During the summer, me, my friend, and his girlfriend shared an apartment. Living with them was extremely awkward. I’ve been single my entire life, but their presence was a horrible constant reminder of it. I’d be watching a show and they’d be making out nearby. It’s especially sad when we eat. We all agreed at the start that we would all get our own food. However, it was more like I get my own food while my friend and his girlfriend cook food for each other. If anybody walked in it would have been a very pathetic sight to see a couple laughing and eating homemade curry together while I’m sitting by myself eating instant noodles and watching some cartoons. It was pretty bad sharing a bathroom with them since there was only one for the three of us. I think it’s cute for them to take a shower together, but God damn it! The lone guy needs to take a leak and it didn’t seem like they plan to leave the bathroom anytime soon.
It’s also pretty bad when her parents come by to visit and deliver some supplies. Now I’ve seen those movies where the parents interview the boyfriend, but I didn’t know it applies to housemates too. Somewhere along the line I got asked how come I didn’t have a girlfriend. I didn’t want to say that women intimidate me, so I tried to play it cool by saying I wasn’t interested in romance. Unfortunately, this was the wrong answer because the mom then proceeds to ask me if I’m gay….after thinking about this for a while, I don’t think there was a right or wrong answer to that ‘cause by the end of the day they’re probably still wondering if I’m having a threesome with them.
Then there was the night life. Every now and then I’d wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of the wall thumping. On nights like those I just end up sighing and looking at my hand, “Well looks like it’s just you and me.” I live in the apartments on campus now, so I don’t have to deal with that anymore, but sometimes I wake up at night with the sound of thumping from my housemate’s room next door.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Two different expectations of Santa Barbara by David Leavitt
The Innocent Side:
So this weekend I’ve decided to join the circus and go to Santa Barbara for Halloween, and as much as I am excited about it, I’m not expecting anything to crazy. I think I will be able to handle myself well, because I’m not to much of a trouble-maker. Some people talk about Santa Barbara as if it’s some mythical place where every possible scenario involving unprotected intercourse, waking up in somewhere that you’re not familiar with, and excessive amounts of drinking comes true. I simply just don’t believe that this happens on a daily basis there, and there is no way in heck that I’m looking to get into any of those things in Santa Barbara if they do exist. I’m just looking to have a good time with my friends and wear a costume.
The Bad Side:
So this weekend I’ve decided to join the circus and go to Santa Barbara for Halloween and I gotta admit, I’m expecting big things. Santa Barbara has a pretty big reputation for being a crazy party school where crazy shit goes down, and I fully expect and embrace all the crazy shit that could happen to me this weekend. I mean I’m going all out man, I don’t give a fuck who I fuck, if I fuck them without practicing unprotected fucking, or if I’m fucking and I don’t remember it. But really, when it all comes down to it, I want to look back at my Halloween weekend at Santa Barbara as if it can never be topped by any other trip I take in my life, as if it was one of the dudes in The Hangover. Lets just put it this way, If I don’t wake up the day after Halloween in a small red wagon, in a house located at least three states east of California, with eight new tattoos all located near and around my ass, holding onto the hand of my new mail-order bride from Thailand, while surrounded by goats, chickens and other farm animals, I’m gonna call this weekend a disappointment. Plain and simple.
So this weekend I’ve decided to join the circus and go to Santa Barbara for Halloween, and as much as I am excited about it, I’m not expecting anything to crazy. I think I will be able to handle myself well, because I’m not to much of a trouble-maker. Some people talk about Santa Barbara as if it’s some mythical place where every possible scenario involving unprotected intercourse, waking up in somewhere that you’re not familiar with, and excessive amounts of drinking comes true. I simply just don’t believe that this happens on a daily basis there, and there is no way in heck that I’m looking to get into any of those things in Santa Barbara if they do exist. I’m just looking to have a good time with my friends and wear a costume.
The Bad Side:
So this weekend I’ve decided to join the circus and go to Santa Barbara for Halloween and I gotta admit, I’m expecting big things. Santa Barbara has a pretty big reputation for being a crazy party school where crazy shit goes down, and I fully expect and embrace all the crazy shit that could happen to me this weekend. I mean I’m going all out man, I don’t give a fuck who I fuck, if I fuck them without practicing unprotected fucking, or if I’m fucking and I don’t remember it. But really, when it all comes down to it, I want to look back at my Halloween weekend at Santa Barbara as if it can never be topped by any other trip I take in my life, as if it was one of the dudes in The Hangover. Lets just put it this way, If I don’t wake up the day after Halloween in a small red wagon, in a house located at least three states east of California, with eight new tattoos all located near and around my ass, holding onto the hand of my new mail-order bride from Thailand, while surrounded by goats, chickens and other farm animals, I’m gonna call this weekend a disappointment. Plain and simple.
Fire
Some uninviting rich bitch has her friends and us older kids over to her pacific heights mansion. Everybody’s looking at everybody else. Except me. I’m in the basement looking at her dad’s wine and Bentley collection. Choose two bottles. Worth more than everything i’ve bought in the last 6 years. I get some friends to help pass around the bottles. We find some eyeliner and rock shots on her bathroom mirror. Many slurry, smokey, stumbling hours later. It just the troopers sticking it out upstairs, in the back, and in the bedrooms. Laura comes tearing down the stairs. There is a fire. Get out. Fuck off. Call 911 She’s serious. .I hear exploding glass. Twisting through the house to the front door, I get lost. Find the kitchen. Grab an onion. Fire crew flooding the house, breaking almost all the windows for giggles. I get outside. Flames leaping up and out of the windows. The girl whose parents own the house is mumbling about her parents italian vacation between vomiting and crying on her warm front lawn at two thirty five a.m. with the two guys still trying to serve it with her on each of her sides. One and a half million dollars in window, fire, and water damage while here parents were in italy. She’s disowned for a month or so. It was my good friend’s improperly extinguished cigarette that lit her top story ablaze. I saw a coyote in the middle of California and Divisidero on the walk home. Mischief in the flesh and fur.
ps problem's logging in until now
ps problem's logging in until now
Blog 2! Julia Yeager
So I was pretty bummed that the third assignment was political comedy. Of course! I was excited to start talking about President Bush and the economy, but then I remembered, rape is a topic we can’t talk about…
In lighter news, Halloween is comin! That means the sluts are coming out of hiding. Is it just me, or, is Halloween an excuse for everyone to dress like a slut?! I can already see this happening. I’m gonna see three girls wearing the same thing. A short dress, and wings. I’ll politely ask them, “What are YOU supposed to be?” One of them will say, “I’m a lady bug!” the other one will say “I’M a bumble bee!” and this last one will probably just confess. “WE’RE SLUTS! Haha”. Later on, I will see these girls at the party, and they will play stupid, asking “Oh my Gaaawd, I can’t open my beer! Could a big strong man, like, do that for me? Oh my GAAAAaaaaaaaaawwwwwwddduh!” I am completely sickened by today’s society. Girls tend to think dumb is sexy. But I’m sorry, if you can’t open a beer bottle, no man will have you. What good is a woman who looks good, but doesn’t have the brain capacity to open a bottle?!
Now, another thing about Halloween, is that you have to deal with kids. I don’t mean to be mean or anything, but some kids are ASSHOLES!! Last year on Halloween, I handed this kid a fun sized Butterfinger. I mean, come on… it was BUTTERFINGER! This shit is as good as gold in the eyes of most children, But no. This is what he says. “Oh… BUTTERfinger???! These are so bad for you-” This kid is dressed in one of those air operated fat suited ballerina costumes. And HE is telling ME, that butterfingers are unhealthy. I took the butterfinger and calmly told him, “Well great! More for me then, FATASS!” I then ate it in front of his face, and closed the door as his parents headed towards my door… Needless to say, I will not be handing out candy this year.
