Josh Abrams - End of the World

Josh Abrams

What I would do if the world was ending

If some natural disaster was going to end the entire world and you had a week to live, what would you do? This question was spawned because I’m watching Armageddon with my friend. If you have seen this movie then you know its a pretty awesome, lots of good actors, relationships, inspiring music, manly men, jokes, cheesy romance, saying the title of the movie IN the movie, and anything else you would want. But back to the point, what I would do if I had a week to live. I would break a lot of windows, not to steal things, but because I just enjoy the sound and feeling of breaking glass and I’m a helper, so the people who would want to loot will have one less thing to do. Another thing I’d do is finally figure out a way to make my life into a movie. Not like a biography movie about me or anything like that. I just want the music that fits all the moods of the characters and sets the scenes. But that gets annoying, especially if it happens too much and because when I figure out how to make my life have the music like a movie, I won’t be the only one hearing it, everyone will have to! The music won’t always fit my mood either, most of the time I would have it annoy others for my amusement, because I’m immature and childish like that. Some other things I would do would punt a bunch of small dogs off of the Hoover Dam. Sounds mean I know, but don’t tell me you wouldn’t do it at least once. I would also blow up my car in a public place, not to hurt people but to surprise them. It would be remote activated by my keys and after making it honk 15 times it would explode. As you can see most of my life-ending-soon-goals are to annoy. So those of you who think that praying works and know how to pray should start praying that nothing world ending will happen not only because you don’t want to die, but also because you don’t want your last few weeks on this planet being irked by my shenanigans.

Blog #3: Fortune Cookies

-Devon Bealick

I love me some fortune cookies. When I go to any Chinese restaurant I make sure they give me some fortune cookies. I’ll get the take out and rifle through it just to make sure they put those cookies in there. When I eat in I don’t even ask for the check I ask for the fortune cookies. I have even done research on the subject. Did you know fortune cookies are an American invention? The real origin is a little fuzzy but Asian Americans popularized them in the twentieth century. Ironically we always eat fortune cookies with Chinese food, but actually they are based on a Japanese cookie. You see the Chinese took over the fortune cookie game around World War II when all the Japanese were in interment camps. Sometimes it is fun when reading the fortune inside the cookie and adding in bed to the end of the phrase. For example, “You will face a great challenge in the upcoming week- in bed.” I am always curious about how they decide what to put in the cookie. They are always really vague like “This week you might maybe make an extra small amount of money”. They should make them really specific like, “ next Tuesday around three o’clock you will see a woman in a blue dress, it is very important that you don’t speak to her or even make eye contact. If you follow these instructions you will make an extra thirty dollars this week.” You know how freaked out you would be around three o’clock on Tuesday when you see that woman in a blue dress- in bed.

Hi. I'm from a little town in Arkansas called Chew With Your God Damn Mouth Shut.

It's weird how little things that most people don't notice bother me. And I tell you this story in the hopes that I don't seem completely neurotic, but we'll see. Yesterday, I was in the dining hall, comparing one banana to another banana (because god forbid College Eight should have to part with more than one piece of fruit at a time... pricks) and I was about to make my decision when I looked up and saw this girl. She had a tangled mat of dirty blonde hair, a pug nose, and a little black dress that she looked like she needed to fight to get into that morning. She had her plate of food and was munching on some of it before she got to her table. But she was chewing with her mouth WIDE FUCKING OPEN. Not just the normal open-mouth chew, when you accidentally bit off a bigger piece than intended, or you just open it once or twice when you're chewing. And she had an enormous fucking pie hole. It was as if she was so proud of the sandwich she made, she felt like sharing its demise with the rest of us. That, or she was going for a certain look, which must have been "alligator that needs braces". If not, that's unfortunate because she pulled it off rather intensely. If that doesn't work, here's another way to picture it: take a pug's face, file down the teeth a bit, stick some hay on top for the "it's cool to be messy" look, and stuff its gross, gnarly ass into a black Urban Outfitters dress. Then give it a sandwich. Watching this girl, I really had to fight the urge to some up to her, grab her by the shoulders, and scream "You're in college! You are an adult for Christ's sake, act like one!" I don't know about you guys, but pretty much everyone I know got over chewing with their mouths open when they were in the third grade or so. In fact, I worked at a day care this summer, and I knew six-year-olds that had better manners than this chick. That being said, I think I'm done here. But I shall leave you with this little ditty just to get my point across:



-Love,
Caroline Klink

Will's post

Will Poulin’s “blog”

An excerpt from my short time as a ghostwriter for J.K. Rowling after “The Sorcerer’s Stone” got really popular and she had to crank out a sequel before everybody lost interest.

Suddenly, Harry got hit with one of those balls that hit people. The heavy ones. The fat ones that do absolutely nothing but fly around ruining people’s days. The Rush Limbaugh ones, you know? Anyway Harry gets hit with one of those and it breaks his arm {add in adjectives like ‘sickening’ ‘crunching’ ‘searing’ ‘Rush Limbaugh’} He somehow survives the fall {magic?} and rolls along the grass as the crowd looks on in horror. Ron and Hermione run up to him but are pushed out of the way by professor Lockhart. Since they are quantifiably the worst friends in the world, they stand there and do absolutely nothing while the Dan Quayle of magic tries to help Harry’s compound fracture. Seriously, the bone is sticking out of the flesh in several places. What are you going to do, Lockhart, smile at it? Douchebag. Anyway, Lockhart goes up to Harry and rolls up his...robe…sleeves? {what do robes even have?} and gets out his wand to do some magic.

