Monday, May 31, 2010
According to BobsBlitz.com, Nick Swisher is engaged to Joanna Garcia, a scientologist. What does this mean for the pinstriped right fielder? Probably very little, other than the fact that he'll be too busy to snag pop flies in the outfield because he'll be making prophesies in accordance with the moon/stars. Not to mention it will be a little creepy for other Yankees to walk into the clubhouse after games to find him chanting in Parseltongue while stirring a cauldron filled with "potions". His locker will be adorned with dreamcatchers and posters of Tom Cruise and don't be surprised if Swisher legally changes his name to something like "Burning Mountain".
Scientologists better condone doggy packing because Swisher will probably commit suicide if his dog days are over.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
I've been up for 4 days
Getting money both ways
Dirty and clean, I could use a glass of cold Spades
Rolexes, chauffeurs and low fades
I keep thinking how young you can die from old age
They always tell me nobody's working as hard as you
And even though I laugh it off, man, it's probably true
Cuz while all of my closest friends out partying
I'm just here making all the music that they party to
But party on, party on, all night nigga
I got these new rappers nervous prom night nigga
I've grown tired of these fucking grown man liars
Storytellers, they ain't even need a campfire
Uhh, but I just wanna tell the truth
Before one of these haters load a couple shells and shoot
This shit feel like when Fredro Starr was at Sunset Park
Stuntin' hard in his yellow Goose
Yeah, but I'm a ma'fuckin' missed target
But a target nonetheless and I just started
Was that directed at moi? It can't be
They must be talking to themselves, hoes hands free
Yeah, and I'm just filling up this daily planner
Gettin' busy 'cause I'm a star, no spangled banner
Jealous dudes get to talkin' in they music
And I just say I wrote it for your girlfriends, Kelsey Grammar
Yeah, that's what life becomes when you're doing you
Welcome to Hollywood, don't let this town ruin you,
And if you pillow talking with the women that are screwin' you
Just know that she gon' tell another nigga when she through wit you
Don't get impatient when it takes too long
Drink it all even when it tastes too strong
Yeah, I gotta feel alive, even if it kills me
I promise to always give you me, the real me
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
So apparently 50 cent is still heated that he didn't clean up at the Oscars for Get Rich or Die Tryin' and has taken to acting again. He's now playing a football player that gets diagnosed with cancer in "Things Fall Apart". I'm gonna throw it out there-these pictures are fucking creepy. There's no way this is the same man who took us all to the candy shop some years ago. This can't be the same dude that taught my Stunt 101 class.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
A mobile phone company has suspended the number 0888 888 888 – after every single person assigned to it died in the last 10 years.
The first owner Vladimir Grashnov – the former CEO of Bulgarian mobile phone company Mobitel which issued the number – died of cancer in 2001 aged just 48.
Despite a spotless business record there were persistent rumours that his cancer had been caused by a business rival using radioactive poisoning.
The number then passed to Bulgarian mafia boss, Konstantin Dimitrov, who was gunned down in 2003 by a lone assassin in the Netherlands during a trip to inspect his £500 million drug smuggling empire.
Dimitrov, who died aged 31, had the mobile with him when he was shot while eating out with a model.
Russian mafia bosses – jealous of his drug smuggling operation – were said to have been behind the killing.
The phone number then passed to Konstantin Dishliev, a crooked businessman, who was gunned down outside an Indian restaurant in Bulgaria's capital Sofia after taking over the jinxed line.
Dishliev, an estate agent, had secretly been running a massive cocaine trafficking operation before his assassination in 2005.
