In college, there is an overabundance of down time. Particularly in the dorm life.
If you are picturing a-bun-dancing right now...we are on the same page.
Sorry that was cheap word play. I'm really Punny.
K promise that was the last one.
Anyway, after living in the dorms for what feels like 6 years, I've concluded there are several types of people that find ways to pass times in our luxurious, lavish living areas.
One of these kind of people are the people who live across the hall from me. I am convinced they live off of Tang and Assasins Creed. Except for one time, the kid across the hall told me all about this one time he played beer pong mixed with tang and it was "totally disgusting dude!"
My response to this was, "Get out of my dorm room. You smell like a sweaty Xbox controller."
The other night I was in my living room watching a Blazers game on a Thursday night, right after practice. I like to call this "me" time.
The kids across the call like to call this "It's almost Friday, which is almost the weekend, which means LETS GET DRUNK time."
One of the kids across the hall came in, obnoxiously drunk, accusing me of stealing his beer.
"Dude...they...dude...they told me YOU STOLED IT! Where is it? Where is my...beer...dude...you stoled it!"
(Before I could muster up a response worthy of his intellect.)
"I like your haircut. Sean...I like your haircut!"
He became very easily distracted, I told him there is a shiny object in the hallway, he turned around and out of the room like a kid with ADHD trying to catch snowflakes in a blizzard.
Point: Sean.
I locked the door as to not deal with him the rest of the night.
Silly me.
Five minutes later, I hear a rhythmic banging on my door, only to realize it is my drunken hall-mate, sitting at the foot of my door, facing away from the room, banging the back of his head on the wall of my dorm room. Over, and over and over, repeating the words:
"SEAAAN!!! I LIKE YOUR HAIRCUT! SEAN! I LIKE YOUR HAIRCUT! YOU GOT A HAIRCUT! I LIKE IT!"
Eventually, the sound stopped, and I assumed he either gave up, or went to bed.
Turns out he did both, right in the middle of the hallway, directly in front of my living room, in a puddle of his own drool.
As i stepped over his hung over head, with a trashbag in hand, I was ready to toss him in it. Instead, I took the high road, smiled, looked down at him and said, "Good for you!"
Good for you.
About a week later, he and his suitemates find that they are evidently now welcome to walk into my room whenever they want, only to ask the same question EVERY TIME.
The door opens, without a knock, they walk in, stare at me for a second, then ask me if Ryan or Dustin (my suitemates) are here.
Cuz they couldn't walk ten feet to figure out themselves.
And they wouldnt wanna be rude by, say, not knocking.
Then, yesterday, I was just hanging out, watching some T.V. eating some cereal, and another kid from across the hall barges into my living room, stares at me for a good 5 seconds. Stares at the TV for another 10 seconds. Then looks back at me and says:
"Hey man. What are you eating?"
Cereal. What the hell does it look like. It's cereal.
"Dude...that looks REALLY good."
"Yeah its this new thing. It's milk. And Grape Nuts. Thanks?"
Yeah man. Thats cool dude. So is Ryan here?
Instead of responding to his question like a normal person, I actually closed my eyes, held my breath, thought about how much I despise him and his suitemates, and I actually just blew up right there.
Like literally, spontaneously combusted, into flames, on the spot. Like that one incubus song.
Now there's a hole burned in my couch, but at least I don't have to listen to the Tang Kids bullshit anymore.
P.S. If I hear another South Park line, I am going to shoot my dick off.
Happy Thanksgiving.
Bah Humbug.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Potatoes and Annoying Teacher Tendencies
Sorry about the delay of blog entries. Unfortunately, the past 2 weekends, I have been in the shit-stain state, aka Idaho.
Last weekend we lost by 5 to Division 1 Idaho State University, and all you really need to know about that game is that one of their players looked like a hybrid of Frankenstein, Darko Millicic and that big Russian boxer in one of the Rocky movies.
I got to play, for like a minute, and in that span of time, I managed to get scored on by this 6’10 Russian man, almost turn the ball over, and twist an ankle.
Freshman year is awesome.
This past weekend, we were in Idaho for the Golden Rule Shootout, at the College of Idaho. We went 1-1 and I found out that there is a magnet taped to the hands of defenders and the ball, but only when I am in possession of it.
I think I played 50 seconds before seeing the opposite color jersey of mine, and essentially giftwrapping the ball, and gently handing it to the other team. Twice.