“No, not you! Anyone but you!” yelled Harry, “Ron, Hermione, HELP!”

Ron shrugs and continues to jam his thumb deeper and deeper up his own ass while complaining about how unpopular he is compared to the 12 year old wizard who nearly died saving hundreds of people’s lives like five months ago. Hermione appears to be reciting facts about the human skeletal system to a blank brick wall.

“Stand back, children” yelled Lockhart, “I’m about to do some serious magic up in here!”
He raised his wand and screamed, “Akefay agicmay atinlay apcray!”

“Wait, was that just pig Latin?” Harry shouted, “Oh you son of a bitc..”BAM!! There is a blinding, white light and Harry is thrown another three feet or so. He gets up and immediately tries to move his broken arm, but can’t. In fact, he can’t feel his right arm at all. He panics and grabs it, reacting with a mix of horror and disgust as he holds up a limpProxy-Connection: keep-alive
Cache-Control: max-age=0

C rubbery, not-at-all-conducive-to-erotic-imagery tube of flesh. Instead of fixing his broken bones, Lockhart had completely removed them! {dun dun DUNNNNN}

“Oh what the fuck is THIS SHIT?” Harry yelled, flailing his floppy meat-pipe wildly in
the air. Lockhart stood there and stared at his wand as if it had just ordered him a pizza. “Now, Harry, don’t panic, it’s just a slight mix up. But hey, your bone isn’t broken anymore, right?” Lockhart was really grasping at straws here. Harry was slightly displeased, “You took all my bones away you fucking ass! What the hell? What the fuck did you think you were doing? YOU ARE THE WORST WIZARD EVER. If Transformers 2: Revenge of the Fallen was a wizard you would still be so much fucking worse! Science cannot build a machine capable of calculating HOW MUCH SHIT YOU SUCK at wizarding, and I don’t even know what science is!” Lockhart stood there confused. He had trouble dealing with emotions that were not admiration. “Harry, that’s a little harsh, don’t you think? I was just trying to help.” He really should have kept his job as an Abercrombie and Fitch model. This was clearly not working out. “HELP??” screamed Harry. “Help? How am I supposed to live like this? What the fuck is Harry Jr. supposed to do tonight, just hump this flaccid piece of shit? I am so Rush Limbaugh right now!” At that, Harry sprung up and flung his arm around Lockhart’s neck like a garrote and started choking him like the bitch he is. “TAKE. THIS. YOU. ARE. THE. WORST. CHARACTER. EVER.” He was about to let go when there was a violent CRACK! and Lockhart’s head flew straight off, revealing him to actually be one of THE CRAB PEOPLE!!!
-end of chapter-

Buying a UCSC Education ; Timothy Irvine

So it’s 11:33 AM and I’m thinking that I might need to get on that blog that’s due in about, oh, 27, now 26 minutes. As if our UC system and UCSC weren’t a joke enough, the students here and our study patterns are pretty damn funny.
What might an example of a common UCSC student’s schedule look like? Maybe 10AM, wake up, masturbate, shower, masturbate, torrent porn onto an overpriced MacBook Pro, slouch to class , chill on FB instead of taking notes (or look at porn; not a lot of difference for some people), fall asleep, drool on self, wake up, masturbate, become embarrassed, realize there are four other people just as oblivious as you, finish, leave class, shower, take a nap at Oakes field instead of attending class, meet friends in overpriced College 8 Dining Hall, get drunk, pass out in Porter Meadow, repeat.
Another exemplary schedule is that of the stoner, which is: smoke underpriced weed, fall asleep, wake up, smoke, contemplate, get munchies, smoke, eat, contemplate masturbating, forget, fall asleep, wake up, smoke, contemplate the meaning of life, smoke, eat, sleep, wake up, contemplate the meaning of weed, repeat. Or, in a simpler form: wake up, smoke, get munchies, feed munchies, smoke, sleep, repeat. Even simpler: Smoke, get munchies, feed munchies, sleep, repeat. Simplest: smoke, sleep, eat, repeat.
I wonder whether our education here is over or under priced?!

spencer moody comments on holidays

so yesterday was veterans day. yep, it came and went, barely even noticed. students and government employees all over the country rejoiced in the streets to recognize our troops and soldiers from the past. well...not exactly. i'd be surprised if most people knew exactly what we were celebrating on any given holiday. so yesterday i didn't have to go to school because of all the wars that have occured that i wasn't a part of. way to go international violence. but the idea behind all of this made me curious about other holidays. Thanksgiving: apparently, this holiday is intended to give thanks to the Autumn Harvest. i'm not really sure what that has to do with turkey, but mr. Harvest is a pretty cool dude for hooking it up so fat. Columbus day: a celebration of the man who "discovered" America. thanks racial oppression, you've made it possible for me to masturbate all day instead of going to school. Labor Day: celebrating the work and achievements of those in the labor movement. the sweetest part about this one is that someone else put in the work so that i don't have to.