I don't know about you but there no doubt is a conspiracy going on behind this. There is no way three people should die in a ten year span, all with the same telephone number. I didn't even think what happens to your telephone number when you die. What happens if you have a friends number, they die, then a few years later you're getting this chicks number and they have the exact same one as your friend? Would you keep it? Hopefully no one reading this has this number because if you do, well, you're screwed.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Friday, May 21, 2010
This rebel with a cause was spotted outside McElroy. He was lugging a load of books back to sell, and after he filled his rather questionable recyclable shopping bag (I think that's what it is), he resorted to storing Principles of Macroeconomics and Nicomachean Ethics in an empty 30. Subject was unavailable for interview (probably loading up an empty keg with laundry he had to take home). We salute you sir.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
For those of you who don't have any siblings, you're going to have a tough time relating to this. For those of you who have siblings that can't drive yet, you'll one day feel the pain of this chafe. New drivers come in one at a time in families (unless you're twins (but not if you're Siamese twins!)). There usually is only enough cars to go around for the first driver, then parents feel like they did their part and let the kids battle it out for who gets the car when there are more drivers than vehicles. You'd think seniority always comes out on top but that's not the case. The younger siblings think that when older bro or older sis goes away to college, they inherit the car. They think that you have to start asking them to use the car even though it was rightfully yours in the first place. When you come home you forget that you can't walk everywhere and remember how much you need a car again just to do the littlest of chafes (chores = chafes, they are synonyms). The argument usually ends up with Mom and Pop taking the side of the youngest sibling since they have dealt with their bullshit for a couple years less. The car used to be at your disposal whenever you wanted it but not anymore. Now whenever you need it, you can't have it, and when you don't need it, is when you got it. The only way to get what's yours now-a-day is through the use of physical force. I'm not saying kick the shit out of your sibling to get the car but give them a charlie horse once in a blue moon and remind them whose boss around these parts. Let them know that this summer it's not going to be ok for them to take the car over you. The only time you should be letting them drive is when they are your designated driver for the night, then we'll see how much they like having their license.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Now, I can honestly say I still have about 3-4 sleepovers a week, but most of them are due to the fact that I can't operate a vehicle well enough to get me from point A to point B. So for this feeling you got to take a stroll down memory lane and remember the days when you used to have to call your parents before 10 O'Clock to give them an update on the night and how it's ending. Try and remember the days when sleepovers weren't impulsive decisions. The days when you used to set up a Friday night sleepover on a Monday. Everyone had their go-to parent who was usually more lenient than the other and thus twice as likely to say "Yes" to a sleepover. They would always be your first option but half the time would just redirect you to the other parent because they didn't want to make the final decision, or because they just didn't care enough. Sometimes you would even get redirected back to the original parent you asked, which usually meant that the probability of the sleepover was high. Your friends would only be able to hear one side of the conversation on the phone too. They'd hear your plea for a sleepover, providing a list of reasons as to why you won't be tired, what time you're "planning" on going to bed, the word please at least five times, and a big "thank you" when you finally receive confirmation. It was a great feeling when you knew you'd get to extend the night with your bro's and have a surplus of time to talk chicks. You'd finally have enough time to beat Golden Eye and make as many prank phone calls as your heart desired. Sleepovers were better than sex, so the confirmation to have one is undoubtedly a top 500 feeling.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
There isn't much out there that is more demoralizing than bombing a practice test the day before a final. You think you finally got a handle on the material and you go to test your abilities but come back with a sore butt, courtesy the "Not So Basic" Finance practice test. You then start to panic and think all the studying you've done (or lack there of) was for nothing. Most people wave the white flag at this point but some people get even more motivated (atleast I think some people do). Sometimes it's even worse when you get an easy practice test from the previous year because you think to yourself, "if only I had this test tomorrow." Yeah, and if only you started studying a day earlier. If only you could steal the final. If only Notorious B.R.O. jumped off the top of O'Neill. If only Delante West didn't fuck Lebron's Mom.....
Just spent a 100 of that brown paper bag money
It feel good to be young money cash money
Rehab I'm addicted to fast money
I got stacks and rubber bands up in that
Brown paper bag (you're dig)
Brown paper bag (my name is weezy you all)
Brown paper bag (I'm here on behalf of young money cash money)
Brown paper bag (I represent 17 road of New Orleans let's go)
Practice makes perfect I'm relaxing at rehearsal
I'm gonna motherfucking professional like Hershal Walker,
the talk of the game is I, but I wonder if he'll still be talking after I die
But that's not important
Money's more important
And understand I been in that water like I was snorkeling
Understand I been in that water like I'm a dolphin
Miami Khaled took me in like a orphan
Why did they start him?
