All right! We've reached the point where each new journal entry becomes the latest recipient of the "Longest Gap Between Updates" award. Clocking in at nearly two months, this update is bound to be my last. I'm up to date enough with all the goings on here, so I know that the latest trend is to talk about how the new site affects your period or erectile functionality, followed by either quitting or begrudgingly renewing your membership. Well, I'm pleased to announce that I've missed my period, and it looks like I'll be giving birth to a brand new shut the fuck up.
I like the new site just fine. I'm sure that in time, people will forget that it was ever anything other than a colorful maze of links. In my opinion it's the most work-friendly version yet, and the addition of masculine grays to the background makes my crotch feel like it has a dick again. Sure there's an impossible number of options to choose from on each page, and I have to look at the sweaty inner-thigh of some emo mother fucker on the ad that never fails to show up on my personal homepage, but the detail that went into the design is admirable. bean is a craftsman and I'll probably hire him to design my post-apocalyptic version of civilization once I finally crush our pathetic present society. It'll be fucking sweet. When you let your gaze hover over another citizen long enough, a larger picture of them will suddenly appear and tell you why they enjoy being my slave, and every time you turn a corner on the streets of my futurescapes, each street sign will unroll before your very eyes.
But despite what I think, I was already burned out on the site long before the beta version was even announced. I have no interest in being bombarded multiple times a day by rock and roll clones with no established personalities, more than half of which I totally wouldn't even do. I don't want to be spoken down to by newswire contributors who were hired under the assumption that SG members know and love their work, then come here with a false sense of entitlement when barely anyone knows who the fuck they are. More importantly, I have no desire to pay money, no matter how reasonable it seems, to speak to people I know in real life. I've reached the maximum threshold of people I care to get to know here, and I don't really have enough time to take on more. My membership expires in August. I may stay for another month, I may not, but one thing is for sure: my soul has already left this place. Mainly because my soul was taken by an immortal karate magician while I was busy defending Earth from his ninja henchmen as they cartwheeled out of the sky, but my body still doesn't want to be here either.
For now, I leave you with a few excerpts from a collection of my favorite photographic theme: Me with hot women.
As you can see, the difference in timing between sexy faces and hilarious faces somehow didn't stop Flux and I from turning a normal photo booth into an automated sex machine.
Here's me with Nefaria, who I spent the first half of SG Prom licking edible body oils off of. In case you aren't familiar with Nefaria, you should be jealous.
There are a lot of things Flux and I were suppose to do together during SG Prom. One of them was to save at least one rec center from being shut down by developers with nothing but dance. Another was to sing a Ying Yang Twins song during karaoke. When it became obvious that this particular establishment had none, we settled for anything rap. When it was later revealed that they didn't have any rap that wasn't Beastie Boys, we were left with no choice: Destiny's Child's Survivor.
I love the body language coming from Lil Tuffy while we sing our hearts out about not giving up.
I like the new site just fine. I'm sure that in time, people will forget that it was ever anything other than a colorful maze of links. In my opinion it's the most work-friendly version yet, and the addition of masculine grays to the background makes my crotch feel like it has a dick again. Sure there's an impossible number of options to choose from on each page, and I have to look at the sweaty inner-thigh of some emo mother fucker on the ad that never fails to show up on my personal homepage, but the detail that went into the design is admirable. bean is a craftsman and I'll probably hire him to design my post-apocalyptic version of civilization once I finally crush our pathetic present society. It'll be fucking sweet. When you let your gaze hover over another citizen long enough, a larger picture of them will suddenly appear and tell you why they enjoy being my slave, and every time you turn a corner on the streets of my futurescapes, each street sign will unroll before your very eyes.
But despite what I think, I was already burned out on the site long before the beta version was even announced. I have no interest in being bombarded multiple times a day by rock and roll clones with no established personalities, more than half of which I totally wouldn't even do. I don't want to be spoken down to by newswire contributors who were hired under the assumption that SG members know and love their work, then come here with a false sense of entitlement when barely anyone knows who the fuck they are. More importantly, I have no desire to pay money, no matter how reasonable it seems, to speak to people I know in real life. I've reached the maximum threshold of people I care to get to know here, and I don't really have enough time to take on more. My membership expires in August. I may stay for another month, I may not, but one thing is for sure: my soul has already left this place. Mainly because my soul was taken by an immortal karate magician while I was busy defending Earth from his ninja henchmen as they cartwheeled out of the sky, but my body still doesn't want to be here either.
For now, I leave you with a few excerpts from a collection of my favorite photographic theme: Me with hot women.
