um...Okay...

Moving is Hell

Here is where the soul goes.

On the first layer you encounter Hades. He has an entertainment center made of thick glass that needs to be brought down from his third story apartment and placed into his Mini-Cooper. Somehow he manages to ensure that you are on the top half of the carrying team at each floor, simultaneously having to hold the heavy object up while not letting it fall on Hades face.

Only once it is at the bottom will the Greek god realize that it could have been disassembled.

On the second layer is the Beelzebub. Not Satan, Beelzebub.

He needs help moving a gigantic armour that he is barely able to fill half way up with clothes. This time your back is to each doorway. At each impasse Beelz here forces you to pause and hold the damn thing while he twists and turns it trying to figure out the best way to get it through the door frame.

He will remind you fifty times every time to "don't let it hit the fucking door frame!"

Every time it does it will be YOUR fault.

On the Third layer we find Famine, Death, War, and Conquest who have called you over to help them with their rooms. In each respective room the owner only removes the small items leaving the heavy lifting to everyone else. Subsequently you will be forced to endure constant room mate bitching about "that lazy ass hole" during each rooms encounter.

You, the person who has done most the work, will naturally be the most quiet.

On the fourth layer there is Satan.

Satan has had a lot of souls to deal with lately, so his house has "gone to shit" as he will say. You will have to aid him with dirt covered carpeting, molded trash cans, year old fast food remnants, and will be forced to ask him a million times whether or not he wants to keep the various worthless tid bits he has laying around.

"Oh yea I'll need that later" he'll say about a mold covered Goonies DVD he hasn't watched in four years.

And this is your eternity.

The next day you have to help all these ass holes move back in.

And yes there are only four levels, I'm not fucking Dante.

Vulgarity

George Carlin had a bit about this.  It was the one that got him pretty much all of his fame/ money/ notoriety.

Seven words you can't say on the radio.

My whole life has been a celebration of the word fuck.

In third grade I was sent to the principal, because I considered one of my fellow class mates to be a "mother fucker."  An adjective for one who engages in a sexual relationship with one's own mother.  For this I was subject to an entire day of detention in a small room.

Once again in seventh grade I was subject to more removal from the population of my fellow students for expressing how I "did not give a fuck."  A noun used to represent one's lack of care in a subject that one invests no value in on a personal level.  Another day completely by myself.

This happens throughout my high school career.

I say fuck/ fucked/ fucking/ motherfucker/ un-fucking-believable and I am then isolated.  This of course being my teachers' attempt to train me to associate using the word fuck as something that removes me from standing in the grand scheme of civilization.  They believe to say fuck is to put yourself outside of standards and thus forced to endure a measure of loneliness.

I say fuck that.

A verb used to indicate one's intent to act in opposition of the following noun.

I have literally put time in for this word.  I'm gunna use it.

In reality, these slang terms that are considered taboo are terms that bring us closer to our fellow human being.  In other words cussing can make people your fucking boys.  Adjective used to enhance the meaning of a relationship between the user and the group indicated.

Also by setting these words aside as "those words" almost assuredly making them the most popular.  And a word like fuck is only set aside due to it's sexual nature, even though sex is a natural urge in every living thing and could be considered the soul purpose of life due to reproduction's importance to the species.  Yet the slang word is considered low brow to people with religious/ sexual/ lack of parental hugs/ tight ass hang ups.

Vulgar words.  Dirty words.  Cuss words.  Swear words.

Stephen Fry made a point that I took to heart.

These people who think that using language like this is an indicator of a lack of intelligence and creativity are usually people who are neither intelligent or creative.  Basically these people are fucking retarded.  Enhancing an adjective to indicate that the person in question is not actually affected by a mental defect but are subject to a low amount of mental ability.

And I hate people that come at this from a biblical stand point.

The bible is full of death/ sex/ war/ famine/ slavery/ Wrath.  Of.  God.  Saying fuck isn't "taking the lord's name in vain," saying you believe in a God other than God is taking his name in vain.  To declare he is not who these people say he is is to take his name in vain.  To tell your friends to "shut the fuck up" is not taking his name in vain so even Christians can use this glorious word.  Enhancing an adjective used to indicate to a person to move their jaw upwards to facilitate the closing of the mouth, removing the ability to speak.

And even in this blog entry I have demonstrated the words versatility.  You can even use it the same way to mean different things.

"Man I got fucked up last night."

"Dude that is fucked up."

"Man, I really fucked up."

"That guy?  He's a fuck up."

So the next time some jerk off mom gets all huffy because you talked in coarse language around her impressionable off spring take my words with you valiant defender of free fucking speech.

Damage Report

The problem is my friends.

Rather, how I feel I need to act and how my friends expect me to act.

I have this reputation as "that guy," and I constantly feel the need to live up to it.  I'm skinny, un-athletic, white male from the suburbs so I have to prove the worth of my genitalia somehow and heavy drinking seemed to be the easiest route.  Last night the cave man, that is me, decided to beat his chest and pasteurize to the other cave dwellers.

Basically I got tanked.  Shelled.  Wasted.  Destroyed.

Insert violent synonym for inebriated here, and that was me.

But that's not really the story.  In the year of 2009 it really isn't that special to get hammered.  Like the peer pressure kids in D.A.R.E. say, "every body's doin it."  What I find more interesting is the state I found myself in the next morning.

Last memory is a fail.

Talking to this really good looking waitress at the bar we rented out who has this tattoo of a peacock, and even if there ever was a chance she was interested in me, I'm blowing it.  I can't string together two sentences.  I look over and notice her co worker has the gauge ear ring/ loop/ hole thing going on, and then I'm standing in my door way with a Gatorade and a case of Mountain Dew.

