swept under the carpet of foggy college memories

I've heard tell of an amazing weekend in an otherwise shitty town called Meadville. Springfest has always been a time for freshman to meet new people they won't remember and for the seniors to have one last go at the underclassmen they've been eyeing for the past year or three. It's mostly a time for everyone to get their last parties in before the end of the year, only it's supported with a 'we'll mostly look the other way' kind of attitude by the school.

No killings or date rapes or too much underage drinking, and everything is all clear. Well all clear is no fun. A party that goes off without a hitch gets forgotten too easily. I remember the times I'd get in fights, I remember the times I'd get kicked out of the establishment supplying me my end of the week sustenance, I basically only remember the oddities. The perfect party gets filed under the heading of a 'decent weekend' and is swept under the carpet of foggy college memories. The nights I'd spend in relative comfort and distraction don't quite meet up with the time that I pissed my pants in front of a police officer. They don't even come close to assaulting the soccer team, either time. I won't remember the 'good' party that I didn't get kicked out of, but I will remember the time I was dragged out because I stole the jungle juice bucket and tried to bong it in the backyard.

Springfest provides the last opportunity to stretch my legs as a senior, my last 'fest' of any kind in Meadville ought to be an 'awesomefest.' I'm not that interested, to tell the truth. It's a switch, for me. The people this weekend ought to have their fun all year long without being constrained to merely a weekend of debauchery. It's a life they live, seeking fun and courting her. Springfest isn't for these people, it's for everyone else. The excuse to go out and let yourself spend a night or two having fun with few repercussions calls to the people who don't seek the thrills or date the danger.

These folks will go out and get too drunk for their own good and make their own memorable weekend because they 'don't normally do that sort of thing.' I wasn't allowed on campus for last year's Springfest and it turned out to be a pretty good weekend. I got drunk in the Sahside and fell down a couple times. Springfest in Meadville is amateur weekend. The people who don't normally drink decide to and hilarity does not tend to follow. Bad hookups and stupid decisions to profess their love to people does tend to follow, however.

They'll remember it only because it's so abnormal for them, for me, it's just another weekend. In fact, only a few weeks ago my housemates went out of town and I threw a party because they weren't around. The police showed up for a noise complaint, I built a beer pong table in my garage, lit a bunch of stuff on fire, broke a chair (which we subsequently also set ablaze) and fell asleep at 9pm. It was a damn fine re-enactment of Springfest, only without the school's consent. That's a hell of a Saturday, akin to the one where a townie pulled a shotgun on me for pissing on his house but didn't bat an eye over the 30 or so people partying in his backyard.

These people only go through the motions, they fake it for a day or two. They pretend to love what I hold dear and the hypocrisy is a smack in the face. I hold no grudge against anyone who takes the opportunity to let loose, I just don't think I want to be a part of it. I'm making a trek to State College this upcoming weekend.

liberal arts horseshit experience

Recently I purchased a text book at the campus bookstore. This is my first time buying a book for a math class and actually my first experience with what could truly be called a 'text book'. This is all new to me because I major in History and these classes consist of a couple paperbacks and maybe a novel or two. Most can be bought for a couple of beads and a bottle of fire water on amazon or somewhere.

This math text is from an alternate dimension where books are mined from the ground and there are civil wars fought over the rights to dig them up. Blood books is what they're called. During the past three years I think the most I've spent on one single book was maybe 50 bones. This was for a new book, and if memory serves, it was bound in human flesh and written in ink mixed with liquid gold. It came with a blender and a Mexican child to tote it around for me. This semester I found myself shelling out nearly twice that much for a shitty old calculus book. I'm a scholar of the past, I couldn't care less about derivatives or integrals or shoving a function up my ass and pulling the limit out of my ear.

This is all part of the liberal arts horseshit experience. Books that cost more than a hundred dollars make me want to kill myself and everyone around me. This book buying fun has been a penis-softening time. Being the king of cunning, I soon found a way to remedy this problem and get the little bugger raging once more.

"Scan that bitch!!" I shouted to myself, out loud, as I was leaving the bookstore.

So now I sit and I turn the page, push the button. I turn the page and push the button. I'm scanning the book into my computer and then I'm going to return it by Friday for a full refund.

the dandy river

"So this is the new year, well I don't feel any different"

Normally I don't like bands with long names because they always sound pretentious, but Death Cab for Cutie is one of my personal favorites.

