Monday, August 31, 2009
You guys have to bear with me here on the frequency of posts as I am currently moving out of my wonderful summer residence into a new spot not very far away. Oh the memories. The bonds made and the insects killed will not be forgotten. Now back to this NY trip.
My two buddies and I were pretty irritable at the point when we met up with our other friend at the bar. It was a long walk, we were wet, and a bunch of people looked like they were genuinely having a better time than us. We called up another one of our friends from school and finally got to a place called “Calicko Jacks.” Hearing that name rang a “this may be a weird spot” bell, but we were willing to give it a try. Our buddy apparently “won” a happy hour? I personally didn’t understand the concept of winning an hour, but again, we gave it a try. We must have looked like the biggest nerd balls on the block because as soon as we tried to get in, one of my friends was denied for wearing a white polo. Keep in mind, white polos are like the bar uniform in the United States and during this arguing period about 6 other guys wearing white polos just strolled in. A strategic change of clothes occurred and we finally got in. It was not worth it. Being in that bar was the equivalent of playing running back in the NFL. I fumbled like 4 times, suffered bruised ribs, and had to be taken out of the game due to exhaustion. Time expired and the final score ran, Calicko Jacks-35, Bro-izards -7 (the one score being we got drunk for cheap).
Moving along, we got to this other bar that had a dance floor. I was more than ready to cut a rug, but I was also ready to encounter an NYC bitty. 4-5 beers later, the rug was cut to pieces and there was no bitty on my arm. Oh well. It is a little hazy from here, but I think we went to another bar where the beers were like $12 and I felt like I was being filmed on an episode of “The City.” We got our asses out of there with the quickness and headed back to Yacktown, NY. I proceeded to crush food, fend off vomiting and pass out dreaming about how many touchdowns Mark Sanchez was going to put on the G-Men.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
I get on the bus and strategically place myself behind the hottest girl, just hoping for the chance that she'd feel some weird seat to seat connection and be my girlfriend for the weekend. That didn't happen. We got in a traffic jam, it started raining, and my big ass audiophile headphones were really hurting my ears. I was complaining like a bitch for quite some time. After an ass numbing trip we get off and see all the lights and sounds of NYC. That happiness got trumped with the quickness. Rained began to fuckin' pour. I'll even go as far to say, it was raining cats and dogs. The logical move was to acquire an umbrella and luckily Duane Reade (the CVS of the city) was right across the street. Umbrellas, $10.99? Damn. We are no longer in the market of buying an umbrella. One of my buddies has an umbrella and is living like a king while me and the other bro were shivering our god damn timbers. Good thing we were in NYC though, because a street urchin emerged seconds later and sold us some wack ass 'brellas for $5.
After parading around the city for awhile we met up with our buddy, ready to introduce us to the city bars for the first time. Oh, how the hilarity ensued. NYC bars...
Wild Friday guys. It was probably one of the bigger days of my life in terms of things accomplished and aggressive moves made. I got to work, decided I was done with that shit, and got up and quit. It wasn't that badass, it was more about me just being a great interviewee. I went on an interview for an all-around better job on Thursday and on Friday I got a job offer. Once I got that job offer, I knew I had to immediately leave my current place of employment. I got up, went to my three bosses and laid down the scenario. My nuts expanded from grapes to grapefruits. And just like that, it was over. My stuff was packed up and my desk was cleaned up within minutes. I'd be lying if I said I was actually sad about leaving, but shit was weird.
So for realsies, I am no longer a working man until September 14th. I didn't let that slow me down because it was a Friday with no prospect of work in the coming weeks. While I will have no steady income for a while, I have a shit ton of freedom. You will never see a kid play more video games than me, wake up later than me, or attend more Northeastern classes while not having an enrollment in Northeastern University than me.
To all the kids out there, I am a terrible example of how to live your life after graduation.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
please let this be a joke...
There were Einstein, Galileo, and Sir Isaac Newton. To join the ranks of this illustrious crew of geniuses has to be some random marketing guy from the KFC Corporation. His life changed the moment he blurted out, “what if we make a sandwich that replaces the buns with chicken patties and the chicken patties with bacon?” In fact, all of our lives changed.
We all knew that when the McGriddle came out, it wouldn’t be a sound decision to eat one, but we did, and we endured mind numbing stomach pain for it. This shitwich will push what happened with the McGriddle one step further by pretty much streamlining the whole “get sick and die” thing to just straight on killing you. This picture a) makes me have to take a shit and b) alerted my heart to alert my brain that it’ll refuse to work if I ever consume this. I don’t see my life expectancy being that long. McGriddles were like a bad joke. You eventually recover and live to see another day. This presumed “Double Down” chicken sandwich not only references gambling, but it also closely resembles the food version of an NC-17 movie. This shit needs to be edited and reedited before it can be displayed to the public.
