and, wait for it….
Archive for the 'motivational' Category
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.
Mmmmm, milk. It’s delicious. I used to think everyone drank milk at the rate me and my family did, however it turns out a lot of people either do not like it, or cannot handle it. Both these groups of people are non-savages. Milk is delicious bovine nectar, here to quench my thirst, kill my hangovers, and ease my mind.
We all remember the, “Got Milk?” ads, and all the puns that were made on them in the mid-90s. Yeah, they might have been stupid, but the message was real. If your bow-legged ass had drank some whole milk between the ages of 3-5, maybe you would be a couple inches taller and be able to reach the steering wheel. Its true, milk does a body good…
There are kids who claim they don’t care about anything, and only their music, or their poetry can cure their ills. WRONG! Fucking retards. These are the kids who mommy and daddy have to drag to the dentist every other day because junior wont brush his teeth. Or little Jimmy has to go to the dermatologist again because he won’t shampoo his hair and the psoriasis is starting to bother other children. If parents start these kids lives with proper milk consumption…
…they can be saved from turning into this…
Milk really can cure all of society’s ills, just give it a chance. Fuck peace Lennon, it got its chance.
However, it seems like Japan needs a crash course in milk, quick. Japanese arcades have recalled arm wrestling games.
Do you have what it takes to not shatter your arm? Only 5,000 yen per play!
How weak do you have to be to break your own arm against an arcade game? Isn’t this the country that spawned martial arts? You’re slipping Japan. Send in the reinforcements…
Bring on the milk! That’s a full gallon!
This arcade game style punishment reminds me of my last trip to a video arcade; the site of the, “unpleasantness”. I was wrecking, “Time Cop” and may have gotten a little carried away when the helicopter bombed my ass. “Honestly officer, the next thing I remember is seeing red, waking up with police tape all around me, and Chuck E. Cheese lying in a pool of his own blood.” I was lucky to get off, because if I have learned anything from Law & Order, it’s that insanity defenses rarely work, Jack “Attack” McCoy is surprisingly dapper in a real life courtroom, oh and bringing fake ballistics reports to the interrogation will get even the most hardened criminal to fold.
I really hope they do not keep these games out of Japanese arcades for long. The Japanese have already taken down Godzilla, yet how are their kids supposed to train for a Sylvester Stallone rampage? See how you like it Japan, when Sly rolls in on his big rig, and snaps everyones arms because they don’t drink milk, and this game was taken out of circulation. Trust me, it will happen. Will you be prepared?
Shiiiiit. I’ve been gone. I know it, you know it, all of SWS knows it. I hear it almost daily from Stoney’s filthy face sewer.
The glory days of summer are over (for the time being) my friends. All the joy I experienced for writing words laced with daggers, tasers, and cocaine has dropped out the window. Now when I sit down to this shitbox of a computer, it is to write bullshit about how China’s economy is squeezing Atlas’ testicles, or comparing/contrasting the works of Thomas Jefferson to John Locke. F U C K I N G B U L L S H I T. Heres my comparison for you professor, they are both rotted corpses and both were probably assholes. Deal with that.
I hate school, always have. I enjoy learning, but do not feel the need to participate in an institution’s theory of how to learn. A college degree means only one thing; you put up with four-? years of bullshit and getting fucked by pricks who believe they are better than you. A degree does not mean you are smart. See also: Dank, Suit, and Stoney. I know plenty of college graduates who are complete and utter mongoloids, and I am sure you readers do as well. It is all about how much shit you are willing to take.
That being said, I am taking the bullshit royally lately. Mired in group projects with a bunch of knuckle-dragging slackers who cannot perform basic grammatical or mathematic operations has left me increasingly jaded; more so than usual. Honestly, I have not thought about this fucking blog in quite some time, and yes it shows. With many calls for the king’s head, I was teetering ever so close to one of Stoney’s false chops, hoping to extort me back into writing.
However, the king has abdicated his throne for a while to a worthy up-and-comer from the population – Twitch. I salute you, Twitch for picking up my slack in these dark and dire times. The king will be back, most likely with a sharper tongue and infinitely more skewed views. Abdication will always save one’s head from the chop. More to come at a later date………I promise.
His Royal Roughtonius of Funkytown.
