Wednesday, November 26, 2008

Girl Internet


I was looking at a girl's facebook page, and one of her friends posted this video to her wall. It got me thinking... this blog would be much better if we just started posting funny cat videos to it... exclusively. What do you guys think? Only funny cat videos? I think a lot of good will come from this. I like this direction.

Alright, it's settled, then.

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

Huge Cock

So over the weekend I woke up only to see a gigantic penis. I could go a few routes here- I could make a joke about looking down at my own penis, I could make a joke involving my black roommate or I could just let these pictures speak for themselves.





Perhaps this one will give it a little more perspective. That building next to it is our basketball arena.


Monday, November 24, 2008

Try to upstage Me? Ha

So tonight after my last class I stopped by the newspaper office. It was a little after 9 when I got there, and there a few editors there and the editor-in-chief. They were all in what I guess they call the "production lab." To me it's a room with a bunch of computers.

Anyway, I had to stop by because my editors want me to cover two basketball games while I'm home for Thanksgiving break because the team is playing close to where my family resides. I agreed, and went to see if they had passes for me to get into the game.

So I go in there and start talking to one of my editors. I know a few of the other people in there, but not really enough to say anything but "hi." My editor tells me he doesn't have my pass, yet, but will let me know tomorrow about it. Fine. We continue talking and joking around. He says, "Have a good break, in case I don't see you before you leave. Well, I guess I won't see you before you leave, actually." I reply, "Well, I guess not. But I plan on stopping by your place a little later tonight to watch you sleep through the window." We laugh.

The arts and entertainment editor is sitting across the table. I spoke to him for the first time last week, and that's been our only interaction. He's listening, and says, "Hey Lincoln, can you stop by my place and watch me sleep too? I'd feel really safe if that happened." Of course. "It's on the third floor, though. Is that a problem." Not at all, I've got a ladder for exactly this type of situation. Some more laughter.

Eventually my editor and I stop talking, say our goodbyes and I start to walk out of the door. As I pass him, the music editor says, "So I guess you'll see me later, when you stop by to watch me sleep." Now the other people, we'll say about eight of them, look at us. They missed our earlier joshing around.

"Well, no. You won't see me, I'll see you. You see, that's how it works when you watch someone sleep." He goes, "Oh yeah, of course." And I hear some of the other people go, "Awwww" or "Eewwwww." Indeed. So take that music editor. You tried to be cute as I left, and I totally destroyed you, as well as any chances of eight people thinking I might be normal. Oh well.

Sunday, November 23, 2008

BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

I used to live with this guy!



What a terrific editing style! I love his use of jump cuts! MTV Generation!

My Trip to Cincinnati

Ugh. I did this for you SD fans. And for my school paper, but mostly for you.

I went to Cincinnati Saturday-Sunday. All I have to say is, I'm back in Pittsburgh, thankfully. Never thought you'd hear someone say that did you? Well, I'm going to assume you've never been to Cincinnati. It blows.

I went to cover a football game. I should've known this trip would suck when I was told we were going to leave at 8:45 a.m. The game started at 7:15 p.m. But, one of the guys I was going with is from Cincinnati and wanted to see his family. Fine.

So I get the office around a quarter to nine, the third guy gets there a little later with the car. He tells me the Cincinnati kid is going to be late. Of course. He shows up about 20 minutes late, and we leave.

We get to Cincinnati in about five hours. The drive wasn't too bad. We passed this huge billboard that said, "When you die what are you going to do for eternity?" And then about 600 feet later another huge billboard with the same white font on the all black billboard that said, "Hell is real." On the back of each was five of the Ten Commandments. I'm not sure if any overlapped, although I doubt it. We then talked about what we'd put on billboards if we owned land and wanted to make billboards. Cincinnati guy said he'd put up some hardcore porn. I said I'd purchase the land leading up to that guy's and make one billboard that said, "When you die, what are you going to do for eternity?" And then another one a few hundred feet later that said, "Rot in the ground. And the don't read the next two billboards because that guy is a douche."

We check into the hotel, only for the other reporter (James) tell us we're in room 169. He then laughed. We get into the hotel and he starts reading some information about amenities the hotel offers, one of which is mail packages. "Haha, mail packages. Male packages," he said.

