Wednesday, September 30, 2009

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I'm so happy about this new development that I can sing a song on the highest of mountain tops. It let me take time to realize what happened and come up with a speech.

As quoted by the Associated Press: "Dub Jeezy's Pledge"

"That was god damned embarrassing. The way we had a party, lost our hot water, and did nothing about it. Unacceptable. I promise you all, good will come out of this. You will never see a bro crank up the hot water so high that it fogs the glasses on the sink. You will never see a kid use the recommended amount of shampoo, body wash, and face wash more often. And I promise you this. You will never see a kid shower more throughout a day than myself, my roommates, and any guest we happen to have stay over. God Bless"

Some other guys pledge.
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In honor of my intoxication, I will throw out one of the most influential videos that I have ever seen. I saw it in 10th grade and it is still hilarious today.
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First off, I'm drunk (disregard any grammatical errors. nerds.). Secondly, it has been a tough ass week in regards to life. Let's just say September has been fairly interesting. New job, new house, new things to do, new girl, new happiness, and new sadness. It was a full month of everything you can imagine. It pushed emotions to the brink and lead to some really fun situations.

Now comes October.

October is historically my hottest month of the year. It is generally the time of year where women find me the most attractive, my awesome date of birth is here (23rd, send me some shit), and it's halloween. By God, I love me some Halloween. Sexy (insert name of random womanly profession from the year 1-2100) outfits for girls and some random video game character/Chappelle reference character for me. It's going to be a great month. Embrace everything that happened in September, but get ready for the month that encourages the most vices and poor decisions. Get ready for fun, bad decisions, and my birthday. Again, Oct. 23rd. Send me alcohol, video games, women, and the most ballin' Halloween costume ever. I'm thinkin' Steve Urkel or some random video game character/wrestler, so get thinking people.

Costume ideas welcomed in the comment section.

Monday, September 28, 2009

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I was just sitting in the bathroom making a post about some chick I saw this weekend that looks like the baby from the old "Dinosaurs" show, when I realized that this shit is the scariest thing I have ever seen. I know you guys watched this. There is nothing about this video I like.

What was meant to be a mild-mannered post has turned into some PTSD shit that I am going to have nightmares about for weeks.
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I heard Michael Griffin coughed up Mark Sanchez's shoulder pad last night before bed.
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Welp, I have broken finger, $100+ erased from my account, and a throw up situation with a pseudo-potential-what?-friend that is a girl thing. Helluva weekend.

It was impromptu alumni-weekend this weekend at my former school, Boston College. Nine of my eleven roommates made the way down to reunite and continue the debauchery came to an end on the 18th. Needless to say, Friday night I drank a lot. A lot. We, for some reason, got a keg for like 5 people. This copious amount of drinking lead to one of my friends just booking it out of the cab in the middle of the street. We later found out that he wandered the streets for hours and nearly slept near an electrical generator on the street.

Everyone felt the need to step their game up, which lead to poor results at the end of the night. Namely, me throwing up at said pseudo-potential-what?-friend that is a girl thing's house in the morning and stumbling back to my friends' place at around 8:45 in the morning still intoxicated. Hours passed with an array of on-demand music videos and MTV Hits/Jams. Four showings of "One Time" later, we made our glorious returns to BC. We roamed through our old stomping grounds, met some old friends and then visited our old house. What I last remembered as a place that served strictly burgers, hot dogs, and Keystone Light, was now serving sushi, cocktail shrimp and Heinekens. What?! The "Real Girlfriends of Boston College" must have moved into our spot because their one tailgate kicked the living shit out of any of ours cost-wise. Oh well, they didn't look like they were bro-ing out nearly enough. Sure they were girls and it was parents weekends, but you have to bring the noise on gameday. Shit.

Great fuckin' football game. Our bad squad beat a clearly better squad the only way we knew luck. I was proud to be an alumni, but I was not proud that I drank two sodas, ate a pulled pork sandwich, and ate some jankity ass version of some Dippin' Dots.

Saturday night was all about hanging out one last time. We got that sentimental level of drunk and laughed the night away. Many embarrassing Facebook tags will soon pop up in the inbox. Fun night either way. The debit card monster was there to nibble on my card a bit though.

