Dear Watsonville,
What the hell is up with you?
As of now this has been my second visit to your humble little city, and I must say I don’t know what to make of you, man.
You know I came here with an open mind; let me tell you, people thought I was crazy for thinking of even visiting you. But I didn’t listen, I told them you had the closest Target around, and that it can’t be that bad.
I don’t know about that anymore.
The first time I came I actually didn’t have any clue of where the Target was. No problem, I thought. I’ll simply ask for directions. Surely someone will be able to help me out.
I guess I forgot to take into account that about 95% of your city doesn’t speak English.
The first true Watsonvillagers I came across were what looked to be a couple of sisters walking down the sidewalk. I decided to ask the one that looked closest to my age,
“hey do you know where Target is?”
She just stared at me.
“you know…Target?…the store?…which is in Watsonville?”
she kept staring at me, eventually shaking her head “no” in the most painfully awkward, slowest manner possible.
Oh well, its cool Watsonville. I’ll just ask someone else. I see a Hispanic dude in a cowboy hat up ahead.
“hey uh do you know where Target is?”
He smiled at me and kept walking. Okay, now things are getting a little strange. Across the street is another Hispanic dude with a backpack on and a bunch of textbooks in his hand. Ah, he must be a student of some sort. He’ll know what’s up.
“hey man can you-“
And he immediately turns around and starts walking in the opposite direction. I literally had to just stop and stare at this guy, I was so dumbfounded. Eventually he turns around and starts walking toward me. I try again,
“hey do you know-“
And he does same thing, completely avoiding me. I can’t believe it, no one in this town will even fucking talk to me. Did I offend them somehow? Was it something I said? I try going to a bunch of local stores. They’re all closed. At 7:00pm.
Eventually I find a guy on a bike at a stoplight. I ask where Target is and he says,
“HMMMM…TARGET,” in an inappropriately loud voice. His mouth reveals him to be missing some teeth and he looks kinda loony. Alright, I’m thinking, this guys about to tell me some bullshit.
And actually, he gives me the directions.
You know I might visit you again, Watsonville, but you really need to get yourself out of the Twilight Zone.
Sincerely,
Alex Machock
p.s. your skate park sucks.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
"Just My Luck" by Jason Garcia (Blog #1)
Having a single is possibly the greatest thing that could have happened to me freshmen year. I didn’t want it at first. My housing preferences were listed as follows:
1. Double
2. Triple
3. Quad
4. Single
So after hearing about how cool my friends roommates were turning out, I got more and more excited about who mine would be. So when I excitedly tore open my housing assignment letter only to find a blank where my roommate’s name would I was naturally very disappointed. Once I got to school though, I realized how much I truly value privacy. I never have to worry about my roommate walking in on me while I’m at my computer…watching Gossip Girl (Embarrassing right??). The only problem I have to really worry about is me. I am one of the most forgetful people of all time. Over the years I’ve lost everything from glasses, to cell phones, to shoes, to my virginity (I really wish I could remember where I left that. It was a crazy fucking night). Since my arrival at UC Santa Cruz, nothing has changed. The second day of school I managed to lock myself out of my room with nothing but a towel and a bar of soap. You think that’s bad. Three weeks later, guess who was the one who forgot their keys on the First Rain and got locked out butt ass naked?…The dude down the hall. Fuck, I’m not that retarded. I have however forgotten to take of my boxers when getting in the shower…twice. It seems like something fairly difficult to forget. It just seems to slip my mind when I’m making sure my floaties are fully inflated and secured on my arms.
1. Double
2. Triple
3. Quad
4. Single
So after hearing about how cool my friends roommates were turning out, I got more and more excited about who mine would be. So when I excitedly tore open my housing assignment letter only to find a blank where my roommate’s name would I was naturally very disappointed. Once I got to school though, I realized how much I truly value privacy. I never have to worry about my roommate walking in on me while I’m at my computer…watching Gossip Girl (Embarrassing right??). The only problem I have to really worry about is me. I am one of the most forgetful people of all time. Over the years I’ve lost everything from glasses, to cell phones, to shoes, to my virginity (I really wish I could remember where I left that. It was a crazy fucking night). Since my arrival at UC Santa Cruz, nothing has changed. The second day of school I managed to lock myself out of my room with nothing but a towel and a bar of soap. You think that’s bad. Three weeks later, guess who was the one who forgot their keys on the First Rain and got locked out butt ass naked?…The dude down the hall. Fuck, I’m not that retarded. I have however forgotten to take of my boxers when getting in the shower…twice. It seems like something fairly difficult to forget. It just seems to slip my mind when I’m making sure my floaties are fully inflated and secured on my arms.
4.22.06
On april 22nd, 2006, a group of my friends had a party of sorts. A friend’s parents went out of town so we bought an ounce of trainwreck and set out to smoke it all in one day between eight people. About 115 instances of flame leaping out of steadfast black bics and half an hour of bongzilla live later, I got a text message from my dad telling me that my pocket called him. I was devastated. I knew he knew everything. After a self meditative moment in the mirror upstairs, I ecided I was going to sober up and return home before my dad was asleep and show him how unintoxicated I was. Defiinitely.
When I got down stairs, my friend’s dog suzie, a 13 year old mutt was shaking on the floor. Yes, I blew smoke near the dog, toying with the idea of it soothing the dog’s old age and boredom. After breif investigations with some other individuals involved, I learned I was not the only one projecting cannabinoids near the dog. The friend of mine who’s dog it was, was lightly caressing the dog’s side supportively. After calling his parents, he had the dog put down.
Guilt flooded our hearts. We split up the rest of the weed and I lulled myself to the bus stop. I got off in a daze at my local park. It was about nine. I wasn’t sober enough to convince dad but I didn’t mind. I wasn’t surprised to find my friends’s ex-girlfriend wandering through the park on a dramatic phone call. She smelled like a bar. She hung up. We spoke about Suzie’s death and not much else before squad car 1260 with officers shore and tanaka pulled up the the bottom of the stairs.
This is my park. I’ve run those stairs till my legs shook. I was ready to run. I had some doj and three bongs in my backpack. I ventured the idea to the girl. She insisted we hadn’t done anything wrong. They said they had reports of kids drinking in the park and smelled alcohol on my breath. The alcohol smell was coming from her. This “report” gave them probable cause to arrest me if I denied consent to a search. I assured them I had no alcohol. “It’s the bongs” he said to his partner. They sat me down. Made me call my parents. Gave them my drugs and paraphenalia. She got to leave. Six week groundation. I'm andrew hine
When I got down stairs, my friend’s dog suzie, a 13 year old mutt was shaking on the floor. Yes, I blew smoke near the dog, toying with the idea of it soothing the dog’s old age and boredom. After breif investigations with some other individuals involved, I learned I was not the only one projecting cannabinoids near the dog. The friend of mine who’s dog it was, was lightly caressing the dog’s side supportively. After calling his parents, he had the dog put down.
Guilt flooded our hearts. We split up the rest of the weed and I lulled myself to the bus stop. I got off in a daze at my local park. It was about nine. I wasn’t sober enough to convince dad but I didn’t mind. I wasn’t surprised to find my friends’s ex-girlfriend wandering through the park on a dramatic phone call. She smelled like a bar. She hung up. We spoke about Suzie’s death and not much else before squad car 1260 with officers shore and tanaka pulled up the the bottom of the stairs.