Here…have a lay-up!
I didn’t play much that game, or the rest of the weekend, and I can’t complain.
That’s the worst. Every player would like to think the coach is out to get them, and you are really really really good, but coach just doesn’t give you a chance. Then there’s times when you get a chance, and you take that chance, and take a shit on it.
That’s what I did, but then I decided to start thinking of sport clichés to make me feel better.
Kevin Garnett’s “NOTHING IS IMPOSSIBLE” didn’t quite do it for me. Allen Iversons “PRACTICE!!!??” made me wanna throw up. And Shaq’s “BLUUGUGHGUGHUGHGUGHHHGUGHG BLUUUGGHUUUDY GLUB BLUG GULBB BLUG I’m the diesel, baby,” wasn’t exactly applicable.
So, I adopted my own modern day sports quote.
“Wow, I really blew it tonight. I mean…I played terrible. I think I will write a blog dedicated to my sucking. BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.”
But the truth is, if you have read this far, you probably don’t give a s-word about how many turnovers I have.
But you know what you do want to know?
Every town in Idaho smells like a condiment you put on a baked potato.
One town we drove through smelled EXCLUSIVELY like bacon. Last time I checked, bacon on a baked potato is good.
Then, the next town we stopped in smelled like cheese. Cheddar cheese. Cheddar cheese on a baked potato is good.
During the rest of the weekend, I caught whiffs of ranch, butter, chives, and sour cream, depending on what town we were in.
It makes sense really. Idaho is known as the Potato state, right? So the cities of the potato state should be known as accessories to the baked potato.
So, like Florida, the sunshine state, probably has a lot of towns that smell like sunscreen, towels, sand, and UV rays.
mmmmm…smells warm.
This has nothing to do with anything, but I have recently started paying attention to all of my teachers annoying tendencies. The most apparent of them all is that my Biology teacher talks with her eyes closed.
Who does that???
She literally stands in front of class, puts on a power-point, and sleep-talks the whole period.
Sometimes I want to throw my pen at her just to make sure she’s awake.
But the weirdest part about it is she is never dosing off or anything. She is always SUPER energetic. But she never has her eyes open.
It doesn’t seem to bother anyone else, but it disrupts my learning process, and I would like to blame her eye-shutting techniques for the D I received on the last test.
My math teacher is awesome, but he possesses no control over the volume of his voice.
We will be doing a problem, and one moment, he will be quietly muttering to himself, turned away from the class, then the next, he turns his body, and basically starts yelling at the class.
“The x’s cancel, foil out the parentheses…AND SOLVE FOR X! SOLVE FOR X! THE X’s CANCEL! SO SOLVE FOR X!”
Mr. Gregersen, I would love to solve for x, but my eardrums are bleeding.
We had a fire drill last week, and I was shocked, because I thought those ended in high school along with lunch detentions and hall passes, but what I was more surprised at was the fact it took a good 3 unbearably loud BEEP BEEP BEEP’s for my math teacher to catch on to the fact we were indeed having a fire drill.
Turns out he thought it was someone’s cell phone.
No, professor, the building is on fire.
“SOLVE FOR X!!!!”
I don’t want to think about what would happen if my Science teacher AND my Math teacher were in a fire drill.
Together, they make one severely disabled person.
My biology teacher would think, “Golly, whoever is blowing their nose sure is being loud about it! I hope that tissue is Bio-degradable!”
Meanwhile my math teacher would say “Who’s getting a B grade in my class? Hmmmm…cancel the twommmhhmmm, divide by threemhmmmmhhmmm. Wow is it hot in here, or is it just this chalkboard that I sometimes drag my fingernails across to drive my students insane? Oh wait, it appears there is a fire. I can tell by the intensely bright light strobing across the room. Thankfully, I have a good set of eyes to make up for my lack of hearing.”
Biology teacher: I also have capable eyes, I just choose to shut them, because it reduces energy, therefore reducing my carbon footprint!
Last weekend we lost by 5 to Division 1 Idaho State University, and all you really need to know about that game is that one of their players looked like a hybrid of Frankenstein, Darko Millicic and that big Russian boxer in one of the Rocky movies.
I got to play, for like a minute, and in that span of time, I managed to get scored on by this 6’10 Russian man, almost turn the ball over, and twist an ankle.
