Son of a Bitch

Alright pressured into creativity again.

My body is in revolt. In college my metabolism threw punch after bloody punch at the spew of fried shit and alcohol that flooded my body. An accomplished and valiant warrior against the tide of unhealthiness.

But like all great fighters he's gotten old. Started to miss a few steps. No one can keep on winning forever. Have you seen Mohamed Ali lately? Not exactly stinging like a bee but he's dancing.

I'm gunna go to hell for that one.

So I beat my body into submission with Chik-fil-A and Miller Lite. The sad part is how surprised I was when the results started showing themselves.

My face went from a human form to that of a bowling ball. A small patch of me sticking out from the bottom of my chin. A small little patch of flesh mocking me in the mirror.

The gut didn't bother me. After running as a sport for over eight years college was a good excuse to just let go. The gut is more like a symbol of my freedom from the oppression of athletic expectations.

The problem is that along with the freedom fighter gut came squatters on my chest.

Moobs. Man tits. Or as they're called in my household, Phil Mickelsons.

So of course now I'm running again. A body that used to pound out five miles like it was nothing is now losing it's lunch after one and a half. It's like physical activity is a villain that just pretended to die when it fell down the waterfall.

Really it was just biding it's time to bend me over the desk and go to town.

In other news, God of War III was amazing.

Visually beautiful, great action, amazing weapons, and a great continuation of a unique story involving one of the more brutal characters I've encountered in anything.

Seriously, Kratos vs The Judge from Blood Meridian to see who's more obsessively violent.

And I was more than ready to give this game a ten out of ten. Until the flying up the chain - falling down the chain mini game.

First off, I KNOW that this game was built on mini games for big kills.

But that doesn't mean I have to like some shitty transition mini game that is obnoxious and annoying every time I go up or down this freaking chain.

Whoever thought that this was a good idea just cause it looked cool needs to slap himself in the face. Yea, you're a brilliant dude/chick for being a part of this game but you have had a moment of utter retardation.

Not only do you shove this shitty little transition game down our throats FOUR TIMES you also make it as annoying as possible.

Up has been up this entire experience, but for this one difficult section you decide to invert the directions. Why? Because he's flying? This isn't the flight simulator at the Air Force base num nuts, I don't need realistic flight controls to get my imaginary character up the imaginary section of the fantasy world of Olympus.

Hey the players just screwed up, probably for the fourth time, and needs to correct himself quickly to survive. Let's have a spray of blood block his path so he can't see shit and run into more shit so that more blood sprays out and he dies again and again.

Sadistic bastard.

Seriously, why ruin a perfect game experience with this? It was just the right amount of difficult in the actual game, you didn't need to add this freakin' stupidity.

So when I give this game a 9.8 in my imaginary review magazine, know that the .2 of fail is YOU Mr. Letsputsomebullshitminigameinthisshitprickhead

Real Life Week One

One week in. I haven't touched this thing in months but seeing a vampire movie inspired me to continue whatever this is. My complete lack of audience means I'm pretty much writing this for myself, which seems narcissistic because, well, it is.

I just puked up ten bucks worth of Chipotle so right now I don't care how self absorbed I am.

That's all I seem to write about, hating vampire fiction and vomit.

The reason I have nausea so close to midnight is because I made the journey back to Tuscaloosa to celebrate the National Championship we've just won. I'd been moved out for a bout a month so this was my first time experiencing a game like atmosphere from a non-student perspective in four years. What did I learn?

Parking can be a bitch.

But in some desperate sad ode to try and still prove that I was "Billy Bad Ass" I went a lil' overboard boozing for two days straight. Overboard meaning straight shots of Jim Beam all weekend. This means when the nausea hit at eleven o'clock the day after the Chipotle had to come back up.

All in the name of my Peter Pan syndrome.

Not all bad though, I got a job now. Rare for people these days and something I'm sure to emphasize when seeing someone from the past four years. It's kind of like, "Hey, look, I'm not a complete idiot. I didn't kill myself in some bizarre accident. I turned into a normal Joe Schmo. Find this surprising dammit."

No ones biting.

About the Vampire movie, it's called Daybreakers and it reaffirmed all my previously held beliefs about the vampire genre. To be a vampire you must have slicked back hair. If you are a human you have to have loose hair. These are the rules.

In the real world excessive hair gel is a sign that you are an Italian from the north or a homophobic MMA junkie from the West. I'm just kidding. No I'm not. Your hair is ridiculously stupid. Fall down some stairs.

Daybreakers is by far the worst thing that has happened to me in awhile. It is poorly written and relies on Willem Defoe, or whatever his name is, to pull of a bad ass character from Tennessee nick named, wait for it, Elvis. Though this isn't the worst fake southern accent in a movie, it's close.

He compares being a human in a vampire world to "going bareback on a five dollar whore."

Whoever thought that would be a nice "tough guy" line comin' out in a crappy accent needs to be sterilized and shoved down some stairs. Let me go ahead and ruin this movie. The film ends with the main vampire becoming human and driving off into the sunset in a car with a phoenix painted on the hood. I hope I ruined the movie for you. Now you won't waste your time and money on this travesty.

