Balls to the Wall

Christmas 2005 will go down in history as the year when my family officially hit the proverbial wall. Christmas dinner went fine, but soon after, as the old people began to play LCR, the "kids", namely me, my brothers and a few cousins started playing Kings. An hour later, it was a train wreck. Well, I should mention the trouble began when my brother John screamed "Shut the fuck up" during the game and the entire table of about 20 adults turned around with a collective gasp. John would later, in typical fashion, spill a glass of wine on himself, urinate in my uncle's BBQ and then blackout at home around 9 pm. My cousin Kerri told my grandmother she hates Jesus, Brian tripped on something and spilled beer all over himself and then later, as the two of them were walking home in the pouring rain and my mom went out to give them a ride, they jumped into a bush to hide. Overall, it was a great Christmas. We brought three cars to dinner and we came home with one.
The quick trip to Atlantic City was a good time, although I came home $200 poorer. Played a lot of no limit, but way over my head, lost a $500 pot which accounted for my losses. Room was cheap and John came down with Sean and Bobby. Thought he might get snagged for being underage since the casino was empty a couple nights before xmas, but luckily, we didn't have to bail him out of jail. John G. and Sam were both there, but John was completely tanked when we met up with him and he was about to head back to his room to give his man friend a massage. Never saw Sam, he got stuck down the boardwalk, mainly because John ditched him. What a jerk.
Our last remaining shower in the house broke on Christmas morning, so we're all filthy. Well, the rest of them are. I showered at Dave's house tonight. Not with Dave, although he did try to get a blowjob out of me before he let me use the shower.
The rest of this week should be pure laziness, something I'm quite skilled at. I'm going to work for my Dad for a few hours, but besides that, I have no desire to do anything resembling being a productive member of society. Might head into the city for New Year's but I will probably deem that to be not worth the effort come the weekend. My mom told me today that I should stop calling everyone a douche. "You like calling people a vaginal cleanser?" Yes, indeed, Mom, I've got some issues I need to work out. That's all I got. Oh, if anyone wants to let me use their shower this week, there's a good chance I will be dirty.

Merry Blog and a Happy Blog Blog

I finished my Christmas shopping yesterday (during work obviously), but not before I bought a bunch of needless shit for myself. I got some great gifts for my family this year, mainly because I feel bad about my performance last year. I gave Kevin a half bottle of vodka, that I think Charissa had left at my apartment one night. Now I thought that was a pretty sweet gift for a college kid, but he was all angry and refused to give me my present. He says it was really good, but I still don't think he bought me anything. Anyway, point is, I drank the rest of that vodka and I had a merry little christmas.
We got a bunch of letters this week from Christian fanatics bitching about how offended they are that people use the term "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas". These people are retarded. Really, who gives a fuck what people say? Get a life. Fox News reports about this "War on Christmas" everyday now. Personally, I think it's absolutely disgusting that they refer to this garbage as a "war." There are soldiers dying every day in real war, you know, one where people try to kill each other, not where crazy religious freaks get all riled about non-sense. Sorry, I just had to release some anger on that one...
I think my editor has realized that he made a mistake by giving me off next week when I really have no right to be. But that bitch is locked in now. I've been working my ass off the past couple of days, basically because I needed to churn out enough stories to fill two weeks worth of papers, but come tomorrow afternoon, I'm getting the fuck out. Plan is to hit up Atlantic City tomorrow and stay over at Resorts with Sean and Bobby who are driving down. Room was only $60 which is pretty ridiculous. I might just move into the casino next year when my lease is up. It'd probably be cheaper. Oh, and Dr. G will be right next door in the Showboat with his friends. I've got some work to finish up tonight but by this time tomorrow, I will be at the poker table, hopefully taking a lot of money from old dudes.
My last post was so damn long I forgot to mention the good ole' oyster roast p^2. Basically, Preston's brother law lives in Richmond and a bunch of us went to his house to drink expensive liquor and hangout with 30 other dudes. P^2's dad was wearing these hillbilly overalls and looked as if he had been at the bottom of the river a couple hours ago harvesting the oysters himself. Oh, and he also called Preston a pussy when he refused to eat a raw oyster covered in tabasco sauce. Preston eventually gave in to the peer pressure, and ate the damn thing, but now he has eight different diseases, including syphilis. No girls were allowed at the party, although you did get the sense a couple strippers were going to show up at any second and start spanking each other. They probably arrived right after we left.

