Mood killer

I just got back from seeing Sideways. I thought it was PFG. Pretty Freaking Good. What might possibly be burned into my mind forever however, is the image of Paul Giamatti stealing a wallet out of the bedroom of a chubby couple having sex. The naked man chasing him as he ran away terrified with wallet in hand had me laughing hard enough that I couldn't breathe. Which is quite a thing if you've ever paid attention to how often I actually laugh, especially like that. I can only speculate that Paul Giamatti busting in on me having sex would similar effect on me. (You're welcome for the mental picture. The first one's free then I jack up the price; so savor the flavor, punk.)

But before the movie there are the inevitable previews and commercials. I have to say, commercials before movies are some of the most rediculous things I've ever seen in my life. Apparently the new thing is to try to hire film school students to make them so you get an ad for delicous, refreshing Coca-Cola (WARNING, BLOG PRODUCT PLACEMENT) that looks like something the Mad Hatter would watch then turn to his teapot-mouse friend and incredulously ask "What the f*ck was that?"

Worse than that is when you get movies being previewed that don't even make sense for what movie it preceeds. I have to ask what the crap demographic are they trying to hit that would go and see Sideways, then immeadiately say "I really need to find out what the deal with this Heffalump in the 100-Acre Woods is, screw live action." The big preview that I think is really annoying (and too late considering no one heard about it until it hit theaters anyway) is the one for "Because of Winn-Dixie". First of all, don't make a movie that sounds like it's about how a college athlete smuggled some clean piss to his drug screening. Secondly, they tag the movie at the end "Only in theaters". As if there was a toss-up between straight to video and 'aw, hell let's put it in theaters.' Who does it surprise that the preview they just saw, IN A THEATER, is for a movie that is going to be IN THEATERS.

Finally, from now on supposedly liberal Hollywood, instead of saying "with Cedric the Entertainer" to get black people to come to movies, why not say "Now with free reparations popcorn for blacks". I think that would be a better promotion. You could have a bunch of white upper middle class kids behind a one-way mirror actually picking the corn by hand and shucking it. Then picking kernels off the corn when its ready. Even a little song "Masa' got me workin', Daddy lost the trust fund, now me'sa gonna pick corn". I think the NAACP would get a real kick out of it.

- Scott

P.S. Has anyone else been seeing Angeline Holmes on TV every five seconds in that dammed Kay Jewelers commercial?

In his singing debut...

OK, so technically it debuted last year on Valentines Day. But it's a classic. If you know me you'll notice it's a bit out there, but I was feeling slap happy and made this little piece of wonderment. For those of you bummed about V-Day and the boy/girl relations that come about because of it, take a look at this and laugh (and realize that someone else is getting less ass than you...)





It is a thing of beauty beyond the ability of mere words to describe. Click the picture, and enjoy. Just make sure the speakers are cranked...I wish it could have been louder.

- Scott

Ah, sweet marriage

Since my blog brothers have been so enraptured by the happening, I feel that I too must share with the world and the internet how Josh's engagement has affected my life. It's funny how life is, one day you wake up and it's like 'here go to school, there's no more day long marathons of Seasame Street and Garfield' and at first you're confused. Why, why does this utopian existance I've known thus far have to end?! But then you find out college isn't so bad and you get over it.

The next thing you know, your friends of friends aren't 'hooking up' anymore, but getting married. Marriage? Like in the movies and tabloids?! And as long as I've known Josh I've never pictured him married. This is all new to me. And so difficult to take all at once. I'm just a little disapointed I had to hear about it from Rob. I mean, aren't we close Josh? I remember those days we spent together at Agape, breaking into houses for showers and...well that's about all I remember from that particular expierence. But it was GOOD! And now you're getting married. I'll have to think of it as not losing a brother/friend of a friend, but gaining...the story of Tim's toast?

Come to think of it, that's a pretty even trade. I officially give this marriage my blessing and as such include a list ofvarious advice to make your marriage last from my observations into the subject:

1. When rebelling against England, make sure to hide your bride so some English snob can't tie her to a post and slit her throat. Because after that you're liable to go crazy and get your intestines ripped out of your still living body.
   
2. If at anytime your bride wears sneakers with her wedding dress, sedate her and prevent her from getting collagen injections for her lips.
   
3. Any interaction between your hippie wife and conservative parents will be painful to watch but for some reason laughter will come from off screen. Don't question this or you'll be written off.
   
4. Apparently it's more romantic if you set it up as her marrying someone else, then you have to burst in tell her you lover her, and marry her on the spot. If there's someway you could set that up, I'd reccomend it.
   
5. Corollary: When you start to marry her bar the doors when the priest asks "if anyone has an objection to this union please speak now...yadda yadda yadda." Because why risk it?
   
6. Finally, on the honeymoon, don't let Harrison Ford pilot you anywhere. Just trust me on this one. The man has never been on a plane in a movie where something didn't go wrong.
   

I just hope this helps.

- Scott

P.S. Feel free, nay, encouraged to add to this list. I mean, we want the best for this kid right?

It's that time again....

'To make the CBS censors angry?' 'To make fun of the Disney Channel' Perhaps in another post...no it's time for the 2005 Bloggies. The most prestigous award sho...cerem...thing on the internet. And sadly we here at Bufford the Wonder Blog were snubbed again this year for the first year in a row, but one of the blogs the entire staff of BTWB supports is Teaching The Indie Kids To Dance Again. What catagory you ask? No not the abso-fucking-lutely longest URL on the interweb. Their catagory is "Best Kept Secret" which I think they've effictively destroied with this nomination.

They should have been up for best music blog, but the got rid of that after last year. Apparently the RIAA was shitting cows made of bricks over it, so it got the boot. A shame I'd say. But if you're a member of the Blogcademy and you're voting this year I'd seriously reccomend TTIKTDA, and while you're there check out some kick ass indie tracks.

- Scott

P.S. I'd also like to welcome Rob to the nerdery, he's officially joined my EverQuest Frat.

Harry Scotter and the Renegade Bellboy

Ok, so today in English for no reason at all I just got up and left. I decided that I didn't need to listen to this crap anymore because I obviously know more than the teacher. (Particularly when I need to explain an allusion in my paper, I mean isn't she supposed to be on top of that?) I was amazed at the freedom I had found, I could do ANYTHING.

And the first thing I decided I wanted to do was to go and peak in the plate glass windows they have in the front of class rooms. Great situation for the students seeing me, but not the teacher. So I did the classic going down the stairs, the canoe, just looking in the room and making eyes at certain ladies. But I quickly tired of my 'people zoo' as I had come to call it in my mind and wandered elsewhere.

As I got to the basement of the first building of the school I noticed for the first time that there was a high ceiling overhead (like went up two stories in a shaft between stairs). So I wondered if I could climb it. Since the walls were so close together I decided that I could. I think I got about 20 feet up before I decided that if I got caught there would be no easy way out of it. Plus the cheap ass drywall was making cracking sounds. At least I got my foot prints 20 feet up on the wall. Proud of that one.

Finally the master stroke of my renegade day. I snuck back into the class I had left and stole a chair. The teacher didn't ever look up from what the hell ever she was doing, so I came off completely James Bond about the whole thing. Step Two of my master piece was getting a bunch of food from the student lounge. And the final part: The Elevator Picnic. I sat on my chair riding the 'Elevator of Love' pressing buttons for people, eating my snacks, and generally being hilarious. Best part was when people who were touring the school come into the elevator to see me with my feet up on the handrail, drinking a soda and reclining in my chair. The expression was priceless. What a kick ass day.

- The Renegade Bellboy

I'm 20, and I feel grrrreat

I've got some people that are younger than me at my college, and I'm enjoying the hell out of being older than them. I'm finally twenty. That sounds so mature. Which makes it even more ironic and enjoyable to be completely immature. Although words can't express how nice it is to be able to say that I'm not -----teen. That teen on the end, it just bothered me/made me think of 1950's teenagers, and I'm not quite sure why. "I'm a teen, I sip milkshakes with my main gal and go to sock-hops on the weekend."

Fortunately, I no longer have to put up with this indignity. Now I'm 20. Despite my age I feel great. (Give that one a chance, it's how I picture the office environment.) This year was a pretty good birthday. The folks and I went out to The Old Spaghetti Factory and after a one way street fiasco in which some ass almost needed prompt kicking we were there and comfortably seated...well almost. You see in a large room like the one we were seated in at the OSF, you need to regulate the temperature and usually it needs to cool off. And that's where our problem comes in, they had the air conditioner on 55 degrees and we got seated under it.

Or I should say I did. So I did what any mature, 20 year old adult would do; took a key from my keychain, broke through the protective case and set the thermostat to 70. We left just as it was getting warm. So it was a good birthday.

Another breakthrough for me was getting over my lightning fast pleasantry response of "You too". Because it really led me down some rediculous avenues of social discourse. Here's an example:

• Random Birthday Wisher: "Happy Birthday"

• Me: "Thanks, you too" (Internal Monologue: Shit, that doesn't work here...Quick! Make up a lie)
  
• Me: "Oh sorry, me and a guy at school have the same birthday...I'm just used to saying that...because..."
• Me: *Wave hand* You did not hear me say "you too" you heard the response you were hoping for"

So it's good I got over that. Too much Jedi mind trick isn't good for anyone.

- Scott

Perhaps my last teen-aged post

It is with a great sense of reflection and accomplishment that I write this final post from my teenaged decade. That's right, this Saturday, January the 29th I turn 20. Look out adulthood, you've got a loose cannon on your hands, which I have to imagine would be pretty painful because cannons are notoriously heavy.

I've been living up my last week of teenagedness, reflecting back on all the crap that's happened over the last few years and trying to figure out what I should write for this signoff from my adolescent years. I thought of a list of things I've learned (which turned out to be pretty short), a photo blog essay, funny quotes from the years...but nothings seemed quite right. Then I was looking over past essay's that I've written over the years and one stood out. It defined my work in High School and I think you'll enjoy it with a little set up.

