D-D-Duh (c) Carlos Mencia

So I’m a bit late. Like two days late. That’s cool though. Doesn’t matter, right?

Anyway, I have no idea what to blog about. I was going to do something on my first week of school, but it was uneventful. I was going to do something on my new roommate, but it’s been uneventful on that front too.

Ah, I think I’ll talk about being called a retard.

So for my school’s newspaper, I have a weekly sports column. Excluding editors, other people on the paper and family, I’d say I average about the same number of readers for that as I do for this blog. But I still have one.

I didn’t really have anything to write last week’s about, which is a weekly occurrence for both the column and this blog, so I copped out and wrote about the Olympics. Nobody else on staff had yet.

But I didn’t want to write about Michael Phelps, because I kind of hope he drowns, or at least needs to be revived by someone after nearly drowning. It’s not that his accomplishments aren’t impressive, it’s that he’s doofy looking and gives awful interviews. That’s clearly all it takes for me to wish death upon someone, but I have a higher threshold for these type of things than others, so if you’ve wanted to kill him for less than that I’d understand.

Sidenote: Why is that fucker hosting the season premiere of Saturday Night Live? Like I said, not once in an interview has he come off as likeable, funny or charming. There is absolutely nothing about him that makes me want to watch him on television, and as one of the estimated 93 people that still watch Saturday Night Live pretty much each week, I feel like I should have a say in the host. At least for the fucking season premiere. At least have a sketch where he drowns. Please. Or just make him do a shitty monologue, put him one sketch and then just make sure we don’t see him until the goodnights. Fuck that guy.

Anyway, I decided to write about Angel Matos, a Cuban taekwondo fighter who was disqualified in the bronze medal match for taking up more than the allotted sixty seconds of injury time after hurting his foot. He didn’t agree with the call and kicked the referee in the face.

It was fantastic.

So I wrote about how awesome it was, and how it was the crowning moment of the 2008 Olympics. And I was serious. It might not have seemed like it, but I really thought that was the best part of the Olympics, which I happened to enjoy overall anyway. But kicking a referee? Amazing.

So online you can comment on articles, which doesn’t happen too often for my articles, as the student body has a general acceptance between them to just ignore everything I do. But for this article I got one comment. It read:

“You are a retard! How can you commend someone for kicking an official in the face after the referee was following the guidelines set? Not only is it an embarrassment to Cuba, it is an embarrassment to you for writing your entire article. And what should it matter if this Cuban was a former Olympic champion or not? No one who assaults a referee should be allowed to get away with it. Get a clue!”

It was from a guy I have determined is named Mark, because that’s what he said his name was when posting. Reading that hurt. I’m not a retard. I am quite the mediocre student, thank you very much. Hell, if I applied myself and put forth somewhat of an effort, who knows how smart I could pretend to be.

And I thought I laid out in the article how I could commend someone for kicking a referee. Mostly because I thought it was awesome. I certainly wasn’t embarrassed by writing my article either. So that doesn’t work either, Mark.

Plus, don’t you know retard isn’t a cool thing to call someone. Had you asked if I was mentally challenged, I wouldn’t have been so mad. I probably would’ve ever entertained the possibility of being mentally challenged, mostly because it wouldn’t be the first time someone asked me that.

That’s right, for the first time, in blog form, I’m going to share the story of how a teacher asked me if I was mentally challenged.

I’d say I was in seventh grade, and about to turn 13. I was studying up for my Bar Mitzvah, my Jewish right of passage into becoming a man, apparently. So the Hebrew school I had attended for years assigns each future Bar or Bat Mitzvhee (made up word) a teacher to one-on-one tudor each student leading up to their big day.

You have to learn lots of Hebrew and say it in front of people, and while technically, attending Hebrew school for at least 3 years prior to that, we should’ve known some Hebrew, nobody does. Well, not nobody. Faggots do. And really religious people do. I’ll let you try to decide the difference, if any.

So I was having some issues learning my portion of the Torah I would have to recite in front of a synagogue full of people. Looking back now, about 3 people in that room had any idea of what I was saying, and they worked at the temple. Nobody else gave a shit. Pressure off.

One day after my session, the teacher asked me if someone was picking me up. I said yes, Moses. No I didn’t. I’m not that cool. I said my mom was. She asked me to tell my mom to come inside and see her. I did, and my mom didn’t know why. Neither did it.

The teacher explained that I was a bit behind some other students in terms of how much I had memorized to that point, and the date was nearing and I should be farther along. She then asked my mom if I had a learning disability or was mentally challenged. My mom was flustered, or just angry. She said no, and that I do very well in school. I wish she said “real school, you know, the one that matters,” but she didn’t.

I just sat there, pondering whether my parents didn’t tell me I had access to taking the short bus to school everyday and was subjected to riding on long buses my whole life. Then I wondered what else they weren’t telling me, and decided I was probably adopted.

Well, my mom was pissed. She got me switched to another teacher, who coincidentally (well no, not at all) teaches the “special” students, and my appointments were bumped up from a half hour to a full hour. so needless to say, I’m pretty retarded.

So perhaps I shouldn’t have called in the reinforcement (aka a certain writer of this blog that isn’t me or hot.pork) to rip Mark a new asshole. Or maybe I shouldn’t have shown the comment to my parents, because then my dad also left a message, although his wasn’t calling Mark a retard. But my dad’s comment also sucked and was stupid, and contradicted the tone of my article, because he said it was written sarcastically, which it wasn’t.

Perhaps Mark wasn’t in the wrong to call me retarded then, as looking back, I am. Or perhaps if I ever meet this Mark, I’m to fucking kick him in the mouth and spit on his grave.









Oh, my kicks to the mouth are deadly, if you were curios.

I Think I'm In Love

So I'm back at school, and I go to school in somewhat of an urban setting, so it's a safe assumption that I see a good deal of females walking around during the day. And of course, like the ladies man I am, I talk to none of them. But that doesn't stop me from making them my future wife, at least in my mind. I figure I'll be able to update this at least once a week, because, as mentioned, I see lots of girls and don't ever talk to any of them. Also, I'm shallow.