Unless you're someone I hate, then I suggest you go see this movie. If you know for a fact that I hate you, stop what you are doing and get off the Internet and go see Daybreakers.

Take your hair gel.

Yet another crime committed by the vampire fad.

Also Lane Kiffin, not exactly the nicest person on the planet. It takes a serious amount of underhanded mercenary tactics, equivalent to slapping a baby with a frying pan to make me feel sympathy for the University of Tennessee. They are the purveyor of many an atrocious act of villainy and deceit. Also they suck, their fans sucks, and I really hate Rocky Top.

Low and behold, Lane Kiffin was a such an utter back stabbing cherub of destruction and filth that I am actually able to feel sympathy for the University of Hell.

Go figure.

Lastly having to shave this regularly is becoming a serious pain.

The Books That Will Sell More Than The Bible And Create Harmony in the USA

This idea might have already been used, but since this is the Internet I don't really have any fear of plagiarism, since all of the Internet is pretty much plagiarism.

I am going to write and produce the two books that will sell more copies than any book in history. I will surpass Whitman, Twain, Steinbeck, and Shakespeare in sales. I might even pass God.

The book will be a two cover book, with one side of the book being one separate book and other side of the book being another separate book.

The title of one side will be All Religious Fundamentalist Will Burn in Hell

The other side will be All Leftist Hardcore Liberals Should Kill Themselves.

The two books will both be very well developed arguments. They will denounce the beliefs of each other and contradict each other perfectly. They will be well thought out and researched. Pain stacking effort will be made to ensure that both sides have extremely valid arguments that contradict the beliefs of the other side.

But that's not why the books will sell well.

My marketing campaign will be the most intelligent marketing campaign in history.

My plan is to incite enough hate in me on both side that I gain millions upon millions of dollars.

On the left I want to be boycotted. I want my book to be considered trash that is a threat to human rights, animal rights, and the advancement of academic thought. I want to be called racist, sexist, and, most importantly, evil. I want these people to compare me to Hitler.

The more they talk about how horrible the book is and how people shouldn't buy it, the more people will go out and buy the damn thing just to see what all the fuss is about.

It's like the reverse psychology your parents used on you, only with death threats.

On the right I want to inspire the largest concentrations of book burnings in history. I want this book to cause a serious spike in global warming. I want every religious nut to make it his christian duty to destroy my work.

Because the gotta buy it to burn it and never underestimate the spending power of Mein Kampf crowd.

The titles and contents will not be enough to incite the amount of pure hatred that is necessary to accomplish these goals. We live in a visual age of non stop advertising and books can not consider themselves any different if they want to keep up with other forms of media.

Therefore I will commission three series of book covers for both sides specifically targeted to incite hate within the separate communities.

First the conservatives.

I will assemble a congregation of the Church of Satan to join me. The will be in the background wearing the most stereotypical garb they can find with the biggest pentagram they can find. In the foreground will be me hold an American Flag upside down setting it on fire.

The combination of religious heresy and treason will surely encourage many to burn the book.

The next scene will take place in a scenic small town of Apple Pie USA. In the back ground will be a group of gay pride marchers. The group will consist of drag queens, black leather wearing bikers, and a few people that look like every day people but will be holding a rainbow flag. In the foreground will be the most successful and content gay couple in America open mouth kissing each other. Naked.

This could possible be the best selling one of the whole group since homophobia in the religious community is self righteousness in the liberal community. Shit's everywhere.

The last one will be the most artistic. in the back ground will be a setting sun over the grand canyon. The clouds will be a wonderful set of reds, purples, and hazy oranges. In the foreground, close up, will be an aging couple from "The Greatest Generation." They will be sitting at a wooden table and the man will be reaching across the table to hold his wife's hand as they share a tender smile and stare. Between them will be a foot an a half long black dildo.

The stark contrast of all that is American natural beauty combined with an image of the realization of the American dream set against such a strong sexual image will have the religious right buying thousands of gallons of gasoline. Your welcome Shell.

Also this is probably my favorite, because all these hate mongers are all twisted in the head and all have strange sexual appetites. So publicly they speak out against the picture but internally they wish they themselves could us the apparatus.

Thus I am not only taking their money but I am also getting to add a nice little layer of hypocrisy to their lives. Shit's paying off double.

For the liberals I look to offend harshly.

For the Animal rights groups I intend to go to a slaughter house. I will commission a large speaker system and three kegs of beer. In the background will be all the workers of the slaughter house cheering with beers in their hands. In the foreground will be me with a chainsaw cutting off the head of a cow.

Don't worry the cow will already be dead, I'm not going to make something suffer that much just for a picture, but the strength of the imagery will surely get the PETA crowd up in arms. A bunch of men and women of a slaughterhouse glorifying in the death of animal will also be a cool little comparison to images from cave walls.