Freshman year is awesome.
This past weekend, we were in Idaho for the Golden Rule Shootout, at the College of Idaho. We went 1-1 and I found out that there is a magnet taped to the hands of defenders and the ball, but only when I am in possession of it.
I think I played 50 seconds before seeing the opposite color jersey of mine, and essentially giftwrapping the ball, and gently handing it to the other team. Twice.
Here…have a lay-up!
I didn’t play much that game, or the rest of the weekend, and I can’t complain.
That’s the worst. Every player would like to think the coach is out to get them, and you are really really really good, but coach just doesn’t give you a chance. Then there’s times when you get a chance, and you take that chance, and take a shit on it.
That’s what I did, but then I decided to start thinking of sport clichés to make me feel better.
Kevin Garnett’s “NOTHING IS IMPOSSIBLE” didn’t quite do it for me. Allen Iversons “PRACTICE!!!??” made me wanna throw up. And Shaq’s “BLUUGUGHGUGHUGHGUGHHHGUGHG BLUUUGGHUUUDY GLUB BLUG GULBB BLUG I’m the diesel, baby,” wasn’t exactly applicable.
So, I adopted my own modern day sports quote.
“Wow, I really blew it tonight. I mean…I played terrible. I think I will write a blog dedicated to my sucking. BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.”
But the truth is, if you have read this far, you probably don’t give a s-word about how many turnovers I have.
But you know what you do want to know?
Every town in Idaho smells like a condiment you put on a baked potato.
One town we drove through smelled EXCLUSIVELY like bacon. Last time I checked, bacon on a baked potato is good.
Then, the next town we stopped in smelled like cheese. Cheddar cheese. Cheddar cheese on a baked potato is good.
During the rest of the weekend, I caught whiffs of ranch, butter, chives, and sour cream, depending on what town we were in.
It makes sense really. Idaho is known as the Potato state, right? So the cities of the potato state should be known as accessories to the baked potato.
So, like Florida, the sunshine state, probably has a lot of towns that smell like sunscreen, towels, sand, and UV rays.
mmmmm…smells warm.
This has nothing to do with anything, but I have recently started paying attention to all of my teachers annoying tendencies. The most apparent of them all is that my Biology teacher talks with her eyes closed.
Who does that???
She literally stands in front of class, puts on a power-point, and sleep-talks the whole period.
Sometimes I want to throw my pen at her just to make sure she’s awake.
But the weirdest part about it is she is never dosing off or anything. She is always SUPER energetic. But she never has her eyes open.
It doesn’t seem to bother anyone else, but it disrupts my learning process, and I would like to blame her eye-shutting techniques for the D I received on the last test.
My math teacher is awesome, but he possesses no control over the volume of his voice.
We will be doing a problem, and one moment, he will be quietly muttering to himself, turned away from the class, then the next, he turns his body, and basically starts yelling at the class.
“The x’s cancel, foil out the parentheses…AND SOLVE FOR X! SOLVE FOR X! THE X’s CANCEL! SO SOLVE FOR X!”
Mr. Gregersen, I would love to solve for x, but my eardrums are bleeding.
We had a fire drill last week, and I was shocked, because I thought those ended in high school along with lunch detentions and hall passes, but what I was more surprised at was the fact it took a good 3 unbearably loud BEEP BEEP BEEP’s for my math teacher to catch on to the fact we were indeed having a fire drill.
Turns out he thought it was someone’s cell phone.
No, professor, the building is on fire.
“SOLVE FOR X!!!!”
I don’t want to think about what would happen if my Science teacher AND my Math teacher were in a fire drill.
Together, they make one severely disabled person.
My biology teacher would think, “Golly, whoever is blowing their nose sure is being loud about it! I hope that tissue is Bio-degradable!”
Meanwhile my math teacher would say “Who’s getting a B grade in my class? Hmmmm…cancel the twommmhhmmm, divide by threemhmmmmhhmmm. Wow is it hot in here, or is it just this chalkboard that I sometimes drag my fingernails across to drive my students insane? Oh wait, it appears there is a fire. I can tell by the intensely bright light strobing across the room. Thankfully, I have a good set of eyes to make up for my lack of hearing.”
Biology teacher: I also have capable eyes, I just choose to shut them, because it reduces energy, therefore reducing my carbon footprint!
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Don't Forget to Bring a Towel.
