New Blog

Korea Blog is up at http://dontnukeseoul.blogspot.com/

Finally. Seoul. Me. Ahhhhh.

Here's me with my "good luck, please get the hell out of here already" cake. I leave for Seoul on Friday, it's a direct 15 hour flight on Korean Airlines where I will likely get a preview of what it's like to not be understood at all. I'll get to Seoul Saturday evening with the 13 hour time difference slapping me across the face. I apparently start teaching on Monday which surprisingly I'm not really nervous about, I think I'll be a good teacher and be able to keep the kids learning and entertained, which is really what the job is, to be an American Clown. While the job hunt and ensuring battles with the the school I'm now employed by has left me well not expecting an Asian paradise when I arrive, god, I'm so ready to get on with this. Almost 3 months on the couch has taken it's toll. On a side note, party poker is shutting down to US players this week because douchebag Bill Frist slipped an anti online gambling thing into the port security bill over the weekend. I seriously want to kill the man, he may be a doctor, but he won't be able to heal my foot out of his ass. Whatever, it's probably good for me in the long run, but fucking ouch man. Wow, I started this blog a year ago. Amazing. Can't believe I took that much time to post so much garbage. So that's it, once I get settled in Seoul, I'll start up a new not so NC-17 rated blog and post the link to that on here. Until then, stay safe America.

Being Old and Worthless is Awesome!

The job hunt is officially over. I packed up my UR diploma and some other good stuff and shipped it off to Korea this morning. The job I took isn't great, in fact, I would have turned it down a few months ago, but it will have to do. It is in Seoul and the hours, 2-10, are ideal for someone who likes to peruse lesbianic pornography during the early morning hours. I'm probably looking at a departure date of around Oct. 1 and I think I'll need to make two trips into the city to the korean consulate before then, which means I'll have to go on the fuckig train, more on that monstrousity later. It came to the point where I just needed to take a job and get over there. I think I over thought the whole thing after reading all these internet discussion boards. They all say exactly what you should demand for a job and nothing less. Problem is there are very few jobs that have all these great things and the ones that do go to the teachers with experience and huge tallywackers. So there's some good parts and some pretty bad things about my job, but really, I'm looking forward to making the best of it. I'm usually a pretty negative person, but I can't imagine this being a bad experience. So that's that and Korea is pretty much setup so I can now sit back and relax for a few weeks. What, you say I've already been doing that for two months? Yeah, well, fuck you. You wish you were me. I went to bed last night today at noon. Right.
If there's been one experience over the last few weeks that will cause me nightmares for years, it was PukeOn Train Night. First off we made the terrible decision to take the train to Bayside for a party at Krystle and Felicia's apt. The train to get there involved about nine connections and took at least an hour and a half. Obviously people would need to get shitty for the night to not be so shitty. Things were fine until late night when we went out to a bar in Queens. It was there where my hatred for Koreans jumped exponentially. Elliot kept handing everyone drinks and if there's one serious problem I have, it's that I can not physically turn down free alcohol. To me, it is a serious sin. Now if we had gone to this bar without Elliot, there's no doubt I wouldn't have drank anything else, I was already ready to take my underwear shorts off and run around in traffic. There were jager shots and carbombs involved and I apparently poured a slurpee on bobby on the walk back to the train station. Within 5 minutes after the train started moving, I threwup all over the place. It wouldn't have been so terrible if most of it didn't get all over my clothes. And we still had another two hours on the train. We then missed the transfer train at Jamaica so I was sprawled on the floor there for a while. During the final leg, we sat right across from a huge puddle of vomit that actually didn't come from my body. I'm still not sure why we sat there. I got home at 630 am, slept until 6pm, couldnt eat anything, and then went back to bed for the night. I swear, I've drank a bit, but that was the worst night/hangover of my life. I hadn't thrown up from alcohol in 4 years and I definitely never spewed all over myself. So point of the story is, I'm a fucking moron, Elliot should be shot and the Long Island Railroad is my own personal hell.
For all my terrible luck finding a job, that was all made up by Joey Porter and the Steelers last week. I found a sportsbook that was offering a risk free bet, you bet 1100 on the steelers to cover the spread against the dolphins, they win, you get 1000, lose and they refund the bet amount within a couple of days. I got locked in at -5 for the steelers before big ben died so i thought i was fucked. Then the Dolphins were up by 3 with 6 minutes to go in the fourth quarter. Pit scored a TD to make it a 4 point lead and then with 3 minutes left, they had a FG try that I was certain was my last shot to cover. The dbag missed and I cried a lot. The Dolphins has no timeouts, even if they ran out of downs, Pit would just kill the clock. Joey Porter pulled the miracle though a few seconds later, intercepted a pass returned it for a TD, bingo a grand in the bank. It was one of the most exiciting nights of my life. Gotta say though, a bit disappointed that no one else took advantage of the offer. Online gambling is big money, people, get your heads in the game.
Maybe I'll go somewhere or do something exciting during the next few weeks. Nah. The couch will miss me too much.

Fuck Korea

Ahh the blog, oh how i've missed you. No, not really. I'm just bored. I kept telling myself I'd update this bitch when I signed a job contract for Korea, but then, that kept not happening. And yeah, it's still yet to happen. Things have not gone as smoothly as planned, but I guess I should have expected this. Deciding to teach in Korea apparently is the dumbest decision I've made since that time I tied that rope around my neck and put a lime in my mouth. Really I'm still totally committed to going, but it's been nowhere as easy as I thought it would be. I've sent out 6000 resumes and photos and even gayass cover letters. Koreans call me every night, which will make for a great time when that phone bill arrives. I've gotten job offers, but something always kills the deal, whether it be a moron recruiter or a school sending me a contract that looks like a death certificate. I'm sick of these damn interviews, the get to know you ones, that I have to deal with all the time from these recruiters. So, are you good with kids? Do you like kids? Alright douche, I'm applying for a TEACHING job, obviously I enjoy being around kids. Each one of those stupid questions costs me a good buck. A lot of times people call and I either can't understand them or I have no idea where they are from. Last night a lady asked me the dumb questions and then was basically like, do you want the job? Meanwhile, she hadn't told me anything about the job, you know, like where it is, how much it pays, minor fucking details. A few weeks at the end of convo with a school director, she said "have a good day" and then when she realized I was on the other side of the world, she said "sweet dreams." That was cute. I wonder if she's single.
It's been a frustrating experience all in all so far. I thought I'd be in Seoul by now, getting drunk before teaching and flooding young minds with foul English vocab. My best hope now is to probably get over there by mid-Sept. and even then, I'm going to need to sign a contract soon and get the visa process rolling. I'm still hopeful and although online gambling could sustain me for the next decade, I'm just about ready to be able to say I have a real life and a real profession besides dirty bonus whore.
Oh, and talk about getting rammed in the anus, Bender signed a contract with a school in Seoul a few weeks ago. He sent his stuff, including his original UR diploma, over to Korea and he thought he was just waiting for his plane ticket to get out of here this weekend. Then the recruiter emails him the other day and says basically, the teacher you were supposed to replace has decided to stay on for another year so you're completely fucked, sorry! I thought I was getting annoyed with everything, but really I couldn't blame Bender if he flew over to Seoul and slaughtered a few Koreans just for the hell out it.
I've actually been a lot busier at home than anticipated. I mean, I still sleep until 2 pm everyday and spend too much time on party poker, but for an old man, I've been pretty active. The week after I got home, I went to Montreal with Sean Bobby and Krystle. We stayed in separate hotels though, which was not cool, and we also walked too much. I prefer to sit for hours with the only motion taking place being the lifting of the beer bottle to my mouth. The first annual Out Games were held all over the city while we were there, so there were gay people everywhere. It worked out well because I was able to grope sean's ass and other people were just like, oh that's cool. We went to club super sex one night and watched girls, um, eat each other. It was really kind of disturbing. Bobby and Krystle went there by themselves another night, which was, romantic? Oh shit, I hope Sean's girlfriend doesn't read my blog. If so, Andrea, Sean was NOT at the strip club. Definitely not.
I've been into NYC like 6 times since I've gotten home. I'm pretty sure I'd been to the city about three times in my entire life before this summer. Got a chance to see a taping of the Letterman show a couple weeks ago. I just bullshitedly submitted a bunch of ticket requests for all the shows, Daily Show Conan, all that good stuff. By the way, bullshitedly, I really like that word. Anyway, a bitch from letterman called one day and said i had two tickets if i wanted them. i said yes and then she made me answer a trivia question to claim them, which was pretty gay. since i never watch letterman, i thought i was fucked, but the question, what kind of store does rupert gee own (a deli), happened to be the only letterman fun fact i know. so john and i went, of course we were the last ones to pick up the tickets to we sat in the back in different rows. The place was really small though so there weren't any bad seats. it was a pretty cool experience and i think i saw myself on tv for about a millioneth of a second. the only thing that pissed me off was that they edited out all the dumb shit hilary duff said. first she told letterman that she was taking online classes through harvard, and then five minutes later, she didn't know what standing water was. everyone in the audience laughed at her, which was awesome. i would have enjoyed seeing that on tv. and even though hilary duff is as dumb as a table, i'd still tie her up and force feed her peanuts.
I have to sell my car before I leave. God, I can't wait for that day when I rip off some Mexican. I think I can get a grand for it and then since the car is really worth negative money, I'm going to spend the profits on a new camera and a bunch of other shit I probably don't need.
I could probably write here for the next few hours, since I've got a month's worth of great material bottled up in my fat head, but that's gonna have to do it. I'm thinking of starting up a new blog once I get to Korea, you know, one that normal people can read, instead of just the usual sick perverts who visit this site. you know who you are. I've got a feeling a Korea blog will quickly devolve into nasty drivel within a few weeks, but I've got to give it a try, just for the sake of pretending I can be somewhat appropriate. COCK.

