SHAZZAM
Friday, December 23, 2005
Dang, why didn't a fool tell me I said that so loud!?
Let it be known, I talk mad shit. Mostly behind people’s backs, and sometimes in front of their faces. But I always thought I did it where folks could not hear me. Also, I usually talk in a very loud voice. My inside-voice is your outside-voice. So the combination of talking shit and my loud-ass voice normally don’t end up getting me in trouble. That would be until tonight.
We had a little celebration for a friend tonight. No alcohol involved. Ok, very little and none consumed by me. Things are going so well. Bonfires are fun. Like just sticking sticks inside the embers and lighting the end on fire may be construed as somewhat pyromaniac, but it’s not like I’m deriving extreme-ass pleasure out of it. I just like to wave it around or pretend I’m like Indiana Jones walking through some dark-ass cave. Geez, could I say ass one more time? Anyway, so that was fun. The food was excellent, as well. The burgers were ENOURMOUS. This was good, but made them hard to eat. They were also somewhat ironic as a vegetarian made them. Funny, I know.
So, as college people, we try to be adults. And this entails going out. Honestly, I think many adults have a couple beers at home with some friends. We like to go out and have a couple plus five. Or so. I drove, so there was no drinking for me. This whole me not drinking tonight seems kind of alcoholics anonymous, but perhaps I am being melodramatic. Really, what I’m getting at is that I was mad sober. However, I still had an awesome time. Danced like a crazy man. I went into the bathroom to pee and had to get some toilet paper to dry my forehead and the dude next to me was all looking into my stall. Alright Mister Weirdo. Anyway, that really is not the punch-line of this story. It gets much more something (not sure of the right word).
There tends to be mad ugly chicks at this bar we frequent. I’m kind of convinced that beautiful women only live in foreign countries, New York or California (both which may qualify as foreign countries anyway). So, I thought it would be funny to point out to my friends all the lovely ugly chicks that were busting moves. I said, “Dang, it looks like the only girls who will dance are the ugly ones.” This is one of a bajillion examples of me talking shit. Normally, I am totally able to keep this on the low. Folks are drunk, the music is loud, you’re grinding. No way can people actually hear me. Well, this ho did. And took it upon herself to tap me on the shoulder, “If you’re going to talk shit, you need to go somewhere else.” Holy shit, I have been caught. And this woman easily could’ve taken me. I imagine she is an amateur female wrestler or something. Granted, I had a whole crew and could’ve taken this fool out, but I still felt bad. I apologized profusely. Oddly enough, I never thought that perhaps I could lie and I certainly didn’t think about taking it back. It was true, she was ugly and she needed to stop slow-dancing and booty hopping to Def Leppard. So, as per her orders, I did move. I’m not trying to get cut!
Next thing I know, apparently some dude that is with her comes up and taps me on the shoulder. What is with these people and damn shoulder tapping!? “What’d you say about my girl??” I say, “Nothing. I am sorry. We already worked it out.” Then Chyna Doll came over and pulled him away, but fool still wanted to talk or start a brawl or something. Ok, a man who is about to fight cannot honestly be taken seriously in a v-neck sweater. Sorry. You also have too much gel in your hair. I light your head on fire, I win. Not that I would do that (dang, maybe I should reconsider this pyro stuff)! I assume he thought he could start some shit because I was wearing what some might think a grandpa sweater. This shit is hot and bitches know this! So this dude and this chick look like they left.
Then, they come back. And their friend comes up, takes a look at me and turns around. At least she didn’t laugh! I must admit, I am a bit fly. So then their little crew decides to stare at me and my friends. And stare and stare and stare. This shit is freaking me out because staring at people is weird. Might as well be talking shit. I believe they wanted to provoke some shit. I’m too smart. It was time to leave.
So we leave and head down to the pizza place. I couldn’t even eat because I kept looking at the door to make sure the ugly crew didn’t roll up. This mess had me shook, like a halfway crook. I hope those are the words. Ugh, it’s real late and I am still thinking about this. I was scared they would’ve fucked with my car. They don’t know what I drive. Thank God.