This is my park. I’ve run those stairs till my legs shook. I was ready to run. I had some doj and three bongs in my backpack. I ventured the idea to the girl. She insisted we hadn’t done anything wrong. They said they had reports of kids drinking in the park and smelled alcohol on my breath. The alcohol smell was coming from her. This “report” gave them probable cause to arrest me if I denied consent to a search. I assured them I had no alcohol. “It’s the bongs” he said to his partner. They sat me down. Made me call my parents. Gave them my drugs and paraphenalia. She got to leave. Six week groundation. I'm andrew hine
Apt. Livin'
Michael Platten
October 14, 2009
Blog 1 Living in an Apt. Complex
The plan at the end of last year was to live 3 of my friends and “Shithead” in a house. “Shithead” is my friend Colin’s dog. We call him that for many reasons. First, the dog shits diarrhea every time something new is introduced to his diet. He has a weaker stomach than I do even after eating habanero covered wasabi balls. It took my housemate 4 weeks to discover and tell me to stop feeding Shithead chocolate M&Ms. I mean, how was I supposed to know M&Ms are like concentrated shots of colon cleanser for dogs. So, there’s actually a weight limit to how big a dog can be at our complex and its 35 lbs. Our dog is half Mastiff and half Labrador. This adds up to be about an 80 lbs dog at just the age of 15 months. The trick has been to hide the dog from the Manager, but it’s difficult when you’re walking around with a small hippo that looks like he eats children.
One thing that I didn’t expect with moving to an off-campus apartment was that there are RAs off campus as well, but they call themselves “Police”. You gotta love cops that have a sense of humor though. I was at my neighbor’s apartment about a week ago. At about 3 A.M. the cops knocked on the door. My neighbors decided that answering the door would be a bad idea. So we just waited till the cops left, which they did about 20 minutes later. The cops got the last laugh though, instead of leaving a ticket, they took every single pair of shoes outside the door. About 10 people had to walk home barefoot!
October 14, 2009
Blog 1 Living in an Apt. Complex
The plan at the end of last year was to live 3 of my friends and “Shithead” in a house. “Shithead” is my friend Colin’s dog. We call him that for many reasons. First, the dog shits diarrhea every time something new is introduced to his diet. He has a weaker stomach than I do even after eating habanero covered wasabi balls. It took my housemate 4 weeks to discover and tell me to stop feeding Shithead chocolate M&Ms. I mean, how was I supposed to know M&Ms are like concentrated shots of colon cleanser for dogs. So, there’s actually a weight limit to how big a dog can be at our complex and its 35 lbs. Our dog is half Mastiff and half Labrador. This adds up to be about an 80 lbs dog at just the age of 15 months. The trick has been to hide the dog from the Manager, but it’s difficult when you’re walking around with a small hippo that looks like he eats children.
One thing that I didn’t expect with moving to an off-campus apartment was that there are RAs off campus as well, but they call themselves “Police”. You gotta love cops that have a sense of humor though. I was at my neighbor’s apartment about a week ago. At about 3 A.M. the cops knocked on the door. My neighbors decided that answering the door would be a bad idea. So we just waited till the cops left, which they did about 20 minutes later. The cops got the last laugh though, instead of leaving a ticket, they took every single pair of shoes outside the door. About 10 people had to walk home barefoot!
Christopher D. Garcia's Comedy Blog #1
Christopher D. Garcia (cdgarcia@ucsc.edu)
Comedy Blog #1
So this weekend I had a juggling gig up in Tiburton (a few miles passed San Francisco). It was the first time I ever tried adding balloon animal twisting along with my usual juggling and kid’s comedy show. The clients seemed more impressed with the balloons and thought I was pretty skilled with balloon art… haha… suckers… I don’t really practice it. It doesn’t really take intense training like juggling does, or at least the level of juggling I practice which I think requires either one of two things: a huge passion/determination or no life whatsoever. Na, just kidding juggling is my life… great life huh? But going back on topic, I think I am tending to become more of a clown than a juggler now that I twist balloon animals at my gigs. Let’s just hope that I don’t start wearing a big red nose, tie-dye afro, and polka dot pants…
I do have some more gigs coming up that I am looking forward to. Some are events on campus like the family student housing juggling show, and the “Mixed Nuts” performance coming up soon. I also have a talent show in Oakland next week, so I have to start training even harder if I want a chance at doing a flawless performance. If I do that then I think I have a good chance at winning the $800 cash prize. I have also been wanting to do some stand-up comedy around Santa Cruz; I think I will start with some poetry slams or open-mic nights. I just hope the hippies don’t get mad at me as I will be talking about them and making fun of them. Oh, and I am going to try and get on Planet Cruz Comedy with some comedian friends I networked with during a talent show I did last quarter. Things are looking sweet, more updates coming soon!
-Chris G-
Comedy Blog #1
So this weekend I had a juggling gig up in Tiburton (a few miles passed San Francisco). It was the first time I ever tried adding balloon animal twisting along with my usual juggling and kid’s comedy show. The clients seemed more impressed with the balloons and thought I was pretty skilled with balloon art… haha… suckers… I don’t really practice it. It doesn’t really take intense training like juggling does, or at least the level of juggling I practice which I think requires either one of two things: a huge passion/determination or no life whatsoever. Na, just kidding juggling is my life… great life huh? But going back on topic, I think I am tending to become more of a clown than a juggler now that I twist balloon animals at my gigs. Let’s just hope that I don’t start wearing a big red nose, tie-dye afro, and polka dot pants…
I do have some more gigs coming up that I am looking forward to. Some are events on campus like the family student housing juggling show, and the “Mixed Nuts” performance coming up soon. I also have a talent show in Oakland next week, so I have to start training even harder if I want a chance at doing a flawless performance. If I do that then I think I have a good chance at winning the $800 cash prize. I have also been wanting to do some stand-up comedy around Santa Cruz; I think I will start with some poetry slams or open-mic nights. I just hope the hippies don’t get mad at me as I will be talking about them and making fun of them. Oh, and I am going to try and get on Planet Cruz Comedy with some comedian friends I networked with during a talent show I did last quarter. Things are looking sweet, more updates coming soon!
-Chris G-
Another Day At The John (Part1): Zack Oleinik
Living in the dorms is a unique experience, and sharing a bathroom with a few dozen strangers can be very interesting. The bathroom consist of three showers four sinks, and three stalls. So it's one of those nights, you know when you wished you had privacy. It seems to be rush hour in the john and the only shower that was vacant was the middle one, which is cool except that the only thing separating you bathing in the nude from Sally brushing her teeth at the sink is a flimsy uneven certain which is almost transparent. I'm doing my thing in there washing up, and the certain blows up, and I am standing there completely exposed, bare ass and all, and it wouldn't be that bad but I was shaving my pubes at the time. And the certain blew up because Lorry the hottest girl in the house was blow drying her hair. Shit but at least I wasn't whacking it.
