't walk backwards? Amazing!
3. The new Iron and Wine album and the Darjeeling Limited.
4. The fact my new friend Quincy and I are going to start drinking at 11:00 am on Friday.
5. Stovetop Stuffing.

Bonus happy fact! The fact that I'm going to post more often from here on out. No, really. This time is totally different. For realsies.

A Very Short Blog and an Apology (Alternate Title: "My Gaze is an Incredible Laxative")

First, the apology-- Sorry I haven't been back here for so long. Not that I expect anyone gives a rat's ass. During the semester, which begins on Monday (say it with me-- FUCK) I should have a more rigorous schedule as well as more activities to report. I hope to post every couple of weeks, probably while pantsless, drinking beer, and watching football. To help you with that mental image, I'll also be unshowered, coated with a fine layer of grease, and bloated from delicious salty foods. And maybe I'll eat some ice cream so as to be gassy. You're welcome.

Next, the very short blog.

Item # 1

My magnificent girlfriend and I got a new puppy. His name is Jables, as derived from the great Jack Black, and he is flat out kick ass. He is pretty much housebroken (and never really caused us much work in that regard), but he does bite the living shit out of anything we refuse to give him. Not any of his 4,000 toys, but everything else-- cell phones, the hem of my shorts, a spoonful of crank Jamie left out-- is fair game. And, in honor of my brother getting a new job, here are three ways my dog Jables reminds me of my big brother Jay.

1. He may be retarded. Jables is an interesting dog to take on a walk. This is why I often bring a couple of beers with me when I do so. When he gets something in his mouth that he knows he shouldn't have, he hauls ass as quickly ass possible away from me, then snaps back when he reaches the end of the leash. Sometimes he suddenly decides that my leg is the enemy and attempts a leaping tackle. The end result, invariably, is that he smashes into my leg, sits down on the ground, and looks up at me, confused out of his mind. Then he bites my foot. Also, if he's really hyper, he lassos himself and falls over. I infrequently walked my brother Jay when I was a child, so I can't speak to how often he lassoed himself (I do know he went through a lot of helmets). However, Jay did like the Transformers movie, so how smart can he be?
2. If you give him a paper towel, he'll entertain himself for forty minutes. Jables likes to shred it, then chase the little pieces around and poke them with his paw. As for Jay... Some of my favorite childhood memories are of the evenings I sat on my parent's back porch, a cool glass of lemonade in hand, and watched Jay run around giggling and batting a paper towel back and forth in the friscalating dusklight. Bonus points to anyone who immediately knows why "friscalating dusklight" is funny.
3. He likes to stare me in the eyes when he poops. Don't ask me how I know this. Just know that it is far, far less disturbing when my dog does it.

Item # 2

I got a new car! My dad and I went and picked up an absolutely amazing '05 Honda Accord yesterday. While it was sad saying goodbye to my old car, the Flying DUI, after seven exhilarating years, it was nice upgrading to what my dad called Blue Heaven. My dad's thoughts on my old car? "What a horrible piece of shit this is. I can't believe you can live with this thing." Also, it was nice to get on the highway and get up to 65 mph in under three minutes. So thanks Dad. It fucking rules.

Item # 3

Jamie and I were at Hy-Vee the other day when an old man collapsed right by us. We picked him up, obviously, an act that was gross on several accounts, but mainly because I'd describe the old man as a sweaty Skeletor, if Skeletor had a very thin moustache. The old man refused medical attention, but needed me to get a cart for him before he could walk on his own power. He probably died on the highway on the way home, taking several people with him. That's how I'd like to go out. But here is my plea to old people: Don't die at Hy-Vee. Don't even almost die at Hy-Vee. It freaks the rest of us out.

An Addendum To My Last Post

Another reason I'll never be an action hero-- the other day I didn't work out because it was raining outside. Instead, I ate Chinese food and drank beer.

I'm Sorry To Disappoint All of You

Yesterday I watched the original Die Hard and Die Hard: With a Vengence! in preparation for the forthcoming Die Hard 4, and I'm sorry to report that I do not have what it takes to be an action hero. I know this proclamation arouses several thoughts in you, such as...

"What will we do now?"
"He was to be our hero!"
"...Wait, who the fuck is this guy? How did I get on this site? Am I drunk?"
"Look at his picture, what an ugly bastard," and,
"I bet he's gay."