Bam.  Just like that, teleportation.

Somebody took a dump on my brain and the room in front of me seems to be shaking.  I chug the Gatorade but that causes me to crumple to the floor.  Door's still open, so if anybody walks by right now they might actually call an ambulance.

Takes me five minutes to stand up and shut it.

It's ten in the morning and I have no idea how I got here.  It feels like I walked, and when I see my keys on the table this is confirmed.  I immediately take off my shirt to assess the damage.

Bruise to the right pectoral.  Origin:  Unknown at this time.

Blood on the right cheek/ left arm/ right pant leg.  Origin:  Scab peeled off previous burn injury of right hand.  Source of scab removal: Unknown at this time.

Large bruise right bicep.  Origin:  Doorway of bar.  Source of bruise:  Misjudged doorway entry resulting in collision.

Blood on upper lip.  Origin:  Most likely nose.  Source of blood:  Most likely rolled onto face while sleeping in unknown area.

Soreness in middle knuckle of left hand.  Origin:  Wall of bar.  Source of soreness:  Punching wall in attempt to assert male dominance.

All in all not that bad.  I remember some stairs I could have fallen down, and this time I didn't fall off a stage/ bar/ bleachers.  The worst damage is in my head and stomach.  The Gatorade is gunna come up soon, but I don't get to pick when that is.  

I.  Have.  To.  Shower.

I strip down completely naked and go turn the water on.  Once I'm naked I get to see another ding.d

Bruise on right thigh.  Origin:  Unknown at this time.

The water feels good.  It isn't a rink-a-dink tub in shitty 1940's house anymore, this is holy water/ the pool of Valhalla/ fountain of youth/  River of Olympus.  I just stand there for ten minutes without thinking of soap.  

I'm lathering up with this stuff my old roommate's girlfriend left.  I tell myself, foolishly, that the worst will be over and I probably won't vomit.  

Than I see it.

This is some fancy soap that smells good, hell feels good, and it is in my hand.  It's a white pearly substance that is clear in some parts but in other parts milky.

Basically it looks like sperm.

I sling my hand down and actually say out loud, "It's soap.  It's soap.  It's fucking soap.  It's soap.  It's soap."

Brain won't listen.  And this shit is covering my chest hair/ arms/ arm pits/ face.

I gag twice, fall on my ass, then vomit all over my thighs and unmentionables.

Luckily it's all Gatorade with last nights alcohol mixed in so when I check the drain there's nothing for me to pick out with my fingers, nothing to remove from body hair.  Also I'm in a shower, so the vomit is more or less cleaned off of me.

So, win-win.

And that's where I'm at when I think of this post.  I sit in the shower for a good forty-five minutes just letting the water seep into me.

How the hell did I get home?

Side Effects of Hepatitis

I'm just in my class that I have to take and during a break I get stuck having a conversation with a hippie bitch.  Just below the level of contempt I have for obnoxious Auburn douche is the hippie bitch.

Long story short, she's mad that Michael Vick is getting out so early, I say he served his time, she says it wasn't long enough, I say another NFL player killed a guy driving drunk and got thirty days, she says what Vick did was worse, I say that's stupid heavily implying that she is retarded, she gets huffy and the conversation ends.

Just five minutes of my life wasted, not a big deal.

But when I get home I get curious and look up some dumb animal rights web sites and luckily none of them are saying Michael Vick killing a bunch of dogs is worse than a dude getting run over by a drunk driver.  So I just had the luck to run into that one in a million sort of crazy.

But, Google being Google, I learn that Pamela Anderson is an "Animal Rights Activist," whatever the hell that is, and apparently hated Jessica Simpson because of this.

Sadly I was curious.

Okay so Pamela Anderson called Jessica Simpson a whore because she wore a shirt about how she thought real girls wouldn't be vegetarian so Pamela calls her a bitch and a whore.

Aneurysm.

Okay, first off people who take their diet so seriously that they actually consider it to be a self defining characteristic.  I've known nutritioinist, there is nothing wrong with eating healthy and being proud of it.

But if you get to the point that you are mad at people for eating a dead animal because it offends "who you are," I really hope you have access to firearms with minimal safety training.

I've got to have had this animal loving argument a million times, because I don't care about a cow living a shitty life before it's head is chain sawed off.  Honestly this is the worst part about living in a college town.  Stupid causes.

Honestly this really isn't a cause.  Until all the chickens get together and scratch out a bill of rights I'm down for cutting their heads off and turning them into KFC.

If you define yourself by your vegetarianism you are defining yourself by what you eat, and since everything that has a beginning must have an end you are defining yourself by shitting as well.  So the next time someone gets all fucking west coast elitist, sticks their nose up in the air, and tells you that they are vegan with a self satisfied look on their pale face, just think to yourself "shit person" and you too can avoid the life ending anyeurysm.

Then Pamela Anderson is so caught up in her cause that she is going to refer to someone else as a whore.  

Really?

This is a woman who got famous for posing naked in a magazine and running on a beach in tight swim suits.  The only reason her popularity was sustained was because she had a sex tape come out.

And honestly none of that bothers me.

Porn model is an honest way of making life, certainly better than prostitute/ thief/ contract killer/ professional child molester/ Professional Middle Eastern Feminist Suppressor/ African child soldier trainer/ Auburn fan/ Somalian Pirate and many other professions that are far worse than someone who makes money off their sweet, sweet tits.

But if you are going to work in this industry you can't use these words.  The porn industry is based on liberating female workers in a profession and not judging females who enjoy and partake in sex just as much as a dude.  So if you are going to benefit from this concept you can't use the exact opposite of this to insult someone because they ate a burger.

And seriously.  Pam Anderson?  I have literally watched her suck Hepatitis down her throat.