It's Always Sunny in Ohio

Dear Hallowieners,

I just wanted an excuse to incorporate wiener into another word, this worked out, thanks.

Love, Me

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Anyways, in effort to make myself remotely useful, I've recently been helping a friend of mine from across the country start up her own blog. It'll surely be about all manner of insightful girly things that will have you both nodding in agreement and cursing men forever.

The smart, the beautiful, the one and only, the blondish, other descriptive words!

The Thing You're About to Click

Give her some love you jerks. But not too much love, slow down, you weirdos.

At least I'm promoting someone else instead of myself, right guys?


Halloween. The holiday where we are supposed to check candy for razorblades and such. In case some nutbag is sitting at home stuffing tiny knives into Tootsie Rolls.

Most of you back in Minnesota probably have had at least a little snow by now. Ha. Haha. Hahahaha. Fuck snow.

I apparently don't have much to say today...

Lucky you.

Two in the Bush

Ha! I didn't post on Saturday. I was testing you. And 25 of you win. Because 25 people checked on Saturday anyway. Hey thanks. The rest of you suck.

So in the past I've ranted about bird related things, such as the saying "kill two birds with one stone" and today I have another bird related phrase to shout about, no big surprise there.

"A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush."

Well first, wtf is our problem with birds? We really had it out for those little bastards at one point in time. Apparently all we did was sit around and talk about birds.

The fuck is that. I don't know what kind of crazy shitbag was trying to figure out the value of birds in different contexts.

Like he ran around all day figuring this shit out. "Well one bird in a hand is worth two inside a bush, and two birds in a bush is worth about 4 inside a basket, now, birds in trees, they're worth about 1.5 birds in a hand but only 3 birds in a bush." Get a god damn job, because it sure as shit isn't counting birds.

A person should just be happy he caught a damn bird with his hands. That imagine that shit gets challenging.

Haven't they ever heard don't count your chickens before they hatch? This guy sounds like he was definitely trying to count his chickens. And who would of fucking guessed, that's about birds too.


Stop counting and comparing your birds and just enjoy the birds you have.


See what I did there? Yeah, I made it a metaphor, I told you this shit was getting fancy.

Blood, Hair, and Semen

Since the last post was just me whining.

Well, I'd like to think I tried to make it more than JUST whining, but you know how I am.

Anyways I suppose I'll do another post, hopefully with more content.

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So... months ago when money was tight, in which is still definitely is by the way, I decided to look into what types of renewable stuff a person can sell off of or out of his own body.

Blood, bone-marrow, hair, and semen.

Let's start with semen. (That's what she said)

As it turns out, nobody wants my DNA babies, because on reading about it, they are obviously selective about who they purchase from. They want tall, good health, in good shape, etc. I am in fact, short, fat, and stupid. Making the chances of anyone giving me so much as a nickel for the ol' gene 'pool' unlikely.

Hair, I believe I'm starting the very first stages of hair loss. That's it. No jokes. Just less hair.

Bone-marrow I could probably do. I won't, because they stick a giant needle into your hip or femur or something to retrieve it. Too bad because I probably have amazing marrow AND it's remaining inside my bones.

Blood/plasma is the Winner! I would probably have to not drink any sort of alcohol which would be a shame to say the least. But I could totally probably sell plasma.

Also, ladies, you can sell your eggs for like a bazillion dollars. It's fairly invasive, but if I had eggs I'd be doling them out left and right for the prices they potentially go for. Of course I'd be terrible at being a woman, the shit I would get into. Wow. It would be like Miley Cyrus collides with Lindsay Lohan collides with a pinch of Sandra Bullock.

OH! Side Note: one of the downsides people wrote for donating semen was the idea of potentially having hundreds of unknown genetic descendants running around being a negative thing.

HOW IS THIS A DOWNSIDE?! I would absolutely love knowing that my genes were overrunning the countryside. I think it would be neat as shit. Don't worry, I'm sure they have good families. Nobody pays thousands of dollars for someone else's spunk just to neglect the outcome.

