Ironically I can only do this with break-ables

Guess what day it is....That's right kids! LAZY POST DAY! For you see, I feel like crap. The last two days worth of info on my weekend shall be forthcomming in tomorrow's post. Suffice to say, the potato gun is a deadly weapon and likely to put you into extremely dangerous situations. But enough foreshadowing, let's talk about today's post.

I found this quiz to be unusually insightful. While I disagree with any comment describing me as 'obsolete' and those that deride light-heartedness as inappropriate, I do find it to be uncannily accurate. Even the quiz itself had answers either in the vein of what I would say if it weren't a 'lock-in-your-answer-from-these-fachist-options-quiz' or exactly the right answer. So lo and behold the results from the 'Which Obselete Skill Are You' exam.


You are 'juggling'. Jugglers, tumblers, and other
street performers were a very popular sort of
entertainment once, before movies and talkies
and online quizzes supplanted them.

You like to put on a show for people, and they like
to watch. You are friendly and well-liked,
particularly for your sense of humor, although
you sometimes play with people's heads. You
are frequently the center of attention, and you
like it that way. However, you have to realize
that the world does not revolve around you.
Furthermore, you have to learn that your
light-hearted antics are not appropriate to all
situations. Your problem is that juggling has
been obsolete for a long time.


What obsolete skill are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

Uncle Sam wants YOU...to back the hell off

I just got back from the Ludo/Pomeroy show. Wow. That was pretty good and I have some stories to tell about it, but I'll breifly give you a smattering of the weekend's events thus far before I get to it. As I was leaving Springfield (read: evil city of my imprisionment), I remembered that I had gotten one (well actually two) of those "certified mail" tickets. You know those little pink slips of paper, the gist of which is 'You weren't here when I tried to deliver this envelope, so we took it back to the post office, you have to come and get it or we'll send it back'. Despite this vague threat of missing out on a random letter I really wasn't that inclined to go get it. Since it was from my school and certified mail I decided it was either really good or really bad. And they were sending it back the next day so I figured that I could swing by the post office on my way out of town. Good thing I did. Apparently what they were trying to mail me was my Associates Degree. Dodged an embarrassing bullet there.

Anyway, I started my weekend (on Thursday) with a call to Mr. Barry. Known to all others as Barrett Schmidt. After a breif round of cool guy greetings we got down to buissness. I wanted to go see Constantine and so did he. So we settled on the 10:00 showing in Edwardsville because he was already there visiting his girl Emily. So I picked them up and we went off to the theater. There's a hilarious story about the convesation I had with/co-opting into my plan of Emily, but I fear that if I talk about it here I might give it away. Suffice it to say, Constantine was surprisingly good. Although it seemed to be a very different take on the Roman Emperor who brought Christianity to the Empire and later took over a city and renamed it Constantinople (which was later named Istanbul, but was Constantinople, now it's Istanbul; not Constantinople. So, for example, if you have a date in Constantinople, she'll be waiting in Istanbul.)

Ah, but my friends that was yesterday. Two days ago if you consider that it's 2:46 AM as I write this. Today was a horse of a different color. Two colors actually gothic black and preppy pink. You see, those were the colors of the crowd at the Ludo show. Apparently Ludo is the rare band that attracts the hardcore crowd and the kids from Hollister. I find both to be equally annoying. Why not just tatto yourself "I'm trying to differentiate myself from others in the exact manner my friends do". It'd be a hell of a lot less hassle.

In any case, the opener was actually a pretty decent band...if you were listening to them on the radio. Other than that they looked like the biggest goons that had ever chanced being on a stage with people watching. I took one look at the lead vocals, turned to Barrett and said "Fattest. Frontman. Ever." He makes Jack Black look like someone from the 'Feed the Children' commercials. And he didn't help himself any either. When he was talking up the next song he said "I meet a lot of lesbians, that's what this song is about" to which I yelled "Yeah. THAT'S WHAT THEY TELL YOU!" Why must I heckle so? Later on their drummer was being being generally annoying (I have no idea how he annoyed me) it was after their set and he was throwing the drumsticks into the crowd. But instead of just doing it he teased us with it like a person with a bone teases a dog. So while everyone was waving their arms to get his attention I just gave him the finger. And he threw the drumstick right to me. I would have it now if this Harry Potter look-alike jerk hadn't flown out of nowhere and knocked me out of the way.

