anthony ishihara blog 4

This past weekend i went back home for thanksgiving. It was really great to be home and eat home-cooked meals. While i was there one thing in the news really caught my eye. Tiger Woods crashing his SUV into a fire hydrant as well as a tree. Appearantly police found him in the street with his lips bloody as he was drifting in and out of consciousness. At first you know i felt like Tiger was just high or some shit cause i don't know how the fuck you run into a tree and a fire hydrant while your pulling out of the drive way. This shit was right in front of his house. So i guess a couple days latter we find out this fool Tiger was just fooling around with some girl and his wife got mad and smashed some windows. I mean the guy does have a few kids i think he should be a little more careful. They caught this fool texting her shit like, "i want to fuck you" and "send me some naughty pictures" which made me realize Tiger Woods is a boss. I mean while the media and critics critisize him im going to glorify him for getting some pussy. I never thought Tiger was a dog like that. I guess when you get rich and famous it kinda just happens. It must not be very hard for the richest athlete in the world to find a flousy. i just hope he gets it together because its gonna be hard to get sponsers when hes got all these babys mamas. Maybe Tiger will be this generations Bob Marley and all of his kids can dominate golf.

My A Maizeing Story

Back in Freshman year I was eating in the dining hall with a few good friends of mine, when it approached closing time. We had been there for a couple hours talking with people and grazing though the evening, when all but three of us were left. Just as we were about to wrap up our conversation and head home, we spied one of the workers walking around talking to each of the tables. We thought it was just a request to go home, but it turns out that there had been a huge platter of corn on the cob made, that would just go off if nobody could eat it. So we decided that we would take up the challenge and do what freshmen men do: have an eating competition. So they bring out their massive silver serving bucket of corn and quickly scurry away in fright. We would soon learn why. There was a mountain of this corn. A variable cornucopia if you will. But we knew we could best it. We start on the first layer, and we are joined by a guy from another table who wants to tag along on our glorious mission. However, after a single cob and a photograph, he runs away like the cur he was. After the first layer of corn was demolished we, in high spirits, chuckled at our once feared maizey foe and continued on. But the revenge of the corn had only begun. It may not be common knowledge, but corn is filled with two things: Starch and sugar. And half way though the second of the three layers the sugar highs begin to kick in. Suddenly the chuckles become, giggles that evolve into guffaws, that sprout into full on bouts of laughter. Suddenly it is a struggle to keep from pelting one another with yellow machine gun bursts as everything becomes funny. Soon the massive starches set in stomach cramps, coupled with the laughter, and the twofold attack of the corn monstrosity was fully waged. I wish I could bring you a tale of good news, but instead this must be a cautionary tale. Unable to finish the third and final layer, we stumbled out of the closed dining hall, its quiet interrupted only by spurts of laughter and groans. We were defeated by an unsuspectingly strong foe, yet with this adventure we had grown wiser. And let you, reader of this, know that one should never underestimate your enemy, even if it is only a pile of corn.
javascript:void(0)
Merlin Jones

My Alleged Suicide by Alex Finlay

Alright so I'm kind of in love with the show "Say Yes to the Dress". It's kind of the best show ever. These girls come in to a bridal shop and bring their bitchy mothers and sisters and basically just bitch at the poor bridal consultants for 30 minutes. Actually, most of them are really nice, but some of the mothers are FUCKING HEINOUS BITCHES.
Anyway, so the show inspired me to think about my wedding. I decided that I do not want my mother help me pick my dress. She always thinks I look fat in everything and need to cover my boobs more and I'm all like "HEY MOM guess what? You're daughter's fat so maybe that's why she looks fat in everything. And your boobs would be everywhere too if you had DDD's! So shut up!" Then she'd totally freak the fuck out and start crying like she did when she moved me into the dorms my freshman year because I told her not to embarrass me in front of all my future friends. That was like the worst thing ever. Oh my God. Why do children so such evil things to their parents? Or worse, why do parents have to cry? Fuck that. That's like a torture device for me. I saw my dad cry once and I nearly shit my pants. WTF.

Oh my, that was definitely not where I was going with this one. What I'm trying to say is that I don't trust anyone to tell me if I look good except for God, myself, Stacy London, and Clinton Kelly. That's about it. I really need friends with a sense of fashion, but (and I know this is really sad because I dress like a fucking freak) I am the most fashionable person I know that isn't my sister, who would basically take over the whole dress appointment and tell me to go home because fat girls can't get married. I hate my life.