In lighter news, Halloween is comin! That means the sluts are coming out of hiding. Is it just me, or, is Halloween an excuse for everyone to dress like a slut?! I can already see this happening. I’m gonna see three girls wearing the same thing. A short dress, and wings. I’ll politely ask them, “What are YOU supposed to be?” One of them will say, “I’m a lady bug!” the other one will say “I’M a bumble bee!” and this last one will probably just confess. “WE’RE SLUTS! Haha”. Later on, I will see these girls at the party, and they will play stupid, asking “Oh my Gaaawd, I can’t open my beer! Could a big strong man, like, do that for me? Oh my GAAAAaaaaaaaaawwwwwwddduh!” I am completely sickened by today’s society. Girls tend to think dumb is sexy. But I’m sorry, if you can’t open a beer bottle, no man will have you. What good is a woman who looks good, but doesn’t have the brain capacity to open a bottle?!
Now, another thing about Halloween, is that you have to deal with kids. I don’t mean to be mean or anything, but some kids are ASSHOLES!! Last year on Halloween, I handed this kid a fun sized Butterfinger. I mean, come on… it was BUTTERFINGER! This shit is as good as gold in the eyes of most children, But no. This is what he says. “Oh… BUTTERfinger???! These are so bad for you-” This kid is dressed in one of those air operated fat suited ballerina costumes. And HE is telling ME, that butterfingers are unhealthy. I took the butterfinger and calmly told him, “Well great! More for me then, FATASS!” I then ate it in front of his face, and closed the door as his parents headed towards my door… Needless to say, I will not be handing out candy this year.
Byron McGoverns Blog #2
Byron McGovern
W1158389
Theatre 80E
Prof. Holsclaw
UCSC
The Dangers of Facebook
Comedy Web Log Number Two
I have a problem. I used to be embarrassed it about it but I recently learned this disease affects 5 of 6 college students throughout America. The disease is addiction. But not to some easy-to-kick habit like Crack or Heroin, I’m talking about addiction to Facebook. It starts off slow, a status update here, post a Youtube video there, but before you know it, you’re off the deep end and you’re drowning.
When I wake up in the morning, I check my Facebook before I breathe. I need to update my status constantly, or else my close (and distant) friends wont know exactly what I’m doing at that moment in time! I suppose I could get out of bed before I log on, but I’d lose precious seconds that I need to comment on peoples photos and write on their walls.
I’ve started taking a digital camera with me everywhere I go, so that I can chronicle my entire life. I have 3,000 Pictures of Me on Facebook, and you can see my arm reaching out holding the camera in every one of them! I also take the time to carefully tag everybody who’s in the picture with me. It takes a long time, but I’m sure they appreciate it.
And since I got an iPhone, I can be on Facebook no matter where I am! At dinner, in a movie theatre, taking a deuce, on a date, anywhere! Class is the big one; now that I can be logged on in class my attendance is perfect. I don’t even take notes anymore, I just write a Facebook note to all my friends in the class.
Pretty soon, I wont have to talk to anybody anymore! I'll be able to just send them a Facebook message. That way, I wont need to develop any social skills during my High School and college years, because Ill be able to do everything through Facebook!
W1158389
Theatre 80E
Prof. Holsclaw
UCSC
The Dangers of Facebook
Comedy Web Log Number Two
I have a problem. I used to be embarrassed it about it but I recently learned this disease affects 5 of 6 college students throughout America. The disease is addiction. But not to some easy-to-kick habit like Crack or Heroin, I’m talking about addiction to Facebook. It starts off slow, a status update here, post a Youtube video there, but before you know it, you’re off the deep end and you’re drowning.
When I wake up in the morning, I check my Facebook before I breathe. I need to update my status constantly, or else my close (and distant) friends wont know exactly what I’m doing at that moment in time! I suppose I could get out of bed before I log on, but I’d lose precious seconds that I need to comment on peoples photos and write on their walls.
I’ve started taking a digital camera with me everywhere I go, so that I can chronicle my entire life. I have 3,000 Pictures of Me on Facebook, and you can see my arm reaching out holding the camera in every one of them! I also take the time to carefully tag everybody who’s in the picture with me. It takes a long time, but I’m sure they appreciate it.
And since I got an iPhone, I can be on Facebook no matter where I am! At dinner, in a movie theatre, taking a deuce, on a date, anywhere! Class is the big one; now that I can be logged on in class my attendance is perfect. I don’t even take notes anymore, I just write a Facebook note to all my friends in the class.
Pretty soon, I wont have to talk to anybody anymore! I'll be able to just send them a Facebook message. That way, I wont need to develop any social skills during my High School and college years, because Ill be able to do everything through Facebook!
Today's word with Will Poulin.
Folks, I’m here to talk to you about courage. The courage to get up in the morning every day, stare the whole goddamn world in the face and say “Fuck You.” This is a quiet courage (except for the fuck you screaming. That can get loud) the kind keeps you going after a long day of work, and keeps you from just shriveling up and dying like the little bitch your stepfather thinks you are. Just get up and keep going. Got a headache? SO WHAT?. It’s school, you don’t need your head anyway. Got a head wound? IDEAL.
These are only some examples of courage. You may hear other people calling it by names like guts, sangfroid, nerve, audacity, or stones. Regardless of the words we use to describe it, courage is best recognized as action taken despite the full knowledge that whatever you are about to do is going to suck so hard it might rip your prostate out through your ears, but you do it anyway because you need to, someone else needs you to, or because FUCK YOU THAT'S WHY. Here to help me explain the concept of courage with some examples and helpful visuals is my friend, mentor, spiritual advisor, and all twelve of my top friends on myspace; Courage Wolf.
Hey Courage Wolf, how’s it going?
That’s great. How have you been? Been reading the news? How about that Balloon Boy story? Wild, huh?
Ah, I see. You’ve clearly had some crazy childhood experiences too. In case there are any children reading this, and god knows why they would do that, are there any words of wisdom you’d like to leave them with about being courageous?
Fantastic. Closing thoughts?
You’re my hero. Thanks for tuning in everyone and remember: Seize the day. By the throat.
These are only some examples of courage. You may hear other people calling it by names like guts, sangfroid, nerve, audacity, or stones. Regardless of the words we use to describe it, courage is best recognized as action taken despite the full knowledge that whatever you are about to do is going to suck so hard it might rip your prostate out through your ears, but you do it anyway because you need to, someone else needs you to, or because FUCK YOU THAT'S WHY. Here to help me explain the concept of courage with some examples and helpful visuals is my friend, mentor, spiritual advisor, and all twelve of my top friends on myspace; Courage Wolf.
Hey Courage Wolf, how’s it going?
That’s great. How have you been? Been reading the news? How about that Balloon Boy story? Wild, huh?
Ah, I see. You’ve clearly had some crazy childhood experiences too. In case there are any children reading this, and god knows why they would do that, are there any words of wisdom you’d like to leave them with about being courageous?
Fantastic. Closing thoughts?
You’re my hero. Thanks for tuning in everyone and remember: Seize the day. By the throat.
Relationships Gary Dominguez (Blog #2)
So relationships suck… I mean how many things in life do you do over and over and over again, knowing its probably going to fail anyways, just for the hope of getting that one out of a million shot. Well I mean I guess that’s what the raiders do every time they step on a football team trying to win a game.
Tell me this, what is the difference between having sex with your girlfriend and having sex with a prostitute. Other than the fact that you don’t know where your girlfriend has been and you do know where the prostitute has been – 2nd street every Friday. Either way you are paying for sex. Think about it, you have to spend time with your girlfriend all the time, buy her food, pay for her whenever you go out, buy her presents, and you still get bitched at all the time. However, with a prostitute you can probably same some money, pay for the sex, and be out of there. You don’t have to deal with any of the drama of a relationship. It’s a win win for both parties. So, to recap, relationships suck, and prostitutes are way better.
