An eventful day, for once. I went to the Michael Moore rally at Youngstown State and it was fucking jammed. Easily over 1,000 people, but YSU has a small enough campus that you could barely move inside Kilcawley or even outside where they had a projector and some speakers set up. I arrived 15 minutes before it was scheduled to start (and 45 minutes before it started) and I still couldnt get a seat in the main room. I went into it with the crazy notion of grabbing Moore after his speech and introducing myself as an interviewer for SuicideGirls (hey, not a lie if I managed to land the interview, and its not like he doesnt employ the same tactics in every single movie he makes), but he was apparently bound for Florida. I didnt even get to hear more than a few snippets of his speech thanks to sitting outside, focusing on writing up my questions, running into an old schoolmate, making fun of the four guys who showed up just to hold up Bush/Cheney signs, etc., but it seemed to be pretty standard, Bush sucks, Kerry sucks less rhetoric. I hope I get to meet the man someday, as I consider him one of my idols as well as one of the last true patriots left.
I decided to check up with my lone client, but when youre a good consultant for a small company, things run pretty smoothly for loooong stretches of time. I also checked, as I periodically do, to see if I had a shot at becoming a real estate mogul, but the paperwork for the people ahead of me is still being processed.
Determined not to let the day turn into a total bust, I decided to wander into YSUs gallery of modern art for a chuckle. I encountered one hilariously pathetic exhibit, one boring and unimaginative exhibit, a pretty, mathematically interesting, and ultimately frivolous progression, a collection of decent surrealism, an uninspired application of an ingenious artistic mechanism, two gentlemen playing exquisite, wistful piano pieces for one anothers enjoyment, and one exhibit that blew my fucking mind. Trying to explain it would be like trying to retell an entire sitcom over the water cooler to someone who had missed it, so I wont. I will share this insight, however: Trying to wrest any amount of cynical enjoyment from modern art without a companion is just about the loneliest activity possible. I experienced a dreadful pang of isolation and depression, brought on not only by some unresolved trouble with my closest friends, but also by my continuing inability to find a pretty girl who can nitpick art with the best of them. And those magnificent bastards playing the piano didnt help.
Consumerism to the rescue! I stopped by the smoke shop on the way home for some cloves and a copy of FHM; usually, my reaction to the vast majority of magazines is the sort of loathing reserved for Jerry Bruckheimer and reality television, but when you manage to include pictures of Morgan Webb wearing next to nothing, Ill pay whatever youre asking with a big, fat smile on my face. Call my taste in women strange if you must, but for a variety of reasons I wont go into shes the only person in the world Id rather have in my bed than a SuicideGirl. Any Morgan fans in the audience, represent I want to know if Id be the only one around who would be interested in a Morgan Webb/X-Play group.
Even hotass pictures of my most dire crush werent quite enough to really cheer me up, but I decided to see if my $10 copy of Knights of the Old Republic was in, and the nice guy unloading the truck at Circuit City managed to locate one in the hideously unorganized crates in the back room (have you ever taken a peek back there? Im not a thief by nature, but seeing several dozen plasma TVs sitting in a row makes me want to reconsider that instinct). I am all about playing last years Game of the Year for ten freakin dollars, and the fact that its a Star Wars game seems to be enough to fully distract me from my insufferable existence. Im just wondering how long its going to take to get lured to the Dark SideIm thinking the first time a Jawa runs off with the keys to my landspeeder the little bastard is getting some Force lightning in the back. Screenshots might be necessary.
So, to recap, Im a dork, Morgan Webb is waaay too hot, Michael Moore should be running for President instead of the mooks weve got, I need to get laid before Im completely submerged by a rising tide of cynicism and self-loathing, and if Im largely absent from the site for a few days its because Im chopping some motherfuckers up with my lightsaber. May the Force be up your ass, beoytch!! *BZZZZZT!*
I decided to check up with my lone client, but when youre a good consultant for a small company, things run pretty smoothly for loooong stretches of time. I also checked, as I periodically do, to see if I had a shot at becoming a real estate mogul, but the paperwork for the people ahead of me is still being processed.
Determined not to let the day turn into a total bust, I decided to wander into YSUs gallery of modern art for a chuckle. I encountered one hilariously pathetic exhibit, one boring and unimaginative exhibit, a pretty, mathematically interesting, and ultimately frivolous progression, a collection of decent surrealism, an uninspired application of an ingenious artistic mechanism, two gentlemen playing exquisite, wistful piano pieces for one anothers enjoyment, and one exhibit that blew my fucking mind. Trying to explain it would be like trying to retell an entire sitcom over the water cooler to someone who had missed it, so I wont. I will share this insight, however: Trying to wrest any amount of cynical enjoyment from modern art without a companion is just about the loneliest activity possible. I experienced a dreadful pang of isolation and depression, brought on not only by some unresolved trouble with my closest friends, but also by my continuing inability to find a pretty girl who can nitpick art with the best of them. And those magnificent bastards playing the piano didnt help.
Consumerism to the rescue! I stopped by the smoke shop on the way home for some cloves and a copy of FHM; usually, my reaction to the vast majority of magazines is the sort of loathing reserved for Jerry Bruckheimer and reality television, but when you manage to include pictures of Morgan Webb wearing next to nothing, Ill pay whatever youre asking with a big, fat smile on my face. Call my taste in women strange if you must, but for a variety of reasons I wont go into shes the only person in the world Id rather have in my bed than a SuicideGirl. Any Morgan fans in the audience, represent I want to know if Id be the only one around who would be interested in a Morgan Webb/X-Play group.
Even hotass pictures of my most dire crush werent quite enough to really cheer me up, but I decided to see if my $10 copy of Knights of the Old Republic was in, and the nice guy unloading the truck at Circuit City managed to locate one in the hideously unorganized crates in the back room (have you ever taken a peek back there? Im not a thief by nature, but seeing several dozen plasma TVs sitting in a row makes me want to reconsider that instinct). I am all about playing last years Game of the Year for ten freakin dollars, and the fact that its a Star Wars game seems to be enough to fully distract me from my insufferable existence. Im just wondering how long its going to take to get lured to the Dark SideIm thinking the first time a Jawa runs off with the keys to my landspeeder the little bastard is getting some Force lightning in the back. Screenshots might be necessary.
So, to recap, Im a dork, Morgan Webb is waaay too hot, Michael Moore should be running for President instead of the mooks weve got, I need to get laid before Im completely submerged by a rising tide of cynicism and self-loathing, and if Im largely absent from the site for a few days its because Im chopping some motherfuckers up with my lightsaber. May the Force be up your ass, beoytch!! *BZZZZZT!*
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my favoritest friend-boy used to let me paint his toenails. usually only when he was drunk though. it was funny to see him look at his feet the next day and not remember me painting them.
"what the fuck? why are my toenails orange?"
They think theyre hot shit in a champagne glass, but theyre actually cold diarrhea in a Dixie Cup!