ancient solutions to modern problems

And the winner is...

1. criminal- used to run a mafia group and carries a knife at all times. Reward: 2 million.

2. dating website- and he has a fundamental disrespect for the rules of grammar.

3. dating website- and he lists his occupation as "Medical Diagnostic Imaging. Independent consultant and other areas ;) Beach Bum".
What is this supposed to mean? It's like the world's worst double entendre.

4. criminal- he shot and killed an armored car security guard in Arizona, and in addition, he has what the FBI calls "bisexual tendencies." So keep that in mind when you're playing Dog the Bounty Hunter and trying to capture him.

5. criminal- other interests include killing his wife and two young children, and then blowing up their house. And, according to the FBI, "he is known to chew tobacco heavily." What do you think that means?

side note: on every FBI profile I saw, they used the word "avid" when describing the suspect's interest. So beware of any people you know who do anything avidly.

It takes a fucking village or something

Look, we're clearly not good bloggers. We post infrequently and what we do post is just uninteresting. But you fucking commenters aren't exactly wowing us either.

You harass us in person rather than on the blog (Do we need a quick tutorial on what the comment function is for?) and it makes the blagh feel like homework. Now, given what you know about our feelings for school, can you see how that might not be a positive motivation?

And motivation is what this post is all about. Starting as soon as we get some decent comments, we're going be recognizing outstanding the outstanding ones. Not sure what an outstanding comment is? Me neither. But you can't go wrong dunking on Babbles.

A mother and child reunion is only a squalling catfight away

Babbles is bringing Kiki, the cat that lives with and barely tolerates him, home for the holidays.I'm pretty sure my sister will bring home her two cats, one of which is Kiki's offspring--Donkey.



(Donkey's the all-grey lump in the middle, patchouli's the cutie on the right)

When reintroduced we think the conversation will go something like this--

Kiki: You probably should have been fed to your siblings. Jesus, you're fat.

Donkey: If I had known what you were like I would have clawed your organs to ribbons while I was in the womb. Still drinking I see? They had to send me to AA when it was time for me to be weaned.

Kiki: What do they call you, again? Donkey? Kind of an ugly name isn't it?

Donkey: Didn't you used to call me your Little Slut Trophy?

Kiki: Oh no, honey, it was Patchouli I was proud of. We mostly just called you the dumb drooly one.

As if this blahg didn't make it crystal fucking clear

My life is kind of really pathetic. But in so many ways!

So, you know, reader's poll:

Which is more pitiful?

A. That last night I couldn't come up with $10 to keep a check from bouncing

or

B. That I couldn't come up with anyone to call and borrow $10 from

A christmas miracle

So I started the day by doing laundry (that way when I spend the next six hours doing nothing I can still respect myself). I was trying to figure out the correct way to pronounce "aposiopesis" as I was carrying the laundry basket down the stairs. I spaced out, missed a step and tripped.

Yes, I fell down the stairs- Hold your applause, I wasn't hurt, more embarassed than anything. And you know the worst part? I still have to do the goddamned laundry.

This never would have happened if I had just decided to watch TV for ten hours straight (which was my original plan for how to spend the day).

I need a domestic.



PS
The miralce is that I was doing laundry in the first place

This space has been reserved for a future blarg

I promise to write it tomorrow (wed.).

Have mercy.

And seriously, does anyone still read this anyway?

Creative Opportunities at Hearst College

Are you guys excited about the upcoming Reader-Submitted Veronica Mars Fanfic/Slash Episode Screenplay Contest?

Well get excited because I just made this up and we're totally doing it. I'm working on one where there is a student news pundit who is the Bill O'Reilly of Hearst College. Obviously Veronica will hate this guy but end up going to work for him when he becomes the prime suspect in some horrendous campus mystery crime that Veronica will solve when no one else can or even cares to try. I'm still working it all out. Also in this episode Veronica will fuck Logan a bunch and Wallace and Piz will really discover each other.

Deadline to be announced. If you don't already just pretty much intuitively grasp the scope, guidelines, and rules of this contest then you probably won't win. But still, you should totally enter.

Make it work, people.

