All right, I've got a lot of news to unload on your oh so fuckable faces, so I'm going to need your help. Basically all I need you to do is hold on tight and pray to whatever it is you love most that your mind doesn't blow out the back of your god damn head. Okay, it probably won't do that to you, but some news is better than no news, which, apart from recounting tales of my knockout kissing abilities, is exactly what I've left you with these last couple of weeks.
First of all, The Shaved Report is back in case you haven't seen yet. There's all kinds of new toys to play with, like polls, comics, and *shudder* blogs. I really fucking hate that word. I wanted to call that section editorials, but the editor hates that word more than I hate blogs, and he runs the site. I proposed some sort of cool amalgam, like raditorials, but the jury is still out on that one. Probably out huffing paint, because only a brain damaged jury would need to take any time approving that heading. In the meantime, the archives are still down, so the only way to check older articles is to browse through all the sections the ancient way: manually.
Next up, the tournament I've been training for is taking place this Saturday. My training regimen looks like what would happen if you replaced all the villains from every Rocky movie with sharkmen, cranked the film speed all the way up to Benny Hill, then chucked a bucket of puke on the whole thing. Our language won't have a word to describe something like that for another 700 years, so I'll go ahead and make one up right now: booyacular. I'm hoping to have someone there to video tape the whole mess, so win or lose, you'll hopefully get a show. Although I'm fairly certain that fans of comedy won't deny the hilarious prospects of me losing totally hard.
The last few weeks of my life have been pretty rad for someone that regularly lists "being rad" as one of the things they're good at. For those of you keeping a tab on all the things I'm good at, being rad comes right after "turning your mom into the cock goddess she's always dreamed of becoming while your girlfriend slaps my balls". Apart from getting my ass kicked and then writing about getting my ass kicked, last weekend in particular knew how to bring it. It had been awhile since I'd been out, so verandi softened me up with the finest wheat based lasagna I've ever had. To be fair, it was the only wheat based lasagna I've ever had, but I can say without question that it set the standard. I also have the extreme pleasure of being her guide through the wonderful word of movies she's never seen, which can roughly be summed up as "all of them". We started off with Team America because not only do I have a romantic bone somewhere in my body, but my entire skeleton is composed of romantic bones. God help your girlfriends should it ever escape from its slightly average prison.
The next morning, I hit the gym for some extra jiu-jitsu training, proving once and for all that I can get destroyed on no sleep with no food in my stomach just as easily as I can with a fully rested body. To all you haters out there than didn't think I could do it: In your gay-ass face!
Saturday we tried to show the visiting lil_tuffy a good time, and most of that involved furious dance moves played out in front of a wide-screen projection of Transformers: The Movie. In other words: success has never known better allies than us. Somewhere around 4:30 the following morning, my body realized that I was seriously indebted to the dreamworld for not bothering me during the last 72 or so hours. I expressed this sentiment by standing by helplessly as my face aged 20 years.
First of all, The Shaved Report is back in case you haven't seen yet. There's all kinds of new toys to play with, like polls, comics, and *shudder* blogs. I really fucking hate that word. I wanted to call that section editorials, but the editor hates that word more than I hate blogs, and he runs the site. I proposed some sort of cool amalgam, like raditorials, but the jury is still out on that one. Probably out huffing paint, because only a brain damaged jury would need to take any time approving that heading. In the meantime, the archives are still down, so the only way to check older articles is to browse through all the sections the ancient way: manually.
Next up, the tournament I've been training for is taking place this Saturday. My training regimen looks like what would happen if you replaced all the villains from every Rocky movie with sharkmen, cranked the film speed all the way up to Benny Hill, then chucked a bucket of puke on the whole thing. Our language won't have a word to describe something like that for another 700 years, so I'll go ahead and make one up right now: booyacular. I'm hoping to have someone there to video tape the whole mess, so win or lose, you'll hopefully get a show. Although I'm fairly certain that fans of comedy won't deny the hilarious prospects of me losing totally hard.
The last few weeks of my life have been pretty rad for someone that regularly lists "being rad" as one of the things they're good at. For those of you keeping a tab on all the things I'm good at, being rad comes right after "turning your mom into the cock goddess she's always dreamed of becoming while your girlfriend slaps my balls". Apart from getting my ass kicked and then writing about getting my ass kicked, last weekend in particular knew how to bring it. It had been awhile since I'd been out, so verandi softened me up with the finest wheat based lasagna I've ever had. To be fair, it was the only wheat based lasagna I've ever had, but I can say without question that it set the standard. I also have the extreme pleasure of being her guide through the wonderful word of movies she's never seen, which can roughly be summed up as "all of them". We started off with Team America because not only do I have a romantic bone somewhere in my body, but my entire skeleton is composed of romantic bones. God help your girlfriends should it ever escape from its slightly average prison.
The next morning, I hit the gym for some extra jiu-jitsu training, proving once and for all that I can get destroyed on no sleep with no food in my stomach just as easily as I can with a fully rested body. To all you haters out there than didn't think I could do it: In your gay-ass face!
Saturday we tried to show the visiting lil_tuffy a good time, and most of that involved furious dance moves played out in front of a wide-screen projection of Transformers: The Movie. In other words: success has never known better allies than us. Somewhere around 4:30 the following morning, my body realized that I was seriously indebted to the dreamworld for not bothering me during the last 72 or so hours. I expressed this sentiment by standing by helplessly as my face aged 20 years.
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-T