Tell me this, what is the difference between having sex with your girlfriend and having sex with a prostitute. Other than the fact that you don’t know where your girlfriend has been and you do know where the prostitute has been – 2nd street every Friday. Either way you are paying for sex. Think about it, you have to spend time with your girlfriend all the time, buy her food, pay for her whenever you go out, buy her presents, and you still get bitched at all the time. However, with a prostitute you can probably same some money, pay for the sex, and be out of there. You don’t have to deal with any of the drama of a relationship. It’s a win win for both parties. So, to recap, relationships suck, and prostitutes are way better.
Chris Hoshino-Fish & The Hut
So I live with 5 other guys. It's disgusting. No bullshit, no excuses, no covering up the layers and layers of shitty beer on the linoleum, no pretending that the stack of dishes in and around the sink isn't rapidly turning into a breeding ground for swine flu, and certainly no lying that I don't give a fuck. It's insane, like, I think “Man, you live here. You should clean up” and then I smoke some weed and jack off instead. Priorities dude, priorities.
And shit just keeps happening to our house that we're not expecting. One day we wake up to find two mexicans tearing down the front supports of our house. Naturally, I ran out with my shotgun and demanded to know what the fuck was going on. They calmed me down, however, with their soft latino accents and showed me the live termites devouring the supports. The supports to my room. Thank you, responsible landlord. Two days later, some creepy guy in a suit came snooping around our house. He was white, so I left the shotgun inside, which in retrospect wasn't a good idea. This suited up yuppy was here to explain that unless we got a work permit for the termite execution taking place, me and my roommates would be kicked out. What the fuck is that? You let a couple mexicans come up, take care of some termites and shitty wood, and the man tells you its time to vacate. Hell no. I bought that shottie for a reason.
Anyway, the work permit was acquired, but now the mexicans have disappeared. The supports are kinda finished, but I've still been sleeping downstairs. In the living room. In the cold. With the shotgun. Don't fuck with Texas.
And shit just keeps happening to our house that we're not expecting. One day we wake up to find two mexicans tearing down the front supports of our house. Naturally, I ran out with my shotgun and demanded to know what the fuck was going on. They calmed me down, however, with their soft latino accents and showed me the live termites devouring the supports. The supports to my room. Thank you, responsible landlord. Two days later, some creepy guy in a suit came snooping around our house. He was white, so I left the shotgun inside, which in retrospect wasn't a good idea. This suited up yuppy was here to explain that unless we got a work permit for the termite execution taking place, me and my roommates would be kicked out. What the fuck is that? You let a couple mexicans come up, take care of some termites and shitty wood, and the man tells you its time to vacate. Hell no. I bought that shottie for a reason.
Anyway, the work permit was acquired, but now the mexicans have disappeared. The supports are kinda finished, but I've still been sleeping downstairs. In the living room. In the cold. With the shotgun. Don't fuck with Texas.
Amir Raad. Comedy Blog #2
Godamnit everyone’s obsessed with Obama. I was hooking up with this girl and I finally made it to her undies and what do I see staring right at me, Obama with a smirk and the slogan of hope. Apparently my hope paid off, but really what’s the fucking deal. Yes he is a black president but what took so fucking long. People think were passed racism because we have a black president. That’s not a good thing because racism is hella institutionalized. I'm a conspiracy theorist skeptical of a lot of things, did Oswald kill Kennedy? Was 9-11 an inside job? Did I get probed three weeks ago? But now I have a new conspiracy theory, OBAMA IS WHITE, like MJ but reversed they injected his ass and dyed his skin brown. In case you have forgotten there have been previous instances of blacks in the white house. I think Condoleezza Rice is white two, the blackest thing about Condy is that giant mole on her face, come on bitch get that shit removed you in the white house now. Colin Powell had some balls he said fuck this idiot and peaced. I don’t know if I am being racist but usually people of professional swagger don’t fist bump the vice president when he’s bout to hit the stage. People in general don’t fist bump there wives. What the fuck Obama? I mean fox news is retarded for saying is that “terrorist” fist bump, but for real what impression are you trying to give off. Similar to Obama, stereotypes are being perpetuated. This is a very small example but I was at trader Joes and I notice on the different cuisines instead of having a the normal Trader Joes logo it varies like, Trade Jose’s, Trader Giottos---which are fine a variation of the word Joe in different languages, but than I see Trader Ming. What the fuck America? Get real.
Partying in Santa Cruz County (Timothy Irvine, blog 2)
So, who wants to hear a funny story?
Last night I was having sex with my girlfriend…haha, like I have a girlfriend!
No, but really, last night I was having sex with this sexy young thing (a 30-year-old Cabrillo student with a shaved head) and right in the middle of it (so, one minute in), she starts screaming: “Oh my god! Not you, Roger!”
Clearly, my name is not Roger, or else I would have been somewhat okay with that (ignoring the fact that she said “Not you”). What bothered me more, though, than the fact that apparently she had mistaken me for some former boyfriend as she apparently had an acid flashback while apparently NOT enjoying the awesome sex (if you’re a virgin freshman in high school) I was gifting to her (seriously, the condom felt like goddamn gift wrap), was that I realized she had somehow interpreted the Jolly Roger tattoo on my shoulder as her old boyfriend. So, realizing that I was copulating with one the stupidest (or is that hottest?) girls I had ever hooked up with at a party (okay, a five person tailgate kegger by Seacliff beach), I immediately (meaning, as slowly as possible, right before popping the cork on my champagne) withdrew myself and shouted “Arr, there she blows, matey,” to which she replied “Swab my deck!”
That’s the last time I party in Aptos.
Last night I was having sex with my girlfriend…haha, like I have a girlfriend!
No, but really, last night I was having sex with this sexy young thing (a 30-year-old Cabrillo student with a shaved head) and right in the middle of it (so, one minute in), she starts screaming: “Oh my god! Not you, Roger!”
Clearly, my name is not Roger, or else I would have been somewhat okay with that (ignoring the fact that she said “Not you”). What bothered me more, though, than the fact that apparently she had mistaken me for some former boyfriend as she apparently had an acid flashback while apparently NOT enjoying the awesome sex (if you’re a virgin freshman in high school) I was gifting to her (seriously, the condom felt like goddamn gift wrap), was that I realized she had somehow interpreted the Jolly Roger tattoo on my shoulder as her old boyfriend. So, realizing that I was copulating with one the stupidest (or is that hottest?) girls I had ever hooked up with at a party (okay, a five person tailgate kegger by Seacliff beach), I immediately (meaning, as slowly as possible, right before popping the cork on my champagne) withdrew myself and shouted “Arr, there she blows, matey,” to which she replied “Swab my deck!”
That’s the last time I party in Aptos.
Why I Hate the Internet (Nick Edrick Blog 2)
So Ive been using the Internet for quite a long time now, and the one thing that is repeatedly confirmed for me is that there are some things that do not need to be on the Internet. Midget porn, beheading videos, and some 12-year old’s pointless ramblings on Youtube are all wastes of bandwidth and my time. But these are all common examples; most people don’t want to see other people get beheaded (except for you, freak). But I have higher standards, I suppose.
My brother sent me an article about scientists who found spiderwebs that are hundreds of years old. Christ, I don’t want to read that! That means there are hundreds of year old SPIDERS. What deepest and darkest reaches of Hell are they from? What’s to stop them from coming through my window (or potentially my wall, I don’t know how big they are) and sucking all of my precious fluids out? Have they evolved the ability to talk? What would a really old spider have to say? (Must be a storm comin, 6 of my knees are actin up…).
Get that off my screen, I never want to see it again. Gimme the midget porn instead.