As you can see, the difference in timing between sexy faces and hilarious faces somehow didn't stop Flux and I from turning a normal photo booth into an automated sex machine.
Here's me with Nefaria, who I spent the first half of SG Prom licking edible body oils off of. In case you aren't familiar with Nefaria, you should be jealous.
There are a lot of things Flux and I were suppose to do together during SG Prom. One of them was to save at least one rec center from being shut down by developers with nothing but dance. Another was to sing a Ying Yang Twins song during karaoke. When it became obvious that this particular establishment had none, we settled for anything rap. When it was later revealed that they didn't have any rap that wasn't Beastie Boys, we were left with no choice: Destiny's Child's Survivor.
I love the body language coming from Lil Tuffy while we sing our hearts out about not giving up.
So I figured I'd update my journal since my birthday is coming up. Having that little mutant balloon by my name will prompt the three or so people who may or may not actually read my journal to leave their kind regards, and it would be rude of me to have some sob story about something that happened like, seven years ago or whatever.
Well, I've had a lot more birthdays on this site than I thought I would. It's already been two years since I
experienced astrologicaly activated super powers for a day during my first one here. I honestly thought I would have been zotted by now, but if there's one thing I've learned, it's that there's a difference between being annoying and being entertainingly annoying. If you don't understand what I'm talking about, try listing all the differences between me and Carrot Top, and at the end of the list, decide which one of us you'd rather have sex with. Most of you will have probably picked me, and that makes most of you totally gay. Haha! Hey everybody! Look at the homos!
Anyway, I guess I'll list a few things I'm thankful for, since I'm still alive and it continues to be a good thing.
- Fallout Boy: If any of you know anything about me, it's that I love crap. The more money that went into making it, the better. Enter this shit band. Their videos kick fucking ass and I bet my manginity that people will look at them ten years from now the same way we look at Cool as Ice. Their newest video is a short film about how awesome they are at hunting vampires. Also, one of them is a vampire, and I think he's hoping that his complex inner-struggle is going to make us want to do him. I'm really glad that they seem to have taken the video so seriously. It's as if they started a band simply as a way to showcase their vampire hunting abilities and terrible acting skills. If it was ironic, it would have sucked. But the fact that they apparently put so much of themselves into the characters' backgrounds and personalities makes it a special kind of failure.
- MMA (mixed martial arts): I'm really glad that after spending all day surrounded by people I want to punch and choke, I have a place to go where I actually get to punch and choke people. This and masturbation are the only things keeping me on the better side of the law. I'm also glad that the uninitiated think that the participants look like they're fucking. It keeps idiots from becoming involved in and subsequently ruining my sport. On a related note, I'm also thankful for the triangle choke. Nothing says "fuck you" like putting someone to sleep with mostly your crotch.
- My brothers: Never before has a family as a whole been so groomed to cock-block. We all have something different to offer, but rest assured, at least one of us has the potential to make any women forget that you ever existed. My military brother is visiting me for my birthday, so look out for news related to the east coast being rocked right the fuck off the continent.
- Hot women: I love them. They will forever be attached to any and all downfalls I may experience in life, but god knows it's worth it. Special shout out to this fine motha' fucka' right here. On a related note; stop hitting on my girlfriend just because she's reading The Ethical Slut. It doesn't mean she's going to automatically have sex with you, and if your creepy, possibly famous ass didn't stand a chance when she was single, what chance do you think you have against me? Here's a hint: my profile pictures isn't a picture of me, it's a picture of my penis in a shirt and tie.
Well, I've had a lot more birthdays on this site than I thought I would. It's already been two years since I
experienced astrologicaly activated super powers for a day during my first one here. I honestly thought I would have been zotted by now, but if there's one thing I've learned, it's that there's a difference between being annoying and being entertainingly annoying. If you don't understand what I'm talking about, try listing all the differences between me and Carrot Top, and at the end of the list, decide which one of us you'd rather have sex with. Most of you will have probably picked me, and that makes most of you totally gay. Haha! Hey everybody! Look at the homos!
Anyway, I guess I'll list a few things I'm thankful for, since I'm still alive and it continues to be a good thing.
- Fallout Boy: If any of you know anything about me, it's that I love crap. The more money that went into making it, the better. Enter this shit band. Their videos kick fucking ass and I bet my manginity that people will look at them ten years from now the same way we look at Cool as Ice. Their newest video is a short film about how awesome they are at hunting vampires. Also, one of them is a vampire, and I think he's hoping that his complex inner-struggle is going to make us want to do him. I'm really glad that they seem to have taken the video so seriously. It's as if they started a band simply as a way to showcase their vampire hunting abilities and terrible acting skills. If it was ironic, it would have sucked. But the fact that they apparently put so much of themselves into the characters' backgrounds and personalities makes it a special kind of failure.