My sexuality aside, I am sorry I won't be your next great action hero. And its not just because I'm paunchy and like to drink-- John Wayne dealt with those issues every day, and he still murdered so many Indians the white man had enough room to build thousands upon thousands of McDonalds. Here are some of my favorite scenes from action movies, starting with the Die Hard films, and why I would be unable to fulfill the role of the hero:

1. In the original Die Hard, John McClane runs around barefoot the entire movie. At one point, the bad guys shoot out windows and he runs, barefoot, over shards of broken glass to safety. My problem is that, having worn socks day in and day out (even to the beach!) for the first twenty-one years of my life, I have baby skin on my feet. Hell, I went to a waterpark with my girlfriend a couple of days ago and am still limping because of a blister on my foot. Walk over broken glass? Fuck you, lady!

2. In Die Hard: With a Vengence! John McClane runs all over town, drives through Central Park, hops down a sewer grate onto a moving subway train, and has a witty comeback for anyone crazy enough to mess with him, all while bitching about a massive hangover. My problem? I'm completely incapable of movement if I have a massive hangover. I usually just eat egg drop soup, lay in bed, and bitch.

3. In Dirty Harry 3, a botched liquor store robbery leads armed gunmen to fire at police and take hostages within the store. Dirty Harry simply drives through the front of the building and shoots the gunmen. My problem? I just got off of high risk insurance, I can't afford to drive through buildings. Also, I'd be slightly concerned an innocent person would be behind the wall I drove through, or that an innocent person would be shot before I'd kill all of the bad guys. Such things do not concern Dirty Harry.

4. In the Bourne movies, Matt Damon frequently fights in close, hand to hand combat. My problem? My martial arts training as a child was shockingly neglected. I don't think I could kill a man even once before he hit the ground, let alone six or seven times. Where the hell were you on that one, parents?

5. Legolas, in the Lord of the Rings movies, stabs an orc in the head with an arrow, then pulls the arrow out and uses it to shoot a second orc. My problem? I'm not an elf. Also, I infrequently come across orcs that need arrowing.

6. In Demolition Man, Sylvester Stallone travels to the future and beats up a whole bunch of poor people who attack a Taco Bell. My problem? While I do hate poor people, I really like potato oles, so I'd be at Taco Johns and miss the whole fight. Not to mention I've never been frozen and thawed out in the future.

7. After a botched memory implant surgery in Total Recall, Arnold Schwartzneane0wmfnoinaoehaowegger travels to Mars, finds a latino chick that kills Sharon Stone, and meets a man with a mutant growing out of his stomach. My problem? I'd take one look at the weird baby mutant, vomit in a corner, and then go back to the bar to find the prostitute with three boobs.

Alas. The world will just have to wait for Jean Claude Van Damme to lay off the coke and save our ass once again.

Anyways, I can't wait for the fourth Die Hard movie! It's sure to be good, because its PG-13 and directed by the guy who did the Underworld movies! (Remember? Vampires fought werewolves? Only they used guns for some reason? You didn't see the Underworld movies? How lucky for you.) Oh, and the sidekick is Justin Long! (You know, the male cheerleading nerd from Dodgeball? Yeah, I had to IMDB him too.) I'm sure the new movie will be able to recreate great repartee such as this between Bruce Willis and Sam Jackson:

John McClane (Bruce Willis): You know how to use a gun?
Zeus (Sam Jackson): No.
McClane: No?
Zeus: Hey, all brothers don't know how to use guns, you racist motherfucker.
McClane: Sue me.

Can't you just picture that scene with Bruce Willis and Justin Long? "Do you know how to use a gun?" "Yes. I used to hunt with my father near the Penobscot River in Maine." "Oh."

Get pumped, people!

P.S.-- I actually think the new Die Hard will be enjoyable, but that's just because God created Bruce Willis to show us everything a proper bad ass should be.

BLOOD!! GORE!! SPENCER, IOWA!! ARGH!!

Pictured are the front and side of my left calf. I'll explain.



