The following essay was assigned to me by Mrs. (devil bitch) Morgan for making fun of a gay character in the novel Fallen Angels by saying: "He really should have joined the Navy. You know what they say about submarines...80 men go down, 40 couples come up." She responded with an icy 5 minutes of silence as the laughter died out and a 1000 word essay due the next day. It might help to note I wrote this with the voice of Mo Rocca narrating in my head. So without further ado here is my teenaged rebuttle:

" What I said about the Navy Submarine Men was totally uncalled for and somewhat random. I had no basis for saying that completely uncalled for thing. What I said was the completely off topic. The thing I said was disruptive to the class.

I had no basis to make that comment. I have no hard proof that Submarine Navy Men are gay or homosexual. I cannot prove that. There is very little hard evidence to suggest to one that just because men are on a submarine for months at a time without any women that that means they are gay or will become gay. That situation presents itself in prison and they are not all gay in prison. Just because there is an ambiguously gay or presumed gay character due to his effeminate characteristics is no reason to suggest he join the Navy because they are also presumed gay as afore mentioned. In keeping with that there is little evidence that the character from the story was, in fact, gay. There is no existing evidence in favor of his being homosexual or gay, in that I mean he was never seen with men in a sexual or flirtatious manner. He never openly or otherwise admitted to being homosexual. He may have been just a bit different and was henceforth persecuted for that difference. Just because he had no girlfriend and seemed more interested in movies than the movie starlets that he knew. Or fact that he had to try to survive in a hostile foreign country. One might question as to whether that is enough substantial evidence to come to the conclusion that he is homosexual. No I think not. Even with this Grand Canyon size hole, which is unignoreable by all who are so informed as to notice it, in the opinion of the fictitious soldiers still they believe that through all the talk of movies and starlets that he is most likely a person of homosexual orientation.

I had no reason to make the off topic comment about Submarine Navy Men. Saying that was wrong. Saying such a thing can only be bad. The comment is not even completely true. The comment was totally off topic for the discussion. What I said had nothing to do with Nam. The comment was more about the Navy, and more specifically the submarine part of the Navy, than the book we are reading, which is about the Army not the Navy. The comment was so very not on topic that one could say that it was very off topic. One could imagine how very not on topic the off topic thing that was said was. A statement like that was off topic in such a way as to make it so that it is not on topic. This of course means that it is unrelated or not related to the conversation if that makes the meaning more clearly iterated.

The thing I said was disruptive to the class and class environment. The comment was so disruptive that almost two minutes of time passed out of the forty seven allotted to that class. That amount of time could have accomplished a lot given the proper usage. There have been wars set off in less than two minutes. Many sporting competitions have been won or lost in less than two minutes. The death penalty by electric chair, which is considered one of the fasted methods of execution of prisoners in prisons today, is lethal in less than two minutes as is a bite from a Black Mamba, which is the deadliest poisonous snake in the wild continent of Africa discovered thus far. What the point is, is that two minutes are a lot in the course of events. The time taken out of the discussion could have been put to use doing something productive. The whole idea of wasting time in a class of only forty seven minutes is very wasteful. One must ask do people come to school to be entertained or to learn or is it a bit of both in a tasteful blend combining rich flavor and nutty goodness. In retrospect the comment that was so disruptive as to waste the time of the class that could have been used for something else.

In closing the comment that had no basis and wasted the time of the people in the class was bad. By this I mean really bad like the bombing of Hiroshima or the creation of the lethal chemical Anthrax. In short what was said had little basis. The afore mentioned said things were off the established topic. This meant that it brought up a new topic other than the one before it that was but not limited to being unrelated to the original topic. The rogue topic was also disruptive. By being disruptive it is meant that it brought disorder and chaos to an otherwise at least quasi-orderly environment. Bringing disorder and chaos is very related to the disruptive statement in that it was not in general considered good or bad if summarization is helpful. In short the comment was off topic. A topic that was about the book the new rogue topic, if one may be so bold, was totally away from the subject of the book which was Vietnam not Submarine Men. Saying the comment also caused disorder, which leads to anarchy, which is generally considered negative. The comment also was not associated with basis. In that what is meant is that the comment was not completely accurate. That in itself can be bad. The comment was indeed not on topic or with basis. The comment was disruptive and bad. In closing the comment was not good or, to put it more simply so as to make it more understandable, and put it the way it is more often said in this great country of free speech, where the buffalo roam and the sky is not cloudy all day, where you are free to voice opinions based on what you believe, bad."

Admittedly I've become a much more proficient writer, but this makes me laugh out loud every time I read it. Even more so when I think about the fact that this was supposed to be my sincere apology to my teacher for a politically incorrect joke. Ah, the days of my youth!

- Scott

Hello, My Name is Your Blog

When's the last time you found a band that really spoke to you? I've always had friends with a big range of musical tastes, but always had one bad that they seem to associate with. Like Nick back in high school with Red Hot Chilli Peppers, or Tim and his Five Iron Frenzy love, or Jake and his Goldfinger, or Rob and his Zebrahead. You know the band that I mean, the band that is your band, despite your not being in it.

I think for me that band is Ludo. If I had a band (well, if I still had a band. One that didn't do covers, no offense to Walkie Walkie and the Kamehameha's, I mean we were hilarious, but not all that musically creative) this is the kind of music I'd make. With songs about ninjas, wookies, that fantasy where you have to rescue the girl from the pirates then she loves you, a really hilarious break up song, and generally great, random references you can't go wrong. You can listen to their whole album if you go to their website and click on the Listen tab at the top. I reccomend 'Hum Along' 'Hello my Name is Your TV' 'Good Will Hunting By Myself' and 'Laundry Girl'.

Scott Out

One last note, they have a blog here. Bonus points for that.

Yes, yes you will.

I have an issue with those damn anti-marijuana commercials. It's indirectly related to my rant about wars on abstract concepts. The ones I mean are the "Regret, my anti-drug" series of annoyances. Specifically the couple of them that end with the statement "You'll never forget the people you hurt when you were high."

To this I reply: "Bull shittery" How many people even remember what they did when they were high? So who's going to remember who they hurt when they were high? I can't even remember how I hurt myself when I'm drunk. Here's a fun example, I woke up the day after I got put in the Roodhouse jail at my house and didn't remember how I got home. Then when that came back I had to seriously ask myself why my hand hurt so bad. After talking to some people I found out that I was punching a giant wash pot at Steve's cabin and telling people they just lost on the Gong Show. I also apparently called Mary Karen Desherlia a bitch.

In short, no you don't remember the people you hurt (self included) when you're drunk (or high).

-Scott

What a friggin mess....

You know, people have called me animated. I thought they meant I'm a bit expressive and bouncy. Like Robbin Williams, on Ritalin. Because nobody is that bouncy. But it turns out they meant that my life is more or less a cartoon. One of those cartoons where a long string of unlikely events conspire to somehow screw over the main character. Confused? Well let me explain...

--------------------FIVE MINUTES AGO--------------------

So I'm in my kitchen, hanging out. Seriously, who hangs out in a kitchen? Seinfield did sometimes, but technically that was an extension of his living room. Anyway, a more accurate explanation of my actions was that I was staring blank faced into my refridgerator looking for food, closing the door, then looking again. As if food would magically appear that hadn't been there before.

So as I'm standing there I realize that I haven't done the dishes since...uh oh I can't remember when. Crap. Naturally it took me about 2 and a half hours to do. And created a lot of trash. Anything that was disposable I just threw out. The kicker is this, the last three things I threw away were (in order): a Propel bottle, a plastic knife, some mail, and the batter from when I cooked fish.

Seeing how full the trash was I pulled out the can to take it out when I noticed an orange behind it. I decided it would be fun to try to smash down the trash by throwing the orange into the can really hard. What I didn't realize is that the knife, bottle, paper, and crumbly batter crap had combined to become a catapult. As soon as the orange hit the knife resting across the bottle (which was hidden by the paper) the batter went everywhere. I looked like Caroline Holmes, THAT white. The rest of my kitchen looked like a deleted scene from Scarface.

Now I get to clean it up.

- Scott

Le Grand Deception

Ok. Here's the thing, I worked myself into quite a jam and I could really use the advice of my dearest friends. The first issue is a paper about a psycology experiment. I was supposed to pick a person and try to condition their behavior to have some conditioned response. Like Pavlov's dog, he simultaneously rang a bell and fed the dog, so eventually the dog would associate the ringing of the bell with food. And when he heard the bell he'd drool.

That's what I was supposed to do. Instead I played excessive amounts of video games and made smart alec comments to people, both present and on the internet. Now I have an interesting opportunity that people are talking about... Because I didn't really do the research/work I can just make it all up. You see how I spun that into an advantage? I should really work for the White House, just not this one because I friggin hate it.

So here's where you come in I need advice in three areas:

1. What behavior should I aim to change?
2. Who should I claim I did it to?
3. Are there any unexpected side effects?

I have some ideas, but I am taking suggestions. The more rediculous and hilarious the better because she isn't going to check on these. Be creative people. I know you can. Let the shennanigans begin.

Yick, coughing sound, vomit

The more I watch the news the more I'm totally convinced that it's only trying to gross me out. For instance, today I saw a story about the new oldest woman to give birth. She was 66 years old, and lives in Romania. She delivered the baby by caesarean section, and was artificially inseminated.

And that's when the jokes started:

• "Yeah she delivered by C-Section and the afterbirth was dust."
  