Shout-outs to my friends. Ya’ll are alright! Next time I’m gonna be talking shit, I will whisper that mess in folks’ ears and walk the fuck away. No ma’am, I didn’t say shit. Now eat your sandwich and grind somewhere else!
PS
I don't want no babies. So I will not holler at ladies I know who have them. Thank you.
We had a little celebration for a friend tonight. No alcohol involved. Ok, very little and none consumed by me. Things are going so well. Bonfires are fun. Like just sticking sticks inside the embers and lighting the end on fire may be construed as somewhat pyromaniac, but it’s not like I’m deriving extreme-ass pleasure out of it. I just like to wave it around or pretend I’m like Indiana Jones walking through some dark-ass cave. Geez, could I say ass one more time? Anyway, so that was fun. The food was excellent, as well. The burgers were ENOURMOUS. This was good, but made them hard to eat. They were also somewhat ironic as a vegetarian made them. Funny, I know.
So, as college people, we try to be adults. And this entails going out. Honestly, I think many adults have a couple beers at home with some friends. We like to go out and have a couple plus five. Or so. I drove, so there was no drinking for me. This whole me not drinking tonight seems kind of alcoholics anonymous, but perhaps I am being melodramatic. Really, what I’m getting at is that I was mad sober. However, I still had an awesome time. Danced like a crazy man. I went into the bathroom to pee and had to get some toilet paper to dry my forehead and the dude next to me was all looking into my stall. Alright Mister Weirdo. Anyway, that really is not the punch-line of this story. It gets much more something (not sure of the right word).
There tends to be mad ugly chicks at this bar we frequent. I’m kind of convinced that beautiful women only live in foreign countries, New York or California (both which may qualify as foreign countries anyway). So, I thought it would be funny to point out to my friends all the lovely ugly chicks that were busting moves. I said, “Dang, it looks like the only girls who will dance are the ugly ones.” This is one of a bajillion examples of me talking shit. Normally, I am totally able to keep this on the low. Folks are drunk, the music is loud, you’re grinding. No way can people actually hear me. Well, this ho did. And took it upon herself to tap me on the shoulder, “If you’re going to talk shit, you need to go somewhere else.” Holy shit, I have been caught. And this woman easily could’ve taken me. I imagine she is an amateur female wrestler or something. Granted, I had a whole crew and could’ve taken this fool out, but I still felt bad. I apologized profusely. Oddly enough, I never thought that perhaps I could lie and I certainly didn’t think about taking it back. It was true, she was ugly and she needed to stop slow-dancing and booty hopping to Def Leppard. So, as per her orders, I did move. I’m not trying to get cut!
Next thing I know, apparently some dude that is with her comes up and taps me on the shoulder. What is with these people and damn shoulder tapping!? “What’d you say about my girl??” I say, “Nothing. I am sorry. We already worked it out.” Then Chyna Doll came over and pulled him away, but fool still wanted to talk or start a brawl or something. Ok, a man who is about to fight cannot honestly be taken seriously in a v-neck sweater. Sorry. You also have too much gel in your hair. I light your head on fire, I win. Not that I would do that (dang, maybe I should reconsider this pyro stuff)! I assume he thought he could start some shit because I was wearing what some might think a grandpa sweater. This shit is hot and bitches know this! So this dude and this chick look like they left.
Then, they come back. And their friend comes up, takes a look at me and turns around. At least she didn’t laugh! I must admit, I am a bit fly. So then their little crew decides to stare at me and my friends. And stare and stare and stare. This shit is freaking me out because staring at people is weird. Might as well be talking shit. I believe they wanted to provoke some shit. I’m too smart. It was time to leave.
So we leave and head down to the pizza place. I couldn’t even eat because I kept looking at the door to make sure the ugly crew didn’t roll up. This mess had me shook, like a halfway crook. I hope those are the words. Ugh, it’s real late and I am still thinking about this. I was scared they would’ve fucked with my car. They don’t know what I drive. Thank God.
Shout-outs to my friends. Ya’ll are alright! Next time I’m gonna be talking shit, I will whisper that mess in folks’ ears and walk the fuck away. No ma’am, I didn’t say shit. Now eat your sandwich and grind somewhere else!