I conclude with Sunday morning. Picture this, me, sleeping, drunk, head-on a window sill (in my friends bed while he was gone for the weekend) half naked (sorry Fozzy), getting woken up to play muthafuckin' flag football. After a series of bartering attempts and outlandish threats, we went to the game. 5 of the drunkest kids on the block. We played our god damn hearts out, but fell just short with 1 second remaining. I also played the game of my life (so I may get a buzz going before every future post) and broke my left index finger after getting hit sticked on a out route.

The weekend ended with breakfast at Eagle's Deli. Though I awaited approx. 1 hour to get my food, it was damned delicious and I wouldn't have had anything go differently. Fun times guys. Hope to see you all again soon.

Friday, September 25, 2009

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Those things you see on the side are in fact advertisements. Don't worry you won't see Mindy from _____ (insert wherever live) saying that she's bored and wants to hang out. The brain trust over here at WMD (me) decided that was the appropriate move for the organization. If it gets too annoying, I'll take them off, but for now, let's allow google to steer us in the right direction for things such as: home owner's insurance, recipe tips, dating advice, and best of all, how to win a free Ipod Nano (jk, if I had that ad up here, I'd shoot myself.).

Any legit issues with it, comment and i'll remove it. In the mean time, let Taylor Swift brighten your weekends.

Thursday, September 24, 2009

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I used to look to for pretty much all of my needs. They gave fairly good advice, but now as soon as I want to get legitimate information on how to avoid bar cougars they drop this silly ass video with nonsensical facts.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

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I can't embed it because this shit is too exclusive. Just click the link. It's sure to be fantastic.

EDITORS NOTE: Potentially a wack video, but you be the judge.
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You know me. I got my shit in line. Though I am saying this while drinking Nesquik from a solo cup, I feel that I have a decent grasp on the world around me. I am pretty confident in most of the situations life throws at me. The gym though, is another story.

In high school I maintained my physique with a steady diet of running around and eating terrible food. I shied away from all weight related activities. During football practice I would just lie about how much I lifted and only actually lifted when we did max-outs (1000 pound club, YES!--said in the tone of Joe Swanson). It was a peaceful existence that required little to no exertion. Then mothaf'in college rolled around. Don't listen to what your parents say, college is a god damn beauty pageant and the epitome of the Darwinian concept of survival of the fittest...literally. Our athletic area, known to the students, as the plex (YEA!(Joe Swanson) ) was the "it" place to be between or after classes. In order to be one with the Boston College brethren (and get tons of girls) I had to put my history of never touching weights aside and get my swole on.

Shit got wild. The summer between junior and senior year I ballooned to 185lbs (I usually coast at a smooth 170) and was a monster. It was kind of messed up. I had Muscle Milk, creatine, multi-vitamins, grilled chicken (INSIDE JOKE ALERT!: "I'll tell you what I like to eat, but I could instead tell you what I do eat" lolz), basically the works. It was a problem. I toned things down and used my man status to survive senior year on reputation alone..except the period before spring break where I crushed some serious weights.

Now I am enrolled in the most well known gym in Boston and I feel like I am back at the drawing board. I am realizing that there is a real correlation between how hard I work out and how many women are in the gym. I can't sit in a sauna for more than 55 seconds. I am bothered by the wide open shower area. It is glaring lacrosse jersey that ends at the belly button is not and never will be the play. I stammer my words and run away when someone asks if they can work in between sets (what the fuck does that mean??).

The NO X(s)plode rush can only take you so far. This gym is probably the first place since graduating college that has really made me tell myself that I have to grow up.
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I can't sugar coat this (pun intended) at all. I just straight up ate way too much candy today and have a realer than real stomach ache. My work provides way too many treats. I fascinated myself today. It was that eye opening moment where you realize one of your biggest flaws as a person.

I have no semblance of self-control. I am currently writhing in a ball of misery because of my inability to say no. Put candy in front of me and it becomes an insta-wrap. People were saying, "now Dub Jeezy, don't you think 4 bags of Swedish Fish are too much for one day?" Where I should have responded with a yes and thanked them for their legitimate concern, I instead took it as a challenge and went after my next obstacle. Motherfuckin' Gummi Bears. Those of you that are friends with me on Facebook can see me during the pinnacle of my madness in writing "goin' in on some Gummi Bears." That shit was like a Michael Beasley cry for help. No one came rushing to put me into rehab (I said no, no, no), people were too scare to do anything. I was a man out of his god damn gourd and people reacted like they were watching a robbery on the street.