Today's Mrs. Lincoln was coming out of some store when I noticed her. She was wearing a Kinks t-shirt and was speaking in a language I narrowed down to not English. Need I say more? Cause that's it. Really, that's all I know about her. So here's to us ma'am. Perhaps one day we'll stand in silence, hands joined, dancing our first dance as a married couple to "Love Me Till The Sun Shines."

"****.Fight.Die" or "Who the Fuck are the Rx Kings?"

Last Sunday, I went to see Rancid at the Fillmore in Manhattan.  It was an awesome show, whatever, I'm not here to talk about that, really.  More to the point, I picked up a CD while there, and I think I should tell you about it.

I'd decided the night before that I would wear my Killer Tofu shirt.  It's awesome, I know, and that's why I made the decision to wear it: so people would see how awesome it was and I am.  But I guess I didn't really think about what people do when they see something awesome.  They talk about it.  So, for the whole time the openers were playing, probably about two hours, people kept walking up to me and telling me I had an awesome shirt.  It was fucking ridiculous.  I felt like a complete retard for picking that shirt, because it meant talking to a bunch of losers (I mean, honestly, who goes to a Rancid concert anyway?) so much so that I bought a hoodie and wore it for the rest of the night so no one would see my awesome shirt.  What the hell?  I guess I really don't understand the point of an awesome shirt if everyone can see its awesome.  It's even worse than when nobody can tell its awesome.  At least then you get left alone.

But anyway, one guy who saw and commented on my shirt multiple times decided he was my friend, I guess, and he handed me a CD.  I guess it was his band, but he didn't really say that.  All I know is that it was a burned copy, with some sort of logo spray painted on, but I can't tell what the hell it's supposed to be.  It looks like a cross between a T, a J, and a ship's anchor.  Somehow, I guess, it's supposed to stand for the Rx Kings.

Well, I've put the CD in my tray, and, surprisingly, Windows Media has some kind of info on it.  The name of the CD is "****.Fight.Die," though I'm not sure if the censorship comes from Windows Media, or the band themselves.  Either way, they're pussies for letting that happen.  Unless it's actually just supposed to be four asterisks, in which case, there may be something I don't understand about what four asterisks mean, other than somebody trying to swear on AOL.

The first track is called "Sickboy."  It starts off with some phasery guitar, and soon a guy starts rapping really off beat over it.  Now, I'm going to give all you aspiring rappers out there a tip: it's not a cool idea to just say your rhyme as fast as fucking possible.  I'm not a professional or anything, but I can tell you that.  The beat is for you.  It's so you can keep time.  What I'm trying to say is you want your song to sound like you know how to fucking count.

Thankfully, the track is only fifty seconds, so I didn't have to listen to this guy call me a faggot for very long.  It ends with him saying "Rx Kings: put it down for the crown."  So... now I'm like, really amped.

After a few jangly noises that I can't really figure out, so must assume are just somebody dropping their wallet chain, the next track, "Knives," starts.  The drums somehow sound like they were recorded in a tin shed and a bum's asshole, simultaneously.  But you can tell this one is meaningful because he says something about doing drugs while a girl goes "oooo" in the background.  Then a guy screams through a talk-box... I honestly can't understand a thing these guys are saying... this kind of sounds like how old people think punk music is supposed to sound.  But with some sort of hissing sound that continues throughout the entire album, I assume due to a bad microphone.

The third track, "Hotbox," is, I think, about Adaham Lincoln's mom's vagina.  More shitty drum sounds, but it kind of sounds like a song.  Just one where one of the three singers is recording his part from his cell phone.  The bass drum is so much fucking louder than everything else on this track, that I think if I listened to this with headphones, I might shit my pants in 4/4 time.  The track ends with sheep noises, I think?  Maybe it's about fucking sheep.

The next song is called Prince of Theives, and is four minutes long, so, fuck me.  The last two were two minutes, with like, fifteen seconds of silence on each side.  Looking down the track list, the last song is six minutes, so I think I'm going to go have a sandwich during that one.  Anyway, I can't figure out what this has to do with princes or theivery, but I suppose there's some joke in here about four minutes of my life being stolen, I guess.  There's a break down part where some guys that sound like Fogel from Superbad say "The 5-0.  How 'bout the fucking 5-0?  Those fucking pigs.  They're to protect and to serve and to blah blah blah... all they do is break your fuckin' balls and steal your shit.  What are they gonna do?  Put it in a fucking evi... evidence room or some shit?  Yeah! That's all they do when they find that shit.  I don't know what they do when they find that shit! They make money off your shit. Bullshit, protect social order!  People are afraid of cops!"  I can't make out anything else, because they keep talking over each other.  But it's nice to hear a rich jewish kid from the suburbs' ideas on police.  This goes on for two minutes.  Honestly.  The track ends after three minutes, with some sort of weird skit with someone getting beaten up?  I don't know, but the last words on the cut are "Yamaha.  Toshiba!"  I'm starting to think these guys might be dropping some heavy shit that I just don't understand, because otherwise they're just fucking retarded.

The next track is called "Flicking lit cigarettes at Gas Station Attendants," which really pisses me off, because they should have capitalized "lit" and "cigarettes."  But it starts off with bass guitar chords, which I have a soft spot for, so I'm giving it a chance.  But then the drums start, and they keep fucking up.  This one says something about the singer both slitting his wrists in the basement, and hanging himself in his bedroom, which is impressive, to say the least, so I guess this is their suicide anthem.  Get ready blink-182, here comes the new Adam's Song!  And this one's pro suicide.  At least, it seems to have that effect on me.  More rapping on this one, and nobody can keep time with anybody; the guitar speeds up and slows down while tha rappa spits his fire with absolutely no rhythm whatsoever.  I'm starting to think this might be more than I can handle; there are still eight songs left.

"Devils & Angels," sounds like an atonal Sugar Ray song featuring Linkin Park.  It occurred to me while listening to this song that the drummer might not have a snare drum, and is just hitting a hammer on a stack of construction paper instead.