Ah, Gary, that smells awful! Now I'm gonna throw up!

Here's the photo I've been sending in to apply for Korea jobs. It's only funny because I'm not wearing any pants and I'm pretty sure my right hand is tickling my balls.
The ride home was as smooth as my taint. For the first 213 miles. That's when karma decided to step in and shove a bat up my ass. A couple exits up on the NJ turnpike, a wheel on my car locked up sending the shitmobile into a wild swerve, which is always thrilling when you're cruising along at 80. I managed to pull over without killing myself and after waiting an hour on the shoulder in the 100 degree heat, the tow arrives. Ten minutes later, I'm five miles further on the turnpike and back on the shoulder. This time with the tow truck driver. The tow truck got a flat tire. That's right. A tow truck had to come and tow my car along with the other tow truck. It was pretty fuckin surreal. I came pretty close to running into the middle of the turnpike and ending the day, and my life, a bit early. Ended up getting a room at the econo lodge for the night and i found a bar down the road where I drank until I thought I knew where I was again. That was actually quite enjoyable. Alright, no one gives a shit about this. So car got fixed the next day, I drove home, of course after spending an hour in standstill traffic after the goethals was closed because of an accident. that bridge is such garbage. the two lanes are about as wide as an anoxeric slut and they werent even paved that day. Yeah, no shit, there's an accident? Whoever was involved in that crash should sue the state for being such a fuckin moron.
I sold my mattress on craigs list for $75 and then ended up giving this girl my TV and some furniture since there was no way I was fitting anything else into that car. The girl's sister or cousin of whoever was the biggest butch lesbian I've ever seen. God, the mustache on this chick beast. It was pretty sad when we carried the mattress out to the car and it was very clear that I was the one struggling to keep the thing off the ground. She could have swallowed me.
The Korea recruiter seems to be making progress and things should begin to proceed rapidly on that front. Might be able to get into the same school as Bender and if not, at least be in schools in the same area. Right now, home is still a novelty and I'm content with playing video games and eating taco bell 3 meals a day, but that will get old fast. Second thought, that will never get old and I could easily do that forever and I would if society didn't look down on people like me. And that's why I must leave and pretend for a year that I'm a somewhat decent person who likes to live and do things.
There was almost the brawl of the century at daves house the other night. Late night at this block party, we set up the pong table out in the road. As we're finishing up a game, a bunch of douches come along and call next game. Just to be friendly Dave lets them on. It was fine for a few minutes. But then I went to take a leak and when i returned, this huge meathead with a 1.5 inch cock was going off on dave. he kept yelling i'm going to fuck you in the ass. I was thinking about telling him that's not exactly how you fight people, generally that's called gay sex and takes place between two men who love each other dearly. Yeah, didn't tell him that. Turns out this cockbag had been putting the pong balls in his mouth and Dave asked him to stop doing that, which of course, was a totally unreasonable request. luckily this guy's buddies held him back and tackled him, but that was after he flipped over the pong table sending beer cans everywhere. at that point we went inside and dave plotted how to destroy all of east islip.
montreal is on the agenda for this weekend. i've never been there but sean promises that there will be girls who will show things that i want to see.
yeah, it's definitely time for taco bell, hopefully it won't be a repeat of saturday night when daves special medicine caused me to order 400 tacos.
Peace bitches.

The End of an Era. Goodbye, Richmond.

I've got the all-clear to head to foreign lands. The doc confirmed the ER diagnosis, saying there's a very small shot of it happening again, and if it does, I've just got to ride it out and not play any board games that require a good memory.
I made the mistake of telling the entire county I was going to Korea, so at the school board meeting the other night, the chairman made me stand up and tell the crowd where I was going. And everyone went ooh ahhh, wow. It was, terrible.
Things are progressing on that front, as it looks like Bender and I might be able to get in the same school in Seoul. Now we just have to hope Japan doesn't decide to bomb North Korea anytime soon. That would pose a problem, considering NK could demolish Seoul in about 2 hours. I'm sure I'll have fun over there, but I'm not sure I want to be a refugee for 30 years.
I don't think I can drink anymore. The last two times I've gotten trashed, this incredible wave of depression has washed over me. Maybe my body has finally had enough. It's saying Fuck off, Ryan, I'm not going to be your little bitch anymore.
The excitement of leaving Richmond is tempered by the sadness of leaving Richmond. It's been my home for the past 6 years and I will miss every part of it. I came to Richmond at a buck thirty with bleached blond hair and a huge photo album of high school homosexuality. I leave about 30 pounds heavier, with some shades of gray up top, and a huge photo album of college homosexuality. In a way, I feel like I'm just now graduating college. I was back on campus a bunch the past couple of years, first when Emily was there and then my brother this year. It's tough to let go of it. Every part of me says, that was it, that was as good as it gets. I guess I just have to hope I'm wrong.
The next time I post, I'll be a N.Y. resident once again. Don't tell the Virginia DMV.

Still alive. Barely. Legal.

This weekend has been a bit more healthy than the last. There have been no ER visits and I can still remember my life. I went to a neurologist last week and of course, the guy is African with a strong accent, whereby I can understand about 1 out of every 5 words he says. He wasn't all that helpful in pinpointing what caused my blackout, though he didn't fall on the floor and begin convulsing when I said I was planning on going to Korea next month, so that was a good sign, I guess. What he did order was a EEG, which is one of those tests where they strap electrodes on your head and check out your sexy brain waves. Oh and also, it was a sleep-deprived test, meaning that I had to stay awake all night until the test the next morning. As I was leaving the office, I asked the doctor if I could drink caffeine to help me stay awake and he laughs and says something like "Yeah sure, that's OK." I get to the front desk to checkout and the nurse who does the EEG's tells me I can't have any caffeine. Yeah, that's reassuring.
They told me beforehand the test wouldn't be painful and really it wasn't, but pain is a whole lot different than discomfort. And this was a uncomfortable experience. The whole point of the test is to try to make you have a seizure or freak out in an attempt to recreate what went wrong in your brain during the original episode.
The first part of the test, I'm lying on a table totally naked and there's this strobe light thing right above my eyes. Wait, I'm not naked. The light starts blinking, nurse tells me to open my eyes. A few seconds later, eyes closed. This goes on for 5 minutes, with the light getting brighter and blinking faster everytime. My brain remained online, but my eyes were watering more than they did than when James Braddock beat Max Baer. I'm pretty sure my shirt was soaked in my own tears. The light thing ended and I'm thinking, alright can't get worse than that. Hyperventilate for 5 minutes straight, you know what, I didn't think that would be all that difficult. God, it's fucking breathing. I can handle that. I couldn't. About 30 seconds in, I was about to jump off the table and smack the nurse in the face. 3 minutes left, you're doing great. Are you fucking kidding me? I've only been doing this for 2 minutes? Kill me. At this point, I also have some sort of electricity running through my body, so my fingers and toes are tingling and I can't tell if that is from the crazy breathing or the crap strapped to my head. I thought I was going to pass out. But I made it, somehow. Then get this, it's time for a nap! Apparently that was the point of the sleep-deprived thing, to make me be able to fall asleep during the exam. I don't care if I had been awake for 6 years, there was no way in hell I was going to nod off after that traumatic episode. I pretended to be asleep, but filthy nurse slut knew it from looking at the brain waves.
I have another neurologist appointment this week, where I'll get the results of blood work and the EEG, if I can decode what the doctor says. When I went running yesterday, I felt light headed on the verge of collapsing, which may have been caused by the heat, my pathetic body, or my fucked up brain. I guess we'll see.
It's funny how quick things change. Two blog entries ago, I was saying I'd never be able to use up my remaining three sick days at the H-P. Yeah, well, there are all gone now. I gave my two weeks notice on Thursday, my last day is the 14th. I really can't imagine myself doing any sort of real work from here on out.
Oh, and yes, I've given up completely on new photos. It's classic homosexual erotica from here on out.