• "I'm sorry but she had a face like an old catcher's mitt. It wasn't like she was artifically inseminated because it was safer, it was pretty much her only option."
• "No kidding, I remember the last story about her"
• "What was that"
• "The time she walked by the sex shop and all the dildo's shrivled up"

I'm sorry, but that's just hilarious. Congratulations for bringing another person into a third world nation. Because there's a real shortage, I'm sure doctors will spread the word "Good news, we can knock up the hags and repopulate these industrious, profiting nations" "Huzzah!" "Next order of buissness: raising the 'middle aged' status to 15 years old."

Beware the Supervillian

I think all the people here in my blog paradise have seen movies with Supervillians in them. From Bond, to Superman, to Howard the Duck, all of our heroes have had to deal with some kind of terrifying superbadass. For Bond it was Dr. No, for Superman it was Lex Luthor, for Howard the Duck it was wondering why a movie staring him got made. In any case all these supervillians had one thing in common, they were evil, they had the potential to reap mass destruction, and they were scary.

What's interesting is that we actually have some supervillians kicking around the planet today, in real life. Dick Cheney for one, ok so maybe he isn't exactly supervillian material. They're very selective. But definately a fine henchman. Oh, and let's not forget the mother of all current villians: Osama bin Laden.

Anyone know what he's been up to lately? Well one man, no doubt an expert in his field does. Apparently Osama caused the recent tsunami disaster. That's right, somebody finally put two and two together and got five. Reading this string of logic will most likely cause a brain aneurysm, so be careful out there.

Here's my real problem with that crapstorm of a theory. We're accrediting a comic book/blockbuster movie scale plot to a guy who threatens us with crappy homemovies he makes of himself talking into a Mr. Microphone infront of that rock? I mean come on people, this guy can't even find a nice suit to wear as he slings threats at the infidels, he wears those God awful rags of his. Come on Osama, clean up! Throw some drywall up in your cave, hire a production crew, buy some boom mics, maybe a lapel mic or two (you look like you're hosting an Al-Jazeera game show with that microphone in your hand), a best boy, a few gaffers, and some decent lighting. Because if you want to threaten the western world you have to understand what we're all about: Production Value. Except in the case of celebrity sex tapes, in which case anything will do.

Although I will point out that the Paris Hilton tape was a lot more low key than the Pamela Anderson debacle, and do you know why? Hmm, I'll call on you in the rags. That's right little Osama, Pam had better PV. Get with the program, or we'll start calling you Osama "bargain bin" Laden. And I think that would probably hurt your feelings. I'm doing it all for you here. Hear me out, it's time for change

- Scott

Random bits from the mind of Scott

Ok I have a few posts lined out for the future, but they're all pretty well A-list stuff. I can't start a year on that! People will start to expect too much. Here's some selections from the B team, you know the B Team. They had a somewhat successful show in the 70's. You know...outlaws from the Coast Guard, framed for a crime they probably did commit, rode around in a Ford Pinto? Ring a bell? No?...And you call yourselves cultured. Pfft.

Anyway over the break I had lots of thoughts about things that I intended to work into full length posts. Here is a sampling of those thoughts:

1. Season's Greetings: How. damn. lame. I realize it's a shot at being politically correct, which you all know I personifiy, but come on. I cringe everytime I hear this expressions. Why not say "I'm too big of a pussy to affiliate myself with one specific holiday/religion so I'm going to be vague to the point that you can't sue me" or "Meaningless Holiday Salutations" or "INSERT APPROIATE GENERIC RESPONSE HERE" but if you use that last one you have to say it like a robot. Because if you have ever in your life said "Seasons Greetings" that's pretty much what you are.

2. 2004: A Space Odyssey: Not only did our old year have a movie, but it had an awesome soundtrack. One that is a bit overplayed, but someday I think I'd like to strip to it. dunnn Dunnn DUNNN DAH DUNNN. You know the tune. It would be pretty magnificient.

Anyway, even though 2004 didn't quite live up to it's name (all we did that year was put a friggin' go kart on Mars) it still had a nice "Man, it's 2004, I live in the future" quality to it. What does 2005 have to offer? So far crappy weather, tsunami aftermath, and that's about it. What the hell kind of odyssey do you have in 2005? I mean, my on-going booty odyssey sure. But that's it! I say we all decide on an odyssey for this year and set out on it.

3. My New Year's resolution: To have a secret word of the day. That's right, a Pee Wee's Playhouse reference. And I fully intend to scream everytime I hear it throughout the day. I've called some people about talking furniture, they haven't gotten back to me yet. But seriously, how elitist is it to have a secret word? Super Elite, in fact it goes so far as to be 1337. (If you're confused about 1337, let me break down "leet speak" for you. Basically hackers didn't want people to easily find their sites through searches, and if they did, they wanted it to look unintelligible. So they use numbers and symbols instead of letters. 1337 translates to leet, from elite. Originally it was 31337, for Eleet. There's entire lettering systems for this, check out a tame example here. So there's that.) Look for that in the future.


Finally the word for today is: misunderstanding!
They don't have to emphasize it enough to include the exclamation point. I threw that little gem of punctuation because it's more exciting that way. Even a bland usage of misunderstanding will do. So enjoy that. If this word doesn't come up enough I'll be sure to use a more common one next time. - Scott

It was cold out, in fact it was Out Cold

I just got back from my ski trip to exotic Galena, Illinois and man I am sore. It was a wild couple of days there. Filled with laughter, cheap hotel rooms, skiing, major accidents, and insults. Basically go rent the movie Out Cold and you'll get an idea of what went on. It was more or less like that sans a fat bearded guy. I mean, we invited Michael Moore but there was some issue with the mountain supporting so much weight... I'll break it down by days to make the whole thing more digestable.

Sunday:
Ah, the splendor of America's Heartland. We spent the whole damn day driving through the backwoods to get to our destination: Dubuque, Iowa. We stayed in Iowa, because it was cheaper. Also it gave me the fun of insulting the local populous with my Iowa jokes. (Loudly in public: "did you know IOWA is an acronym? Yeah, it stands for Idiots Out Wandering Aimlessly. Roosevelt decided that during his 'let's go crazy with letters' days." and "Wisconsin hates Iowa, and vice versa. There was even a battle between the residents of the two states. It was pretty intense, the people on the Iowa side were throwing sticks of dynamite at the Wisconsin people...Then the people in Wisconsin were lighting them and throwing them back")

We rode up in my van, and as anyone who has ridden with me over a long distance knows; it was really fun and kind of scary. It's like a roller coaster that has an even chance of crashing or making it through its run. We got there around 7, after a few questionable manuvers and some creative driving. Brody went in to check us in, and Josh and Barrett got to work unloading the van. For some reason I thought it was funny to pull up a little bit while they were trying to grab the bags. After one or two times Barrett just stood up fully and gave me a "fuck you" look. But he didn't realize he was standing up where the hatch back was highest, as I pulled forward the handle of the door smoked him on the head. I just about peed my pants, it was hilarious. That'll teach him to give me the indignant look.

Other than seeing Blade III (worth it for Jessica Biel sexy-ness, and Ryan Reynolds humor...but not much else), we just went to bed that night.

Monday:
We woke up at the crack of 7:00 and showered (which was later questioned...why shower to go ski?) and ate breakfast. I managed to give them a fake room number at the hotel restaurant leading to problems the next day. But other than that...smooth.

I drove us up to the slopes which was just a hop across the river to Galena, Illinois. We got there and got our stuff ready. I rented boots and used Brody's ludacrisly nice (and as yet unused) skis. But it had been a year since I skiied and I was being a timid little bitch. So my first run was down the bunny slope. But I will say I friggin owned it. After that the confidence built exponentially. There was a black diamond slope that scared me however. For those that don't know there are different rankings of slopes. A black diamond is expert. I had no intention of doing it...until Brody mentioned that Karen had. From that point on my own survival didn't matter. He said she did it after lunch, it was 11:38 at the time....that gave me about 20 minutes to prove my manhood.

To give you an idea of what I was getting myself into, from the top of the hill, you can't see the bottom. All you can see is the Mississippi River at the base of the valley. The grade is like 30 degrees or something equally menacing. I'd beat this 90 pound girl or die trying I was thinking. So down I went. And you know what? It was great. +1000 to confidence.

Now if at this point you're worrying that I might be getting too confident, I can't blame you. Because I was. Basically I felt prepared to ski in the Olympics. So I decided that I didn't need to turn and bleed off speed anymore. I went pretty much straight down the mountain, from the black diamond. People said it was pretty ovbious I was going to crash when I was getting air from a slight bump in the snow. But they had seen nothing yet. The last 30 feet of the hill are a very sharp downward grade, above this it had flattened out somewhat. I didn't account for how much speed I had and never touched those last 30 feet. That's right, I flew.

And you know, flying is great...it's landing I need to work on. The landing was a spectacular wipeout. I kind of landed on my ski's and then sommersalted a few times, ending up on my back. I knew if I survived, but broke Brody's brand new performance skiis he would finish me off. So I, while spinning on my back, put my feet and skiis straight up in the air in a move that shall forever be known as the Helicopter Wipeout. I wrenched my knee a bit, but I was still in the game for the rest of the day.

Thank God lunch was up next. At lunch I showed my friends my proficiency at hacking Coke machines. A trick I can thank the internet and my nerdy college friends for. You can set the machine to give out free soda, tell you how much it's made since the last reset, do a two for one special, etc. Even change the password so no one else can get into the Coke machine utilities. I showed Barrett with no problem. I looked great, but Brody missed the show. So I went to show him. But the second time around, I didn't pay as much attention. Well...as it turned out I kind of broke it. Instead of displaying things, it just read NONE. And did little else. We're not sure what came of it, but the next day we saw a new coke machine being brought in on a truck. I think I'm a wanted man.

