Wednesday, April 15, 2009
wicken chings
Well, that's like the 53rd time I've been to Taco Mac this week. But I love chikkin wangs I love em i love em I LOVE EM M I LOLVF EMM$@#($ Although I used to hate all meat. Especially meat off the bone. Sick, dude. That used to be moving once. Like, walking around. Or flapping. Just gross. I wouldn't eat a person...what makes a chicken wing so different. Oh well, I stopped being a chach and started liking chikkin wangs.
Man, I really need to writing on here more frequently.
Politics used to be my main subject for rantimus, but as of late I haven't cared about politikin at all. Actually, it was when Obama was sworn in. That's when I stopped caring. What a steaming pile of sweet potatoes. Gawd those are gross.
Ight I need help figuring something out. What is so special about Twitter? Why is everyone raving about it like a little chach? Why is it being ranked up there with other social networking sites like Facebook and Myspace? Twitter is about the most useless things ever. I really don't see what's so special about it, and why it's becoming a normal part of everyone's daily life. I seriously don't get it. Of all the social networking giant sites out there, why this one gets so much attention, like it's the greatest piece of technology evar. Like, I'm stumped. Is it because it's simple? Is it because Ashton Kutcher has one? Even old people have them now. Old people. Now you know something is up, because grandma is on Twitter when she's supposed to be working. And there's another thing...why everyone says "Like, omg I've been on Twitter all day omg lol". -_- There are only two things to do on Twitter...read people's stupid 140 character statuses, or post your own stupid 140 character statuses. Seriously, is that so interesting? People need to expand their internet horizons, seriously. Twitter is for nubecakez.
Oh ya, follow me on Twitter. http://twitter.com/drapheus
Man, I really need to writing on here more frequently.
Politics used to be my main subject for rantimus, but as of late I haven't cared about politikin at all. Actually, it was when Obama was sworn in. That's when I stopped caring. What a steaming pile of sweet potatoes. Gawd those are gross.
Ight I need help figuring something out. What is so special about Twitter? Why is everyone raving about it like a little chach? Why is it being ranked up there with other social networking sites like Facebook and Myspace? Twitter is about the most useless things ever. I really don't see what's so special about it, and why it's becoming a normal part of everyone's daily life. I seriously don't get it. Of all the social networking giant sites out there, why this one gets so much attention, like it's the greatest piece of technology evar. Like, I'm stumped. Is it because it's simple? Is it because Ashton Kutcher has one? Even old people have them now. Old people. Now you know something is up, because grandma is on Twitter when she's supposed to be working. And there's another thing...why everyone says "Like, omg I've been on Twitter all day omg lol". -_- There are only two things to do on Twitter...read people's stupid 140 character statuses, or post your own stupid 140 character statuses. Seriously, is that so interesting? People need to expand their internet horizons, seriously. Twitter is for nubecakez.
Oh ya, follow me on Twitter. http://twitter.com/drapheus
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
ass
I don't believe in saints, and neither do you.
Way to go on finding yet another excuse to drink, as if every other day isn't good enough.
Happy Tuesday.
Way to go on finding yet another excuse to drink, as if every other day isn't good enough.
Happy Tuesday.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
cardeelurz NAOO
Dear Carriage Nissan,
You haven't heard from me because I plan to never go to Carriage Nissan to buy a car.
My trip there to talk to someone about a vehicle I inquired about was a complete waste of time.
I originally applied for a loan on LendingTree.com, and after a week of turn-downs, someone from Carriage Nissan called me on a Friday and said they'd like to help me get into a car. I told the woman exactly which car I was looking for, and what payments I wanted to make. She then told me to come by the dealer to talk to someone in person, which I was happy to do, except that two more people called me from Carriage telling me the same thing. I told them what car I wanted, and what payments I wanted to make.
The last person I spoke to was Tim Ingle. Nice man, very helpful. I told Tim which car I wanted and the payments I wanted to make. He said he would get me pre-approved, and that we'd find the car I wanted (which is a 2000-2005 Mitsubishi Eclipse). We decided to meet Monday morning, specifically at 9am.
Monday came, and I went to the dealer. Turns out Tim didn't get in until the afternoon. No biggie, although that would have been nice to know, and I was already missing work. Tim called and said to come back in the afternoon, but I was tempted not to go. I really needed a car, and what Tim said he could do for me sounded promising, so I went.