I'm a man who recently became open to trying new things. I say "recently," because my life used to be a fortress of routine. Ages 12-17 were spent playing videogames and masturbating, though not at the same time-- I left that to the Japanese. Ages 18 to the present have been spent inebriated and/or plotting to murder Carlos Mencia. Lately, however, I've been hearing all this garbage about how there is "more to life," how I'm "wasting my youth," and that my parents are "disowning me." I've started branching out in an effort to prove my doubters wrong, so I can grab them by the bow tie and shout, "Hey buddy! I've tried everything, and the best part of life IS the ability to reference every Gob quote from 'Arrested Development!' And take off that bow tie! You look like an asshole!"

Anyhoo, last week I went with my strikingly gorgeous girlfriend Jamie to her hometown of Spencer, Iowa, and during this time I tried two (2!) new things.

Thing 1: I fired a gun! Boom! We shot clay pigeons, which was actually incredibly fun and invigorating. I never thought I'd shoot a gun, and I still would never go hunting because I never want to shoot anything that's alive, because I'm a hippy liberal my father can never feel pride for. But the use of a real gun did arouse a couple of very strong desires in me. First, I wanted to fire the gun in the air and sing the lyrics to Modest Mouse's "Cowboy Dan" ("Well, Cowboy Dan's a major player in the cowboy scene/He goes to the reservation, drinks and gets mean/He drove the desert, fired his rifle in the sky/And says 'God if I have to die you will have to die'"). I mean, how sweet would that be? Second, I wanted the dog from "Duck Hunt" to pop up everytime I missed a clay pigeon and do that cool little shoulder shrug thing. How can a dog shrug? I mean, it makes no sense. Overall-- great fun. Really liked it.

Thing 2: Drove a four-wheeler for the first time. Also, and I guess this is technically a third thing, or at least "Thing 2a," I drove a four-wheeler into a barbed wire fence for the first time. I don't really remember the accident, but I did learn that bleeding profusely is a great ice breaker when meeting a girlfriend's grandparents. Basically I met them, it was awkward, and then they field dressed my wounds while Jamie made fun of me, easing the tension. Remember, gentlemen! If you're nervous about meeting the family, just go to the bathroom and cut yourself like an emo freak. Not only will it, like, totally make you feel alive, you'll also have an hilarious anecdote to tell your therapist for years to come. The accident happened so quickly, I'm not sure how I got the bruise-- I think it was from yanking my leg out of the barbed wire too quickly and whacking it on the four-wheeler, but I'm not sure. Strangely, though, my leg never hurt. Neither did the assortment of other bruises and scrapes scatttered over my body. The worst pain came from my right arm, which was angry I used it to brace myself when we hit the fence, and took great umbrage whenever I tried to make a fist over the next two days. Overall, great fun. Never want to do it again. I don't think I'll even be able to watch a Mountain Dew commercial without suffering 'Nam-esque flashbacks.

However, I did have a great time in Spencer, and it's a very nice small town-- it doesn't have that sense of decay that a lot of small towns in Iowa have. The denizens keep up their hopes and appear to still want to live there, as opposed to some of the people I've driven by in, say, Evansdale, Iowa, who seem anxious for the sweet release of death. Oh, and Jamie showed a sweet and gentle restraint in not making sure the barbed wire finished me off after I crashed her grandparents four-wheeler. God bless her.

Some random Gob quotes, because you deserve them: "Michael, do the right thing here. String the blind woman along so Dad doesn't have to pay his debt to society."

Michael: You know, the feeling that you're feeling is just what many of us call... a "feeling".
Gob: It's not like envy, or even hungry.
Michael: Could it be love?
Gob: I know what an erection feels like, Michael. No, it's the opposite - it's like my heart is getting hard.

"I'm dating this Christian girl right now. She wants me to be honest and reconnect with my son. And I'm trying to get her to renounce God and fuck me, but I just want to prove to her that I'm worth it."

You're welcome.

New Employee Season

So its summer, and in the world of part time jobs that means its new employee season. I have had far too many jobs for how old I am, mainly due to the small issue of my complete and utter indifference towards every place I have worked. I don't like new employee season. It's annoying. Over the past year, I have gradually memorized my current employees' names, genders, and general age group so I can have maintain a brief, forced conversation with them.