The rest of the skiing that day was uneventful. After the slopes, we decided it would be a good idea to come in from the cold and get in the hotel's hot tub. Sadly, we had no swimming trunks. So we went to the nearby Target and looked around. I found fur lined Santa boxers that came with a hat that I felt were just rediculous enough for me to buy. I also found a nice pair of basketball shorts to hot tub in. Score! Sadly, the hot tub wasn't quite up to Real World standards. Frankly it sucked. It was made of concrete and shaped like a little boat. There weren't really jets but there were a few bubblers. Unfortunately there wasn't a lot of water filtration, which turned our hot tub into a Gravy Boat of Disease. Still, it was relaxing.

That night we went and saw The Incredibles it was my second time and I'll reiterate; Elastigirl is hot. Too bad she's voiced by an old harpy by the name of Holly Hunter. But the voice was nice enough for the role. And Craig T. Nelson as Mr. Incredible? Brilliant. Way better than his 46 seasons of Coach, wrapped into 2 hours.

Tuesday:
At breakfast I gave them the right room number, they were like 227? How many people are in that room. I said "...four." And they said "did you pay for four." I replied, "Well one of us was pregnant and squeezed out a kid after we payed for three, so we figured it didn't count" They were not amused. After a scowl and the insinuated threat of spitting in my food I said "yes, we paid for four."

The weather report said it'd be zero out and they were right. What they failed to mention is that there would be wind bad enough to push you back up the hill. Literally, on the bunny slope if you didn't haul ass down it you'd stop then slowly be pushed back. Riding on the lift and looking down you felt like you were watching some piece on the artic, there were little torrents of snow blowing all over the ground and we were pretty much the only people dumb enough to be out in it. Today I had to rent boots and skis because Brody seperated his shoulder on a wipeout from the terrain park. I should mention that 2 seconds later Barrett face planted from the same jump and sustained a mild concussion. As you can imagine, it was awesome.

After lunch we didn't feel like we could go on. I felt like we needed a morale boost, and what is better for that than a huge wipeout. The lodge is at the top of the bunny hill and we were headed down it. I tucked in for speed against the wind and was actually getting some nice speed. I just leaned a bit too far forward at the wrong time and...wham flipped down the hill losing my skis, poles, hat, goggles, gloves and slid backwards getting snow up my coat. I flipped over quite a few times, once I landed hard on my back and it hurt for the next 2 days. All in all it was pretty hilarious. (But I'll own up, it wasn't intentional, if only it were. I'd have a carreer!)

We skiied the rest of the day and froze our asses off. It was pretty bad so we cut the day off an hour early, went back, hopped into the Gravy Boat of Death, and relaxed. I was feeling pretty good so I decided to try something I'd always wanted to try: to use one of those life saving hooks at the pool to polevault across it without touching the water. It was a learning experience, the lesson was that polevaulters don't use aluminum poles. As I plunged it into the water and put my weight on it the rod folded like a cheap tent. What a pisser, and into the freezing cold pool too. Ouch.

We went out that night and ate at Fat Cat pizzza. I spent 5.20 total and got fresh drafted root beer and a large pineapple pizza. It was the Tuesday special, if you're ever in Doobuuquue I suggest it. We decided to head back on Wednesday without skiing when we heard that the temp was going to be even colder than zero. "Colder than zero! That'd have to be....like negative or something" ah the quotes of blonde girls. We spent our last night on the town at a mall where I bought a maxim, knocked over a rack of DVD's at Suncoast, and shouted at Buckle employees. That's pretty much it. At the hotel we watched Collateral, and Josh gave us the quote of the trip. In the climactic scene at the end of the movie where Jada Pinket Smith is hiding from Tom Cruise in the dark of her office and Tom can't find her Josh blurts out, completely deadpan: "Good thing she's black"

And with that I end my marathon post. There's more to tell, but I'm tired of typing and you've read enough. Who needs reading? Go watch TV. I'm out like Jimmy McGreevey.
- Scott

There and Halfway Back Again; The Ho Ho Show

Boys and girls, crowd around and I shall tell you a tale. A tale of travel, a tale of music, a tale of moshing. It is the story of 'The Ho Ho Show: 2004' and it begins in Springfield. I was making plans for heading to the concert when my good buddy Stevo called me up and dropped the news on me; he couldn't get a ride. Oh no! What would I do? As the protagonist of the story I decided to be plucky and self-sacrificing and drive 100 miles in the opposite direction to pick up my friend. And so it was that I found myself in Champaign/Urbana when I should have been in St. Louis. It was really kind of surreal.

After I picked up Good Buddy #1 it was off to get the rest of the crew, this one was hiding in the backwoods of Jersey County, not far from Brighton. We took all sorts of backroads to get there and eventually picked him up around 6:10. By the time we left Barrett's house it was 6:20ish. We took off toward St. Louis, and ultimately The Pageant.

I was speeding pretty heavily because the show started at 7:00, and it was about 7:05 and we still weren't there. But eventually got there and found a parking spot... that was damn near my house in Illinois. I don't know what all those people were there for, but there were ass loads of cars that couldn't have been for the Ho-Ho-Show. The reason I know this is because I am pretty well versed in the Point's demographic, and these people actually graduated High School. I could tell by their cars, and their generally snooty demeanor. Plus the fact that they were like 50. Maybe they thought there was a Kenny-G concert that night or something.

Despite the retirement village going out for the night we still got a spot and got to the venue pretty easily. Going in, security was overly tight for a concert. Don't get me wrong I appreciated a random female gently feeling me up as next guy did, but it seemed like overkill. I wasn't there to meet the president, I was there to make the metal sign and push people in the pit. Oh and music, something about music. I would say we actually arrived around 7:20. In that time the opener act 'The Adored' had already played and their gear was off the stage. Did they play like one song? What the crap?

We wondered around and saw where we needed to be: right in front of the stage in the pit. There was only one problem, a problem that poured his 240 pounds into a large blue polo shirt and kakhi pants. That's right, it was a security guard; apparently one who thought that the pit was full enough. Ah, but sadly he hadn't consulted us about that decision. And that was really his mistake. He walked to one side and looked away for just long enough for us to bum rush the pit. It was great, we were in. Then we noticed him comming back, so I burrowed in deeper like a mole escaping the garden hose. Stevo followed suit behind me, but our burrowing efforts were too slow for Barrett and the 5 foot 9 inches of minimum waged fury that was the security guard pulled him back to the upper levels.

I felt so segregated. A bit like the Jews in all the WWII movies I've seen (thanks History Channel), me and Steve made the train and Barrett had to stay in the Ghetto. Or something. In any case that was how we saw the Lostprophets set. Apparently they're Welsh. Which is a really funny term for being from Wales. But after decades of being called "Walish" I guess I can see why they changed it. During their set Steve and I debated their sexuality. You see, these guys were dressed like they had spent the day with the Queer Guys. Seriously, in fact I think they could coach the Queer Guys. Especially Thom. What the hell Thom? Pull yourself together man, people are going to start thinking you're straight.

Anyway Lostprophets were rediculously well dressed. And one of them had some strange pelvic tattoos, kind of tribal style and going down to the junkular area. I don't know too many heteros sporting that one. A few of them were sporting 'vintage' tee shirts with more accesories than Claire's in the mall. One of them had a pretty righteous mullet-ish hairstyle, except if you can imagine a mullet that the gays have taken over and made stylish. That's when I couldn't take it anymore, when you actually make a mullet look so good that I would consider it for myself (again) you've gone too far, and by fashion alone cannot be straight. Add to that the fact that their hair styles obviously took longer than most womens' and one of them I wasn't even sure was a man...and you have an ambiguous group.

Their set was alright but pretty short at only 6 or 7 songs. The whole time I spent mocking them, and trying to figure a way for Barrett to get down to us. I saw one intrepid kid try not once, but twice to get down to us. He would walk to one of the areas where the tables are right against the pit and hop over, then try to get deep into the pit. Both times a security guard would come and get him, and both times they grabbed him by the neck of his shirt and dragged him out. It was hilarious. But I give him points for trying.

After Lostprophets finished up a few people exited the pit and in the hustle and bustle our good friend Mr. Barry managed to get past chubby security guard #1 and down to us. Next up, Cake they get bold type because they're that amazing. What a show. These guys should have been have been headlining. Half the crowd was there for them, and nobody was dissapointed. Very rarely have I seen a band work an audience like they did, and somehow they made it look like they weren't doing anything at all. Cake was great. While they were playing we looked around and saw a really hot girl. She looked so familiar... me and Stevo debated who she was and both thought that she looked a lot like a girl we knew. Eventually she was standing next to the three of us and I asked them if we should just ask, so I did. "Hey, we were wondering, are you Melissia Berry?" It turned out she was. I started to explain who I was and she was like "you're Scott Gresham." That moment alone was worth my $37.50. Sure we were neighbors, but she still knows who I am. Damn, I'm just that sexy. Anyway Cake rocked, and I don't think I've ever seen a better stage show. At the end of their set people chanted for more Cake for at least 5 minutes, but the radio promoter people wouldn't have it, even when they started to take back the stage. The promoter guy flipped out on the side of the stage and they had shrug and walk off. People booed after that, not booing Cake but booing the asshole promoter.

So after Cake no one was really interested in Jimmy Eat World, well except for some over privledged frat boys with flipped up collars. More on them later. But JEW was taking the stage just as the last cries for a Cake encore were dying out. And, although I like Jimmy Eat World enough I just didn't care. I wanted more Cake and I wanted to eat it too (I'm really sorry for that lame joke I just couldn't resist.) So JEW turned into a gi-normous moshpit for no reason. I don't know if you know this about me, but I'm a mosh pit kind of guy. Something about smashing the hell out of a random person with no hard feelings is just so appealing.

Naturally, I had a hell of a lot of fun with it. At one point I decided to go on a ramage to protect my personal space. I pretty much pushed everyone around me away and had my own little area to stomp around in. Then another time (and this was the first of two times I made eye contact with JEW frontman, Jim Adkins) everyone in front of me, including most of the annoying frat guy contingent, was leaning over heavily. I just decided to push them past the breaking point, I heaved with all I had and they all fell down. So there was a big section, maybe a 15 foot radius, of people fallen down in a circle and me putting my foot on one and raising my arms in triumph. That was when Jimmy John looked at me. I was really near the front, in spitting range if I wanted to. It was pretty cool.