- MMA (mixed martial arts): I'm really glad that after spending all day surrounded by people I want to punch and choke, I have a place to go where I actually get to punch and choke people. This and masturbation are the only things keeping me on the better side of the law. I'm also glad that the uninitiated think that the participants look like they're fucking. It keeps idiots from becoming involved in and subsequently ruining my sport. On a related note, I'm also thankful for the triangle choke. Nothing says "fuck you" like putting someone to sleep with mostly your crotch.
- My brothers: Never before has a family as a whole been so groomed to cock-block. We all have something different to offer, but rest assured, at least one of us has the potential to make any women forget that you ever existed. My military brother is visiting me for my birthday, so look out for news related to the east coast being rocked right the fuck off the continent.
- Hot women: I love them. They will forever be attached to any and all downfalls I may experience in life, but god knows it's worth it. Special shout out to this fine motha' fucka' right here. On a related note; stop hitting on my girlfriend just because she's reading The Ethical Slut. It doesn't mean she's going to automatically have sex with you, and if your creepy, possibly famous ass didn't stand a chance when she was single, what chance do you think you have against me? Here's a hint: my profile pictures isn't a picture of me, it's a picture of my penis in a shirt and tie.
Warning: The following update contains nothing but fighting
There seems to be a moral dilema permeating throughout the minds of NAGA competitors: Is an ultimately meaningless representation of one's true ability - such as a gold medal - worth the price of being a complete pussy?
If last weekend's tournament is any indication, the answer is a resounding "Are you fucking kidding me? Totally!"
In this particular tournament, the first place prize happened to be a samurai sword. My initial reaction to this news was thinking how equally hilarious and fucking rad it would be to win a samurai sword for anything non-ancient samurai warfare related. Apparently I wasn't the only one who thought this, because this tournament was host to not only the most competitors I've ever seen, but the most sandbaggers and weight cutters ever in the long history of shame.
Sandbagger: One who intentionally fights in a division far lower than the one they should be in for the path of least resistance to victory. The downside to this seemingly genius plan is the number of other sandbaggers, making the division they had hoped to dominate basically the division they would have been in had they registered honestly. This also means that competitors who did register according to their true skill level are robbed of their shot at a fair and spirited competition. This is also known as Super Downside II: Champion Edition.
Weight Cutters: Often working in tandem with sandbaggers, weight cutters are competitors who dehydrate themselves before weighing in, then re-hydrate back to their true weight before fighting. This weight advantage can be anywhere from 10 to 15 pounds more than the class they qualified for. To give you an idea as to how much of a difference that can make, here's a picture of me, a 155 pounder, and a picture of someone 10 to 15 pounds heavier than me. I shit you not that my opponenent looked exactly like that.
Considering these bullshit circumstances, I did extremely well. As an obvious wrestler, the guy was able to take me down pretty easily, but his ground game wasn't nearly as good as mine and spent most of the fight not being able to breathe. Unfortunately he ended up getting one more takedown and beat me by two points. I felt good about my performance, but I definitely could have used that sword to protect my village against the band of heartless mauraders that terrorize us daily.
On a related note, my coach TKOd his opponent during his first pro Mixed Martial Arts fight. The guy looked pretty fucking scary, but that didn't stop my coach from delivering the most savage beating a smaller, pudgier man can give without actually breaking any laws. Without sounding too shallow, it's pretty reassuring when the person you chose as a teacher is capable of administering that kind of a beat down.
There seems to be a moral dilema permeating throughout the minds of NAGA competitors: Is an ultimately meaningless representation of one's true ability - such as a gold medal - worth the price of being a complete pussy?
If last weekend's tournament is any indication, the answer is a resounding "Are you fucking kidding me? Totally!"
In this particular tournament, the first place prize happened to be a samurai sword. My initial reaction to this news was thinking how equally hilarious and fucking rad it would be to win a samurai sword for anything non-ancient samurai warfare related. Apparently I wasn't the only one who thought this, because this tournament was host to not only the most competitors I've ever seen, but the most sandbaggers and weight cutters ever in the long history of shame.
