fun facts about the world

As "everyone" probably knows already, I attended the ultra-exclusive Tulane University which is located in the 3rd world country of New Orleans. When I wasn’t majoring in sociology or minoring in english, there was a very good chance I was at Turchin Stadium watching the Tulane Green Wave play (assuming there was a game that day, jackass).

Nothing made me feel better about myself than drinking 10-15 beers and screaming awful things at the top of my lungs towards opposing players like "hey #25, we gangraped your sister Judy." Whoevers idea it was to post personal "biography" information about college athletes on their school websites probably didn’t have the foresight to realize that people like me and my drunk friends who use it to our advantage.

I remember one specific game when we were playing Rutgers and it had been raining all day, and only a handfull of people were left in the stadium including me and my boy Hot Biz (Ronald Birdman) and we, needless to say, had been drinking beers all day. There was one particular player on Rutgers we were talking shit to, their first baseman Steve Whateverthefuck, and earlier in the series we had brought in a large 10 foot spray painted sign that said "steve-o sucks". This didn’t improve his play.

Anyway, so me and Hot Biz kept going on and on about how his mother was a whore and she should have swallowed him instead and how maybe Rutgers would have had a chance at Baseball then. So as we were driving our point home that Steve was a waste of sperm and egg, it became very clear that his parents were in attendance, and angrily told us to "keep drinking" -which we did. Boy were they upset and who can blame them. Some other people gave disapproving looks and shook their heads while mumbling something about there being kids in attendance. Fuck that, I’m a college student at a college sporting event, if I was liquored up at a little league game, maybe they may have had a point..

Later in the night we crashed a party and I hooked up with a plus-sized lady, Hot Biz had his clothing stolen by a bathroom full of girls and later woke up on an unfamilar porch covered in mud and vomit.

Anyway, my point is that Tulane Baseball is the shit and I’ve had a great time following the team, even after I matriculated. Anyone who happened to see me on the night last year where we lost to Cal State Fullerton remembers that I used alcohol and other substances to reduce myself to the point where I couldn’t speak and was just running around with a butcher knife. If I remember correctly, i put a cigarette out on my hand and left with an uncooked filet mignon, and I woke up hours later on the N train all the way out in Brooklyn sans beef. Boy was I drunk.

So yeah, the Tulane Baseball team is entering the NCAA tournament with the #1 ranking in the country, if you went to Tulane or you care about my sanity, root for them.

T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-UNIT!

I don’t really have anything to say and no one is reading this anyway, but on the off chance that you’re reading this and you can’t speak english and you live in america, stab yourself in the neck with a fork (dessert fork, if you please) and throw yourself out of a window.

Thanks in advance, if you need me I’ll be holding my nuts and speaking english here in america.

Now, if you live in one of the 11 lucky states that happen to be blessed with White Castle locations, you’re probably going to feel what I’m saying when I say "White Castle has crack in it."

When I was a young man just turning into a degenerate adult, my friends and I would frequently eat meals that consisted of lots of cheese burgers from White Castle washed down with 20 oz. bottles of St. Ides brand Special Brew. Upon completion of this meal, a very unpleasant feeling in the heart area would alomost immediately take root, which we dubbed the "Special brew heart attack."

Looking back, I would say that due to it’s association with rappers and the whole "attempted selling of alocholic ice-pops to children", that we assumed the St. Ides company was probably just putting some foreign substance in their Special Brew (the ingredients listed on the back, if I recall correctly, were rubbing alcohol, sugar, posion and artificial colors) that had a very bad effect on the hearts of adolescent boys.

As time passed and I got older, I decided that I wasn’t such a big fan of the fruity-flavored concoctions and I moved on to beer and the heart attack feelings stopped.

On the drive back from the airport after my first semester at college, Ipersuaded my father to stop at White Castle, as Louisiana is one of the unfortunate 39 states that doesn’t have them and their "Krystal" on Canal St. in the N.O. was as sorry an imitation as I had ever encountered, and I had missed the steamed "beef".

As I returned to my crib with my duffle bag full of alcohol related souveneirs to feast upon my 6 bacon cheeseburgers, the pleasant aroma was intoxicating and enthralling in a way not unlike to smell of burning krills to the trained nose. As I was on the 5th of my 6 burgers, I started to feel some pangs in my chest and the onset of heart palipitations that usually signal the start of an acid flashback, however this was the same specific feeling in my chest that I had blamed on the St. Ide’s Special Brew band malt beverage a few short years earlier.