Best vanity plate ever

Yesterday, while leaving the secret CIA torture facility school, Gal and I spotted the coolest vanity plate I've seen in real life- SNAPE

Q. How awesome is that?

A. Very awesome.

Now that's a dunk...

College Basketball

South Kingstown, RI
During last nite's match up of in-state rivals Rhode Island University and Providence College, the crowd from the more prestigious PC began chanting "Safety school, safety school" at both the players and fans from RI.

Additionally, the PC mascot, a student in a friar outfit, was banned from the game (apparently he was a real rascal at last year's meeting).

RI did end up winning the game, but really, who cares; that's the least interesting part of this story.

Also, there's more, but I'm bored. I think the band was banned too, and not just because the words are homophones. The cheerleaders, too.

God, I'd make an awful reporter, wouldn't I?

Two links that entertained me today

The 13 most offensive album covers according to some guy on the internet...

...And wigs for cats!

A 20 gigabyte ipod holds 5000 songs

The first long car ride I took myself was probably in 1999, and it was only five or so hours. This was during the time when napster was the greatest thing ever invented, so to prepare for my trip I would burn CDs. A five hour drive meant making five cds. If I put 20 songs on a cd, that's 100 songs for the entire trip (and I'd repeat them for the return drive).

A few years ago I got an ipod. Now when I take that same five hour drive, I take two or three thousand songs. And the thing is, I need that many.

Last time I drove to Dodge, I went through 65 songs before I hit Topeka. Topeka is 20 miles from Lawrence.

At this point my musical taste has been so infected by my ADD that I'm not sure if I even like music anymore. I think I might just like recognizing songs- oh, I know what this one is. Next.

It's pathetic, really. Which is nice, that way it matches up with everything else I do.

I just can't

I hate "Empire Records." Always have. Always will. It just smacks of trying so fucking hard. It was one of the things that helped turn 'alternative' into a pejorative. It's an awful movie.

But I still like that sugar high song.

Remember the good old days...

...way back when we used to have this blog? Yeah, I know, it was a boring blog. But damn it, it was our boring blog.

We need to pull ourselves up by our bootstraps, get back on our horses, and make some more posts.

Or not.

Either way, really.

you'd think. . .

Does anyone else find it amusing that the address for the "Friends of the Earth" website is www.foe.org ?

The first day of the rest of my life...

When I woke up this morning I thought that I wanted to finish clown college so that I could get a J.D. and a real job, yada yada yada.

But by noon I figured out that what I really want isn't a juris doctorate, it's a black belt.

So that's what we're doing now.

Check out my ebay auctions for some cheap law school texts (user name "FU_law_school")

And don't tell my parents.

Are you wearing a wire?

I think my dad is trying to kill me. He recently found out about my DUI and was pretty furious for several boring reasons. I think part of it was that he realized that I've been taking legal counsel with Oliver Babbles who, unlike my father, is not a real lawyer.

Yesterday I got an email from him wanting to know if I could "got to Atlanta" to "pick up a car." What's his game? Nevermind the utter randomness of the request, he knows I'm not supposed to be driving. I think he's going to have me whacked or sent up the river or something. It's all very fishy.

Corky's side of the force

I've been thinking about it and what if droids are the handicapped retards of a galaxy far far away? Threepio does have a lot of special needs and Artoo has that crazy retard strength. I'm just saying.

so . . . iTunes

It is frustrating enough to be sitting, doing whatever on your computer at the law school, and have to put up with all the "cute-sy" little names the students come up with for names of their iTunes.

But if you insist upon naming your iTunes after some iconic tidbit of our american culture - can you have the decency to do it right? Don Corleone has an "e" on the end of it. Otherwise you are referring to a record label with a penchant for bad reggae and album titles like "Too Fucky Fucky".

Clarification

On that inadequate lover thing. I guess I'm saying I'm not going to just hand out orgasms. Not without a fight, at least.

So I was at the Jewish Center this morning...

...eating blintzes, when all of the sudden United States Congresswoman Nancy Boyda showed up. She stole my chair and then offered me a spot working on her next campaign. I said 'yes', until I realized she wasn't talking about Halo.

The tools of enragement

Your favorite blargger, Oliver Babbles, says I can't call him every time I think of something I want to speak out loud. So I guess that's what this blog is for.