I went into the dealership without high hopes, and it turns out that was a good thing. Tim and I sat down, and asked me what kind of car I wanted, and what payments I wanted to make. Now I'm thinking to myself, "Um, I already told you this three days ago, and you were supposed to be finding me a car and getting me pre-approved." He writes down the info, and says he'll be right back, he's going to check with the bank. Tim was gone all of five minutes, and I knew he didn't really go "check with the bank" because of what he came back with. Tim said that he couldn't get me in a 2000-2005 Eclipse for $300 a month.
He said it wasn't enough to afford that car. Now, $300 a month with a 4 year loan comes out to be $14,000 -- about $9,000 more than the average selling price of that particular car I wanted. So I told Tim that I could go down the street to a private dealer, and but the car for $5k, except I don't have that mass of money at the moment, and that was my whole plight to get pre-approved, even if the car I end up with is over the minimum lending amount ($7,500). I went further to ask if $300 a month really wasn't enough to afford the car, OR is it that he never looked for the car I wanted, and that he doesn't have any. Tim said that yes, he doesn't have the car I want, and they would never carry a car that old, cheap, or with that amount of miles because they have to be "certified." He could have told me that on the phone...
Ah, this is what I was waiting for. Tim then goes on about a rant about how I need to establish my credit yadda yadda, and how he can get me into a $12,000 car and drive off today. Even though he told me not minutes before that three-hundred a month wasn't enough to afford a car.
I respectfully said no, and that it looked like he couldn't help me any further, and I left.
What I experienced at Carriage Nissan told me that they're no different than any other dealer. When I went in, nothing as we discussed on the phone was accomplished, and everything I was told could have been discussed on the phone, saving me a trip there. But, that was exactly the point -- get me to the dealer so I can be swayed into something I don't really need. But that's what a car dealership and a saleman do, so I'm not phased. Carriage just did a really good job of making me think I was going to find the car I wanted and drive home in it soon.
The only reason I wrote this entire thing is so possibly you could understand why I'm a little irked when I see these emails in my inbox, when I unsubscribed a while back.
Sincerely,
Andrew Long
You haven't heard from me because I plan to never go to Carriage Nissan to buy a car.
My trip there to talk to someone about a vehicle I inquired about was a complete waste of time.
I originally applied for a loan on LendingTree.com, and after a week of turn-downs, someone from Carriage Nissan called me on a Friday and said they'd like to help me get into a car. I told the woman exactly which car I was looking for, and what payments I wanted to make. She then told me to come by the dealer to talk to someone in person, which I was happy to do, except that two more people called me from Carriage telling me the same thing. I told them what car I wanted, and what payments I wanted to make.
The last person I spoke to was Tim Ingle. Nice man, very helpful. I told Tim which car I wanted and the payments I wanted to make. He said he would get me pre-approved, and that we'd find the car I wanted (which is a 2000-2005 Mitsubishi Eclipse). We decided to meet Monday morning, specifically at 9am.
Monday came, and I went to the dealer. Turns out Tim didn't get in until the afternoon. No biggie, although that would have been nice to know, and I was already missing work. Tim called and said to come back in the afternoon, but I was tempted not to go. I really needed a car, and what Tim said he could do for me sounded promising, so I went.
I went into the dealership without high hopes, and it turns out that was a good thing. Tim and I sat down, and asked me what kind of car I wanted, and what payments I wanted to make. Now I'm thinking to myself, "Um, I already told you this three days ago, and you were supposed to be finding me a car and getting me pre-approved." He writes down the info, and says he'll be right back, he's going to check with the bank. Tim was gone all of five minutes, and I knew he didn't really go "check with the bank" because of what he came back with. Tim said that he couldn't get me in a 2000-2005 Eclipse for $300 a month.
He said it wasn't enough to afford that car. Now, $300 a month with a 4 year loan comes out to be $14,000 -- about $9,000 more than the average selling price of that particular car I wanted. So I told Tim that I could go down the street to a private dealer, and but the car for $5k, except I don't have that mass of money at the moment, and that was my whole plight to get pre-approved, even if the car I end up with is over the minimum lending amount ($7,500). I went further to ask if $300 a month really wasn't enough to afford the car, OR is it that he never looked for the car I wanted, and that he doesn't have any. Tim said that yes, he doesn't have the car I want, and they would never carry a car that old, cheap, or with that amount of miles because they have to be "certified." He could have told me that on the phone...