Sandbagger: One who intentionally fights in a division far lower than the one they should be in for the path of least resistance to victory. The downside to this seemingly genius plan is the number of other sandbaggers, making the division they had hoped to dominate basically the division they would have been in had they registered honestly. This also means that competitors who did register according to their true skill level are robbed of their shot at a fair and spirited competition. This is also known as Super Downside II: Champion Edition.
Weight Cutters: Often working in tandem with sandbaggers, weight cutters are competitors who dehydrate themselves before weighing in, then re-hydrate back to their true weight before fighting. This weight advantage can be anywhere from 10 to 15 pounds more than the class they qualified for. To give you an idea as to how much of a difference that can make, here's a picture of me, a 155 pounder, and a picture of someone 10 to 15 pounds heavier than me. I shit you not that my opponenent looked exactly like that.
Considering these bullshit circumstances, I did extremely well. As an obvious wrestler, the guy was able to take me down pretty easily, but his ground game wasn't nearly as good as mine and spent most of the fight not being able to breathe. Unfortunately he ended up getting one more takedown and beat me by two points. I felt good about my performance, but I definitely could have used that sword to protect my village against the band of heartless mauraders that terrorize us daily.
On a related note, my coach TKOd his opponent during his first pro Mixed Martial Arts fight. The guy looked pretty fucking scary, but that didn't stop my coach from delivering the most savage beating a smaller, pudgier man can give without actually breaking any laws. Without sounding too shallow, it's pretty reassuring when the person you chose as a teacher is capable of administering that kind of a beat down.
Do not be fooled by the uncharacteristic proximity between this update and my last one. This is merely an exercise in humility that will probably only satisfy the curiosity of anyone who has ever wondered what I would look like after a thorough ass-beating.
My only guess is that my Muay Thai opponent must have thought my face would errupt into a geyser of delicious candy if he pounded on it enough times. What he didn't realize is that my nose is my Hulk button. If you ever happen to be in the surrounding area when my nose gets hit, I apologize in advance for your destruction.
You should have seen the other guy! No, I'm serious. He probably looked pretty awesome while he was pulling whatever the hell it was that made my face look like this. On the plus side, you can tell by how fucked up the top of my head is that I was keeping my chin down like I was suppose to.
Anyway, as most of you probably already know, I had the pleasure of hosting three people that when combined, form a robot that makes you feel lost whenever you aren't making out with it. I am of course referring to mk700c, Dunx, and in what I can only imagine is an attempt to spoil me with her sexy presence, Al.
You like a de sexy boys, yes? They kiss for my amusement. I make them kiss for you.
As if your life didn't seem shitty enough already, it probably doesn't help to hear that I woke up in a bed with these two on either arm.
If you know me at all, you know I never pass up on an opportunity to hoist someone at least a foot taller than I am into the air. I think it's me unconsciously compensating for the fact that I only have a 13' dick.
My only guess is that my Muay Thai opponent must have thought my face would errupt into a geyser of delicious candy if he pounded on it enough times. What he didn't realize is that my nose is my Hulk button. If you ever happen to be in the surrounding area when my nose gets hit, I apologize in advance for your destruction.
You should have seen the other guy! No, I'm serious. He probably looked pretty awesome while he was pulling whatever the hell it was that made my face look like this. On the plus side, you can tell by how fucked up the top of my head is that I was keeping my chin down like I was suppose to.
Anyway, as most of you probably already know, I had the pleasure of hosting three people that when combined, form a robot that makes you feel lost whenever you aren't making out with it. I am of course referring to mk700c, Dunx, and in what I can only imagine is an attempt to spoil me with her sexy presence, Al.
You like a de sexy boys, yes? They kiss for my amusement. I make them kiss for you.
As if your life didn't seem shitty enough already, it probably doesn't help to hear that I woke up in a bed with these two on either arm.
If you know me at all, you know I never pass up on an opportunity to hoist someone at least a foot taller than I am into the air. I think it's me unconsciously compensating for the fact that I only have a 13' dick.
The new year has come and gone, and clearly the only resolution I've made is to update even less. Despite several close calls involving the update button, I thinks it's safe to assume that I've stayed true to my vow. I can proudly say that most of you probably have no fucking clue what I've been up to, or possibly even who I am. In case you have, in fact, forgotten who I am, allow me to remind you. I'm right behind you!
Anyway, if any of you thought that I haven't been spending my time locked in a deadly game of cat and mouse with the world's craziest super-scientists, then you're a dick. I guess I have no proof to support my claim other than the fact that you're still standing on an un-exploded Earth.