PS
I don't want no babies. So I will not holler at ladies I know who have them. Thank you.
Labels: random
¶ 2:11 AM 0 comments
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
My so-called-cracked-out life
So, after several tens of ounces of wannabe “energy” drinks, I’m drained. Red bull ain’t nothing but some medicinal-tasting, not-cracked-out inducing funk of a drink. I’ve never had it without alcohol until today (I’m not an alchie, I swear!), and there’s got to be a reason why that mess is mixed with other stuff. It’s kind of stank.
I drank the damn thing, and then my eyes starting closing. I was like what the fuck!? I need wings, ho! I was a bit let down. So as I was struggling to stay awake, my friend was like, “Why don’t you try the Sobe one from the vending machine?” I said why not. Well, this thing was like sixteen ounces, two servings worth of energy it says (well, it didn’t really say that. It was a two serving can. Who makes those? Like, you open a can and drink the whole thing, you don’t open it and put the other half of the drink in the fridge and call it a day. Drink the whole thing you freak! So, that’s what I did). Well, this seemed to work a bit better I suppose. But neither were the kick I was expecting. I believe I will be staying away from “energy” drinks. I think they’re a bit overpriced for the crap taste they give you. Although, the Sobe one had a fruit punch flavor going on. It was kinda good.
I really was expecting something packing some punch. Oh well.
I like my beats hard like two-day old shits. Man, A Tribe Called Quest should be called A Tribe Called a Trip. They’re funny.
So, while I’m here, let me wax on some shit. I paid $88 for a damn book that fools want to give me $10 back for. You ain’t messing with no rookie! I said, give me that shit back and wrote an email to the chair and co-chair of the department. Ok, so probably nothing will happen because of it, but cot damn it, don’t mess with me and my money! They probably won’t even write me back, but I don’t much care because I let them know how I feel that they’re exploiting poor folks. Not to say I’m a bag man, but damn, I almost lost $80. That’s some for-real-ass money. I need that shit! Maybe somewhere else will give me some more money, otherwise I think I’m going to turn to eBay! ¶ 10:11 PM 0 comments
I drank the damn thing, and then my eyes starting closing. I was like what the fuck!? I need wings, ho! I was a bit let down. So as I was struggling to stay awake, my friend was like, “Why don’t you try the Sobe one from the vending machine?” I said why not. Well, this thing was like sixteen ounces, two servings worth of energy it says (well, it didn’t really say that. It was a two serving can. Who makes those? Like, you open a can and drink the whole thing, you don’t open it and put the other half of the drink in the fridge and call it a day. Drink the whole thing you freak! So, that’s what I did). Well, this seemed to work a bit better I suppose. But neither were the kick I was expecting. I believe I will be staying away from “energy” drinks. I think they’re a bit overpriced for the crap taste they give you. Although, the Sobe one had a fruit punch flavor going on. It was kinda good.
I really was expecting something packing some punch. Oh well.
I like my beats hard like two-day old shits. Man, A Tribe Called Quest should be called A Tribe Called a Trip. They’re funny.
So, while I’m here, let me wax on some shit. I paid $88 for a damn book that fools want to give me $10 back for. You ain’t messing with no rookie! I said, give me that shit back and wrote an email to the chair and co-chair of the department. Ok, so probably nothing will happen because of it, but cot damn it, don’t mess with me and my money! They probably won’t even write me back, but I don’t much care because I let them know how I feel that they’re exploiting poor folks. Not to say I’m a bag man, but damn, I almost lost $80. That’s some for-real-ass money. I need that shit! Maybe somewhere else will give me some more money, otherwise I think I’m going to turn to eBay! ¶ 10:11 PM 0 comments
Saturday, December 10, 2005
Get along little doggies
All of a sudden, I am convinced that the person who makes fortune cookies has a hidden camera in my room.
So, I again thought it would be a good idea to eat at a place with a B health rating. Why do I find these things out after I have ordered and paid? I don’t get it! The food was the shit though. Anyway, so I’m done with the sesame chicken (was good, but probably too much chicken…my stomach will be rumblin later), and I go to eat the fortune cookie. Sometimes, these places insist that you pay for these things. I don’t exactly understand that because, well, they cost like three cents to make, if even that. So I’m eating my free fortune cookie and I read the fortune, “Examine the situation before you act impulsively”. What the fuck!? I think I insist on living my life without ever thinking about it and here’s this damn cookie telling me to slow down.