I was done in there so I got out of the shower, and had to take that first step over the little ledge, which is just put there for people to trip over if you didn't already know. You nearly trip and then you nearly slip because everything in the bathrooms are wet and slimy, and it's an obstacle course walking from the shower back to the room. You gotta where scandals at all times, because it is proven that sars have been known to exist in these bacterial infested environments. Yea its slippery but there are areas where under no circumstance can you step. Some jackass dropped a microwave burrito and didn't bother to pick it up by the washer, there's foaming mounds of shaving cream under the sink, and by the trash can there lies hairballs and bloody tissues with freshly squeezed pimples.
Taking care of your hygienic needs in a dorm bathroom is a methodical process.
I was done in there so I got out of the shower, and had to take that first step over the little ledge, which is just put there for people to trip over if you didn't already know. You nearly trip and then you nearly slip because everything in the bathrooms are wet and slimy, and it's an obstacle course walking from the shower back to the room. You gotta where scandals at all times, because it is proven that sars have been known to exist in these bacterial infested environments. Yea its slippery but there are areas where under no circumstance can you step. Some jackass dropped a microwave burrito and didn't bother to pick it up by the washer, there's foaming mounds of shaving cream under the sink, and by the trash can there lies hairballs and bloody tissues with freshly squeezed pimples.
Taking care of your hygienic needs in a dorm bathroom is a methodical process.
Amir Raad comedy blog 1
So me and my friends used to talk nonsense to each other around people we felt were an awkward presence, usually at parties. This involved a lot of intoxicating factors. The sentences would be complete but it went something like this, “the trees really have the distance this year I just don’t know where it will take me”. I have finally met our match and he is my next-door neighbor, mark. Mark is crazy as fuck. I have seen two different personas that mark undertakes. 1) Business man with Bluetooth headset and doesn’t acknowledge me when he parks and walks into his house. Five hours later marks in a flannel halfway buttoned stumbling and quite belligerent. Mark is friendlier than he is ever been. He invites himself in, bribes us with weed and awkwardly stays for two hours. But we haven’t got crafty with his presence we try to fuck with but as drunk as he is, he catches on and starts to question what the fuck we are saying. We must do this to undergo the hardship he puts us through. Mark confuses the fuck out of me. I have had an array of discussions with mark, “my lady won’t fuck me if I eat taco bell”, “where are your travels because we need to go down to LA and where we can take photos.” The weirdest one yet I heard tonight, “you know when you come back from Tibet, you know I have lived here for twenty years and you know be respectable” Oh mark, you freak me out. And im not aloud to laugh at his crazy comments because his ass gets pissed,, DON’T LAUGH. Once we have had our fun we start to ignore mark or try and completely cut him out of the conversation. He will try to interrupt in a nasally Keanu Reaves-esque voice, “hey guys, excuse me guys, guys, hey guys, excuse me.” Although mark always tries to give me advice the only advice I have gotten is to not live in Santa Cruz for twenty years because you will still be eating taco bell and making incoherent sentences.
charlie nilawats blog stand up 01
I hate movies on lifetime. There's just something about them that annoys me, oh its the fact that they are too clever and original for my liking. Serious, a lifetime story would start with something like a lady, and a tragedy befalls her...her husband died, or she missed a macy's sale. but this problem that occurs is alright because she finds something that she enjoys doing, whether its art, or hot guys. And the plot line has so many twists and turns and the suspense is greatly accented by the cliffhangers at every commercial break, and in the end to my and everyone’s surprise she lives happily ever after.
Lifetime writers cater to a certain audience, and I think it would be interesting if they got a writer from lifetime to write a story in a different genre, like maybe spike. I imagine that the story would be one of two male mma fighters who, have to fight in the ring, but out of the ring are two gay lovers trying to make it together in the world. Shit I’d watch that…judging by the standards of movies now-a-days that would be gold. Like a modern day broke back mountain. They should call it, Tension in the Ring...eh eh get it? I bet that would win two Oscars.
Movies now a days are pretty crappy. It’s all about CGI, like 2012. People are gonna pay 10 bucks maybe more to see a bunch of shit explode, and a monk ringing a bell in distress as a tsunami wave comes crashing into the Himalayas. Real entertainment, it will just be destruction like no other in really good graphics, but that’s good because when you think about it better graphics in movies are made so that explosions ,and shit getting fucked up looks a lot cooler. I mean why would you waste good graphics on mystery, drama, and comedies. Theres a new genre and it’s the one that makes people come in their pants while watching shit get trashed.
Lifetime writers cater to a certain audience, and I think it would be interesting if they got a writer from lifetime to write a story in a different genre, like maybe spike. I imagine that the story would be one of two male mma fighters who, have to fight in the ring, but out of the ring are two gay lovers trying to make it together in the world. Shit I’d watch that…judging by the standards of movies now-a-days that would be gold. Like a modern day broke back mountain. They should call it, Tension in the Ring...eh eh get it? I bet that would win two Oscars.
Movies now a days are pretty crappy. It’s all about CGI, like 2012. People are gonna pay 10 bucks maybe more to see a bunch of shit explode, and a monk ringing a bell in distress as a tsunami wave comes crashing into the Himalayas. Real entertainment, it will just be destruction like no other in really good graphics, but that’s good because when you think about it better graphics in movies are made so that explosions ,and shit getting fucked up looks a lot cooler. I mean why would you waste good graphics on mystery, drama, and comedies. Theres a new genre and it’s the one that makes people come in their pants while watching shit get trashed.
Madelyn Somers' Life Lesson in Chewable Form (because my parents don't think I can swallow)
Madelyn Somers
Stand Up Comedy
Oct. 14, 2009
So I recently studied abroad in England for 6 months, the farthest I’ve been away from my parents, who seem to have thought that the streets of London were equivalent to the Dharavi Slums of Mumbai. It’s like just because they’re known for good Indian food doesn’t mean it comes with a side of third world. In lieu of my mom’s maternal instincts she lined my suitcases with Pearl Super Tampax, Midol, and Fleet Glycerin Suppositories for the occasional traveler’s constipation, which were all great hometown surprises when I began to unpack in front of my new roommate (we hit it off great). And my dad insisted I keep an “emergency kit” on me at all times, you know for that slight chance I get Malaria from some parasite I’ve encountered while riding the Tube. So when I actually got sick I was forced to take the 7 Bayer's chewable, orange flavored, low dosage for "babies" aspirin, which was equivalent to 1 "adult" aspirin because that's all I could find in the first aid kit my dad made for me along with a pacifier and a diaper. The diaper came in handy when the suppositories came into effect, and the pacifier when I got home sick and needed to reminisce about sucking on my mom’s tittie, excuse me, tittie, seriously, I'm a woman, rewind, breast. I guess my parent’s always have my best interest at heart, regardless if they forget about the 30, 000 dollar Bat Mitzvah they threw for me inducting me into adulthood.