Crazy Adventures in the ER

Two days after my 24th birthday, I lost my mind.
It started on Thursday when I got back from work and realized I had no recollection of the past 5 hours. I called my dad and told him what was going on, and understandably, he thought I was just drunk. If only. I ended up in the ER at the hospital down the road for six hours, of which I have little memory besides telling Rob repeatedly to get in the hospital bed with me and when I spoke with my dad on the phone, I told him I was there because I had an "abnormally large schlong" that was causing problems. I remember being really scared when Rob said "Do you want me to leave the room when the test results some back?" That's when it clicked for just a second that I might be in serious trouble. I was discharged around midnight, when I guess the doctors thought I was either getting better or they were just sick of all the homosexual innuendo in my room.
I don't remember coming home from the hospital, but I know I then kept waking up every 20 minutes and seeing ER discharge forms right next to my bed. Each time I'd open up my computer and look at the page describing global transient amnesia, which was the preliminary diagnosis. But then I would immediately forget and 20 minutes later, I'd wake up again and see those discharge papers. I had no idea what was going on. Apparently I knocked on Rob's door at 6 am with the papers in my hand and without a clue in the world. The ER doctors had thought I was improving and would be fine in the morning, but they couldn't have been more wrong.
Rob said I was no longer joking around Friday morning, although when he asked me to write any sentence on a piece of paper, I did write "I love Rob's Boner." Scott came over to bring me to the primary care doctor. At this point, I had no idea where I was, what my phone number was, where I lived, I may have known my name. I remember being in the doctors office, sitting on the table while Scott read a magazine. Scott left and my cousins came to take over "Watch the Crazy Guy" duty. My mind was mush, but I knew things weren't going well. The first hospital had not done thyroid tests and since my only medical condition is a hyperactive thyroid, that was, well, not good. They couldn't get in touch with my thyroid doctor and things were not even close to improving so they send me straight back to the ER. This time to a hospital that actually had some clue as to what they were doing.
Most of the day is a blur, and while I couldn't remember the year, where I lived, how old I was, members of my family...I did distinctly know that it was a serious situation. I had two ER bracelets on my hand and I looked at them constantly. The newer one said "PRE ER" on it, and I thought for sure that meant I was about to be wheeled in for surgery at any second. I also knew that my mom was on her way down, and that registered as a sign that things were not going well.
They put me through every test, every machine, possible in the ER. I had a cat scan, mri, chest scan. I remember being put in the changing room to put a gown on for the mri and looking in the mirror. I did this for a few minutes, but I couldn't make sense of what I was seeing. I recognized myself, but my head on was not on this planet. In the mri tube, I heard all of these weird noises and I had something in my hand I could squeeze if I needed to come out. But I was totally out of it, I don't know if they had me on sedatives or something, but I just laid there motionless, opening my eyes every few minutes when some strange noise would rattle my brain.
Back in my room, I could see the nurses out in the hall and I kept hoping they wouldn't come talk to me again. They kept asking me if I was going on a trip soon, obviously referring to Korea, but I had no clue and I responded "No" to pretty much everything. I could tell from my bracelets that it was just a couple days after my birthday, so I remember thinking maybe I had done something crazy to celebrate and destroyed my brain. Lauren called at one point and while I recognized the name, I had no clue as to who she was. I may have picked up the phone, but I immediately handed it to my cousin.
When all the tests came back fine, there was nothing more they could do for me at the ER, and although I was still in a daze, I remember being very very happy to be leaving that hospital. I fell asleep on the couch at my cousin's house and when I woke up on Saturday morning, I said, "I'm back."
I need to see a neurologist tomorrow and hopefully he'll concur with the hospital that it was this transient global amnesia which obviously scares the shit out of everyone involved, but has no long-term effects. And it only occurs again over the next year in about 4 percent of people who get it.
I'm so glad this happened on June 22 instead July 22, because if it happened a month later, I would owe the rest of my life's earning to hospitals. I had no plans to have health insurance from mid-July until I left for Korea. Sure, I'll still have to pay $500 or so in co-pays, but I don't even like thinking about how much I'd be in the hole if I didn't have insurance.
My grandmother told me that maybe this whole incident was God's way of telling me that I shouldn't go to Korea. I think it was his way of telling me just the opposite.

Can you lick your own NIPPLES?

Ah, I miss my that old aluminum foil penis I used to have. It was so shiny. Too bad I got it caught in a fence in '03. That was messy.
I took off from work today following a brutal weekend of sitting on my couch. I still have three sick days to use up before I quit next month, but there's no way I'll use them all. I really only work two days a week and even my moral conscience will kick in if I screw over the H-P anymore than I already do.
I had to sit through four high school graduations on Saturday, which was great fun. Of course, by great fun, I do mean I would have rather taken part in a giant homosexual gangbang than listen to 30 speakers talk about not wasting opportunities and making most of the future. That kind of verbal vomit, combined with being surrounded by hundreds of young girls, of whom I am now old enough to be their father, was not a pleasant experience.
I saw a car today with the license plate "UR NBRED". Pretty funny, but also quite an emotional event for me considering my mangina is now stuffed in an envelope heading back to the DMV. Actually, half of my mangina is still on my car, as I can't find a screwdriver to get the rear plate off. If I get pulled over, I think I'm pretty much fucked at this point. My mangina is no longer recognized in the state of Virginia.
I have an interview with a recruiting agency on Wednesday, which I'm sure will be incredibly easy. Then hopefully they'll find me a job in Seoul. These recruiters get ripped apart in all these discussion forums, but the way I see it, I'm looking for a job in the city that pays two grand a month, so if these shady characters want to go out and find that for me, whatever, makes my life easier.
I read somewhere today that online gambling is banned in Thailand with the government blocking out all of the sites. Man, I would have cried if I paid all that money to get to Bangkok, hooked up my computer and then found out Party Poker was shut down. So, lets just say I'm pretty fuckin glad I've settled on South Korea now, where from what I can tell, I'll be free to continue raping online casinos.
I miss Jack Bauer.

Can you spot the real Asian?

Dan found out recently that he was adopted. That dude in the red shirt has come forward as his father. They will see each other for the first time next month during a special edition of Maury Povich, "So you thought you were American? Well, guess what dumbass, here's your Chinese dad!!"
Yeah, so I haven't blogged in a while. Whatever. I do what I want. I am in pure Richmond cruise mode right now, just counting the days until I can tell my boss to go blow himself and get out of this place. I'm set on heading to South Korea now in August, hopefully, as I just can't ignore the money at this point. If it were two years ago and I had just graduated from college, I'd probably go to Bangkok, but I'll be 24 in a week and I feel at this point, I have to be doing things that aren't going to require me to send my bank overdraft fees every week. Also, apparently, I may be able to do some freelance reporting work in Seoul, which would be killer for the resume. As usual, I've had a ton of free time, but I'm still a waste of life and haven't applied to any schools yet. It's supposed to be a joke getting a job over there, but I'm really trying to make sure I'm in the center of the city, which narrows down the prospects.
I went to the UR Garden Party on Thursday, which is basically just a whole bunch of old rich white people getting tanked and eating good food. Plus me. Well, there were maybe 10 people there who were under 30, so it was quite awkward and i found myself conversing with way too many people who graduated in 1950. But I did make friends with a chick who works in the advancement office at UR and she invited me out to dinner with a few people who just graduated. That's all boring, but the great part was that the dinner and a ton of wine ended up on UR's tab. Now, that is a bit disturbing, but I surely didn't give a fuck, I just wish I hadn't eaten so much at the garden party, because I could only force down a bowl of soup at dinner. And a couple lines of coke.
Finally went to the verizon store last week to get the phone i put in the washing machine, because i'm a fucking idiot, fixed. The phone wasn't activated since I'd been using an old one for a while that actually works. Obviously the dumb bitch at verizon wouldn't have any of that common sense. She said they don't repair phones that aren't activated. That's right, if you break your phone and want verizon to fix it, for the love of god, make sure you keep it activated. It doesn't matter that it got tossed around the washing machine for an hour, it's got to be active. Defintely don't try to use another phone, for that would ruin everything. I half-assed argued with this lady, who told me it would cost 20 bucks for her to activate the broken phone. To which I said, "You are telling me I have to pay you $20 to push a button on that keyboard?" She says, "Yes, you have to pay for that service." I would have strangled this girl if I were strong enough to finish her off before her coworkers could pull me off her. Eventually, I walked over to a radio shack and found internet access. So i switch the phones and head back to verizon. This time some shaggy haired dude is working the counter. I hand him the phone, he takes one look at it and says it has water damage, it can't be fixed. Yeah, I just gave up at that point. Now I'm thinking, why the fuck did that first lady not tell me there was water damage? Unless she's retarded, which may very well have been the case, she must have known it had water damage. Fuck, I'm pretty sure the guy knew the second I stepped out of my car with that "I dropped my phone in the washing machine and I'm now going to pretend it just stopped working" look on my face.
Entourage has got to be one of the most overhyped and overrated shows out there. I just don't get the appeal, what the fuck is it? A drama, a comedy? Cause it's not a very compelling drama and it's just not funny enough to be a comedy. I watch it, probably in large part because everyone else does, but at the end of every episode, I always end up thinking, 'Eh, that was OK." This new show on after Entourage, Lucky Louie, is pretty hilarious, though. Now this is a show I'd actually look forward to watching each week. Oh, also, the Sopranos season finale was such a blueballed piece of trash. Every time you thought someone was going to get castrated or beat in the head with a pipe, the show pussed out. Really, how the fuck do you end a season of the Sopranos with everyone sitting around the Christmas tree? That would be like if Jack Bauer had a knife on a terrorist's throat and he suddenly dropped it and said, "Eh, it's just not worth it. Run away, man. Just go."
Life tip of the week: Never do a Jagerbomb at 1:30 am. It will likely lead to a violent rash of online gambling lasting until after sunrise.
P.S. I like how when I spell check these entries, the word "fuck" comes up about 6,000 times. My mom would not be proud.