I like to sign up for the GRE after talking to one professor about it. I couldn’t even get a full refund after I cancelled it because I didn’t read the fine print that said you only get half back. I decided to apply to Princeton without looking at their program. Sent out recommendation forms to all my professors and shit, only to realize I wouldn’t go to Princeton if they paid me (ok, if they paid me, fuck yeah I’d go…but it’s just not for me!). I had to send out an email apologizing for the “accident,” when in reality, I had to spend like five minutes getting everybody’s name and contact info and mess in there. I just like to do things without thinking about them and this fortune is mad ironic.
I really need to go finish this paper. Pimps up, hos down. ¶ 6:47 PM 0 comments
So, I again thought it would be a good idea to eat at a place with a B health rating. Why do I find these things out after I have ordered and paid? I don’t get it! The food was the shit though. Anyway, so I’m done with the sesame chicken (was good, but probably too much chicken…my stomach will be rumblin later), and I go to eat the fortune cookie. Sometimes, these places insist that you pay for these things. I don’t exactly understand that because, well, they cost like three cents to make, if even that. So I’m eating my free fortune cookie and I read the fortune, “Examine the situation before you act impulsively”. What the fuck!? I think I insist on living my life without ever thinking about it and here’s this damn cookie telling me to slow down.
I like to sign up for the GRE after talking to one professor about it. I couldn’t even get a full refund after I cancelled it because I didn’t read the fine print that said you only get half back. I decided to apply to Princeton without looking at their program. Sent out recommendation forms to all my professors and shit, only to realize I wouldn’t go to Princeton if they paid me (ok, if they paid me, fuck yeah I’d go…but it’s just not for me!). I had to send out an email apologizing for the “accident,” when in reality, I had to spend like five minutes getting everybody’s name and contact info and mess in there. I just like to do things without thinking about them and this fortune is mad ironic.
I really need to go finish this paper. Pimps up, hos down. ¶ 6:47 PM 0 comments
Sunday, December 04, 2005
Lookin at my roley, it's about that time
Everybody and their mom run a celebrity website now. It seems with the advent of the online tabloid, regular Joes have taken it upon themselves to uproot the traditional Star and Enquirer as dishers of gossip. What’s funny is that there is a distinct difference between the good ones and the bad ones. The bad ones often run the same pictures as the good ones, but with much less wit and sarcasm, thus, less entertaining. But even the good ones sometimes seem contrived because they have to be biting, otherwise their visitors stop coming. I find it interesting that as we want to dole out harsh criticism to paparazzi, we are at the same time eating up their “caught-red-handed” photos. The only difference between the trash at the store and the trash on the internet is $3.95.
That being said, I am still a fan of celebrity news sites, but I still feel like folks don’t know when to stop. Not everybody has a way with words that makes their comments funny. Some mess is shitty, straight up. But there are some good ones. And they’ll continue to get my viewership (or something…).
I hate warm toilet seats. As much as I hate cold ones, I hate warm ones. It was kind of gross today because I walked into the bathroom to do my thing, and the door was still swinging from the guy who was just in there. The smell was still emanating from the bowl. I saw down and the warmth was almost stinging. “Some dude just like five seconds ago took a crap here. And I’m getting shitty seconds.” I do hate cold toilet seats, because well, they’re freezing. But at least I know there isn’t like recent butt stank sitting there waiting.
I changed up the design a bit on the blog. I don’t know if I like it or not, though. In the change, I accidentally deleted all my old stuff, like links, etc. I did check yes that that was ok, but I didn’t realize what I was doing until it was done. Sometimes mess just needs to start over.
Now that every since has started with “I”, I think it’s necessary to start this one with something else. So I just did. Anyway, I know I hated so much on the “My Humps” song. I know I have. Now I must confess. I think I may like it. Ugh, I know, where is the fork to go in my eye!? But this mess is indeed catchy, on the daily. Why do the Black Eyed Peas insist on doing this to me? I make promises to myself to not like their songs, and it seems every time I do it, I end up bouncing around to their inanity. I suppose that’s the story of life.