Now, here comes the first of three title tracks, "****."  Since the album is named after this and the next two songs, I'll treat them as one piece, and see how it turns out.  It starts with really whiny My Chemical Romancey singing.  I don't know if any of you are aware, but I once compared listening to My Chemical Romance with stapling my scrotum to the floor.  This is also like that, but with the added action of trying to stand up really fast afterwards.  The rapper tries some Run DMC shit later on in this first movement, you know, where you let the other guy finish the rhyme?  It's... awesome.  And he calls me a faggot again near the end, so, that was thoughtful.  When "Fight" begins, they're already treating suicide like it ain't no thang again, saying "sometimes I kill myself to you," which seems like something you can't do only sometimes.  That's more of a "once and for all" type thing, I always thought.  The rapper comes in again, and he kind of sounds like Joe C.  I can't help but feel insulted on his behalf.  There's about fifteen seconds of undiscernable mutterings, before the final movement, "Die," begins.  It's just guitar strummings, and it kind of sounds like a Creed song.  These guys really are all over the place with their shitty influences.  I get called a faggot again, and then they start ROCKING.  And then, eventually, it ends, or something.  I kind of spaced out.

The next one is called "Champagne Dreams."  The guitar is really loud on this one, which I guess means it's at normal volume, because the rest of the CD has been dynamically retarded.  It's got a really touching and meaninful line, "A little fucked up in the head, but who isn't these days?"  Boy! You said it, Rx Kings!  Fuck me, this one's four and a half minutes long.  Alright, I'll be right back.

When I got back, it was around the three minute marker, and some guy was just making gun noises with his mouth.  I might've missed something awesome.  Then I hear "Hey, this is Antonio, from Rx Kings."  What's this?  A message to your fans?  "We just want to thank you for... getting our CD, if you stole it, bought it, or showed us your naked pictures for it."  I'm not positive, but I'm pretty sure I don't fall under any of those, at least I hope I don't (honestly, who would pay money for this?) so, check plus for me.  "I dunno... uh... thanks I guess, I mean... we really care."  Uh... really?  "Nah, I'm just playin', fuck you guys."  Oh thank god.  I thought you were serious about this whole Rx Kings thing.  I think we both would have been embarassed for each other, if you were.

I guess they really turn the page here, because the next track is called "Down with the Crown."  Before, they were talking about putting it down for the crown, but I guess they've discovered that monarchy, like... isn't fair.  At the very least, judging from the title, it sounds like they've realized they suck, so... down with the crown!  Right?

Who knows?  I can't understand a fucking thing they're saying.  So I'll just assume this song is about how they suck, proclaim it their best one, and skip to the next track without any further thought on the matter.

Oh god, this one's acoustic.  The guitar sounds like one of those rubber band-tissue box guitars you sometimes got to make in preschool... or kindergarten.  After about the sixth time they bumped the guitar into the microphone, I fast forwarded towards the end.

Alright, last one.  "Acid Drums."  Is that the problem with the drums?  Something to do with acid?  I guess that makes sense.  The rapper's the one on the cell phone microphone this time.  Again, no one's in time with each other, and somebody mentioned Slick Rick, who can't have been relevent for the past decade at least.  The last time I heard him, he was on the soundtrack to Wild Wild West.  Eventually, they start trying to get really spacey, but it sounds like they only have two people playing instruments, so it switches between just guitar and drums, to just guitar and a guy saying "peanut" a bunch of times, followed by thirty seconds of silence as they switch instruments.  This track sounds like the first time you and your best friend discovered your computer could record sound, and you just fucked around for five minutes with it, until you got bored and left, coming back a week later to laugh at yourselves for being so silly.

The track ends with a minute of silence, and then one of these guys saying "I hope you fuckin' recorded that and it's printed.  On print.  Fuck the police, that's how we treat 'em.  That was Kanye West, I think."  Yeah, probably. "Eww.  [in a southern accent] Fuck tha po-lice!  It's still recording, ain't it, Al?"  And then he starts doo-wop singing.  And then his mom calls him.  And then he goes back to "Fuck the policia!"  And then somebody does some more gun noises.

And it's over, just like that.

So... "****.Fight.Die" get's an A+!  A barrel full of fun!

Especially My Dentist

I'd rather punch myself in the dick than go to the dentist's, but no one seems to be willing to accept this as an alternative. I mean, I've asked everyone.

How I Spent My Summer Vacation

Well, at least about a week and a half of it anyway. And the roughly 10 days in question occurred with my family on a trip to Florida.

It should be noted that I’m a miserable person, especially when around other people. And my misery only increases when I’m around the same person or people on a regular basis (shout out to the future Mrs. Lincoln, best of luck to you). So vacationing with the family isn’t really something I enjoy doing for the most part.

I was promised by my mother that last year was the last time we would go on a vacation as a family. But it’s apparent that the Lincoln family summer vacation has now gone from once every few year occurrence to a yearly event. I realized this not when I noticed we were going on vacation in consecutive summers for the first time I could remember, but when I heard my dad talking to someone at our hotel and told them he and my mom try to talk my brother and me away at least once a year.

I could’ve chimed in, like an asshole, and said that this now yearly trip’s expenses are almost entirely paid by his boss because apparently my dad is well-liked and important to at least one person. But I didn’t, because he would’ve shot back with something about how he works hard and is footing the bill for my school. I would’ve realized he was right, and felt like quite a jerk. So I stayed quiet, and will continue to until I graduate/drop out/fail out/die.

It’s that trait that makes me feel like I’ll one day be successful. I’ve technically already sold out. I fully intend on doing the same one day if there’s a chance to make a comfortable living.

So anyway, Florida. My grandpa is there, but I thought it was odd to go there to visit him because he splits his time between there and New Jersey, and we had just seen him recently. I was told we’d spend out trip visiting him (i.e. at his house or the local deli) or we’d go to a beach. Great.

Us Lincolns aren’t beach people. For starters, we all beach bodies, which are safely tucked underneath a layer, or layers, of fat. Secondly, we burn. Thirdly, we don’t really like to just sit around for hours upon hours.

Except my brother, who is shameless, apparently.

I packed accordingly: iPod, headphones, sunscreen and three books. I also took some clothes, but not too many.

Our first day at the beach, my brother found a group of young’ns to hang around with. My mom encouraged me to do the same. I reminded her of my social shortcomings, plus I had three books to read. She cried herself to sleep that night. I assume.