Ah, this is what I was waiting for. Tim then goes on about a rant about how I need to establish my credit yadda yadda, and how he can get me into a $12,000 car and drive off today. Even though he told me not minutes before that three-hundred a month wasn't enough to afford a car.
I respectfully said no, and that it looked like he couldn't help me any further, and I left.
What I experienced at Carriage Nissan told me that they're no different than any other dealer. When I went in, nothing as we discussed on the phone was accomplished, and everything I was told could have been discussed on the phone, saving me a trip there. But, that was exactly the point -- get me to the dealer so I can be swayed into something I don't really need. But that's what a car dealership and a saleman do, so I'm not phased. Carriage just did a really good job of making me think I was going to find the car I wanted and drive home in it soon.
The only reason I wrote this entire thing is so possibly you could understand why I'm a little irked when I see these emails in my inbox, when I unsubscribed a while back.
Sincerely,
Andrew Long
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
presiden0rz
If you didn't get to watch the Inauguration, let me give you the event in a nutshell:
1) Obama raises Aretha Franklin from the dead, so she can sing Mie Cuntree Tiz uf Thee. At least it looked and sounded that way.
2) Obama messes up the oath because he's thinking about how to screw up the country. Clearly he has his mind on other things.
3) Poetry. Someone recites some...poetry. The expression and reaction of the crowd after was priceless -- they had no idea what she was talking about. Some people defend poetry like they defend the existence of God, that it's sacred and disrespectful to think otherwise. It's an 'art form'. Yes, it's an art form just like the guy who painted a black spot on a white canvas and called it 'art' and now he's a legend. That's not art...that's not knowing how to paint, and in today's case, not knowing how to make complete sentences.
4) Raised from the dead, part two. Some 124 year-old guy was...praying? Or was that making his version of the inaugural speech? All the while, it sounded like he was trying to make the speech while playing chubby bunny.
5) Marines sing the national anthem, because Aretha Franklin's song was so awful.
History in the making. Classic.
1) Obama raises Aretha Franklin from the dead, so she can sing Mie Cuntree Tiz uf Thee. At least it looked and sounded that way.
2) Obama messes up the oath because he's thinking about how to screw up the country. Clearly he has his mind on other things.
3) Poetry. Someone recites some...poetry. The expression and reaction of the crowd after was priceless -- they had no idea what she was talking about. Some people defend poetry like they defend the existence of God, that it's sacred and disrespectful to think otherwise. It's an 'art form'. Yes, it's an art form just like the guy who painted a black spot on a white canvas and called it 'art' and now he's a legend. That's not art...that's not knowing how to paint, and in today's case, not knowing how to make complete sentences.
4) Raised from the dead, part two. Some 124 year-old guy was...praying? Or was that making his version of the inaugural speech? All the while, it sounded like he was trying to make the speech while playing chubby bunny.
5) Marines sing the national anthem, because Aretha Franklin's song was so awful.
History in the making. Classic.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
spareme
<3*~*~*~*~*<3
JOURNAL ENTRY #67, December 18th, 2008
DEAR DIARY:
The common radio that commands the airwaves has not penetrated my ears in almost an entire 365 days. It's been great not melting my noggin with that crap, and of course, that's the reason I stopped listening in the first place. It's garbage. Simply a collection of human waste. Not really sure what came over me this morning, but I pressed that button. Not CD. Not AUX for my MP3 player. No. It was the FM button. Oh dear lordie, that wretched FM button! My speakers soon reverberated the air with a nice mix of holiday spirit, since the station I listened to almost a year ago was back when I had a fruity tinge to me. As I listened, the overwhelming feeling came over me that I don't want anything to do with Star 94 anymore. It pained my heart like a Whopper does with cholesterol. With a tear in my eye, and sweat in my clammy palm, the channel clicked up 7 notches to that harrible, dreadful, demoralizing 95.5 The Beat, or better know as "the BEEEYOTTTTTTTTTTTTTT". If you could have been here next to me, diary, my demonstration of that would have been in an annoying bimbeu shreik, as they do on the radio. It's rather quite annoying. I can perfectly do without the smelly pirate hooker yelling that so loudly and startling-like, that the co-drivers on the road with me look over at my vehicle with an expression on their face that says nothing but "Holy hell what was that demonic noise that radiated from the inside of that truck." If only I could quench their curiosity, and let them know it's the sound of commerce and aids infested