Every year in the NBA, they ask a few of the top rookies what their 'welcome to the NBA' moment is.
Some say, getting picked by Chris Paul, some say getting dunked on by Kevin Garnett, and some say, get me the hell out of here.
I'd fall into the third category.
Every college freshman has their 'welcome to college' moment.
And if your like me, you've had several 'welcome to college' moments.
Like...5.
I think after the first few, they should stop calling it 'welcome to college' moment, and call it 'you are a dumbass, get it right' moment.
The D+'s on midterms, the farts in the weight room, the other D+ on the midterm, more farts, and now...this.
Watch this clip.
And picture me, as Dwight Howard, and Kobe as...say, college.
Now take away the broad shoulders and jumping ability, and replace it with knee sleeves and a naturally born inept-ness for standardized tests of any kind.
Your end result: Sean getting shitted on by those around him in this awkward phase of life that is Freshman year.
It didn't really hit me, until this weekend, when we had our kickoff tournament here at EOU.
We were playing one of the best NAIA schools in the nation, and we beat them by 10 in overtime. It was a great game.
Except for one part.
Midway through the second half, it was a dead ball, and a large, bald, middle aged male in a zebra suit came stomping towards the bench.
He was a referee, and he was sweating excessively.
He looked eerily similar to the referee in the "Celebrity Deathmatch" series, Mills Lane and I was expecting him to saunter over and say "Let's get it on!"
Then decapitate my play-dough made limbs, while Weird Al versus Al Gore, the "main event" are up next.
Turns out he wanted a towel.
He literally ran over to the bench and asked for a towel. Not to wipe a wet spot on the floor, not to waive in the air while we were shooting free throws, not to lay down on a sandy white beach.
No, he wanted a towel to wipe the sweat off of his glistening bald dome.
I found this rather hilarious that an official in an intense game took a break to ask the home team for a sweat-sopping device.
Big smile on my face, gleeful as can be, the referee makes eye contact with me, and he wasn't happy I was laughing at him.
Sweat-head: "What are you laughing at?"
Me: Uh....hard work out there eh?
Sweat-head: At least I've worked a sweat up. At least I've been out here long enough to get a sweat going. Shouldn't you still have your warm-up on?
Me: I feel like Dwight Howard. Minus the broad shoulders and jumping ability. Plus the knee sleeves. Minus the playing time.
This bald man has just shit on me.
Now, I didn't catch it word for word, but I didn't play at all in this game, and I know he was making a wise crack at my playing time, because I looked down the bench to see several of my older teammates cracking up.
Not only was it degrading to no end to get made fun of by a Claymation referee, it was salt in the wounds when my teammates found it equally hilarious that I wasn't playing.
So, I did what any normal 18 year old kid would do. I got up, picked up my chair, and broke it over the top of the referee's head, and drop-kicked every single teammate that has ever wronged me.
Wait, no, that's not what happened at all. I believe i started to smile, jumped over the first row of people, and curled up into my grandmothers arms, and started sucking my thumb.
You win this time, bald referee guy. Until we meet again.
Then maybe I will have the presence of mind to stick my foot out subtlely while you are running the baseline, and send you skidding across the baseline on your chest.
Next time you need a towel, don't ask me, I need it for extra padding to keep my ass comfortable on the bench, right where it belongs.
Some say, getting picked by Chris Paul, some say getting dunked on by Kevin Garnett, and some say, get me the hell out of here.
I'd fall into the third category.
Every college freshman has their 'welcome to college' moment.
And if your like me, you've had several 'welcome to college' moments.
Like...5.
I think after the first few, they should stop calling it 'welcome to college' moment, and call it 'you are a dumbass, get it right' moment.
The D+'s on midterms, the farts in the weight room, the other D+ on the midterm, more farts, and now...this.
Watch this clip.
And picture me, as Dwight Howard, and Kobe as...say, college.
Now take away the broad shoulders and jumping ability, and replace it with knee sleeves and a naturally born inept-ness for standardized tests of any kind.
Your end result: Sean getting shitted on by those around him in this awkward phase of life that is Freshman year.
It didn't really hit me, until this weekend, when we had our kickoff tournament here at EOU.
We were playing one of the best NAIA schools in the nation, and we beat them by 10 in overtime. It was a great game.
Except for one part.