Chris Hoshino-Fish: that funny symbol @

Does anybody remember a time when you looked at that funny "a" with a tail and said "hey, what in the fuck is that thing?" If you grew up in the late 80s and 90s like myself, then you probably laughed a lot @ those silly adult who were troubled by this harmless symbol. And with the advent of email, they were forced to deal with this nasty symbol. Luckily for us Americans, it had already been in use in supermarkets and such to describe how much items cost per pound. It was natural to just say it meant "at" and continue on. But what about the people of the world, who don't speak english (fuck em). Well, some translations are pretty funny.
In Dutch, they call the symbol "apestert" which means "little monkey tail". In Czech, they call it "zavinac", which means pickled herring. No joke. In Finnish, they say "kissanhnta" or cat's tail. I'm starting to see a recurring theme. Those silly Eastern Europeans the Hungarians call it "kukac", or maggots. Weird. My personal favorite is Thai. They call it "ai tua yiukyiu", or the wiggling worm-like character.

Why I Love Veteran's Day - Emily A

I love Veteran's Day. Not only is the abbreviation V.D., it's also the only holiday where you aren't obligated to do anything.

I'm celebrating by having an Recalcitrant Old Man Day, where I sit around drinking Hot Toddies and yelling at the television. Later I might go down to the basement and yell at the washing machine, and then the missus and I are going to the park. I fully intend on yelling at the ducks. I'm going to have my assistant wheel me around with a blanket on my lap.

I am going to yell at my blanket. It is going to be fantastic.

It’s okay to yell at things when you’re old. Not only is it the only way you can hear yourself, but old people grew up in a different time, when microwaves were the new obsession and televisions were a luxury. When cars were American and blackface was okay. Simpler times, when a twelve-year old could walk around the woods with a shotgun and a pair of faithful dogs for weeks on end, living by his wits. When naming pets "Ol' Yeller" and "Little Ann" wasn't goddamn weird. When the most important things in life were paying respect to the Lord and beating up minorities. My favorite grandpa (god rest his wrinkly soul), was a giant racist and a homophobe, but that's okay, because after a certain age you just nod and smile and remember not to let them vote too much.

Veteran's Day is a celebration of all of these things, of coupons and elastic-band pants. It's a day for puttering around and playing backgammon. It's a day for griping about bread prices, and reading all the parts of the newspaper, even the boring bits about other peoples' wedding engagements or the article about high school sports. It's a day for reminiscing about the times you played high school sports, and happily leaving out the fact that you where terrible and actually single-handedly dragged down your entire high school track team.

Veteran's Day is a day acknowleding the glory and horror of war! Where we awkwardly look away from PTSD, and—fuck it, Veteran’s Day is a day for hangovers and videogames. Grandpa, this next round of Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2 goes out to you. I’m turning up the volume on this one.

General Petraeus Vs. Commissioner Goodell

I learned something new today: If you go to military college to play football and get drafted into the NFL, you don’t have to finish out your military service. You enroll in that school planning on going to Iraq and fighting for America, but wind up in Miami playing for the Dolphins.

Sounds a little like Wonka’s Golden Ticket, right?

But apparently it’s not that easy.

One of Army’s more proficient student athletes was recently drafted into the Big Time, but rather than thanking God that he doesn’t have to go to the desert, he actually felt really conflicted.

Does he go to war for his country? Or blitz quarterbacks for Bill Belichick?

Honestly, I don’t know how this isn’t a no-brainer. Sure, there are plenty of Pros and Cons to joining the Military. Pride, adventure, and honor come at the high price of lost limbs, Post-traumatic Stress Disorder, and Trench Foot. But, I really don’t see the drawbacks to being a professional athlete.

The NFL has fat paychecks, skinny women, and, best of all, no insurgents trying to blow you up.

I mean, I see how having big, sweaty, insane men try to hit you everyday could get a little stressful, but it must beat having big, sweaty, insane men trying to kill you everyday, right?

If you’re out there and reading this, take my advice, join the NFL and not the army.

(…Unless you’re drafted to the Raiders, then Iraq really may be the better option.)

Yee yee, Halloween (Blog Cumulative 2 and 3 - Ben Siegel)

What to say about one of my favorite holidays. Halloween, halloween... Is this even considered a holiday? I mean it is not holy and it is not really even to commemorate any big advances in our society like veterans day ect. Here is a holiday christened by the Hershey and Mars companies and devoted to keeping the American Dental Society with fat tooth-full grin on their faces. In fact, the ADA probably benefits so much from Halloween, that it keeps their pocketbooks filled throughout the year. Its no wonder that right around this time all the biggest smiles are coming from Doctor Kivens and Partners as they speed away in their latest next-year model Porsche right after their fattie work haul in November.

Thats one thing I don't get about America, there are so many doctors but does that mean that we have one of the best health care systems in the world? Or that we are really just very unhealthy and in need of a doctor for every type of malady. Optometrists, dentists, podiatrists, gynecologists: whatever the name you get the gist of it, they are just all fancy words for eye doctors, teeth doctors, feet doctors, and vagina doctors. Mostly I feel, that going to college right now, everyone who aspires to be a doctor, or anyone who is going pre-med are either super interested in helping people, or trying to score a slow-large buck over their life's work. Most are capitalist humanitarians, or capitalmanitarians who know that if you've got a few random letters before or after your name you are looked up to and have much more reverence . Joe Shmoe M.D., Dr. Dumäss, or Douche- Bag McGee PhD all sound better with their Doctorate titles.