I already told Babbles that both possible lunger Doc Cochrane and world's best mayor E. B. Farnum appear in the first two seasons of X-Files.

But update. An episode in season 2 features "Red Right Hand" by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds.

Also. I think I have new neighbors upstairs and they are fucking noisy.

Anyway. Call me.

Drop some cash on me

Buy me this!

I'm thinking of joining a bowling league

Yes, an intramural bowling league.

I'm thinking of signing up. Mainly so I can have tee shirts made. Of course, that's really the only reason to sign up for anything.

Anyway, I've got some potential teammates (although they don't know it yet), a team name, and a team logo.

This plan has two problems, however:

1) It goes against my nature to get involved with anything school-related

2) I rarely follow through with things. In the words of (maybe) the smartest professor I've ever had, "you're not exactly a taskmaster, are you." And no question mark because he didn't say it as a question. Or maybe I'm just too lazy to hit the shift key again. Either way.


Oh yeah, also, I suck at bowling. Three problems. But whatever.

VH1 right now

Salt N' Pepa performing "whatta man" in a church with new lyrics... lyrics that make the man in the song Jesus.

seriously.

S. O. U. S.'s

Spiders of unusual size? I didn't think they existed.

Until yesterday - fucking spiders, as big as my hand, everywhere. At my school, at Stella's school, at my house.

For the record, I can kill bugs with the best of them - I'm not too terribly squeamish about this sort of thing. I have a shoe, I have a paper towel, I have a book - it's no problem. But when the ensuing "mess" cannot be contained by the item used in the squishing process - this is problematic.

stupid temperate climate. It's fucking October: freeze already!

I have no problem pronouncing "Yevgeny Kafelnikov"

My therapist says I like to "hit and run." He thinks I prefer to know just enough about a person to be irritated with them and decide they aren't worth my time.

Obvs, this diagnosis does kind of irritate me and not just because of its spot-on accuracy. What really kind of pisses me off is that in the second season of "Sports Night" psychiatrist Abby Jacobs uses this exact phrase when dealing with cocky but lovable sports anchor Dan Rydell. And I hate Aaron Sorkin, the tender-minded hack behind "Sports Night." I hates him. A lot.

Fifty Minutes of Motherfucking

Sometimes just getting out of bed is enough to ruin your whole day. I've been trying to make one of my teachers feel that way each Wednesday. She runs a bullshit discussion group disguised as as a bullshit class.

Every week she starts class by saying "what did you find interesting in the assigned reading?" In case you're wondering, "nothing" is not the right answer; just a little FYI. When she says this the fuck-face students take it as their cue to volunteer some trite observation that doesn't actually answer the question because there's no way in hell that they actually thought anything in the reading was interesting.

But what happens when the professor runs out of asshole volunteers? She randomly picks someone- "You, what did you find interesting?" And she keeps this up until class ends. Or until that last student has finally killed him or herself.

Oh, also this is the class with the carroll county accident in it. It's a real son of a bitch.

Anyway, last week she asked me what I thought was the most interesting thing about the reading. I told her "the typo on page 67."

And I was dead serious.

Awkwardtoberfest

So to catch you up. For starters, let me just say "Oktoberfest! Woo!"

Right now, I'm still in my pajamas and watching Veronica Mars (season 1). Usher is 'tailgating' (whatever that means) with his dad and some of their cronies. And a storm of drunken idiots continues to ravage the town.

Last night, Ush and I had supper at Al's Chickenette and then watched old "Newsradio" episodes.

Forgive me if I repeat myself but "Oktoberfest!!1!"

Still Liveblogging Oktoberfest

I doubt there is anyone who reads this blog. . . . Actually I'm just going to end that thought there. I was going to write 'I doubt there is anyone who reads this blog who is not overly familiar with what a gangfuck Oktoberfest in Hays always is' but I think that first sentence captures so much of what I want to say.

For those who might not know, Oktoberfest in Hays is a citywide holiday dedicated entirely to drinking. The university cancels classes expressly to give students more drinking time. And when the university-sponsored, city-endorsed, all-day drunkfest ends Friday evening, the whole college neighborhood throws opens its doors to anyone who wants to drink in their houses and yards for the rest of the weekend. Sounds fun, but it's not. While I totally condone the sentiment, Oktoberfest is really just a good idea poorly executed.