Midway through the second half, it was a dead ball, and a large, bald, middle aged male in a zebra suit came stomping towards the bench.
He was a referee, and he was sweating excessively.
He looked eerily similar to the referee in the "Celebrity Deathmatch" series, Mills Lane and I was expecting him to saunter over and say "Let's get it on!"
Then decapitate my play-dough made limbs, while Weird Al versus Al Gore, the "main event" are up next.
Turns out he wanted a towel.
He literally ran over to the bench and asked for a towel. Not to wipe a wet spot on the floor, not to waive in the air while we were shooting free throws, not to lay down on a sandy white beach.
No, he wanted a towel to wipe the sweat off of his glistening bald dome.
I found this rather hilarious that an official in an intense game took a break to ask the home team for a sweat-sopping device.
Big smile on my face, gleeful as can be, the referee makes eye contact with me, and he wasn't happy I was laughing at him.
Sweat-head: "What are you laughing at?"
Me: Uh....hard work out there eh?
Sweat-head: At least I've worked a sweat up. At least I've been out here long enough to get a sweat going. Shouldn't you still have your warm-up on?
Me: I feel like Dwight Howard. Minus the broad shoulders and jumping ability. Plus the knee sleeves. Minus the playing time.
This bald man has just shit on me.
Now, I didn't catch it word for word, but I didn't play at all in this game, and I know he was making a wise crack at my playing time, because I looked down the bench to see several of my older teammates cracking up.
Not only was it degrading to no end to get made fun of by a Claymation referee, it was salt in the wounds when my teammates found it equally hilarious that I wasn't playing.
So, I did what any normal 18 year old kid would do. I got up, picked up my chair, and broke it over the top of the referee's head, and drop-kicked every single teammate that has ever wronged me.
Wait, no, that's not what happened at all. I believe i started to smile, jumped over the first row of people, and curled up into my grandmothers arms, and started sucking my thumb.
You win this time, bald referee guy. Until we meet again.
Then maybe I will have the presence of mind to stick my foot out subtlely while you are running the baseline, and send you skidding across the baseline on your chest.
Next time you need a towel, don't ask me, I need it for extra padding to keep my ass comfortable on the bench, right where it belongs.
Monday, November 3, 2008
Grrrrrr. Ape Nuts.
I've been thinking about that one Grape Nuts commercial alot lately.
The one where the guy is at the breakfast table, listening to his family complain about this and that, and the guy just takes a few spoonfulls of Grape Nuts and pretty soon, instead of hearing "I don't wanna go to school. Who's turn is it to take the garbage out?"
He hears, "Crunch, Crunch, Crunch, Crunch."
To me, this is a brilliant strategy, and should be implimented into everyday life.
For example, today during practice, i completely messed up one of the plays, and as one of two freshman on the team, I heard it from all of my teammates.
"Dart, pay attention. Did that new haircut affect your ability to think with your head, not your ass? Do it right!"
At that moment, I reached for my grape nuts.
I didn't have any whole grain breakfast cereal readily available, so I just started chomping my teeth together with great force, so it just made a big clicking sound, so pretty soon, instead of hearing about how terrible of a person I am for forgetting one of our 100,086 plays, I just heard
"Click, click, click"
Then, I bit my tongue, literally, and everyone started looking at me funny.
Damn you, Karma.
In Biology, it was one of those moments when a teacher asks a question, and NOBODY says anything, so the teacher gets really mad, and keeps asking the question, getting progressively louder everytime, so I blurted out an answer, that was evidently hilarious to my overly-environmentally-concious biology teacher, and all of my classmates.
Me: "Hydration Synthesis!"
Everyone within a one mile radius: (Pause to register exactly how retarted my answer was)...HAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA!!!!!! IDIOT!!!!
My teacher was even laughing at me...
The lady who uses organic "doggy poopy bags" made of recycled grass and biodegradable something-or-another to clean up after her "children" when she takes them on walks.
Embarrased to no end, I sunk into my seat, and reached for my Grape Nuts.
Pretty soon, I was gnawing on the corner of my Biology text book, and instead of hearing "Wow, that tall kid who sits in the front row is a real dumb-ass," I heard "Wow, that tall kid who sits in the front row is actually chewing on his text book, and there is now a puddle of drool at his feet."
"I think he's teething."
Damnet.