Anyway, I'm never getting married and I hate everyone. Love, Alex Finlay

African American, 25 year-old, Drug Dealer and Pimp Stepdad

So, about two years ago now, my mom and brother decide to do a “mother – son” trip. After looking over their options, they decided upon Africa, more specifically: The Gambias. It was a planned 8 day trip of sun and fun. After a couple days of chilling at the beach, my brother is approached by this one guy asking if he wants to buy some sex from his sisters. My brother being the smart 16 year-old boy that he was, wisely declined. Then, the man asked him “what about ganja?”. My brother slightly more tempted by this offer declined to buy some of this African sensimilla. However, they did end up smoking together. My mom had no idea what my brother did for the next two days as he always left for a while to hang out with his new buddy. Well, after a couple days my mom met this guy, who is about 25 (or so they think- there are no birth records, and that knowledge didn’t seem relevant). My mom is a 49 year-old white lady. Well it turns out that when they met, they really hit it off. Well they only had 4 more days to hang out before my mom and brother went back to Sweden where they live. So, the night before my mom leaves, they get engaged. For the next year they are talking on the phone and sending email letters to each other, trying to figure out how to get him to Sweden. Well towards the end of the first year, they finally figure out a way. After a month of being in Sweden, they get married. And that is how I ended up with an African American, 25 year-old, drug dealer and pimp stepdad!

/Michael Platten

Drunk Texting/ Steve Jobs [Paul Herzog]

Texting is fun, isn’t it? I’m a big drunk texter. Love it. What I really need is like, a rosetta stone that can translate my drunk texts before I send em out. That would super fucking duper. Because I’ll be talking to the girl next day and she’ll be like, “Yeah, uhh, you sent me a text at 3:30 am saying ‘I’m gonna dragon fuck you so hard you’ll cum a fireball.’ You wanna tell me what kind of mid-evil drunken fuckery was going on in your booze head when you sent that?” I’m like, ohh sorry. Looks like I got drunk and watched A Knights tale again.

I always drunk text via iPhone. Aren’t they just a treat?! I feel like when Steve Jobs was a kid he had one of those retardedly overactive imaginations. You remember that kid? Always saying the most ridiculous shit, everyones like “shut up Steve.” He was so that guy. Him and his friends are on the swings at recess, and one of his friends is like, “my dad just spent $200 on a CD player, and now we listen to whatever songs we want. Its so cool”. Then Steve Jobs jumps in like, “Yeah! Well I’m gonna invent a tiny magic rectangle that can have every song ever on it, and its gonna be a phone too, and its a takes pictures. and you can play video games on it, and watch movies, annnd I’m only gonna sell this awesome box for $99.” Steve Jobs you were one retarded little boy. Then the iPhone came out and it turns out his overactive imagination did get the last laugh. Good thing he never got put on Ridelin, or else we would live in a world with no iPod, iPhone, or Mac Book Pro. Thanks retard imagination of Steve Jobs, you’ve made our world that much better.

Mariah

Sean Gereghty
Final Blog

Is it strange that Mariah Carey’s music scares me? Well, it does. Not all of it. I used to like her music very much but then I met a girl named Sierra who made up stories about us living together and liked to tell people we were in a relationship. She also made up a man and made up that he impregnated her and made up that she miscarried because of her made up health problems from her made up cancer which she got several times in several made up places but still managed to get pregnant again and miscarry [made up] that one too. This is relevant to Mariah Carey because one of my old favorites of her, “Always Be My Baby,” is now ruined because I can’t help but picture Sierra rocking back and forth in the fetal position singing “Ooh boy, you know you can’t escape me” quietly to herself. What’s worse is she actually once said “You will always be my baby.” I hadn’t decided I hated her yet because I hadn’t quite realized how much she was ruining most aspects of my life, so I said “Okay” so she would stop crying. In all honesty, I fully intended this blog to be about Mariah Carey. I really like the song “All I Want For Christmas Is You.” I sing it into my hairbrush. But the song “Touch My Body,” aside from my strong personal dislike toward the melody, the line “I will hunt you down” gives me the chills. Sierra might try to hunt me down. She could be doing it right now.

This was supposed to be about Mariah Carey.