The fucked up thing about all of this, is that to this day, I continue to eat White Castle, even though it makes me feel like I’m literally about to die and rips through my digestive tract in a way not unlike when Bart Simpson ate the jagged-metal Krusty O. It’s like it has some sort of hold over my psyche and I’ve been to mad White Castles all over the city, and the results are the same from 103rd and 1st all the way to Westchester Sqaure.

And anyone who has ever been to White Castle in the hood (or any White Castle after midnight) realizes that there are a lot of unsavory types there, who in my mind are addicted to the crack-like effects of White Castle and the heart-clenching high the ensues after you eat them.

"What You Crave" as a slogan also sounds like something a drug dealer would say.

"I got what you crave 2 for 5, 2 for 5."

So, many years after the fact, St Ide’s Special Brew, I just want to say "I ain’t mad atcha."

I promise I will get back to this, including a few scathing comments for "Harold and Kumar", who if anyone knows, I would gladly shoot the 5’s with, either one D or 2 on one.

On Saturday May 21st 2005 in Baltimore, MD at around 6:30 PM as Afleet Alex was winning the Preakness, my friends and I were on the infield at Pimlico, drunkenly celebrating High Limit winning the Preakness. Which clearly didn’t happen at all.

In fact, High Limit didn’t even finnish in the top 3, we were just so delerious that we assumed since a horse won, it must have been ours.

(<Buda, Rox, Balla doing giant sized things)

(<someones whore of a daughter)

This was my 4th Preakness, and I’ve been every year since 2001 (with the exception of 2003, when I was busy graduating from Tulane University and I had to prioritize) and I can best describe it as Mardi Gras in a cage with 100,000 people. With a horse race going on.

(<Rox and Dane, throwing it up like liquor on an empty stomach)

.

My day got off to a pretty rough start, waking up at 8am after going to sleep 2 hours earlier having had a nasal run-in with rush’s favorite pain killer. After some breif hassles in the supermarket about how much beer to buy (126 beers for 5 people) and what kind of sandwiches people wanted (italian, roast beef) it was time to take a couple of gravity bong hits and hop in a cab. When we arrived, it was just a shit show of people standing in line. One of my friends was having some bladder difficulty and immediately ran-off to urinate. It should also be stated of the 5 people we were with one was a small girl, one had a broken hand and the other was using a cane to walk due to a torn ACL, so I had to carry a lot more beer than I was comfortable with. But anyway, when we finally sat down and laid our blanket out (more on that later) it was probably no later than 11am.

I spent the first hour or so nodding in and out and trying not to throw up. Eventually, I gave up and just started drinking and betting. Eventually, as the beers started going down easier, the debauchery started to abound.

(<Vote Hillary Clinton in 2008)

(<Balla and whore embrace. herpes appears)

.

There lines for the betting and the bathroom quickly started to reach epic proportions and eventually things got more disgusting. At one point while we were online for the bathroom (people always correct me and say "in line" and i respond "gag on it"), meeting sluts and chilling, we see this one girl straight let loose in her pants and then the back of her jeans started dripping, man was it nasty. At some other point in the day this drunk guy climbed onto the top of the porto-potty and dove off into a puddle of what I can only assume to be urine based mud. To avoid this sort of scene, I improvised and found myself urinating into a bottle while positioned underneath our blanket (which itself had deteriorated into a muddy, urine soaked rag) which was a pretty kick-ass plan until disaster struck and I began urinating in quantities larger than 32-ounces.

(imma degenerate, imma imma degenerate, ask about me)

.

So much to my chagrin when I arose with the not-so-fly urine drippings on my frontal reproductive area I figured that the best possible solution was to pour a lot of beer down the front of my pants, so thats what i did. No one was sober enough to pay a terrible amount of attention to me, or what i was doing.