Now I am here potentially dying, curled in a ball, with Planet Earth on loop set to send me into the after-life. Let's see if I can squeeze out a couple more posts before I kick the shit out the bucket.

Monday, September 21, 2009

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Insanity. Because I have an inferiority complex, I am going to go the Big House within the next 4 years to try this shot every 5 minutes for a period of 14 days. The odds are that I will swish it on the first shot and some shit blogger will post me in a few years. I'm callin' it.
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Finally, the Patriots have been knocked off the pro-football pedestal. My mind wouldn't be on football either if Giselle was my wife, but Tom was just straight up bad. Tom hasn't been that bad in years and it's clear the Jets have not been this good in years.

Mark Sanchez is officially the truth. The poise of a veteran combined with the footwork and giddy energy of a rookie quarterback. I'm excited for this kid. He's knows the offense well, he's genuinely happy about being in NY, and he just beat the best QB of our generation.

Once again, it's on...

Friday, September 18, 2009

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Ok Christian Bale voice impersonator.

Also, 50's Slumdog Millionaire line mayyy be offensive. Enjoy the weekend. I probs won't. They took my cat away (more on this later).
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You want to know what really gets my gears a grindin'? Prolonged "associate "interaction, that's what. Let me describe to you all what I mean. You ever have that person (in my case my job orientation colleague) in your life that you aren't friends with, but were apart of a similar experience? Whether it be a classmate you got assigned to sit next to or the guy that keeps bumpin' into your desk every 15 minutes on the god damn hour, you know THIS guy. This guy is an associate. He's convinced he is your friend and he conveniently has the exact same path home as you.

The associate character is most likely significantly less cool than you are, which leads to many one-sided awkward (he thinks you are enjoying his side of the conversation) interactions. I'm going to call Guinness informing them that the record of "Most Shut the Fuck Ups Said In One's Head" got shattered today on the T ride home. It was a David and Goliath match-up in terms of coolness on the T..and no, David's pansy ass did not come close to winning. Said character has been in my orientation group (my job is like college) throughout the week and he made drugged up assumption that I was his boy. I've been repeatedly thwarting all of his attempts at social interaction.

Assoch: "Hey man, want to get lunch?"

Me: "Nah, eh...I don't eat lunch...?

Assoch (confused but accepting): "That's cool man, I'll catch you when you start eating lunch. HAHAHAHHAHAHA"

Me (mentally): "SHUT THE FUCK UP ASSOCH"

The T ride is where I lose all of my quick witted excuses and abilities to avoid contact. It is a 5 stop tour of hell. He asks me what I am doing tonight, I respond with, "probably hanging out, maybe hit up a bar or two", he retorts, "Yea man, we are getting a few kegs, my friends are comin' by and we may have some other people over." A few kegs assoch? For a few friends that you undeniably don't have? Sounds fishy. Anyways, this guy proceeds to explain to me how he parties harder than Hugh Hefner and the Girls Gone Wild Guy. After seriously contemplating homicide, mass homicide, and suicide, I decided to get off one stop early.

My gears were starting to chip.
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50 "I've been shot 9 times, but it doesn't matter anymore because I blew up" Cent chatting with Al Roker? On the Weather Channel? Either 50 is struggling to put the funds together these days, or he really wanted to talk to Al Roker about God knows what on a channel that his primary audience probably isn't watching. I challenge you to not have a cold shiver run through your spine after this...

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

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Exactly how the Beatles wanted this song to be covered.
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"I said there are hearts all over the world tonight, I said there are hearts all over the world tonighttt"
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My feelings towards this song have been equivalent to a rollercoaster. Initially I thought it was just another chick singing (I still stand by that)about love and heartache, but then I realized it was a dude and felt uncomfortable. After some strong airplay it became a catchy pop hit. Now it has reached it's apex in my music mind. During a particularly slow part of my day, I tasked the shuffle gods on my Ipod to come up with something to take away the blues of Wednesday. J. Beiber came on, brightened the fuck out of my day and proceeded to be listened to about 5 times straight.