Eventually, Cincinnati guy (Brett) leaves with his dad, who comes to the hotel to pick him up. Now we only have about 5 hours before the game starts. James decides he's going to try to do some work. I watch TV.

Eventually we decide to go eat. We ask the concierge where this pizza place that the hotel brochure told us to eat in is. She says she doesn't know, but that there's an Applebees close by. She tells us to walk, and that it's across the street around behind the building and past some trees. Alright, we walk that way. It's a bit farther than she let on, but we go around a building, walk along train tracks, through some trees and see the Applebees. We walk in, and this about 60 year old women starts hugging us.

"Oh my babies," she said, neglecting to seat us at a table. Well, we're pretty sure she worked there. "My babies are here. How are you children?" Good, thanks. "Good my babies. You just look so good. Come here." She hugs us both. I get an erection.

We sit, eat and pay. On our way out she hugs us again. "Thanks for stopping by my babies. Come back soon. I love you." Thanks, love you too? At one point during the meal, we heard her tell someone she was going to go home after her shift and drink some moonshine. She didn't. She came back to our room, and well, we'll leave it at that.

We leave to go to the game, which is about a 20 minute drive from the hotel. We hit some traffic, then realize we don't know what parking lot our parking pass is for. We drive around for about 15 minutes, pull over and ask a cop who very nicely tells us exactly where to go.

We get to the lot, park and walk to the stadium. We don't see a media entrance, so go to a regular one and ask. The guy working there tells us to just go in there and walk across the stadium to the press box. Okay, that was nice of him. But why wasn't there a separate entrance for media? Or why didn't he just tell us where to go? Either way, that sucked. It's not that I think I'm better than the fans going to the game, I just feel I deserve preferential treatment.

We get the press box, get situated and have about a half hour until the game starts. There's some food in the press box for us media types, but we got there too late and it was mostly gone. All that was left was some pork. As a Jew, no go for me. And I just don't like pork. Oh well, no big deal. Except James had the pork, and it was cold! We blamed that on stupid Cincinnati traffic, stupid Cincinnati not being clear on where to park and stupid Cincinnati not treating us special because we're media members.

The game is played, Pitt loses, we're not happy and it's time to go to the press conference. Except, where is it? We know the room number, but not where the room is. Most of the other writers left with a minutes to go in the game, so we couldn't ask one of them. We ask a cop, after our very successful run-in with a cop earlier in the day. He tells us exactly where to go. It's all the way on the other side of the stadium. Really? That doesn't make sense, but fine. He was sure.

All the common folk (fans) where also heading that way. So it takes us 20 minutes to walk across the stadium, we're late. Except, where is it? We ask more cops and stadium employees. Nobody knows. A cop phones it in, but gets no help. She says she thinks it that a way, pointing the side of the stadium we started on. She tells us to cut across the field. We walk to the other side of the stadium and start asking more people, who all don't know. We see the Pitt players on the team bus. We're fucked.

We finally find it, except nobody is there. We go into the Cincinnati press conference for the last five minutes of it. It ends, everyone leaves and we sit there in silence for two minutes. Defeated.

Sigh.

Now, James was writing the game story, whereas I was writing a column about the game. This means he needs quotes. I could've sent my story in with no quotes and it wouldn't have mattered. But I'm still pretty pissed at this point, but not as pissed as him. He calls our editor, who gives him the cell number for the head of Pitt's media relations. He calls and asks if he can give us any quotes. He can't, because they didn't record any. Damn. We technically have until tomorrow to send our stories in, so I tell him let's just go back to the hotel. We'll watch the news and find some quotes online. The Cincinnati page will put some up. I pulled that out of my ass, but they did, luckily.

We're on our way out of the parking lot when we hit more traffic. Then he remembers he was supposed to file something immediately after the game for them to put up online. He didn't do that. I ask if he wants to park and find a restaurant or something with wi-fi. He does. We pull into a parking lot, he checks and can connect to the Internet from some parking lot. We sit there for a half hour while he files the story. Some guy walks up and asks if we have jumper cables. We say no, although we have no basis for making that claim other than we were in full on fuck Cincinnati mode. I then notice a bus parked in the same parking lot, not moving, and out loud hope it's the bus that is stuck. I don't know if it was.