Going back to Halloween, do any of you go trick-or-treating any more? It seems that as soon as teens are legal to marry and fuck a 75 year old man, they stop sugar seeking on October the 31st. I don't understand this because who doesn't like sugar? I guess when kids get older they are more into just dressing up as their favorite character's or super heroes. A sexy cat, a horny devil, a sexy angel, a cute pumpkin, a hot parole officer, or just strait up a naked porn-star as long as a girl is wearing band-aids on her titties and a thong that is a perfect costume. My favorite is a when the unsexy girls dress up as sexy skanks, or just deck themselves all out in fishnets as they think that will increase their hotness factor by tenfold. Don't hurt yourself in this contests to wear the least amount of clothes though girls, October is freezing as fuck and every guys knows the chicks are probably to drunk to walk right in those 7 inch heels and mini-skirt. It might as well be rephrased as "Naked day (Except if your are under 18)" or maybe even a good costume could be a birthday suit.

I wouldn't mind going trick-or-treating myself at this age. It could be fun and who knows maybe there is some lonely health-conscious aerobics instructor tired of handing out chocolate covered strawberries to the 8 year olds on her block. Who knows maybe she would invite me inside to help her dip the strawberries and whisper sweet nothings into my ear. Or maybe I might even just bump into some kids who actually wanna do some tricks instead of treating. That was my favorite part, what's more fun than wasting toilet-paper by throwing it on someone's tree just to see them try and get it off. Kids are genius...

Laundry, Katherine Heigl's Portrayed Uterus, and Kayne West

So yesterday, I used the holiday to finally start unpacking. Yeah that's right, I haven't unpacked yet.
I mean, I got all the things I need out. My printer. My clothes. But when it comes to all those little things shoved in boxes, I just didn't feel like doing it, nor did I ever have the time (that's a lie).
So yesterday, I looked around my room at the majestic mountains of dirty clothes and overflowing boxes, and I decided that I actually had nothing to wear anymore except for my pink Old Navy reindeer pajamas and my work shirt, and that by the next day, I would have nothing wear. So I started by sorting my clothes.
Holy shit. You know, people always told me I had a lot of clothes. I had NO IDEA. It took me 2 hours to sort my clothes. Subtract 30 minutes of that because I kept sitting down with my housemates and watching Knocked Up, which by the way is such a good movie. I really hate the ending though. It's like, when did they fall in love? They still hated each other when she went into labor, and then they're living together?? Sorry if you didn't want a spoiler, but it's a romantic comedy. If you expected anything else to happen, you might as well be a brick wall.
Anyway, so, yeah, TWO FUCKING HOURS. Those two hours produced 6 FUCKING LOADS OF GODDAMN LAUNDRY. Other people trying to do their laundry yesterday hated me. They called me things like "Girl who makes a lot of trips to the laundry room because she can't carry everything in her dumb broken hamper". Rude. People are really rude.
Anyway, that was super gratifying. I tried to show off to my housemates like "Oh my God, you know what's cleaner than this kitchen that everyone refuses to clean? That's right, my room!" Then they told me to shut up because Katherine Heigl was having a baby and my screams of joy were interrupting screams of pain. Oh my god, labor sounds TERRIBLE.
SO then I changed my sheets! That is what I’m most excited about. Clean, deep purple sheets. Before I had lavender sheets. Yo, lavender, Im really happy for you, and Imma let you finish, but deep purple is the greatest shade of purple of all time. OF ALL TIME! When will Kanye jokes get old? Oh…oh…okay. So apparently they already are, and have been since he opened his mouth. That’s really unfortunate because Imma let you finish jokes are kind of the greatest jokes of all time. OF ALL TIME! Yeah I did it again.
Kanye jokes: still funny to me. Laundry: CLEAN AS FUCK. Room: still messy because apparently, getting rid of the clothes was just one layer of the room. Katherine Heigl: One classy bitch.
The end.

I hate pickles.

Last year three friends and I got into the Merrill apartments, and we were given a random fifth to fill out the house. The person we ended up getting would change our entire quarter, if not our college career on a whole. A small and quiet man, he was 9-10 years our senior, and it turns out we already had a history of sorts. He had freaked out a girl on my hall by following her in the dining hall, she would talk about how he would make small talk and come on to her, playing with her keys and whatnot, despite the number of times she would drop that she had a boyfriend. He eventually stopped, but the legend had started. Hoping that we wouldn’t see this side of him, we tried to interact and include him, to no good result. He would fall in love with every girl who came to my house, and later after meeting them would come up to us and say “Hey… umm, you know _____? Do you… like her? She’s really nice. Does she have like, you know, a boyfriend? No? Could you maybe… umm tell her that I like her?” But the discomfort didn’t stop there, his way of being friendly was to constantly offer a bevy of phallic food, and only phallic food: “Hey wanna pickle?” or “Anybody want some sausage?” and of course “Hey, there’s a popsicle in the freezer if anyone wants it.” Because of him my roommate and I made sure the door was locked every night before we went to bed, anticipating the night that he would knife everyone in the house. When he finally moved out (though he only went next door), we were relieved to an extent, but another unexpected perk was that for some strange reason the amount of toilet paper we were going though halved, which may have explained the half hour trips to the bathroom he’d take. Moral of the story: Don’t fuck around when filling out roommate applications.