My brother sent me an article about scientists who found spiderwebs that are hundreds of years old. Christ, I don’t want to read that! That means there are hundreds of year old SPIDERS. What deepest and darkest reaches of Hell are they from? What’s to stop them from coming through my window (or potentially my wall, I don’t know how big they are) and sucking all of my precious fluids out? Have they evolved the ability to talk? What would a really old spider have to say? (Must be a storm comin, 6 of my knees are actin up…).
Get that off my screen, I never want to see it again. Gimme the midget porn instead.
Menstruation and Hippie Theater.
This is Caroline Klink, and I have absolutely no patience for writing a god damn blog right now. I'm going to blow through this whole thing as quickly as possible so I can get back to my Ben & Jerry's. I have a bucket of cookie dough in my freezer, and I'm not making it wait for me. So anyway...I work five hours every night on wardrobe duty for "Moving Voices", a UCSC production that is the epitome of all things hippie and pointless. The show itself is a cast of people moving about on stage, doing some kind of activity like looking at a tree, or searching for their shoes, or tripping balls quietly in the corner, while making a series of disturbing noises, while in the background, sitar and cello music adds a kind of acid-trip vibe to the already painfully boring experience. I don't honestly know how it can be called theater when I could easily have written an IDENTICAL play, my inspiration being what occurs in my apartment on a day-to-day basis. I was almost sure there had to be some deeper meaning than "student actors know how to pantomime picking an apple off a tree", but after hours of searching, the only conclusion I came to was that whoever wrote this is a self-involved, shallow, "look at me, I'm so deep" hippie scumbag with way too much free time.
Next, I'm going through every female's favorite time of the month. Yeah, that means I'm on the rag (so it is imperative that I return to my Ben & Jerry's rather soon). What that means for the rest of you is that you should probably buy a helmet if you are within a 500 yard radius of me. I've recently developed the urge to strap a couple of homemade explosive devices to my chest and sprint through the doors of a shopping mall and scream "DIE, YOU DISGUSTING CONSUMERIST SHITBAGS" just before blowing myself and everyone around me straight to the bowels of hell. Then I realized what time of the month it was, and calmed down a little. I realized it wasn't worth the effort and ANOTHER felony charge, so I'm done with it. The world is safe for at least one more month.
After that, you fuckers are on your own. Buy a helmet.
Next, I'm going through every female's favorite time of the month. Yeah, that means I'm on the rag (so it is imperative that I return to my Ben & Jerry's rather soon). What that means for the rest of you is that you should probably buy a helmet if you are within a 500 yard radius of me. I've recently developed the urge to strap a couple of homemade explosive devices to my chest and sprint through the doors of a shopping mall and scream "DIE, YOU DISGUSTING CONSUMERIST SHITBAGS" just before blowing myself and everyone around me straight to the bowels of hell. Then I realized what time of the month it was, and calmed down a little. I realized it wasn't worth the effort and ANOTHER felony charge, so I'm done with it. The world is safe for at least one more month.
After that, you fuckers are on your own. Buy a helmet.
Bus ride- Oliver Cruz
Well I wanted to talk about my experiences on taking the bus on campus. I take the bus almost every day to get to my classes and around campus or downtown. Whenever I take the bus I always take my IPOD because I don’t want to listen to people talk. Well do you not notice when you are on the bus you get those weird looks. I remember one day I was listening to my music then a girl just gives me a dirty look. I am oh OK what the fuck does that mean. Was she trying to tell me she doesn’t like my music or that she wants to have sex? So when this happens I pretend text sometimes to get away my attention from her. Also another thing that happens on the bus is that you always see drunken people on it on weekend nights. I was taking the metro bus back up campus on a Friday night. I then saw this couple of girls and guys all shit face. I mean the bus driver must be dumb to let drunken people on the bus. Only one of two things can happen. Either they threw up on the bus or they start fucking in the bus. And this time it was this couple who were macking on each other hard. Like it was hard not to stare because they were so loud and this one guy was not even hiding that he was looking. I was like what the fuck dude have you not see two people make out. But then again he was wearing a dungeons and dragons shirt. In all when going on the bus you get many weird ass people. Every time I step into the bus I was think to myself is this the day I finally get a normal bus ride.
Shayne and the Phunny Pharmacy (Blog 2)
Hey there, my name is Shayne San Agustin can safely say with much confidence that I am on the fence about whether or not I like my job. Let’s start with the horrible aspects of it. First off, I love how people personally blame you whenever anything goes wrong. What’s this? My insurance is not covering my boner meds? You sir are the one to blame, now fix it and make things better so that I can go home and make love to the missus. Even better, What! It’s not covering my birth control? You’re an evil evil man you meanie you! Somewhere in the back of my head I’m thinking to myself that she’ll be back the next day to buy some plan B (pharmacy technician: 1, mean teenie bopper bitch : 0 ). My personal favorites are the mantras that go along the lines of “It should be there, I called it in yesterday, or I still had refills remaining” or my personal favorite “you said 15 minutes 15 minutes ago.” Ok first off, it’s not ready so no you didn’t call, if you did it would be ready now wouldn’t it? Second, sir look at the bottle: 5 jillion refills until oh what’s that? I’m sorry your refills expired LAST MONTH. We have to call the doc for more refills. As for you there Mr. waiter, we fucking called your name three times, increase the volume on your hearing aid or something. On a more serious note, I do fill pity for the people struggling to pay for their blood pressure medications. Let’s put it this way, I can tell when people are going to be bummed about their meds so I try to lighten the mood.
” Ma’am that’ll be $234.15, plus your left arm, your right leg, and your soul. And if you don’t have any of those, we’ll take your first born as down payment, that’s how we get our employees.”
Now, on the positive note about working in a pharmacy….now that I think about it, it’s actually hard to come up with some. I have a coworker that used to rush his customers just so he could service the next hottie in line. More often than not it was a plan B request so whenever I see him work his magic it’s like “here ya go babe. There’s plenty more where that came from” , he’s a straight up player so every time I go up to him and tell him, you’re probably the one who got her pregnant to begin with….good job dude keep this up and we’ll be rolling in the dough. Honestly people, keep up the good work, we need the money.
” Ma’am that’ll be $234.15, plus your left arm, your right leg, and your soul. And if you don’t have any of those, we’ll take your first born as down payment, that’s how we get our employees.”
Now, on the positive note about working in a pharmacy….now that I think about it, it’s actually hard to come up with some. I have a coworker that used to rush his customers just so he could service the next hottie in line. More often than not it was a plan B request so whenever I see him work his magic it’s like “here ya go babe. There’s plenty more where that came from
Ben Gray - Blog #2
Halloween scares me. I really don’t like the idea of people who I’m already pretty sure are crazy running around drunk and/or high with masks on. These are the kind of people who really do need to be accountable for their actions… Letting them hide behind masks seems like a bad idea.
This phenomenon of unaccountability also turns out to be a huge problem for the lady folk. Just about everyone of the female persuasion dresses like a whore on Halloween. Why? Because they’re “hiding” behind their costumes… It’s not really them, so they don’t have to be held accountable for degrading all women everywhere and the downfall of morality.
These costumes are so far fetched too… When was the last time you saw a housekeeper who looked like that? Most of the housekeepers I’ve seen in recent memory had thicker mustaches than me.
The real problem, though, is the unoriginality. At any given Halloween party you’ll find 16 French maids, 12 slutty nurses, 9 pirates, 3 Tinkerbelles and a partridge in a pear tree.
What am I supposed to do when the Doctor tells I have to notify all of my recent sexual partners that I’ve contracted the Syph… “Well, doc… It was one of those maids… the ones without the mustaches…”
This phenomenon of unaccountability also turns out to be a huge problem for the lady folk. Just about everyone of the female persuasion dresses like a whore on Halloween. Why? Because they’re “hiding” behind their costumes… It’s not really them, so they don’t have to be held accountable for degrading all women everywhere and the downfall of morality.