Next up was Pomeroy. They were decent. Not too much to report here. Except that they sounded NOTHING like what I would have imagined from the one Pomeroy song I know: "Roboflow." They were a lot lighter, and unexpectedly good. Although I have to say, no matter how many times I see it white people seriously rapping cracks me up. Cut to right before Ludo. I've gotten seperated from Barrett and Emily because of my love for the mosh pit. And it put me in a better position. So I was gesturing to B-Funk with my head to come up to where I was. Me and him had a whole conversation with head gestures. I thought this was pretty funny, but the little goth bitch next to me was being...well bitchy. I eventually got Barrett and Emily to fight through the gaggle of goth people (mostly girls) and get next to me.

Well as soon as they up to me that same goth girl starts giving Barrett all kinds of hell. She's making a scene as only a pissed off woman (goth or not) can. I could see the goths with her (two of them big guys) were kind of siding with her. So I did what comes naturally to me; work the situation to my advantage. I exploded back at her "Hey, why don't you lay the fuck off. This guy just got back from Iraq, he's a fucking hero. So don't give him shit about where he stands, he protects your fucking freedom." She INSTANTLY blushed severely, and turned away from us ashamed. All the people nearby turned and looked at us so I went on "He's a great guy, and I don't care who knows it!" I really had the support of the crowd at this point and they gave us plenty of room. You gotta do what you gotta do.

- Scott

The Costanza Shuffle

My school is just weird. There's no other way to explain it. The next time my crew (in white people talk: people I know and count as friends), are in Springfield we're all going to the school and I'll give you a tour of the madness. But that same madness plays into today's story.

Let me describe for you my school, it consists of one and a half buildings. "Half a building? The hell you say? " Well, at first we were just one building, then we started renting/purchasing parts of an adjacent building. We now own almost the entire second floor, two classrooms sandwich the remaining office on the level. For some reason (old folks would say I have a bit of the devil in me, psychologists call it complete and utter disreguard for the concequences of my actions), I decided to do the doorbell ditch on this particular office. You see we're pretty well warned off messing with it.

Despite that, I figured it'd be pretty funny to knock really hard on the door repeatedly and run away. Step One of the plan involved forming my hand into a fist and knocking like I'm on fire trying to get into the pool. This was the only part of the plan that went smoothly. Part Two was running away. I begin to bolt down the hallway when who should come around the corner but the Dean of my campus. I paused for a beat and wondered at my own bad luck. So I had to turn around and run back past the very same door I knocked. I did this just as I heard a hand on the handle.

Fortunately my cubicle (I'm the editor of the school Pap') was just through the next set of doors to my left. So I dodged inside, and not wanting to be seen I went the extra mile and dove under my desk and pulled the chair in. I spent a good 2-3 minutes in there waiting for the heat to die down and telling my stomach to quit rumbling so loudly. When I finally decided it was a good time to come out who should come by but the lady who runs our bookstore who was showing what looked to be some parents of prospective students (or at any rate, adults on a tour of the school) the office. They had paused right at my cubicle and saw me uncurling myself and crawling out from under the desk. Once again I paused and contemplated the ludicrous nature of the entire string of events. I then mumbled something to the effect of: "Ah, finally fixed that computer."

They just looked at me like I had asked them if their mothers breast fed or not. Awkwardly the bookstore lady either said or implied "Aaaaaanyway, let's move on with the tour." I could see both as having happened. I eventually just went back to class. Today was special, because I think I've learned something that I can use the rest of my life: It usually pays to set a lookout.

Now I'm off to see Keanu Reeves play Neo as a Goth kid. I'll be sure to let you all know if Constantine sucks as bad as Autumn In New York.

- Scott

Oops.

I often think that I would be pretty good at a life in crime. I'm suave, I'm quick witted, and most of all I can lie as convincingly as I tell the truth. I often don't even know if I believe what I'm saying, let alone whether or not there's truth to it. But for all these good characteristics, I might have one fatal flaw...I tend to gloss over the details sometimes.