hookery and whorerey that consumes their fair city of Atlanta, a.k.a. 95.5 FM. But let's dive deeper into the pain my body quivered at this morning; it gets so much worse. At least when the dial clicked seven times up to 95.5 the BEEEYOTTTTTTTTTTT, I knew what to expect. Or so my feeble mind thought. When I took my hand off the dial, my ears heard the mama....the big one...the one song that would turn me to the devil I turn into when I hear that mama big one. It was a remix of the Numa Numa song, only rapified, and fagified. Let me draw out the immensity of this situation: Over the years, there have been many, many, many harribles remixes of some very, very, very good songs. You know the ones -- where you actually got irked so much that this artist defiled your song, you pick up a quill and some parchment or keyboard and write a letter of absolute disgust to that pitiful excuse of a musical artist, explaining how you met your first wife and/or husband and/or animal many years ago while that song was playing, and now the meaning of the song will forever be lost because now you'll think of ass and bouncing hooker titties every time the so called modern-day 'remix' comes on the radio. Yes, like that. Except worse. It was the most unoriginal and disgraceful 'remix' ever to hit the free world, and I know that happy yet pudgy guy who dances and mouths the words and has 20 gazillion views on YouTube is now ashamed that the song he dances to and is so so famous for is now associated with the bottom-of-the-dumpster rap world. As it played, my mouth remained open. When it was over, my mouth remained open. When I got to work, my mouth remained open. When I went to Google and typed in "numa numa rap shit" my mouth remained open. When I say it was by T.I. and Rhianna, my jaw fell off, and at the same time I wasn't surpised this was their doing. Dear buttery buscuit...is the horrbile and utterly disgusting way Rhianna dresses in every picture not enough attention for her? Did her humongous thighs not slap around in thunderous boom enough to get people to look her way? Is 'Mr. Atlanta' T.I. fed up with trying to make us feel sorry for him because his life growing up was "so hard", and that some boys touched him when he was young and made him be the lady when they played dress up, and now he feels the spotlight and publicity are the only way to reclaim "who he really is"....that he needs to produce such filth like a Numa Numa remix? It's as if the mental resources in this world have been used up. Now, we can only recycle what has already been accomplished, because our quest for spotlight domination will not have a thing such as 'creativity' stand in our way. Critics will argue that such musical numbers are in fact creative, because the artist took what was there and added new style and new spazz to it, evoking at least a small amount of creativity to be mixed into the final project. But sadly, that is not the case, dear critics. Creativity requires originality, which in turn requires uniqueness, which in turn turn requires it to be completely different then all other aspects of its class and I'm terribly sorry to say....that Numa Numa remixes do not make it into that cut.
It's been a horrible day, diary. Time for a pint of ice cream.
END OF JOURNAL ENTRY #67
<3*~*~*~*~*<3
JOURNAL ENTRY #67, December 18th, 2008
DEAR DIARY:
The common radio that commands the airwaves has not penetrated my ears in almost an entire 365 days. It's been great not melting my noggin with that crap, and of course, that's the reason I stopped listening in the first place. It's garbage. Simply a collection of human waste. Not really sure what came over me this morning, but I pressed that button. Not CD. Not AUX for my MP3 player. No. It was the FM button. Oh dear lordie, that wretched FM button! My speakers soon reverberated the air with a nice mix of holiday spirit, since the station I listened to almost a year ago was back when I had a fruity tinge to me. As I listened, the overwhelming feeling came over me that I don't want anything to do with Star 94 anymore. It pained my heart like a Whopper does with cholesterol. With a tear in my eye, and sweat in my clammy palm, the channel clicked up 7 notches to that harrible, dreadful, demoralizing 95.5 The Beat, or better know as "the BEEEYOTTTTTTTTTTTTTT". If you could have been here next to me, diary, my demonstration of that would have been in an annoying bimbeu shreik, as they do on the radio. It's rather quite annoying. I can perfectly do without the smelly pirate hooker yelling that so loudly and startling-like, that the co-drivers on the road with me look over at my vehicle with an expression on their face that says nothing but "Holy hell what was that demonic noise that radiated from the inside of that truck." If only I could quench their curiosity, and let them know it's the sound of commerce and aids infested hookery and whorerey that consumes their fair city of Atlanta, a.k.a. 95.5 FM. But let's dive deeper into the pain my body quivered at this morning; it gets so much worse. At least when the dial clicked seven times up to 95.5 the BEEEYOTTTTTTTTTTT, I knew what to