These costumes are so far fetched too… When was the last time you saw a housekeeper who looked like that? Most of the housekeepers I’ve seen in recent memory had thicker mustaches than me.
The real problem, though, is the unoriginality. At any given Halloween party you’ll find 16 French maids, 12 slutty nurses, 9 pirates, 3 Tinkerbelles and a partridge in a pear tree.
What am I supposed to do when the Doctor tells I have to notify all of my recent sexual partners that I’ve contracted the Syph… “Well, doc… It was one of those maids… the ones without the mustaches…”
Improve Tryouts By:Kevin Cowie
Hi my names Kevin Cowie and I officially suck at all types of improv. For the last 3 weeks I tried out for 3 improv teams and failed miserably at all of them. Even I I did fail, improv I noticed shows what type of personality you have. Unfortunately when it showed what kind of imagination I had, I knew there were some problems going on upstairs. The improv judges told us to use our imagination and go with whatever comes into our head first. I was asked favorite drink, I said alcohol. They asked me to think of the worst television program for kids would be, I said little boys on ice starring Michael Jackson. Worst thing your parents could find in your room, I said a bunch of dead babies. It didn't dawn on me then but I noticed after words that I was an alcoholic with a sick and perverted sense of humor. My imagination has definitely went down the drain since pretending to have an imaginary friend that was a Tyrannosaurus Rex that could speak Spanish. Ya I was a lonely little kid... I really don't want to think about where my imagination would take me now if I had an imaginary friend. “Hey guys this is Havana a European model for playboy, ya me and her are the best of friends.” I also noticed other things that change when you grow up. One extra disappointing factor has to be how peoples tastes in ice cream changed and mine stayed the same. Ill still order the mix of 10 different ice cream flavors with every topping you can think of on top. MMM just thinking about it makes me as excited as an addicted coke addict who stumbled across some powdered sugar. Yet, everyone now seems to get that single flavor of plain ice cream. I cant see how people live like that! Ice cream is the equivalence of an orgasm in your mouth. Now who the hell wants to go against adding more sexual layers of gooey pleasure on top of what your eating. Thank you I'm Kevin Cowie.
Mulifanua Asuega "Al"
Blog #2
So I've never been raped before, well involuntarily that is, but if I went to prison I definitely would. I mean look at me; tall, dark, and handsome, with dashing good looks, and an acute sense of smell, I am fucking screwed. That is the exact reason why I don't do stupid shit around cops. I mean just the fear of being Big Bubba's bitch, is why I stopped stealing bubble gum and condoms from Safeway. Could you imagine someone like me, fragile, frail and fresh the 3 main F's that make me prime grade "A" meat to the rest of my incarcerated roommates. I would go through any means necessary to prevent any penetration of the many orifices on my body. Screw the macho male bravado type act, that shows all other inmates how tough I am so that they would leave me alone. I don't got the bone structure to be intimidating to anyone. Naw, Imma go against the grain and bring Big Bubba cupcakes and read him Dr. Suess at night, or trade my draws for a pack of cigarettes, or scrub his back in those hard to reach places, or carry his lunch to his table of eating, you know brotherly stuff so we can both bond. Anything that would keep Big Bubba happy and my boot muscles tight. I would be the best got damn cellmate Big Bubba's ever had. Shit I would braid his hair and even tattoo his baby mama's name on his knuckles. But if none of that works... I guess I can just play dead in hopes that they remove my pathetic body and throw me in the trash. Better alternative than being on the recieving end to Big Bubba's wrath.
So I've never been raped before, well involuntarily that is, but if I went to prison I definitely would. I mean look at me; tall, dark, and handsome, with dashing good looks, and an acute sense of smell, I am fucking screwed. That is the exact reason why I don't do stupid shit around cops. I mean just the fear of being Big Bubba's bitch, is why I stopped stealing bubble gum and condoms from Safeway. Could you imagine someone like me, fragile, frail and fresh the 3 main F's that make me prime grade "A" meat to the rest of my incarcerated roommates. I would go through any means necessary to prevent any penetration of the many orifices on my body. Screw the macho male bravado type act, that shows all other inmates how tough I am so that they would leave me alone. I don't got the bone structure to be intimidating to anyone. Naw, Imma go against the grain and bring Big Bubba cupcakes and read him Dr. Suess at night, or trade my draws for a pack of cigarettes, or scrub his back in those hard to reach places, or carry his lunch to his table of eating, you know brotherly stuff so we can both bond. Anything that would keep Big Bubba happy and my boot muscles tight. I would be the best got damn cellmate Big Bubba's ever had. Shit I would braid his hair and even tattoo his baby mama's name on his knuckles. But if none of that works... I guess I can just play dead in hopes that they remove my pathetic body and throw me in the trash. Better alternative than being on the recieving end to Big Bubba's wrath.
Turning Tricks For Treats: A HO-lloween Special!
HEY GUYS! It’s Emily A, and you look lovely today. I think more people should put on semi-formal attire before they peruse the blogosphere. I actually can’t see you (you have to pay to use my webcam services), but I can only assume you’re a classy individual, seeing as you’re reading the 2009 UCSC Standup Comedy Blog. Probably only a little inbred, I bet.
Anyway, speaking of outfits, it’s almost Halloween. I’m going as a bat. A promiscuous bat. Just kidding, I’m going as a regular, homely, non-sexy bat. I wouldn’t know sexy if it danced naked in front of me covered in oil.
This is the “Google Images Dictionary” definition of sexy. I put it here to trick people into reading my blog. If you’re reading this, THANX GOOGLIE! Nothing like a little female objectification to capture the ol’ attention, amirite?
In any case, watching me trying to be sexy is like watching a giraffe give birth. The intended audience becomes awkward, uncomfortable, and occasionally covered in blood. So I stick to wholesome costumes. Last year I went as an aborted fetus.
Halloween for your average moderately sexy college co-ed is an entirely different story. The front windows of stores are already filled with scandalous outfits for the seasonal whore. All of the pictures for the costumes are just boobs, supermodel legs, and the word “Sexy” in the title. There’s “Sexy Waitress”, “Sexy Nurse”, “Sexy Sexretary”, and “Sexy Pirate” - the last for you non-traditional jobholders out there. I saw a “Sexy Alice in Wonderland” outfit yesterday.
After working at Hooters for six years, your hand just kind of gets stuck like that.
Before we get into all of the “I’d like to go down your rabbit hole” jokes, I’d like to remind you that ALICE IS SEVEN YEARS OLD.
So hot right now. That outfit is going to go GREAT with these come-fuck-me heels.
(Picture courtesy of Humbert Humbert)
Congratulations Halloween, you’re officially a contender in the Terrible Corporate Holiday Competition. Christmas, you best watch yo’ back!
Anyway, speaking of outfits, it’s almost Halloween. I’m going as a bat. A promiscuous bat. Just kidding, I’m going as a regular, homely, non-sexy bat. I wouldn’t know sexy if it danced naked in front of me covered in oil.
This is the “Google Images Dictionary” definition of sexy. I put it here to trick people into reading my blog. If you’re reading this, THANX GOOGLIE! Nothing like a little female objectification to capture the ol’ attention, amirite?In any case, watching me trying to be sexy is like watching a giraffe give birth. The intended audience becomes awkward, uncomfortable, and occasionally covered in blood. So I stick to wholesome costumes. Last year I went as an aborted fetus.
Halloween for your average moderately sexy college co-ed is an entirely different story. The front windows of stores are already filled with scandalous outfits for the seasonal whore. All of the pictures for the costumes are just boobs, supermodel legs, and the word “Sexy” in the title. There’s “Sexy Waitress”, “Sexy Nurse”, “Sexy Sexretary”, and “Sexy Pirate” - the last for you non-traditional jobholders out there. I saw a “Sexy Alice in Wonderland” outfit yesterday.