Stand Up Comedy
Oct. 14, 2009
So I recently studied abroad in England for 6 months, the farthest I’ve been away from my parents, who seem to have thought that the streets of London were equivalent to the Dharavi Slums of Mumbai. It’s like just because they’re known for good Indian food doesn’t mean it comes with a side of third world. In lieu of my mom’s maternal instincts she lined my suitcases with Pearl Super Tampax, Midol, and Fleet Glycerin Suppositories for the occasional traveler’s constipation, which were all great hometown surprises when I began to unpack in front of my new roommate (we hit it off great). And my dad insisted I keep an “emergency kit” on me at all times, you know for that slight chance I get Malaria from some parasite I’ve encountered while riding the Tube. So when I actually got sick I was forced to take the 7 Bayer's chewable, orange flavored, low dosage for "babies" aspirin, which was equivalent to 1 "adult" aspirin because that's all I could find in the first aid kit my dad made for me along with a pacifier and a diaper. The diaper came in handy when the suppositories came into effect, and the pacifier when I got home sick and needed to reminisce about sucking on my mom’s tittie, excuse me, tittie, seriously, I'm a woman, rewind, breast. I guess my parent’s always have my best interest at heart, regardless if they forget about the 30, 000 dollar Bat Mitzvah they threw for me inducting me into adulthood.
Comedy Blog 1, Dustin Conlon
Dustin Conlon
Stand Up Comedy
Oct 14th 09
Comedy Blog
The other day I was thinking about how messed up the UCSC bus system is. We stand around for 10-30 minutes waiting for a bus to finally come. 25 minutes goes by and off on the horizon you see that whitish, bluish blur of color that means “Hope.” Like Obama. And as that bus comes nearer and into clearer view, you see the yellow numbers light up. It’s a 15, a 16, 19, or even a 10. Don’t ever think it’s the 20 because that mother fucker never comes. It’s so close , its half a block away, now you can see the driver’s face, god they are always ugly. Wouldn’t it just be awesome if all the bus drivers were just straight out of Hugh Hefner’s “Girls Next Door”? We could walk on the bus and the first thing we see instead of a 50 year old over-weight (but very nice) woman, is a beached-blonde, double D, can’t even spell Playboy 20 yr old girl-woman. Now, the bus is here, anddddddddddddddddd it’s gone. Goes right by, sometimes its full and they can’t fit you in, sometimes the 50 yr old over-weight woman just doesn’t see you, and sometimes the driver decides you aren’t worthy of a ride up to class, for what reasons we’ll never know. You stand there and watch those blue and white colors disappear, hope is gone, you look around you, and say to yourself, “Fuck yeah, I don’t have to go to class, it’s the bus’s fault.” Surprisingly that excuse always works. If you say you couldn’t get to class because of the buses, everything is cool.
Stand Up Comedy
Oct 14th 09
Comedy Blog
The other day I was thinking about how messed up the UCSC bus system is. We stand around for 10-30 minutes waiting for a bus to finally come. 25 minutes goes by and off on the horizon you see that whitish, bluish blur of color that means “Hope.” Like Obama. And as that bus comes nearer and into clearer view, you see the yellow numbers light up. It’s a 15, a 16, 19, or even a 10. Don’t ever think it’s the 20 because that mother fucker never comes. It’s so close , its half a block away, now you can see the driver’s face, god they are always ugly. Wouldn’t it just be awesome if all the bus drivers were just straight out of Hugh Hefner’s “Girls Next Door”? We could walk on the bus and the first thing we see instead of a 50 year old over-weight (but very nice) woman, is a beached-blonde, double D, can’t even spell Playboy 20 yr old girl-woman. Now, the bus is here, anddddddddddddddddd it’s gone. Goes right by, sometimes its full and they can’t fit you in, sometimes the 50 yr old over-weight woman just doesn’t see you, and sometimes the driver decides you aren’t worthy of a ride up to class, for what reasons we’ll never know. You stand there and watch those blue and white colors disappear, hope is gone, you look around you, and say to yourself, “Fuck yeah, I don’t have to go to class, it’s the bus’s fault.” Surprisingly that excuse always works. If you say you couldn’t get to class because of the buses, everything is cool.
Grant Patrizio rants about beards...the itchy things people grow on their faces sometimes. (Comedy Blog #1)
I've been growing out my beard (if you want to call it that) for about a week now, and I've gotten a lot of comments on it...mainly by straight guys, for some random reason. They're either ask things like "Dude, how the FUCK did your beard grow so fast?" or start giving me beard styling tips like “Grow fuckin’ huge mutton chops” or “Grow it out and then we’ll fuckin’ braid it” (I’m not even kidding…a straight guy wants to braid my beard…) This makes them come off as horny yet whiny little school-girls eye humping my overly manly face. With all this in mind, I have two questions to pose to you lovely readers...
1. Male readers... what's the big fuckin' deal? It's just a beard. I grew out my facial hair for shits 'n' giggles, so what? It's not like I'm curing cancer or anything. I've never understood why young males want facial hair so badly...I mean, it's not all that pleasant. It's itchy, it feels funny, and sometimes it doesn't even match the rest of your hair, which makes you look like you’re colorblind or something. Honestly, am I some kind of magician because my genetic makeup decides to highlight my face with a visible layer of red hair over one week? If that’s magic, then…shit.
2. If straight guys like it so much, why don't straight GIRLS? Seriously, all I've heard from my female friends who date guys with beards is "it feels fuckin' weird to kiss them now. Their hair gets in the way. It's icky and I don't like it." I usually hear how they break up sometime soon after...either that, or how the guy gets with the program and SHAVES IT OFF.
If you want to talk to people who enjoy your silly fashion tips, go to www.beards.org. I kid you not, that site exists, and it has more beard than the average person can handle.
1. Male readers... what's the big fuckin' deal? It's just a beard. I grew out my facial hair for shits 'n' giggles, so what? It's not like I'm curing cancer or anything. I've never understood why young males want facial hair so badly...I mean, it's not all that pleasant. It's itchy, it feels funny, and sometimes it doesn't even match the rest of your hair, which makes you look like you’re colorblind or something. Honestly, am I some kind of magician because my genetic makeup decides to highlight my face with a visible layer of red hair over one week? If that’s magic, then…shit.
2. If straight guys like it so much, why don't straight GIRLS? Seriously, all I've heard from my female friends who date guys with beards is "it feels fuckin' weird to kiss them now. Their hair gets in the way. It's icky and I don't like it." I usually hear how they break up sometime soon after...either that, or how the guy gets with the program and SHAVES IT OFF.
If you want to talk to people who enjoy your silly fashion tips, go to www.beards.org. I kid you not, that site exists, and it has more beard than the average person can handle.
Nick Patti talks about music... again. (Comedy Blog #1)
So I was sitting in my room one day working on homework and listening to music, and when I finished all of my work, I felt the sensation of victory and ecstasy sweep over my entire body. It was a wonderfully pleasant feeling, which was abruptly ended by a torrential wave of vomit splashing from the mouth of the hot babe that was making extreme mouth-icular love to my wing wang. As the smell of moist, fresh barf permeated through the air of my room, I started thinking about the song that was playing on my iTunes. It was a song called “Sleep,” written by Eirc Whitacre, and performed by a chamber choir called Poliphony. Needless to say, it was incredibly soothing, so I ended up passing out in my chair at my desk, relaxed, peaceful, and still covered in vomit.