As time went on we kind of moved back a bit and the second remarkable thing happened. I don't know if you guys have ever had to deal with annoying people crowd surfing over you, but it sucks. And we were sick of it. So Barrett decided that we would throw the next person that came over us. We waited and waited, and evenutally this girl was getting passed over us and we looked at each other and gave the universal '1,2,3' head movements and grunts and threw the bitch a good 8 or 9 feet ahead of us onto those same unsuspecting frat bastards. She toppled them, when this 80-90 pound girl crashed down onto the heads of these preppie jerk-offs she brought them down. And they stayed down for a bit. It was a shining, wonderful moment. The final thing of note I have to say about the concert was me, directly pissing off the fratty's. Everyone was moshing through all of JEW's songs, it wasn't about the band anymore. JEW finished whatever song they were playing and people were yelling, and I shouted out "No one's listening" right as I did everything got quiet and that just rang out. I think the band heard me as they were just a few feet away, and the dick head frat boys definately did. It was great. There's more to tell but I think I'll save it to tell you in person sometime, this has become far too long. I hope this tides you over until the 23rd, because it's my last post before my ski trip. Merry Christmas everyone - Scott

Hey dere, hi dere, ho dere

Well hello childrens, I haven't posted in a few days. But am now forced to thanks to the perfect storm of both Tim and Rob posting on the same day. Thanks alot assholes! But I'm comforted in the fact that it takes two people to make me look bad, so I think I almost break even. Here's the next post in my series of "girls-on-TV-that-I-want-who-would-never-have-anything-to-do-with-me" posts. It's actually the one that kicked them all off, but I just didn't get the chance to post it before. Here is the infamous Chloe Sullivan dinner date paper I recently turned in in my Writing for the Professional class.

Journal #2: My Mystery Date

If I could have dinner with one person, living or dea, fictitous or real, I'm fairly certain that I would have dinner with Chloe Sullivan, of TV's Smallville. The reasons for this decision are more than simply because "she's hot". No, there is much more to the decision than physical apperance, although it doesn't hurt. You see, Chloe is a character that I have enjoyed watching (on oh, so many levels) over four seasons of Smallville, however in that time she never had decent boyfriend.

In one instance, a boy feigned interest only to suck her body heat from her body for sustenance. In another, she was merely a pawn to get to the show's protagonist: Clark Kent. Even when she dated Clark, he ditched her at the prom to rescue Lana Lang (the attractive, but frusterating mocha skinned cheerleader) from some "Perfect Storm" of tornados. And it wasn't just because he wanted to save her life, or even the idea of having both girls at once, which has crossed my mind; he was romantically interested in Lana. So he ditched Chloe at the prom without a word, which is a pretty crappy thing to do to her. They quickly broke up.

Chloe has it bad enough on the romance front, but even at home things are chaotic. Her mom vanished from the lives of Chloe and her father without a trace, only to be found years later in a mental institution, with a hereditary mental disease no less. So potentially Chloe has this ailment as well. Not only does this add some character development and emotional shading to h er, I can only speculate that a fairly hot girl with a mental disease would only amount to a lot of fun for me.

Her problems are not limited to her family and friends however, she managed to incur the wrath of an unscrupulous billionaire Lionel Luthor. At first she was in league with him, but after awhile her good nature won out and she broke off their deal. Or tried to, her plan more or less failed. But eventually she got him to confess to the murder of his own parents and sent him to jail. I like this whole exchange because, 1. My plans often fail, despite good foundations and 2. I end up improvising a lot too, and it works out for me. So we have that in common, when you add to that mix the clever points she gets for tricking him into confessing and recording it, and this girl is shaping up nicely.

Through all this disaster and calamity Chloe has maintained her spunky personality, her hard hitting reporting, her wicked style, and her charisma. She has a rocky past as far as love is concerned, but I think this girl just needs a good man. And I am that man. So for these reasons and more I think she would make an interesting dinner partner.


- Scott

My Fantasy Date

I promised Tim that I would post the two page Chloe Sullivan paper when I get it back from my teacher, and I will. But I haven't gotten it back yet, so what could I post? I was thinking about this as I was watching ABC Family today and something came to mind. It was a conversation I had with Tim a long time ago but one that rings true to this day. Here's an excerpt:

Scott: "You know, if I could have a threesome with any two people on TV, I would choose the Gilmore Girls."

Tim: "Yeah, that's just wrong...but I see what you mean"

I know full well that when I'm famous this post will be uncovered and come back to bite me in the ass. To this end I say "Hi future self, drive it on home to those girls for me!" But I stand by it. I mean come on, they just work so well together, they always know what the other is thinking. And they both seem to shag like minxes. Given, Rory's count is only about 5 or less. But her innocence is sexy; this would be tempered by Lorelai's years, nay decades (I mean she had Rory at 16), of experience and their passions (for me) would burn so hot as to make any discrepancies in sexual talent moot. Frankly I don't think I would ever be happy without them again.

Now I have a raging (I realize by including the word raging in this post I leave myself open for jokes...BUT AT LEAST YOU HAVE TO COMMENT, freeloaders) debate going on in my head as to whether or not I want it to be with the actresses (Alexis Bledel and Lauren Graham), or the actual Gilmore Girls themselves. On the one hand, the first option deprives me of that Gilmore banter that I'd imagine they would be doing...even while getting busy. And I'm a big fan of that banter, I'm a banter-er myself and I think I could hold my own. On second thought, let them hold my own, but I'll keep up my end of the conversation. Come to think of it their ends should keep me up. Ok enough innuendo, I'm serious here. Get with the program brain. Back to the original thought, they play off one another so well I have to infer that this would translate into the bedroom as well. However, on the other hand the actresses actually exist. So it's quite the debate...with myself. But in the end I'd say: Advantage: Gilmore Girls.

- Scott

P.S. Could I have crammed any more innuendo into that?! I think not, count up the innuendo. We'll do this like the Jar of Jelly Beans at the supermarket, the closest to the actual number wins.

P.P.S. (I just said Pee Pee, add one to the innuendo count) Tim, I'll post that Chloe paper ASAP.

Que pasa?

Well I'm glad you asked. At the moment I'm planning my Christmas break. A big part of my plan involves cutting out of classes a week early. I know, I'm so hardcore, you guys should start calling me Johnny Hardcore. And make me cut holes in my jeans. And put a special emphasis on the 'core' in hardCore because I like the way it sounds, and if you don't do it I'll switchblade your lilly white surbaban middle-class ass! That's right, I fit exactly into the mold of the non-conformist. Take that social programming!

On Thursday the 16th I'm headed out with Stevo, and Mr. Barry to see the Ho Ho Show at the Pagent. Usually The Point and their corporate rock shows are below me, but I like the Pagent and check out this artist list:

1. Jimmy Eat World
2. Cake
3. Lostprophets

The week of the 20th I technically have school but choose to blow it off for a ski trip with my friends. We're heading up to Galena, IL which my mom reminded me was the first place I've ever skiied in my life. I was 4 at the time, and already a good little yuppie in training. My life became so much more interesting the day the little Chicago Suburb kid possibility died. Thank you Jerseyville. I mean, I wouldn't be makin' moonshine and going to hoe down's in barns if I lived in Naperville would I? I think not. Well, not until the cataclysm, in accordance with the prophesy.

Anyway, the crew heads out the 19th and gets back the 22nd. I swear you guys are going to go nuts over the shenanigans that will abound on this trip. I've got a few good ones in mind...and one or two great ones. Also I'll bring the digi cam, so expect some fan-friggin-tastic photos and maybe an over the top photo essay. I know you all want to be a part of my life, and here's your chance. I pull off capers all the time, but I don't usually take requests. This time, I'll consider it.

So, what ski-trip antics would you most like to see come from this trip?

I'll provide the photos, you provide the bad influence - Scott

On the phone...

Hi friends, I'm on the phone with TicketBastard customer service. So while I'm waititng I thought I'd make a quick post (the snowball that turns into the avalanche of the next mega post) but I was flipping through Natalie Portman (my future wife) pictures and came across one that might well be the most beautiful/sexy Nat pic ever. I thought I'd share this vision of the goddess Natalie with you all. After all, it is the season for giving. So here it is:





Ahh, that was nice. Completely washed away the frustrations of the customer support system, and the muziak they were playing. - Scott

Because I enjoy "borrowing"

Rob French, over at Rob's Office Space always posts intersting links. Some of them I've seen, some I haven't. I like to think of myself as a savant of all things internet, so not too much surprises me (but the Death comic was hilarious and new). But anyway, I finally have a link of my own. My good friend Karen showed me this. I'd say it's worth passing on. So, good little soldier that I am, here is me passing it on.

Click here.

It's pretty clever. I thought it was some lame "hot or not" or "secret crush" thing. It isn't, in fact this is one of the most clever things I've seen on the internet in awhile. Homestar Runner aside. Well I'm currently shirking my duties, so I'll get back to them. Sorry for the lousy post. - Scott

P.S. Everyone do this, if you're reading my work you're obligated. Now I'm out like Bush's cabinet.

My Thanksgiving; A Recap

Well, it was another Gresham Thanksgiving. How fun. Let me give you a little background on me and my Thanksgiving traditions. To do this let me take you back in time, *deedly do deedly do deedly do* (camera goes blury then spins around).

The year is 1995, I'm in fifth grade. It's another dull Thanksgiving at the stately Gresham Manor. The relatives are shooting the shit, and I've already eaten or hiden all the deviled eggs. After entertaining everyone by putting on all my clothes and pretending to have gotten fat from eating all the food, I needed something else to entertain myself. What caught my eye first was the myriad selection of wine everyone brought.