I bet everyone reading this has already spotted the a few flaws in the plan. For starters, drunk people are no fun; they're just irritating. And Hays is a car town; you have to drive to get anywhere so that sucks. And there are the drunk people again; drunk people like to fight and I don't. And then there's the cops; cops are dicks and they're even worse on Oktoberfest.

Anyway, we're only a little ways into this 72-hour boozetoberfest so I thought I would let you who couldn't be with us know what we're up to.

Usher is playing my xbox.

I'm cleaning my apartment.

Check back for more exciting updates!

(Almost) Liveblogging Oktoberfest

Usher and I just walked down to the park. Because it is Oktoberfest. And because I thought it would be better than cleaning my apartment.

of course, the whole time I was there I just wanted to come back and clean.

It was just as awful as all of you remember (or have heard). On top of that, it's unseasonably fucking hot and I didn't even get to talk to the teacher I have a big boy crush on.

More updates to come.

FYI

the foulest substance on this earth is Gogurt.

End of story.

It's sticky, viscous, sickly sweet smelling, and while mildly annoying in your vicinity, becomes a very large problem when it slides down the outside edge of your wrist as you're driving a manual transmission down the highway at eighty five miles an hour.

and even supposing you do get it contained, that smell is gonna haunt you for the rest of the day.
*ugh*

Stop me. Because you've heard this one before.

Someone on the set decided to take a few minutes and really write some dialogue for the porn that was being shot. And they came up with this gem.

Girl: Do you know what foreplay is?

Guy: One more than three-play?




Well. At least they're trying. 'A' for effort.

If you can't spot the sucker in your first hour at the table, then you are the sucker.

allow me to tell you a little something about myself. I hate law school.
It seems to me that it is nothing more than an academic racket, and I got suckered into attending. I take partial responsibility for this, I suckered myself into belieiving the propaganda.

I do my work, I go to class, I even speak in class when absolutely required. My professors often look at me like I am speaking another language. I get the feeling they believe me suited to other, less lofty professions. So did my undergrad guidance counselor:

Counselor: Are there any schools you are particularly interested in?

Me: I have *insert name of prominent public university here* law school at the top of my list.
Counselor: and what field do you see yourself in?

Me: I was thinking something with the federal government, maybe FBI or State Department.

< here there is a really long pause as she shifted in her seat and sifted through all of my scores in front of her>

Counselor: hmmmmmmmm. well, . . . ah. . . I have looked at your results and here some brochures and applications that might be of interest to you. (she refuses to meet my gaze as she slides them across the desk)

Me: Thanks - I see here this application has *insert prominent public university name here* at the top of the form, but they aren't asking for a GPA or anything. . . (I skim a few more pages) and this one has the U.S. Government seal, but I can't find which . . .

Counselor: (interrupting) Well, I know you said you see yourself *attending* those institutions, but your tests show that you might be more suited to *tending to* them instead. . . have you ever considered a career in the custodial arts?


It was at this point that I should have dropped any inclination of attending law school -

Instead I stubbornly stuck to my guns (if you will) and underwent the entire charade and find myself here. Which is to say: two years into law school, hating it, hating the people, and hating myself for being unable to just quit. Of all the things in my life that I have hated, this one tops the list. And of all those things that I have loathed to this degree, I have packed up and walked the fuck away from most of them. So what is my problem? All I know is that I see the janitors and repair folk around the school and they seem a hell of a lot happier than me.

Dykes of Hazzard.

This is so not how things ended up when Beau Duke and Luke Duke tried it.

I can't even tell anymore

Yesterday in class the professor called a pentagram a "pentagon." At first I thought this was smirk-worthy (maybe), but then I realized that not only did he not do it intentionally, he wasn't even aware he'd made a mistake. I'm not sure if this makes it more funny or less funny.

Whatever.

At least it's Friday.

I spilled deja vu all over myself

My drive this morning started out a lot less irritating than Gal's but by the time the cops showed up I kind of felt like it pretty thoroughly sucked.

I even said out loud to no one in particular "This really sucks" while I was upside down in my car, covered in milky coffee and bits of glass.