expect. Or so my feeble mind thought. When I took my hand off the dial, my ears heard the mama....the big one...the one song that would turn me to the devil I turn into when I hear that mama big one. It was a remix of the Numa Numa song, only rapified, and fagified. Let me draw out the immensity of this situation: Over the years, there have been many, many, many harribles remixes of some very, very, very good songs. You know the ones -- where you actually got irked so much that this artist defiled your song, you pick up a quill and some parchment or keyboard and write a letter of absolute disgust to that pitiful excuse of a musical artist, explaining how you met your first wife and/or husband and/or animal many years ago while that song was playing, and now the meaning of the song will forever be lost because now you'll think of ass and bouncing hooker titties every time the so called modern-day 'remix' comes on the radio. Yes, like that. Except worse. It was the most unoriginal and disgraceful 'remix' ever to hit the free world, and I know that happy yet pudgy guy who dances and mouths the words and has 20 gazillion views on YouTube is now ashamed that the song he dances to and is so so famous for is now associated with the bottom-of-the-dumpster rap world. As it played, my mouth remained open. When it was over, my mouth remained open. When I got to work, my mouth remained open. When I went to Google and typed in "numa numa rap shit" my mouth remained open. When I say it was by T.I. and Rhianna, my jaw fell off, and at the same time I wasn't surpised this was their doing. Dear buttery buscuit...is the horrbile and utterly disgusting way Rhianna dresses in every picture not enough attention for her? Did her humongous thighs not slap around in thunderous boom enough to get people to look her way? Is 'Mr. Atlanta' T.I. fed up with trying to make us feel sorry for him because his life growing up was "so hard", and that some boys touched him when he was young and made him be the lady when they played dress up, and now he feels the spotlight and publicity are the only way to reclaim "who he really is"....that he needs to produce such filth like a Numa Numa remix? It's as if the mental resources in this world have been used up. Now, we can only recycle what has already been accomplished, because our quest for spotlight domination will not have a thing such as 'creativity' stand in our way. Critics will argue that such musical numbers are in fact creative, because the artist took what was there and added new style and new spazz to it, evoking at least a small amount of creativity to be mixed into the final project. But sadly, that is not the case, dear critics. Creativity requires originality, which in turn requires uniqueness, which in turn turn requires it to be completely different then all other aspects of its class and I'm terribly sorry to say....that Numa Numa remixes do not make it into that cut.
It's been a horrible day, diary. Time for a pint of ice cream.
END OF JOURNAL ENTRY #67
<3*~*~*~*~*<3
Monday, December 15, 2008
hamsammiches
I try to stay positive and have faith in humanity.
It's just hard to keep a smile on, work hard, focus on school, be successful, speak kindly to people, make friends, plan for the future, and save money when you realize that your whole lifetime and the generation that surrounds it is stuck inside this whole decaying specimen called "earth" and is spiraling down into a massive and overhwleming pile of poopie.
Am I wrong?
Blaiming it on the internet sounds like a good idea. It's where most of the poopie comes from -- opinion poopie at least. Most things that you'll read these days is just opinion, based off of "facts" that are other people's opinions, which they probably just pulled from their badonkadonk to try and sound smart. This is mainly why I only read news story titles, and not the actual story. Just reading the titles let's me know just enough, without dipping into the poo waters.
Maybe they do exist, but isn't there a news agency where the readers can vote +1 or -1 to certain stories, and only the top ones are displayed and reported on? I read about Rob Roy Blgojaahichch selling Obama's senate seat for a week, and I didn't even want to see it in the first place! Honestly, I could have gotten by without seeing that. On the other hand, GM and Chrysler's auto bailout is a good, fascinating read because either outcome of the companies will have an effect on my heart and wallet. And then on the other other hand, I had to read about Casey Anthony and her dead baby. Murder or no, it's a sad story about a dead missing baby, and the only one out of a jillion dead missing baby stories that's publicized, and all the while I don't care about ANY of them. And then I put in my zip code to get local news, and it tells me they're testing the tornado sirens. GAWD IDC PPL /rolleyes
Now there are stories about an Iraqi photographer throwing his shoes at Bush, while he's giving a speech. Ok, now that's just a good read! I want more like that one. My boxers would have been flying at him. Not because I hate Bush, but because I look for every opportunity to take my pants off.