By the way, I’m kind of impressed with my word choice in the second to last sentence of the above paragraph. I’ve never used that word before and sometimes I tend to make words up as I go along, just to see if the word exists and if I used it correctly. I did and it does, so hootie hoo.
Well, I suppose that’s all there is to say. ¶ 11:19 PM 1 comments
That being said, I am still a fan of celebrity news sites, but I still feel like folks don’t know when to stop. Not everybody has a way with words that makes their comments funny. Some mess is shitty, straight up. But there are some good ones. And they’ll continue to get my viewership (or something…).
I hate warm toilet seats. As much as I hate cold ones, I hate warm ones. It was kind of gross today because I walked into the bathroom to do my thing, and the door was still swinging from the guy who was just in there. The smell was still emanating from the bowl. I saw down and the warmth was almost stinging. “Some dude just like five seconds ago took a crap here. And I’m getting shitty seconds.” I do hate cold toilet seats, because well, they’re freezing. But at least I know there isn’t like recent butt stank sitting there waiting.
I changed up the design a bit on the blog. I don’t know if I like it or not, though. In the change, I accidentally deleted all my old stuff, like links, etc. I did check yes that that was ok, but I didn’t realize what I was doing until it was done. Sometimes mess just needs to start over.
Now that every since has started with “I”, I think it’s necessary to start this one with something else. So I just did. Anyway, I know I hated so much on the “My Humps” song. I know I have. Now I must confess. I think I may like it. Ugh, I know, where is the fork to go in my eye!? But this mess is indeed catchy, on the daily. Why do the Black Eyed Peas insist on doing this to me? I make promises to myself to not like their songs, and it seems every time I do it, I end up bouncing around to their inanity. I suppose that’s the story of life.
By the way, I’m kind of impressed with my word choice in the second to last sentence of the above paragraph. I’ve never used that word before and sometimes I tend to make words up as I go along, just to see if the word exists and if I used it correctly. I did and it does, so hootie hoo.
Well, I suppose that’s all there is to say. ¶ 11:19 PM 1 comments
Saturday, December 03, 2005
You're standing on my neck
So, I've been rather busy here lately and haven't had much time to write stuff. In an effort to continue to write here, I'm just going to include something I wrote the other day. Look for more soon!
Let me begin this post by first discussing the smelliest fool I’ve ever been around. I have found that stereotypes about people who smell bad are simply not true. So that being said, the smelliest white man ever decided to walk past me as I was waiting for my shit to print off. Good god, he stunk so bad. Like mix of body odor, funk, onions, Italian food, and general stankness all rolled up into one human body. I felt bad for the dude sitting next to him. I though that if he sat next to me that I would risk looking like an asshole and move so I’d be able to breathe. Ugh, that fool stunk!
What I love about getting together with old friends is the normal drama (a.k.a. post-get together shit talking) that ensues. However, this past weekend, there was all kinds of drama going down and none of it involved folks being mean or stirring up pots of hypocrisy and bullshit. Which actually went was good, even as much as I love to talk shit! So, in an effort to save money but still have fun, my friends and I decided that we should drink before we go out for one of my friend’s birthday. Good idea in theory, bad idea in action. We kind of didn’t have a few drinks before we went out, we got drunk. Nearly sloppy drunk. Said birthday friend fell over walking into the bar and was immediately kicked out. “Come back in thirty minutes after you get some food.” Who says that!? I don’t think thirty minutes was going to improve the debauchery that was already going down. Shit was still the bomb, even though another friend and I got left at the bar, for at least an hour, while everyone else was taken home. Either somebody forgot about us or figured we were alright. Something, I’m not really sure what happened (and that can be said for a lot that night), but I ended up at home apparently safe and sound. This birthday ranks up there with my birthday, and you know that was the party of the year (for those who do not attend parties thrown by Puff). So all is good in the world.
I would include more details, but I want to spare everyone (and myself) the embarrassment. Plus, most folks who read this know what went down anyway, so no need to rehash it all!