What's that? Why was I upside down in my car? Well I wasn't just sitting there ass over heels in the backseat or anything. The whole car was upside down. Yeah. I wrecked my fucking car again. At least this time it was spectacular.

Anyway, I'll update later. Fuck off.

Briga-what?

One of the odd occurrences of where I live is that during the fall and the spring the road from my house to school gets a layer of fog upon it. This morning it was thicker than I've ever seen it - and it lasted the entire drive. So for about forty minutes I can't even see the other lane of traffic let alone if there are cars on it. I can't see the exit signs until I'm almost past them.

But here's what I can see: the fat-assed obnoxious truck in front of me. Now, I don't harbor any ill feelings towards trucks in general, unless they have double tires in the back, silver bull testicles hanging from the trailer hitch and something that references Texas. Then I have some deep seated dislike. This truck, bright "blood of the patriots" red in color, had all of the above, and one thing more. A bumpersticker that read: Dead Molesters Don't. And lest viewers be confused that maybe the driver supports the death penalty, there is a National Rifle Association sticker below it. You know the one, something about cold, dead hands.

So, I'm driving behind Mr. Vigilante Justice, relying on him to just keep going straight. If he takes an exit, chances are I'm following him cause the road is nigh impossible to see. Being sort of a sci-fi geek my mind starts to wander to all of the different stories I know where people get lost in fog/mist and emerge on the other side in the future or the past or a different location altogether. How I wish, wish, wish this would happen to me. I don't want to end up at school - Fuck School. I want to come out in Brigadoon, King Arthurs Court, Avalon - anywhere but where I set out to go. Of course, then I start thinking that with Trigger Happy Jack in front of me, my redneck sherpa guide, the chances of me finding myself in the middle of the Spanish Inquisition (or worse yet, Texas) seem more likely.

Sad to say, the fog lifts just as we hit the city limits, and all seems as it ever was. *sigh*

I had one moment of hope when I drove up to campus - the first guy I saw walking along the sidewalk seemed normal from the back: khaki shorts, polo shirt, backpack, but the obligatory iPod was missing and this young fellow was smoking a pipe.
Odd enough to make me wonder if maybe I had emerged into some different version of my usual reality. I'll keep my fingers crossed.

I Drink So You Don't Have To

My siblings and I are all predisposed to have hangovers. We all have our crosses, right? Tell me about it. My little brother turned 21 sometime in the last year or two (and not that he didn't drink before) but I've decided now would be a good time not to tell him all the ways I've learned to enjoy booze and avoid (postpone?) the awful consequences.


I'd like to think I have some noble intention in not helping the little guy avoid some painful headaches, dizziness, and nausea. Like I'm trying to remind him to learn from my mistakes, that being drunk like half the time and half-drunk all of the time just isn't cool. Or something. But seriously? I just like fucking with him.

The Carroll County Accident

In addition to being an enigmatic classic country song, "The Carroll County Accident" is what I call the girl who sits in front of me during one of my bullshit classes.

I can't stand her. She's a real piece of work. Or shit. Whatever. I'm going to try to describe her. But it's going to be hard for me to do- if I'm going to write about her I have to think about her, and if I have to think about her I have to keep throwing up.

Her name is Carroll. Like a song you sing at christmas. Except instead of being jolly and merry, she makes you want to die.

I guess the first thing you should know is that she's tall, very tall. Like the world trade center before it fell down. And oddly shaped. Like an hourglass, only the opposite. I could compare her hips to a wildebeest, but I won't. But I will compare her feet to hog hooves. Even though a more accurate description would be to say that her feet are each a whole hog. And she wears a lot of open-toed shoes. Maybe I should say "open-toad shoes." Have you ever seen a cane toad? They're disgusting. And that's what she walks on. Or if we were to maintain the swine analogy I'd say each foot looks like a pig in a pen that's way too small for it. If this girl could somehow impale two piglets onto her stumps, well, that's what we're dealing with.

And her hair, my god her hair. Until I heard her voice, I didn't think anything above her neck could be worse than her hair. It looks like a beaver tail. If beaver tails were made of birds' nests. Her voice is beyond nasally, like if fran drescher and Alvin the Chipmunk procreated (which would explain the hair).