I've got the 'it's a new year blues'. For the past couple years or so they have all started with a mean hangover tinged with fear. The hangover for obvious reasons, since new year's eve is one of only a handful of eves with an asterisk attached to it saying that it's all right to get belligerent and act the fool. The fear may not be so obvious, but it is related to the asterisk, the question I'd always ask myself was how much of a fool did I act? Apprehension, mostly, thinking that maybe I did something bad.

This year, instead of the headache and dry mouth, I awoke to the clinking of dishes and a surprisingly bright sun shining in my window. My grandfather was already up, as usual, and doing some dishes in the kitchen. It was a pleasant morning, as I showered, the idea of washing everything away popped into my head. The sins of the past year and the wrongs that I had done or were done to me slowly swirling round down the drain. As quickly as the idea floated into my head, it floated out. Let's face it, that kind of thinking is just a skip over the dandy river into full blown homosexuality.

I decided instead, in less dramatic fashion and fully clothed, that I should just treat it like any other year. As a wise man told me, it really is just another day. I started off without a resolution, but I've found a resolution in my own absolution. Looking forward to 2007, I don't have any high reaching aspirations, but I do think that things might be a little different. At any rate, there will be more to come, look forward to it.

mortal thinking

The other day, perched precariously atop my orange tractor, anxiously awaiting the flip that will send me into crushed and shredded oblivion, I began thinking about death. Not in the average 'Oh, boo-hoo I'm getting older and everyone dies' kind of way, but the much more bad ass, 'Bad ass ways to kick it' kind of way.

Being a big fan of lists and countdowns (I mean, who isn't?) I thought of a few really bad ass ways to die. Not necessarily making my top ten that I'm about to drop like it's hot, flipping over on a tractor is kind of cool, and since it's my list, gets an honorable mention.

#10 Death by Explosion

Nothing spectacular, but generally speaking, when someone dies in a giant explosion ... well, it's normally pretty cool. I mean, explosions are cool and fire is cool. Loud noises are awesome and any type of death including all three of these things has got to be cool itself. Since explosions are so manly, death by explosion is pretty BAD ASS.

#9 Death by Scurvy

You're only lying to yourself if you don't think scurvy is bad ass. We'll play a bit of word association for a second. I say 'scurvy' and you say ... yeah, I thought so, 'pirates.' I looked up 'pirates' in the dictionary just now (read: no, I didn't) and the second definition was two words: 'bad' and 'ass.' You can't argue with facts.

#8 Death by Gun Fight

If you die in a gun fight, you're a bad ass. You've overcome all of the hurdles needed for full bad-ass-i-tude. The first one is that you have a gun. The second is that you use it. Bad asses use guns. Two words: 'dirty' and 'harry.' These same two words could be used to describe the physical appearance of bad ass dudes, or BADs, as I like to call them. The coincidence is shockingly argument proof.

#7 Death by Robot

Everyone who is anyone knows that the only thing more bad ass than some seriously BADs is some seriously bad ass robots, or BARs, as I like to call them. If a BAR kills a BAD, there is an overload of bad and ass. Every guy knows that you can never get enough ass. Case closed. Try and keep up.

#6 Death by Cobra

No, not the kind that live on planes. Cobra of the GI Joe fame. This is serious. Actually, in hindsight this is way too high up on my list. It shouldn't even be in the top 10 of anything. If you're killed by any of the Cobras, you're kind of an asshole. The GI Joes always managed to kick some Cobra ass, and they melted in the sun. At least when I used a magnifying glass to heat them up after the ants were all dead. Man, Cobras sucked. And that one guy never even showed his face. What a little bitch tit.

#5 Death by Decepticon

Ok, now we've got some serious villains here. These are the BARs I was talking about earlier. They get their own spot on the countdown because they're too much, much too much. Are you fucking kidding me? ROBOTS that turn into CARS and shit! That's just wild. That blows my mind. If a Decepticon kills you ... just, I mean, if you could, just say thank you. It's cool that the Autobots are here to help us out and all, but man, robots give me an erection.

#4 Death by Sacrifice

HEY VIRGINS! Listen up and listen up good. Soldiers are willing to give their lives for their country. Sacrificial deaths are just about as bad ass as can be. Going out to protect America from places like Indonesia and Congo... If you die as a sacrifice for something greater than yourself. That's bad ass. Fuck those commies. Virgins make such a big deal out of being sacrificed, but I don't know why. Every time I sacrifice one they always kick and scream, and damn can those bitches bite.