We go back to the hotel, and start working on our respective stories. I don't know how his is going. He doesn't say much, and then just goes to sleep. Mine is going alright, but I'm tired so I go to sleep. He finishes his in the morning, I don't. Brett meets us at the hotel and we leave. James falls asleep almost as soon as we get in the car. I neglect working on my story. We find a station on the radio playing music from the 90's, and it was amazing. We see a car with a large, black box attached to it. It looks too small to be carrying a horse. He asks what I think it is. I say dead bodies. He says dead babies. I say dead babies stuffed inside dead bodies, as to his the dead babies when he sneaks across the border. We agree it's probably that.

Then we see two deer tied to the back of a truck. That was awesome. James walks up, and we collectively relive the evening. The two of us royally fucked up. Brett took no pictures he liked. We agree it'll be a while before any of us are assigned an away game again. "It was just a complete failure of a trip for all three of us," we say.

I get back to my room, finish my story and send it in. I'm not so sure how it turned out. Within a half hour I get a text from one of my editors.

"We love you."

Well, it was a failure of a trip for two out of three of us. Suckers. And I'm great, unlike Cincinnati, which really only sucks for reasons that we had control over and just fucked up on our own. I'm sure it's a lovely town. But until I go back, fuck that place, and in the words of Drew Carey, "Cleveland rocks!"




I've never been there, but it can't be any worse.

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

The Holidays Are Coming Up

Here at SD Beings we have a little tradition right around the holidays. Of course, I'm a bit early, as we haven't even passed Thanksgiving, but hey, I saw this and want to post it before I just forget about it.

Anyway, the tradition is hot.pork and Dmur get together and buy my a present, because I'm awesome and it's a time for giving. We usually decided that my contribution to the blog is better than any gift I could get for either of them. Also, they buy me a gift together so I get one really expensive thing instead of two shitty gifts. That's just how we roll. It's like a Secret Santa, except not.

Anyway, like I said, it's a bit early for thinking about what to get for me. I know guys. I hate to scare you like this, but seriously, once you see what you're going to get me, you'll practically start emptying our your bank accounts right then and there.

Here it is guys. It's about $750, but have you read my blog posts this past year? I mean, that's a bargain! Remember the long, rambling one where I got angry at a classmate? How about the "I made a joke that didn't go over well?" Oh man, I'm laughing just thinking about all the different kinds of hilarious, unique posts I keep making. Oh no, just thought about the time I got angry at a classmate, but didn't say anything out loud. Genius!

So fellas, without anymore stalling I give you my future favorite gift of all time. This snow globe!



Monday, November 17, 2008

I Just Don't Get It

Monday mornings, my roommate and I wake up at the same time. He usually goes to shower first, and I, being a bit slower to lose my morning boner, get out of bed after he leaves, and then go take my shower in the stall next to his. I usually pee as soon as I turn the water on, and use that time to let it warm up. Today, I had this strange urge to pee in the stall my roommate was using. Nothing gay, I just thought it would be really funny to just pee in the little space in between the shower curtain and the wall.

Now, I felt a little hesitant about this, for some reason, and the next thing I thought was, "Is this really a funny thing to do?" Okay, the answer is obviously yes. I still wasn't sure about this. So then I thought, "Wait, if it happened to me, would I think it was funny?" Still yes. "Hmm..." I thought, "I must be asking myself the wrong questions."

I asked my roommate what he thought about this, and he didn't think the whole situation was as funny as I did.

You know that scene in Curb Your Enthusiasm where Jeff is beating off, and then Larry's wife Cheryl accidentally pops in his head? And then he goes to tell Larry because he thinks it would just be this funny, weird thing? Like "hey, guess who I ran into the other day (while I was masturbating)! Your wife! Weird, huh?" Well, Larry gets really mad about it, obviously, and Jeff is just sort of confused about the whole thing, because, to him, its just one of those myriad funny coincidences that make up this crazy thing we call life. That's how I felt. That's how I still feel. I'm confused. Why doesn't my roommate think it would be really funny for me to possibly pee on him, twenty minutes after he's woken up? That's so weird.

Sunday, November 16, 2008

More Ovaltine, Please!

