This is it folks. The moment you've all been waiting for. That's right... Steve's updating his journal. Dun dun dunnnnn!
I actually have some reservations about this one. My last journal had 62 comments in 3 days. I'm pretty sure that's a record for me! I feel so special, and I owe it all to you, my interweb-friends. But, it's time to add a new one. I have so much pointless, boring shit to report, that I couldn't put it off any longer. Plus, I'm board as hell.
Ok, so news then, right? Well, as I mentioned, I cut about a dozen people from the list. If you're reading this, then it wasn't you, because the people I cut don't ever read this, and don't respond to my posts. Which raises the question, "Why request somebody, if you feel no desire, whatsoever, to converse with them?" And we'll figure out the answer to that one shorty after "god" reveils his ultimate plan. More cuts, still to come, but I'm giving the people I like a litlle time to realize the error of their ways.
Our next top story, 2 day ago, I posed the question, "Is Steve hot, or is he not?" Inquiring minds wanted to know, and now they'll get their answer. You guessed it, Steve is not.
Heheh, robo face. Anyways... It's a dark day for the little lady who wishes to someday brag about hooking Hot Steve... Because Hot Steve does not exist. Actually, I'm sure that many Hot Steves do exist, they just aren't me. What's even worse, is that I'm not even ugly enough for it to be usefull. Now, if I had scored a 1 or a 2... then that would be usefull. I could have taken up every guys boyhood dream of becoming a masked avenger. The real avenging would begin when I cornered a criminal, and removed the mask, sending them into a catatonic state of shock. Like a Medusa, with facial hair... and the snakes would just be for show.
Rounding out our top stories, is New England. Oh how I miss New England. I miss Boston. I miss the Bruins. I miss Fenway Park. I miss bars you can call a pub without getting funny looks. And I might be going back. I don' want to get my hopes up here, but despite what I don't want, my hopes have gone behind my back and gotten themselves up. A company saw my resume online, and offered me an interview. If the interview goes well, I could be the head lab guy at a veterinary hospital outside of Boston, and they'll pay for me to move. At first I was hesitant, because the move would more or less ruin my chances of a writing career... But then I started to think.... You know... I hate my writing. I don't know why I let people convince me that it was good. When I do carpentry, or medical crap, or even PA work, I can look at it and say, "damn, I kicked ass at that." But whenever I read what I've written, I want to kick the crap out of myself. I'll even reread this journal entry and wonder why I didn't have to wear a special helmet in school. I hate my writting. It sucks donkey ass. And not in that special, "You've been a good donkey," sort of way... Moreso in that, "Shit, I hate loosing bets," way... where even the donkey is upset. I think the problem is that my friends and family are just too nice. They all do that mom thing of, "Oh, you look so handsome in that sweater your half blind, senial great-granmother knit for you out of pocket lint and dental floss." I need to make more asshole friends. Asshole friends are the wave of the future. So... that bigass paragraph basically boils down too, "Maybe Boston?"
Ahhh, and the current events. I sold my best DVD's yesterday, because I was in desperat need of a haircut and clean laundry before my interviews. With the spare change, I was able to hook up a bit of SGLA karaoke night. It was great. I met a few new people, and got to know some others better. 3 or 4 more of these and who knows.... maybe I'll come out of my shell. Anything is possible. Especially if there's booze involved. I would have been much better off if I'd thought to start drinking before hand. People like me when I'm drunk
. Just so long as I'm not too drunk 
. But, the evening was still great. I carpooled over with buttonbuttonand bloodandtits, got to see what buttonbutton would do if she could turn back time , was coaxed into doing Queen- Bohemian Rahpsody by HeXeK and SHARK, (I think I was Garth on that one, but I did him no justice), Roxy hit up the Funky Cold Medina, I swapped military anecdotes with HeXeK and WhoDoVoodooWeDo, and creepyfunkysexxy song guy brought on the funk... the creepysexxy funk. It was sweet.
And I just now ate some gouda cheese with mold on it. Seriosly. I've been eating it since the line about getting drunk, but not too drunk. Then I finished off the paragraph, looked down, and saw some nice big mold patches, winking at me in that manner that says, "Do you feel the regret building up inside." Best not to dwell on it. I'm just going to finish typing... go brush my teeth... twice... and store that memory in the dark regions of my mind. The place where I keep memories of the clothes I wore as a child... bets I was foolish enough to loose involving donkeys and ass sucking... and that night we got too drunk, and woke up naked with vaseline where it shouldn't have been. Fuck. Did I just type all of that out loud? I sure as hell hope not.
Later people.
Steve the Pirate
*****************************
UPDATE!!!!
Please read Fractal's journal entry!!!
Anything we can do to help would be awesome.
Get with Fractal or Trilobyte if you'd like any more information on the events.
