A Great Awakening: The Blog Revival

Well, my plan worked.  Everyone is gone and there is nobody to read/write entries.  All mine!  mwhaahaahaa.  Anyway, it’s been awhile and I just wanted to start off by telling everyone that they are gay. 

 For news, well, I ran into a long lost brother: III dog.  I was standing outside of an academic building dreading the fact that I had to go to class and up walks the one the only.  But, does everyone know that grad school is for fags?  This shit blows and if you ever feel any inclination to lead a more fulfilling life and escape your wage slavery–don’t.  Yes, that’s right.  You have an eyewitness that is telling you.  Live an unfulfilling, selfish life.  Work, put in your eight hours, go home, and forget about what hell you just went through.  The beauty of work is that you can leave it at the office if you want.  Grad school is gay.  I’ve actually decided to do my reading for once and now all I do is fucking read.  Read, Read, REad.  And, some may say,  “well, that guy is lucky.  He is enlightening his brain and reading interesting stuff.”  Well, if you think that is the case you are sorely mistaken.  Nothing is interesting in my course of study.  I mean, does anyone find gender roles in Antebellum (pre-war) America interesting?  No, only man-hating lezzies.  Well, I guess I miss not reading cool stuff and listening to people talk about it. 

On another note, all the nay-sayer can eat a big fat because the Giants won the Super Bowl.  Yep, that’s right, Giants.  As for shit-talk for upcoming events, Red Sox are looking to defend their championship.  Unfortunately, I’ll be stuck watching the National League suck the big one. 

Anyway, I’ve got to go eat dinner at 7 -11.  Ahh, the good life. 

 Also, stoney, suit, roughty, and twitch are gay. 

Champions

peezy is gay and as usual wrong in his predictions.   i expect him to be donning a red sox hat in the coming months.  no, do not listen to his wiley scheme of falsity.  if he is ever seen wearing a red sox cap, which he might only do in private, he will surely make an excuse of some ridiculous nature, claiming to welcome sox fan into his clutches so he can rip on them.  anyone aware of stoney’s track record will no doubt agree that the incredible urge is rising in him to now turn and root for the champions.  that’s right–champions.  again.  for all the shit talkers on this blog and foolish sports ‘pundits’, i would just like to say that yes, you were wrong, you knew nothing about baseball, and are too gay to celebrate such an achievement in the shadow of such pathetic defeat by your respective ball handlers. 

The Red Sox are the champions and will be until April when they begin another championship run.  Denying their championshipnocity is a futile fool’s effort sure to be joined by this blog’s numerous fools. 

shhh, don’t cry.

Mets fans are lethal

Well, last night snapped the Mets’ four-game winning streak as they lost to the Dodgers, 6-2.  Furthermore, as this was a nationally televised game, the sting was that much more biting.  It’s baseball though, one out of 162 games, no big deal right?  Yeah, in some respects, I suppose. 

Yet, as a die hard Mets fan each loss tortures me a little.  I had just enough booze in my system, and the right mixture of douchebags in the vicinity to morph from my mild-mannered alter ego, into “Roughty”.  “Roughty” will embarass you in front of your girlfriend by ripping your popped collar, yanking out your gelled hair, peeing in your daquiri, then taking her home.  It’s been done before. 

“Roughty” was always the person who was arrested all those times, and lately I have been able to control his presence because I don’t want to go to a Richmond jail a lot more than I like your girlfriend at closing time.  So naturally, I kept him at bay, had a shot, paid my tab, and walked home; all the while cursing under my breath the verbal beratement I was sure to receive from Stoney becuase of his fickle and convenient love of the Dodgers.

But one Queens resident takes Mets losses to heart.  Read.  That is right.  The title is, “Losin’ Mets made me kill my mom”. 

“Michael Anthony, 26, was frustrated with the Mets’ 6-5 loss to the Washington Nationals in the second game of Saturday night’s doubleheader when he started arguing with his father, according to a statement he gave police.”