RIP My Mangina 10/05 - 5/06

Dear Virginia DMV,

I am writing to express my deep anger with a letter I received in the mail today regarding the license plates on my vehicle. According to this letter, the plate "MANGINA" which was issued to me several months ago was done so in error. I have to say I was completely shocked when I opened this letter, with new plates also enclosed.
I have been a loyal Virginia DMV customer for 6 years now. I have regularly changed my personalized plates to reflect my interest in a wide array of activities, including but not limited to, rubbing myself, a good buddy of mine cockerjohnson and a hatred for a certain president. Now these ones were all approved with no problem, how you could allow me to have a plate that says "RUBME" with the words "fight terrorism" underneath but yet you find objection with my relatively harmless mangina? Over the past few months, I've grown very close to my mangina. When I've been down and out, my mangina has always been there to say, "Hey man, check me out, I kind of look like a vagina." And every time, that would brighten up my day. How you could take away something that special from a person is just a disgrace.
I've shown my mangina to dozens of people. Some have been disgusted, especially on days when I didn't keep him nice and clean, but all in all, most people have pointed and stared and wished they could have their own manginas out on display for every other driver in the Commonwealth of Virginia.
In your letter, it states that my mangina was reviewed by a committee of "culturally diverse individuals", but unless this took place while I was sleeping, which is probably against the law, I do not believe my mangina has ever been reviewed. Bruised? Sure. Burned? Yeah, that was a crazy night. But I will not stand for your countless lies as you attempt to strip me of my closest and dearest friend.
The letter also says that no personalized plates are allowed that have a combination of characters that could reasonably seen by a person viewing the plate as "intimate body parts." Look, DMV assholes, there is nothing intimate about my mangina. In fact, I'd say that most manginas can be classified as "the most unintimate thing" people have ever seen. I am tempted to send you douches a slideshow of photos of my mangina to show you just what you're taking away from me. My mangina and I have been everywhere together. On one trip to New York, some kids were laughing at us and I got out of the car and beat their asses. No one fucks with my mangina. Oh, and who can forget the time my mangina came out of nowhere and spit all over those guys who were about to attack me from behind.
My mangina has been there for me every step of the way. Sure, we've had our battles. He's been a real dick sometimes. And he's been a little too close to my ass sometimes, but man, I wouldn't trade those moments for anything.
I know when you wrote that letter stripping me of my mangina, you probably did not realize the extreme emotional, and physical, damage you would be inflicting. You can't just rip off a mangina and slap on something new, you bastards. At this point, he's really a part of me. Do you really expect me to put a screwdriver near my mangina?
I think the worst part of this whole ordeal is that you cocksuckers not only want me to remove my mangina, but afterwards, I have to send you the remains. For god sake, at least let me keep him near my bed, in my pants, so I can cherish the memories.
But as I am a law abiding citizen, I will follow the directions in your letter and mail you my mangina.
Take care of him. Cherish him and love him, just as I did everyday we were together. Don't feed him too much and never, ever pull him too hard.
I know you're just doing your job, DMV people, but I hope my mangina fuckin' spits all over you. And it gets in your eye.

Yours truly,

Ryan

Elliot Yamin lost!! There is a GOD!!

This was at this massive anti-war protest in London, the old hippies there, surprisingly, did not appreciate our obnoxious American behavior. God, drinking gas, though, that's some hardcore shit. I'd have to be at least 8 beers deep to even give it a try.
Some really fat guy tried to beat my ass last night, but lucky for him, Clements held me back. You can laugh now. We were at Big Daddys with a UR girl Courtney and a couple of her friends. This guy, we'll call him Fatty McDouche, starts grinding behind Courtney and I think she made these uncomfortable faces, which caused me to laugh clearly. I guess he saw this and he came up to me and said "Oh, I'm soooo fat, are you talking shit about me?" I said, "No Fatty McDouche, I didn't say anything, I'm just doing my best (terrible) white boy dance moves over here." He eventually just went away and I was able to get back to spanking Clements. Here's the point though: If you weigh 750 pounds and start dancing behind an attractive girl, thereby causing her to throw up in her mouth, I am going to laugh at you. It's a very simple concept really.
You know who hate? Yes, you, but besides you, people who respond to those evite things saying they can't come to a party because they're a)going to a wedding in Hawaii! b) sorry! i'm backpacking through Europe this weekend! happy b-day, though!! c) oh man, wish i could make it, but i'm flying around in the new plane my daddy just bought me!! Yay! Me!! Look people, nobody gives fuck what're you doing, nobody cares about your thrilling life, if you can't come to a party, just click the "no" button and get off the site before i'm forced to kill you. Hell, don't even respond at all if you can't do it without being a total douche.
I had 20 bucks on the Mets beating the Yanks by 2 runs yesterday...I was all ready to go out and spend my winnings on 50 cherry Slurpees, and then Billy Benitez puts on a steel tipped boot and slams it into my junk. 4-0 in the ninth, Billy, you make $8565969 million a year, how does this happen? And Willie Randolph has got the brain of a fuckin retarded mouse, Benitez walks 30 batters and takes a dump on the mound, and you leave him in there? Ok yeah, moral here: Gambling is bad.
I'm torn between Thailand and South Korea now, more fun, more whores in Bangkok, but a whole lot more $ in Seoul. It'd be really lame if I sold out for the money, but it's gotta be a factor when you've got 20 G in student loans and your car can't go around the block without something falling off it. If anyone's been to these places, give me advice damn it, and this is mainly directed to whoever has been checking my blog from Korea. I appreciate all of the worldwide support for my blog. It's been seen in all of these countries: Korea.
The guy who posed as an H-P reporter so he could check out young girls at the ballet called me on my cell phone yesterday. He wanted to know if I was coming to this street party in town. Man, I have no idea why I didn't just go off on this guy, and then call the police, I think all of the drugs are starting to wear me down. But really, my voicemail at work says to call my cell if it is urgent, I don't what fuckin dictionary this perv is using, but I could have sworn urgent does not mean call to annoy me on Saturday afternoon. "Hi, this is Ryan, I'm not here right now, but if you happen to be a pedophile, please get in touch via my cell immediately."
Worst Movie Ever: The Ringer.

Shockering the World- London Edition

Welcome to the back from London edition of my blog. Here on the left is one of London's most famous tourist attractions: the Shocker chair at the arcade/casino. My mom didn't know what the shocker was, but she insisted on attempting to make the sign repeatedly in what can only be described as the ultimate low point in the history of my family (See the photo below of her attempting to do it in front of Westminster Abbey. Notice I tried my best to maneuver the camera above her, to no avail. Just wrong.)
It was a fun trip, although spending the entire first night lost on the night buses and paying $4,000 for a beer wasn't all that great. The hotel was right next to the underground so it was usually real easy to get around town, but the subway closes at midnight, which is exactly when you need a simple, very direct route home. We did manage to make it out a few nights and the trip concluded with a lovely boot from a bar. Story goes like this: John and I went to a bar in Leicester Square that had this promotion with 14 cheap beers on tap they billed as the Voyage of Discovery. So we decided to discover if we could finish all of them/see how fuckin idiotic we could possibly be. As we neared the conclusion of the voyage, which we attempted to complete way too quickly so we could meet up with the rest of the family, we noticed how retarded all of the bartenders looked in these goofy sailors hats, especially this 6-5 black guy who clearly was not enjoying himself. I asked him if they forced him to wear it, he just smiled, took the hat off, and hung it up behind the bar. At this point, this story is pretty predictable. We wanted the hat. Like, real bad. When the bartenders were all gone for a second, I ran behind the bar and just as I got my hand on the front of the hat, I see the bar supervisor make his way down a couple stairs in front of me. He didn't kick us out then, he just gave us his best dirty British glance. But then we kept offering all the bartenders ridiculous amounts of money to give us a hat and I know we were close to getting one of them to crack when the supervisor told us we were weren't being served anymore. I said we didn't want anymore beer, just a hat. He said, leave the bar. It was still early so we took about 100 flash photos of the two bouncers standing outside. A dick move, indeed, but they were laughing, even as we tried over and over to get back inside. So that was a good time. I'm still not sure if we ever finished the voyage. John says we did, though, and I think I'll take his word for it.
The whole jet lag thing didn't work out too well. We remained on American time throughout the trip. John and I woke up at 330 pm on Monday and Tuesday and on the one day we woke up early, the whole family took a 3 hour nap in the afternoon. We also went to casinos a lot and it was a bit of a surprise how they are all over the place. Sadly the didn't have hold'em so we played that change game where you put a coin into the machine and hope to knock the other coins out, the ones hanging perilously close to the edge. It looks soooo easy, but then you're down 10 bucks and want to kill yourself. We also went to Greyhound Racing one night, where a bunch of dogs run around a track and you bet on the one that goes fucking crazy before the race. That was the most exciting part of the trip, when my dog won the race.
Oh, right, we did do a bunch of the touristy stuff in London, the Cabinet War Rooms was decent, the art museums entertained me for about 5 minutes and Big Ben tried to get in my pants. We attempted to tour the Wimbledon tennis club, but we got there at 5 pm, and I guess things close right after we eat breakfast.
It's clique to complain about London weather, but jesus, 65 degrees, cloudy with a good chance of rain everyday? Give me some sun, damn it. Overall, good time, but by the 3rd day there, I kept thinking to myself: Fuck, I'd much rather spend a week in NYC.
I did see Deal or No Deal for the first time and if the US version is anything like the British version, it's horrendous. How much time can they possibly waste in a half hour of TV? That game should be over in 45 seconds and who the fuck is this banker? If I were the banker, I wouldn't ever offer anything. "Fuck off, keep playing, I'm out of money, I just blew my load on a bunch of Chinese whores." The people who play the game are so retarded, anyway, they should all end up with a nice shiny nickel.
And on the tv front, Elliot Yamin, the American Idol finalist was in Richmond the other day. I was not here, and thank god for that. Let me say this very clearly: If you watch American Idol, you need to throw yourself in front of a moving bus ASAP. There's a story everyday about Yamin in the Times-Dispatch, who the hell is running the paper over there? A 45-year-old overweight divorced woman, with 7 kids and a fucking peanut for a brain? Hey, you know what, if Elliot Yamin adopts a bunch of orphans or pulls a family out of a burning building, let me read about it. Otherwise, if I read one more story about Elliot's mom or Elliot's friends or Elliot's beard, I am going to castrate myself with a butter knife.
Alright, ending on a much more funny note, if you haven't seen this video about the new super soaker, get to it, immediately: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YdAIt4MgnHc When Dan showed me it yesterday, I almost died. If you're too busy to go to the video and would rather waste your time continuing to read this blog, here's a brief description. IT'S A WATER GUN THAT SHOOTS OUT SEMEN! I know, you're saying, there's no way that's true. Look, it's called the Super Soaker Oozinator, it shoots out globs of white stuff and little kids rub it all over themselves. This would be pretty funny if it were a joke. The fact that it is listed on the super soaker web site as a real product and it has an ad that says "Pump until white, gooey stuff comes out," makes it the funniest thing I have ever seen. I will probably end up buying one when I get drunk sometime, so then I can shoot ooze all over the place. A bunch of reviews for the gun on amazon were taken down because they mocked its blatant similarity to a fucking penis. Here's one of my favorites:
"I first discovered how fun my Oozinator Blaster was when I was in 7th grade. Ever since then, about 7 years later, I've been having a great time with my Oozinator. It just never seems to get old, its even better to play with friends too! I've found myself shooting friends with the Oozinator plaster all over the place, my bedroom, my couch, in my car, in a movie theater, in bathrooms, anywhere is a fun place to have you and a friend play with the Oozinator. This one time I even got these two girls Catie and Amanda to play with my Oozinator at the same time!"