For instance, I remember in my childhood me and my close friend Stephen decided to set a trap (don't ask me why) for his little brother Jon. Or maybe Tim, the point is we wanted to set a trap for them. Surprisingly, our trap, which consisted of two pieces of cardboard over a gaping hole in the floor of the attic, was quickly forgotten. I'm not really sure why we thought the attic was such a high traffic area for Tim and Jon. In hindsight not the best plan. Weeks and months passed and I was at their house one day when Steve and I hear the sound of wood breaking and a scream. As we ran toward the bathroom we saw a horrifying sight: a disembodied leg that had crashed through the ceiling. There were bits of wood and plaster everywhere and the leg was swinging wildly around. So naturally, I ran away. A pretty fool proof plan I thought. There's nothing linking me to this, I should just get the hell out of here. But there was one detail I forgot, the interrogation techniques of Stevo's family. So eventually, I was implicated. Although I don't think I ever got into any kind of trouble because of it.

Sadly later in life, the trend tends to pop up now and again. Last semester I was in macroeconomics, when I finished the semester I wrote obscenities in my book and sold it for the hansome sum of $23 dollars. Which was a bit of a shame because the damn thing cost me $80. They plan to sell them to another school for a hefty mark up I'm sure. Here's the kicker though: today was the first day of microeconomics and the first words out of the teachers mouth "Good news, we're using the same book from last semester" Shit.

But to cheer myself up I've gone out and found a guy whose plight makes my minor blunders look even better.

Read all about it.

The best part of the story is that he was a runner posing as a woman, but when they caught him he tried to run away and got caught! That's even more embarrassing than getting caught playing hide the sausage in your track pants. To think he's the best "female" runner in the country, nice work Zimbabwe. And who is this guy who can go either way on the gender portion of government forms? I'm sure it started with Manties...then just snowballed from there. I also like that Witchdoctor's spells work like a tank of gas, if you don't spend enough money they won't quite get you there. Apparently he wanted the boobs, AND vagina package. He got stuck with some Avril Lavigne A-cups and a mangina. The moral here is to pay your witchdoctor whatever the agreed upon fee was, or go to a real doctor. Your call.

- Scott

Get your broom; I'm calling shenanigan.

This might be one of the more callous posts I've had (so far...) but I have a serious (as serious as you've ever known me to be) question. What's the deal with the Tsunami Aid commercials I see to this day. The tsunami hit December, 26 2004. That's nearly two months ago by most calendars. And STILL the charitable money grubbing goes on. Apparently the aid figures are close to $2 Billion.

Don't get me wrong, I'm all for helping the needy. Especially when the needy is me and the aid is some action... But honestly, how much does it cost to rebuild some mud shanties? Come on, the dirt's already wet. I mean, if we can manufacture soccer balls there for 1/2 cents an hour. I think we can rebuild the area for a bit cheaper. What are they doing building back the natural appeal of the area? Last I checked it not only was free, but occasionally destroyed everything on the coast. Sure you lost some trees, but have Jafar Palm-tree-seed with his falafel pan on his head skip along the beach and replant them. He's both folksy and free.

And I know, I know, there's been some lives lost. But there's not even burial fees. They were more or less burried at sea...except now the sea delivers. It more or less begs for a tip, but if you play dumb it'll kind of slink back out to sea after muddying-up the place. So it's not like there's a huge sum going to grave digging. I suppose the living have some medical bills to pay, but if didn't get killed outright by the tsunami you have some pretty weak injuries. Seriously, a supermodel managed to hang on to a tree. A supermodel not only outsmarted this wave, but had the strength to hold on to tree to save herself. She was in India because it's the only place in the world she might see someone that would make her look fat and she managed to hold on to a tree. You have to understand, the grip of a supermodel (largely because of the joint forces of their diet and their heroin addictions) is somewhere between the stregnth of a newborn and that of a nerf sucction cup. So really, if you let a wave sneak up and injure you, you really ought to be ashamed of yourself.

Costs aside, I don't think $2 Billion dollars is really justified. Because really, have 2 billion anything even come out of that area? And no, taxi cab drivers are not considered. So I really have to ask, what the hell are we spending the cash on?