But my non-super hero work has been pretty fun. We've hired a couple of news anchors to help us with Shaved TV. One of them is a guy named Blitz Howitzer.
Here's Blitz, the work-release intern and soon to be news anchor at Shaved TV, slowly and sexily introducing himself to society.
On a down note, terrorism on American soil has become less and less likely over the last year, despite our government's incessant claims that it was definitely going to happen again. This unfortunate turn of events has left me with at least one completely useless deadly fighting style. For historical purposes, here are some photos of me honing my American pride right before I headed to the freedom outlets to stock up on American flag everything.
This guy is about to learn that the right amount of pressure, combined with my crotch, can make anything possible. Including shattered bones.
All I have to say about this picture is that someone who didn't know me looked at it and said "That guy looks mean!" That person is now chairmen of No Shit Enterprises.
To make up for last year's lack of terror for me to beat up, I had the good fortune of meeting a sexy little dame. Not only is she totally great, she thinks I'm funny, which is a surprisingly rare trait in modern women. The other great thing is that she thought I was actually half black for like, 3/4 of our relationship. She knew my dad wasn't my biological father, but she just assumed that my real dad was another black guy. The fact that she didn't know reflects very well on me if you know what I'm sayin'! I think you do.
To quote her on one particularly magical evening, "People want to BE us!"
It's true.
Anyway, if any of you thought that I haven't been spending my time locked in a deadly game of cat and mouse with the world's craziest super-scientists, then you're a dick. I guess I have no proof to support my claim other than the fact that you're still standing on an un-exploded Earth.
But my non-super hero work has been pretty fun. We've hired a couple of news anchors to help us with Shaved TV. One of them is a guy named Blitz Howitzer.
Here's Blitz, the work-release intern and soon to be news anchor at Shaved TV, slowly and sexily introducing himself to society.
On a down note, terrorism on American soil has become less and less likely over the last year, despite our government's incessant claims that it was definitely going to happen again. This unfortunate turn of events has left me with at least one completely useless deadly fighting style. For historical purposes, here are some photos of me honing my American pride right before I headed to the freedom outlets to stock up on American flag everything.
This guy is about to learn that the right amount of pressure, combined with my crotch, can make anything possible. Including shattered bones.
All I have to say about this picture is that someone who didn't know me looked at it and said "That guy looks mean!" That person is now chairmen of No Shit Enterprises.
To make up for last year's lack of terror for me to beat up, I had the good fortune of meeting a sexy little dame. Not only is she totally great, she thinks I'm funny, which is a surprisingly rare trait in modern women. The other great thing is that she thought I was actually half black for like, 3/4 of our relationship. She knew my dad wasn't my biological father, but she just assumed that my real dad was another black guy. The fact that she didn't know reflects very well on me if you know what I'm sayin'! I think you do.
To quote her on one particularly magical evening, "People want to BE us!"
It's true.
Z and Order: Special Crime Scene Rape Prevention Astronauts
Last month's all new episode of my life featured the usual amount of adventure, surprise twists, and plenty of celebrity guest appearances. Although most die-hard fans will agree that I totally jumped the shark that time I solved the case of the haunted carnival with help from the of ghost of Pamela Anderson's first breast implants.
Thanksgiving was an empty bottle of wine laden good time, thanks to the tremendous culinary efforts of waxangel. The way his tiny oven continuously produced one amazing dish after another convinced me that the same company that makes clown cars designed his kitchen. Also, his living room's awkwardly sloping floors actually ended up being a stroke of architectural genius as I sat on the low end of his table and simply let the food slide into my mouth. On a more shameful note, I'm sorry, Wax, but your Mom is hot and I intentionally sabotaged the seating so that she ended up next to me. I was later punished for my impure thoughts by having the skin blasted from my skeleton by sudden and deadly Thanksgiving Day winds. At least the evening was punctuated by a viewing of straight to TV's Return of the Living Dead: Rave to the Grave. I would have been devastated had no one in the movie actually said "rave to the grave". Good thing they did five minutes after we started watching it.
Next up was a visit from Al, who is by far the sexiest person named Al ever. I decided that she only came to New York to catch up on some sleep, because it was either that or face the awful fact that I'm dangerously boring. The funniest moment of the visit was when we came home from a night of drinking to a seemingly empty apartment. We soon discovered that my brother was actually home, but not before Al vocally expressed what we both suspected: "Damn! It smells like refer in here!" It was funnier after I stopped wanting to kill my brother for breaking my rules against doing that hippy bullshit in my house...again. Shortly after Al returned home, secure in the knowledge that I could beat her ass at will in Def Jam: Fight for New York.