Merlin Jones

Nick Edrick Blog 3-Blind People

It really pisses me off when blind people try to do normal things that they are functionally incapable of doing. For instance, blind people are better than a normal person at several things: peek-a-boo, getting to grab women’s breasts without retaliation, reading Braille, and looking pretty sweet with those awesome canes. But it angers me when they try to bite off more than they can chew. I saw a blind person trying to roller-blade on the news yesterday. It was awful; he made something that is usually extremely clumsy, awkward and feminine look even worse than usual. He even had one of those echolocation clickers that he pressed every two seconds so that he wouldn’t run into anything, like some sort of gay Daredevil. The worst part of it was that he kept commenting to the newsperson that he might like to drive a car someday. FUCK THAT. Who in their right mind would let a blind person drive a car? “Sure thing Johnny, just make sure you keep her under the sound barrier so as to not outrun your echolocation waves!” I just wish blind people would stick to their strengths. They could grab SO many breasts.

Nick Patti gets a bad case of writer's block (Comedy Blog #3)

So…

…um, yeah. It’s very difficult to think of something funny when looming over your shoulder is an eleven-page assignment with requirements that are more horribly abstract and difficult to read than a tablet of Egyptian hieroglyphs… written in Russian… backwards. Since I’ve been given this assignment, and therefore have almost no time to finish up this comedy blog because of it. I’ll have to use my backup plan to make sure I get a good grade on this assignment:

ASHKAHN ASHKAHN ASHKAHN ASHKAHN ASHKAHN ASHKAHN…

Hopefully that little stunt will boost my grade up a little bit. That got me an “A” on the last comedy blog, you know. :)

Now that I think about it, I think I might be having a little bit of writer’s block this evening, which is extremely bad considering that the eleven page project that I have to do is pretty much due the day after tomorrow. I cannot believe how perfect the timing could have been on that.

Actually, now that I think about it (again), there is probably a much worse time to have writer’s block than right before a big assignment for one of your classes is due. I can hardly imagine how terrible it would be to be just sitting in your deathbed (morbid, I know, but just go with it for a minute), your children and your children’s children are supporting you and hoping for the best, people are filled with remorse even before you pass on to the afterlife, and while you’re sitting peacefully in your bed you cannot for the life of you figure out how you’d like the prose of your final will should be constructed, and you spend hours upon hours thinking about the writing, and whether or not it should be in MLA format, or how much you can get away with adjusting the margins of the word document to make the writing seem longer in length, or whether you should use Times New Roman or Bookman Old Style font…

If you died from getting an aneurysm while having horrible writer’s block, I’d truly feel sorry for you, and I’d probably go to your funeral.

Trying to write with writers block is like trying to build a bridge with just one single support beam. If constructed perfectly, then it can create the illusion of a successful, powerful structure. But as soon as one person goes over it, the whole thing falls apart: bridge topples over like a see-saw, paragraphs are flung through the air and come down like a hail storm, blocks of cement, shrapnel, and run-on sentences bombard the reader until the exterior of his vehicle can stand no more…!

… and then the reader dies of cancer.

Well, talking about death was fun and all, but I have to go to my next class! See you in a couple of weeks! :D

Victor Nguyen Blog#3: Weak wondering thoughts

I was watching this anime about a guy who gets hit by a UFO. They decide to reconstruct his body, but accidentally turn him into a girl. Besides thinking that Japan comes up with very....unique ideas, I was wondering what would happen if I just woke up and found out that I was a girl? After I think about who do I need to sue, I’d probably check myself out in the mirror and try to lick my own nipples. Unfortunately, I’m a realist. Since I don’t have any penis I don’t think I would be able to enjoy looking at myself as much as I hoped I would. Then questions kept popping up in my head. If I went out with a girl would that make me a lesbian or straight? If I let a guy hit on me would that make me straight or gay and with that, I ruined a perfectly good mental porn. *sighs* I make myself sad sometimes.

I had a friend who was asking people to smoke with him, but wasn’t having any luck. My other friend nearby said at this rate he was going to end up smoking a dick. I seriously thought about it and wondered…how the hell would you smoke a dick? Maybe it’s possible if you hold the ball sack, light the pubes on fire and start puffing on the end. However you do it, I thought it was a wild idea. A few weeks ago I went to visit him and I saw on his desk a bong, but it wasn’t an ordinary bong. It was a penis sculpted bong and the ball sack was where you stoke it. My mind was so blown that I ended up smoking a dick for the rest of the week.