Hope it has to same effect on you.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

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Decisions, I pose with a goat or a hot chick??
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Props to Sage Steele (great name) on this one. I would have backpedaled into an awkward corner and accepted a mulligan on this interview, but she fought through and made a couple bad to mildly effective jokes to keep the uncomfortable level low. Seriously though, whenever something happens in the NFL, this guy is there. When Brett Favre takes a piss, Adam Schefter is there. When Adrian Peterson eats another kitten whole, Schefter is on top of it. When you rock that 20 hour daily shift you accumulate a lot of fuzz and dust shit in your throat. I'll give him a break on this one.
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Don't worry everyone, the Feds probably aren't after me, but I am legit worried though. I heard what I hope was a rumor about this new Facebook app that allows you to see who is looking at your profile at that moment and who looked at your pictures. Every guy that's reading this right now let out a swift gasp and look over your're probably getting arrested. I'm currently chillin' in the neighborhood fall out shelter right now hoping they don't arrest me for the Facebook equivalent of war crimes.

Throughout my strong career on "Da Book" I have successfully creeped on over 500 girls' (estimated) profiles. By creep I mean the "I got 33 minutes to kill, might as well check out all 739 of her photos" type of creep. These aren't sound times my friends. I feel like someone is trying to smoke me out of my cover by attacking all my vital resources.

Hopefully I haven't been making any serious enemies.

Monday, September 14, 2009

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Diddy came up to me yesterday and was like, "what up playboy, eh-eh, eh-eh, bad boy. I want to make a remix to your working life to make daddy a hit, eh-eh, eh-eh." Naturally I obliged out of fear of having to go to New York and purchase sugar cookies. But seriously, poor Chappelle reference aside, I started a new job today, and I think I kind of liked it. Donn, donnn, donnnnn...

It's located in the Prudential Tower, which is pretty much the most important building in Boston. Get it, the most important guy in Boston works in the most important building in Boston? No. Ok, well it makes sense, since i'm awesome. Today was basically 8 hours of training for a job that I don't understand (maybe it's me not the job?) and me raiding the snack room. Yes, I have a snack room. It's stocked with the most ballin' of treats. You can see where the problem lies here right? Treats=shits, shits=naps, naps=unemployment.

I see what you're trying to do to me new job. You were jealous of my relationship with Ms. Unemployment so you're playing that hard to get shit. That "oh, go back on unemployment see if i care" shit. I'm on to your games. I'll bypass your snacks for now until I know I won you back. Day two tomorrow, everyone. Let the games begin. Again.
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Am I the only one that found this hilarious last night? Obviously she's one wacky man-bitch, but she doesn't give two shits about what anyone thinks about her. I never laughed harder than the time when they were randomly showing Beyonce's reaction to some stupid ass Russell Brand joke and we see a sneak peak of Lady Gaga wearing some sort of cowardly lion meets a bird's nest face contraption. That moment genuinely tickled my funny bone.

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Whoa Kanye. Whoa. This the by far the latest post I have ever posted on AWMD, but something has to be said. I felt like I was watching a maniac kill a kitten during this video. Taylor Swift is arguably the nicest person to ever enter the entertainment industry and to have this happen to her was awful. Kanye West feels that he has to constantly make his mark on every VMAs, but this one seemed so forced and unprovoked that it was borderline sad.

Beyonce essentially saved the entire award show too. This thing was fucked since jump street, since the whole fiasco happened after the first award presentation. Beyonce channeled her inner Rocky 4 speech and literally saved an entire award show.

God dammit Kanye.

Friday, September 11, 2009

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I can't do this on a 7 foot hoop and I used to be able to get up. This post is depressing to me because I'll be back to being a working man on Monday starting at 9am, hating life once again. Enjoy the weekend everyone, I know I will. It's my last one before the rat race begins again.
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How it slipped by AWMD that Whitney had a #1 comeback album is beyond me, but my research team needs to get on it's shit. I pay them top dollar to scour the web finding me the most blogworthy, topical, and hilarious things. God Dammit. Well, despite my lack of getting to this story sooner, Whitney is back. Whether crack-cocaine is involved is another story, but this shit is bigger than Slushees. I'm in the process of illegally downloading all tracks on said album. I hope you do as well, it's Whitney. Pause.
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Here's to Michael Jordan, the greatest basketball player that ever lived. Even though it was a forgone conclusion that he would be an instant HOF-er as soon as he laced up his iconic sneakers, it is still special that he finally gets his place among the other Hall Of Famers in Springfield today. I'm glad I got to see Michael do his thing out there, but I must admit I took it for granted. Every time the Bulls were playing I rooted so hard against Michael because I liked seeing the underdogs win. Jordan never let that happen. He had such a cut throat mentality that set him apart from all the LeBrons and Kobes out there. You will never be forgotten Mike, congratulations.