Stephen Colbert has balls and they are freakin' huge.

Sean, Bobby and Nikki were down for the weekend and as is usually the case, the gayness was on full display and Nikki continued to question why she is still friends with a bunch of idiots. On Friday, played poker, during which time I drank many shots of vodka, leading to the inevitable not leaving the apartment. Oops. Did manage to make it out on Saturday, though, and any night that ends with Chanellos is a solid one in my book. Whenever my friends are here, I always feel better about my life, in the sense that I am forced to wake up and do things. Then I think, wow, this isn't all the bad, this whole being an active member of society, maybe I'll make an effort to keep this up. Sure, I went to work for 3 hours today and now I'm ready to take a nap. I need a life coach.
I can't remember the last time I felt so uncomfortable and at the same time incredibly amused as when I watched Stephen Colbert's performance at the Washington Correspondents Dinner the other day. Bush was literally five feet away and Colbert ripped him into shreds. Now I've never found Colbert to be all that funny, he's a pube on Jon Stewart's comedic ball sack, and I didn't laugh at many of jokes he made at the dinner. It was the venue, a bunch of uptight pretentious press people and the President all getting plugged in the anus by the doofy looking Colbert, that made it so great. The audience laughed at maybe two of his jokes and the rest of time looked like they wanted to slam their heads into a brick wall. Man, it was easily the most hilarious not-really-funny thing I've ever seen.
All these conservatives are now whining about Colbert being too mean and over the line. Hey guys, he has a show on every night at 11:30 on Comedy Central, ever heard of it? Yeah, he pretends to love the president, but it's bitter, it's harsh and he was at his best at the dinner. Really, what the hell were you expecting? That's like inviting a pedophile to be the clown at a kid's birthday party. You're just asking for it. There's a video of it here, http://www.crooksandliars.com/2006/04/29.html#a8104
I read an article in GQ a while ago about how guys usually end up with pretty much the same group of friends they made in HS and college for the rest of their lives, mainly because guys don't know how to act in socially acceptable friendly ways with each other. And there's some real truth in that. I've been out plenty of times where I've met a guy thinking, I'd love to hang out with this dude. But there's some kind of homophobic gene in every guy that makes even the seemingly harmless, "Hey man, want to grab a beer sometime?" sound like "Hey man, want to grab on my nuts sometime, ooh, I'm so gay." It seems like basically unless you meet other guys at work or something, there's no way to get around that flaw in our human nature. I really don't know what the solution is, unless you actually go gay, and despite the overwhelming evidence to the contrary, I'm not ready to go down that path.
I brought my car into the shop last week because my brakes no longer worked. I'm not even joking, my stopping distance was up to about 2 miles. It wasn't an quick job apparently and I kind of needed to get to work. A lady who was there for an oil change offered to drive me to work and that right there is another thing I'll miss about Richmond, besides the Paper Moon and Phillip Morris. Fuck, you go to a mechanic in NY, I don't care if your wife is about to deliver 15 kids out of her ass, no one is driving you anywhere. So I took this lady up on her offer. And yes, I did perform road head as a thank you, hmm is it still called that on a girl? Maybe road muff? Or road tuna?
I almost punched through a wall today while I was playing blackjack for these stupid bonuses. What a frustrating game. At least in poker, if I lose, I almost always know what I did wrong and can fix it. With blackjack, there is no skill, you just sit back and watch your money disappear. And then you cry. I guess I can't complain since I didn't lose any of my own money, just the bonus, but I'm suprised the neighbors didnt call the cops when I was running around screaming at 11 am. Please contact me immediately if you know of any good doctors.
London on Saturday, I probably won't update this bitch again until I get back, so suck it up and find some other terrible blogs to read in the meantime.

Is that a BLOG in your pocket?

My brother, Danny, was feeling a bit left out of my blog and asked for a photo display. This was the best I could do. I still can't believe you guys wore those shirts to the party. Everyone was so offended.
What's the deal with fantasy baseball? Sure, I understand how it might be fun to have a make believe baseball team where you get to be the manager and be really cool and all, but it all seems like a waste of time to me. And that's saying a lot coming from someone who spends more time on the couch than a crippled guy with no legs. I had a team a few years ago, and I followed it for about week, but then I realized I really didn't care if Derek Jeter hit two home runs or beat off six times during a game. Maybe I'm just bitter because I'm not part of the elite social network that is fantasy baseball, or maybe I just prefer to be a heterosexual.
I'm really making a concerted effort now to cut back on the boring bullshit that is normally in this blog, namely anything I did over the weekend. I will still report on anything outlandish or any new homosexual stalkers, but otherwise, just assume I did this: Got drunk, played poker, played with myself, watched 40 movies.
I did get a huge break in a story I've been working today about a judge who gives out soft sentences to juveniles and lets child rapists out on bond. Basically, when it publishes sometime next month I will be the featured guest on Bill O'Reilly. I'm only half-kidding. This judge is going to get nailed. Hard.
On that note, I'm sick of this Duke lacrosse rape stripper thing that's been all over the news. Lots of people get raped everyday in this country, why should I care anymore about this one? Yeah, it's a terrible thing, but do I need to have it drilled into my head all the time. Because a bunch of rich white kids were involved? How do people sit there and watch this stuff on tv all day? Natalie Halloway? That slut has been dead for five years now. I will never be on tv because I don't look like Anderson Cooper, God he's gorgeous, but television news is everything that is wrong in the world.
And why are there all these stories about high gas prices and how people are now riding their bike 30 miles to work? Please. So what, it costs an extra $10 a week to fill up your tank? You know what, if that extra $10 means you need to ride your bike down I-95, sell your fuckin bike and buy a sandwich, you poor bastard. Unless gas is $15 a gallon, no one is cutting back, no one is buying a hyrbrid, Thanks!, stop with the drama. When I'm done pumping gas, I spray the nozzle on the ground for a few seconds, it's feeeels so good.
How do you know when a cactus is dead? My mom gave me one a few years ago because she thought I liked them, when in fact, I don't, mainly because I don't understand them. Is it a plant? A weapon? A sex toy? The only time we ever talk about the cactus is when either John or I make a stupid comment about shoving the thing up someone's ass. Oh right, when is it dead? I usually remember to water it about once every six months and one time all the dirt fell out during a car ride. Is it supposed to grow? Cause it's not. It just sits there, all high and mighty, being all boring. I mean, what the fuck, cactus, entertain me, play with my balls, do something. Why do people like the damn things? They don't smell nice, they look like, well you know what they look like. I don't see the appeal, but yet I've had this cactus for three years now. I can't bring myself to throw the thing out. I think I somehow believe I can nurture it back to life so it will grow into a big strong man cactus and stop acting like a pussy. I put it outside now, so that should help. Now I just have to stop pouring beer on it.
I will leave you with this, and consider it sort of a public service announcement, here's a short run down of recent movies I've watched. See these: Jarhead, Chumscrubber, Proof, King Kong, History of Violence, In Good Company, Bully Don't See: Good Night and Good Luck, Fun With Dick and Jane, Broken Flowers, Deuce Bigalow: European Gigolo, Aviator, Kicking and Screaming. Also, Six Feet Under is the best show in the history of television. I watched the series finale three times. God, death gets me so hot.
I hope tonight's the night Jack Bauer finally unleashes the massive dump he's been holding in for the past five years. On Audrey's head. That chick is beat.