Quite Possibly the Most Dangerous Thing Ever

I was about to comment on Tim's blog about how when I read the titles of previous posts instead of saying "This is huge" and "The chick and the rhino..." I read it as "this chick is huge" and laughed as I pictured a fat chick. But that seemed too immature, and I didn't want anyone to know about that little transgression, so I decided to regale you all with some of my activities of late.

Sorry, about the lack of posting but this parasite known as the 'real world' has been draining my time like Ruben Studdard drains a triple thick milkshake keg. (Two fat people jokes and I'm only two paragraphs in...this is lookin' up). Well after my finals ended I was in a daze. I wasn't quite sure what to do with myself. Sure I could play EverQuest, but I felt something else in my masculine makeup (that's the makeup of my psyche, not the Mabeline I'm wearing) pulling me toward some vague, shadowy goal. I felt like Roy Neary building the Devil's Tower out of mashed potato's, he didn't know what it was....but he knew it was important.

Well, mashed potato's are (as it turns out) exactly what I was after. I wanted to build a potato gun. They're great toys, but have the potential to seriously injure someone. What's that called? That's right, bonus points! Man has long had a love affair with potato guns going back to the mid 1800's. Archaeologists recently discovered that the period from 1845-50 (affectionately known as the 'potato famine') was simply a group of raccous, drunken Irishmen running around with their proto-potato guns. Instead of hairspray, which hadn't been invented yet, one of them would just burp into the chamber and the volatile fumes were more than enough to shoot a spud.

However, this is all well and good. But I'm living in the 21st century...isn't there something more I could do? As it turns out, yes. A pneumatic potato gun. It'll be a great test of my pskills. Besides, a similar design to the one I'm using (though on a slightly larger scale) has propeled a potato past the sound barrier. So yeah, it's a good gun. The best part though? I'm suppposedly house sitting for my parents right now. So I'm all alone working on explosive ordinance. I truly love my shenanigans.

That's all for now, I'm out like the Pringles cans at Kristy Alley's house.
(THREE fat jokes!)

- Scott

Bastard Wants to Hit Me

I just about got ran off the road by a soccer mom in a busted up Ford Windstar. I thought she just wanted to race, so I gunned it off the line. Surprisingly she did too, so we raced almost to the next light and then she honked her horn and gave me the finger because she had to get behind me in the line waiting on the light. All the while I pretended I couldn't hear her, put my hand to my ear and said "what's that". Oh, man was she pissed. I enjoy instagating road rage more than anything when I'm driving. There's a really classic story about the first time I did it, but I think I'll save it for when I can tell it in person.

In other news, I've just finished another semester at the illustrious RMC. Did I say illustrious? I meant festering-bureaucratic-crap hole relpete with the decay of individuality and humanity crushed under the mind numbing weight of farcical policies. Strange how easy it is to mistake one for one the other. The end of sememster crunch was bogging me down, so sorry for the lack of posts. Let me catch you up with some observations I made from my period of intense scholarly persuits:

Apparently the best way to watch assloads of TV is to need to study. I seriously believed that there was no way I could learn without commercials playing in the background. And while we're on the topic, as far as people I know in commercials, I'd say Angeline kicked Laural's ass if there was some kind of Jerseyville People Commercial Contest (JPCC).

Has anyone else seen the new Diet Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper commercial? First of all, why do we need a paragraph to describe a soda? Remeber the days when you could just say "cola" or "root beer" now it 's 'I'll take a Diet Carbonated Grape Taffy Hotpants-Wearing Mr. Pibb". And I really think it's weak of Mr. Pibb to try to copy off Dr. Pepper, I mean, he didn't spend seven years in soda-college to have some upstart knock him off the market. But I will say this for the new, constitution-length named Dr. Pepper; they have a great ad campaign. It might just be the best use of a Muppets song in an advertisement I've ever seen.

In other commercial news, the new fragrance by Britney Spears surprises me, because I didn't think there was that much of a demand to smell like a cheap hooker. And even if there was, I thought Liz Taylor pretty much cornered the market years ago. But her perfumes aren't on the cutting edge, distilled from the removed carpeting and sheets of motel rooms. Ah, progress thy name is Spears.

That's it for today, I just wanted to get something out there. I promise that tomorrow will be a more substantial post. I'm out

- Scott

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