Regardless of this happenstance situation, I got to thinking about the music that I like to listen to on a regular basis, and I realized something very important. My musical tastes are horribly fucked up. If my tastes in music were (cleverly) represented in the form of taste buds on a tongue, they would probably be analogous to a guy who happens to have caught the flu, and also eats that a healthy serving of cow manure, bile, and other excrements on a regular basis, and thinks it’s absolutely delicious!
Now that I mentioned that, I’m probably going to feel nauseous every time I listen to my iPod on shuffle from now on. Great fucking job, me. *kicks self in face*
But if you were to willingly take a stroll on my iPod, you’d probably get stuck in a multi level labyrinth, each separated by genre after eclectic genre, ranging from Progressive Death Metal (which I talked about before, PDM = no pussy :’C ), to Barry White, to Choral Chamber Music, to Italian Hip Hop, to Folk Songs, to Hatsune Miku, to Rick Astley, to remixes of Rick Astley, and at that point when you’ve been Rick-Rolled till you can roll no more, my iPod would probably think it’s best to just to give up and commit suicide on a molecular level and explode, because, let’s face it, it’s just as fucking confused and lost as you are.
Wait… was that last paragraph really only one sentence long?
So if anyone here asks me, “Hey, Nick! What kind of music do you listen to? Because I believe that the strongest, most prosperous friendships are formed on sonically common preferences of music!” I’d gingerly remove my headphones, turn to them, and, with a polite smile, say:
“Cow manure. That is the kind of music I listen to.”
Regardless of this happenstance situation, I got to thinking about the music that I like to listen to on a regular basis, and I realized something very important. My musical tastes are horribly fucked up. If my tastes in music were (cleverly) represented in the form of taste buds on a tongue, they would probably be analogous to a guy who happens to have caught the flu, and also eats that a healthy serving of cow manure, bile, and other excrements on a regular basis, and thinks it’s absolutely delicious!
Now that I mentioned that, I’m probably going to feel nauseous every time I listen to my iPod on shuffle from now on. Great fucking job, me. *kicks self in face*
But if you were to willingly take a stroll on my iPod, you’d probably get stuck in a multi level labyrinth, each separated by genre after eclectic genre, ranging from Progressive Death Metal (which I talked about before, PDM = no pussy :’C ), to Barry White, to Choral Chamber Music, to Italian Hip Hop, to Folk Songs, to Hatsune Miku, to Rick Astley, to remixes of Rick Astley, and at that point when you’ve been Rick-Rolled till you can roll no more, my iPod would probably think it’s best to just to give up and commit suicide on a molecular level and explode, because, let’s face it, it’s just as fucking confused and lost as you are.
Wait… was that last paragraph really only one sentence long?
So if anyone here asks me, “Hey, Nick! What kind of music do you listen to? Because I believe that the strongest, most prosperous friendships are formed on sonically common preferences of music!” I’d gingerly remove my headphones, turn to them, and, with a polite smile, say:
“Cow manure. That is the kind of music I listen to.”
Emily Selya Standup Comedy Blog
Dear Mom,
Being a freshman is great! Stevenson College is so beautiful. It looks over a green field and there is a knoll where I can sit and get baked and fucked up with a bunch of stoners do homework. I know the tuition is expensive but it’s going toward important educational studies that will help my future like my standup comedy, personal computers and rigorous English core class. My roommates are wretched bitches who are always fucking in the room and send me texts to watch, join, or get the fuck out great. I really miss you and hope moving into the new house is going well.
Yesterday I went over to Aaron’s place and got really drunk, fucked a guy I didn’t know, and woke up on the roof met some of his friends. They were doped out lunatics that tried to feel me up nice. The people here are so conscientious of the environment; most don’t even shower use cloth bags for groceries.
The school has great clubs here and activities. Yesterday everyone went on a naked run together. It was fun to see so many penises J bond with others and get exercise at the same time. I don’t think I would do it again because my boobs are killing me it was too much exercise and tired me out. This experience is truly amazing because I’ve really been able to broaden my horizons. For example two days ago I saw a guy take hits of cocaine at a party met a student from England. I’m sorry that you will be unable to visit for my birthday on April 20th due to the campus being closed for “construction” purposes. I would come visit but I really need to GET STONED keep up my studies. See you at thanksgiving. I love you.
Love,
Emily
Patrick Webster Blog #1 "America, Heck Yes"
America is a very strange place. As a Frenchman, my sense of identity has been forged through millennia of bloodshed, conquest, and silly hats, to the point where we have settled on who we are as a nation.
Zis iz ze nue fashion from Paris, oui call it ZeJellyfish.
World War II was such an amazing show of the worst things that humanity could ever hope to be, that none of us figured we would ever be able to top it. It’s always bittersweet when you reach the crowning achievement of your favorite pastime, but we Euros got so good at depraved brutality that we just all agreed to call it a day. Plus, we were all too lazy to make another map of Europe. Have you seen what passes for a country over there? I’m looking at you, Lichtenstein.
Such a bullshit country
But I digress.America, on the other hand, was like the person who takes jokes too far. It’s no problem when she joins at first, the more the merrier. But just as everyone has had their fill and is looking for a way out, she goes and drops the A-bomb in the middle of her punch line and ruins the fun for everyone.
Dude... No, uncool, man
The polarization of American culture, the “with us or against us” mentality from the Republican base to the vegans on the street corner, can all be attributed to, I think, the fact that America just needs to get war-laid. America saw all the fun Europe had been having, and decided to keep going even after everyone was done with it, like the lone reject still playing Pokémon when everyone else discovered girls. The unilateral invasion of Iraq is best understood when you realize that George W. Bush thought his new expansion pack was going to “bring it back” and get everyone in on WWIII. We’re still looking for a Charizard in Afghanistan.
I can't imagine what 9/11 would have been with 4 fire cards
Simply put, America needs to be at war, outside or inside its borders. Most Americans don’t need to attack another country to find a release for their pent-up bloodlust. Just look at slavery, the suppression of homosexuals, or NASCAR. There are so many different groups who absolutely despise each other, you just take a pick if you lack a sense of self-identity. It’s like an intolerance food-court. “Hey Honey, what do you want to hate today?” “Well, we could hate Mexicans” “ Nah, we hated Mexicans yesterday and you know how shitty I felt after that.”
Abigail Cunningham: The Hotter sister
As I sit in my dorm room, I begin to miss home. But recently I have been feeling like this dorm is very much like my house back in LA. Im constantly having to compromise with someone, and I don’t always get what I want and Im beginning to find many similarities between my room mate and my sister. My sister is 4 years younger than me, so 14 and also happened to be the prettier of us two. Ever since she started 7th grade she’s been my hot younger sister who all the boys think is 16. Like fuck, I remember in 7th grade, I was chubby, had THE MOST awkward boobs in the world, massive pimples and absolutely no boys existed in my life. My sister had her first kiss in 7th grade, fuck. Mine was in 9th grade because obviously it took me a much longer time to get “pretty”. My guy friends are always asking me how old she is and trying to get with her, which pisses me off because its like "hello I’m here too". I remember in 6th grade she went through her awkward chubby phase and I was secretly happy because I was the prettier sister for once, well after one year that changed. Im not saying I think I’m a dog or anything, its just she’s hotter and thats a fact of life. Now here in college I was paired with my ideal roommate, the only issue is she’s one of the hottest girls i’ve ever seen. All my guy friends here ask me about her and people who don’t know me say “Ohhh your danielle’s roommate, she’s soooo hot”. At first it didn’t bother me but now it just reminds me of the shit I had to deal with back home. Its not like its a big deal but being the hot girls roommate isn’t as fun as one would think. I guess I will always be the underdog :)
Blog 1 Kara Kraus
Dear kid in dining hall who boasts about “never watching TV”,
First of all you aren’t original
Second, you are seriously missing out on a bonding experience that could link you to the rest of us. Instead you have made yourself too cool and for that you are being shunned. This is Santa Cruz, not Hipster U.