Now they can't park him
I go into the booth and just change like Clark Kent
Lamborghini dark tint
Philly blunts cigar scent
I'm by myself and niggas run they mouths like auctions
To streets my brother
Fefe's my brother
And we stay on point like a fucking box cutter
you heard what I said motherfucker did I studder
With my brown paper bag, here to represent the hustle I'm out
Friday, May 14, 2010
Now, not all of us are fortunate enough to have sick noise canceling headphones. Rather, most of us don't have the balls to wear them on the walk to class. What we settle with are either the white iPod ear buds or a better version of Bose ear buds. The problem? Everyone can hear what you are listening to. Before you pick sides of who's right and who's wrong, let me dive into this topic and give you a look from both perspectives.
Guy NOT with headphones: No one enjoys listening to someone else's music through headphones. It's basically loud enough so that you're paying attention, but too quiet to actually hear what the lyrics are. We get it, you're jamming out on your walk to class. Can you at least have a little courtesy and turn it down a notch? I'm hungover from Thursday night and really don't need any unnecessary noise in my life right now. You give a look or two hoping they will pick up on your hint, but after a while you realize they're selfish and that they're going to continue to jam out as loud as they can.
Guy with headphones: It is not tough being this character. First off, if you are in an enclosed environemnt (i.e. an elevator), everyone can hear what you're listening to. This means when you're blasting "Damn It Feels Good To Be A Gangster" by Geto Boys, the black kid in the elevator is going to judge you and give you a look that basically says, "Change the fucking song." So you seek to the next song (via shuffle) and what else comes on other than "Forever and Always" by Taylor Swift. Now that really hot chick in your Econ class thinks you're a total pussy and you can kiss goodbye any chance you may have had of getting with her. Your music selection is very limited and usually dwindles down to the options of: Dave Mathews Band, Slightly Stoopid, or any and all Classic Rock. All you want to do is enjoy your music peacefully (and by peacefully I mean on full blast) without getting looks like you're Mike Ross. There's a reason why you have headphones in and aren't walking around with a giant boombox on your shoulder. You don't want to be bothered. That means when someone sees you with headphones in, no conversation should be started. Not only do you want to be left alone while listening to music on your way to class (after flight school of course) but you sure as hell don't want to deal with the approaching-person-headphone-chafe. When you see someone in the distance and it looks like they want to talk, do you pull one earbud out? Do you take them both out? Do you unplug your chord? Do you pause the iPod as a whole? None of the above. You give a head nod and continue traversing the Sahara Desert to get to Carney.
So before you pass judgment either way, just put yourself in their shoes, or better yet, their headphones. We are a loud generation and we listens to loud music. If you can't beat them, join them. Start a little sing-a-long on the elevator and maybe everyone will cheer up.
P.S. The kids that do wear the giant headphones probably are the ones that love haters also.
TV weatherman Bill Harding is trying to get his tornado-hunter wife, Jo, to sign divorce papers so he can marry his girlfriend Melissa. But Mother Nature, in the form of a series of intense storms sweeping across Oklahoma, has other plans. Soon the three have joined the team of stormchasers as they attempt to insert a revolutionary measuring device into the very heart of several extremely violent tornados.
This movie was on the other day and we began watching it after flight school. Has anyone actually seen this in recent years? The plot line is absolutely ridiculous. These nerdy scientists basically get off to chasing storms. They get boners over trucks, and the major conflict in the film is the pure storm chasers (soul chasers) versus corporate storm chasers (yeah corporate even drives black, hi-tech vehicles just like you'd picture). The graphics are above average, especially for being filmed in '96. What still baffles me is how Hollywood actually went through and produced this. It must have put on the invisibility cloak when it went by the Hollywood hierarchy. If you ever get another chance to watch this film, please do. It has an all star cast and an absurd plotline that will keep you on the edge of your seat. Hey, it kept me watching so obviously someone did something right. Or I just learned a lot at flight school.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
There is a grave and sinister new threat facing our college sons nationwide. College girls are now “vajazzling” their privates with jewels in efforts to tempt our solid, young men into fornicating with them and having babies.