For example, let's say I'm at work with Cody, a college male the same age as me. I can walk up to him and casually say, "Hello. What do you think of all those things us youngsters enjoy doing these days? Some of my character traits sure get under the skin of my birth givers, boy howdy! Let us talk about meat and female bosoms and itch ourselves." And if I'm talking to Tina or Mary Jo, college females my age, I will replace that last bit with an attempt to cater to their interests. For example, I will say something like "Yo' biddy. Sup' with vacuums? I bet you be lovin' horses too! Shiiiiit." While part of this easy back and forth comes from the fact I'm flat out great with women, as you probably just deduced, most of it comes from time consuming trial and error practice. Now I'm supposed to have the same level of conversation with complete strangers? I call bullshit.

Take one of our new employees, Heidi. My brain can't seem to come up with a reasonable way to talk to her. Here are some of her actions/comments and my initial reactions to them--

My initial response to meeting Heidi: "You sure wear a lot of make up. How are your illegitimate children?"
My actual response: "Hey."

Heidi: "I'm a horrible morning person. Like, seriously, if you say hello to me in the morning, I'll tell you to fuck off. I'm not even kidding."
My initial response: "I'd sure hate to wake up next to you! ...For so many reasons."
My actual response: "Yeah, that makes sense."

Heidi: "I'm kinda ghetto, so I just wait until I'm a little loose and then get my jiggle on."
My initial response: Uncontrollable giggling.
My actual response: Uncontrollable giggling.

Heidi: "I walked by two black guys the other night and they said 'hey shorty, I got a room a the Comfort Inn. You want to meet me there?'"

Now, I'd like to break format here and discuss a larger issue. We're allowed to use a room at the Comfort Inn as a pick up line now? That is fan-fucking-tastic! I mean, what does that imply? "Hey baby, you look homeless, and/or the type of person who will have sex with a stranger for the opportunity to sleep in a two star hotel. Have I charmed the pants off of you yet?" The best pick up line I ever had was when I went back home for a weekend and could tell women, "Hey, my mom totally lives in this town, so I can get you a ride home whenever you want. Yeahhhhh." Then I run my hands through my hair, lick my upper lip, and wink. I never used this line, because my academic advisor told me it would be a bad idea. Maybe I shouldn't run pick up lines by my advisor. I don't know, I'm not a genius. But I do know that were I not in a relationship with a girl I thoroughly adore, I would drive home and use that line on the first bar cow I found.

Okay. Tangents, huh? Anyways, I hate new employee season. Its always awkward when, two months after they start, the new employees start bossing me around because they are better at the job. I mean, sure I've been there two years, but massive indifference is the gateway trait to incompetance.

How to Work My Apartment Shower

1. Turn on the hot water.
2. Make a sandwich. Call a loved one. Have a good time! It'll be awhile.
3. Check to see if the hot water has turned on. If not, repeat step two. If so, continue to step four.
4. Apply ointment and bandages to all burns.
5. Fiddle (that's a technical term) with both the cold and hot water knobs until the water is a bearable temperature. This is hard to do with bandages covering the burn marks on your hands. Bring a television! It'll ease the boredom.
6. Get into the shower. Watch out for the super slick coating on the shower floor.
7. Fall over.
8. Swear.
9. Check to make sure all vital bodily components are still in place.
10. Get out of shower.
11. Drink beer.

An incredibly brief (really, this time) blog about my Mexican sping break

Behold! The glory of Mexico! Home of the ever-wet, eternally hung to dry clothes, housing built from decaying, graffiti-ed brick, and thousands of Mexican's anxiously awaiting their next nap! Wait a minute. Real Mexico sucks. Its dirty, it smells bad, and there's always the vague possibility of rape waiting behind every corner. Hold on a second...














Behold! The glory of fake Mexico! Home of free drinks, housing built from cheap Mexican labor (to keep the cost down for wealthy American tourists), and thousands of Mexicans waiting to make a joke about tequila and/or sell you ugly trinkets. Fake Mexico rules. Its semi-clean, it smells like meat and booze, and there's always the possibility you might see a frat boy fall into an alcohol induced coma.