What's all the to-do over this grape juice stuff. "Mir-lot" I read. Hmm, not much of a name, it must rely more on great taste than marketing. I got myself a wine glass and poured it full to the brim. Then I got a straw (What hoosier drinks wine through a straw?), quickly noting no one else was drinking wine through a straw I scrapped it. I also decided that adults might not think it's as funny as I do to be drinking wine at my age so I'd better down it fast.

I tasted it, and immediately concluded that it had gone bad. But, not that bad. As I drank the rest of it (I'd say over about 10 minutes) I liked it a bit more. Eventually, the inevitable happened. I was about to get away with it when I decided it would be more fun to just blatently announce it to the family. Yeah, that's the ticket. I'll show everyone how slick I am. Unfortuntately, no one else took to heart how feindishly clever my plot to get to the wine was. Mom flipped out thinking I was drunk and demanded to smell my breath, and look into my eyes. Dad just thought it was kind of funny. All in all I got off with a slap on the wrist and a pretty fine buzz.

Back to the present. *Lighting strike, 1.21 Gigawatts. Etc.* *Doodly dee doodly dee doodly dee*

It's 9 years later. Thanksgiving has become my drunken holiday. Every year I get a little more adventurous. I remember the Thanksgiving I started to enjoy Bailey's Irish Cream, and when I tried my first gin. Ahh, good memories. All in moderation...until this year. I mean, I might drink a bit more than I should have, but I never got too out of hand.

This year, I got home a day before the T-Day and put in my order. Two bottles of Bailey's, some Whiskey, Vodka, and maybe some wine for everyone else. Sadly, only one bottle of Bailey's, one bottle of Gentleman Jack (the smoother older brother of Jack Daniel's), and one bottle of wine. Tisk tisk, how little I had to work with. I started in on the Bailey's the night before. Just a glass or two. The next day, I would hit it hard.

The morning of the next day (or morning-ish, I think I woke up at around noon) I had the Bailey's Irish Cream on the rocks with waffles for breakfast. The thick, viscous Irish Cream perfectly complimented the syrupy, buttered waffles. Delicious, and healthy! I went through more than half the bottle before the actual dinner. Then through the course of the dinner I finished the rest of it. It was hilarious. Everyone knew I was drinking it, just not how much.

Meanwhile I've been entertaining, jokes, stories, strange things I acted out, all in all you wouldn't have realized I was drunk. I act that way anyway. Although I'm much wittier sober, and my references never miss. For instance, I think when my brother gave out some random tidbit of explination on something I said "Well thanks for the hypothesis Encyclopedia Murphy Brown." Oops. The jig was up when my parents and aunt wanted some after dinner Bailey's and coffee. No one was happy about that, but I did point out that I told them to buy two bottles.

Then we moved on to games. Mad Gab and Buzzwords. I'm the offical North American Buzzword Champion. No one has ever beaten me and I have only missed 5 questions. My name is Daniel, and I can not be defeated... But the other team can get pissy that a drunken 19 year old is kicking their ass. And that's exactly the tact my aunt (and to a lesser extent my mom) took. They were just "taking" things. Like if it wasn't what the buzzphrase actually was, but close enough my aunt would be like 'I'm taking that'. And yet deny my team that same liberty. The bitch!

So, I did what any reasonable drunken master of the English language and Pop Culture would do. I threatened to ruin Thanksgiving. "IF YOU KEEP CHEATING I SWEAR THAT I WILL SAY SOMETHING TO RUIN THANKSGIVING" They knew not to push me. And we went on to win 165 to 48. Good times. - Scott

P.S. As I typed this epic, I was watching Smallville. Kristin Kruek is so hot she even looks good as a zombie. Now THAT's beauty. I don't care where you're from.

Did you really think we would let you get away with it?!

Timmy timmy timmy, (if you were Beetlejuice you would have just popped up with some zany adventure) I really appreciate what you do for our blogging triad. But you tried to get ahead of us with that widescreen stuff. I'm not going to leave it like this, I just don't want you getting too cocky. I can copy you in a heartbeat. And will.

Anyway, today was quite a day. I had two presentations to give. Both were hilarious and at least B work. Score! I'm too burned out to care about grades at this point. The first was a powerpoint, and I left a lot of jokes in it that I meant to delete for the presentation. Fortunately only one was noticed. And it was about beer.

The second presentation was less smooth. You see, I was once told that I was appointed editor of the school paper. I might have mentioned it once or twice to some people, I can be midly narsistic. Sadly, I forgot to go to the weekly newspaper staff meeting. For three weeks. That didn't sit well with the professor who oversees the paper. In fact you could say she was pissed. And what does this have to do with my second presentation you ask? Well, she was the guest evaluator. Joy.

Sos, I get up infront of my professional development class and gave this big spiel about how I would be good for such and such position etc. I got some jokes in at various points. Seemed to go well. As I'm walking back to my seat someone says "You might want to zip up your fly." No way. No way did that just happen. Sure enough...look down...zip up. Damn. "Do I get points taken off for that?" I asked. "Or maybe I get some seduction points added?" I said with a (rediculously) attractive gleam in my eye. That got the best laugh of the day. So my work was done. Oh yeah, the professor (who looks good, even when angry) wasn't giving me the stink eye either. All in all, mission accomplished.

One final thing for this, somewhat worthless post, I screwed up the quote thing over on http://xrobfrenchx.blogspot.com. So I reckon I'll post my own 80's movie quote. You guys have the challenge of telling me what movie it came from and (if possible) the scene. Here goes:

"Kick him in the nards!!"
"What?!"
"Kick him in the nards so he can't follow you."
[Kicks wolfman in nards]
"Wow! Wolfman has nards!!"

1000000 cool points if you get this one.

(Widescreen is Copyright Timmy Tapeworm Industries 2004, 80's Quote Game is Copyright Rob French Comedy Inc 2004.)

Free at last, free at last, thank Lordy, free at last

Me'sa write papers allll day long. Day's never finished, Masa got me workin', Masa got me workin' so haaaard. Ok, enough slave talk. But I was singing slave working songs over the past week as I work on the freak'n pantload of papers my professors were kind enough to crap all over me. But today, I finished the last of them. Halleuja! I feel like celebrating like a slave that made it to the north. Thank YOU Drinkin' Gord. You really can follow it, who knew?

But other than working on papers (and showing masa's wife why she can't go back) I've been having shenanigans, or misadventury if you will. I have had this 10 page paper for my government class that I've been neglecting for the past...10 weeks. Just not a lot of drive to do it, combined with not having a topic. I eventually stole one from a hot girl I know and went to work on it. My subject: The History of Jersey County. How fun. Turns out the only place you can research the history of Jersey County is IN Jersey County. Which gave me an interesting opportunity. Nobody can check my facts on this one, at least no one from my school. So, at various points in my paper random bits of history are inserted. For instance, did you know that the mayor asked the police department to shoot the birds off the statue on top of the courthouse, not realizing that it was hollow and would become infested with bees? Oops. Not quite how it happened, but it adds some zip to it.

So for the weekend at least I was back in town, Friday night I went and saw the variety show. Wow. I can't believe how much better we were. For starters, you could tell that everything the Emcee's (I love when terms that are actually abbreviations get to become legitimized words by adding vowels i.e. emcee, deejay, etc. It's the American Dream in word form) were totally going from pre-approved scripts. COME ON, where is the potential to get into serious trouble. Where is the lacking, clearly stretching for time dialogue? Not here that's where, not.

Then they ripped off my and Paul's Twelve Days of Christmas bit. Now, I'll be the first to admit that I ripped it off too. But I ripped it off from someone that did it six years before me. That's how you do it, that's how you steal. You steal something obscure enough that you can pass it off as your own. What are these kids learning in school? The only thing what they did could have been was an hommage to myself. In which case, they could have done a better job.

Moving right along, the next day Steve, Nathan, Myself, and Jacob went and saw National Treasure. It was like Indiana Jones but what's that thing it lacked, Oh yeah a decent plot, convincing actors, blood, any sort of interest, and credibility. Other than that, just like Indiana Jones. The gist of the movie was that Nicolas Cage was finding clues left behind by the signers of the declaration of independance, to some gi-normous treasure. The first (of many) problem(s) I have with this movie is that apparently the two things our founding fathers did with this treasure is: 1.) Hide it. and 2.) Leave clues EVERYWHERE about where they hid it. I'm surprised we weren't invaded by Canada.

Sunday consisted of me being too cynical in church and watching TV. Eventually I decided that I needed to head back to Springfield. The drive up was pretty uneventful other than almost getting pulled over by the fuzz for driving like I'm playing GTA. That game is bad on so many levels it's subliminal. Then I finally got home. To my crib, my pad, my home away from home. To an awful smell, one I think must have been hiding behind my El Rancharito bench. Because I walked in and was fine for about .25 seconds, then this sneaky bastard jumped out and socked me in the face. The nose specifically. My first thought was "it's either bad meat or good cheese." Turned out, bad meat. I had a flashback, I kid you not with overexposed borders framing the shot, of me throwing away some skanky ground chuck on Thursday. Good Lord, I thought it was skanky then... If I go another hundred years and don't smell anything like that again I'll have lived a happy life. If a fart farted, that's what I'd imagine it would smell like. And luckily I had enough fans and windows to air my place out, not like it was in the 30's last night. And that cold air moves so much, really helps disperse the smell... I went through a whole can of Oust, and half a can of Febreeze air spray before the place was liveable again.

Frankly, I reccomend against rotting meat as potpouri. Well, that's what's been up with me lately. In Rob French fashion I'll try to post again tomorrow now that I'm no longer in Alabama. - Scott

A loving look back...