It was a ground of I’d say about 8 kids in total, although the number varied throughout the course of the day. As far as I know, they mostly walked around all afternoon, and eventually picked a spot to coolly sit down and talk while all sitting in cool sitting positions. Or they threw around a football. I guess I can’t say fully, as I wasn’t invited to join them.

But that’s totally cool, cause, like, I wouldn’t have wanted to anyway. I had a lot of reading to do.

My brother clearly wanted nothing to do with any of us. One day my mom and I were walking, and we were walking towards my brother and a few of his friends, who were walking towards us. He noticed us, and didn’t acknowledge us. We got closer, I was prepared to not say anything. But as we neared, my mom said, “Zach Lincoln, how are you?” He didn’t answer and kept walking. Ouch.

A few days into the trip my mom was still trying to make me befriend people. We were sitting in some restaurant eating diner, and she told me a few of the people my brother were hanging out are closer to my age (20) than his (15). I said “that’s nice,” and went back to my meal.

She asked my brother if I could go with him and his friends, which would’ve been embarrassing if she wasn’t asking my brother, who is clearly well aware of how un-awesome other people think I am. Personally, I think I’m really awesome.

As my brother was desperately pleading to not have his older tagalong on his daily journey, I started to think at where my life had ended up. When I was growing up, older brothers always seemed cool. They were just older, and all cool. I have the older part down. But if I drive my brother and his friends somewhere, I usually turn my music down, not up, like I remember thinking my friends’ brothers did. And even if I did turn it up, I guess it’s not really music they would recognize for the most part, which would then make me seem odd.

And I wondered if my brother even told people we were brothers. Or if I was some exchange student living with his family. Or an adopted brother. Or a homeless kid with no real family his family took in as a nice gesture.

I then realized I had become the Daria to my brother’s Quinn. I guess somewhat coincidentally, I have a friend who has told me I’m a male version of Daria since we were in middle school. I do like guys in bands and my best friend’s boyfriends, so I can see where that comparison works out nicely.

I suppose I was a little upset, until I realized I reference Daria, at least in my head, and was instantly pleased.

My mom gave up trying to set me up with my brother’s friends after he kept saying I couldn’t hang out with them. That was fine though. I still had a lot of reading to do.

I got my redemption one night when my parents and I went gambling, which I guess is legal in Florida. I don’t know if the legal age is 18 or 21. Nobody questioned my age, but I attribute that to my natural state, which is one that exudes confidence and makes me feel like I own every place I walk into.

I can now also say, after one long night, I don’t like gambling. I lost maybe only $10 of my own money, but it wasn’t even that. It just bored me. Possibly I need to use only my own money, or gamble for high stacks to make it more exciting. I don’t plan on doing that, though.

We started off with some slot machines, which weren’t exciting. They’re a great way to pick up widows though. Well, widows of men who lose their lives in World War II, if you’re into that type of thing. And I am.

Then my parents took me to play some Blackjack. I thought, “Hey, a game at a table! This should be fun!” It wasn’t. At the tables I played with my parents money. I’d say I probably used $10 of their money. We managed to stay at the table for a good 45 minutes. It was thrilling.

I lost all $10 I was given, and I think my parents both left with a few dollars less than they started with. I was ready to go, but was persuaded to stay. And by persuaded, I mean told we weren’t leaving yet.

They said, “Go play some more slots.” I did. Right as I was throwing down some mackalious game on a lovely lady named Estelle, I won $145. That was pretty cool. I gave it to her to help pay for a hip replacement and went on my way.

I found my parents, told them of their success and they claimed to have never been more proud of me. I said we should probably leave, so I can go out on top. That somehow worked, and we left.

The next day we were deciding if we should do something or just go to the beach again. My brother wanted to go to the beach to meet up with his friends. I was trying to push for a day trip to Disney or Universal Studios, as I had been since the announcement of the trip.

“Why would we go there? What could we do there?” my mom said.
“Why not? It’s something to do that might be fun? When’s the last time any of us have been there?”
“What’s wrong with going to the beach?”
“It sucks.”
“You have your headphones. Plus, I thought you had a lot of reading to do.”

Fuck. She got me there, so we once again went to the beach. It sucked.

Finally the end of our trip came. I hadn’t really spoken much the last two days of the trip. I hated these people now. And I didn’t want to talk to people I hated. I’m pretty sure my mom felt the same about everyone else too. My brother didn’t give a shit about us. And my dad thought we were all having a great trip because the family was together, and that’s all it takes.

Our seats going back on the plane were split up two in one row and two a few rows back. My mom and I had decided this was good, and we’d sit together and my brother and dad would a few rows away. My dad wasn’t having it. He wanted us all to be together.

When we checked in my dad asked if we could switch the seats around to find four together.

“So you have four seats on the plane, split up by two in different rows, and you want to have four together?” she said.

“Yes,” my dad said.

“Or,” I interrupted, “if you have four separate seats in possibly the corners of the plane, we’d take those too.”

She smiled and told us that more often than we’d believe, couples or married people often want to split up their seats on the ride back from a vacation. I found it not hard to believe.

My dad didn’t find it funny. He told me that it’s important for the family to be together. Whenever he talks about us as “the family” I always feel like we should be in the mafia, or else “the family” just doesn’t work.

Like, “Adaham, you have to do what’s best for the family. Take out Sal.”

It makes me happy to think about my family being in the mafia, but then I immediately get depressed because I know I’m too much of a pussy to actually kill anyone. And then I realize I’d be an embarrassment in a mafia family, and relegated to being a driver or something. And that’s how my family’s vacation ended - ith depressing thoughts of being unable to murder and having to drive around Italians.

It wasn’t a total waste, though. I got a lot of reading done.

Operation Flatulent Grandpa

Stories appear in reverse-chronological order.

Dmur Runs Amok in Influenzal Madness

Is influenzal a word? Questions such as this are everywhere as Murgul dictator Dmur races screaming through the streets without pants on, in what "experts" say is probably brought on by "the flu or something. I dunno." Investigators from outside D'murgul were allowed inside the nation for the first time in history, to find that most citizens of the dictatorship seem to be cardboard cutouts of football referees and comic-book superheroes. No one, aside from people made of cardboard, could be reached for comment, in this startling revelation, but Batman was heard to say "Reading is FUNdamental!"