Females are distracting young men from their studies, hindering their academic progress and dreams of becoming the doctors, lawyers and corporate executives of the next generation.
Beside for the obvious obscurities this guy is rambling on about, this article is absolutley loaded. For starters, the word “whore” is mentioned 33 times(I F-commanded it). And the lines that this freak is coming up with are absolutely priceless. Now don’t get me wrong here, this guy is clearly out of his fucking mind. But you can’t deny, the man is a magician with words and he is just dropping gem after gem after gem (vajazzling gems, if you will).
“College girls are now ‘vajazzling’ their privates with jewels in efforts to tempt our solid, young men into fornicating with them and having babies.”—What. The. Fuck?
Is this actually a trend? Are there actually girls out there getting jewels super glued around their pussies? I mean, I’ve met some girls that I thought were pretty fucking insane in my day, but my God… To be honest I don’t even know what to think of a girl with a sparkling pussy. Are sparkling pussies cool? Are they better than regular pussies? I never really thought about it, I thought pussies were pretty cuello the way they were.
And according to Van Buren these vajazzled vaginas (say that 5 times fast) are bad news for us college bros. Apparently these sluts are gonna try to bewilder us with there shimmery majestic vagina jewels and lure us so they can murder us, or whatever this freak was talking about. It’s also not their fault:
“We cannot fully fault college girls for being a victim of their feeble, near-sighted minds. It is innate to the XX gene-set.”
I feel you DVB. Speak the truth.
Quick scenario: You're hooking up with some chick in your bed, things start getting intense, ipso facto her pants come off. Now, no matter what type of approach you initially take at going down south; (hand, face, cock—whatever), when you eventually get down there you feel little tiny jewel-like bumps all over her FUPA- (or let's pray there's no F and it's just an UPA)—“What the fuck are these?” Then you get a glimpse of it. You can’t really tell what it is, but it kind of looks like a baby unicorn or a seahorse or something really flamboyant. Its made entirely of jewels and its completely covering this broad's UPA—Now my first reaction would be “Whoa this slut is a fucking alien.” I’d then proceed to call the Men in Black (I got Big Willie style on speed dial, so that’s a no brainer).
But if you're positive this girl is human, your next move obviously depends on how hot this girl is. I’m thinking any thing below a 919(on the face: yes or no: body rating system), warrants a get-the-fuck-out-of-there. But for a 919, fuck it, I’d vajazzle myself. I’d make a sick dragon, an outline of Jimmy Buffet's face or something really badass. Or I guess in that case ‘penisjazzle’ might be more accurate term? I’m not too familiar with the Jazzle Industry these days.
As a side note I think I just decided that ‘vajazzle’ is my new favorite verb. “Yo, Vajazzle me that beer bro!”…Love it.
So in final, I’m gonna close with a message to all you parents out there. To quote my boy Derek Van Buren:
“If you have a college daughter, at least talk to her and tell her to keep her antics to herself, not using her vajazzled groin in attacking young men at fraternity socials or at late night study hall meetings.”
I was hoping that maybe, just maybe, L.L. Bean backpacks would've stayed in style until 2012 (when the world as we know it comes to a halt). However, somewhere along the way L.L. Bean backpacks joined the elite group of extinction alongside dinosaurs, overhead projectors, head nod's symbolizing "Sup," and Woolly Mammoths. L.L. Bean backpacks were the absolute craze back in middle school. Not only did they come in all colors, but you could even get your own initials (or those of a loved one) embroidered on your backpack (I felt bad for the kids whose initials spelled PMS, ASS, JEW, or FAG). But then, like all fads, as we grew up we grew out of them (most of us atleast, I still no-scope an L.L. Bean once in a blue moon). One day, out of nowhere (I think in October), sagging your L.L. Bean backpack below your butt just wasn't the "hip" thing anymore. It soon became an easy target for the bully Seniors in the High School (no one wanted a chocolate swirley as a frosh).