Well, it's my girlfriend's birthday in two days, and I need to go bake and decorate a fabulous cake for her.
Oh, and please don't think I'm emo in any way.
It's just hard to keep a smile on, work hard, focus on school, be successful, speak kindly to people, make friends, plan for the future, and save money when you realize that your whole lifetime and the generation that surrounds it is stuck inside this whole decaying specimen called "earth" and is spiraling down into a massive and overhwleming pile of poopie.
Am I wrong?
Blaiming it on the internet sounds like a good idea. It's where most of the poopie comes from -- opinion poopie at least. Most things that you'll read these days is just opinion, based off of "facts" that are other people's opinions, which they probably just pulled from their badonkadonk to try and sound smart. This is mainly why I only read news story titles, and not the actual story. Just reading the titles let's me know just enough, without dipping into the poo waters.
Maybe they do exist, but isn't there a news agency where the readers can vote +1 or -1 to certain stories, and only the top ones are displayed and reported on? I read about Rob Roy Blgojaahichch selling Obama's senate seat for a week, and I didn't even want to see it in the first place! Honestly, I could have gotten by without seeing that. On the other hand, GM and Chrysler's auto bailout is a good, fascinating read because either outcome of the companies will have an effect on my heart and wallet. And then on the other other hand, I had to read about Casey Anthony and her dead baby. Murder or no, it's a sad story about a dead missing baby, and the only one out of a jillion dead missing baby stories that's publicized, and all the while I don't care about ANY of them. And then I put in my zip code to get local news, and it tells me they're testing the tornado sirens. GAWD IDC PPL /rolleyes
Now there are stories about an Iraqi photographer throwing his shoes at Bush, while he's giving a speech. Ok, now that's just a good read! I want more like that one. My boxers would have been flying at him. Not because I hate Bush, but because I look for every opportunity to take my pants off.
Well, it's my girlfriend's birthday in two days, and I need to go bake and decorate a fabulous cake for her.
Oh, and please don't think I'm emo in any way.
Friday, October 24, 2008
you broke fudgepakkar
I definitely need to share with you an exchange I had this morning with a mystery texter while I was still in bed. I love these mornings X)
Unknown: Hey
Myself: Hai
Unknown: Baby i wanna eat ur pussy
Myself: Even though it's 90 years old and crusty?
Unknown: Lol stop baby. What would you do to my dick
Myself: Put it in a blender and make you drink dick smoothie.
Unknown: I just wanna jack off what should I do
Myself: Cut a hole in a watermelon and think about Gary Coleman
Unknown: Would you let me eat it if I gave you 300?
Myself: No, I hate that movie
Unknown: 300 dollars baby
Myself: You broke fudgepacker! Why don't you take that 300 and buy yourself a shirt that says "I love balls in my face"
Unknown: Can i be ur bitch?
Myself: No, but you can make sure you're texting the right number.
He didn't write back. Although, I'm sure he will be because I just spent the past hour signing up his number for various text alerts. Ahh crap! I forgot the romance and relationship advice. Why don't you help...His number is 678-371-0507.
Unknown: Hey
Myself: Hai
Unknown: Baby i wanna eat ur pussy
Myself: Even though it's 90 years old and crusty?
Unknown: Lol stop baby. What would you do to my dick
Myself: Put it in a blender and make you drink dick smoothie.
Unknown: I just wanna jack off what should I do
Myself: Cut a hole in a watermelon and think about Gary Coleman
Unknown: Would you let me eat it if I gave you 300?
Myself: No, I hate that movie
Unknown: 300 dollars baby
Myself: You broke fudgepacker! Why don't you take that 300 and buy yourself a shirt that says "I love balls in my face"
Unknown: Can i be ur bitch?
Myself: No, but you can make sure you're texting the right number.
He didn't write back. Although, I'm sure he will be because I just spent the past hour signing up his number for various text alerts. Ahh crap! I forgot the romance and relationship advice. Why don't you help...His number is 678-371-0507.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
DAS ROIT
This picture was taken by me today.