Suppose that was more of an Under Note than a Side Note...

My Foot is Down

Okay, so I play it up like I don't mind when you don't read this. But it's a lie. I totally expect all of you to read this.

Friends and family especially. You don't get to be friends and family without supporting my bullshit cockamamie ass interests.

You show up when I post on the MyFace but when I don't spam you, you don't come.

Well, new rule. You shut your damn mouth, sit down, and put your fucking email address in the box thingy on the right. I'm not asking. I'm telling. If you don't get an email every time I so much as fucking fart, I'm going to disown you and probably take you off the Christmas Mailing list and think you're a bad stupid poopy face.

So just do it you turd sandwiches. I hate having to solicit for viewers on Facebook like some sort of homeless liberal hippy asshole.

The job hunt is going fantastic BTW. People are lining up to hire me, I can't even decide who I like better. This is in no way an exaggerated lie.

Walkie-Talkie

Ever notice how stupid of a name Walkie-Talkie is?

Sure, it's descriptive and shit, but imagine if the guy who named it that named other things.

The world would be a dangerously descriptive place right now.

Cars would be called Drivey-Get Places, guns would be called Shooty-Deathy, and dogs would be called Barky-Bitey.

Obviously that sounds stupid ridiculous and we're all lucky that guy was only fortunate enough to name Two-Way Radios. What kind of asshole was he? Hopefully he's dead now. Deady-In-The-Groundy.

Completely off topic, if you are interested in always being aware of when a new post is posted, on the right of this there should be a place to enter an email address, put yours in there and you will get an automatic email every time I post. Takes all the guess work out of it for you, I know you hate guessing.

But really, I appreciate the 6 of you that read this, probably all related to me too, I'm just trying to make it easy for you.

I'll keep it short and sweet today.

Chill Bro

All I have today is this one single link.

America

That means click it.

United Nations

There I am. Living somewhere where I'm the minority.

Not the city itself, but the apartment complex area thing has very few people of my specific background.

Next to me is some sort of Asian, I would be more specific but I have not become acquainted. Below me is some sort of Middle-Easterner, again, my lack of specification isn't racism, well not very much racism, a little bit of it, maybe, kitty corner and below me is some sort of Hispanic. Across the way is a crazy Russian guy. Etc.

My point is that not only am I (a White English Speaking American Male) the minority, but I also have the worst car in the lot. They all have new, fancy, and often even American made vehicles.

Damn. And this whole time I thought I had an unfair advantage. Damn foreigners making me look bad in my own country...

I jest, I love all these brown/yellow/slightly toasted people.

They clearly go to school at the U of O, most of them, but what do they need brand new $50,000-$100,000 cars for? Or rather, what do they do when they go home? Sell them? Bring them with? They clearly bought it when they came over, they surely don't have the money to just buy a car to use for 6 months and call it good, do they?

Maybe we should all go over there and make fucking shoes and shit.

It clearly worked for them.

So anyways, hey, it's Thursday and I made it on schedule. Whew. I'll be seeing you mixed bag of nuts on Saturday. That's a promise.

What I Actually Think

So, I've beat this dead horse beyond recognition. But I would very much like to set myself a blogging schedule that I can stick too and make constant and regular updates.

I am open to suggestions, I will ignore every one of them and do what I want, but I'm open to them.

I was thinking maybe trying a Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday schedule?

Three times a week seems more than generous and if you don't like it, well please try because I appreciate you being here and reading this. Hey thanks, you.

I'm counting this one as Tuesdays post, even though it's not so much of a post as it is about posting.

So for the time being, that's my thang. I know only like 2 people actually read this, but if any of you randoms are inclined to start. Now is a good time, what with me scheduling times and being all organized about it.

See you guys Thursday.

Home of the Homeless

Eugene, Oregon.