No word yet on the state of dictator Dmur, or his pants.

Petopia Collapses Under Extreme Economic Strain

Petopia's top government official, hot.pork announced that for a brief period of time he had to go into hiding. 

"Just in case they found me."

No further details were given. Although, speculation remains that hot.pork was involved in a botched train robbery, where he left his fellow banditos buried up to their necks in the sand and poured honey into their hair. Without hot.pork's consumption, the Petopian economy collapsed and the government has had to declare a state of emergency. The two employees working at the local Burger King were notified to be prepared to vacate the premises. They just kind of stared, and told our intrepid reporter to leave before they called the police. This reporter decided to abandon his order of onion rings. I decision he regrets deeply.

Lincoln Declares War On Universe
Adaham Lincoln has officially declared war on the universe. He claims the rest of the United Assholes are fully behind him on this decision, meaning they are so far behind him they don't even know about it. He said he was sitting at the round table, alone, when he made the decision. D-mur was busy with the day's executions; Mr. Mur has daily executions for people he feels have wronged him, or just people he wants to see plead for their life unsuccesfully. But Lincoln says he was alarmed that hot.pork was not in attendance at the round table meeting, and was nowhere else in the Superfriends hideout to be found. Lincoln assumed then that hot.pork had been kidnapped by the enemy, and then decided to declare war on the universe. He later added he doesn't know who "the enemy" is, but they he will murder every last soul he come across until he finds hot.pork. 

Lincoln Agrees to join Super Group
Adaham Lincoln agreed to join the Super Group, just as long as there is a round table involved, he said yesterday. "Yeah, it sounds fine. But there better be a round table involved." Lincoln considers himself an asshole, thus his participation in the United Assholes is only fitting, he feels. "But if there's no round table, I won't join. And I want a super power. And we all have to have matching outfits." He said he's willing to hunt down a gay guy to design the outfits, but that he'll do the fittings for them. "I haven't seen what those guys look like, but I know I want to touch them. I love measuring in-seems."

Dmur Suggests Crime-Fighting Super-Group

Talks towards the formation of new world government organization: The United Assholes hit a bit of a standstill this weekend, as Dmur kept getting distracted by bright objects and loud noises, as well as soft noises, and no noises. After much discussion of name changes, Adaham Lincoln proposing "New World Order," "NWO," "nWo," "nWo: Black & White," "nWo Hollywood," and, finally, "The nWo Red & Black Wolfpac Attac," the group seemed content to simply call it "hot.pork's Adaham Lincoln Experiment featuring Dmur," when said feature threw a wrench in the days progress. Despite no member having any super-human powers or abilities of any kind, Dmur suggested today that the leaders of Petopia and Super-Earth form "The New Super Friends," a crime-fighting group of superheroes. All were willing to try this idea, when Dmur turned around and revealed an entire bunch of bananas sticking out of his mouth, and said, "Hey guys, like that cigarrette picture!" Each member agreed to start the day over and act as if nothing had ever happened, though Dmur was heard to utter something about "Bananafest Destiny," and had several banana related gadget designs sketched on a napkin in his hand. Talks are hoped to resume this Wednesday.

Petopia Preposes New World Organization

At a round table diplomatic discussion with the top leaders of Littmania and D'Murgul, Petopian leader hot.pork proposed the formation of new world government organization: The United Assholes. The proposed flag depicted three buts pointed towards the center of the flag, white on blue, with a large brown circle in the center. While hot.pork is willing to negotiate on the name of the organization, he demanded that the flag stay. Dmur was also seen quietly coughing everytime hot.pork declared himself the leader of Petopia. Most report that he was really just saying "not" under his breath. The meeting mostly went without incident, until a man named "Johnaham Wilkes Boothe" walked up behind Adaham Lincoln and shot him point blank in the head. Fortunately, Adaham Lincoln was wearing a baby as a hat and the bullet did not reach his skull. 

Littmania Doesn't Know What to Do Know
After Petopia declared the war was over, and Dmur declared himself dictator of Petopia, Adaham Lincoln doesn't know where to go with Littmania. Last week Lincoln called for an invasion of a lesser nation so Littmania could once again have more than 8 people, 7 of them being cooks. But that didn't work out, and now that the war is over, Lincoln is kind of wondering what news stories will go over on this side of the page. He'll try to think of something, but the other two stories have thrown him for a loop. When asked to quote he said, "It's late and I want to sleep. I'll think of something soon. We need more people so I can fuck around with them and then make up stories about it. I could bring back slavery or something. Lincoln Out."

Dmur Names Himself Dictator of Petopia

After hot.pork's earlier declaration of an end to hostility between Petopia and D'murgul, Murgul dictator Dmur declared victory over the "French cowards" of Petopia, and named himself the new ruler of said nation. He also issued several statements urging everyone not to tell hot.pork about this, and to just go about daily business as usual, as if hot.pork were still in command, so that, no matter what, it looks like Dmur is the dictator, as long as he issues no commands other than "act as if I'm not in charge."

Petopia Declares War Over!

After several weeks of fighting an imaginary war, Petopian popular opinion and support for their troops have fallen by a staggering 2%. Resulting in a 6% support rate for Petopian troops and actions in the Littmanian Gulf. Great Leader hot.pork has decided to bring home the 3 or so frogs that he left in Littmania and D'Murgul from Operation "Cute Froggy Troops." He then immediately sauteed them with some onions and seasoned with some salt and pepper. "Delicious." he was quoted saying right after the impromptu meal. Shortly after that, Great Leader hot.pork had a major case of "froggy sickness" and was forced to evacuate his lower colon. The results of which were fed to the masses outside the Petopian Palace. Coincidently, they were waiting for hot.pork's speech on the dangers of strange foods.