I realize I haven't been blogging as fast and furious as I'd like to recently. So rather than string you along with little bits of mediocre quickie posts, I'll tide you over with an abundance of Scott Styled Internet Madness. What am I talking about you ask, well let me explain these two sites I'm going to introduce and perhaps you'll have a little better idea.

First off: Project Bilbo
A strange name for a strange project. It was our senior year and me, Stevo, Barrett, Nathan Harry, and Tim had nothing to do. So we get the brilliant idea that we wanted to live underground like Bilbo Baggins. It was the kind of idea that stoners have, but would never seriously consider persuing. Well, we are more persistant than stoners and have a bad idea rate that's easily twice as high. So this is the end result. Read the History, Index, and Pic Pages for the full story. And a healthy dose of Scott.

Next on deck: The Heaven's Devils Homepage
As my good friend Steve Harmon once said "With Scott everything gets a T-Shirt and a Webpage." How right he is, note the last update (over a year ago...my bad). We were (and are) the baddest biker gang in the world, maybe even the state. You know those Harley guys with their beer bellies, biker stench and engine CC's in the triple and quadruple digits? They're over compensating. I'll let you figure out for what. A real man rides a bike with a two number CC engine. Preferably bogged down with the weight of the rider and his lady. If he can find a skull helmet, plether jacket and fingerless spiked gloves he's all the badder.

Browse these gems of website design (circa 1995), and let's hear the opinions. And if you were there, share a story - Scott

Bunch of complainers, all of you

But I'm doing it all for you. So, my loving public, the 'shitty' post has been moved. Bonus points to whoever finds it first. Since I don't have much to post about currently I'll post one I've been saving for emergency use. The glass is broken, we might as well use it so here goes:

The dean of my school, in addition to the academic advisors selected me and 3 others as the student representatives of the college. How elite, how amazing, blah, blah, blah. We had this 10 week training period, we attended seminars on leadership, mentoring, being a douche, professionalism, etc. Then for the culmination they took us to Chicago, where we had a ceremony in the Walnut Room. Tre sophisticated.

Anyway, they wanted us to present a slick, professional image to the incomming students (those that we, I, would be responsible for). The dean/academic advisors decided it would be a good idea for us to have a card to give to them. The thing that caught my attention was that we would be designing and producing the cards ourselves. This was their greatest downfall. I got in trouble for it, but not too much. Just a scolding, probably because they thought it was pretty funny themselves. So, without further adieu, here is my business card that I present to all (female) freshmen and hand out around the community:





Giggedy giggedy, OHHHH Yeah! - Scott

Political Free Zone Ahead

I was thinking of writing some kind of politically charged article about the election and whatnot. But then I just said "fuck it". Then I was like, "did I really need to cuss". Then I decided that my image requires that I cuss from time to time and meditated on that. But I've come to the conclusion that I never want to hear about politics, hanging chads (Unless my friend Chad Bradley hangs himself. That I'd want to hear about), red states, blue states, states of mind..., the war on *fill in political buzz word here*, whateva. Just shut up. I want to see my damn shows, NOT 8 networks finding new and elaborate ways to say "We don't know".

One side note: Anytime there's a 'War on *BLANK*' it's kind of rediculous. You might as well have a war on sadness. A war on an abstract concept is going to be pretty damn hard to pull off. Like the war on drugs. Nobody says "Oh man, this damn war on drugs. When are we going to end this slaughter? WHEN?" "Here man, this might be our last joint. We're here on the frontlines on the war on drugs. I'm so scared hold me." "You aren't scared of the war, that's just the paranoia kicking in." Ok so maybe that last sentence gets uttered from time to time. But come on! So yeah, the ill defined war on terror falls squarely in this grey zone of shenanigan.

Moving along. My first java program went to shit pretty quickly. That damn number counter never got off the ground. And I was pretty annoyed about it. Then my Team Venture shirt took a laundry ride and came out a little worse for the wear. Team Venture was taking hits all over the place. But over the last two weeks we have pulled a Lazarus and risen again. Not that we're really back in the game, because of the first assignment debacle, we'd have to sabotage them...to...You know what, we might be back in the game.

Moving on. A little story about my day. But to be straight up Tarintino stizzle I'll be starting in the middle. No one in town sells legs for a sofa. ANYWHERE. And doesn't it sound like something you've seen and disreguarded because you didn't need it at the time. Like condoms for Tim, or an on-call lawyer for myself. Well, it seemed that way to me. And yet nothing.
*********Three Months Ago**********

Steve and Barrett unexpectedly show up at my apartment in Springfield. Apparently they looked in the windows first to make sure I wasn't busy. (Good thing they didn't show up a half hour earlier) baZING. Anyway suddenly imbued with more manpower I had an idea. Earlier that day I saw a perfectly good sofa just sitting by the side of the road! It had to be mine. It was even a flip and f*ck. (See how I sensor myself: only put one f-bomb per entry. Anymore than that and I have to be an R-rated blog. Because kids can see half a boob in a PG-13 but if they hear the f-word twice in 2 hours they'll be corrupted beyond any usefulness to society and become murderers). Naturally I put them to good use. Thanks guys, it looked really heavy. We got it into my apartment and into the spare bedroom only to open it up and find no mattress and no legs on it. Still free is free...
*********Present Day************

My mom found a foldable box-spring mattress for the sofa, and I brought it here in my car. Although at the end of the day still no legs. Then it hit me, what are my old school books for? So, I took a page from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and use books to support my couch. Ah, cartoons. What can't you teach us - Scott

Smoking blunts and bustin' caps in whitey

Sorry kids, I know how much you love me. I hereby dedicate myself to posting no less than twice a week. Although I will note how well my silent treatment worked. It was like a hunger strike of no updates. And what happened? Friends came crawling out of the woodwork to tell me about it. Two of them even commented (thank you Rob, and Timmy). That's all I want people, I'm doing it all for you. Jeez.

In other news, my costume was a huge success. The smarter people got it, the idiots I didn't care about anyway. There was a friggin pantload of other funny costumes. But at the top of the list were Nathan Rice as an ostrich, and Ryan Kanakallan as Smoky The Bear...with a joint. What a great audience. As Cady (of Mean Girls) pointed out, Halloween for girls is the opportunity to dress like a skank and not be labeled a skank. And oh how glorious the pseudo-skanks were. From the naughty school teacher complete with ruler and pupil to punish, to the various "See the ears I'm a *fill in animal here*." Yeah, you're an animal...now I get beastiality. (Was that one toke over the line?) Answer: yeah probably. I had a hella good time. And not just because it was Halloween, because I was drunk!

But even the sober times moved along nicely. Saturday night I had dinner at the Bar-B-Que place in Champaign. Very nice, there's this huge cage structure in the center of the 'establishment' with one table in it at the very base. Thanks to my quick wit and good lucks, that's where we sat. I proceeded to order everything the waitress suggested (which started out with 2 big appetizers) . This confused the hell out of her. And I went on and on with it. Tried to order some Merlot. Then slapped Nathan for forgetting my ID. Fun fun, all in all a very good night.

I came home Sunday night and recouperated from my wild weekend. Pretty uneventful that day sadly, but for a day I just wanted to sleep through, it was perfect. Today, I've cheifly played Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas. Good game. In the beginning it's a little depressing (as I would imagine being a young black man in the ghetto would be) but after you start comming up in the world it's better. I like to yell anti-white things as I cap crackas. Or beaners. Or ricers. Good times.

Also, the writing for that EQ site continues. So that takes a bit o' time. Which I suppose is better than taking my bit o' honey. Because if they tried that I'd have to pop a cap in their asses - Scott

How can I be more offensive?

Well boys and girls, I've been stuck at the piss drenched hell hole that is RMC for too damn long. I may not have bitched about it before, but I'm in a wild mood so what the hell. Here's an idea of RMC, think of college. Ok good. Now take out all the good things about it. Add some insane bureaucracy, just a touch of 1950's conservativism, and two dollops of rediculous corporate America seminar cliches and there you have it. Slob the Bob Morris College. FUN!

As you can imagine it doesn't take much to create a stir in this place. And I've quickly grown bored of it. Don't get me wrong, the education is excellent. The only thing lacking is everything else. Anyhow, this weekend I am going to a place where I can (and must) exercize my antics on a much larger scale. That place is the college promised land: U of I.

So naturally my mind thinks, "How can I be noticed, how can I make a diffrence, how can I be more offensive?" Equally as naturally I think "Racism! Yay!" So, I think about racist groups. There's an old adage in Tennessee. Well, it's in Illinois, it's probably in Tennessee. It goes: "The smaller the minority, the better fighters they are" For instance, a black guy could kick my ass simply because he's more of a minority than I am. And a Cuban could kick his ass, because they're an even smaller minority. Indians can kick anyone's ass because they're almost gone. (But we can give them small pox blankets still. Score one for whitey).

This line of thinking brought me to an impass, who is the least small minority, or alternately the largest majority. Then it came to me: ASIANS! You know those bad drivers on the highway or the people who work at that buffett near your house or those people who smell like rice and fish on the bus. They can't really kick anyone's ass. (Karate excluded). So my costume.....(drumroll please......)



As I have been told, it is the "Most. Offensive Costume. EVER." Gotta love that - Scott

Execu-bot #2 who only likes what he has seen before...

I don't know if anyone here has been watching the show right after Smallville on the WB. (One side note, the WB has done a complete 180. I remember when every show on it would play equally well on UPN. No longer, I guess that's just one more thing we stole from the blacks.) Anyway, the show is called The Mountain, and it features two brothers who run a mountain. I can 't imagine the amount of time they spent on that title. Literally hundreds of seconds.

In the promo's they call it "The O.C. meets Colorado" or some equally generic drivel. The thing is, they left out the other half of the show's make up. It's really "The O.C. in Colorado meets Wings" Let's take a look at the brothers who own the mountain and see if they remind us of anyone....