Thursday, September 10, 2009

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Sorry everyone, I've been a little sick this week and haven't had the zest or the vigor to put out a high number of posts. Through a strict regimen of doing nothing, sleeping and occasionally using the pull-up bar in our house, I am back at full strength. We also got the internet and cable (my true cure). Now that I am alive again, I can spread to you all this bizarre event that happened a few days ago.

If any of you remember the story about Sammy, Frankenbug, and the Parakeet, this will surely confuse you thoroughly. In my house, myself and one of my roommates have a sliding door connecting our rooms. It's pretty rickety and is never fully closed, so I decided to give it a little elbow grease the morning after a random night of drinking. My roommate was gone and half the door needs to be closed on his side. I'm in there casually connecting the clips when I make slight eye contact with a cat sitting on his couch. I think nothing of it and leave the room, successfully connecting the rooms. Do-do-dooo, wait. Was that a fucking cat sitting on his couch?

I go back in and confirm that there in fact is a cat just lounging on my roommate's couch. He looked like he owned the place. It was a little insulting. I made some phone calls, woke some people up, and tried to make sense of what was happening. No one knew how it got in (all doors were closed) or how it got into his room (it was closed too), so we automatically assumed it was our old neighborhood lost cat Sammy. The only logical explanation is that Sammy stowed away in our van's glove department waiting for an opportune time to make his residence at our place. At the very least, a decent place to take multiple shits (our basement acted as the bathroom). It only makes sense.

Orrrr this cat was just a mangy stray that left nothing but fleas and stomach worms in his wake.

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

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Maybe Ray Allen likes tigers. Maybe his kids like tigers. Maybe he's so satisfied with his jump shot that he feels like he finally has time to paint his face like a tiger. I don't know, I'm not a doctor. I do know that Lebron, Dwight, and Dwyane aren't rockin' the Siegfried (I just made that up).

Sorry, Ray, you Tyga now.

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

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Just cut the middle man (mountains) out. Don't get married.

Monday, September 7, 2009

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It's fun for the nerds and the jocks!!
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I have seen some rats and I've seen some rat like things in my day, but this one truly disgusts me. From seeing this picture I can make so many assumptions about this mega-rat that I know are true. First one being that this guy is tired. Look at it. It has an indifferent look about being handled by a strange man of a different species. Fella is just happy to be off it's feet. Second assumption I am going to make is that this is not a fast creature. I can't see this guy slyly sneaking away after I find him rummaging through the garbage. It'll be a long drawn out process of it struggling to reach the top and clumsily plopping on the ground, waddling away and squeezing into a very undersized rat hole. Sad really. Good thing I didn't see this during my childhood because this tubby bastard would have ruined Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles for me.

I can see exactly how it would have played out.

"Mommy, why is splinter fat, tired, and geniunely disinterested with living?"

Sunday, September 6, 2009

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Duh. The phrase, "this plan's been fucked since Jump Street" comes to mind when I hear about this. I bet you would have lost money if you made a bet on this happening when this relationship started.

Shawne Merriman's constant steriod use+ Tila Tequila's annoyance = this was going to happen eventually.

Friday, September 4, 2009

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Be safe, be happy, and have a great long weekend everybody.
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Perusing the web today, I stumbled across this story about Russell Crowe blowing yet another mild mannered situation out of proportion. Russell gets caught smoking and eating a burger in a magazine and he proceeds to freak the fuck out. It couldn't help but remind me about that hilarious Southpark episode featured above. He demands the columnists name (she's a girl by the way) and issues a challenge to a bike riding duel where his publicist says to her, "Are you ready to die?" Jesus buddy, pull back the reigns a little bit. I get called out for eating shitty food all the time and believe me, my number one retaliation is not a 12 mile bike race. It's more along the lines of a shitty stuttered comeback like "you wish you had this body" or "I need the omega 3 from the mayonnaise." Needless to say, Russell kicks the shit out of said female columnist and taunts her mercilessly. Anyways, watch the's hilarious and exactly how I imagine this situation transpired.
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As you all know by now, my new stomping ground has been a JP Licks at the end of the road next to mine. It's safe to say that I run this town on day 3 of officially living here, but this one fucking lunatic next to me seriously cramping my style.