Here's Preston's guest blog debut (from an email):

"If you're going to mention P-squared's at some point, here's a nice follow-up story you can write as your own or attribute to me. Consider it to be like a press release....At about 10:30 p.m. Saturday night, my mother at home receives a call from a guy asking for Tiffany (my sister). Mother tells the guy she doesn't live there anymore. Conversation over. Minutes later, a second call comes in, same guy, same request, same answer. My mother, in what I consider an unbelievable brief clash with modern genius, dials *69 to see who this meanie is calling her so late. My sister's home number comes up.So, mother calls the number and the guy answers. The conversation is as follows, which I was told by her at church Sunday night:
Mother: "Are you the dumbass who has been calling my house?"
Guy: "Yes. We're in the cold and Paul (my bro-in-law) is in the house and won't let us in."
Mother: "Who are you?"
Guy: "I'm too embarrassed to tell."
And it's over.Preston's guess: It was P-Squared having some fun with his old in-laws. I kind of hope I'm right, in a this-will-make-Xmas-dinner-a-lot-more-fun kind of way."
I've got some packing to get to, but I first wanted to give a heartfelt thanks to all my blogfans. After a few bumps in the road, this blog has really taken off. I now have almost 100 more hits than John's blog and lets be honest, embarrasing him is the main reason I keep up with this thing.
I leave you with this, an e-mail a VCU journalism student sent to his professor at 1:30 am after a recent snow day:

Well, Mr. Gilligan...
You waterheaded scallywag soggy-bottomed jerk... I normally write my papers around 5:00 so I have two hours to get it finished for class So, when I checked the hotline sometime prior to 5:00 and it said no class, I decided to play around in the snow and have fun and celebrate. Now that I come home and see your dickhead e-mail about turning in a paper, I'm going to try and do something about it, but really it just leaves a lingering taste of "Gregory Gilligan is an ass to the fifteenth power, and he uses spoiled eggs for toilet paper" in my mouth, you know... I mean, jesus, seriously, it's a snow day. Dick. And you already had us turning in a completely unreasonable amount of work this week anyway. If I could choke you with my mind, I would. I hope somebody sends you a christmas fruitcake, and you accidentally castrate yourself when trying to slice it.
Feel my anger, please.
Poop, Drew.


I want to meet this kid. He's fuckin' awesome.

The Return of Steven and my Heterosexuality

Easily one of the best and probably the most interesting weekend since the end of college. The UR crew was in town, namely Sam, Charissa, Bender and Preston and wow, I don't know how to write this blog. Well, let me start first with what everyone will find amusing at my expense. We ran into Steven (the gay guy I met last weekend who called me up and pretty much asked if I wanted to have sex with him) at a random party that none of us were really invited to. That would be another theme of the weekend, but more on that later. I had no idea he was going to be there, and neither did Meaghan who had told us to come to the party. Well, we got there and we were all 10 beers deep and we had just walked a mile, so I ran right inside. There was no one there. Actually, there were about 10 people there and one of them was Steven. It was awkward immediately, namely because on Friday night Sam called Steven from my phone a couple times. He didn't pick up since I grabbed the phone from Sam before it rang more than once. And yes, Sam is a terrible terrible person, but I understand why he thought it would be funny to call a gay guy whose number was stored in my call history from last weekend. Anyway, another point of note, I was wearing the gayest article of clothing I own to this party. My big gay blue turtleneck, as I like to call it. I rarely ever wear the thing, but Bender was wearing his mock turtleneck (which was very sexy, by the way) and we thought it would be douche-tastic if we both wore them out that night. It was, indeed, the last fuckin thing in the world I wanted to be wearing around some dude who wanted to tickle my pickle. So I purposefully tried to avoid all contact with Steven at the party and at first I had no idea that the calls Sam made on Friday had shown up on his phone. So I figured, wtf, I'll just keep drinking and all will be well. It wasn't. I was sitting on the couch and got a text message, I looked down at it as I watched Steven walk out of the room. Of course, it was from him. Oh, no, not awkward at all. It said, So why the call so late last night? What's up? I ignored it. 10 minutes later, another text, this one was off the charts of the gayometer. "Totally interested in hanging out...What's up?" Ignored it again. Then I'm talking to a couple of people in the kitchen and Steven walks up and says "Ryan, can you grab me a napkin?" I definitely started laughing at that point, but I don't think he caught on. I told my friends that itd probably be a good idea if we got the hell out of that party before I became Steven's love slave, but of course, they found it all quite hilarious. All of the guys jumped on me while I was on the couch for a great big gay photo (see above). Steven stood in the corner watching all this going on, probably thinking about my innocent behind. We did get out of there pretty soon after, but no, it would not end there. As we're walking to Meaghan's place, I get another text from him, "Could you please just call me?" And then a voicemail, "Come on Ryan, just give me a call. Come on, man, I haven't spoken to you all night. Just give me a call." So I did what I should have done the second I knew he thought I was gay, I told him I like girls. Gasp. Well, Sam dialed his number of course, but once it was ringing, there would be no turning back. Went something like this: "Hey sorry man, but I'm not gay." "So why did you call me so late last night?" "That was my friend, he accidentely hit your number in my call log." "Are you sure, man?" "Yes, I'm definitely sure." "Ok, well, thanks for calling me. Now it won't be awkward the next time we see each other."
Really, Steven? Are you sure it won't be awkward? Fuckin Richmond is so damn small, it's almost guaranteed I will see him tomorrow. When we got to Meaghan's, more details emerged, disturbing ones. On the night I met Steven when he started coming onto me, apparently earlier that night, he had been sort of making out with this UR girl on the dance floor. And this girl sort of had a mini-crush on Steven. Now, I don't want to say I turned Steven gay. But, I turned Steven gay. Plain and simple. I don't know what it was, maybe my concave nipples or my non-existent ass, but he liked what he saw and he came charging full steam ahead. I just hope this is the last time I mention Steven in this blog and you can bet your ass, I will never be wearing the big gay turtleneck in Richmond ever ever again.
Bender drank a Sparks on Friday and his tall heart almost exploded. Here's a cute photo of John making sure that Bender is still alive:

On Friday night, we hit up Starlite for a while, but eventually we herded like 15 people, a bunch of them med school people John knew, over to a party where we kind of maybe, no, not at all, knew the people living there. They were UR girls, so that's probably why they didn't throw our asses out, but we definitely caused a scene. With med school done for the semester, Rob "Big Pecker" Becker was like a caged animal that had just escaped from the zoo. A couple of girls tore his shirt off and some married Russian chick tried to molest him in one of the bedrooms. We stayed at the party until 4 am, and probably would have stayed another couple hours, had we not realized that everyone was gone besides us, passed out people, and the people who lived there. We must have been dancing for a good two hours straight, which means we were all pretty cooked, since none of us can really dance. John stayed out the whole night, which happens like once every three months. I was very proud of him. But, it should be noted, and people have mentioned to me that John gets more comments on his blog than I do on mine, that just tonight I watched John post a comment himself on his blog, from anonymous. That's obviously complete bullshit and should not be tolerated at all in the blogosphere. Just thought y'all should know what King Douche has been up to.
Speaking of blogs, more people should have them. I'm getting sick and tired of putting my life and dignity on the line by posting these blogs when no one else is making any sort of effort. This is my fucking life, people. I'm going to start charging a readers fee for anyone that doesn't have their own blog. I'm doing a public service by providing people with crap to read at work, and what do I get in return? Sure, the knowledge that I'm fuckin awesome, but besides that, I don't know what's going on in everyone else's lives. And I do like to know that stuff (unless you're really boring and if you don't have a gay stalker, you probably are.) So, really people, everyone should have a blog. It's easy, it's fun and people will think you are really cool. Go blog or go home.
I could write this garbage for hours, but I have lots of important journalism to tend to tomorrow. I somehow convinced my editor to give me off the entire week after Christmas, which is fuckin sweet, since it means I can spend New Years in NY instead of passed out alone in my bathtub.
Wow, 2:30 am on a Monday and some drunk chick just rang our door bell trying to get into the building. I asked her who she was looking for and she said apt. 6, her boyfriend lives there, but apparently he wasn't there. I said, why didn't ring their bell, it's 2 in the morning, we don't even know you. She got all bitchy so I told her to find another way in. Couple minutes later, I saw her standing outside, so I hit the button to open the door. She walks in and bangs on our door. I open it and she's crying and screaming how I'm such an asshole and I should have just let her in. Then, you guessed it, five huge dudes start banging on the door saying they just want to talk. I woke up the boys, and John grabbed the bat and I had the trusty butcher knife, but eventually, I told one of the guys, the boyfriend, outside the door that I had been in his apartment before and that I was just pissed that some drunk girl was ringing our bell at 2 in the morning. He went away, then, but come on. He said I shouldn't have yelled at her. Of course I should have, not only does she ring our bell, but then she's a total biatch on intercom demanding that I let her in. Unbelieveable. The Sunday night crime spree at 24 N. Blvd might be returning. I just hope they try to break into my room first. I'll be ready. Underneath the bed.