Littmania Has Only Eight People Left

Littmania- After Adaham Lincoln banned violence in Littmania last week, and then proceeded to murder everyone in his country, except 7 cooks, he realizes he made a mistake. "This is awesome, and kind of sucks," he said. "There's nobody else here for me to observe and quietly judge. Who wants to just do that on TV?" The cooks aren't too thrilled either, as they all own their own restaurants, and they report business is down roughly 99 percent since the mass murders. "We've been spitting in his food since everyone died. He won't read this, right?"Lincoln is reportedly looking into ways to get more people back into the country. I think we'll, meaning me and the cooks, invade a poorer country and take them all back here. Then we'll force them to join our nation, and they'll be Littmaniacs. If nothing else, maybe we can haze them."

D'murgul Economy Plummets

Murgul stocks crashed this week, after the national project of D'murgul and laughing stock of the world, a tunnel to the moon, came to a close. Dmur declared said project a rousing success, but investors seem to view the straw poking into a basketball painted white otherwise. Famine is rampant in the lands of Murgul, but Dmur, declaring himself "Cannibal King," is doing just fine, having just received, by declaration of the King, the sole right to eat the corpses of the starving. Spirits are high.

Iran Inspires Petopia

In an uncharacteristic move by Petopian Prime Minister and God in Chief, hot.pork, the nation of Petopia has declared that anyone attempting to rape our women will have their penises chopped off preemptively. hot.pork was inspired following the declaration to "chop off their hands" made by Iranian President Adijerkaliskdkfbnnladfkjawofd. Is that his real name? The Associated Press of Petopia has just deemed it so in order to save time and energy. The declaration has led to mass castrations throughout the Petopian capital city of Porkgloria. In an unrelated note, Chinese Take-Out places throughout Porkgloria have noted large increases in the production of General Pork's Spicy Pork Balls.

Littmania Bans Violence

Littmania- A recent ban in violence is in its first week in Littmania. Reports are that violence is down, but other acts that happen to include violence are drastically up. Some of these are looting, rape and tying together one hand from two different people while they knife fight like in the "Thriller" video. For the first time in weeks Adaham Lincoln has spoken publicly. "I don't really give a shit," he said. "Let them all kill themselves. More food for me. Actually, save a few cooks. Then I'm good."

New Military Organization Sanctioned by Petopian Parliament

Petopia - After hours of watching the anime "Keroro Gunso," Petopian leader The Almighty hot.pork proposed to Petopian Parliament the formation of "cute froggy troops." Hours later, during an emergency session of Parliament, the movement was unanimously passed. Actually, those who dissented were immediately assassinated by the Petopian Praetorian Guard, who filled the upper balconies of the meeting floor and were armed with sniper rifles. The vanguard of the newly formed
"cute froggy troops" were easily slaughtered by Littmanian traffic and D'Murgul rivers full of logs and crocodiles. If the reference to a certain arcade game did not get across, hot.pork immediately apologizes. "Nandemonai sensei."

Violence Continues in Littmania
Littmania- After an innocent baby was shot last week, Dictator Adam has ordered for more killing of babies. He feels the way to victory is through the heart of an infant, literally. He has ordered for the fifth child of each house to be shot. Unfortunately, a law was already in place stating that each house is allowed a max of three children, and any after that are to be skinned and made into coats. Because of this Adam has ordered each family in Littmania to adopt children until they get a fifth, and once they do, kill it.

D'murgul Unveils New Weapon; Demands Tribute
After last weekend's failed assault, D'murgul released information on a new military weapon this weekend. Apparently, it's just an old man in a bathing suit; full implications for how exactly this is a weapon are not yet understood, but Murgul dictator Dmur now demands tribute from Petopia and Super-Earth, threatening a penalty of "wet old man-ing" for those who do not comply.

News Flash - Disaster Averted!
Petopia - After much discussion with the appropriate parties, it has been declared that the Planter's peanut does indeed speak with a British accent. The leadership of Petopia has decided that any suggestions otherwise will be met with a swift flogging with rolls of quarters. The bi-annual Petopia Peanut Party will now be held semi-annually. (It is still unknown what that change really means.) Also, news from the war front: new casualties have been reported. After a division of "Hassies" were secretly sent across the border in a fleet of mini-vans, on a mission to assassinate Petopia's leader. Unfortunately Littmanian intelligence failed to realize that it was "space-sabbath" and thousands of "Hassies" perished while attempting to walk to Petopia. Several hundreds of Petopians also committed suicide upon realizing that they knew exactly what B.O./Taco smells like.

News Flash - FIRST SHOTS FIRED!
Littmania - The first shots have been fired in the war between Littmania and Petopia. Reports say the first shots were fired by members of Littmania's army, which consists of 1,000 Goldbergs. Goldberg 439 was being taunted by a talking baby, approximately 9 months old, when he couldn't take it any more. He removed his cricket from his holster and unloaded one shot to the baby's temple, blowing it into roughly 86 pieces. He then drank the baby's blood as it rained down from the sky. After wiping off his mouth he yelled "Who's next?" No confirmation on whether or not the baby was in any way associated with Petopia or just a dick baby.

DICTATORSHIP OF D'MURGUL QUICK TO DECLARE NEUTRALITY IN PETOPIA-ADAHAM WAR AFTER FAILED ASSAULT
D'murgul - Hoping to capitalize on the war between neighboring states of Petopia and Adaham's Super-Earth, dictator Dmur sent hordes of orcs, trolls, spiders, and cave giants into the capitals of both nations this past weekend. After heavy casualties on all three sides, Murgul forces were easily routed, once the confused garrisons of Petopian and Adaham troops realized that they had automatic weapons, and were facing a force armed mainly with rusty swords and two-by-fours with nails sticking out of them. Upon hearing news of his defeat, Dmur quickly issued a statement this morning declaring D'murgul's neutrality in the conflict between Petopia and Adaham's Super-Earth.