I have realized that I think I subconsciously enjoy having lots of paper around me. And by this, I don’t mean money. I mean like notebook paper, post-it paper, receipts, old forms I filled out but never turned it—all kinds of damn paper. What is this about? I can’t seem to shake the damn paper trail I leave. There’s paper in the bottom of my bookbag, the bottoms of my pockets. It’s everywhere! Also, this going along kind of (in a sick, sad world…Daria, haha) way, I have lots of nickels that also follow me around. I am sure I have dollars and dollars of nickels. Why not cool change like quarters or dimes? Or even fifty-cent pieces? Just nickels. I suppose this is better than being harassed by pennies, cause who really uses those?
Also, today I thought it would be a smart idea to run down the stairs to meet the pizza guy. Turns out, my moccasins don't have much traction and I slid on the cement and landed on the left side of my body. It hurt like hell, but I couldn't help but laugh, which I did while I grimaced in pain! And then later, I was walking down the stairs and my left knee now hurts! Anyone seen "The Jacksons: American Dream"? Well, Mom Jackson had this funky-like wobble or stagger or that word, um, limp! I feel like that's what I look like. Hopefully it'll be all good tomorrow. ¶ 6:49 PM 0 comments
Let me begin this post by first discussing the smelliest fool I’ve ever been around. I have found that stereotypes about people who smell bad are simply not true. So that being said, the smelliest white man ever decided to walk past me as I was waiting for my shit to print off. Good god, he stunk so bad. Like mix of body odor, funk, onions, Italian food, and general stankness all rolled up into one human body. I felt bad for the dude sitting next to him. I though that if he sat next to me that I would risk looking like an asshole and move so I’d be able to breathe. Ugh, that fool stunk!
What I love about getting together with old friends is the normal drama (a.k.a. post-get together shit talking) that ensues. However, this past weekend, there was all kinds of drama going down and none of it involved folks being mean or stirring up pots of hypocrisy and bullshit. Which actually went was good, even as much as I love to talk shit! So, in an effort to save money but still have fun, my friends and I decided that we should drink before we go out for one of my friend’s birthday. Good idea in theory, bad idea in action. We kind of didn’t have a few drinks before we went out, we got drunk. Nearly sloppy drunk. Said birthday friend fell over walking into the bar and was immediately kicked out. “Come back in thirty minutes after you get some food.” Who says that!? I don’t think thirty minutes was going to improve the debauchery that was already going down. Shit was still the bomb, even though another friend and I got left at the bar, for at least an hour, while everyone else was taken home. Either somebody forgot about us or figured we were alright. Something, I’m not really sure what happened (and that can be said for a lot that night), but I ended up at home apparently safe and sound. This birthday ranks up there with my birthday, and you know that was the party of the year (for those who do not attend parties thrown by Puff). So all is good in the world.
I would include more details, but I want to spare everyone (and myself) the embarrassment. Plus, most folks who read this know what went down anyway, so no need to rehash it all!
I have realized that I think I subconsciously enjoy having lots of paper around me. And by this, I don’t mean money. I mean like notebook paper, post-it paper, receipts, old forms I filled out but never turned it—all kinds of damn paper. What is this about? I can’t seem to shake the damn paper trail I leave. There’s paper in the bottom of my bookbag, the bottoms of my pockets. It’s everywhere! Also, this going along kind of (in a sick, sad world…Daria, haha) way, I have lots of nickels that also follow me around. I am sure I have dollars and dollars of nickels. Why not cool change like quarters or dimes? Or even fifty-cent pieces? Just nickels. I suppose this is better than being harassed by pennies, cause who really uses those?
Also, today I thought it would be a smart idea to run down the stairs to meet the pizza guy. Turns out, my moccasins don't have much traction and I slid on the cement and landed on the left side of my body. It hurt like hell, but I couldn't help but laugh, which I did while I grimaced in pain! And then later, I was walking down the stairs and my left knee now hurts! Anyone seen "The Jacksons: American Dream"? Well, Mom Jackson had this funky-like wobble or stagger or that word, um, limp! I feel like that's what I look like. Hopefully it'll be all good tomorrow. ¶ 6:49 PM 0 comments