#3 Death by Snakes

Pythons? Anacondas? Fuck that shit. They're so gay. They want to squeeze you to death? I'll tell you who else tried to squeeze me to death. Tyrone, the large black man that liked me so much when I spent that night in jail a couple months ago. All he wanted to do was hug me and stick his tongue out. Anacondas and pythons are the gayest of snakes in the snake world. They're the gayest of animals in the animal world, besides Sasquatch, of course. Poisonous snakes are too bad ass for their own good. They have fucking poison INSIDE of them. The poison doesn't even bother them. But it can KILL people. Really quick too. They bite you with NATURE'S NEEDLES!!! They have hollow teeth like some damned vampires! Come on, you're retarded and blind if you don't know that death by poisonous snakes is fucking bad ass. If I was bit by a poisonous snake, between my spasms and bloody coughs, I would probably want to hug the little guy for letting me go out like such a man.

#2 Death by Sword

The ancients knew this was a noble way of death. If dishonor were to befall you in some societies long ago, you were to kill yourself with your own blade rather than face the shame of ... whatever. Here's the thing: it didn't matter what it was that made you ashamed! Death by sword was just too bad ass, it overcame everything else. It was like the royal flush of ways to die. NOTHING BEAT IT. If your old man went out and fucked 54 sheep and sucked off a pair of horses while his drunk boyfriend taped the whole thing and then inadvertently showed it at the local town fair while getting caught molesting a small child behind the screen this interspecies erotica was being played on, all he had to do was kill himself on his own blade. All was well with the world again. The end all to problems, the sword ruled.

And now, for the number one way to die. The most bad ass of bad ass-ery, you probably saw it coming, and I don't really need an explanation for it. In fact, I won't give an explanation, because it would insult your intelligence and tax my ability to use the english language to convey such bad ass-ery. The number one, bad ass, most motherfucking awesome way to die...






#1 Death by Snakes on a Plane

with or without you.

This isn't something that I normally dig my hands into, but I'd like to make a brief trip into the realm of sex. That's a funny sentence, seriously, go back and read it again.

Sometimes facts change. I remember back when I was a small child, the cars we drove and the engines that gave off harmful greenhouses gases were ... well, harmful. Turns out that was a load of shit. There was a recent study that proved that the earth is staying the same temperature. When I say 'recent study' I mean I just made that up. Facts change, deal with it.

Here's a fact that will never change: big vaginas are always funny.

Supposedly, there are a few key thoughts that can turn an otherwise virile young man limp again. You know what I'm talking about. When a guy wants to 'go the distance' for his lady friend or his guy friend, if he likes, he's supposed to think of goofy, off-the-wall-shit that will keep the racer in his car for the last lap, so to speak. Lady friend or guy friend works, because we all know that a warm hole is a warm hole. The guy is the one that is supposed to keep it going because that's the cool thing to do, or something. This type of thinking is wrong on so many levels. I'll go over a few if you keep it together. Ha, get it?

Grandmas, dudes, ugly girls, baseball... wait. Baseball? I tried this. Baseball doesn't work. I think baseball is sexy. It turns me on. I often get an erection just from thinking about baseball. I love it. Do you know why I love it? Because I'm an American. I went there, Americans love baseball. Some Americans love baseball more than others because, let's face it, some people are more American than others. I tried thinking about baseball in order to keep going recently. It didn't work.

My initial reaction was one of shock, basically because I had no idea I love baseball so much. Also because I thought about how stupid that was. Why was I trying to go the distance? Rather, why was I trying to push the finish line farther away? If that's not the epitome of counterproductivity, I have no idea what is. I should be trying to finish as fast as possible, because hey, fuck them anyways. Aha. Another joke.

Who am I trying to impress? The only woman in my life that I want to impress is my mom. And she's told me plenty of times now that she doesn't want to hear me talk about that kind of thing. It's similar to the way my dog will go out in the yard and kill something. He then brings that dead thing back to the porch, as if to say 'hey man, check this out, I'm real bad ass'. The equivalent for me would be 'hey mom, check out this gutterslut, I'm a horrible human being. what's for dinner?'.

Let's put this in a different perspective. When I'm home alone, or not alone, or when my dog is watching and I'm whaling away on myself like there's no tomorrow, I'm not worried about my hand's pleasure. Fuck that guy anyways (lol) he leaves me all raw sometimes and never says he's sorry. So why is it, when I'm slumming after a night of drinking, that kind of nonsensical bad joke of a bad idea pops into my head?

Of course, this is all just a prelude to what I've really been trying to get at. And that's to remind you that big vaginas are always, and will always be funny.