The next visitor to attempt the destruction of my liver was American Idol runner-up mk700c. Our unique comedic stylings instantly began an elaborate dance that must have seemed pre-scripted to anyone who fell in its path. My only regrets from that weekend were as follows:
1. I wasn't attacked by mystical kung-fu gangs in Chinatown for the first time ever, depriving mk and I a chance to stand back to back and deliver quips while fending off magic.
2. We didn't have any kind of recording device when a young African-American male hobbled by us while desperately clutching his asshole and yelling "I gotta take a shit!" to the friends who were no doubt trying to pretend he wasn't talking to them.
Also, I apologize to girlie for not recognizing you right away at the gym. It took me a moment to realize that the chipper makeup artist I thought I knew was the same indestructible terminator standing before me.
Last month's all new episode of my life featured the usual amount of adventure, surprise twists, and plenty of celebrity guest appearances. Although most die-hard fans will agree that I totally jumped the shark that time I solved the case of the haunted carnival with help from the of ghost of Pamela Anderson's first breast implants.
Thanksgiving was an empty bottle of wine laden good time, thanks to the tremendous culinary efforts of waxangel. The way his tiny oven continuously produced one amazing dish after another convinced me that the same company that makes clown cars designed his kitchen. Also, his living room's awkwardly sloping floors actually ended up being a stroke of architectural genius as I sat on the low end of his table and simply let the food slide into my mouth. On a more shameful note, I'm sorry, Wax, but your Mom is hot and I intentionally sabotaged the seating so that she ended up next to me. I was later punished for my impure thoughts by having the skin blasted from my skeleton by sudden and deadly Thanksgiving Day winds. At least the evening was punctuated by a viewing of straight to TV's Return of the Living Dead: Rave to the Grave. I would have been devastated had no one in the movie actually said "rave to the grave". Good thing they did five minutes after we started watching it.
Next up was a visit from Al, who is by far the sexiest person named Al ever. I decided that she only came to New York to catch up on some sleep, because it was either that or face the awful fact that I'm dangerously boring. The funniest moment of the visit was when we came home from a night of drinking to a seemingly empty apartment. We soon discovered that my brother was actually home, but not before Al vocally expressed what we both suspected: "Damn! It smells like refer in here!" It was funnier after I stopped wanting to kill my brother for breaking my rules against doing that hippy bullshit in my house...again. Shortly after Al returned home, secure in the knowledge that I could beat her ass at will in Def Jam: Fight for New York.
The next visitor to attempt the destruction of my liver was American Idol runner-up mk700c. Our unique comedic stylings instantly began an elaborate dance that must have seemed pre-scripted to anyone who fell in its path. My only regrets from that weekend were as follows:
1. I wasn't attacked by mystical kung-fu gangs in Chinatown for the first time ever, depriving mk and I a chance to stand back to back and deliver quips while fending off magic.
2. We didn't have any kind of recording device when a young African-American male hobbled by us while desperately clutching his asshole and yelling "I gotta take a shit!" to the friends who were no doubt trying to pretend he wasn't talking to them.
Also, I apologize to girlie for not recognizing you right away at the gym. It took me a moment to realize that the chipper makeup artist I thought I knew was the same indestructible terminator standing before me.
If love were gauged by journal entry frequency, not only would it mean that I completely hate all of you, it would also mean that I chained you in my basement and forgot about you until the day I tripped over your bones while looking through my old comic book collection. As it turns out, love isn't gauged that way, and I still love almost every single one of you. Also, if that's how humans measured love, expressing my feelings for you through dance would be rendered completely meaningless, and that would be a waste of my hot naked body and matching bow tie.
If you're looking for a reason beyond "the internet is stupid" to explain where I've been, then I'm sorry to disappoint you. But if you feel that you need more closure, I guess I can throw in a little "Well, there's this hot girl...oh, and Soul Calibur III is pretty awesome, except for the lack of a team battle mode." Regarding the latter point, luna, waxangel, I'm going to guard break you both until you're left with no other option than to attack me in real life in order to make up for your inadequate video gaming.