After working at Hooters for six years, your hand just kind of gets stuck like that.Before we get into all of the “I’d like to go down your rabbit hole” jokes, I’d like to remind you that ALICE IS SEVEN YEARS OLD.
So hot right now. That outfit is going to go GREAT with these come-fuck-me heels. (Picture courtesy of Humbert Humbert)
Congratulations Halloween, you’re officially a contender in the Terrible Corporate Holiday Competition. Christmas, you best watch yo’ back!
What's Wrong with Alex? Alex Finlay
So I think I found out what’s wrong with me, medically at least. It’s been a long journey of doctors visits where they tell me nothing’s wrong and I’m just kind of crazy and then they kind of suggest that I go see a psychiatrist and then I go and he tells me that there’s nothing wrong but here’s a few Zoloft to get me by and then I go back because I think the Zoloft made me more depressed so here’s some Prozac, its stronger HOLY SHIT IT IS. Anyway, I’m not depressed, I have an underactive thyroid! No it’s true I really think I perhaps maybe could possibly have hypothyroidism. Maybe. I mean, it totally would make sense. Symptoms? Weight gain? Last year, I gained like 30 pounds even though I was walking more than I ever have in my life. I should have lost weight last year except oh yeah um. Dining hall? Oh…But besides that, I also have major mood swings and I’m always irritated. But you know, that could just be that I live with a bunch of fucktards. The one that I absolutely despise was trying to complain to me how no one does their dishes. Was he trying to provoke pity from me because I’m the one who wakes up 3 hours before class to clean the kitchen, only to take a shower and 15 minutes later the entire spoon supply is dirty and there’s crumbs everywhere and PEOPLE FUCKING SUCK.
Anyway, I think I might have hypothyroidism. Last year I thought I had arthritis. I mean, all my joints hurt, and my knees and ankles were swollen all the fucking time. That’s not hypochondriac, that logic. Unfortunately, the doctor was on crack and told me I was fine and he doesn't know why my joints hurt and swell up. I bet he barely graduated med school. Okay so there was this one time when I thought I had tooth cancer. But hold that thought...
Okay so I was just talking about my fucking annoying roommates. Now one of them is eating, no, slurping like a goddamn anteater. How do you slurp oatmeal?? We do have carving knives in the kitchen, he better watch himself.
Anyway, back to tooth cancer. I thought I had a tumor on my tooth. Now that I think about it, it was a little silly. But it makes sense that you can get tooth cancer, right? Anyone heard of bone cancer? Yeah well guess what teeth are? That’s like anatomy 101 right there. Don’t call me crazy when you don’t know what teeth are.
Julie Roth, Babies, please
. I must be reaching my prime reproductive fertility age because every time I see a pregnant woman or a baby, I want my own little sea monkey kicking around inside me. Maybe you wouldn't be able to tell because right now I am seriously wearing adult-sized footie pajamas with an afghan (the blanket, not the dog) wrapped around me like I've been up all night trying to catch the tooth fairy. [My house is perpetually freezing, but if I don't leave my window cracked my room will get all stuffy and smell weird. MY LIFE IS SO HARD.]
. But in all seriousness, I know I am not ready to throw my life away. I, in no way, want some little pooper to keep me up all night alternating between screaming and clutching my breasts (this is where I would joke about my boyfriend already doing that, but lucky for all of us I am currently single) and then grow up so we can embarrass each other and ask to borrow money. Regardless, I can't keep my mind from wandering over to thoughts of precious baby feet and how good their fuzzy heads smell.
. Because of this, I constantly size up my guy friends, boyfriends, and any potential fathers in my life. Not in terms of how good a father they could be, but what their genes have to offer me. Aside from bad eyesight, I could be a poster child for health. I can eat anything and hang out with any animal in any environment because I am not allergic to anything (I'm basically invincible, you guys). I adore my friend Tom, but but I don't want his asthma and allergies tainting my baby's gene pool. And is it vain to want a beautiful, healthy baby? Does it make me a bad person to want to get with a tall, good-looking, vocally gifted Hawaiian Prince with beautiful hair to make some fabulous babies? No. No. No!
. Another thing I do to prepare is keep mental lists of good baby names. When discussing potential names for our children, my bestfriend said he wanted twins, then another one. The Twins (a boy and girl) we decided to give our own names but to the baby with the opposite gender. The Other he wanted to name after his father. I got to pick middle names. Our happy clan would have been Julian [from Julie] Button, Louise [from Luis] Peanut, and Adolfo Butterfingers. Too precious? Almost! While driving through Kansas on a roadtrip with my parents (remember how hard my life is?) on highway 70, we passed an exit for two towns: Tonganoxie and Eudora. HAVE YOU EVER HEARD SUCH BEAUTIFUL NAMES? I was dizzy from excitement. I started praying for twins girls that instant. The other night while driving through San Francisco, I passed an intersection where to the right was a street called Congdon and the left, Justin. Twin boys? Yes, PLEASE! Congdon will have to have a good sense of humor and be really cool, and Justin better not get jealous.
. But in all seriousness, I know I am not ready to throw my life away. I, in no way, want some little pooper to keep me up all night alternating between screaming and clutching my breasts (this is where I would joke about my boyfriend already doing that, but lucky for all of us I am currently single) and then grow up so we can embarrass each other and ask to borrow money. Regardless, I can't keep my mind from wandering over to thoughts of precious baby feet and how good their fuzzy heads smell.
. Because of this, I constantly size up my guy friends, boyfriends, and any potential fathers in my life. Not in terms of how good a father they could be, but what their genes have to offer me. Aside from bad eyesight, I could be a poster child for health. I can eat anything and hang out with any animal in any environment because I am not allergic to anything (I'm basically invincible, you guys). I adore my friend Tom, but but I don't want his asthma and allergies tainting my baby's gene pool. And is it vain to want a beautiful, healthy baby? Does it make me a bad person to want to get with a tall, good-looking, vocally gifted Hawaiian Prince with beautiful hair to make some fabulous babies? No. No. No!
. Another thing I do to prepare is keep mental lists of good baby names. When discussing potential names for our children, my bestfriend said he wanted twins, then another one. The Twins (a boy and girl) we decided to give our own names but to the baby with the opposite gender. The Other he wanted to name after his father. I got to pick middle names. Our happy clan would have been Julian [from Julie] Button, Louise [from Luis] Peanut, and Adolfo Butterfingers. Too precious? Almost! While driving through Kansas on a roadtrip with my parents (remember how hard my life is?) on highway 70, we passed an exit for two towns: Tonganoxie and Eudora. HAVE YOU EVER HEARD SUCH BEAUTIFUL NAMES? I was dizzy from excitement. I started praying for twins girls that instant. The other night while driving through San Francisco, I passed an intersection where to the right was a street called Congdon and the left, Justin. Twin boys? Yes, PLEASE! Congdon will have to have a good sense of humor and be really cool, and Justin better not get jealous.
Nick Patti comes up with a brilliant idea! (Comedy Blog #2)
So I had this really funny thought the other night about something really hilarious with this one thing about this one guy that pretty much made me pee my pants while I was thinking about it!
…but then I fell asleep.
The next morning, I awoke with a warm, welling sensation, telling me that the day ahead was going to be full of success and accomplishment. But since I peed my pants and accidentally wet the bed the night before, my bi-weekly laundry day was pushed forward one and six sevenths of a week ahead of schedule, making me miss breakfast, as well as a good chunk of my first class of the day (it’s an art class, so it doesn’t really count (and by “doesn’t really count,” I mean, “Holy-shit-this-class-has-so-much-reading-about-the-dumbest-things-I’ve-ever-heard-in-my-entire-life-why-is-that-naked-woman-pulling-a-scroll-out-of-her-vagina-and-reading-it?” Now pause for a second… I know just what you’re thinking. And yes, it’s just as fucked up as it sounds; standing in front of an audience, buck naked, and pulling a roll of paper out of your vajay-hole while trying to decipher what you’ve written even though your juices are smearing all of the ink of the paper. Don’t think that someone actually did this? Well that’s too bad, because it’s true, which I guess can also be considered a bad thing if you really think about it.))