I'm terrified I'm forgetting something... I haven't had any real school work for weeks... I think I've just been keeping really ahead of it, but I just know that any second it's all going to come crashing down on me. I'm FREAKING OUT. It doesn't help that someone needs to change the goddamned battery on the smoke detector out in the hall. Honestly, it's like every ten seconds it beeps. How can that not be infuriating the entire building?


I've read so many graphic novels in the past couple of weeks... I think around 14 or so. I guess a graphic novel a day. I might be amazing. I can't tell if I should call up the Guinness Book, or Tracy Morgan from this video:



I mean, obviously, I'm a loser. But is it in such a way that it has suddenly become -- obviously not cool, but... perhaps acceptable?


Stay tuned. At some point in the very near future, I'm going to have two ten-page papers, a five-page paper, three three-pagers... I imagine this is all going to happen on one day. I just know it. I can't shake the nerves. I need to start taking more qualudes.

Sigh

I hate to keep updating like this, especially when I really don't have anything to say. I feel as though I'm hogging the internet. Oh well, too bad.

I fucking hate my roommate's cousin. I feel like I've been hinting at it increasingly over the past few weeks. After tonight I'm pretty sure I can say it's hatred. I hate him and all others like him. I could be talking about black people, but I'm not (yet). I'm talking about stupid people. I just can't stand them, and he's a fucking moron.

And it's not just that he's dumb, but he's just really loud and obnoxious. It's one thing to be stupid, but it's another to let everyone within a 30 ft radius know how stupid you are. I swear, I know when he's in my room within walking three steps out of the elevator. He's that loud, and he's always talking. It's like Name That Tune; I can tell if he's in my room in two steps.

Sorry about that. Anyway, I can't stand him. Tonight he was in my room, and he spent an hour looking up wives of NBA players. An hour. One entire hour. Just looking up pictures of wives of NBA players. I mean, I'm sure they're all very attractive.

But as he was looking them up he was constantly, and loudly of course, wondering how these average looking to flat out ugly dudes were "pulling." Hmm, I don't know. Could it be because they're fucking NBA players who make millions upon millions of dollars? Not to mention as professional athletes it's safe to assume they all have fairly decent bodies. I just, I can't. Like, how? I don't get it. An hour.

And since it was Saturday, I was watching "Saturday Night Live," because I'm a loser who enjoys that show. Tonight's musical guest was Beyonce. Perhaps you've heard of her. Hell, here's a reminder of what she looks like.



Yeah, not too bad. She can sing, "Adaham Lincoln is a douchebag who should fall off a cliff and die" over and over, and it'd be the highlight of my life at this point. So she's performing, wearing a bit less than what you see above. So that was distracting. I don't even remember what the songs were about!

So he sees her, and of course starts wondering why she's with Jay-Z. "Jay-Z man, what's she doing with him? I mean, I know he's got money and all..." I guess this one's a little harder to understand than why some girl with a cute face marries an ugly millionaire NBA player. But then again, Jay-Z has a lot of money. But so does Beyonce. I'm going to say that maybe she just likes his personality. I don't know him, but I'm sure he's charming. And really rich.

He keeps going on. I'm not paying attention to him at this point. I'm thinking about Beyonce running me over with her car, and how that might be the best way to go out I can think of. Then I hear him calling my name. I look back and sure enough, he's talking about me and eventually to me.

"Yo, I bet even Lincoln thinks she's hot." Huh, I look back. "Yo Lincoln, you think Beyonce is hot?" Who? "Beyonce." Oh, um, yeah. She's quite pretty. "Yoooo man! See, even white boys think she's nice."

Oh, I now speak for all white people. So that's cool.

He then smiled at me. Like we bonded or I just told him this huge secret. We didn't and I didn't. I could've mentioned I used to think those other two ladies in Destiny's Child were pretty too, although I don't remember their names and haven't seen either one since they were singing about surviving while on an island in vibrantly colored rags.

But Beyonce? If you're going to ask white people if they think a black woman is attractive, why use Beyonce? I mean, it's Beyonce. She's like really pretty. And not dark. Come on now. She's definitely acceptable for us white folk to fawn over. I've only had one friend (that I know of) ever say out loud he didn't think she was that pretty, but that dude's fairly racist.