At another point, me and dane were walking around singing "skinny white kids make the world go ’round" and we happened upon some drunken crackers, who may have felt we were mocking them. So this one kid starts aggresivly dry-humping my leg as I stand there trying to ascertain what exactly it is he wanted, as his friend who is laying on the ground, starts trying to beef because I spilled beer on him as a result of his friends humping, and as the circle around me was getting smaller and my beer got slapped out of my hand by some meathead waste of life, I calmly exited the area, and found the nearest crushed can, ripped it in half, and vowed the next person to step was going to get their face cut.

No one else stepped, but a whole lot of people from cities and states with sub-par baseball teams (boston, baltimore, etc.) seemed convinced that the Yankees sucked. In the tunnel on the way out, we started a "lets go yankees" chant, which was loudly sustained and right away a rival "fuck the yankees" chant was started. It was amusing.

Lots of other shit happened, many tits were shown, lots of girls slutted it up, garbage was everywhere and it was fucking awesome. The four Preakness virgins I went with all vowed that they would be back in future years, and you know my drunk ass loves to wild out. I’ll close with the remaining photo, credit to my man Dane for all the flicks.

(skinny white kids make the world go ’round)

In my daily life, I come into contact with lots of people who could stand to shed a few pounds. Having always been thin myself, I never had to deal with issues like trying to slim down, however I have a lifetime of experience in not getting fat. As I see all of these diets and "liposuction" and Anna Nicole-Smith on the train slanging Trimspa in "spanish" being pushed on people as viable ways to lose weight, I’m wondering why no one just tells these people to stop eating so much.

Shit, I know people who are trying to lose weight who eat 3 fucking meals a day. 3 whole meals. Breakfast, lunch and dinner. Now I don’t understand Americas love affair with food and I never have.  But even assuming that you enjoy eating, it doesn’t mean that having three meals a day is your right. I’ve lived almost my entire life eating rarely, and usually only as a precursor (sp?) to drinking.

Normally, I wake up at 9am get a cup of coffee at 10am and drink a few glasses of water. For lunch I take a walk and smoke a stoge. When I get home around 6:30, I’ll take a gravity bong hit and around 7:30 I’ll start thinking, now I’m hungry like I gotta eat. So, then I’ll eat dinner. And I’m not talking some fucking grandiose 5-course meal or anything like that. I’m talking like a Pastrami sandwich.

So, in summation here is my diet plan and how you and your obese homies can slim down before bikini season.

1: don’t eat breakfast.

2: don’t eat lunch.

3: try walking somewhere every once in a while.

4: try and cough a lot (thats how my abs stay ripped, thanks again to the gravity bong)

5: eat a reasonable dinner.

6: remind yourself that food doesn’t get you high or give you blowjobs and eating can be a terrible waste of time, not unlike sleep.

good luck with everything, and like I told everyone back during the gras of 04, "remember to eat, just not that much."

<thats Kanye West, if you see him, kick him in the vagina.

Now i’ve expressed my distaste for rapists in the whole Clarence whatever his name was post a few weeks back, so I’m not going to go back into how rape is obviously wrong and rapists shouldn’t go to heaven (neither should dogs).

But enter Brian Nichols, suspected rapist and the gulliest person out there. My man (pictured below, with his lawyer on the right, in court) was on his way to appear in court to face his rape charges when he, according to the AP, "allegedly overpowered a deputy, stole her gun and opened fire in the courtroom where the trial was to resume." Now, this was going to be a post about how gully it is to escape from a courtroom, clapping people left and right and be on the lam for-real, for-real, for-real. But then as I was re-reading the AP report in the NYPosts online edition (or doing research as I call it) and gathering the "facts", it was hard to ignore the fact that the deputy responsible for all of this is in fact a woman.

Now, equality between men and women has always been a hard sell for me. I’m not saying that there aren’t some qualities and jobs that rely on those qualities where women perform equal to and even better than men. But there are clearly some positions where we’re (read men) just letting them act out this "equal rights" fantasy. For example, police officer, fire fighter, president, vice-president, sports announcer and various other things that for whatever reason, be it national security or innate physical strength, are positions that women have no business doing or even applying for. And as long as our own country uses the whole "might makes right" style of foreign-policy, they are going to have a difficult time explaining to me what the fuck a woman was doing protecting a judge in a courtroom if she can be overpowered by an unarmed defendant.