Let's get naked and shag somebody

Let's give the Mets some love before they find a way to finish the season 70-90, with nine guys on the DL and a couple others in jail. Who the hell is Xavier Nady? He's my new hero, that's who he is.
The weekend started out innocent enough and you know immediately when I say innocent, I'm talking about everyone's favorite Christian, Mike Clements. Hooked up with Mike (not that way, perv) and his law school buddies at the bowling alley Friday night. We bought some fun pack or something that was supposed to be for two hours of bowling, but apparently the place is run by monkeys and our lanes didnt shut off until around 1 am, long after Mike's finger started bleeding and I had downed about a gallon of Pepsi. If I wasn't going to be drunk on a Friday night, I sure as hell was going to get as fucked up on caffiene as possible. Not surprisingly, caffiene is for pussies and it didn't do much besides make me really angry whenever I bowled poorly. Was fun, though. All the bowling reminded me of when I used to be in summer leagues where they had free bowling for members. My mom would drop me off on a Friday and pick me up Sunday night. I'd have open blisters all over my thumb and I would try to cover them with that nasty fake skin stuff. Ahh, it was glorious.
The sober, clean fun weekend didn't last for long. Yeah. Went to Big Daddy's, a new downtown dance club, on Saturday and that's right, when there's dance, Ryan enters a new realm of alcoholism. I brought my trusty flask (actually john's party poker flask) there and smuggled it into the bathroom to keep refilling my $2 glass of coke with bacardi. There was a guy in the bathroom, you know one of those dudes who wipes your ass for you and then flashes a big smile and expects you to tip them. Really freaked me out. We're in fuckin downtown Richmond, one of the most dangerous cities in the country, and there's a guy all dressed up in the bathroom of this place pretending we're at a 5-star Hilton. When I go downtown, I'm not going there to be pampered by some dude anxiously waiting for me to put my schlong away so he can powder my balls. I go downtown, I want things dirty. I want blood and bodily fluids to be flying everywhere. I want to wake up in the morning and think "fuck, that was a terrible idea." Anything less is unsatisfactory.
Lauren's Easter Brunch yesterday was pretty sweet. Sadly, it took a whole lot of effort for me to wake up for its 1 pm start, but the food was amazing and everyone told dead animal jokes. Superb. Headed to the Easter parade on Monument, which really was a lot more like a giant herd of people more than anything resembling a parade. They did have a small petting zoo in this cage for children. I went in there. Didn't realize at the time that it was a bit creepy, but apparently everyone else turned around and saw that I had wondered into the cage. I was not, however, contrary to some rumors swirling around, petting any of the children. Parade turned out to be a lot of walking and really my body doesn't do well with distances further than 15 ft. Jeff and I eventually went back to his place to add some flavor to the parade. That worked, well, but then I needed Abby to walk me home so I wouldn't fall asleep in a trash can.
I'm still doing a lot of research on Thailand and some of stuff is a bit scary, with the cops being all corrupt, a ton of guys over there for whores and increasing violence against westerners in recent years. But really, it bothers me a little, but it's also what makes it so exciting. I hate routine. I fucking hate it. And from what I can tell, my life would be far from routine in Bangkok. Now I could very easily change course this summer and decide to go up to Canada and help club baby seals, but the more I learn about Thailand, the more I'm intrigued and want to get over there. Actually, I think what scares me the most isn't what I might face over there, it's how I would adjust when I got back home. I'm going there to jolt my body out of any type of apathy and general non-chalance towards life and once I have that kind of constant stimulation, how in the world I am going to come back home and return to working some bullshit job? I guess that's just something I'll need to deal with down the road. Plus there's drugs to cure everything.
This girl I knew I college wrote an article in the Collegian last week that basically said the new opinion editor was great and he was a welcome change after a string of similar editors. She even mentioned the carpet-muncher incident, which for anyone who doesn't know, occured when I referred to the girls in a feminist-type group as carpet munchers. A whole big fury erupted, with a hate speech forum being put on and all that fun stuff. Anyway, the article surprised me, namely because this new guy isn't really funny. Like, at all. I know my humor is crude and often just profane, but this guy is as boring as a tree stump. He took a cheap shot at Pierson, who was the last opinion editor, in a column a couple weeks ago. I emailed Pierson the other day and told him I hoped the new guy had gotten his required ass-beating. His response, "i honestly want to snuff this kid. if i see him on a weekend when imdrunk, hes done." Thank you, Drew, for cleaning up the trash.
Big few weekends coming up. Slack may be coming in, along with our semi-roommates Preston and Bender, this weekend. Next weekend, the crew from EI will be in town, where things are guaranteed to turn ugly, especially if there's a camera and Sean's penis around. Then it's off to London, where I plan on flying back home in 'cuffs.
$5 to the first person who can fill in the blanks... _ _ _ _ _.

Vaginal Rejuvenations

You know what's terrible? When you go to get a haircut and get the fattest chick in there. As she's cutting your hair, her gimoungous knockers are brushing against your arm, your back, your balls. It's always so awkward and strangely sexual, not in a good way. I'm generally a fan of girls rubbing their boobs on me, but when it happens at the hair cuttery, I generally have nightmares for a few weeks. Really, though, getting a haircut from anyone, fat, short, dumb, is an erotic experience. They pretty much face-rape you. So yeah, I did that today.
I wish I hadn't broke my blog. I managed to get rid of that annoying white box on top of the page, but in the process, it seems I fucked up everything else, namely, the gay sidebar has fallen to the bottom. For some reason, I suspect that will never be fixed.
Preston was down this weekend, which I probably don't need to say anymore, since that's usually guaranteed unless he has some incestuous obligations with his cousin. We managed to get down to Richbrau when a med school chick came by to pick up Rob. We had no problem being those drunk assholes in the backseat. As per usual, I dropped $30 there, which included a $3 cover. Hey Richbrau, if you're going to charge a cover, how about we make sure the place isn't full of penises. I felt like I was at a gay stripclub out on the dance floor, luckily I had my trusty butt plug in place. Rob also scolded me at one point, when I making obscene gestures near med school people, who apparently don't appreciate infantile humor. Ordered Chanellos at 3 am. We considered walking there since it's about 6 bucks more for a pizza when it's delivered, but after much deliberation, we decided we wanted to live another day.
Went downtown again last night, this time to Sine with Clements and a couple UR girls. With my wallet just about empty, I had the ingenious idea of bringing a flask into the bar. Bought three glasses of Coke for a buck each and then added the medicine underneath the table. It was a bit shady, but I'm pretty sure I will be doing it again next weekend.
Things have settled down at work, there were no fights last week, which is progress. And we actually got hi speed internet in the office, don't know how the hell that happened, but I'll take it. On second thought, there was one minor fight, but I was too tired to try to win it. I wrote a story on how these morons at a high school resodded the baseball field a week before the season was going to start and now there won't be any home games this year. It was a rare instance where I put some effort into a story and I was quite satisfied with the finished product. But when I came in on Thursday morning, the best quote in the story, a kid on the baseball team saying "it kind of sucks to be a senior and not have any home games" had been changed to the oh so pussy-like, "a senior said it was unfortunate to not have home games." Yeah, because that doesn't change the meaning at all. Apparently the sports editor, who is usually a cool guy, told Greg that using the word sucks might get the kid in trouble. But hey, you know what, it's my job to report the news, not to worry about the consequences for some 18 year old whose parents might spank him.
My muffler broke and now it just hangs there, with the tailpipe sticking out the side of my car. It's not really problem until I go over a hill or something and the bastard drags alone the ground and makes me people in the area turn around and cringe. I've tried taking the thing off myself, but I'm as good with cars as I am with acting in a socially acceptable manner. I might just wait for the muffler to fall off on its own, that seems inevitable at this point. I just feel bad for the guy driving behind me on I-95 when that thing comes flying off my car. Let's all pray for no injuries. At least not severe ones.
I finally booked this trip to London next month with my family. I'm paying for the whole thing at this point and hopefully my parents will pay me back at some point. I don't really mind, though. I have some cash to burn, plus this will give me more favorite son points to add to my already hefty lead in that category. Sorry, John.
Blockbuster is really breakin my balls. I was supposed to receive Brokeback on Wednesday. I had to postpone the big gay man party and that's not cool.
This is boring. I quit.