So, what's the ruling? Is this really someone that non-blacks can say they find attractive without feeling icky and like traitors to their own race?



Before SNL started I was watching "Sportscenter," because I'm also really manly. He noticed one of the kickers on a college football team was black, and made a 26-yard field goal. "Psh, I could've made a 26-yard field goal," he scoffed at the TV. But you didn't. You sat watching a TV, only commenting on things you can do, like make a 26-yard field goal or score 19 points in a Division I college basketball game. You also made note of when you thought an athlete on the screen had a nice haircut.

You can't go 30 seconds without saying something that makes me want to take a shovel to your face. You find the dumbest thing hilarious, like when my roommate told you the story of how his "Big Pimpin'" mp3 wasn't of the highest quality, so when it came on his iPod he'd have to turn up the volume and forget to turn it down before the next song come on. Yeah, that was a winner. Oh, remember the part where he said he just started skipping the song until he just deleted it all together? Yeah, I didn't find that amusing, but you laughed so hard you were bent over holding your stomach cause you were laughing so hard.

God, if you're up there, why? That's all I want to know. I'm not the best person, I know. I don't pray or take part in any type of religion. But does that make me a bad person? I sit around silently judging everyone around me, fine. I usually find the worst qualities in people and assume I won't like them, so I don't really bother with taking a chance to get to know them. I get it.

But why? I've never stolen anything or murdered anyway. I haven't raped anything. Some people even find me amusing. I occasionally make people laugh. Isn't that something to help me get on your good side? I hold doors open for people, too.

So why? What do I end up in close quarters with incredibly stupid people seemingly all he time? What do I need to do differently to get a roommate who doesn't talk or isn't an idiot? Or to get one without a close relative or friend who's a fucking moron? I don't want a roommate to be my best friend. I don't need that. Just one who doesn't make me want to break a Beyonce CD in half and slit my wrists. Please.

Friday, November 14, 2008

It Happened Again

I don't know what I can do anymore. It seems anytime it comes out I have an interest in something remotely black, my roommate's cousin is going to find it odd. I told the Biggie story maybe last week. Fine.

Just earlier today they were both in the room. My roommate says to his cousin, "Oh man, I've got to show you this thing thing Lincoln showed me last night. It's crazy. LeBron dunked it from basically the free throw line, in a game!"

It's true. LeBron did do that. I also did tell him and show him about it, since our conversations pretty much revolve around how much work we have to do on a given night or basketball. I thought he'd enjoy seeing it. He did. It was a nice moment in our relationship, I thought.

So he tells his cousin about it. The cousin doesn't want to see LeBron do something quite spectacular. No. He says, "Wait, what? Lincoln showed that to you? Lincoln?" He then looks over at me with a really confused face.

I mean, white people like basketball. In fact, we even like the black players! Mostly because there aren't really any good white ones. The best white ones are European for the most part, and fuck those guys.

The cousin has walked in on me watching basketball. He's talked to me about basketball, somewhat. He's seen me at school basketball games. There's just no winning him over apparently. Although I guess I'm not so sure why I want to. I find him to be very stupid.

I just want inquisitive looks from him everytime he learns something about me. I'm an extremely white person. There's no way around it. I listened to a song by Spoon earlier today, and enjoyed it. I'm not going to deny my whiteness, which also gives me the right to like basketball and certain rap music. He just doesn't get that, yet. I'll work on him, though.

I don't know if he just hasn't been around enough white people in his life, or just doesn't pay attention to us, but he seems to have a pretty awful view of things we can like. Give me one more semester, though, and he'll realize white people can like entire genres of music and sports while actively hating the race of most of those sports and genres participants. This now extends to presidents, as well. It's a natural born talent for us.

So hopefully he stops by a bit more. We can teach each other a few things. I just need to make sure he doesn't touch any of my stuff, and keep close tabs on my wallet.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

Oh Hardy Har Har, You're So Fucking Funny

Hey, wanna hear a story about a douchebag? Good, cause I've got a good one, I think.

So I had recitation for film analysis class today, and we were talking about different genres of film and stuff. We start talking about horror movies, and watched a clip from "Friday the 13th." We then had to note all the kind of standard horror movie techniques could find in the clip. Fine. That was pretty simple.