For the love of God, they even dress the same! Sadly, it goes beyond this. If one of the actors on the mountain were ever sick they could shuffle one of these jokers in and not miss a beat. The characters are basically the 21st century clones of the Wings Bros. The wild rebel brother who provides strategic comic relief, the straight laced brother who just can't imagine how his brother lives the way he does, and the two come together with the common goal of running the family buissness...Did they write this while they were drunk and missing Wings or
what? - Scott

My Mom, the diplomat

Sorry about the 11 days since my last posting. Things are crazy here in the Little Easy. I wish the weather was better 8 straight days of rain. Is this Seattle or what? Anyway last weekend I went up to the U of I. I hit up the foam party, which was awesome. Nothing makes a party great like a suffocating 8 foot wall of foam.

Ironically, nothing suffocates quite like it. You can almost breathe, but not quite. There's also the side benefit of having a taste in your mouth like you just dropped the f-bomb in fifth grade. (that's for you kids who got your mouths "washed out." And I mean the liquid soap kids, not you pansy assed bar soapers. I put bar soaps on my cereal, like little pieces of banana! So cram it.) Other than that it was an alright time...while I was there. It ended up that I got seperated from Steve, and Maggie (more on her below). And walked my soaking wet ass home by my self and got lost in the process. Shit. Oh well, some kindly drunks helped me out (as they usually will) and found my way back to dry clothes. Sadly, the room I was supposed to be sleeping in was...otherwise occupied. So were the other 3 options I had. Damn, three hookups and none for me?! I got severely gyped.

Oh wait, did I say I got gyped? I didn't yet know the meaning of gyped. The whole damn AKL frat house was too busy for me to get any sleep (not that I completely trust that I would wake up unharmed). So I went to the one place in 200 miles that was mine and mine alone: my car. Slept in the back seat, which ain't no place for a man to be without a woman. But it is a good place to hear interesting snippets of conversation. For instance an estranged couple walking by offered this gem: "Come on" "No, you fucked him. And now you won't see him for another six months!" Brilliant. Lots of angry drunken people. And I woke up with a crick in my neck like I couldn't believe. Not a good trade.

I headed home the next day, my mom asked about the weekend. I told her about Maggie, a girl that looks exactly like my brother's girlfriend, but skinnier and taller. I described her to my mom just like that. I didn't really think much of it. A few days later I come home and my mom is describing this girl to Katie (brother's girl): "she looks just like you but skinny and taller." If you don't know my mom, don't get the wrong idea. She's just about the nicest person going. But this was just a slip of the tounge. (Btw, Katie isn't bad looking or fat). So we're making fun of her for saying that and she starts to feel bad about it. So she calls Katie's house but doesn't get Katie. The person on the other end said that she couldn't talk right now so my mom asks (and I quote): "Oh she's busy?, is she eating or something" I almost peed my pants. COME ON! Way to apologize. Rofl - Scott

Scotty 2 Hotty and the 3 Ply Nightmare

Firstly, I'm sorry about not posting recently. I'm ass deep in papers and with EQII comming out today, and the end of GTA: San Andreas in sight, video games are getting my priority time, then papers, sadly blogging almost becomes an afterthought. But I did say 'almost' hence the post.

Anycrap, usually I write about what's been up with me lately. And well this week what's been up has actually been crap. You see there's this ad campagin by Charmin. They use these bears that crap in the woods. Which conveniently answers the question of where a bear craps. But these bears are sophisticated, they go the extra mile. That's right the bears use TP. Not only do they use it, when they do the camera pans up and there's these wavy lines going out from their heads. Ruling out Spider Sense, his head being rediculously hot, or a bad smell comming off it (although that's not so far fetched considering the bear just took a dump) thoes lines must mean pleasure.

So I think, if a bear can derive so much happiness from wiping it's ass in the forest with this stuff, just think how much better it would be on a toilet instead of sitting on the ground leaning against a tree. Which begs the question, where does the poo go? Is THAT why they need so much TP? Some kind of fur cleaning fiasco? Well all this is beside the point but one little snippet of corporate jingle. Here it is verbatim: "what you thought was enough, might be too much." Damn straight. Using no more than the usual amount, somehow my toilet had a clog that would put the arterial clogs of Arkansas to shame.

Naturally I didn't realize this until my hands were nice and soapy. I looked over and let out a yell that should have shattered the porcelin. My soapy hands frantically flipped out in every direction turning on lights, struggling to open the door, I kicked the book I was reading out the doorway and into the dryer. Then cut the water right as it was the same level as the rim. I sat in the bathtub and caught my breath. Someone should start an exercize program that consists solely of going to someplace you don't want an overflowing toilet in, and noticing it too late.

After I recovered from my 32 seconds of soapy, screaming, over-flow preventing madness, I realized that no amount of coat hanger solutions were going to fix this. I needed a plunger. So I went out to buy one. How in the blue hell I managed to go 1 year and 3 months without a plunger is beyond me. I guess it's the run for the border I made earlier in the day. But sadly, it was 10 o'clock and Springfield closes at 9. So, after going to three other places I finally found some designer plunger at Target. It took quite a lot of plunging to fix that mess. Apparently digested Taco Bell = Toilet Spackle.

So that, EQII, papers, and GTA:SA have been gobbling up my time like Star Jones at a free buffet. But I'll still try to post at least twice more this week. Later for now - Scott

Go Team Venture!

I haven't posted in a few days, but I've been busy. With what you ask? How presumptious, I don't answer to you. But since I have a good answer I might as well give it. The last couple of days have been pretty righteous. Let me take you back to a few days ago (cue music: deedly do deedly do deedly do deedly do deedly do)

I was supposed to be starting as a writer for a website and a journalist for my school paper (how Chloe Sullivan, I know). So, that was comming up but I didn't have alot written. Then all of a sudden the date I said I'd start for the website was all up ons and so was the school newspaper meeting. Crap. I was supposed to have things written for both (well, one I did) and I had diddley. Jack Diddley. You know, I didn't even have Jack Diddley. On the basis of clean up and harsh-itude I didn't even not have Jack Diddley, it was in the realm of Jack Sh*t. One step above Jack the Ripper and 100 under Cracka Jack.

Anyway I went to the meeting for the paper (which is called The Eagle) and I was clearly the most awesome person present. Based on both writing skills and mitichlorian count. The faculty member in charge (ha!) of us told me she had a special 'job' for me. Despite the innuendo (or perhaps because of it) I was interested. And while I was buying jeans at White Oaks Mall with my mom, who should wander by but Ms. Hager, my english teacher/newspaper ward. It turns out they want me as the editor. I originally had an exclamation point at the end of that sentance but it struck me as over excited. Holy crap! I'm editing already. Although I guess I always have, you don't get this good by osmosis.

Also on this prestigous day my first article is published on Eq2.OGaming.com check it out. I'm the community digest by "Scott 'QuienAmorphous.'" Basically I write a gossip column about the EQ community. How cool I must sound, so moving right along....

In other news, I went and visited Haley yesterday at Lincoln Christian College. It was cool, we watched Smallville with her and her friends. I pretended I knew everyone already...some of them bought it. Good times, good Smallville episode. More naked Lois! Because frankly, I support it. The only hitch in the night was that when I got there I didn't have her number to call her. So I called everyone I could think of, and as a last resort, her cousin. Who was pissed that I called just get a number. Oh well. My handy new digital voice recorder helped out there (I got it for interviews and such) just had to say the number and play it back. I've also taken to making Norm McDonald style notes to self. Which I really like, because I can make myself laugh. With the added bonus of getting to hear my own voice! Win, win.

Finally, in my Java class we're programming robots. We work in pairs and he announced on Tuesday that the winning pair gets a robot for each person. Me and a guy named Jimmy are in a team. Today I chose the team name: Team Venture. Then joked about making shirts. Well...


That's right. I done did it. GO TEAM VENTURE! Those robots is ours baby. No contest, we have shirts! What do you have, good programming? Like that'll do it. Piish, good luck buddy. We'll be over here in our shirts. - Scott

Rage Against the TV

When did TV turn on me? Where there used to be a fool hardy friend, there is now a devious trickster ready to stab me in the back or otherwise confuse me. Let me explain:

I'm just sititing at home, watching the tube (hard to believe I know, bear with me). And this commercial for a reality show comes on. Since I was watching FOX I wasn't the least bit skeptical. It was "Tiny House: the love was sent from heaven but the house was built too small." I laughed my ass off. I was thinking this is the greatest reality show EVER. They were bumping their heads on the ceiling, trying to make love on the too small bed, you name it. Like a brobdingnagian suburban couple would, I suppose. I even liked the characters, there was a bit of insight into them. The husband had a catch phrase "awesome." Ok so that's more like a catch word, but he was using it alot. And the wife...was there too.

But then WHAMMO, it's all been a farce. The voice over says "the drama is real, but it won't save you up to 15% on car insurance." By the time he was saying "save you up to..." I was literally screaming NOOOOOOOOOO. I think I scared my neighbors, I heard them in the hallway and when I yelled there was a scurrying of feet and a door slammed. Which made me laugh pretty hard again. But when that wore off I was pissed again. How could Gieco do this to me? I mean, I expect this shit from SNL but from the Gecko? WHY GOD WHY?! - Scott

But I have good news...

This happened to me awhile ago. I was watching something on FOX and it went to commercial and since I couldn't find the remote I decided to watch the commercials. So I'm sitting in my recliner and the most hilarious reality show ad comes on. Tiny House: the love was real, but the house was built too small.

I laughed my ass off. Only on FOX I was thinking. Although I was also looking forward to watching it. I was like this is going to be an awesome show. Then it told me that I could save 15% on car insurance. It's a f*cking commercial for car insurance. CURSE YOU GEICO. I mean I expect this kind of thing from Saturday Night Live, but from Geico? I went from joy to sheer rage in about 30 seconds. Did anyone else get duped? - Scott