Keepin' it Real. Blog Real.

John seems to think that by posting garbage on his blog everyday, he can somehow have a better blog. This, however, is not true. Nobody cares about his crappy beard or his man crush on Keith Urban. I only post every few days, because I'm usually very busy with work and gambling. That's also not true, but my life is pretty fuckin boring, so unless I start blogging about what I do in the shower each morning, I won't attempt to keep up with John's rapid-fire blogging. I'll just take comfort in knowing I have the superior blog. I could post once a month about shaving my nipple hair and it would still put John's blog to shame.
(Sorry, Sam. Hot, though)
Anyway, I mention John way too much in here so let's move on. My brother, Danny, got suspended for a day from high school last week. He went on his teachers comp and wrote, "Mr. xxx is gay. He likes other men." Now that's pretty amateur, if you are going to get suspended, you really need to go out with a bang. Personally, I would have loaded meatspin.com on the teacher's comp and left the guy with permanent mental trauma.
I went shopping with a cop and a little girl yesterday for this Shop with a Cop program they do where they spend $150 on some poor kid. The girl kept picking out all of these clothes and shoes for her family and she was clearly just guessing on the sizes. Her sister is 1 and she said she was a size 7. I think I'm a size 7. I kept asking her, are you sure that's the right size? The cop didn't give a shit. He just threw everything in the basket. The girl bought all this stuff for her family and like one thing for herself. I asked her why she didn't get pick out more stuff for herself. She said, "Its OK, Santa Claus will bring the rest." God, that was depressing. We get up to the checkout counter and she says, "I'm a really lucky girl." Unbelievable. The girl lives with 6 other people in a two bedroom apartment. She's 9 years old and has a 3 year old niece. I doubt Santa Claus has never brought her more than a couple gifts. If she thinks she's lucky, I don't know what the fuck the rest of us are.
Covered a really messed up court case on Tuesday. Basically, this 18 year old girl moved into this house over the summer with these two drug addicts and had a crush on the husband. They smoked crack constantly and apparently there were no problems until Oct. Then the couple started beating the girl, didn't give her any food for five days, just water and crack. Tied her up with duct tape, whipped her with metal hangers, just fucked up stuff, basically. So I'm sitting in court waiting for the case to called and I see this attractive blond girl across the aisle. She smiles at me (probably because I keep staring at her). I'm figuring she's there for a speeding ticket or something. They finally call the case I'm there for and as they bring the defendants in, I see this girl get up and walk over the prosecution table. Yeah right, I'm thinking. I had written about the case before and I was thinking, alright, obviously this girl is messed up, she voluntarily moved in with these people and was a crack addict. Five minutes later, this girl, who looks like she just walked out of a magazine, gets on the stand and goes into sick detail about what this couple did her. It fuckin crushed me and everyone else in the courtroom. I was sitting five feet away from the husband, who had held a gun to the girl's head and told her he was going to kill her, and I could feel the evil emitting from his body. I'm negative about a lot of things, but I do think people are inherently good, but this guy, he just sat there, legs crossed, smirk on his face, totally emotionless the entire time. God, I think I might be going to hell just for being anywhere near him.
Alright, enough of that. I need to find something to do for New Year's. I have to be back in Richmond on the 27th. John and Rob won't be back and my brother will still be home in EI doing what college kids do on breaks. I'm thinking of maybe pulling a Dan, drinking a couple beers by myself and then puking all over the place. Preston and Bender will be in town this weekend for a little party at p-squared's. The last time we went there in college, John did a keg stand and then took pictures of his balls on some chick's camera. Not really hoping for a sequel on that one. OK, I've got work to do. We publish our shitty paper early next week and apparently that means I need to go to work this weekend. And by weekend, I mean tomorrow. Thanks for reading and I'll see y'all again soon. :-)

So, are you?