(File photo of a Mets fan getting ready for a little, ultraviolence)

Ok, I can understand his anger.  I mean, who doesn’t get pissed when their team loses to the Nationals.  They are even worse than the Expos were.  While the Anthony household sounds like a replica of Mayberry, I would venture to guess that Michael and his old man were boozing quite heavily.

“We started fighting and my mother jumped in,” he said, adding that she took a knife from the kitchen of the Fresh Meadows home. “I took the knife from her and it got stuck in her head.”

Once again, seems reasonable.  The Mets just lost to a garbage team, the old man is on his case, and now mom comes leaping in with a goddamn butcher knife.  In my experience, there is no family disagreement that cannot be resolved by brandishing a weapon.  Unfortunately, mom had to ruin the fun and put her head in the way of Michael’s stabbing motion.

“Fischman then fled to the bedroom, where Anthony said he thought she was going for a weapon in a dresser drawer. “I grabbed a weight from the top of the dresser, swung it, hit her and she fell to the floor,” Anthony said.”

Whoa, whoa, whoa.  The bitch ran into the bedroom after getting a knife stuck in her head?  I know the mothers of Mets fans are known for spewing out superior sons – Spartan mothers come to mind here – but, holy shit.  If I get a knife stuck in my head, I’m cashing in my chips and waiting for my direct flight to Hell.  I will lose the will to fight.  But not this woman.  Unfortunately, her mad dash alarmed her son, who then clobbered the woman (with a knife stuck in her head mind you) to death with his heaviest barbel.

Now, this barbel could not have been more than 5 pounds.  He must not be doing any serious lifting if he feels threatened by his elderly mother, who again, has a fucking knife stuck in her head.  I am a huge Mets fan, but this Michael Anthony is my new hero.  (Bonus points for having two first names).  My only wish is that the AP does a follow up in depth look at how Michael reacts to a Mets loss while watching it at Rikers Island.  I smell a Pulitzer.

METS UPDATE / BRAVES DEMISE

NL East standings as of 8/27/07

NY Mets (73-56): 1st place

Philadelphia Phillies (67-62): 6 games behind

Atlanta Braves (67-64): 7 games behind

THE BRAVES ARE TOAST.

CHIPPER JONES UPDATE:

Hey Suit, you know how you love that ass grabbing jerk-off, Chipper Jones so much?  Well guess what he named his son?  Shea.  That’s right, Shea.  As in Shea Stadium, home of the Mets.  Seems like he wishes he was playing somewhere else.  But fuck him, we don’t want his bullshit. 

There there, Suit.  I know it’s sickening.

Did you know ‘gullible’ is not in the dictionary?

***video edited PEACE OUT

my new plug of the day: regina spektor’s begin to hope. Nick Valensi plays guit on the album and it’s savage. This is actually music, unlike whiny whinensteinish hipsters and dead burnt lesbians.

Sweet

***editor removal of flagrant picture*****

Well, i started this post looking for a funny cycling picture to add some humor to my rather bland story of an incident related to an earlier post. Of course, in finding this i was compelled to share this golden nugget with my brethren of the blog. this one’s for you guys. stoney, no stall ones up in the heezy.

unrelated to this post’s purpose i wanted to relate my cyclist story. so, i’m flying around town as everyone knows i do, (especially suit– i know how you hate me in the driver’s seat when i’m not stoney baloney) and i see a cyclist coming onto the busy mountain road i’m cruising up. i anticipated his upcoming disregard for traffic law because of the previous story about dumbass cyclists. he runs the stop sign turning in front of me to maintain his speed to get up the hill. now, of course i was all but prepared by my defensive agressive new jersey fuck you driving skills (my only weaknesses being looking out the window and looking at the people i’m talking to) and i yelled “that’s a stop sign” out the window at 45 in a 35. when reached the top of the hill i decided it prudent to pull over and try and reason with this american flag jersied cyclist. hoping to fulfill my duties as a good american, objectors note t. j. our great hypocritical alumnus’ quote, “dissent is the highest form of patriotism, i waited for him.