That clever little title has multiple meanings. That's right, I'm moving up and using doubled meanings in my titles, fucking fancy right? RIGHT?!

But it refers to myself having more or less packed up without a plan and coming West, hoping to find a place to live and a place to work. Leaving me effectively homeless for a while. But it also alludes to the high amount of homeless people in and around Eugene.

That's right. If you've ever watched Disney's Aladdin, street rats, all over. Except they don't have monkey pals or flying carpets, nor do they show much interest in magic...

Anyways, awfully entitled bunch of hippies if you ask me. They sleep in little tent communities downtown and have signs that say shit like, "We have the right to sleep".

I'm not sure what kind of liberal ass bullshit that even is.

Not that they don't, I suppose they do have that right, but to parade around with a sign that says it, what does that even mean? Are they implying that they have the right to sleep wherever they want? I mean, just sleep then, don't go around waving signs at me for me to read way too far into and eventually cause ME to lose sleep as I lay awake at night wondering wtf you mean. You jerks.

Oh and that salsa bar in Carl's Jr. With the complimentary fixings and whatnot, that's not there so you can take 26 cups of salsa, homeless guy. Especially if you drag your dirty sleeve through the little bit of salsa you didn't take.

I'm not judging him for being homeless, homeless or not, I don't like dirty sleeves in my fast food toppings.

And an awful lot of them have cell phones and tobacco products. Odd. Odd indeed.

Almost like for most of them it's a lifestyle choice because they big hippies.

Big. Damn. Hippies. I blame the intense amount of liberal idealism in the area. It's all artistic and free thinking. Gross. What happened to being productive and having deep repressed anger issues and hating things that are different or new?

America.

Public Urination 2011

Some of you might know this story, some of you might not. I had originally posted this on a friends blog and agreed not to double post, but I haven't heard from that shit in forever and a lot of you probably weren't able to navigate the interwebs and find it on his blog back when it was originally posted. I don't blame you, it's not your fault that you're bad at the internet. I guess. Either way, here is that story, a favorite of mine. Boom.

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Two feet planted as firmly as a drunken asshole can plant them, dick in hand, urinating figure 8's on the side of some guys car in a mostly empty parking lot a 3 a.m.


That's where I found myself when a man on a bicycle pulls up and inquires upon what the hell I'm doing. In which I answered with a simple, "I had to pee".

After a few confusing question, confusing like, "what's your address?" and "can I see your I.D.?" It slowly occurs to my intoxicated mind that this guy might or might not be a Police Officer.

I stumbled through giving him an incorrect address due to the fact that my drunk ass simply couldn't remember. I then obediently handed him my I.D.

I continued to wonder why this guy on the bike was so interested in what I was doing. Remembering, "Oh yeah, he's a Cop, I think."

He noticed some other hooligans trying to go about their business and commands me to stay put, I oblige and try to continue standing while looking at his bike and reading...P-O-L-I-C-E on the side. "Shit" I think to myself, I consider hopping on the bike and peddling off, but I remember, he has my I.D.

I wait for him to return, when he does he immediately starts to write me a ticket for Public Urination and says things like, "That's gross." and "How would you like it if someone peed on your car?" and "I saw you, I saw you drawing 8's and peeing all over." and finally he ended with "Don't be sorry, just stop peeing on cars."

The moral of the story is. I got a ticket for public urination and I really couldn't be more proud of myself. That's one thing I can check off my life's list.

I might frame the ticket.

Close Enough!

As my last post may or may not have very specifically mentioned, I intended on relocating to Seattle, WA.

I, of course, picked Seattle for its proximity to actual things actually happening and its location on the West Coast.

That being said...I moved to Eugene, Oregon.

Which, to be honest, I find is considerably nicer that any of the places in or around Seattle that I could afford, plus it's got a hell of a lot of character for a place loaded with hippies and liberals.

I look forward to an entire winter of no snow and hopefully finding a job. Someday.