And plus, I notice when we all make “that’s what she said” jokes and yell to each other “I’m on a boat” how you just awkwardly laugh along--not really knowing what we are talking about. Frankly, you are embarrassing yourself and would have a much better time if you would just watch the show with the rest of us--instead of saying that you “have to finish the book you just started by Thoreau, it’s getting so good right now!” No one is buying it. No one.
Third, stop assuming that all TV is equivalent to “Flavor of Love.” It isn’t. There are some excellent programs that don’t involve skanks pining for the love of a failing music star. Actually, there are some damn good shows that do. I watched Rock of Love Bus Tour. There I said it. And you know what, I bet when your roomie leaves for class every Tuesday at 11, you jump right onto the computer and watch re-runs of Tila Tequila. I bet you are so ashamed of this that you swear to yourself to never tell anyone you watch TV.
Bam! I just cracked the code that is your life. I’m like House.
I hope this inspires you to be yourself, the skank-bisexual-Asian-loving self.
You’re Welcome.
First of all you aren’t original
Second, you are seriously missing out on a bonding experience that could link you to the rest of us. Instead you have made yourself too cool and for that you are being shunned. This is Santa Cruz, not Hipster U.
And plus, I notice when we all make “that’s what she said” jokes and yell to each other “I’m on a boat” how you just awkwardly laugh along--not really knowing what we are talking about. Frankly, you are embarrassing yourself and would have a much better time if you would just watch the show with the rest of us--instead of saying that you “have to finish the book you just started by Thoreau, it’s getting so good right now!” No one is buying it. No one.
Third, stop assuming that all TV is equivalent to “Flavor of Love.” It isn’t. There are some excellent programs that don’t involve skanks pining for the love of a failing music star. Actually, there are some damn good shows that do. I watched Rock of Love Bus Tour. There I said it. And you know what, I bet when your roomie leaves for class every Tuesday at 11, you jump right onto the computer and watch re-runs of Tila Tequila. I bet you are so ashamed of this that you swear to yourself to never tell anyone you watch TV.
Bam! I just cracked the code that is your life. I’m like House.
I hope this inspires you to be yourself, the skank-bisexual-Asian-loving self.
You’re Welcome.
Joseph Scalise: Ad's These Days
Joseph Scalise, blog entry 1: October the fourteenth, two thousand and nine. 2:22 A.M
So the naked run came and went, and I participated. It was fun, exciting and a good time, however, this blog will not be about the naked run, but something I was thinking about today, advertising. This first came to my mind when I realized I haven’t seen a Trix cereal ad or any other classic cereal ads for over three years, which is really odd, either that fucking rabbit finally got the cereal, or Kellogg’s finally realized an advertising campaign featuring keeping your cereal away from a white rabbit wasn’t working, the point is, when it came down to it, the commercial didn’t make that much sense, most commercials don’t. However, just yesterday I came across a company whose slogan is, not only concise and easy to remember, but also makes perfect sense, the Yoplait yogurt company.
For those of you who don’t know, Yoplait yogurt’s ad is simply “Its good”. Now, on the surface, you could say that this slogan doesn’t actually say anything, but that’s the beauty of it, it’s a slogan that only says the truth. What does Trix have to do with a white rabbit? Nothing. What does capital one credit cards have to do with Vikings? Nothing. Now, if those different ads were to say “Silly Rabbit Trix is for little kids who need an extra sugar laced jolt in the morning, on their long road to eventual obesity” or if capital one would say “Capital one: using these humorous Vikings to distract you from the fact that were loaded with fees” then they would be at par with Yoplait. Yoplait is good, plain and simple, and that’s all there advertising campaign says, the truth, which, in today’s society of lies, slander and propaganda, is something every human being, no matter what occupation or path of life, desperately needs.
So the naked run came and went, and I participated. It was fun, exciting and a good time, however, this blog will not be about the naked run, but something I was thinking about today, advertising. This first came to my mind when I realized I haven’t seen a Trix cereal ad or any other classic cereal ads for over three years, which is really odd, either that fucking rabbit finally got the cereal, or Kellogg’s finally realized an advertising campaign featuring keeping your cereal away from a white rabbit wasn’t working, the point is, when it came down to it, the commercial didn’t make that much sense, most commercials don’t. However, just yesterday I came across a company whose slogan is, not only concise and easy to remember, but also makes perfect sense, the Yoplait yogurt company.
For those of you who don’t know, Yoplait yogurt’s ad is simply “Its good”. Now, on the surface, you could say that this slogan doesn’t actually say anything, but that’s the beauty of it, it’s a slogan that only says the truth. What does Trix have to do with a white rabbit? Nothing. What does capital one credit cards have to do with Vikings? Nothing. Now, if those different ads were to say “Silly Rabbit Trix is for little kids who need an extra sugar laced jolt in the morning, on their long road to eventual obesity” or if capital one would say “Capital one: using these humorous Vikings to distract you from the fact that were loaded with fees” then they would be at par with Yoplait. Yoplait is good, plain and simple, and that’s all there advertising campaign says, the truth, which, in today’s society of lies, slander and propaganda, is something every human being, no matter what occupation or path of life, desperately needs.
Devon Bealick’s Comedy
You know what I find odd? It is this sexy vampire fad in popular culture. I always remember and liked better the movies where they were killing those fucking vampires, not becoming friends with them and fucking them while their blood is getting tapped. I mean the vampires are supposed to be dead, right? Don’t they have a word for people who have sex with dead people? Oh yeah, they’re called sufferers of necrophilia. Leave it up to writers to lead people into believing necrophilia is cool and when your blood is getting sucked by an undead creature don’t even trip you know its sexy. You have always longed to get swept off your feet by a blood fiend who isn’t even awake during the day. And nothing turns on a nonliving vampire like when you get your period girls. Vampires look forward to that time of month like landlords look forward to the first. The way I’d imagine it Jenny would be getting fucked by Dracula’s ice-cold dick, just so he could get a warm taste of B positive. Jenny you know Dracula only likes you for your blood. He’s got your menstrual cycle memorized and I’m pretty sure he’s been getting blood donations from Kathy. What are you gonna do when Dracula sucks a little bit too much and your parents find you lying in a bloody bathtub unconscious and covered in vampire ejaculate? Well I don’t know if vampires ejaculate, but that just one more reason this vampire sex is ridiculous. For real, Guys there is no way you could fuck a vampire. How could you keep an erection while you blood is being drained? Fucking a vampire would be like riding a bike up a hill on half inflated tires.