I've realized more and more that this photo captures excatly how I look at people these days. Instead of disecting the consequences of people's actions, I try and break apart the most fetal indications of why the holy crumb cake that person thought the way they did in the first place. Hence, my reasoning for thinking most people are idiots -- they are. These days, everyone worries about consequences, instead of tracing back their patterns to what caused them to be the way they are.
In no way does this make me more responsible than anyone else. In fact, it makes me less responsible, because I'm not as focused on the doom to come. I feel, however, it gives me a clearer vison of how to avoid awkward situations in the first place.
Anyways... I finally made up my mind about something that's been ripping my poor little heart apart. My medium for communication is going to move away from blogs -- although the Sprech will still be here, but it will be the companion to my new endeavor: The Shut Your Sprech Hole Radio Show. Yes, indeed, I'm going to make my own radio show, that will be hosted here. Let me write up the FAQ:
Is it a podcast?
No, I hate podcasts and podcasters and iPods and all that reterdedness. I'm recording and editing a show, and putting it on my website for all to listen. It is not a podcast. NOT. A. PODCAST. BLOOD AND GUTS.
What will you talk about?
Stupid stuff that people for some reason want to hear about.
Will it be entertaining
No. That's only when I upgrade to an actual video broadcast and show many penises.
Will I be able to call in?
Of course you will. Callers? Callers?
Will you record part of at least one episode while pooping?
Sure, why not. I'll even eat Arby's the night before.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
farfrohmpuken
Barack Obama is like God: I'm still trying to find out why he needs to exist.
This has been the most hypocritical, shallow, and childish presidential election yet. In the story I linked to, Obama is accusing McCain of using a "sexist statement against Palin".
You knowthe democrats Obama is getting desperate for some US brownie points when he feels the need to rip on the kid who was mean to him in the sandbox fourty-five years ago McCain for no reason, except to make him look bad. And then Obama says USDA Grade-A crap like "I don't care what they say about me. But I love this country too much to let them take over another election with lies and phony outrage and Swift-boat politics. Enough is enough."
Right.
And yes, this isn't the first time in this presidential race that accusational remark have been made. It happens every presidential race -- it seems that acting 5 years old is a good way to get your point across.
Is that what our country has boiled down to? Is that how our future political leaders gain the respect of millions and millions of people?
It feels very irresponsible of myself to vote. Heck, it feels irresponsible of myself to be American.
You're looked down upon for being un-patriotic, and not appreciating our freedoms and the fact that you live in "the greatest country in the world". But that's just another example of snooty Americans who think they know what's best for everyone else.
This has been the most hypocritical, shallow, and childish presidential election yet. In the story I linked to, Obama is accusing McCain of using a "sexist statement against Palin".
You know
Right.
And yes, this isn't the first time in this presidential race that accusational remark have been made. It happens every presidential race -- it seems that acting 5 years old is a good way to get your point across.
Is that what our country has boiled down to? Is that how our future political leaders gain the respect of millions and millions of people?
It feels very irresponsible of myself to vote. Heck, it feels irresponsible of myself to be American.
You're looked down upon for being un-patriotic, and not appreciating our freedoms and the fact that you live in "the greatest country in the world". But that's just another example of snooty Americans who think they know what's best for everyone else.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
kwicherbitchen
I know how it feels to be on your own
In this cruel world where hearts are bound to turn to stone
Where you are alone
And you're tired of breathing
So alone
And you just can't stop the pain anymore
You're too numb to believe in anything
I don't normally post lyrics like a little faggot, but hey -- when someone else can say it better than you can, why spend the brainpower to even try. Seems like everything these days works like that.
And when I say "faggot", I'm not referring to a homosexual, or else I would have said "homosexual". Instead, I was referring to faggot as a ciggarette like the English call 'em...because ciggarettes are just gay.
I have some shit to talk about. I'll write it up later tonight.
In this cruel world where hearts are bound to turn to stone
Where you are alone
And you're tired of breathing
So alone
And you just can't stop the pain anymore
You're too numb to believe in anything
I don't normally post lyrics like a little faggot, but hey -- when someone else can say it better than you can, why spend the brainpower to even try. Seems like everything these days works like that.
And when I say "faggot", I'm not referring to a homosexual, or else I would have said "homosexual". Instead, I was referring to faggot as a ciggarette like the English call 'em...because ciggarettes are just gay.
I have some shit to talk about. I'll write it up later tonight.