In a four seat row in the back corner of the store, I usually take the one at the end next to the outlet (leaving three seats open to my right). This crazy bastard decides to sit right next to me. Now, while me an this gentleman are not patrons here, JP Licks sees me and this presumed bum as equals. Just two low-lifes that are trying to steal internet and comfortable chair space. Since he's sitting directly next to me (touching my right knee in the process) the best option was to switch to defense mode and I waited to see what was on that batshit crazy mind of his. I gave it five minutes and discovered that all he wants to do is genuinely talk to himself. He's not here to terrorize anyone with his crazy person antics, but he just wants to have a good ol' intellectual conversation with himself. He's even being considerate enough to talk at a low volume. He's speaking indecipherable words, but low vols nonetheless. I feel like I was on Candid Camera for a "Wishbone" episode or something. I haven't learned a legitimate "lesson" since like '95, but today through real life experience, I truly discovered that you cannot judge a book by it's cover.

If it looks crazy, smells crazy, and acts's, fuck it, it's probably crazy. I'm getting the hell out of here.

Thursday, September 3, 2009

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Looks wild to me. Also, do you all think these guys have just been sitting around their beat up apartments just hoping and praying for the execs to make a sequel? These guys are strictly Boondock Saints actors, no side jobs or other forms of income. It's going to be a great movie, because frankly, they need this.
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Good track. Nothing else to say.
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Let's go. Everyone break out that middle school cd player you have in the closet and throw away the "Backstreet Boys are so gay" attitudes, because we don't tolerate that around here.

We can now add "timeless" to the list of words that describe BSB, because clearly they have arrived with a dance track that can go toe to toe with the rest of the party jams out in the bar/club/party scene.
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Yes, I am fully aware that college football is starting today, because I am a man and that shit is wired into our internal clock. This guy doesn't need crazy things like television and internet to let inform him about the best season in all of sports. While I don't need it, I sure as hell want it bad. Not having my cable game on point has exposed several flaws who I am. I bite my nails a bunch, I fart like the dickens (into a very absorbent chair, might I add), and I drink a shit ton of juice. All of these things are commonplace when you have a television and internet to distract you, but when you have neither, these things become both the highs and lows of your day.

Ok, back to college football and strategically short and top-cut school t-shirts. Your wonderfully awesome blog stud (me) attended THE Boston College University. You know, the football powerhouse that is routinely making appearances in the best BCS bowls and the school that is packed with diehard fans and the hottest girls (our girls kick the shit out of those girls from FSU up there). Ahh, and then I woke up.

While I did attend Boston College, none of anything I said after that is remotely true. We are the type of squad that the working man embodies. No spectacular players, rarely packed stadiums, and decent looking women wearing unaltered t-shirts. Boston College football just screams America, like a pair of muddy Wranglers. With that said, I am looking forward to watching all of those manufactured teams (starting September 8th, when Comcast gets off their lazy asses), like Florida and USC. Sureeee, you make it to national championships games, have the wildest campuses/hottest girls in the country, and generally provide a great time to all parties involved, but you guys are like that hot girl at the bar with no confidence. Everything gets delivered to you (UF & USC), but on the inside you are just a lonely girl with no true friends who will die alone with 23 cats.

As you can tell, I am a little steamed about not having fucking cable.

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

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--introducing the flavor that bankrupts Ben and Jerry's.

Don't get me wrong, I fully support same-sex marriages and the "whatever floats your boat" philosophy, but things are getting a tad bit ridiculous. Nothing about this makes me feel comfortable. Why is the gay ice cream the "fudge covered peanut butter filled pretzels in vanilla malt ice cream with fudge & peanut butter"? I love fudge, peanut butter, pretzels and vanilla ice cream, but now it is deemed a gay ice cream flavor. I feel like Benjamin and Geronimo are doing a bit of generalizing here. Another thing I find hilarious is that the couple on the cake is an interacial couple. Talk about things that won't be accepted in this day in age. You guys are about 15-20 years too early with this idea, so for now can you please just stick to making the simple non-controversial flavors that cost $7.89 a fucking pint?

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No internet or cable in my house. What's a lad to do? I can only play so many video games and watch so many of episodes of Planet Earth before I lose my mind and undoubtedly fall asleep. Something needs to happen. Since my new job does not start until September 14th, I have a whole lot of dead time to kill. This time gets exponentially longer and more excruciating when you can't watch Youtube videos of a cat tackling another cat or watch terrible reality television. I need to get some sort of hobby before September 8th when those bastards at Comcast decide to put in my god damn cable.