I think i might just start carrying around pebbles, which are much more inexpensive than Grape Nuts, so next time I'm confronted with an awkward situation, I can just reach in my pocket for salvation.
"Hey dude...uh...your fly is down."
"Excuse me, I'd love to listen to what you are saying, but I have these pebbles in my pocket that must be chewed on."
"Crunch Crunch Crunch Crunch."
In completely unrelated news, I've concluded that Daylight Savings Time is stupid.
I have done no research to support my views, but all I know is I don't like feeling like it's ten, when it's really eleven, and vice versa.
Consequentially, Allen Iverson was traded to the Pistons, Sarah Palin will have authority in the whitehouse, and the couple from The Bachlorette just broke up.
Also, Jason Campbell threw his first interception of the season, and I'm pretty sure if the universe wasn't in total chaos, and it was an hour earlier, he wouldn't have thrown it, cuz it still would have been the pregame show.
"Sean, stop blogging, you're not funny, and it pains me to read your entries."
"Crunch Crunch Crunch"
Here's to hoping you don't chip a tooth. Goodnight.
The one where the guy is at the breakfast table, listening to his family complain about this and that, and the guy just takes a few spoonfulls of Grape Nuts and pretty soon, instead of hearing "I don't wanna go to school. Who's turn is it to take the garbage out?"
He hears, "Crunch, Crunch, Crunch, Crunch."
To me, this is a brilliant strategy, and should be implimented into everyday life.
For example, today during practice, i completely messed up one of the plays, and as one of two freshman on the team, I heard it from all of my teammates.
"Dart, pay attention. Did that new haircut affect your ability to think with your head, not your ass? Do it right!"
At that moment, I reached for my grape nuts.
I didn't have any whole grain breakfast cereal readily available, so I just started chomping my teeth together with great force, so it just made a big clicking sound, so pretty soon, instead of hearing about how terrible of a person I am for forgetting one of our 100,086 plays, I just heard
"Click, click, click"
Then, I bit my tongue, literally, and everyone started looking at me funny.
Damn you, Karma.
In Biology, it was one of those moments when a teacher asks a question, and NOBODY says anything, so the teacher gets really mad, and keeps asking the question, getting progressively louder everytime, so I blurted out an answer, that was evidently hilarious to my overly-environmentally-concious biology teacher, and all of my classmates.
Me: "Hydration Synthesis!"
Everyone within a one mile radius: (Pause to register exactly how retarted my answer was)...HAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA!!!!!! IDIOT!!!!
My teacher was even laughing at me...
The lady who uses organic "doggy poopy bags" made of recycled grass and biodegradable something-or-another to clean up after her "children" when she takes them on walks.
Embarrased to no end, I sunk into my seat, and reached for my Grape Nuts.
Pretty soon, I was gnawing on the corner of my Biology text book, and instead of hearing "Wow, that tall kid who sits in the front row is a real dumb-ass," I heard "Wow, that tall kid who sits in the front row is actually chewing on his text book, and there is now a puddle of drool at his feet."
"I think he's teething."
Damnet.
I think i might just start carrying around pebbles, which are much more inexpensive than Grape Nuts, so next time I'm confronted with an awkward situation, I can just reach in my pocket for salvation.
"Hey dude...uh...your fly is down."
"Excuse me, I'd love to listen to what you are saying, but I have these pebbles in my pocket that must be chewed on."
"Crunch Crunch Crunch Crunch."
In completely unrelated news, I've concluded that Daylight Savings Time is stupid.
I have done no research to support my views, but all I know is I don't like feeling like it's ten, when it's really eleven, and vice versa.
Consequentially, Allen Iverson was traded to the Pistons, Sarah Palin will have authority in the whitehouse, and the couple from The Bachlorette just broke up.
Also, Jason Campbell threw his first interception of the season, and I'm pretty sure if the universe wasn't in total chaos, and it was an hour earlier, he wouldn't have thrown it, cuz it still would have been the pregame show.
"Sean, stop blogging, you're not funny, and it pains me to read your entries."
"Crunch Crunch Crunch"
Here's to hoping you don't chip a tooth. Goodnight.
Sunday, November 2, 2008
They call me dishsoap because I'm so concentrated.
A great philospoher once asked: "are people naturally good, or are they naturally evil?"
"Must man continue to be motivated to do good? Or is it in our nature to do good?"