So, now we officially have terrorism, global warming, swine flu, and the “Double Down” shitwich out there trying to kill us. What a wonderful world….
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Give me a writing job, seriously. What is up with the jankity site too? Diet-Science? It initially sounds as if this site is legit and will give you tips on how to diet and take care of yourself. I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that my site is better organized. Keep in mind, I composed the layout of this site with a double cheeseburger in one hand while watching Malcolm in the Middle.
Though this rank ass site is most certainly not credible, I will consider what it is saying. Fatty foods will make you lazy, tired, and stupid? Really? Damn, I thought the reason I haven't picked up a basketball in roughly a month was because of the long (4 minute) walk I have to take to Ringer Park. This diet science is on to something. They have also said that running in the sun makes you sweat. That's some progressive thinking. Since these guys are way before their time with these ideas, you'd think they'd be able to piece together some semblance of a graphical design. I should cut them a break though, I hear they are on to this crazy theory that beer gets people drunk. These guys..
This shit was outrageously long and very disturbing. It really hit on everything in a commercial that you are not supposed to do. Graphically killing people? Check. Killing hot girls? Check. And lastly, the coup de grace, did the commercial kill a baby? Check. What a messed up commercial watching experience. I did not enjoy that at all and I doubt that people were legitimately affected by it. This is gross, unsettling, and I apologize if you were offended by how graphic it is.
Monday, August 24, 2009
This is potentially one of the least believable videos of our generation. Being a FREQUENT bar go-er, I have become quite observant and while the video did display many aspects of the bar scene, there is no way you can convince me that a Keri Hilson, Asher Roth hook-up could ever surface. Not in a god damn Buzz Lightyear. She seems like the ultimate ice-queen and people like Asher Roth (and myself) are the type that ice-queens feed off to fuel their bitch-o-meter. Also, is Keri Hilson like 6'4? She has been the tallest person in every video that I have seen her in. I kept making excuses like, "oh you know, Kanye's a short dude and Ne-Yo and Asher Roth are too, and Timberland, and Lil Wayne, and Usher, she's just around the shortest dudes in the game all the time", but it finally dawned on me that this chick might be TOO tall. I'm near 6'0 and I can't be wearing those posturepedic shoes when we are on a date Keri. It's not you, it's me, I am sorry.
Friday, August 21, 2009
The middle rung of the NBA talent pool displays it's other talents.
Have a good weekend!!! I'm going to get drunk.
-Berlino, clearly drunk, crashes into some sort of vehicle on the track and nearly ruins this runner's victory and potentially her career.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Here is Michael Jordan vs. Chris “The Ghetto Bird” Young, a decidedly more lopsided matchup than the Sloan vs. Ashley matchup (come on E). For those worldly individuals out there, you should know that “The Ghetto Bird” is one of Slamball’s most talented players. What is Slamball you ask? Slamball is the deformed lovechild of the historically rich game of basketball and a trampoline. It ranks high in the “incredible to watch the first time but terrible to watch every time thereafter” scale. I’ve watched so many “first” episodes of a Slamball marathon it’s ridiculous. Before I get sidetracked, let’s recognize what is happening here.
The greatest basketball player in the history of the game is playing against potentially the 4th best player in a faux basketball league that may or may not exist anymore. How does this shit happen? Can I at least grab a Penny Hardaway rebound? I feel equally if not more qualified than “The Ghetto Bird” to be on the court with his Airness. By the way, MJ is still awesome. That fadeaway is the deadliest move in the history of basketball. I had so many dreams crushed by that shot. It was excruciating to watch Mike just dismantle my hopes and dreams, but I realize I took that shit for granted. Yes, we have LeBron, Kobe, and Wade, but nothing will ever be like Mike.
Like Mike, if I can be like Mike.
Alright, shit’s getting ridiculous. I sneezed last night while sitting in my house and started sweating. I sat in front of several fans, and was sweating. I was in an ice cold shower and the parts of my body that were not directly touching the water were, you guessed it, sweating. I know its summer and this is what is supposed to happen, but there is no way I can get used to this. The pool can’t even defeat this dastardly haze. People have resorted to just staying in the pool and allowing their bodies to prune to dangerous levels out of fear of getting out and immediately sweating. I’ve always been that guy who preferred to be very cold over being very hot. You can fix the cold, but when you’re a broke ass post-grad living with other broke ass post-grads, you can’t fix the heat.