Back on the blog wagon...it's been an interesting weekend to say the least. Friday night, I hung out with a different crowd than usual. John ditched me cause he hates everybody and his bed time is around 9:30. The night was going fine at first, mainly cause I was drinking heavily, but after a couple hours at the bar, we headed to a party that a friend of a friend knew of. Place was packed and I was making pitiful attempts to dance. After a while, Im talking to this guy Steven, Meaghan's friend. We had been hanging out with him most of the night and out of nowhere he starts asking me, "So, are you?" I said, what are you talking about? He goes, you know. I said, no I don't know. So are you, he asks again. At this point, I'm pretty certain the dude thinks I'm gay. I said, go ahead, just ask me. He says, nevermind. So now I'm just tanked and a bit weirded out. I walk home. A half hour later, I get a phone call from a number I've never seen before. I don't remember plenty of stuff about the night, but I have a vivid recollection of that phone conversation.
Caller: Hey Ryan, it's Steven. Where'd you go? I turned around and you were gone.
Me: Sorry. I went home. I was tired.
Caller: Oh, what're you doing now?
Me: Going to bed
Caller: Well, is there anything you like to do before you go to bed?
Me: No, not really
Caller: Where do you live?
Me: Boulevard
Caller: Do you want me to come over?
Me: No
Caller: You have my phone number, right?
Me: Yeah.
Caller: Ok well, call me anytime you want.
Me: Great.

Now I've got no problem with this guy being gay, but the whole thing was a bit fucked up. Meaghan must have given him my phone #, which is a bit weird if she knew this guy was gay and was calling me to set up some man lovin'. I think the worst part of it all is that when I hung up the phone, I actually saved Steven's number into my contacts. I was pretty drunk, but still, what the fuck was I thinking? Maybe I'm gay when I'm drunk. Who knows. Either way, John was totally jealous when he heard about my gay stalker the next morning. I need to join a rifle club or maybe hit up the Paper Moon next weekend to help restore some of my heterosexuality.



Last night was Scott and Hitch's Christmas party. We drank a couple bottles of wine before heading over there (Lauren would come to regret this a few hours later). I've never liked wine, but after drinking a gallon of it at Ellen's party Thursday night, I may be a convert. Stuff still tastes terrible, but the drunken buzz was much smoother than from my typical pound 5 shots of cheap vodka in a half hour. Anyway, there were a herd of sophomore UR girls at the party, friends of Scott's girlfriend, but they were not drinking nearly enough to foolishly think John or I were cool. In other words, they were not unconscious. One of the girls was obliterated, though, and John tells the girls that she's pulling a Mike Bender cause she's trying to get all the attention. While this may be funny to a few people in our group of friends, the UR sluts probably thought John was retarded. And if they did think that, they would have been correct. Overall party was a good time and I didn't end up leaving there until 4 am after a game of Cranium began turning into a drunken incoherent mess.
Bender made a surprise appearance in Richmond this afternoon, which was nice, cause it meant 3 guys snuggled on our couch, which is something we strive for as often as possible.
I've got a lot of Christmas shopping to do, but I'm terrible at it. It's like, how the fuck do I know what everyone wants. If I had my way, there would be no gifts. A card maybe, but no gifts. When I want something, I go out and buy it myself. If someone else buys me something, chances are they are going to screw it up and I'll sit there thanking them for their shitty gift while thinking about how I want to strangle them for being so moronic. Sorry, that probably made me sound like an asshole. Nevermind. I love Christmas (and gifts).
I gotta go. Steven's coming over.

Blog Crisis

Man, I'm under a lot of pressure here. Despite the fact that I update my blog every few days and cleary have a superior blog, John is getting a similar number of hits on his blog. I gotta say, it is quite disappointing. I thought I would be far ahead at this point, with huge corporations trying advertise with me and lots of blog roadies trying to get on me, but I apparently I was very wrong. That's OK though, it's just more motivation to do even better blogging from here on out.
Anyway, went to a Christmas "cock"tail party tonight. Once again, way too classy for me to be at. John got tanked off two glasses of wine, cause he has a huge vagina. It's tough to meet girls at these things, cause most of them seem like uptight bitches. Luckily Colin Quinn is in town and he took care of any sexual tension that I may have had.
I'm working even less these days than ever before, which I thought was impossible. So really, I guess I have no right to hate my job as much as I do. I just flat out lie to my editor on everything now. He tells me to get a photo and I make up some lame excuse about how the weather wasn't cooperating or something. At this point, I've been there almost a year, and I make up my own rules. I don't know how that worked out, but I'll take it. For now.
God, I'm so frustrated with my blog right now. I can't take this. I'm going swallow 40 tylenols.