In more me related news, Shaved TV for The Shaved Report is going to be a reality very soon. Since that's an admittedly vague release date, I'll narrow it down a bit more: You'll hear my seductive voice delivering jokes on your computer before the next time you get laid. This also explains my new hard hitting profile picture. If that's not the face of someone who is ready to bring you the news at any cost, break your funny bone into several pieces, and fuck your girlfriend, then I don't know what is. So keep checking the video section in the hopes of seeing more than my shit-eating grin. Additionally, if you need to know what's going to set us apart from other new parodies, fucking check this:
Halloween was equal parts awesome and a bust. I began growing a beard in anticipation of
my costume, but as the date drew closer, I realized I had no desire to party on Monday, the hardest day of my week. With no weekend plans to speak of, I scrapped the costume, but kept the inexplicably sexy beard for continued experimentation in the field of hot women touching my face. Basically I just wanted to put the following pictures into the proper frame of reference.
Feeling immediately alienated at a costume kareoke party for my lack of a costume, I donned a hilariously large football comentator's headset and made a desperate plea for friends.
I was then welcomed by Princess Leah and Carl from Aqua Teen Hunger Force despite our costume related differences.
But they soon realized their fatal mistake when I sacrificed Carl's balls in the name of treachery.
...and stole Princess Leah's phaser to help aid my quest to steal all of their hot chicks.
After my unmatchable rendition of MC Hammer's U Can't Touch This, I realized that I didn't even need a phaser to find the hot chicks. They came to me.
I then spent the rest of the night with said hot chick in several adorable poses brought to you by no less than totally drunk.
If you're looking for a reason beyond "the internet is stupid" to explain where I've been, then I'm sorry to disappoint you. But if you feel that you need more closure, I guess I can throw in a little "Well, there's this hot girl...oh, and Soul Calibur III is pretty awesome, except for the lack of a team battle mode." Regarding the latter point, luna, waxangel, I'm going to guard break you both until you're left with no other option than to attack me in real life in order to make up for your inadequate video gaming.
In more me related news, Shaved TV for The Shaved Report is going to be a reality very soon. Since that's an admittedly vague release date, I'll narrow it down a bit more: You'll hear my seductive voice delivering jokes on your computer before the next time you get laid. This also explains my new hard hitting profile picture. If that's not the face of someone who is ready to bring you the news at any cost, break your funny bone into several pieces, and fuck your girlfriend, then I don't know what is. So keep checking the video section in the hopes of seeing more than my shit-eating grin. Additionally, if you need to know what's going to set us apart from other new parodies, fucking check this:
Halloween was equal parts awesome and a bust. I began growing a beard in anticipation of
my costume, but as the date drew closer, I realized I had no desire to party on Monday, the hardest day of my week. With no weekend plans to speak of, I scrapped the costume, but kept the inexplicably sexy beard for continued experimentation in the field of hot women touching my face. Basically I just wanted to put the following pictures into the proper frame of reference.
Feeling immediately alienated at a costume kareoke party for my lack of a costume, I donned a hilariously large football comentator's headset and made a desperate plea for friends.
I was then welcomed by Princess Leah and Carl from Aqua Teen Hunger Force despite our costume related differences.
But they soon realized their fatal mistake when I sacrificed Carl's balls in the name of treachery.
...and stole Princess Leah's phaser to help aid my quest to steal all of their hot chicks.
After my unmatchable rendition of MC Hammer's U Can't Touch This, I realized that I didn't even need a phaser to find the hot chicks. They came to me.
I then spent the rest of the night with said hot chick in several adorable poses brought to you by no less than totally drunk.
Last Weekend IV: Dongaggedon
If there's one thing that I'll always have throughout the course of my life, it's that nothing can take the last couple of weekends away from me. Well, I'll have that in addition to the fact that I probably fathered more than half of you.
Two weekends ago was my first taste of being retired. Not regular retired, where I bitch about my social security while handing out that shitty black and orange wrapped butterscotch candy on Halloween. I'm talking about fantastically retired, where the most important decision I make all day is whether or not I should pop the collar on my tiel polo shirt.
I accepted a gracious invitaion from an impossibly hot girl to spend the weekend in not-Boston, MA, which was almost ruined by the sudden wrath of my high-protien diet. Luckily, it only ended up ruining the drive there, as I spent the remainder of the journey locked in deep mental combat with my ledgendary bowels. After destroying my body's urge to explode itself with my superior concentration, I was ready to increase my proficiency in the forbidden art of chillin'.
Upon arriving at our destination, rumors regarding me sleeping in a different room than the aformentioned hot girl were almost immediately confirmed by a non-hot girl filled aero bed. I resisted the urge to tell our hosts that as someone who is almost thirty years old and has already been through one divorce, I had no desire to be treated like a shifty teenager. I instead opted to act like a shifty teenager and sneak into her room, because getting freaky while worrying about getting caught is a turn-on I haven't experienced since my primary mode of transportation was "skateboard".