Robin Liepman: BRAIN
First Comedy Blog Ever! Let me begin by kasplurging you with information about how awesome my life is. (I say this with as little arrogance as possible, because I think everyone should be able to say that their life is awesome).
So I'm a Psychology Major. Everyone always says "Oh, that's like, the most popular major on campus douchebag. (No one actually calls me a douchebag but the tone of voice implies it). Have fun counseling mental people your whole life!"
Well first of all, there are more people in the world who aren't psychology majors than are, so touche douchebag accusers! And secondly, get with the times, psychology nowadays has little to nothing to do with clinical counseling. For me, psychology is an excuse to focus my mind on stimulating topics, like sex drugs and music. Yeah! I'll be rock-star in a labcoat!
I'm also very stimulated by inner workings of things, how all the little parts come together to form a whole. I'm an analyzer of the world, and I do it through the all powerful scientific method. Yeah, it sounds scary but it's not. This just means that I build my assertions with reason, intellect, and evidence. I try to minimize assumptions.
I'm a thinker. When I asked my dad what I was like as a little kid, he said that I would question everything, always asking "why?" But as I grew older, I noticed that less people question and more people just barge into life headfirst, building their own personal ego tower of material comfort. I began to let go of my inner analytic and in the process, lost my life direction.
Then I read some Einstein and he was like, "Yo, I question everything like a child! Also I'm a rockstar violinist and have an abnormally large mathematical portion of my mind! Fuck you!"
This was the inspiration I needed. Life is short, so I'ma do what I want with it. And what I want is to surround myself in positive thought, positive energy, ever-growing knowledge, (aka mental evolution) love and laughter.
One thing about me is that my sense of humor isn't conventional, but if you hit the right spots, you can get me cracking up like a curious child who mixed his moms pills into his cereal.
Well that's a little bit about me. My next blog will be on my analysis of humor. Uh.
So I'm a Psychology Major. Everyone always says "Oh, that's like, the most popular major on campus douchebag. (No one actually calls me a douchebag but the tone of voice implies it). Have fun counseling mental people your whole life!"
Well first of all, there are more people in the world who aren't psychology majors than are, so touche douchebag accusers! And secondly, get with the times, psychology nowadays has little to nothing to do with clinical counseling. For me, psychology is an excuse to focus my mind on stimulating topics, like sex drugs and music. Yeah! I'll be rock-star in a labcoat!
I'm also very stimulated by inner workings of things, how all the little parts come together to form a whole. I'm an analyzer of the world, and I do it through the all powerful scientific method. Yeah, it sounds scary but it's not. This just means that I build my assertions with reason, intellect, and evidence. I try to minimize assumptions.
I'm a thinker. When I asked my dad what I was like as a little kid, he said that I would question everything, always asking "why?" But as I grew older, I noticed that less people question and more people just barge into life headfirst, building their own personal ego tower of material comfort. I began to let go of my inner analytic and in the process, lost my life direction.
Then I read some Einstein and he was like, "Yo, I question everything like a child! Also I'm a rockstar violinist and have an abnormally large mathematical portion of my mind! Fuck you!"
This was the inspiration I needed. Life is short, so I'ma do what I want with it. And what I want is to surround myself in positive thought, positive energy, ever-growing knowledge, (aka mental evolution) love and laughter.
One thing about me is that my sense of humor isn't conventional, but if you hit the right spots, you can get me cracking up like a curious child who mixed his moms pills into his cereal.
Well that's a little bit about me. My next blog will be on my analysis of humor. Uh.
Tyler Watson Entry 467
Tyler Watson
Day 467
The earth is still barren. Food is at an all time low. I nibbled on my belt last night before I could brin myself to eat the last of the beans. I am alone and lonely. By myself and no one is around. I don’t think anyone can hear me and I think I am the only livin thing here. I am on the only workin computer I have found for miles around. Unfortunately the and the keys stick so they don’t reister when I tye, but it’s the best I can do for now. So I’m sorry if I sound like a hick. I assure you I am not. I spent last week olfing, but of course I couldn’t even find the hole because everythin is underwater. My boat sprun another leak and I had to hole it up with the last of my wine corks and then had to drink the wine and so became drunk and so fell over the deck aain into the water and I almost drowned, aain. Alas, I don’t know how much loner I can take this life. It is harsh and unforivin. All of the pictures of my wife are officially waterloed and dissolvin into nothin. Which means that all I have now are the layboys which I already know inside and out. And I hink fuckin damn i now he key doesn work, fuckin compuer must have some waer in i as well. erfec. I uess I’m done wriin for now. No ha anyone will read his anyway. I love you mom wherever you are. Your son, hil.
Nathan Habib Log 1 October 14th 2009
Nathan Habib
Log 1 October 13, 2009
I thought that the only attire needed for going to the gym are shorts, a t-shirt, and proper shoes. No more. Apparently I need to have white headphones in my ears listening to some rapper talking about the struggle. “Ya! A little bit of Lil Wayne on the elliptical will do the trick to tighten my ass!” Then you got those guys that brought their protein shake that they made at home. It’s always the people that really don’t need any more protein on their 20-pound biceps drinking that stuff.
The one thing that I won’t understand is why huge macho men, who are probably not too in tune with their sensitive side bring a diary to the gym. They could be bringing a notepad to record how many reps they are doing in each exercise, but I’m pretty sure they just need to express themselves on paper instead.
I have a feeling this is what a body builder would write in his journal entry:
Dear Dairy, today is October 13, 2009 and I’m working on my chest and triceps. The dumbbells are heavy, and I am experiencing the feeling of fatigue. The protein powder that I made for myself is delicious, but is too thick for me to swallow. If only I did not put that extra piece of banana, and four spoons of peanut butter. With all the pain I am feeling, there is one friend on my side. A tool that shuffles its way to my ears. My green nano ipod. Like a good mother, it always knows what mood I’m in. I don’t feel fabulous, but I feel Fabolous, and the only things I want to do right now is lift this 45 pound dumbbell for my triceps and just throw it in the bag.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0xP0QPjyx1I
Log 1 October 13, 2009
I thought that the only attire needed for going to the gym are shorts, a t-shirt, and proper shoes. No more. Apparently I need to have white headphones in my ears listening to some rapper talking about the struggle. “Ya! A little bit of Lil Wayne on the elliptical will do the trick to tighten my ass!” Then you got those guys that brought their protein shake that they made at home. It’s always the people that really don’t need any more protein on their 20-pound biceps drinking that stuff.
The one thing that I won’t understand is why huge macho men, who are probably not too in tune with their sensitive side bring a diary to the gym. They could be bringing a notepad to record how many reps they are doing in each exercise, but I’m pretty sure they just need to express themselves on paper instead.
