Valentine's Day is for Pussies

You know I'm desperate for pictures when I'm forced to post this blatant display of gayness. Actually, it was either this or Rob's mangina and even I have to draw the line somewhere. Readership would surely drop to one if that photo ever made it on here. That one reader would clearly be Rob, who would come on here just to beat it to his own mangina. Sick.
So let's just say this weekend has easily been the least productive few days of my life. I'm pretty sure I set my personal record for fatassness as I did not leave my apartment at all for a solid 48 hour period. And when I finally did manage to venture into outdoor areas today, it was for about 5 mins, so I could go pick up a pizza. I have to give myself some credit as I didn't eat the entire pizza this time, although I probably would have if John wasn't harassing me for a few slices. I need spring bad. I need to be playing tennis, aka engaging in some sort of physical activity, besides walking from the couch to the bathroom. I rarely even do that anymore. An empty Gatorade bottle works quite nicely. Although I have gotten stuck before...
Man, the vice-president shooting some dude on a hunting trip, that shit is priceless. When Dan sent me the link, it thought it was from the Onion or something. Really, who is even giving Cheney a firearm to mess around with? The guy is 940 years old and he should have been dead about 5 times now. I just hope Bush isn't whacked by some terrorist before 08, cause if Cheney ever had to take over, I'm pretty sure he'd start shooting everyone. Hell, the guy's approval rating, even among Republicans, is about as low as my sperm count.
It's taken me three years, but I've just discovered my computer's best feature. It's got fuckin Internet Checkers. I've already demolished two people and I plan on playing until about 5 am.
This is a piss poor post, but life just isn't all that exciting right now. Alright, fine, damn it, not exciting at all. What I do know is the May deadline for me to get a job at the Times-Dispatch, which is basically what it's come down to, is fast approaching so my Richmond days may be numbered. Here's my future:
06- Do something crazy, leave the country, sleep with dirty prostitutes
07- Get a job at a daily paper, become the fuckin' man
09- Go to grad school. Continue being the fuckin' man
12- Win a Pulitzer. Dabble in various hardcore drugs
13- Become a college professor. Sleep with several students, impregnate a couple
18- Get tenure. Do whatever the fuck I want.

Lastly, a plea: Post comments on this thing. I know people are bored enough to read it, so take an extra minute out of your pathetic life to write a comment. You can be anonymous or whatever. I don't care what it says, you can tell me how much you love to spread peanut butter on your nipples and try to lick it all off or how you want to bash my head in with a sledgehammer. Hell, you don't even need to write a sentence. It can look like this : jfirgh. Yeah, that'd be fine. Just give me something to work with people. OK, I love you all.