tj: oh yeah, he liked pure chocolate. he bought as much as he could

surprisingly he reached me fairly quickly and pulled right to the side of my car, hand on my roof. he looks at me and i say, “you know there was a stop sign back there, right? you could have gotten killed out here.” in a wanker english accent, defiling our constitution by wearing the flag as a garment, he responded, “you’re right.” well, as i was about to say something to the effect of “it’s a little different in the states” or something selectively patriotic to the tune of love it or leave it, he interupted with a rude good bye. well, that was the end of the encounter, i almost got a flat pulling to the side of the road to wait for him, but i thought of the irony of the situation in checking the wheels. obviously a good cyclist judging on the speed he took the hill, you would figure he would first, know the rules, second, enjoy the hill climb, and third and finally, not be so gay. i guess i think it’s nice he is representing lady liberty, but nonetheless it’s pretty gay. if he truly analyzed the importance of old glory and the time it was made, as well as refined, he would know that his motherland represents everything we fought against. however, rather ironically, it now represents that which americans fought so hard to rebel against. i guess it all comes down to how gay the age of the nation state has become and always was. if we want to be realistic about it, it all comes down man as beast (ahh, my favorite topic)

while visiting the extremely gay d.c. infected nova, i found a first year secondary school paper documenting a school required event that was possibly sponsored nationally. it was called random acts of kindness week. now, far superior to tv turn-off week, i found great joy in reminiscing as well as disgust in the requiring of such week. while waiting to pick up my buddyon his last day i began talking about high school life at my school with some lady and a beautiful dog panting in his huge coat not made for any climate like ours. She put it clearly in saying, “it’s so different here from virginia. it’s like the cool kids are mean. if you’re nice you’re weird”. in the land of the almighty dollar and the bottom line, as opposed to the equally bad image obsessed west coast, their is no time for southern hospitality because you interfere with making another buck. ever notice when you ask, “how ya doin’ “, people don’t know what to say. they have so long heard it used as a statement rather than a question that it shocks them, stuttering out a response after you wait seconds for one. anyway, this post did not go in any direction i intended, but i am resolved to invite my fellow brothers of the cough to participate in random acts of kindness. in now way am i suggesting you do not already act in kindness , but i hope you will join me in spreading love at your most busy and difficult time.

if you don’t well, that’s your bag baby, but i hope you will join me in search of self-improvement.

on another totally unrelated side note, stoney, i was reminiscing with roughty about blasting the curveball you tried to sneak by me at the monticello fields. what a cowinky dink– monticello–sweet.

and, i’m slumping in the drunken firemen’s softball league of champions at a dissapointing .667, but i’ve been shagging plenty out in the cornfields and ripped my first inside the park homerun of the year though it’s in question by my harshest critic– good ol’ i me mine. i would mark it as excellent base-running and terrible rag arms though it’s in the book as a giddyup.

that’s for you, suit. that’s my boy, a buffalo soldier. though he plays nothing like me, i enjoy his love of the game and hatred for the business. that’s why he takes as much money as he knows they’ll give him and jogs to first base. all while working on his hitting more than any player in the majors. plus, you know he smokes the pot. sweet.

Editors note: an act of kindness could be removing the objectifying pic at the top, but in the passage of time (seems 70’s-80’s) this violated lady might revel in her beauty and youth. in addition, anonymity is on her side. the backside, oh snap!

2nd Editors note: (other driving weaknesses include, but are not limited too: lighting cigs, talking on the phone, rolling blunts, rolling joints, bouncing a tennis ball against the windshield when bored, searching through my ipod, the combination of up to three of these at a time, improper maintenance as evidenced by the baloney skin i’ve been driving around on for months, and hands at 12 and deez.