Grey's Anatomy is the gayest show in the history of TV

Hold the presses. I did not get drunk this weekend. I should probably just end this entry here, since it seems all I write about is getting trashed and doing stupid shit. So yeah, none of that happened this weekend. Not really by choice, more just I have no friends and Richmond is lame. I was well on my way to drunkenness at a med school party last night, but we got home and John didn't want to go out. Surprise. And the girls were at Mulligans, which is close enough that I would walk to if I had drank 10 beers, but I was closer to 5 deep at the time.
These med school parties are fun, mainly because they always have a lot of beer, but damn, every person at this party had run the Monument 10K race that morning. They were all healthy and in shape and it made me sick. I ran a half mile the other day and almost collapsed on the sidewalk to curl up into a little ball. I did make it an entire two sets on the tennis court today, although I'm pretty sure I had a few minor heart attacks during the second set.
I'm glad I still have 600 photos of drunken dan to post on here, since I'm obviously never using my camera again.
I put my cell phone through the washing machine on Friday. That was fuckin splendid. I was all happy, with it being the weekend and all, plus I had just taken a handful of E, so when I opened the washing machine and saw my phone sitting on the bottom, it was the most painful moment of my life. I poured rubbing alcohol all over that bitch because some schmuck on some web site said that worked. Clearly it didn't. It just made me dizzy.
I got yelled at by my editor again on Thursday, apparently I'm costing the company too much money or something. My inflated $11 an hour salary is really cutting into company profits. He questioned the number of hours I worked and said something like "How could you have worked this much? You were fooling around on the Internet the other night and reading a magazine." Now yeah, that is entirely accurate. Of course I replied with the worst possible comeback, "Come on, lets be honest here, in any given week, I'm really only doing 15 hours of real work either writing or researching for a story." I think that kind of caught him off guard and he stuttered something about how I should be a lot more productive. He's such a hypocrite, though. A while ago, I came into his office and said I felt bad that I had only written one story for the week and he said "Oh, it doesn't matter how much you write as long as we have a paper each week." He doesn't remember saying that because he is old and retarded, but still, I guess things have changed and maybe I'll need to pretend to be working more during my last three months at the hellhole. Even after all the drama, I still managed to convince him that I was "owed" Friday off, so I win at life. I'd prefer not to get fired because I don't feel like explaining that to a future employer, but at the same time, it could very well happen and if it does, I will pick up my computer, throw it through the window and walk away in a blaze of glory.
I got into a fight with a high school principal on Tuesday. Basically, a softball coach had been nailing one of the girls on the team, the parents reported it and he's charged with a felony. I knew it was a girl on the team because the morons at juvenile court didn't blackout the girl's name enough on the warrant they gave me. So the principal starts saying how the incident has nothing to do with the school and that the girl was on the coach's travel team or something. I was like, how can you say that, I know for a fact the girl is on the school team and it's a coach and a player at THIS school, how is that not associated with the school? He continued spewing bs for a while, before I gave up. I don't know how to handle myself in those kinds of situations. I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to fight with sources, but at the same time, I get angered pretty quickly when I know I'm being played. I also get angry when people say it's gross that I only change my underwear once a week. That's totally normal in some cultures.
Alright, I'm going to attempt to sit through three hours of King Kong now. Oh, and Brokeback Mountain comes out on dvd this week. Big hot gay man party at my place on Friday. Be there. Or be straight.

Pig Roast #6- 6 times the gayness

First up, let's thank Dan for his recent role as a guest blogger. I give him a B+ for the effort. The lies about me engaging in illegal activity, though, namely the man meat, knocked him down just a notch.
Yeah, can't go wrong with a photo of my dad molesting himself. Although, I will give him this one was taking at 2:30 am on New Years Day last year, so he might not have known he was being gross since he had just drank a gallon of beer and tried to feel up my friends.
Preston showed up on Thursday night and it was cheap pitcher night at Curbside. So we drank those, John made us come home at 11 so he could put on his vaginal cream, but Preston and I "found" a dozen more beers in my refrigerator and we indulged a bit more while watching some classic madness.
I actually went to work on Friday and it was brutal. I went to a high school reunion for the Class of Fuckin 1944. These people were older than Rob Becker and that's pretty damn old. I'm surprised they didn't have medical staff at the reunion, they all looked like should have long ago been in for their dirt nap. But anyway, I wanted to kill myself the entire time. They went around the room talking about they worked 20 years ago and then their wife/husband died and they have 70 diseases and blah fucking kill me now. I have no idea how I'm going to make a story out of that garbage, my notes look like I sat down and interviewed a bunch of drunken retards.
Took it easy on Friday night and surfed the net for some hot lesbian porn. Am I joking? Maybe. If I had gone out, there would have been no chance of me waking up at 9 am on Saturday, which I did manage to do. It hurt and I felt sick. Then I took some shots. Things got better from there, then worse, then better for a little while more, and then it was all over. That about sums up the day. For those not associated with UR, Saturday was Pig Roast, the hands down best day of the year on campus. It's a very simple concept really: You drink all day. All of the fraternities on campus are open house and they have food and whores and all that good stuff. I was thinking of taking photos, but quickly realized they would all be terrible and really, it was my 6th straight Pig Roast appearance, probably a few too many and just asking for a disaster. And it was indeed. Once Preston got here at 10 am, we began the longest day of our lives. I drank a red bull which caused a minor heart attack, but it was worth it. Once we got to campus, after we tricked Bender into coming to pick us up, we were at the apts for a while. The dean came over and talked to me for a few minutes, thank god it was early in the day. If I saw that guy at 3 pm, I may have urinated on him.
After the frats closed, I went to my brother's room, where he was passed out so I had the RA open his door. Then I won $30 playing party poker and I blew that on a line of coke later on. Now that is a lie. Anyway, John's roommate ordered a pizza, then preceded to blackout. Had to wake him up when pizza got there cause he said he'd pay cash, but once he got the pizza up to the room a half hour later, he ate a slice and then continued to be blacked out. So I took my pants off and ate the pizza. It was a good deal.
Oh, then Dan came and we went to the Ted Leo concert. I use the term "we" lightly because I don't think Preston and I were there for more than 3 mins. All the loud music was hurting my head so we went back to the apts and drank more. We got home eventually and went to curbside and drank more.
Alright, why am I even writing about this? We fuckin drank all day, alright? Fuck. We're not cool. We're old. We graduated two years ago, but we fuckin came back and drank all day? Alright? Alright.
So my editor actually kind of yelled at me the other day, which is weird, since it's usually me yelling at him for being such a moron. I got to work Thursday at 10, it's the one day I'm in before noon cause the paper publishes then and I come in to make final edits. So I asked him where a particular page was for me to look at around 10: 30 and he goes, in his fat nasally annoying voice, "Because we're supposed to have everything done at 10." I just said, alright I really don't care. I used to come in at 9 on Thursdays but then Id just sit there for an hour while he edited things on his comp with his fat fingers, which cause problems. I'll accidentally write something like "school" as "schooll" and I'll tell him to fix it. The corrected version inevitibly comes out "sghfkfdlolballsoofl" Seriously, my boss is a huge dumb child. So yeah, not really excited. Boss gets angry, I walk away, end of story.
Ah fuck, Daily Show is coming on. One of the few moments of the day I actually look forward to. That, and when I wake up in the morning with a huge throbbing toothache.

bonner loves smoking weed (and man meat). he thinks he's hardcore cause his pansy ass got up at 9am to be crunked off his ane. shit blind date what a show, christ jesus. son, you should put your wang away before you hurt someone.llove, dan ing

Do you like to do it yourself?

That right there is what I miss about college. Not the drinking, but the sheer excitement and encouragement from friends to make terrible decisions. If you pound a bottle of Evan Williams after college, people tend to not want to speak to you anymore. In college, it's just always a great idea.
I might just continue with my recent tradition of updating this thing once a week. I think I'm kidding myself to think I can write anything remotely interesting more than that.
There was this alumni/senior party thing at UR Friday night. I went by myself because I was the only one who had a ticket since I gave a few bucks to the school a few months ago for the Holter Memorial. But there were like no alums at this thing, a bunch of seniors kept referring to it as a senior social and asking me why I was there. I think I was being creepy. Anyway, to the point, I had planned on going for about 20 mins because my ticket got me two free beers. Right. I got home at 5:20 am. After the two beers, someone bought me one and then there was no turning back. Went to the Cellar with my brother and one of his buddies and we stayed there until they kicked us out basically. I also found a Westhampton Govt Association t-shirt in a closet in the commons along with some bubbles, which were actually a lot of fun for me because I'm a child. I also wore the shirt the rest of the night, which I didn't realize I was wearing when some girl told me she had the same one. I thought she was retarded until I looked down and realized I, in fact, was the retard. We went to the KA lodge after the Cellar, God, why do I write about these frequently occurring embarrassing moments in my life. Hung out in John's room afterwards where I sobered up and blew more bubbles. Oh and John's friend came in at one point and rubbed his penis on a couple of kids who were refusing to leave the room. It was kind of weird because the guy had a chick in his bed at the time, but when John called him and told him to come rub his package on a couple of dudes, he came running down the hall. Questionable.
I didn't get dressed until 9 pm yesterday, which is typical fare for a Saturday, or basically any other day I don't have to work. Hung out at Lauren's for a while, but then we watched the UR senior video, which inevitably is a depressing experience for me and then the night quickly deteriorated. Went to Richbrau. Sadly that's all I can really say about that. Woke up at 230 today with my underwear around my ankles. I was in my bed, though, which I guess can be considered an accomplishment of sorts. My life is totally regressing. I'm glad Pig Roast is next weekend so I can continue my rapid slide into horribleness.
I wrote a story last week about a former asst. superintendent who stole some dvds from a Costco last year. He resigned after the incident, but I found out he was still working for the district as a consultant. It was a pretty big deal because he admitted to the theft and school officials were clearly in damage control mode all week, school board members refused to comment on it. But what bothered me about the whole thing was my role in it. I didn't like that feeling of control over a guy's reputation who I've never spoken to. In the court records, a medical report said the guy has a history of alcoholism and had suicidal thoughts after the theft. Then I write this story about how parents think its really horrible that he's still working for the schools. I could have just as easily not reported the story at all, I only found out because of an anonymous phone call and there was little chance it would have come out otherwise. So, I guess I just question the role I'm in, why I should I, a 23-year-old bum who still lives in college-mode, be digging up dirt on this big name official who clearly has some issues to work out. It's so fuckin hypocritical, too. I've never stolen dvds from Costco, but I've done plenty that would make my parents cry if they saw it in the paper. I guess I'm just doing my job, but it was bothering me all week.
This blog sucks.
Oh, a couple of girls we met at the Cellar were talking about my Collegian stuff and one of them said her favorite column was the "love one." I know all I wrote was bullshit, but the fact that this girl had a favorite and it was something I wrote more than three years ago, that was kind of crazy. And kind of cool. So here's the "love one" (just in case anyone else thinks its funny):