Then we continued talking about things seen in horror movies, mainly focusing on slasher movies. We got up to talking about the punishment for teenagers for having sex, drinking and/or doing drugs in those films, in that whenever teens do one or multiple of those acts, they usually die shortly after. Alright, makes sense. But wait, no. One kid in the back of the class has a question. I know this, not because I see him raise his hand, because I'm sitting a few people in front of him and am facing forward, but because he raises his hand, presumably, and said, "Wait, I have a question."

The teacher acknowledges him. He goes, "So then why I haven't been killed yet?"

Sigh.

Another sigh.

Well, wasn't that just hilarious. You see, he much have so much sex, and drink so much and do so many drugs he should've died a long, long time ago. Oh man, what a fucking awesome dude. I swear, I want to be just like him. From his wild lifestyle to the hat he always wears with his fraternity's Greek letters on it. Oh how I wish I was so cool.

Also, if he wants, I'd be more than willing to murder him shortly after the next time he does one of those three things.

Well, I probably wouldn't. But still, that was a horrible joke and I hope you hurt your jaw this weekend, rendering you from talking for a while. You dumb cocksucker.

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

Are You Guys Coming On To Me?

Honestly, just imagine yourself as the guy in the black suit, and think about how you would react during this scene. Your first thoughts are probably "What the fuck is going on?" The final question at which one would arrive is "Are you guys coming on to me?"



I think the answer is obvious.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

Hey, I Can Be Angry Too

Hate to break up hot.pork's posting for the day, but I'm sure we all feel he probably did really well on all his tests and reports today, right people? I know I think he did well.

Anyway, I'm going to share my anger with you folks right now. So I finish up with classes today, eat something and come back to my room. All I have to do for tomorrow is read a play, so I'm in no rush to get that done. I turn on the TV, and start watching. So far in the past 30 minutes I've seen the same commercial four times. Normally I wouldn't care, but this particular commercial is really pissing me off.

It starts off with a black screen and a voice over that says, "Hey Pittsburgh, want to see your favorite comedians live?" So now I'm interested. Yeah, I would like to see my favorite comedians live. I think I'd like that very much. "Well, tickets are now on sale to see Cheech and Chong at (I stopped paying attention here, so I don't know where those guys are playing or when), and Carlos Mencia (same thing, don't care when or where)."

Really, those are my favorite comedians? Well then, I guess I have shitty taste then don't I? Fuck you television.

Sunday, November 9, 2008

We're Not Terrible People

I know it seems like all three of us are angry people who hate everyone. I mean, we are angry and hate everyone. I can't really deny that.

But I thought I'd switch things up and post something pleasant, something that will make you smile and brighten your day. So here you go. You're welcome.


I'm Also Treating This Blog as a Diary

All I do now is nothing.

Okay, that's not true.  But I am not interesting.  I mean, I think I was most interesting in junior high, when I was throwing smoke bombs at toddlers and I carried a carpenter's hammer with me everywhere I went (you know, for protection).

Here's what I do every week.  I wake up and go to either a class about comic books, which I like, or any other class, which I find boring as fuck.  After that, I head to the radio station, where I spend the next eight hours of the day.  I pretty much check my email every three seconds, receive complaints from a bunch of people about bullshit, and worry about something happening later.  Maybe someone I like will be there, and we will talk bullshit for a bit.  Eventually, I'll go home, and read for my classes.  Or, I'll go back out for another class.  I have these late night classes where we watch a movie, and it's terrible, because I'm always exhausted from being a bitch at the radio station all day, so I have no desire to sit in an uncomfortable desk and watch a movie about which I care nothing.  So I usually fall asleep during these films.

When I get home, I either read for those lame classes, or I Stumble Upon retarded games.  That's my four day week schedule.  Fridays, I have no classes, so it should be a kickass weekend, right?  I spent almot twelve hours at the radio station, having meetings, answering phones, and sending emails about bullshit.

On the weekends, I almost never leave my room.  I read for my classes (notice a trend?), and Stumble Upon things.  If I get really motivated, or I've finished my readings, I will try and read a graphic novel, or something.