News Flash - PETOPIA DECLARES WAR ON ADAHAM SUPER-EARTH/UTOPIA
Petopia - Citizens of Petopia declare foul when former-citizen Adaham leaves to found his own Utopia. The use of nuclear weapons has been abundant and trillions have perished on both sides. The very air here in Petopia has seem to have caught fire. Reports from Adaham's colony are that acid rain has resulted in untold billions of Adahams being left alive without skin. News is broadcasted as it is recieved!

the hell is going on

Wanna know something that sucks? I'm sick! That sucks! I woke up a couple nights ago to go pee and I had uncontrollable tremors! So that was pretty nice, and I had a fun time with it. I always wondered what my dog felt like when she was having seizures, and now I know: terrible!  She felt like terrible!  I had some creepy halucinatory dreams as well.  I mean, I hope they were dreams, but I don't really know.  Zombies were everywhere.  And I was at school, of course.

There's a church right near my house that always puts really awesome little exclaimations on its bulletin board, like "Hallelujah!" or "Praise the lord!"  Recently, they've been trying to spice it up a bit, and make it funny or interesting, I guess, but some of these things just don't even work.  Here's one I remember from recent days: "'I hate it here.' - Satan"  What does that even mean?  That's a good thing, I guess, isn't it?  I mean, we're not supposed to make it an awesome place for Satan, right?  So... mission complete, Christianity?  Good.

I just saw a picture of Michelle Obama, Barack's wife, and, I know this is probably a terrible thing to say, and I guess I'm not really helping politics, feminism, or really humanity in general by saying this, but, Barack, I think you can do better.  I mean, look at them in this picture:

Just check out their expressions.  She's overjoyed, and why shouldn't she be?  She's snagged a champ way out of her weight class.  She's a cruiserweight champ at best, maybe on a good day she can grab the Intercontinental Title, but that's after a lot of training and a shit load of luck.  Barack, on the other hand, is World Heavyweight material.  And you can see on his face that he knows it's time for an upgrade.

Now, there are few routes he can take with this.  He could just go for the super hot retard, a fine choice for any successful male in our society.  I suggest that bitch from the Pussycat Dolls.  How hilariously stupid would she sound next to Barack?  He'd say something moving about racism, and then she'd say something about how her vagina is made of chocolate, and that's where the phrase "chocolate fever" comes from.  It comes from people wanting her vagina.  Wikipedia says shes not even black, but come on, this is America.

He could also go for the dignified wise old lady, but this is dangerous, because she's likely to seem too much like everyone's mom, including his.  And that's creepy.  But I think they could pull this off.  Someone like the oracle from the first two Matrix movies, but not the last one.  I guess the lady that played her is dead, but that's not really a big deal either.

Obviously I'm still halucinating, and nothing in this post should be blamed on me, because I'm clearly temporarily insane.  But you deserve a blog post, and goddamn it, I'm giving it to you.

That's What I Thought You Said

If I haven’t mentioned, which I doubt, I tend to be a quiet person in the non-blogospheric world. Put it this way, there are plenty of times when I’ll be watching TV at night, and have to think hard about my day to remember whether or not I actually spoke out loud that day.

I talk all day inside my head. Out loud, though, not so much. I usually come to conclusion that I did indeed talk that day. But just the fact that I need to think about it should let you know how talkative I am.

So when you don’t talk out loud, you talk to yourself all day. Or at least I do. I guess I can’t really speak for other non-speakers, and I doubt I’d ever actually spend time talking to one to find out.

Anyway, I spend my days observing people, and then usually making mean comments about them to myself. I like to think I don’t judge people, but I do. In fact, judging people probably takes up a goof 85 percent of the activity going on in my head most days.

I’m an asshole. That’s really all there is to it. Except some people might not think so because I’m quiet, while others I would imagine think quiet people are assholes because it comes off as smug and acting like you’re better than that person. They are correct. I’d talk more if I found people worthy of my hearing my voice.

And just what to I talk to myself about all day, except when silently insulting others? I play out conversations I’ll never have with other people.

Today I had a doctor’s appointment for a checkup. I guess a yearly one, but I’m not positive. I don’t really remember the last time I went to the doctor before today. Maybe ever over yearly.

Anyway, in the days leading up to my visit I was, of course, playing out all the horrible situations in my head of things the doctor could tell me. Even one involving cancer, where I made a hilarious joke to the doctor and nurses about being somewhat happy because it’ll get rid of all my body hair. I then realized I wasn’t sure if you lose body hair going through chemotherapy. Then I looked it up and read it’s possible to, but not a given. Therefore I’ve once again realized just how much having cancer would suck.

Then I thought what if I’m in such horrible shape the doctor decides he has to give me a stern speaking to. This is what I imagined then.

“Adam, this is serious stuff kiddo. This is you’re health. Do you want to die at 50?”

“Well, if I’ve accomplished everything I’ve wanted to by the time I’m 50, I don’t really think I’d have such a problem with it.”

“And what exactly do you want to accomplish during your life?”

“I want to live to be about 53.”

“What.”

“Yeah, I just always really liked that number, and thought that’d be a nice age to die at.”

“But you just said…”

“What?”

“What?”

Then I imagined he’d look at my like I’m insane and suggest some sort of therapy or drugs to help with my mental illness. Or he’d just stare at my blankly and ask me to leave his office. Then I’d feel proud of myself and die at the age of 43. It’s a win-lose situation if you will.

Also recently, I decided to e-mail my roommate for next year. I don’t know who he is, and I don’t think we’ve ever met. Or if we did, we didn’t know we would one day be roommates.

I didn’t really have anyone to move in with after last year. My one prospect was a friend of mine who lived on the same floor as me last year. He was nice and we hung out fairly often, but he’s also really religious. I just don’t know which religion. He goes to church on Sundays, and celebrates thee Sabbath from Friday night until Saturday afternoon. He also says a prayer before eating. I don’t know. I personally think he’s just throwing shit together from a few different ones, but like I said above, I’m an asshole.

When I brought it up he said he didn’t think he would be able to room with someone because of his Sabbath. He said if we could find somewhere to live where we could have separate bedrooms that would work. I told him he was an idiot (I didn’t, just in case he’s in good with someone up there, but I thought it), because we had already both said we didn’t really plan on moving off campus were planning on staying in the dorms next year. As far as I know, dorms don’t really make two bedroom rooms. Except for suites I guess.