Second image is the one that will get me assassinated. First in the background will be a large confederate flag. In the foreground will be me and four of my friends all dressed up in confederate uniforms. We will all be holding M-16s and in front of us will be a banner that says "Fuck Communism." (Reference to Garth Ennis) At our feet will be a large picture of Osama Bin Laden with bullet holes in it.

This is a threefer. First pisses off all the human rights groups with the confederate flag and the uniforms. I get all the gun control sissies with the M-16s. Finally I get to confront all the world peace coom-by-ya wusses with the riddled picture of Osama. Win-win-win situation.

The last one is the most simplistic. This copy of the book will feature me pouring the worlds most coveted and bottle of wine into a port a john at the Talledega 500, while dumping in assorted cheeses. This book will come complete with a picture every chapter of a red neck who used the john. The top of the john will read "Democrat = Socialist."

And that will pretty much cover me for the whole rich celebrity over political crowd.

After the book is published, and I have made my millions of dollars, I will soon be hunted down and killed. Either a zealot form the left or a religious whack job from the right. I just hope they aim for the head and make it quick.

Before my death the communities from both sides will vilify me. They will join in the only thing that ever brings together two groups of idiots which is hating some other idiot.

The divide in America will be closed and the country will once again prosper.

For When I Am Dead

Funerals have always been my phobia. Ever since I attended my uncle's funeral I've been deathly afraid of the whole ordeal.

Honestly can there be anything more rediculous?

"Hi, how are you? So, as it turns out, your loved one is dead so could you please go stand in a room with the corpse for a couple of hours with everyone dressed in black and crying?"

Um, fuck that.

First off I'm getting the pizza treatment.

Also when I am shoved into the oven I will not be wearing a suit. I will be wearing Game Day attire. Crimson pants/ white button up long sleeve with sleeves rolled up to forearm/ houndstooth tie/ boots/ hat that displays hatred for rivals schools/ picture of Jay Barker most winning quarterback in Alabama history over my heart/ picture of Bo Jackson taped to my ass/ houndstooth hat placed over stomach.

En lieu of the classic funeral I will instead have enough money set aside to rent out a hall with a stage and to have a Jimmy Buffet cover band booked. Needless to say, money will be set aside for alcoholic beverages to fully stock the bar to last all day.

Everyone who wears a hawiain shirt drinks for free. Shirts will be set aside for people dumb enough to wear black.

En lieu of a body my ashes will be poured into a kid pool where people will be encouraged to pour a drink in every now and then. Behind this a stand with a large picture of me, drunk, at one of my fraternity parties.

After the party is over the pool will be thrown into a dumpster, because after you've shoved my decomposing body into a furnace it doesn't really matter where what's left ends up.

Guess what? You're all singing along ass holes.

The moment of silence in my honor will not be silent, it will be replaced with the University of Alabama's fight song "Yea, Alabama" being played. If you feel the need to break the moment of silence to shout "Roll Tide!" or "Go to hell Alabama!" I fully understand.

This is the southeast.

Many good things will be said about me. More bad things will be said about me.

I won't care, because I will be dead.

At least five people have to hook up at my death party and condoms are not allowed. I want to be responsible for at least a little bit of life in this world.

Fights are allowed, as long as someone is able to get it on camera and post it on the internet.

The Moment of Truth

So this is something I learned from reading a book.

There is this theory that your body holds the endorphins and chemicals within yourself to flood your brain and cause you to in a pure moment to not be able to lie to yourself. That in a split second you can not believe any of the bull shit we tell ourselves, because of the Euphoria that the release of these endorphins and adrenaline is causing in our bodies. If you focus during this moment you can learn everything you need to know about yourself, but focus will be hard considering how this happens.

This is triggered during an orgasm. 

People just don't realize the things you can learn from books.

So the next time a friend makes a joke about being addicted to sex, that person very well could actually be addicted to experiencing the bodies own natural drugs that are released during that split second of climax. Apparently this is common knowledge to a lot of people.

So of course I had to try to see what it was I would think.

Really this isn't a hard experiment for some with as much free time as me. So I decided to see what I would think in this moment of undeniable truth and write it down as soon as I was sanitary. The results are a bit disturbing.

This is what I thought in that moment:

- That Snickers never has really been my favorite candy. Reese's is more important to me

- That if Alabama does not win a national championship soon I would cry

- That I really miss being in the seventh grade

- My deepest regret in life was trash talking my own soccer team during rec league play when I was a kid

- I could never enjoy baseball

- I hate the amount of leg hair I have

- When I'm drunk I should talk less

- I miss the smell of the mini-van my family used to own

- My standards were too high in high school, specifically I should have tried to spark up a relationship with the girl up the street who had the cartoon tattoo (this one actually freaked me out the most)

- I don't brush my teeth as often as I should

- I really want to find the old t-shirt from when my dad worked in a bar (found one of them)

I honestly don't think I was doing it right, and I think for the purpose of the experiment I was attempting to think so openly that I was accidently, purposely random... if that makes sense.  

In actuality I think this thing was meant to concern relationships since in a moment of pure passion all your stupid logic goes out the window.

I just thought of Reese's.

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.