Well, neophytes, mongloids, troglodytes, and our readers, ol’ dank has done it again–
Er got it done for him by his friends. You are now reading the words of a future ex-masters student sure to be defamed and broken by the iron hand of american higher education. Well, by iron hand, i more like mean crippled grip that lets the waste of the future generation slip through its fingers and into the bowels of bullshit. I must tell all you little stonies that if your heart desires titles, respect, publishing outlets, and degrees in higher higher education simply wait for your good buddy to do it and then ride his coat-tails. This is the stoney way. It goes back to the beginning of time and only the savage can guiltlessly ride the wave of others’ success and call it their own.
Stoney himself cheated his balls off of my econ exam one time for a 65. Except he was too lazy to do it well and fell short of my 66. Then we walked 20 yards out the door and convinced ourselves that tests are illegitimate (arguable) and that tests aren’t real (even more likely) and neither is the world–all over a big fat boombalatty.
Roughty is currently in his seventh year and is a sophomore. Twitch, never went to school because he could not tear himself away from his mother’s teat and has been home-schooled for fear his mothers always says-quote-They’re all gonna laugh at you. Suit, well Pet World here we come. I think we gotta get a few piles of dog food for me to lay on while you take care of the bidnaz. I’ll just write some poetry and sneak you cigaweeds in the back by the dumpsters.
Well, I’m still sitting here at work waiting for somebody to tell me what to do. This will be my eighth consecutive hour of waiting for directions while i get paid for this bloggity blogerfification. I just want to let you all know that you can pursue graduate work by never going to class, never reading books, never staying awake when there, never stopping smoking weed, never trying, and always, always giving it your worst.
Case Study: Antonia Puerta is toast. At 22 years old, an obviously fit and healthy footballer had a heart attack on the field, and then died a few days later. I can think of a couple of ways to go with this one. I guess the first and most obvious one is, that as people, our time here cannot be managed, controlled, or otherwise manipulated to your full advantage. Personal intervention and effort can only take you so far, because in the end, if your dad and mom gave you a heart disease, you going to die, whether or not you are ready for it, and whether or not the “odds” are in your favor. Clearly, this dude Peurta was a sick nasty athlete, playing professional soccer at 22. He had been playing at the club since he was 14 or so, so the dude was clearly, clearly at the height of his game.
It’s like the runner fanatic dude, who had a heart attack and died…while he was running around his neighborhood. The dude was a fitness freak, pushing his running obsession onto everyone, and then he just fucking died, doing the thing that’s supposed to make you so healthy.
That, little bitches, is called irony. I learned about it in college.
Speaking of college, what did I really learn in college? Nothing. I have basically summarized all my college knowledge on this shit-hole blog. Namely, that excessive slacking gives me satisfaction, I actually do hate everybody for being fuckhead toolboxes, racism is alive and well (to and from all directions), and lots of other stuff.
But what did I learn about the “real world?” Nothing. I was there with a bunch of fags, who were trying to get ahead in the “real world,” so they took business classes, drank Starbucks and were just overall gay ass fuckers.
Which is kind of like the real world, I guess, except in the real world, people go to work instead of business class, but they still drink Starbucks and are overall gay ass fuckers.
Which gets me back to my childhood. When I was a kid, everything was “real world” this or real world that. I was always on the path to success in the real world, so I focused on shit that bent and twisted me in a way that would make me almost completely incompatible with the way shit is done everyday.
Do I have a ridiculous memory, and be able to repeat stupid shit that I read in a book about some story or theory or some shit, without blinking an eye? Yes, I can do that.
Can I have a conversation with someone in the “real world,” and exude an aura of normalcy and content? No, I can’t. I’m a twisted off freak show, with no real chance of ever being normal, sane or comfortable with who I am in relationship to the world.
This gets back to what I was talking about waaaaaaaaaaaaay back in the day about racism. I’m twisted off because I grew up in a strange vacuum of richiosity and specialness, where everyone can be President one day, and everyone wrote the best paper in the class.
I’ve got news for you, little bitches. The real world is a lot different than what people tell you what the real world is, and I think you enter the real world when you realize the difference between what it should be and what it is.
In the make-believe real world, a 22-year old soccer player won’t have a heart attack on the field, because all the training and conditioning would have ensured his physical success. Through his own hard work, his body should have been in 100% shape.
In the real real world, that dude is dead, and his girlfriend is 8 months preggo.
Real world Case #2: Don’t Drink and Drive, Pre. Jackass