So anyway, he said he was planning on staying in a dorm with all single rooms. I didn’t want to do that. I opted to get a room in one of the newer dorms on campus, and just picked on. Someone else would join the room eventually. My hoping was that if it’s someone just picking a room randomly to go in, they probably were either a loser or just a quiet person as well, and didn’t have anyone to live with. Of course, he could totally be a douchebag too.

I’ve had his name for a good month, but haven’t spoken to him. I decided to send an e-mail just to make an attempt at getting in touch with him, hoping he doesn’t check his school e-mail over the summer and doesn’t have those e-mails forwarded to another address.

I didn’t really know what to write, as I don’t want him to know what an ass I am yet. I think I failed, miserably.

“Hey, this is Adam. If I looked up everything correctly, I believe we’re going to be roommates next year. If not, I guess just disregard this e-mail. But if so, hey I’m Adam and we’re going to be roommates. Just thought I’d try to get in touch with you before we showed up for school in a few weeks.”

As soon as I sent it I was pissed. If he sent me that exact e-mail I would’ve thought he was fucking retarded. I’m positive he thinks that of me. So I plan on wearing a helmet while in the room the first two months before I confess to just writing the first thing I thought of, and at 3:30 in the morning, and then sending it, which wasn’t smart.

Anyway, since I’ve sent it I was wondering what his reaction would be. Of course, I thought the most likely would be that he already called the school about finding a new roommate. Then I thought maybe he’d just not really notice my dumbassery and reply back.

“Hey, yeah we’re going to be roommates. Just don’t make sure not to rub off any of your Jewness on me, Jewboy.”

“Hey, yeah we’re going to room together next year. Don’t talk to me for 8 months, and don’t make any noise while my girlfriend is over, or I’ll kill you. You can watch, even secretly tape us if you want. Hell, if she likes you enough, you can pour some candle wax on her and choke her a little bit.”

“HeY, yEaH wE gOnNa B rOoMaTeZ dIs YeAr. CoOlZ. I hAvE a ToN oF sWeAt PoStErZ I’m PlAnNiNg On BrInGiNg WiT mE. HoPe U dOn’T mInD. LoLz.”

“Hey whitey, don’t get in my way during the year and we won’t have a problem. If you do, though, watch out. I don’t give a shit. I’ll go Reverse Rodney on your ass, suckaaaaaa.” After that I’d imagine he’d do the spinaroony.

That last one is basically because my mom is convinced he’s black because of his name. I’m not, though. I guess I’ll find out soon enough.

Oh, he did e-mail me back. His response: “Yeah we’re going to be roommates. So how’s your summer going?”

Hmm, sounds well-spoken to me. Just to be sure I e-mailed him back a short story about my summer composed primarily of lyrics from DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince’s “Summertime.” If he notices, I’m going to assume he’s white.

Wave of the Future! Wave of the Future!

As I write this, I'm witnessing one of the strangest things I've yet seen. Apparently, a woman with whom I am Facebook friends is giving birth right now, and she, and her entire birth-giving-entourage are all in the hospital, updating their Facebook statuses.

First, I noticed her husband's status update, which seems to have also occurred first chronologically.  "[Husband] is helping his wife give birth.  Yea."  Now, a few things.  I immediately noticed that he wrote "Yea," instead of "Yeah," which, I guess, means he's trying to speak all biblical, you know, "Yea, verily, I say unto thee, my wife is currently releasing an infant, whilst I update you upon my current activities."  But that's just because I always notice when people say "yea" instead of "yeah."  Second, his wife is giving birth, and he's somewhere else on a computer leaving a digital note to all his friends.  It's not necessarily bad, but it's very, very weird.  Now, though I've never been present for the miracle of life [edit: except for that one time], movies and television tell me that the current trend is for the husband to be incredibly involved in the process, with the givings of encouragement and so forth, but television also tells me that this was not always so.  It might be the case that he is not even in the delivery room, at the moment, and, perhaps, he's taking a break from pacing back and forth in the waiting room, stroking cigar box.  It's sort of a cute blending of the old American tradition of leaving that gross child-birth stuff to the professionals, and the modern American trend of telling everyone every little thing you're doing at every possible moment, via the internet, which I think works through lasers.

But then I noticed the next status update on my feed.  "[Wife] is giving brith to her second."  Again, I noticed "brith" before anything else, but, I guess I'm willing to excuse the typo, since she's probably dilating to about the size of a toilet seat.  But what am I supposed to believe here?  Did she actually write this while in labor, or is the husband sitting in another room just logging in back and forth between his and his wife's Facebook accounts, updating their statuses and checking their messages?  The second situation seems more likely to me, than a woman in contractions typing on a laptop.  But then again, I hear the second child is a lot easier, so maybe they're just hangin' out in the living room, smokin' a joint, updating their Facebooks, and watching some Scooby Doo.  At the very least, I like to imagine this to be the case.

But it's not done, yet! "[Friend of Couple] is training to be a Doula - at the hospital with [Wife]."  Well, I would have preferred a full dash, not just a hyphen, but, finally, we're getting there.  Leave it to the woman to have a cool head in this kind of situation – at least, the woman not currently emitting a child.  I actually had to look up the word "doula," which means midwife, and, once I found out what it meant, I was immediately struck by the lie.  No, [Friend of Couple], you're not training to be a Doula.  You're updating your Facebook status.  On that note, I don't know why everyone's Facebook status doesn't read "[Name] is updating his/her Facebook status."  You're all a bunch of lying scum, you know that?

Anyway, training?  If I were [Wife], I'd like to hope that when my child decides to erupt from my genitals, that my midwife isn't batting with a tee, writing on wide-ruled paper, and riding on a two-wheeler with training wheels.  How about a professional?

But, honestly, what the hell is going on? Are they passing a laptop back and forth in the delivery room? What's the doctor's name? I want to friend him, so I can get status updates like "[Doctor] is proceeding with Caesarian presently."  I don't know how anyone can be writing Facebook updates while a birth is going on.  How can you focus long enough to type out a coherent sentence?  They must've hired a stenographer.  Is that a new business of which I wasn't aware?  Facebook-stenographers?

I feel like this has to say something really meaningful about how our generation is too involved in the internet, or social networking sites, or electricity... we're too involved in something.  Or not involved enough.  I don't know.