I have a feeling this is what a body builder would write in his journal entry:
Dear Dairy, today is October 13, 2009 and I’m working on my chest and triceps. The dumbbells are heavy, and I am experiencing the feeling of fatigue. The protein powder that I made for myself is delicious, but is too thick for me to swallow. If only I did not put that extra piece of banana, and four spoons of peanut butter. With all the pain I am feeling, there is one friend on my side. A tool that shuffles its way to my ears. My green nano ipod. Like a good mother, it always knows what mood I’m in. I don’t feel fabulous, but I feel Fabolous, and the only things I want to do right now is lift this 45 pound dumbbell for my triceps and just throw it in the bag.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0xP0QPjyx1I
Tyler Thompson
I think relationships are very interesting. You've got the guy who (most of the time) will do anything he needs to do to get laid, and the girl who knows this and takes full economic advantage of it. You see the guys that pretty much just let their girlfriend put a leash on them and take them for a ride. It's funny. The guys don't even know it's happening most of the time. They take them out to dinner, buy them dessert, take them home, let her light some candles, and then she "rewards" him with sex... Score. It only cost him 40 bucks and this was the first time he's been laid since that one night he can't remember. If he had spent that 40 bucks on weed, he probably wouldn't have even jacked off. The killer is the next day though, when she calls back wanting to go out again. This time she wants to go to a concert. Never mind the fact that it's an Irish punk band from Tulsa Arizona. She REALLY wants to go. And besides, what's 40 dollars to a full-time dining hall associate such as himself? After the concert is when everything begins to crumble... She wants to snuggle. And being the gentleman that he is, he obliges; it's not as if he doesn't enjoy a quick pre-sex snuggle to get everyone in the mood. And then it happens. She closes her eyes. And as she begins to drift off, so does his chances of getting laid that night. The sad realization that he has paid $40 for a shitty concert and a snuggle/bed invasion hits him at that moment. Tomorrow, he will call his dealer.
I think relationships are very interesting. You've got the guy who (most of the time) will do anything he needs to do to get laid, and the girl who knows this and takes full economic advantage of it. You see the guys that pretty much just let their girlfriend put a leash on them and take them for a ride. It's funny. The guys don't even know it's happening most of the time. They take them out to dinner, buy them dessert, take them home, let her light some candles, and then she "rewards" him with sex... Score. It only cost him 40 bucks and this was the first time he's been laid since that one night he can't remember. If he had spent that 40 bucks on weed, he probably wouldn't have even jacked off. The killer is the next day though, when she calls back wanting to go out again. This time she wants to go to a concert. Never mind the fact that it's an Irish punk band from Tulsa Arizona. She REALLY wants to go. And besides, what's 40 dollars to a full-time dining hall associate such as himself? After the concert is when everything begins to crumble... She wants to snuggle. And being the gentleman that he is, he obliges; it's not as if he doesn't enjoy a quick pre-sex snuggle to get everyone in the mood. And then it happens. She closes her eyes. And as she begins to drift off, so does his chances of getting laid that night. The sad realization that he has paid $40 for a shitty concert and a snuggle/bed invasion hits him at that moment. Tomorrow, he will call his dealer.
Kat Brown's love for Buffets. #1
Buffets and Me: A Love Affair
There is a certain amount of appreciation that one has for certain things. I personally have found that mine lies in all you can eat, free beverage included, fully stocked and ready to consume buffets. Souplantation, or its Northern brother, Sweet Tomatoes comes to mind as a buffet Mecca, if you will. It truly challenges the human mind. I will go in, plan on having a salad and two muffins, and come out three hours later, wheezing and heaving after consuming enough lettuce for a rabbit farm, three bowls of soup and one of those little brownies with the soft serve on top... Only in America can one eat 3000 calories at an over glorified salad bar.
What I really love though is ethnic buffets for they give you a chance to eat all the weird shit you never want to order off the regular menu. For example, I live near The Fuji Buffet: All You Can Eat Korean, Japanese, and Chinese Foods. Who’s the person that plans out all the stuff that they serve at the buffet? Has any authentic Asian person ever sat down to consume a real meal of their homeland and its EVER included the words "zesty seasoned fries"?!?! NO! But this is what these restaurants are trying to make our American, uncultured minds believe. It’s this weird shit that throws me off. Next to the Kung Pao Tofu and Mushu Pork, they throw in something completely out of left field. Sunday’s delicacy? Apple Pie. I do not approve. When the fuck did someone ever say “well that’s as Chinese as Apple Pie!” Never. If I want some terrible butchering of an American classic, I will go to McDonald’s instead.
There is a certain amount of appreciation that one has for certain things. I personally have found that mine lies in all you can eat, free beverage included, fully stocked and ready to consume buffets. Souplantation, or its Northern brother, Sweet Tomatoes comes to mind as a buffet Mecca, if you will. It truly challenges the human mind. I will go in, plan on having a salad and two muffins, and come out three hours later, wheezing and heaving after consuming enough lettuce for a rabbit farm, three bowls of soup and one of those little brownies with the soft serve on top... Only in America can one eat 3000 calories at an over glorified salad bar.
What I really love though is ethnic buffets for they give you a chance to eat all the weird shit you never want to order off the regular menu. For example, I live near The Fuji Buffet: All You Can Eat Korean, Japanese, and Chinese Foods. Who’s the person that plans out all the stuff that they serve at the buffet? Has any authentic Asian person ever sat down to consume a real meal of their homeland and its EVER included the words "zesty seasoned fries"?!?! NO! But this is what these restaurants are trying to make our American, uncultured minds believe. It’s this weird shit that throws me off. Next to the Kung Pao Tofu and Mushu Pork, they throw in something completely out of left field. Sunday’s delicacy? Apple Pie. I do not approve. When the fuck did someone ever say “well that’s as Chinese as Apple Pie!” Never. If I want some terrible butchering of an American classic, I will go to McDonald’s instead.
Let's get some WORK DONE!
I would like to kvetch about plastic surgery and “routine” fixer uppers. What is with this new trend to feel so bad about a few crows toes, that you have to have a poison needle stuck into your skin to pertinently freeze the contours of your face and the natural wrinkles into a constant Halloween-mask smile. It’s like that scream character, totally retarded, yet everyone seems to do it because it’s the easy way out. “Oh shit sweetie, I forgot to think of a costume for the Negar’s Halloween bash. I might as well take out Billie’s scream mask from the 4th grade to the party instead.” Its just a shitty cheat to try and physically remove years of hardcore scouring and stressing. Or some people getting the color of your skin pigment changed, perplexes me. So staining your skin make you feel more powerful or better looking in society? Dang, congratulations, your just turned yourself into a poster board for fucked up western society and ideals. “Hey Cindy like my new tit-job?” I’m not really fond of my grandma getting a breast augmentation for her 100th birthday. “Neato Marve, nice and perky just like when we were kids…” Besides any kook crazy enough to judge your worth by the color or pattern of your skin would probably still feel like shit after having the largest organ in your body dyed too fight for the right to feel comfortable into society. Might as well get a sweet feline-fur-job to validate your past life as a leopardess princess. But I guess sometimes surgery is needed. Have you guys ever heard about people born as hermaphrodites? That would just SUCK. I mean and then some random doctor dude plays twister with testicles or ovaries. “Right hand scalpel, left hand nut sack.” Although it would be pretty funny if someone tried to impregnate themselves, but seriously how fucked up would the babies bee? Or would the just be like clones? I sure glad my parents don’t lie to me, because I asked them if that happened to me. But I’m still skeptical about the easter bunny being real.
- Ben Siegel
- Ben Siegel
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