I don't know what the hell is going on.  I don't think I'm exceptionally pleased with my current routine--I think I would like to throw in some human interaction that doesn't relate to my position at the station; perhaps I could talk to some sort of female human being?  But really, when I think about my dream life, right now it comes down to this: I read shitloads of comics, do the overnight shift (six hours) at the radio station, just playing music, and going through the music library, looking for other music to play.  I'd probably read comics while doing that.  That's it.  The only difference, really, between that and what I do now, is that when I'm at the radio station, nobody else is, and I don't have to go to a class where they tell me that sound is important in movies with sound.

What I really need is for some amazingly attractive girl to throw herself at me, without my having to put forth any effort whatsoever.  And a kickass punk band needs to recruit me, again, without my having to put forth any effort whatsoever.  And I need somehow to get paid for all of this, (maybe just in food and comics).  Can anyone set this up?

Saturday, November 8, 2008

Hmm, What Say You Blog Friends?

So I think I've done a decent job in this very ring chronicling how my humor sometimes doesn't go over well. Perhaps I'm attempting it around the wrong people, or of course, I could just not be funny.

Anyway, I think my editors at the paper understand my humor pretty well. I have a weekly column, and they usually leave all my jokes as is, so I assume they either find them funny or just see me as a lost cause. One column I didn't end up writing was on the WNBA. The playoffs were a few weeks ago, and I thought that maybe I could do some sort of meta humor type thing, and just write a really straightforward article recapping the playoffs. No jokes or anything. Just a straight WNBA playoff column, and leave the joke be that I wrote about the WNBA. I thought it was funny, but ended up writing sometime else. I don't remember, but I'm sure it was stupid. I was talking to both editors sometime after that, and they started asking me about how I determine what to write about. I said I just write about things I think I can get to be about 4,800 characters and that's it. I told them about my idea for the WNBA column, and they seemed disappointed I didn't write it.

I have no reason for including any of that other than to use it as an example of me overreacting to the story I'm going to tell for the purpose of having something to blog. And the only reason I want to blog something is because I'm frustrated with my failed attempts at doing something productive. How's that, assholes. Yeah, that's what I think of you fuckers. I know you're not reading anyway. It's like a personal journal that two people read. I could talk about my crush on a classmate. I just need one. Hmm, tangent: I remember one time in high school I was haning out at a friends house, and he was looking for something under his bed, and he pulled out a box with all old stuff in it, one of which being his old journal (I know it's a diary, but I'll call it a journal because that's what Doug did and he's my idol). Anyway, he starts reading some stuff over. He gets to an entry about the girl he liked. I think the journal was from elementary school, maybe even middle school. He reads it, and I don't remember it exactly, but it went something like, "And then she walked in the classroom. BAM! The first time I saw her I knew I was in love." He then looked at me and said, "Man, I used to be a really good writer." I don't know why I remember that, but I do. This too has nothing to do with anything, other than leading to an eventual IM from dmur asking me who that was (dismizzle).

Back to our story. So I'm flipping through stations tonight, and I see highlights from my school's football game. I watched it, I know what happens, but I watch anyway. After the game highlights they cut to our star runningback talking after the game during his press conference, and standing right next to him is one of my editors. I know there are tons of other people standing there, but from this particular camera's angle all we can see are the runningback and my editor. So I send him a text, which is probably odd in itself. It's not that we aren't friendly, quite the oppostie, but we don't just text each other. I felt this warrented one.

I send him jokingly telling him he's a star now, and tell him what I just saw. He sends one back asking if since he's a star does he need a celebrity girlfriend and a drug dealer. He says he thinks Lindsay Lohan is single. I reply that she comes with drugs too, so that's really convenient. Then I say, "but in all seriousness, it was the most excited I've been watching TV since the time my uncle was on 'To Catch a Predator.'" Now, that's probably my favorite TV show. I figured it was a reference he would get. Maybe he didn't, I don't know. Maybe he thought I was actually serious.

Either way, he answered, "Ha ha. Well I'll see you tomorrow." We're supposed to cover a basketball game. I don't know his texting style. Maybe when he wants to express laughter he uses "ha ha," but where I'm from, that comes off sarcastic. He might as well typed "Hardy har har." I guess I'll find out soon enough.

