FRIED - from the mind of a brilliant moron

2003-08-25T23:56:00.000-04:00

*LAZY*

I'll update as soon as the dorks that run Blogger get their act together.

2003-07-19T13:43:00.000-04:00

*GUESS WHO'S BACK!?*

What's up kids?!!
Fried is back so put your helmets on...
Czech back for updates daily,
Wooo Hoooooo!

By the way, my archives aren't working so i'll post the old stories again.

2002-03-19T01:31:00.000-05:00

*Fall for love*

I was watching TV today, which made the day extraordinarily not unlike any other. On the Outdoor Life Channel they were doing a show on extreme sports. Rock climbing, speed skiing, BASE-jumping, bungee jumping, cliff jumping, and many other jumping activities, to name a few.
I found the segment on rock climbing especially interesting. There was a small bio of a famous rock climber who plummeted to his death while attempting to scale a particularly difficult rock face with no rope or harness. A person they interviewed about the incident said something that rang in my ears for a while afterwards. What he said was something I had heard many times before, which made it all the more strange that on this particular occasion I just couldn’t let it go. He said, “He died doing something he loved”, of course, speaking of his friend the rock climber that met his premature demise.
“He died doing something he loved.”
That is a very strange sentence, I think - if for no other reason – because it brings up a multitude of questions, the most prominent of which being, what exactly could he have loved doing more than not dying?
Had the rock climber, lets call him Jim, been on his death bed and then decided to go rock climbing knowing it would be the end of him, then he would have died doing something he loved. Let’s call a spade a spade, Jim fucked up and killed himself.
Another important thing to remember is that Jim didn’t have a massive coronary and drop dead attached to the rock, so unless Jim loved falling uncontrollably down the side of a mountain, he didn’t ‘die doing something he loved’, cause after all, it’s safe to say that the last thing Jim was involved in before his death was a first time event.

I don’t get all those extreme sportsmen anyway. But I guess if you’re gonna go………

2002-03-05T00:07:00.000-05:00

*Help Along the Way*

It has been long since I have attended school, but I haven’t forgotten the people that helped me out along the way. Everyone seems to have that one special teacher, a mentor, or guide - if you will - that impacts their life. It could be something as small as a helping hand, or a boost of self-esteem, to something larger, like emotional support, or a strong push in a direction that ends up changing their life. A lot of people, including myself, have encountered such fortune, and most people,including myself, have not forgotten it.

However, I have also not forgotten the dirty bastards that made it a chore to get out of bed in the morning, and utterly painful to show up to school at all. This entry is dedicated to all those assholes.

Mr. Nestor, Grade 5 English: You kicked me out of class for being loud. After about 20 minutes in the hall I opened the door of the room and asked if I could come back in. You said, “Class, isn’t it much better with [fried] out in the hall?” They all said “Yeees”, in unison. I then turned to you and said, “Fuck you, buddy”, I was rapidly suspended for the remainder of the week.
Mr. Nestor, You are a prick, I hope you get scabies.

Mr. Sindell, Vice Principal, Middle school: You hated me. My older brother and sister went to the same school before me and you liked them. You filled in one day for an absent science teacher, I forgot my homework at home, you yelled at me, you are scum.

Mrs. Patel, Grade 9 French: The class made you cry, a lot. You were weak, and I’m sorry for taking advantage of you. But you gave me 50% for the year, if I ever see you again I’ll burn your house down.

Mr. Farden, Grade 9 Music: You were a stuck up bastard. I was only in music because it was a joke. I’m sorry I couldn’t play ‘rump pum pump’ on the drums, but perhaps if you gave me some sheet music instead of just singing my part to me I could have been better. You were a cocksucker then and I’m sure you’re still one now.

Mrs. Holstein, Grade 10 Drama: You suck, put on a bra you tree hugging slut.

Mr. Tidal, Grade 11 Something or other: I handed that map into you and so did Mike. They were both colored and labeled and they were great. YOU lost them, so YOU find them. Take that disgusting pink shirt off and get a life.

Prof. Blantree, Junior year Admin180: I did cheat on the final exam; you caught me and couldn’t prove it to the board. You did everything you possibly could to get me thrown out of College but you failed and I graduated the next year. I’m glad that Ben pushed you down to the ground and then smoked a whole pack of cigarettes. You are the worst professor I have ever encountered and I wouldn’t give you the steam from my piss.

Go MUSTANGS!

