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