Walk with me for a second. I go out to lunch today bracing myself for what’s about to go down. Two steps out the door I go partially blind, can’t decipher where I am or what I am doing, and am inches away from vomiting everywhere. I sprinted back inside my air conditioned building (in a rare instance I want to be at work) to regroup and game plan for whatever the fuck was happening outside. After splashing my face with water, I reentered the concrete Sahara. It looked like the aftermath of an interspecies war outside. In my long walk of one city block I saw: 1) a dead dragonfly (?) that looked as if it were from the prehistoric era, 2) a dead pigeon/sparrow/bird thing on the side walk, and 3) a hobo that was most assuredly dead, lying in an alley. Following the carnage, I proceeded to eat the grossest, sweat-inducing pizza of my life and struggled to make my way back down that long city block into my building.
You know it is a legitimate problem when you are sweating in areas that you previously thought did not have sweat glands, like the wrists and the top parts of your feet. I give kudos to any of you that can stand this heat because this shit is actually making me want to be at work right now.
Friday, August 14, 2009
^Back when Mike used to play on the Eagles back in '04.
Fuck. Now I know there was no chance that the Jets were picking up the recently imprisoned former superstar Michael Vick, but a brotha can dream right? Once I settled on the fact that my favorite team will be lead by a potentially metrosexual quarterback, I came to the realization that shit is going to hit the fan. Not just hitting the fan and splashing some unlucky people with poo speckles, I am talking breaking the engine and one of the propellers falling off hitting it.
I’ve been playing Madden football video games since roughly ’93. Up until Madden 97 came out I had no idea what was happening in the game, the basic rules of football, or the fact that the players were based on real living people. Mind blowing experience, let me tell you. Post Madden 97, I became relatively (extremely) obsessed with the game and it became something I needed to have every year there after. I participated in tournaments, wasted outrageous hours molding the 2025 New York Jets (which featured 3 of my future children playing 3 starkly contrasting positions), and basically had the best of times. Today marks the release of the next installment in the Madden series, Madden 2010. First off, Larry Fitzgerald and Troy Polamalu are fucked. Next, it is way more realistic, tons of cool features yada, yada. As Madden players, we all know that speed is paramount to all. Power backs suck balls and marginally rated players that are fast can still dominate. Let me inform you about said fecal matter colliding with said oscillating wind creator (?).
Donovan McNabb-always overrated when it comes to speed in Madden.
Brian Westbrook-probably high 90s in speed
LeSean McCoy-got them young legs, you know he’s fast.
DeSean Jackson and Jeremy Maclin-they’re the same person, different names. Fast.
My bad Brent Celek.
And now this....Michael “best Madden player ever” Vick joins that squad. It is effectively a wrap for all players in the game. Wildcat formation, McNabb tossing to Vick, Vick throws to Maclin, Maclin laterals to his clone Desean who (while still behind the line of scrimmage) throws a screen pass to Westbrook, while having LeSean lead blocking all the way to the crib. Disregard how illegal and ineffective that play may be and think of the possibilities.
You’ll see the Eagles in the Super Bowl until 2017 and you will lose. That is most assuredly not how it’ll play out in real life, but Madden is another life..that is..potentially..real?
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
If you haven't noticed, I have finally learned to embed videos into this formerly shitty blog. Now I get to put the most ballinest, potentially irrelevant videos into this thing and raise blog interest up for the masses that are reading....
When I get rich I am going to do so many things that I know only I find hilarious. It's one of the luxuries of making bank.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
For all you news-less cats out there that aren't yuppie enough to have CNN as one of your bookmarked sites, there was a story yesterday that caught my eye. Keep in mind, I don't really read stories thoroughly, and the majority of this can and probably is wrong.
So, two Asian-American reporters were out in North Korea (the bad Korea) doing, um, reporting I guess. As we all hopefully know, North Korea is seriously not the move right now much like going downtown to Faneuil Hall is no longer the weekend move. Needless to say, these bitches got caught doing whatever it is that they were doing and we assumed them lost to labor camps for 12 years. Damn. Oh well. Obama was like, "can you send these chicks back" and North Korea was like, "Nah." It was an accepted idea that it was a wrap for them. I guess we kind of gave up on them pretty quickly, who's to say really.
All of sudden, Bill Clinton, sensing that there are two young Asian-American women in need, sprung into action. He emerged from the Bat Cave and everyone (at least I) knew things would turn out alright. This motherfucker was in North Korea for about 20 minutes and these bitches were on flights back to the United States. Dude even got the thought to be dying Kim Jong Il to cheese with him in a picture. Simply incredible. Of course everyone is wondering how the wily old veteran Clinton was able to swindle KJI and make him change his mind. With Bill Clinton, weed and prostitutes cannot be far behind, and that folks is my hypothesis. They just sat in KJI's office, bong equipped, and had like 23 mildly attractive prostitutes settle the differences.