The first thing I thought about when my teacher showed us this slide in class:
Paper cuts…
Raise your hand if you just thought the same thing that I did!?
Alright, now stop raising your hand in front of the computer. You look rather silly, and it’s embarrassing me. Stop it.
RANDOM THOUGHT! Who here reads all of these posts other than Ashkahn?! Show of hands! :D
So after I finished with my extremely premature load of laundry, I decided to go back to bed, because I was so flustered with the FLUXUS art movement that I just gave up on that day; it didn’t bring me anything remotely warm or welling, other than the urine that soiled my sheets and sent me to the laundry room in the first place. However, regardless of my indifferenc, I did take something out of that experience that I deem to be worthwhile. Since I was so annoyed by their existence, I took it upon myself to come up with a fitting acronym for their influential, growing art movement:
Fucking
Loonies
Unveil
XXX!!
Um…
Soup.
See, it’s art, so it doesn’t even need to make sense! (Almost makes as much sense as a man covering his face in gold paint and telling poetry to a dead rabbit. Once again, not kidding)
Well, that's all for me now. The sun is up, so I'm gonna go to bed. :)
…but then I fell asleep.
The next morning, I awoke with a warm, welling sensation, telling me that the day ahead was going to be full of success and accomplishment. But since I peed my pants and accidentally wet the bed the night before, my bi-weekly laundry day was pushed forward one and six sevenths of a week ahead of schedule, making me miss breakfast, as well as a good chunk of my first class of the day (it’s an art class, so it doesn’t really count (and by “doesn’t really count,” I mean, “Holy-shit-this-class-has-so-much-reading-about-the-dumbest-things-I’ve-ever-heard-in-my-entire-life-why-is-that-naked-woman-pulling-a-scroll-out-of-her-vagina-and-reading-it?” Now pause for a second… I know just what you’re thinking. And yes, it’s just as fucked up as it sounds; standing in front of an audience, buck naked, and pulling a roll of paper out of your vajay-hole while trying to decipher what you’ve written even though your juices are smearing all of the ink of the paper. Don’t think that someone actually did this? Well that’s too bad, because it’s true, which I guess can also be considered a bad thing if you really think about it.))
The first thing I thought about when my teacher showed us this slide in class:
Paper cuts…
Raise your hand if you just thought the same thing that I did!?
Alright, now stop raising your hand in front of the computer. You look rather silly, and it’s embarrassing me. Stop it.
RANDOM THOUGHT! Who here reads all of these posts other than Ashkahn?! Show of hands! :D
So after I finished with my extremely premature load of laundry, I decided to go back to bed, because I was so flustered with the FLUXUS art movement that I just gave up on that day; it didn’t bring me anything remotely warm or welling, other than the urine that soiled my sheets and sent me to the laundry room in the first place. However, regardless of my indifferenc, I did take something out of that experience that I deem to be worthwhile. Since I was so annoyed by their existence, I took it upon myself to come up with a fitting acronym for their influential, growing art movement:
Fucking
Loonies
Unveil
XXX!!
Um…
Soup.
See, it’s art, so it doesn’t even need to make sense! (Almost makes as much sense as a man covering his face in gold paint and telling poetry to a dead rabbit. Once again, not kidding)
Well, that's all for me now. The sun is up, so I'm gonna go to bed. :)
Life Facts with Kirill Zaitsev
Hi. My name is Kirill Zaitsev. It’s Russian.
I’m feeling scatter-brained. So this will be scatter brained:
My First name means: The Lord
Last name: Of Rabbits. I’m not kidding.
I do eat a lot of carrots. So it makes sense. I am a vegan, so my diet is very Rabbit-riffic. I wonder how many children I will have…
Being Russian means I have to like vodka, and all things related to potatoes, like couches. I’m also a health nut. End result: I take my vitamins with a shot of vodka, while sitting on the couch, (Sometimes for cultural pizzazz, I wear a sombrero too).
Vibrators are illegal in Texas, why? Because grumpy old white men don’t have a sense of adventure, so what does this law really do? It’s helps cucumber farmers, a lot. And probably leads to the misuse of vibrating video game controllers/ cell phones/ jack hammers, yes, jack hammers, everything is supposed to be bigger in Texas, get used to it.
FAQs on the Alzheimer’s website:
1. Is there an Alzheimer’s website?
Here’s a tip for any Gay men out there: When crossing state lines and being asked “Are you traveling with any Fruits?” Don’t raise your hand “Just meeee.” They won’t think it’s as funny as you do… just trust me.
And a hint for everyone: don’t keep your chapstick near a glue stick. While you are at it, also don’t keep ketchup packets near your condoms.
If you type in “Why are” into a google search, and let google suggest, one of the suggestions (that apparently enough people search for) is “Why are there school?”
That should do it,
Cyall
I’m feeling scatter-brained. So this will be scatter brained:
My First name means: The Lord
Last name: Of Rabbits. I’m not kidding.
I do eat a lot of carrots. So it makes sense. I am a vegan, so my diet is very Rabbit-riffic. I wonder how many children I will have…
Being Russian means I have to like vodka, and all things related to potatoes, like couches. I’m also a health nut. End result: I take my vitamins with a shot of vodka, while sitting on the couch, (Sometimes for cultural pizzazz, I wear a sombrero too).
Vibrators are illegal in Texas, why? Because grumpy old white men don’t have a sense of adventure, so what does this law really do? It’s helps cucumber farmers, a lot. And probably leads to the misuse of vibrating video game controllers/ cell phones/ jack hammers, yes, jack hammers, everything is supposed to be bigger in Texas, get used to it.
FAQs on the Alzheimer’s website:
1. Is there an Alzheimer’s website?
Here’s a tip for any Gay men out there: When crossing state lines and being asked “Are you traveling with any Fruits?” Don’t raise your hand “Just meeee.” They won’t think it’s as funny as you do… just trust me.
And a hint for everyone: don’t keep your chapstick near a glue stick. While you are at it, also don’t keep ketchup packets near your condoms.
If you type in “Why are” into a google search, and let google suggest, one of the suggestions (that apparently enough people search for) is “Why are there school?”
That should do it,
Cyall
Scott Curtis Blog # 2
I seriously believe that Communism would work if I was in charge of everything. As chairman of the dictatorship of the proletariat, the social utopia envisioned by Marx and Engels would become a reality. Don’t take this grandiose promise as a gesture of hubris, but rather understand that I’m the shit and nobody else knows the full extent of my ‘master-plan.’ The first order of business, besides liquidating all private businesses, would be a decree banning any child under the age of seven from flying in a passenger plane. Fuck them they can walk. Second, all copies of the Bible, Torah, and Koran would be burned and replaced with my soon to be best-selling autobiography “Scott Curtis > Moses, Jesus and Muhammad.” Third, the University of California Santa Cruz will remain exactly how it is, as the current system of ideological indoctrination has been perfected to an art. Fourth, all private property would become the property of the people and would accordingly be divided among my closest friends, family and survivors of the first purge. This blog is not to be construed as a declaration of sedition or an open invitation to begin the inevitable revolution to follow. Instead the people of the Western Hemisphere should become familiar with the man who will rule with an iron fist, and fist with an iron hand. All hail the vanguard of the revolution, the glorious dictatorship of the proletariat, whose powers the world will soon come to understand. Away with yea taxes, Republicans and Democrats. Be gone imperial wars of occupation in foreign lands. In our bright future their will be no income to tax, no political parties to choose between and the war of occupation will be brought home.