I actually have some reservations about this one. My last journal had 62 comments in 3 days. I'm pretty sure that's a record for me! I feel so special, and I owe it all to you, my interweb-friends. But, it's time to add a new one. I have so much pointless, boring shit to report, that I couldn't put it off any longer. Plus, I'm board as hell.
Ok, so news then, right? Well, as I mentioned, I cut about a dozen people from the list. If you're reading this, then it wasn't you, because the people I cut don't ever read this, and don't respond to my posts. Which raises the question, "Why request somebody, if you feel no desire, whatsoever, to converse with them?" And we'll figure out the answer to that one shorty after "god" reveils his ultimate plan. More cuts, still to come, but I'm giving the people I like a litlle time to realize the error of their ways.
Our next top story, 2 day ago, I posed the question, "Is Steve hot, or is he not?" Inquiring minds wanted to know, and now they'll get their answer. You guessed it, Steve is not.
Heheh, robo face. Anyways... It's a dark day for the little lady who wishes to someday brag about hooking Hot Steve... Because Hot Steve does not exist. Actually, I'm sure that many Hot Steves do exist, they just aren't me. What's even worse, is that I'm not even ugly enough for it to be usefull. Now, if I had scored a 1 or a 2... then that would be usefull. I could have taken up every guys boyhood dream of becoming a masked avenger. The real avenging would begin when I cornered a criminal, and removed the mask, sending them into a catatonic state of shock. Like a Medusa, with facial hair... and the snakes would just be for show.
Rounding out our top stories, is New England. Oh how I miss New England. I miss Boston. I miss the Bruins. I miss Fenway Park. I miss bars you can call a pub without getting funny looks. And I might be going back. I don' want to get my hopes up here, but despite what I don't want, my hopes have gone behind my back and gotten themselves up. A company saw my resume online, and offered me an interview. If the interview goes well, I could be the head lab guy at a veterinary hospital outside of Boston, and they'll pay for me to move. At first I was hesitant, because the move would more or less ruin my chances of a writing career... But then I started to think.... You know... I hate my writing. I don't know why I let people convince me that it was good. When I do carpentry, or medical crap, or even PA work, I can look at it and say, "damn, I kicked ass at that." But whenever I read what I've written, I want to kick the crap out of myself. I'll even reread this journal entry and wonder why I didn't have to wear a special helmet in school. I hate my writting. It sucks donkey ass. And not in that special, "You've been a good donkey," sort of way... Moreso in that, "Shit, I hate loosing bets," way... where even the donkey is upset. I think the problem is that my friends and family are just too nice. They all do that mom thing of, "Oh, you look so handsome in that sweater your half blind, senial great-granmother knit for you out of pocket lint and dental floss." I need to make more asshole friends. Asshole friends are the wave of the future. So... that bigass paragraph basically boils down too, "Maybe Boston?"
Ahhh, and the current events. I sold my best DVD's yesterday, because I was in desperat need of a haircut and clean laundry before my interviews. With the spare change, I was able to hook up a bit of SGLA karaoke night. It was great. I met a few new people, and got to know some others better. 3 or 4 more of these and who knows.... maybe I'll come out of my shell. Anything is possible. Especially if there's booze involved. I would have been much better off if I'd thought to start drinking before hand. People like me when I'm drunk
. Just so long as I'm not too drunk . But, the evening was still great. I carpooled over with buttonbuttonand bloodandtits, got to see what buttonbutton would do if she could turn back time , was coaxed into doing Queen- Bohemian Rahpsody by HeXeK and SHARK, (I think I was Garth on that one, but I did him no justice), Roxy hit up the Funky Cold Medina, I swapped military anecdotes with HeXeK and WhoDoVoodooWeDo, and creepyfunkysexxy song guy brought on the funk... the creepysexxy funk. It was sweet.
And I just now ate some gouda cheese with mold on it. Seriosly. I've been eating it since the line about getting drunk, but not too drunk. Then I finished off the paragraph, looked down, and saw some nice big mold patches, winking at me in that manner that says, "Do you feel the regret building up inside." Best not to dwell on it. I'm just going to finish typing... go brush my teeth... twice... and store that memory in the dark regions of my mind. The place where I keep memories of the clothes I wore as a child... bets I was foolish enough to loose involving donkeys and ass sucking... and that night we got too drunk, and woke up naked with vaseline where it shouldn't have been. Fuck. Did I just type all of that out loud? I sure as hell hope not.
Later people.
Steve the Pirate
*****************************
UPDATE!!!!
Please read Fractal's journal entry!!!
Anything we can do to help would be awesome.
Get with Fractal or Trilobyte if you'd like any more information on the events.
VIEW 26 of 26 COMMENTS
answers to questions
1) most ashamed of: I beat a kid so bad in the 4th grade that he was sent home for 2 days. I only did it because he was hassling a kid who paid me a quarter to protect him. I haven't been in a fight since.
2) secret purpose in life: To someday make a living by standing on a corner in LA, breakdancing in a pirate suit.
3) favorite cheese: a good Edam will have me on the ground.