I've determined Bill Clinton is a lot like Popeye. Exchange spinach and weed/prostitutes and you basically have the same person. They even have the same "why are these studs with such ugly hoes" complex. I'm talking to you Hilary and Olive Oil...
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Too many wheelchair Jimmy jokes can be made from this. It is too easy. The chips have not been falling in place for Drake “Drizzy”
^a gear grinding experience.
You know what grinds my gears? People that walk up the god damn escalator. This angers me more than it should, but come on. These people have no idea that I will Tiger Uppercut the shit out of them. After a long and winding T ride, I join the rat race that is the revolving gate. A dangerous contraption in itself, the revolving gate has the ability to ruin a work day before it even starts. This woman one day got not only her bag caught in the gate, but also her Ipod, and she ended up dropping her phone. The battery was under some dude’s foot, she may have had a dislocated elbow; it was safe to say her day was a wrap. If you are somehow lucky enough to fend off the revolving gate, you soon encounter the second mini-boss in the difficult level of South Station in the “typical workday” videogame.
Oh, escalators. You seemed like such a good idea at the time, then all of sudden, dumb ass kids who either lacked any coordination or just accepted their fate, were being maimed by escalators. I’m talking peg leg maimed. Maybe Americans became wary of these death carousels and began picking up the pace. Nahhh. We are traditionally lazy. We live with luxuries…including, but not limited to, the fucking escalator. Get off your high horse Mr. “I am going to walk up the escalator to firm my glutes” or Mrs. “I am going to walk up the escalator because a little boy in
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
“Somebody better tell em that we in this bitch like an unborn baby”
-Said lyric is rapped by Fabolous in “Everything, Everyday, Everywhere.”
Now I will be the first to come to bat for Fabolous. He has been my favorite rapper and will forever hold the title of “the first person to have their CD purchased legally by me.” Rap has had many a questionable line, but some are just like..what?! This is one of them. Sure, it makes sense. Fabolous is a punch-line rapper and that’s what punch-line rappers do. I cannot put my finger on it, but something just is not right about that line.
First off, the line opens up the second verse of a hot song, so the listener is fully invested in what he is about to say. He just comes out and says it in his typical braggadocios sound that you just let it roll on by. Then you think…what the hell did he just say? What kind of lackey would alert the club, the room, or an IHOP that Fabolous is there much like an unborn baby is within a woman? I am sorry Fab, you may not have much luck there (if Fabolous hired me to do that for him I would instantly quit). It also puts a terrible image in your head. My image was a fetus rockin’ a fitted and a platinum chain, chunkin’ up a swag filled deuce. Strange I know. Fabolous songs should not illicit such thoughts. Fabolous, don’t worry, I am perfectly content with thinking about how sweet your life is when you talk about your black card, multiple ménages, and constant drug use. No need to throw fetuses in there. If it ain’t broke don’t fix it playa.
Download: Loso’s Way--Fabolous
Sorry for not updating at a good frequency. Life has thrown me for a loop as of late. I feel like a big change is going to occur soon. I don’t know with what or what I mean exactly, but hopefully it’ll be good. Ok, without further ado…part two of the day in which I exist. It really is not worth all the waiting, but it allows me to post other shit because I pigeon holed myself by making a "part one" to something. Blogging 101, shit.
5:00—Think whether or not to go to the gym or go home.
5:02—Mull it over with a Red Bull (most likely my 3rd or 4th of the day).
5:03—Freak out and get aggressively angry at myself for even considering not going to the gym.
6:15-6:45—Sweat on the T Ride home and make uncomfortable eyes towards the honey in the sundress.
7:00—Play God’s dice game of “Will he immediately go to McDonalds again?”
7:10—Either eating McDonalds or drinking a protein shake fortified with vitamins and minerals…you decide.
7:20—See whose around. Have scary urge to consume alcohol.
7:21—Scour contacts for a friend or friends that would be willing to indulge.
7:22-8:45—Chill. Play video games hard.
8:46—Shower while blasting nothing but top 40 hits, eminem and the backstreet boys. Say something.
9:00-9:08—Get stupid, mad, funky fly.
9:30—Wait for friends, or friends already present. Venture to a bar.
10:05—Regret bar decision. Immediately regret not staying in and getting much needed sleep.
10:10-12:16—Drink out of sorrow, anger, confusion, and the need to acquire female companionship.
12:20—Too drunk to acquire female companionship. “Oh god, please don’t play the Cupid Shuffle. Fuck! Well I just gotta dance to it.”
1:00—Sweating from the continuous string of hits the DJ is playing. This guy does not smell very good.
1:30—Cab home with whatever bros were unable to acquire female companionship.
2:00—STRUGGLE to take out my contacts. Brush teeth.
2:01—Pissed that tomorrow will be exactly the same.
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