"If we had the choice, would we sit on our collective asses and play xbox 360 all day? Or would we go out and cure world hunger?"
It's an interesting debate, and in my Media Arts class, we discussed it, and I decided to take the side of man having naturally good intentions.
For the record, everyone in the class besides me concluded that overall, man are naturally bad.
As a population, man naturally know right from wrong, and act accordingly. They have good intentions, they want to do good.
No man WANTS to mess things up for everyone, no man WANTS to waste their life away. Man knows whats good and whats bad.
Right?
Then the girl behind me got mad because I kept saying "Man" instead of a more politically correct "People."
Then the kid in the corner of the class who spits chewing tobacco residue in his used gatorade bottle everyday thought it was "gay" of me to have such a hopeful outlook on fellow man. Err...fellow "people."
"That fag is optomistic...how gay."
Then it was halloween night, at the EOU volleyball game, and this kid next to me reeked of dog piss and whiskey, and was telling his friend all about his fantastic night.
Dog Piss kid: What up man?
Other kid: Nothin' man, just watchin' the game how are you?
Dog Piss kid: I'm fuckin' wasted! I'm Barack Obama! I'm Shit-Housed! This is awesome!
I figured this man who was smelling of domestic pet-waste was either having an identity crisis,
or maybe he was an avid John McCain supporter, as I have never heard the words "Obama" and "Shithoused" in the same sentence.
That is mostly probaly because Shithouse is not technically a word.
The kid put on a Barack Obama mask after sharing his drunkeness with everyone, and suddenly the world made sense again.
I started thinking about the discussion in class. Maybe I was wrong, maybe man is naturally bad.
The girl in the row behind me in the crowd rolled her eyes.
excuse me..."people."
Then I proceeded to laugh hysterically at a certain Jay Leno joke directed towards a certain person with a rather 'outstanding' facial feature.
I took a proverbial step back, and really started thinking about the discussion again.
Then some athletic girls started bouncing around in spandex, and I kinda lost my train of thought.
Where were we again?
Oh yeah. Man. Man are good. Good man. People. People are good.
Then I walked back to my dorm room seriously wondering why we call it halloween anymore, when it should be called "Girls get to dress up as total sluts and not get shit-talked about them by other girls, cuz it's like halloween, and it's like, just a costume day."
I decided that title wasn't really catchy, and as soon as I was about to write a letter to the national holiday-naming-association, some girl walked past me, and her clevage literally jumped out of her shirt and punched me square in the face.
Dizzied by the hormones, my mind traveled elsewhere.
I envisioned our conversation going something like this:
Me: What are you supposed to be?
Clevage girl: I'm a whore.
Me: I appreciate your honesty.
The cool part about this particular costume was she was ACTUALLY a hooker. Like some girls dress up as cops or school girls or slutty construction workers, but this girl wasn't playing any games.
She was just coming right out and saying it.
I'm a prostitute.
She even had handcuffs, fishnets, and Herpes to compliment the dollar bills hanging out of her buttcrack.
What were we talking about again?
Oh yeah, man is good. People are great!
Then the kid across the hall accused me of stealing his beer, and I was able to kick him out of my room before he spewed stomach acid all over the walls of his own suite.
I'm really starting to second guess this whole "man are naturally good" thing.
Then my suitemate walked into the room with a big bag of what looked like groceries.
Before I could even ask him what it is, he said "This is food for my picnic today. I am going to be nice to my girlfriend, and feed her food so she is happy, so she will have more sex with me"
Me: I appreciate your honesty.
Seeking some guidance and enlightenment, I took a stroll down the hall, only to find Ghandi, Jesus, Lance Armstrong, Oprah and Allah.
Suddenly, everything was ok. Man is good. Sure, we have our moments, but for the most part, we are good.
Then i cleared my eyes, blinked a few times, and found it wasn't really spiritual icons I was seeing, it was a whiteboard, with the words "Allison is a HOE!" and some more random explitives scribbled on the Resident Assistants "suggestions" section.
But I think the people living across the hall were named Jesus (Hey-zoos) Gabriella (which sounds like Ghandi kinda.) and their roomate owns a bike, and only one testicle, so I figured it was close enough to Lance.
Allison was Allah, and I was convinced this is the closest thing to salvation the dorm life at EOU would give me.
It's no judgement day, but who's counting?
"Must man continue to be motivated to do good? Or is it in our nature to do good?"