My stop gap solution has been a J.P. Licks at the end of my street. It's been awesome enough that I do not have to be a patron to use their wireless and they play nothing but hits. I've been here for about 2 hours and they must have a DJ in the back trying to impress me or something because there have been about 34 straight bangers. They will soon recognize me as a non-patron so I only have a few days I can do this. As soon as I get the inevitable boot from my comfy chair in the back right corner (find me, I'm the stud), I will embark on the hobby of stealing wireless from every location in the Brigham circle area without purchasing a single item off the menu. Sure, call me a scumbag, but I am not trying to get a mocha toca lattechino with sprinkles. That ain't me and my street cred is way too valuable at this point. I am also marginally sure that this counts as a hobby.

My friend tossed around the hilarious idea of running. My response was "you mean, like, running around?" The concept was legitimately foreign to me. I maintain my awesome figure through a doctor approved meal plan of pizza, burgers, gatorades, and pepper potato chips. Where has running gotten anyone? When I figured out what lunatic friend meant by this "running" thing, I laughed. A good ol' fashioned, whole-hearted laugh. Mofo was out of his mind.

Another idea that I have toyed with for years has been cooking. Since I have moved away from the ever so loyal and inexpensive McDonalds, it has felt like leaving that special girl without getting a chance to give a proper goodbye. No kiss, no hug, just a head nod. There was a recognition that we'd see each other again, but it wasn't right and still leaves me feeling a bit weird. Now I have to shop at a supermarket. Supermarkets have always been tough for me because I only really want fruit snacks and cookies. You won't see me there reasoning with myself about what head of lettuce I should buy. Needless to say, cooking might not be an option either, unless I find a way to make a Scooby Doo Fruit Snack casserole (ew).

Welp. Looks like i'm F'd, I will probably lose all ties with society and this blog will take a terrible turn for the worst until September 8th. Hopefully you guys stick with me through this awful experience as I professionally blog from an ice cream store for the next few days...

P.S. God damn J.P. Licks, how do you go from "Santeria" to "Regulators", I need to hire this guy for my birthday party.
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(Authors Note: Posts are going to be a little sporadic. Oh, and sorry Giants fans, nothing personal)

Moving sucks. Everthing that ended in -ide came into mind as a proper solution. You know, all the fun ones like homicide, suicide, cyanide, flouride (my breath was stinkin'). Now that we finally moved in, we don't have any god damn internet or television. We actually HAVE to interact with one another! I realize I am one of the coolest kids in the game right now, but not even I can create and maintain a conversation for a week straight. Sorry if I am venting, but I've been on a strict diet regimen of sweating and drinking gatorade for the past 36 hours.

Part 3 my friends. I had plans of purchasing a Mark "Dirty" Sanchez jersey before the game, but the economy told me that I couldn't do so (and the fact that I quit my job). Myself and the rest of my crew woke up and drove to the Meadowlands and G(ay)iants Stadium. An early afternoon day of tailgating came and went with copious amounts of drinking, lawn games, stolen bbq food, and one continuously repeated cd. It was your typical day drinking experience, but the night brought about the most fun I had all weekend. I am a huge Jets fan (yea, I don't like the Patriots, but I'd steal Tom Brady's life) and this game was a yearly game I went to with my father. Instead of having a good ol' father-son football experience, it turned into a drunken brofest. Amazingly, I still managed to focus on the game and watched my boy Mark torch the G-teens and pull down his first Dub as a starting QB. It was awesome. We ended up leaving in the middle of the third after Eli Manning threw his 12th consecutive overthrown pass.

Bars, bars, bars. New York City bars close at 4am, did I mention that? My body's natural bar clock is set at around 1:50am. In NYC, that made me the biggest bitch on the block. I don't know how you people do it. Stay out until 4 in the morning and then wake up at 7 to run major corporations. You'd think we would be in a recession with this, but these guys(and gals) are troopers (lolz). During the course of the night each of us dropped like flies in spirit and in energy, but with recent inventions of 5 Hour energy and Red Bull we were able to survive the night and get back home at around 5:30am. We barely made the bus the next day through my insisting that we watch a rerun of "Hard Knocks", but it was damned worth it--"please kiss the baby."

All in all a great weekend of exploring the city with good friends and watching the best team in the NFL show it's stuff.