Other highlights:

• My illustrious and rather inebriated father's attempt at making a do-rag (how the hell do you spell that?) out of his napkin one night at dinner. He eventually gave up, tied the napkin around his neck, and play-acted a character he called "Tom the Gay Cowboy."
• Ziplining across the trees, despite the fact we were taken to the zipline place in some guy's shitty jeep and my mom thought we were going to get shivved the entire time.
• Parasailing. Up that high, I was really able to appreciate the serene and majestic beauty of all creation and the inner peace that comes from True Understanding. Also, I tried to spit on some jet skiiers but I kept fucking missing.
• The following exchange-- Dad, leafing through the resort catalog: "Oh, look, you can get married here." Mom, opening a beer at 11:00 am: "I've already been married. I never want to do it again."
• The day we swam with dolphins. It legitimately was a very, very cool experience. They were taught to sing and give kisses, and they even swam on their backs while tourists laid on their bellies. Our guide also told us they like to scratch and bite each other during what must be very rough sex. Just like you kinky bastards.

Well, that's all for now. I'm going to start posting much shorter blogs, because then I'll do it more often.

I Suppose It's Time I Got Off My Ass, Huh?

Jesus. I'm lazy. However, due to overwhelming popular request (thanks, Jenny) and so Jamie stops telling me I'm wasting my life, I will resume posting. Because I am back in America (more specifically, Iowa), chances are this will be boring as hell. But what else do you have to do, asshole? Anyways, this one will be fairly short.

End of Europe--

Scotland-- Scotland was very cool. Nice people, amazing food. Also notable for three things.

1. Man Day! I ate large amounts of dead animal, drank whiskey, and smoked a Cuban cigar. If I had fondled a breast and revved an engine, I'd officially be a man. ...Although, truthfully, the unbridled machismo of the day is tempered when I consider my reaction to the whiskey ("It tastes like fire!") and that the meat was salmon. As for the cigar, well... afterwards I drunk dialed and gabbed like a 13-year-old girl after two Bartles and James. I suppose if I had copped a feel it would've been a tranny, and the revved engine would've be attached to a segway. I'm not much of a man.
2. The Scotch Whiskey Museum. Here I bought my brother a bottle of what appears to be pure gasoline. During the tour they show the single greatest video known to man. And by "greatest," of course, I mean "cheesiest." In it, an American tourist with a plaid, tucked in shirt and a massive, Jimmy Olsen-esque camera around his neck visits a Scottish bar. After ordering a drink in the most hamfisted way possible, he turns to the bartender and says (read as if this were delivered by an uber geek, kind of like the Mormon dad from South Park)...

   "(looking lovingly at the glass of scotch) You know, my grandfather used to work for one of your distilleries, and the stories he used to tell-- Whoo! (shakes his head) ... I sure wish there was a way to learn more about Scottish whiskey."

   The bartender's response? "Well, just bring the whiskey to your lips and say the magic words..." and so forth and so on. It was a majestic and beautiful film that left me in tears.
3. Sadly, Scotland is the only country I forgot to pee on. I had opportunities, too! I just plum forgot. Alas. I'll just have to go back.

Manchester-- Went to a supposedly important Manchester United soccer game (who the hell knows if it really was? I don't) against Benfica. I have no interest in soccer, but I found it kind of like baseball-- that is, about as much fun as an enema on TV, yet enjoyable in person. Watching the crowd was a very interesting experience, too. The game was 0-0 , with Manchester dominating, until late in the first half. During this time the crowd was energetic and supportive. After Benfica scored a fluke goal they became pissy and jaded, and when Manchester went up 2-1 they were unbelievably cocky. After the game we stumbled over all the empty bandwagons and had some drinks.

Later, right before coming home, I went back to Manchester with Jamie for a Tenacious D concert. Hot damn was it a good show. I'll spare you boring details, but just know that during the show they were electrocuted to death plugging in a toilet seat guitar, went to hell (JB- "How do we know this is hell? Maybe heaven is all red and fucking hot!"), and formed a band with Satan's son and the souls of Colonel Sanders (chicken brutality) and Charlie Chaplin (he was gay, at least according to the D).

Ireland-- Had a great cabbie who Ireland who abstains from alcohol and tobacco because, when he was 16, his dad sat him down and forced him drink beer and smoke unfiltered cigarettes until he was violently ill. Wants to change the Guinness slogan to "Guinness: You'll Bleed Out Your Arse." That being said, I got really drunk there, because there is nothing else to do and the food/pubs are phenomenal. No real interesting stories, however. Hmph. Sorry.

Anyways, that was Europe. If you're curious, the main difference between Europe and here is that in America, people are dicks. That's all. I'll relate more if I think about it. Sorry for the boring post, but I felt like playing catch up. Look for a post every other week or two, if you care. Peace out peoples.