Kirill Zaitsev on:The Unpublished Dr Seuss Stories

Exert from “Oh the People You’ll Meet”

There’ll be Olks Tolks and Molks
Some Olks will plant trees
Some Tolks will be fab,

But of all of these folks
The Molks are the oddest
They never get a cab,
Which makes them the saddest


Exerts from Untitled Manuscripts:

And when you parents go out
You can kick and you can shout
But uncle Billy comes over
And talks and talks about Trout.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

One day you’ll be driving
And you’ll hear a loud pop
And something will feel odd
So you’ll pull off and you’ll stop
And then you’ll discover
That you’re tire is flat
As flat as your Ex-wife was fat.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Your sister might hit you, and you mother might yell
This monthly occurrence could seem just like hell
When they throw tantrums, and fits and bricks at the wall
It might be wise for you and your father to go off to the mall.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

In the big wide world
Of lefts and rights and ups and downs
Your dreams might melt away
And leave you wearing mostly frowns.
But you, don’t worry
Just pack you bags and walk away.
And go to Vegas for the day
For the week or the month, or to stay!

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

One day you will party
And party and party
You might dance
And you might sing
On table tops or
In a wrestling ring.
But I hope you learn
I hope you find out
That one day, your liver
It might just give out

Olivia Mendonca, Blog #3: For Children 10 and Under

Sometimes I feel like people treat me like I'm a little kid. Perhaps I do look a bit young; I was still getting asked if I wanted a kid's menu at the age of 16. Slightly embarrassing when I reveal that I was the one to drive our group to the restaurant, but at least I got some crayons to play with. Sometimes my parents would encourage these kind of mistakes because the meals on the kids menus were cheaper. Sure, that does make sense, but you can only eat chicken fingers so many times before going insane.

It also isn't only strangers who think I'm a child. There was this one time I was with my parents at a restaurant, and I noticed a piece of hard candy on the ground. I picked it up so that no one would end up stepping on it later, and immediately my mom says, “Don't put that in your mouth!” Really, Mom? I'm in college. I was going to dust it off first.

I can handle it when strangers or adults kind of treat me like a kid, but there was a point when other people my own age were doing the same. Not cool. I would be hanging out with some friends in high school and someone would use some “profane language”. Then they would take one look at me and say, “Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to say that!” Why do you think I care? I don't typically cuss, but I really don't care if other people do. Contrary to popular belief, my ears aren't going to shrivel up.

The lesson here is: if you want to talk to me like a little kid, just be sure to give me some crayons first.

Blog 3: "Poems" By Sean Gereghty

I decided this would be a good opportunity to share some poetry with you.

Green Crayons
By Sean Gereghty

One time I wanted a snack
Leap frog
Sand hurts my sensitive areas
Bean burrito jello
Hello Mr. Iguana
Several caterpillars fit in a coin purse
Snickerdoodle
Belly buttons make me nervous
Staples Hurt
Mob of babies
Seven
Pealing grapes is hard
Stop it Mandy
Q-tips overwhelm me
China, rainbows, the Moon
Leopard pizza
I disagree
The established order is apples
Hobbit hair
People trapped in vending machines
Goats remember what you did to them
I heart robots
Turkeys drown when it rains
Hitler liked dinosaur macaroni and cheese
Stress balls
Mo money mo problems
Cheesecake makes me cry
Pregnant rhinos
My eggplant is growing
Mow mow mow mow
Crack

This is a very emotional piece I wrote about a life altering moment in my life. I hope you can really feel the emotions through the computer screen. Or paper copy. It helps if you close your eyes. But then you have to open them again because you have to see the words to read. I suggest having your mom or motherly figure read it to you while snuggling.

I have another longer poem. It makes me feel like a giraffe. I hope you like it.

Giraffe
By Sean Gereghty

I feel like
A giraffe

That’s all the poetry I have for now. It took me most of my life to write that poem so I don’t have much other material. I hope you liked my poem. I mean poems. Thank you.

Life of a Cripple: Blog #3 By Eric James Barger

Well, it’s been a week and a half of me being on crutches, so I thought I might tell you what it’s like to be a cripple. There are several pros and cons to being crippled, so I thought instead of trying to write figuratively, I would just make a list.

Pro-Pretty girls offer to carry my food for me.
Con- when no pretty girls are around, the weird guy with the extremely thin moustache offers to carry my food. Then he continues to talk to me, and when I leave the dining hall he keeps talking to me. It’s not like I can run away.

Pro- girls flock to me to ask me what happened and give me sympathy.
Con- Once those girls realize how bitter and openly angry about being crippled I am, they run away, glancing back with an awkward look.

Pro-I have an excuse to use the elevator without being called lazy.
Con- When I try to go down stairs, I trip and hurt my other foot. Then I’m forever known as “that cripple who tripped”.

Pro-Everyone wants to use them.
Con-When they use them, I can’t walk.

Pro- I get priority seats on the bus.
Con- The front of the bus sucks. Plus, sometimes you get the annoying bus driver who always, ALWAYS seems to have a little anecdote about being on crutches. Either that or he pretends to offer you drugs and doesn’t deliver.

Pro- The muscles in my shoulder are bulging.
Con- The rest of my muscles are still puny, which makes me look like a poorly inflated balloon animal.

Pro- I’ve learned how to go really fast on crutches.
Con- I’ve got red marks in my armpits that make it look like I’ve been teaching a brand new sex move to everyone for the past week.