"If we had the choice, would we sit on our collective asses and play xbox 360 all day? Or would we go out and cure world hunger?"
It's an interesting debate, and in my Media Arts class, we discussed it, and I decided to take the side of man having naturally good intentions.
For the record, everyone in the class besides me concluded that overall, man are naturally bad.
As a population, man naturally know right from wrong, and act accordingly. They have good intentions, they want to do good.
No man WANTS to mess things up for everyone, no man WANTS to waste their life away. Man knows whats good and whats bad.
Right?
Then the girl behind me got mad because I kept saying "Man" instead of a more politically correct "People."
Then the kid in the corner of the class who spits chewing tobacco residue in his used gatorade bottle everyday thought it was "gay" of me to have such a hopeful outlook on fellow man. Err...fellow "people."
"That fag is optomistic...how gay."
Then it was halloween night, at the EOU volleyball game, and this kid next to me reeked of dog piss and whiskey, and was telling his friend all about his fantastic night.
Dog Piss kid: What up man?
Other kid: Nothin' man, just watchin' the game how are you?
Dog Piss kid: I'm fuckin' wasted! I'm Barack Obama! I'm Shit-Housed! This is awesome!
I figured this man who was smelling of domestic pet-waste was either having an identity crisis,
or maybe he was an avid John McCain supporter, as I have never heard the words "Obama" and "Shithoused" in the same sentence.
That is mostly probaly because Shithouse is not technically a word.
The kid put on a Barack Obama mask after sharing his drunkeness with everyone, and suddenly the world made sense again.
I started thinking about the discussion in class. Maybe I was wrong, maybe man is naturally bad.
The girl in the row behind me in the crowd rolled her eyes.
excuse me..."people."
Then I proceeded to laugh hysterically at a certain Jay Leno joke directed towards a certain person with a rather 'outstanding' facial feature.
I took a proverbial step back, and really started thinking about the discussion again.
Then some athletic girls started bouncing around in spandex, and I kinda lost my train of thought.
Where were we again?
Oh yeah. Man. Man are good. Good man. People. People are good.
Then I walked back to my dorm room seriously wondering why we call it halloween anymore, when it should be called "Girls get to dress up as total sluts and not get shit-talked about them by other girls, cuz it's like halloween, and it's like, just a costume day."
I decided that title wasn't really catchy, and as soon as I was about to write a letter to the national holiday-naming-association, some girl walked past me, and her clevage literally jumped out of her shirt and punched me square in the face.
Dizzied by the hormones, my mind traveled elsewhere.
I envisioned our conversation going something like this:
Me: What are you supposed to be?
Clevage girl: I'm a whore.
Me: I appreciate your honesty.
The cool part about this particular costume was she was ACTUALLY a hooker. Like some girls dress up as cops or school girls or slutty construction workers, but this girl wasn't playing any games.
She was just coming right out and saying it.
I'm a prostitute.
She even had handcuffs, fishnets, and Herpes to compliment the dollar bills hanging out of her buttcrack.
What were we talking about again?
Oh yeah, man is good. People are great!
Then the kid across the hall accused me of stealing his beer, and I was able to kick him out of my room before he spewed stomach acid all over the walls of his own suite.
I'm really starting to second guess this whole "man are naturally good" thing.
Then my suitemate walked into the room with a big bag of what looked like groceries.
Before I could even ask him what it is, he said "This is food for my picnic today. I am going to be nice to my girlfriend, and feed her food so she is happy, so she will have more sex with me"
Me: I appreciate your honesty.
Seeking some guidance and enlightenment, I took a stroll down the hall, only to find Ghandi, Jesus, Lance Armstrong, Oprah and Allah.
Suddenly, everything was ok. Man is good. Sure, we have our moments, but for the most part, we are good.
Then i cleared my eyes, blinked a few times, and found it wasn't really spiritual icons I was seeing, it was a whiteboard, with the words "Allison is a HOE!" and some more random explitives scribbled on the Resident Assistants "suggestions" section.
But I think the people living across the hall were named Jesus (Hey-zoos) Gabriella (which sounds like Ghandi kinda.) and their roomate owns a bike, and only one testicle, so I figured it was close enough to Lance.
Allison was Allah, and I was convinced this is the closest thing to salvation the dorm life at EOU would give me.
It's no judgement day, but who's counting?
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