Takin' it up the Blog

I went to work for two hours today and then the power went out so I was supposed to work from home. But as is evident from me writing this blog, I have little desire to do anything resembling productivity. I was waiting all day for Deuce Bigalow European Gigolo to arrive in the mail, but sadly it never came and that brought a couple tears to my eyes.
John's blog is on a downward spiral, mainly because John lacks talent and has very few interesting things to say. Still, if his blog dies, I will be at the blog funeral. I am a good friend.
The UR-Furman game was a good time. We almost got busted trying to get in with our old Spidercards. The lady told us to wait a minute and she tried to get the attention of some dude, who was clearly going to tell her we are way too old to be students. Luckily, we kept harassing her and eventually, she said she made a mistake. She thought the 1982 date on the card was the expiration date. It was pretty terrible. But we got in and then started running. Preston was in town and polished off a 12 pack of Miller in a few hours. God, he's disgusting. We slept together on the couch because it was too cold in my room.
I almost got kicked out of the gayass bubble bar on Friday. I was wearing John's cowboy hat (cause i'm a loser) and the jacked dude checking IDs told me to take it off. I turned to John and said something like, I can't believe I can't wear the cowboy hat. Of course, big douche guy heard me and asked if I had a problem with that. I politely explained to him that I was just joking around, as I clearly am not a cowboy and there was no reason for me to be wearing the hat in the first place. He said, oh ok I thought maybe there was a problem cause you snatched back your ID from me. God fuckin bubble bar, I hate that place. It's always filled with snobby rich bitches and I'm always too drunk anyway to be able to blend into such a "classy" establishment.
Anyway, later that night, I brought a couple of condoms to a med school party. I figured they would be fun to play with around all the smart kids and married people and I was right. I blew one of them up and threw it onto the beer pong table. People batted it around for a few minutes thinking it was a balloon, until someone stepped on it, at which point it became quite clear it wasn't a balloon at all. Oh, then some chicks were making out in the kitchen. Fine, their tongues just touched for about a half a second, but still I wish I had my camera.
Winter sucks. Snow sucks. Merry Christmas!

My Blog is Pregnant

I'm never betting against the UR bball team again. I put $50 on Seton Hall to win and UR destroyed them. But really, how the hell could you expect that? Peter Thomas? That guy looks like he just grew his first pubes last week.
I had lunch at Costco today. I hit up each of the free sample stands about five times each. It's amazing how all the stuff they give out at the store tastes like heaven and then you buy the shit yourself and it's like eating rubber cement. I put $300 tires on my trash car. I don't why I don't just go out and buy a new car. Oh, that's right. I make $10 an hour.
I think I'm gonna give an ultimatum to the H-P like, give me a fucking raise or I'm going to quit and burn this place down. I probably won't use those exact words, but I have no intentions of going into my 2nd year at that soul crushing place without some more cash flow. I've never liked the H-P, but I think back to the people who were there when I started and now they are pretty much all gone, and I actually miss them all. They were so much better and a whole lot more entertaining than the smucks that I work with now. And god, the hottest girl there is 50 years old and married with a kid. Fuckin high school intern. That bitch better be 18 soon.
This firecooper.com site they have running calling for Cooper's head is pretty hilarious. They even have a online store where you can purchase all this garbage, from t-shirts to baby bibs. I think John is waiting for the Fire Cooper Double-sided Dildo to be released online next week. That's what I hear, at least. I bet a bunch of queerbag alums will make anti-Cooper signs for the football game this weekend.


I need to find a new hobby. The whole drinking and gambling all the time is going to kill me soon. I want to join a bowling league, but I doubt I could convince anyone to be on a team with me. Plus I'd be kicked out of the league within a week since I'd change everyone's name on the score computer to something like "eatspenisallday".
Interest in my blog seems to have taken a nosedive in recent weeks. I don't if it's because of general blog trends in the country these days or because of my pitiful blogging ability, but it's been a tough blow to my self esteem. I'm not giving up yet, though. As long as I continue to have a ridiculous amount of free time because of a complete lack of a life, I will keeping crapping out this blog. Great news, right? Eh, blow me.