And that, my friends, is the life of a cripple. By the way, being drunk on crutches RULES. Try it.

Word to the (Not So) Wise by Jason Garcia (Blog #3)

Over the years there have been a few things I’ve always wanted to say to certain people. You know, I’ve got some shit to get off my chest. So I’m just going to let it all go.

To the guy that stands on the outer rim of the dance floor and stares at all the guys who are getting some like they are the devil:
Grow a pair

To the asshole on the football team that thinks he can hide the fact he likes in the butt by beating on some smaller guy:
You’re not fooling anyone. Besides, you’re secret lover thinks you’re dick is small.

To the roommate who ate my the last half of my sandwich:
FUCK YOU

To the mailman/delivery man who tries to make small talk when they bring you a package:
The only thing we really care about it the fucking package. Stop lollygagging and do your job.

To the ethnic barber:
No one can really understand you. We just nod after everything you say

To the chick in the hall that has loud, tantric sex:
The floor really doesn’t need to hear that you want your man to “spank you and call you daddy’s little girl”.

To the people that leave pamphlets on car windshields:
You are the reason I got a littering ticket you prick. Thanks to you I owe the state $300. Guess who now thinks your god is a piece of shit?

To the repairman that doesn’t show up:
Oh, any time between the hours of twelve and four my ass.

To the other driver that refuses to go when you wave for them to:
Stop looking at me. I waved first, so stop waving back. This isn’t a fucking meet and greet. Get your fuel-efficient shit mobile to the other side of the street so I can get on with my day.

To President Obama:
Keep on keeping on

To Michael Jackson:
Keep on keeping off (little boys)

Well I feel a whole lot better now. Maybe that’s just because I rubbed one out during this whole process, but who knows? Either way, I feel free. Oh, and one more. To the kid in class that laughs louder than the rest of the room combined as if he’s trying to prove the joke was funnier for him than it was for anyone else…SHUT THE FUCK UP!!…that is all

Blog #3 - Alex Machock gets drunk with Animals

Alright, so this is what’s up:

The format of the show would be just like all that other Discovery/Travel channel business,
You take one guy; throw him into a bunch of different environments, and he uses his special skills/gimmick to navigate and survive and whatever. Pretty simple stuff. I mean you already got your Jeff Corwins, you got that uh…British guy who deliberately has fucking insects bite him, you got the bald dude who goes to different countries and just eats everything.

I know what you’re thinking; uh yeah…so what? We already have enough that shit as it. What the fuck are you going to do that so special?

Well here’s the thing people,

I don’t have any special skills.

But I do like to get drunk.

And I like animals.

Basically what my show would consist of me:

True Story, I look exactly like Snake Plissken

travelling all around the world to a bunch of countries I’ve never been to, like uh…how about fucking Kenya? How does that suit you? They’ve got giraffes and shit.

Exhibit A: a Giraffe

And somehow, through my extremely limited knowledge of animals and their behavior, entice these wild critters to have a little sip of my O.E.

Exhibit B: Olde English

From there on end, there’s really no telling as to what’s going down as me and the inebriated creatures wreck havoc on the rest of the animal kingdom. Say for example, I’m chilling with my newly-found orangutan homies, drinking on some brass monkeys, when one of them decides we should go hyena egging. Well shit mr. orangutan, count me in! Or another week me and some shwasted elephants could go stealing road signs in Swaziland. Taco Bells the world over won’t even know what hit them when I’m bringing in packs of lions who’ve got the hardcore drunchies.

Now I know some people might get angry and call it inhumane to give such animals alcohol. To you I say don’t worry, I totally google’d “getting drunk with animals” beforehand and found out that certain animals will eat fermenting fruit to fulfill their alcoholic needs. There’s even a youtube link. So it’s cool.

Ariel Conkel - Blog Assignment #3

So for this blog, I’m deciding to be a hormonal little pussy and bitch about shit that’s bugging me. [Cause I’m a girl and that’s what girls do.]

Annoying roommates who think their wanted in a conversation so they just walk in to a room and join in. Bitch, I do not like you. We are not friends. Don’t talk to me. I really could give a fuck less what you have to say, you ginger freak.

Bumper stickers. Again, I do not care what you have to say, nor do I care about your likes and dislikes in this world or the fact that your child is student of the month at Who Gives A Shit Elementary. If you like Obama, kittens, and not contributing to world wars, good for you, I just want to drive the fucking speed limit asshole. Do you think as I’m honking at you to move your car out of the way that I give a shit that you love Jesus and Coexist. No. Not particularly. Just get the fuck out of my way.

Marxist lovers. Marx was a tool. His ideals would only work on a tiny utopian island. America is far from that, so get over yourselves already. You’re a tool.

People with backpacks on in a crowded bus. Hey dick bag, the refrigerator sized book bag you have strapped to your back and hit me in the face seven times since you got on the bus. Please refrain from being suck a dick bag and leave some of your crap at home. It is not necessary to lug around every edition of the D&D rulebooks around. If Gandalf is beckoning, I’m sure he won’t mind stopping by your crib to pick up some necessities.


[Spellcheck would like to make ‘Obama’ -→ ‘Osama’ Just thought I’d let you in on the humor that is getting to me at 2am]

Ban Meterosexuals!