The Importance of Beards [Paul Herzog]
Blog 2
The Importance of Beards
I’m a man. Approaching 20 years of age. Though you wouldn’t know because my facial hair is much more closely related to that of about a 9 year old. I know what you may be thinking, but having a baby smooth face isn’t all its cracked up to be. Sure, I’ll be able to get into Chuck-E-Cheez until I’m 30, but destroying kids at ski-ball is only satisfying for awhile (Plus I already have enough tickets for the PS3). Beards have a certain culture surrounding them. It’s true, think about it. There’s many facets of life I will never get to experience without the ability to grow a beard. Allow me to elaborate.
Say I become an astrophysicist, and a meteor is coming to destroy Earth. Without an unkept beard, how will my colleagues know that I’ve been working around the clock trying to save the world, sparing no time to shave. Nobody wants to work with a clean shaven astrophysicist, its a fact. Without their support, how am I supposed to save earth from the asteroid? Call Bruce Willis again? He did it in Armageddon, no way he’ll do it twice.
What if I end up being washed up, sitting by myself at a bar in Cleveland drinking shots of Jack Daniels? No bartender is gonna empathize with a guy, wailing about how his wife took his kids and left him for his best friend, if he’s clean shaven. You need the scruff to get the sympathy.
It’s also proven that if you have a good beard, you will win an argument. No matter what. You could be defending the right to eat puppies, and no counter argument can beat the beard. You just point to it and say, the beard disagrees. Win. All I’m saying is Chuck Norris has a beard, and would you wanna disagree with that guy? Doubt it.
The Importance of Beards
I’m a man. Approaching 20 years of age. Though you wouldn’t know because my facial hair is much more closely related to that of about a 9 year old. I know what you may be thinking, but having a baby smooth face isn’t all its cracked up to be. Sure, I’ll be able to get into Chuck-E-Cheez until I’m 30, but destroying kids at ski-ball is only satisfying for awhile (Plus I already have enough tickets for the PS3). Beards have a certain culture surrounding them. It’s true, think about it. There’s many facets of life I will never get to experience without the ability to grow a beard. Allow me to elaborate.
Say I become an astrophysicist, and a meteor is coming to destroy Earth. Without an unkept beard, how will my colleagues know that I’ve been working around the clock trying to save the world, sparing no time to shave. Nobody wants to work with a clean shaven astrophysicist, its a fact. Without their support, how am I supposed to save earth from the asteroid? Call Bruce Willis again? He did it in Armageddon, no way he’ll do it twice.
What if I end up being washed up, sitting by myself at a bar in Cleveland drinking shots of Jack Daniels? No bartender is gonna empathize with a guy, wailing about how his wife took his kids and left him for his best friend, if he’s clean shaven. You need the scruff to get the sympathy.
It’s also proven that if you have a good beard, you will win an argument. No matter what. You could be defending the right to eat puppies, and no counter argument can beat the beard. You just point to it and say, the beard disagrees. Win. All I’m saying is Chuck Norris has a beard, and would you wanna disagree with that guy? Doubt it.
Olivia Mendonca, Blog #2
My parents went through this phase where they really enjoyed watching bull riding. Bull riding is a pretty odd thing. Who in the world thought it was a good idea to sit on top of an animal that literally weighs a ton and would like nothing more than to stomp on you, then stab you with the sharp, foot-long pieces of bone growing ever so conveniently out of its head? It just sounds a bit dangerous.
Oddly enough, I actually grew up watching lots and lots of people do stupid things with bulls. In the Central Valley, Portuguese people have bullfights over the summer. I'm not sure if a lot of people know this, because one would probably assume it's illegal or something. But it's not. They don't kill the bull, so it's alright. I guess. All morals involving animal rights set aside, everyone's favorite part is when the group that's nicknamed the “suicide squad” comes out to do their stuff. Basically what happens is eight guys all line up in front of the bull and let it run into them. Their job is to “catch” the bull and make it stop running. Sometimes it doesn't go so well.
There's also another kind of bullfighting that started in the Azores islands (which is where most of the valley's Portuguese immigrants are from). This one's not actually “fighting”. What happens is that five or six guys hold on to a rope, and on the other end of that very same rope there is, you guessed it, a bull. Then anybody who wants to jumps in front of it and tries to get as close as they can. The rope is incredibly long, so in reality the guys on the other end can't actually help much. The odd thing is, the guys running in front of the bull seem to think that having an umbrella will provide some protection.
Of all the things you can take with you, you pick an umbrella? Really? Needless to say, this form results in lots of people getting gored and stomped on. People have actually made videos compiled entirely of people getting trampled and thrown around. They're sort of like sports bloopers tapes, except instead of seeing someone fumble you see blood and serious injury. It's even set to the same kind of goofy music.
So, that's this week's lesson on Portuguese culture. You might be wondering how we haven't died out by now.
Oddly enough, I actually grew up watching lots and lots of people do stupid things with bulls. In the Central Valley, Portuguese people have bullfights over the summer. I'm not sure if a lot of people know this, because one would probably assume it's illegal or something. But it's not. They don't kill the bull, so it's alright. I guess. All morals involving animal rights set aside, everyone's favorite part is when the group that's nicknamed the “suicide squad” comes out to do their stuff. Basically what happens is eight guys all line up in front of the bull and let it run into them. Their job is to “catch” the bull and make it stop running. Sometimes it doesn't go so well.
There's also another kind of bullfighting that started in the Azores islands (which is where most of the valley's Portuguese immigrants are from). This one's not actually “fighting”. What happens is that five or six guys hold on to a rope, and on the other end of that very same rope there is, you guessed it, a bull. Then anybody who wants to jumps in front of it and tries to get as close as they can. The rope is incredibly long, so in reality the guys on the other end can't actually help much. The odd thing is, the guys running in front of the bull seem to think that having an umbrella will provide some protection.
Of all the things you can take with you, you pick an umbrella? Really? Needless to say, this form results in lots of people getting gored and stomped on. People have actually made videos compiled entirely of people getting trampled and thrown around. They're sort of like sports bloopers tapes, except instead of seeing someone fumble you see blood and serious injury. It's even set to the same kind of goofy music.
So, that's this week's lesson on Portuguese culture. You might be wondering how we haven't died out by now.
Fundamentalists - Tyler Thompson
People always talk about Google taking over the world... Is anyone else besides me looking forward to this? I have full confidence in their ability to lead our country; they can't be worse then our current government. Forget Google though, I'll settle for more scientists in general leading this country. The whole anti-intellectual movement (or as I like to call it, the evangelical christian movement) has really taken a toll on this nation. It's hard to take steps forward as a country when a quarter of it's population actually believes that salvation can not be attained through good work, only through faith in Jesus Christ. (Pulled from prayerfoundation.org) Does that make any sense? "So I can be a racist alcoholic and beat my wife and still go to heaven if I accept jesus christ as my lord and savior and atone for all my sins?" Fuck that, you guys can have heaven. I'll be chillin' in Hell with Ghandi. They have all the good music there anyways.
I like how fundamentalists get to just pick and choose which technologies and ideas we can appreciate. Cars? "Sure, as long as it's American made". Computers? "Fine, as long as you stay away from the perverted websites". Dinosaurs? "Yep, they were here. Died in the flood. Noah didn't have room for all the reptilian folk." Evolution? "You mean like monkeys? Where the hell would you get an idea like that? Did Ghandi tell you that?"
I like how fundamentalists get to just pick and choose which technologies and ideas we can appreciate. Cars? "Sure, as long as it's American made". Computers? "Fine, as long as you stay away from the perverted websites". Dinosaurs? "Yep, they were here. Died in the flood. Noah didn't have room for all the reptilian folk." Evolution? "You mean like monkeys? Where the hell would you get an idea like that? Did Ghandi tell you that?"
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