Working off the rumors that I am a cynic and hate the world, I will dispel this notion by using the word “love” in every sentence of this column. This is not a joke. Everything that follows is from my heart.
I love non-alcoholic beer. I love naked men.
I love the bookstore. I love how profits go toward the endowment. I love how we need to inflate the endowment to $6 trillion instead of saving students money. I love how when I return a textbook, the cashier must check it over for nine hours as if I may have covered the pages in anthrax (it was just flour from my Friday night cooking class).
I love The Pier. I love how they put amusement park lines at The Pier. I love how that is not annoying at all. I love how they charge $4.50 for the special so I can’t afford a drink, when the only thing special is if you don’t die after eating it.
I love going to Great Clips and getting a haircut for $3. I love how I ignore that the lady tried to bite my ear and shave my legs the last time I went in there.
I love the IFC. I love how making it a hassle to go to The Row will increase drunk driving off campus. I love how we are more concerned with financial liability than human lives. Yeah, I love death.
I love John Mayer. I love how he can sing about someone’s body being a wonderland and not be bombarded with questions about his sexuality.
I love people who leave me five minute voicemails on a Saturday night challenging me to a “duel of words.” I love how this made me laugh so hard, I thought I capsized a lung.
I love Natalia Green. I love when we mud wrestle on the IM fields. If we were married, I would love how she’d slap a parking ticket on the family car even though she was the last one to use it. I would love it if she would bear my children.
Me: I love you, honey.
Natalia: I love to beat you senseless, boy.
I love waking up on a Sunday morning and finding the sink covered in bodily fluids. I love how people think the janitors report to work at 3 a.m. on the weekend.
I love washing my clothes once a month. I love how girls find this attractive.
I love downloading illegal music. I love the thrill I get when it says “file complete.”
I love being called immature for saying the word “penis” in the paper. Sometimes I would love a hug when people hurt my feelings like that . I love how my parents would make me change my name to Immature if it was legal.
I love going to the post office six times a day to stare into the empty box. I love reaching my hand all the way in and yelling, “Hey, I got a big one!”
I love how Information Services has not called me about a job. I love how there must have been more-qualified applicants to sit in front of a computer and direct people to the stapler.
I love that my roommate is binge drinking in Mexico. I love how he was asked to write a few paragraphs encouraging students to study abroad in Mexico. I love how he was told the parts about drinking and how Mexican food compares to Taco Bell would have to be edited out. I love how this is not edited: Study abroad in Mexico = Binge drinking tequila.
I love when there are naked football players roaming the halls (Seriously, this is funny although I try to keep my head up at all times). I love when they yell, “Mangina” with their manhood tucked between their legs. I love when one of them winks at me as I walk by.
I love how the freshmen class is the smartest in the history of mankind. I love how I pay them to do my homework since the junior class is almost as dumb as the senior class (jk, LOL, paying people do your homework must be a violation of some sort).
I love when my voicemail friends claimed I “didn’t have the kahunas to transfer.” I love that no matter how big my kahunas may or may not be, I would never have transferred from this school. I love this University more than Clinton loves hummers. I just love causing trouble a little bit more…

Paddling the Pink Canoe

Oh damn, almost forgot I had a blog. John seems to have deleted his entire blog recently, which is a good thing for the sake of humanity. And, yes, I'm out of photos again so it has come down to Dave Frost licking his own nipple. Actually, I'm surprised I didn't use this one earlier, it's pretty good quality and not gross at all.
So I take the train to NY on Thursday, of course train left an hour late and then we got stuck behind a freight train for a good hour near DC. Fuckin Amtrak is the biggest waste of taxpayer money I can think of. Never leaves on time, it's more expensive than flying and there aren't any naked chicks walking around offering their services. Oh, they don't have those anywhere? Rrright.
Had a great time once I finally made it home, which is clearly related to the amount of alcohol consumed. Actually, I think I spent close to $100 on booze over the weekend, which really can't be a good sign. On Saturday, we went wine tasting out in the Hamptons, which was pretty sweet, although I had planned to end up in the trunk for the ride home. It seemed to be heading towards that point after the first winery, where they gave out 13 tastes (that sounds so gay) for free and I drank a whole lot more than I was supposed to because my friends kept giving me theirs to finish. They know I have a problem. They also had free cookies there and that was quite arousing. The next place we went to ended pretty quickly, namely because the lady there was a giant whore bitch. We told her we had a group of 8 and she's like "oh, you need a reservation with groups of more than 6" which clearly led to me being a sarcastic prick and being all "oh hey, we'll just break up into groups of 4". As Bobby put it so nicely, I sounded liked a dick but I kind of had a point. But whatever, we herded out of there and ran over a couple of small children on the way out and headed to the next destination. That place was all crowded and although we did eventually get wine, I'm pretty sure I sobered up in between each shot glass sized serving. Looking back, we should have just bought a bottle of wine and pounded it instead of being cheap bastards. Overall, good time though, I'd definitely do it again when I'm home this summer, which looks more likely by the day. I've pretty much resigned myself to leaving Richmond in July and then leaving the country. To where or for what purpose? No fuckin clue, but its kind of exciting to have those kinds of possibilities out there.
Once we got back from the wineries, I put on my old man pajamas and prob could have passed out at 8 pm, but then my parents called and wanted me to come out with them to an old man filled bar with a bunch of my relatives. And since it doesn't take much to convince me to go to any sort of bar, I got re-clothed. Thankfully, after I was there a while, Sean Gil and Nikki showed up so I didn't feel like I was 50 anymore. My parents eventually drove us to another bar and when that place closed, I walked the mile and a half back home after I urinated on some lawyer's office. Oh, I stopped at 7-11 on the way back and bought some yankee doodles and devil dogs. Man, I eat too much, I'm getting so fat.
Ride back to Richmond yesterday was brutal. John's car is fucked, wheel shakes your whole body when you go over 60 so what should have been a 6 hour trip turned into a 8.5 hour trip. I'm pretty sure we came close to death a few times when the car decided to wander curiously off the road, but as John said, our fate was in God's hands at the time.
When I got home from work tonight, Dr. G and I went to Starlite for a beer. It was still like 75 outside and if there's one thing I'll miss about Richmond it's the outdoor bars on nice nights. But of course, the special was $5 pitchers and since John's a douche, he got a pint and I got a pitcher for myself. When I ordered, the waitress goes "Um, I'm going to need to bring out two glasses for the pitcher because of ABC regulations." What a cunt. Ah, so great to use that word. Cunt cunt cunt. Alright, it's late and no one is reading this garbage, except for Dan and Bender. Blog out.

Why is there an Internet clips show on VH1? Terrible.

Yeah, I'm milking these photos from Bender's party, but hey, that's all I've got. I think this is some kind of mudslide type drink spewing out of Dan's mouth, but it may very well be that he bit through his tongue and is bleeding all over the place.
Went out with both roommates Friday night, which happens once every few months, so it was a big deal for me. They wouldn't stay out till 3 am as I prefer, but I think we made it to after midnight, very impressive for them. A fight brought out in 3 monkeys right next to where we were standing, but I don't remember moving out of the way at all. I think I may have been on the ground at some point, but I didn't find any bruises the next morning, so it couldn't have been that bad.
John and I went to the UR bball game Friday and since it's spring break, we were pretty much the only people there under the age of 50. We were in the front row and some girl on the floor asked me if I wanted to do the three-point shooting contest during a timeout. And since I knew full well I wouldn't hit the rim and people would throw heavy objects at me, I let John do it. I booed him when he got out on the floor, but it didn't seem to affect his game, he made 2 of 5 shots and got a bunch of gift certificates. UR did win the game by a point and even though they'll prob get tossed in the first round of the A-10 tourney this week, I was still quite excited about the victory. I was ready to storm the court, but an old lady was eyeing me down and John herded me out of the arena pretty quickly, I think because I kept yelling profane things around little kids.
Jon Stewart was on his game at the Oscars, although I'm clearly biased since I think pretty much anything that comes out of the guy's mouth is hilarious. I was dying during that montage from old cowboy films where the guys are all shirtless and winking at each other. Whoever produces the Oscars should be shot, though. I think they screwed up both times Crash won something. First time, there's two people up on stage, first guy goes through his thing and the next one steps up the mic, but the cameras cut away immediately and it goes to commercial. Then when Crash won best picture, the stupid music started playing and drowned out the end of the speech. Then the show just ended. Absolutely terrible. Not that I can really complain, if I were producing the Oscars, I'd give Jessica Alba all of the awards. Foreign language film, best penis is a leading role, I'd give it to Jessica hard.
I'm taking the train home to LI on Thursday afternoon. One way ticket was only $50, and that's cheaper than driving and sure as hell a lot easier than attempting to get my junk car to go 400 miles without going up in flames. I'll come back to Richmond on Sunday with John, he's taking his car back down. Hopefully we'll be back in time for the new season of the Sopranos, which has been off the air for what seems like a decade. I need more violence in my life.
Damn, I've already spent 10 hours on the couch and I've got another 4 to go before I approach tiredness. I'm so ready to ditch Richmond and do something worthwhile with my life. Cause for the past 23 years, I've done little more than take up space. And drink a lot of beer. That probably counts for something, but not enough to give me any kind of fulfillment. And really, don't we all just want to be filled up by something? Alright, I don't even know what that means.