“A party promoter has banned "metrosexuals" from a popular club night in a bid to stamp out violence.” A real article in the Herald Sun (sounds legit) from Melbourne, Australia banning Ed Hardy muscle tees, unisex skinny jeans, and basically all of American Apparel because more than hand guns and Swiss Army knives, deep v’s cause more hostility in clubs than the mix of bros and alcohol. I mean I’ve never been violently accosted by a man who chooses to groom himself over a man that doesn’t, but I guess a meterosexual can get pretty hostile when there’s some “accidental” spillage on their new white Ralph Lauren Oxford button down. The only men that I’ve been scarred of are the Downtown LA crack dealers, the Arizona Frat brothers and Mickey Rourke. Like honestly when have you ever been scarred of a meterosexual? Maybe when he’s approached you telling you your outfit was so five years ago or your tri-blend navy blue cardigan doesn’t match your Minnetonka moccasins, but honestly, has a meterosexual ever come up to a BLOOD’s member confronting him that his tall tee didn’t compliment his figure or that his flat hat is clashing with his Nike dunks? I don’t think so. Since meterosexuals usually come in petite packages, not to be confused with twinks, the effeminate pre-pubescent gay boy. Bros, the antithesis are alpha male idiots, usually inarticulate, belligerent douche bags, who enjoy spending their afternoons engaging in such games as beer pong and flip cup. I doubt these two males would ever approach each other in a nightclub, let allow be seen/photographed in that club together. A meterosexual is far too concerned with public appearances, photo ops, and bathroom primping to spend time in a dingy dive bar, playing pool while trying to score a tit and tap with Hugh Heffner’s college pick of the week. Ever get near a crowd of bros with six packs and massive guns? Terribly bad idea, you’ll find yourself in a brawl between flying buttons off a fitted Marc Jacobs blazer and rips in a some oversized logo shirt that says something along the lines of “don’t tase me, bro”…I’d say it’s time to get the Axe or can I recommend the new Gucci Pour Homme cologne? Touché.

Board Games By: Kevin Cowie

Lately my the building I have been living in has been having board games competitions that start out being friendly fun, yet they seem to end up becoming gladiator battles or striping sessions. I know its its hard to contemplate how a board game can lead to mass destruction or a free lap dance so let me explain. Everyone always gathers in one apartment to start the so called “board game night”. Eventually when you get further into the game one of 2 things happen. One, everyone argues on the rules of the game and two people get heated up enough to take light sabers and go at it outside for a while, for everyone's entertainment. George Lucus has not only made bad ass movies but at the same time solved trivial arguments by influencing everyone to use brute force instead. Two, someone (usually the creepy guy who stared at you in the naked run) influences that the game be switched so it involves striping and everyone gets naked. Makes board games a lot easier especially monopoly. That girl is going to have to do a few things if she wishes to just pass by my Park Place. But let me talk a little bit about the board games. One of the most popular apples to apples. The game of matching your crappy ass noun cards to the f@*#ed up adjective cards. Red = nouns, Green = Adjectives. There are multiple reasons I hate this game, I always get the shitty red cards that work exactly with the adjective their supposed to pair up with, yet no one plays by the rules. The adjective will be cuddly and ill put a teddy bear, while someones else puts down Michael Jackson. Who do you think the winner will be? But it cant stop there, Michael Jackson is just one of the many trump cards that never fall into my possession. The green card is now hopeless. I put down the red card high school reunions ... yet somehow I lose to the Helen Keller card. There will be the green card dirty. I throw down the card my mind, and I still lose to Adolf Hitler. This is where I give up on the game. Next game everyone loves to play, pictionary. Its a great way to show off your non existent artistic skills and create new hatred for the person you playing with. What the hell are you drawing?! How the F@#* is that a pirate ship!! The time is almost out its almost out, draw faster!! From my angle it just looked like you scribbled nonsense... that's because I did...
Thank you Kevin Cowie

Costco Has Everything

Zack Oleinik

Costco is a society in its self. Held together by low prices, large quantities and a thin layer of sticky shit fermented on everything there. At Costco the supper supper market mecca, you can buy a camera, take pictures and develop and digalitalize your photos without leaving. You can by a handle of alcohol for the same price as a fifth anywhere else. Except at Costco you have to buy a six pack of handles, and I did the math and that is equivalent to two hundred and forty drinks. But its ok because if you walk half a mile down the hard concrete floor to the dark damp corner of the this dungeon, alcoholics anonymous is having their daily session. There is actually a certified Planned Parenthood in the other corner, and in the middle of the place on Sundays there is a church service. Costco has it all sex, drugs and rock n roll. Couples have actually been married at these services and the wedding was completely catered with dank pizza, berry smoothies, churros and chicken bakes. Their son was conceived in by the flat screen televisions, and the parents named him P.C. to give respect to the original Costco formerly known as Price Club. The shopping carts at Costco are so nice that if a bum pushes one he becomes a transient. And I swear if you ever make to the very back end of one of these places, people actually live back there. It can be done, live off of free sample platters and sleep on bubble rap, hell it wouldn't even be that bad of a life. Gosh I love Costco, if only I had a card.