More on how the ghost of Susan B. Anthony gives me fellatio on a nightly basis later, back to Nichols. So after he overpowers the girl and claps the judge, in a move worthy of the late ODB, he goes on the run only to be caught later and charged with murder, escape and a slew of other things. I would also imagine the rape charge didn’t disappear either. However, during the course of my research, I noticed that it said he was "polite and soft-spoken" during his most recent court appearance.

So, basically I’m thinking what happened was he never raped anyone, and while he was hoping to be vindicated and found not guilty, he was so overcome with how pathetically incompentant the little girl deputy was, he probably just couldn’t resist himself from grabbing the gun and making his escape before the crackers (mind you this is Georgia) locked him up. I haven’t read a single thing about this lil’ lady deputy being charged with anything or dismissed from her position.

*something to consider: with all the failures and disgraces that women have brought upon themeselves recently (those NYC teachers having sex with little boys, Terri Schiavo, Lynndie England and the unnamed girl deputy, Martha Stewart, the bug-eyed bitch bride who ran away) is it only a matter of time until a womans right to vote is revoked??

Now, I’m no champion of religion. Of any religion. Basically I view people who put their complete faith in some religion as lunatics. Some of them, those who don’t go ranting and raving and bombing and terrorizing, are okay people. Just hard to talk to about certain issues.

I’ve never been made to pile myself up with naked men in jail, or had some dog-faced bitch lead me around on a leash, but I would imagine it would be not so awesome. Now,  my personal distaste for religion aside, I would much, much rather someone flush the Good Book (thats the Bible around my way) down the toilet then to even give me a not so hard kick to the reproductive area (my cock and balls).

Now, I’m not sure exactly what value the actual text of the Qu’ran (Koran) has, meaning like if it’s a sin or whathave you to destroy it, but I would imagine the Muslim world would rather see some book that may or may not (I’m going with may not) have some teachings from the big G be flushed down the toilet than to see their spiritual brothers being lead around naked by the aforementioned dog-faced bitch.

but thats just me.

So, if you live in New York City you have no doubt been confronted by the sickening sight of some dirty looking loser walking about 10 different dogs at the same time on the sidewalk.

What is the logic behind getting a dog when you live in the city and don’t have time to walk it??

Couldn’t you use the extra cake you drop on that to sponsor one (or more) of those kids in Africa??

Now, if you are like me you would already see the logic in not allowing people who live in apartments to own dogs. Not only is it cruel to the dog (I don’t give much of a fuck about the dogs really) but it also insures that throughout that dogs life, whenever it needs to shit or piss it will do so on my streets.

I’m no taxologist, but maybe if dog owners paid taxes on their filthy animals natural urges such as shitting and pissing in public, we could have the streets cleaned a little more regularly and the sidewalks hosed down with say, polo cologne. Maybe the fucking perverbial roses I keep planning on stopping and smelling would have a more appealing effect on my olfactories (sp?) if I didn’t have to duckwalk through dog shit to get to them.

Also, whats the point of having a dog (or a child) that sits around with a stranger for half the day, and is fed and walked by some stranger??

What does the dogs owner get out of it?? 

I’m thinking blowjobs.

So the results are in and once again our collective homie Tony Blair "Witch Project" has been elected prime minister of England. I haven’t read up on this much other than the grenade attack on the English consulate in NYC the other day, but for the sake of argument, we’ll say he won in a landslide.

Now I’ve spent some time in England and it’s a pretty dope place. The weather sucks, but pretty much everyone is an alcoholic, so it’s not that bad. I am also a big fan of such laws like "you can drink on the train" and "you can drink in the street" and "the police don’t have guns."  However, things are expensive and our pitiful economy has insured that our dollars are worth basically as much as ruples were after the USSR fell. TANGENT.

Anyway, my main point is that while watching Tony Blair get crucified on television during a town hall meeting, I realized that he didn’t have very good teeth, which I know is one sterotype of England that holds true (like the shitty weather and the tea), but I figured that the fucking prime minister could spring for some Crest Whitening Strips. Being no prince of oral hygeine (i’m so un highgenik I can’t even spell it right) myself and possessing a mastery of politics, I figured that  the only thing preventing me from rising all the way to being the prime minister of England was my  lack of English citizenship, which seems like it would be easily attainable. So, in the next English elections the candidates make look like this.

Tony Blair, prime minister.

VS

James Schiavone, American hero.