Anyway, I hate her. And the other day she was talking to the guy who sits next to her (he must have done some real fucked up stuff in a past life) and she was telling him how she loves beauty pageants. She saw the miss america bullshit live last year. And she sometimes competes. She told him more about it, but at this point it was every man for himself and I left the room.

What the fuck.

Also, this is what her feet look like in her fancy high heels:

The O.J. Simpsons Movie

You can tell how old someone is by what they know about O.J. Simpson. People under twenty-five know him as the famous guy from the murder trial their teachers wouldn't stop yakking about when they were in middle school. People over twenty-five know him as the guy from the Naked Gun movies, and also, of course, the murder trial. And to people older than that he's the great football star, who was later accused of murder.

And while I don't condone his actions (specifically the Naked Gun sequels), I do respect how he keeps managing to reinvent himself so he can stay relevant to subsequent demographics. He's the Madonna of murderers.

The dishes are done, man

I was going to make a post earlier, but decided instead to compulsively check my email. The funny part is that I don't even like getting new messages. Reading new email is like making a big dinner; it's sort of entertaining and a good way to kill some time, but afterwards you have a mess to clean up. That part is like replying to emails. And I hate doing the dishes.

I have some emails that I've been intending to reply to that are still within the acceptable range of response time; emails that you see the date stamped on and then open up and smell to see if they're still good. But I have other emails that are way past that point. Emails that say things like "let's do something on spring break;" emails that are the salad dressing you can't remember ever buying that you find hidden in the dark corners of your inbox-refrigerator

But not replying does serve my ulterior motive (assuming laziness as my primary motivating factor): if you don't reply they stop writing. Now if only I could get people to stop calling me.

You know, I used to think that maybe I just wasn't cut out for modern life and all its technological wonders, but now I think that maybe I'm just not cut out for life.

Fucking People

Well, What Would You Do With Polyjuice Potion?

I thought the answer to "What would a bunch of teenage wizards do with polyjuice potion?" was kind of totally obvious, but an informal poll of friends and acquaintances resulted in mostly blank stares and stupid answers.

I think the magical teens would fuck. I mean, right? Like, think about a bunch of teenage boy wizards who can't get laid because they can't talk to girls or whatever. Wouldn't they brew up some polyjuice, pluck a few hairs (from the hot bitchy girls. for instance Parvati Patil, and the too-shy hot nerdy girls, like Luna Lovegood), and draw straws to see who gets banged first? Yeah probably. And it wouldn't just be the boys either.

I can see some people having hang-ups about this kind of activity. Wouldn't this kind of thing really confuse and disorient young people who are just beginning to grapple with their sexual preferences and identities on the whole? I kind of think those hurdles would be pretty easily cleared when these kids realize that they're actually going to get laid.

But wouldn't this friend-fucking lead to anxiety and frustration in a lot of teenagers' interpersonal relationships? Pardon? Just what part of your life as a teenager wasn't full of anxiety and frustration?

Anyway I've got Hermione stirring up a batch in the bathroom as we speak and I've collected about eighteen strands of her hair. Babbles is in for a sore time when next he visits ;)

Car Shopping

I've been on ebay looking for a deal on a used car (one of my head lights went out and I'd rather trade it in than fix it), and I've fallen in love. With a car. A car that's a hooker. It's just like Pretty Woman crossed with Herbie the Lovebug.

The object of my affections? A 1995 Ford Escort. What do I love about it? Well, it's not the "ice cold" air conditioning, not the a.m./f.m. cassette player, and not the douchebag-green exterior; it's the name.

Most people think that the worst name ever given to a car was the Chevy "Nova." Sounds like "supernova," bad ass, right? Yeah. But it also sounds like "no va," which means "doesn't go" in Spanish (which it turns out was surprisingly accurate).

But there's a car with a worse (better) name: The Ford Escort. Naming your line of compact cars after hookers... that's a ballsy move, Mr. Ford. I wonder if maybe your great-grandfather actually wanted to name his first car the "Topless Model-A."

Who cares about gas mileage;
I want a car named after a call girl.
I want a car that charges money for sex.
I want a car I'm embarrassed to bring home to meet my parents.
I want a Ford Escort.

And I want it in the worst way.