On one hand, I don't want to scare him off by making odd jokes. I mean, I definitely haven't fully let loose in front of him. I think statutory rape jokes are a step in that direction, though. Maybe tomorrow I'll joke around about murdering kittens, but only so I had something to feed my baby sister when I used to babysity and see how that goes. Of course, on the other hand, I think it would be fantastic if he thought I was serious and had an uncle who was on "To Catch a Predator." I'll invite him over to watch the tape of it I have. I don't have an uncle who was on the show. I guess I could show him my episode, though.

Thursday, November 6, 2008

Quick Hit

Yesterday I ended up on a bus with my roommate and his cousin. They came on together, saw me and sat near me. We were talking, when my roommate's cousin noticed the new Soulja Boy song was playing.

He doesn't like Soulja Boy. Neither does my roommate. I stayed quiet, mostly because I love Soulja Boy. YUUUULLLLLLL.

Anyway, my roommate then says, "You know, the other day I looked over at Adaham while he was on the computer, and saw him listening to some Biggie."

Guilty. My roommate's cousin, who thinks I'm white, looks at me all confused and says, "What the fuck?" I shrug. I don't know where to take this, though. I feel I can use this to my advantage somehow, or at least, screw about with my roommate's cousin. Perhaps next time he comes in the room I'll blast some Dr. Dre.

That seems a little too obvious, though. I could go with some Ice Cube, or NWA, but I'm not entirely convinced he'd know who I was playing. Seriously. But that's another issue. I mean, I don't want him to like me or think I'm cool. I just don't want him to use slang, and then tell me what it means. I just want him to ignore me. I think being caught listening to Biggie is a step in the right direction. I just need to know where to go next.

I guess I could show him my "Thug Life" tatoo.

Another Bus Story

So I'm going to following hot.pork's trend and tell a story about my bus ride today.

It's about 5:30, maybe a little later. I'm done with classes, and my main goal is get back to my room by 6, so I can watch "The Simpsons." That's all I want to do right now. I don't know what episode is going to be on, and yeah, I could technically watch any Simpsons episode whenever I want because of the marvelous internet. But I still wanted to watch it.

The bus is really crowded, but I manage to get a seat towards the back. Then this large girl comes and starts talking to the guy sitting next to me, in Japanese. Hey, I used to know that one, sort of. Luckily they weren't that advanced, so I could stay with them. The guy next to me hasn't studied yet or done his homework due tomorrow! Uh oh.

Anyway, then the girl starts talking about her crazy Tuesday night. Obama blah blah blah! At first it was fine. I mean, he won. That's cool. She's not bothering me, and she smelled nice, which was cool. Then she starts talking about the riot she participated in.

Sigh.

"I went into my friend's room after they called it for him. We talked a little while, then heard people outside and I said, 'Let's go riot!' So we did. It was great. We were just walking around, singing the national anthem and all these patriot songs, and all high-fiving each other. We didn't break anything. And the police really helped us out. They escorted almost all the way to downtown, and were closing off streets for us. They even mentioned how orderly we were on the news, unlike a few other people who celebrated by burning couches and stuff."

You dumb bitch. First off, in Pittsburgh, when you celebrate you burn couches. I don't get what you don't understand about that. That's just what you do. It's not a celebratoin without a couch burning. Secondly, that's not a riot. That's a parade.

A real riot doesn't have a police escort. It has police brutality. A real riot doesn't sing the national anthem. It sings protest songs. A real riot doesn't not break anything. It takes leaves a Tasmanian Devil-like path behind it.

I'm sick of people thinking they've rioted when all they did was walk around in the streets and hihg five a bunch of people. You celebrated, cool. Call it that. If you're going to riot prepare flip a car, burn a couch and get hit by a car.

Same goes for you Phillies fans out here. You didn't riot either. You went outside and yelled. It was annoying. I wish nothing but sports failure on your city.

But Adaham, have you ever rioted? No. No I haven't inquisitive reader. I'd be willing to if something awesome or horrible enough happened. But until then, no, I have not particpated in a riot.

And neither have most people who go around telling people they were in a riot. Because they're fucking idiots. I hate you all, and hope a cop beats the living shit out of one day. Then tell me you rioted, and I'll laugh becase a cop beat you.