The rest of the weekend can be summed up with the following observations:
- Everything in the world becomes completely irrelevant once you begin chilling. Watching the news without using the words "fuck this shit" was almost impossible.
- Spending a weekend not wearing socks and barely wearing shirts is something I now enjoy slightly more than I enjoyed impregnating your mothers with you.
- Being able to wake up and walk to a beach ten minutes away is something I'd like to add to my everyday life. Muay Thai fighting a beautiful woman in the ocean is just gravy.
- Watching Ultimate Fighting with two sexy women while playing Monopoly is oddly better than anything any of you will probbaly ever do, even if one of you manages to solve world hunger or something boring like that.
- Having sex in an outdoor shower gives me an unshakable erection.
The following weekend, while undeniably awesome, was at an obvious disadvantage against its older, more awesome brother. The party started on Friday night with a birthday party for the editor-in-chief of The Shaved Report. After the requisite amount of dry-humping, I moved the party with the help of waxangel and luna to a place where we could play a little game called Get Beat by Zak at Motha' Fuckin' Everything. Not only did I cream them in video game fighting and a brief session of real fighting, I also found my glasses on the sidewalk twenty minutes after a failed attempt to throw me into an open fire hydrant. Not only did it take me about two minutes to find them after I realized they were no longer in my pocket, but I found them on the streets of New York...at night...while completely drunk ass. If that doesn't put the cherry on the I'm Awesome cream pie, nothing does.
I also regret to inform your jealousy that I'm hot, and 67% of it has to do with the hot girl being contained by my grasp in the following picture.
Mind the link on your way out.
If there's one thing that I'll always have throughout the course of my life, it's that nothing can take the last couple of weekends away from me. Well, I'll have that in addition to the fact that I probably fathered more than half of you.
Two weekends ago was my first taste of being retired. Not regular retired, where I bitch about my social security while handing out that shitty black and orange wrapped butterscotch candy on Halloween. I'm talking about fantastically retired, where the most important decision I make all day is whether or not I should pop the collar on my tiel polo shirt.
I accepted a gracious invitaion from an impossibly hot girl to spend the weekend in not-Boston, MA, which was almost ruined by the sudden wrath of my high-protien diet. Luckily, it only ended up ruining the drive there, as I spent the remainder of the journey locked in deep mental combat with my ledgendary bowels. After destroying my body's urge to explode itself with my superior concentration, I was ready to increase my proficiency in the forbidden art of chillin'.
Upon arriving at our destination, rumors regarding me sleeping in a different room than the aformentioned hot girl were almost immediately confirmed by a non-hot girl filled aero bed. I resisted the urge to tell our hosts that as someone who is almost thirty years old and has already been through one divorce, I had no desire to be treated like a shifty teenager. I instead opted to act like a shifty teenager and sneak into her room, because getting freaky while worrying about getting caught is a turn-on I haven't experienced since my primary mode of transportation was "skateboard".
The rest of the weekend can be summed up with the following observations:
- Everything in the world becomes completely irrelevant once you begin chilling. Watching the news without using the words "fuck this shit" was almost impossible.
- Spending a weekend not wearing socks and barely wearing shirts is something I now enjoy slightly more than I enjoyed impregnating your mothers with you.
- Being able to wake up and walk to a beach ten minutes away is something I'd like to add to my everyday life. Muay Thai fighting a beautiful woman in the ocean is just gravy.
- Watching Ultimate Fighting with two sexy women while playing Monopoly is oddly better than anything any of you will probbaly ever do, even if one of you manages to solve world hunger or something boring like that.
- Having sex in an outdoor shower gives me an unshakable erection.
The following weekend, while undeniably awesome, was at an obvious disadvantage against its older, more awesome brother. The party started on Friday night with a birthday party for the editor-in-chief of The Shaved Report. After the requisite amount of dry-humping, I moved the party with the help of waxangel and luna to a place where we could play a little game called Get Beat by Zak at Motha' Fuckin' Everything. Not only did I cream them in video game fighting and a brief session of real fighting, I also found my glasses on the sidewalk twenty minutes after a failed attempt to throw me into an open fire hydrant. Not only did it take me about two minutes to find them after I realized they were no longer in my pocket, but I found them on the streets of New York...at night...while completely drunk ass. If that doesn't put the cherry on the I'm Awesome cream pie, nothing does.
I also regret to inform your jealousy that I'm hot, and 67% of it has to do with the hot girl being contained by my grasp in the following picture.
Mind the link on your way out.