2002-03-02T02:23:00.000-05:00

*Muzic*

This is just a quick entry to bitch about something that has been bothering me for quite a while now. I’m going to go against the vibe of this web log and get a bit serious for a second. What in the name of holy hell is going on with music these days? The Grammy’s were a complete farce. A few deserving recipients were honored, and far be it from me to denounce any of the other nominees for not being ‘talented’. But quite honestly, popular music these days sucks dick.
Gone are the days where actual music was on the forefront. Now, record executive are force-feeding the masses with trumped up karaoke singers. N’sync, Backstreet Boys, Brittany, Jessica, et al are bad Broadway actors with horrible fashion sense and airbrushed dimples. Where are bands like the Allman Brothers, The Guess Who, and Pink Floyd? Bands that, while you may not ‘enjoy’ their music, you can appreciate the reality that these people are outstanding musicians. Songwriters like Leonard Cohen, Bob Dylan, and David Crosby have to sit back seat to people like Sean ‘Puff Daddy P Diddy’ Combs because kids these days are retarded.
Let me put forth a rhetorical question. 100 years from now who are people going to remember: Lennon and McCartney, or Spears and Timberlake? Good music is timeless, just ask the Grateful dead. It is a damn shame that young people have to grow up with MTV, it’s absolutely raping music.
There is plenty of excellent music out there but its being buried so deep under piles of over-produced, phony garbage. I know most people aren’t buying into it, but nevertheless the music industry is producing a generation of kids who won’t know the difference between musicians and actors.
For those of you who are heretofore unaware of what constitutes quality music, let me give you a short list off the top of my head of people making good MUSIC. Now you may not like the melody, or the tune, or something else about the song, but the music is real, the intent is authentic, and the message is clear.
…Phish, Ani Difranco, The Tragically Hip, the lyrics of Adam Duritz, the guitar of Mark Knopfler, Les Claypool on Bass, the harmonica of John Popper, - if you have never heard Trey Anastasio solo, shame on you - …and finally, whenever in doubt, just go Zeppelin…
(There are a few bright lights. I will congratulate Coldplay for their Grammy for Parachutes, in my humble opinion it is the best ‘popular’ studio album to be released since Radiohead’s OK Computer.)

Okay, now that that's out of my system, I feel a bit better. Now to lighten the mood, everyone lick the next person you see.

2002-02-26T03:19:00.000-05:00

*George Carlin*

Why do the Dutch people have two names for their country, Holland and the Netherlands, and neither one of them include the word Dutch?

My only Superstition: if you drop a spoon, a pig will offer to finance your next car.

Sometimes on a rainy day I sit around and weed the losers out of my address book.

A meltdown sounds like fun. Like some kind of cheese sandwich.

Hard work is for people short on talent

Recent polls reveal that some people have never been polled. Until recently.

Always do whatever's next

People who should be phased out:
-Guys who always harmonize the last few notes of "Happy Birthday."
-Guys who wink when they're kidding
-Guys who can juggle, but only a little bit
-People who know a lot of prayers by heart
-People who say, "Knock knock," when entering a room and, "Beep beep," when someone is in their path
-Atheletes and coaches who give more than one hundred percent

2002-02-20T02:21:00.000-05:00

*It's Olympic!*

I like the Olympics. At least, I think I like the Olympics. I definitely like the Winter Olympics better than the Summer. The Summer Olympics are mutant festivals. At least in the winter there are regular people, people that look like you and me. Have you seen some of those curlers? It’s pretty safe to bet that those guys aren’t doping.

The truth is, most of the sports in both the summer and winter Olympics are quite boring. Like What the fuck is up with the luge? First of all, it’s a retarded sport. Secondly, do you know what the difference between first and last place is? It’s about the same amount of time it takes for you to make the ‘Choo!’ sound of a sneeze. The gold medal goes to the guy who crosses the line exactly 0.83 seconds faster than the poor schmuck in 12th. The thing I find most astounding is that the commentators seem to know who’s favored. Favored! This completely baffles me.

“Well Yuri Numbnuts is definitely superior is this, the luge, and he should come away with the gold medal. But tight on his heels after the first run is the rookie from Pensacola, Joey Bagadonuts, he’s made quite an impression on the World Cup tour. There is 0.02 seconds separating the two; Yuri has a comfortable lead.”

I’m on the edge of my fucking seat.

The summer Olympics gives us the privilege of witnessing sports that we otherwise take for granted. Have you seen the water polo event? It’s marvelous.
How about the handball? Do you enjoy the handball?

“Welcome to the Summer Olympics, my name is Gustav, I can lift 300 pounds right up over my head, that is roughly the same weight as 5 large televisions, I am a world-class athlete.”

The Games are not without excitement, however. Basketball is fun. A lot of teams other than the Americans have a really great shot at winning the gold. I, for one, think that the Ukraine is due. And who doesn’t enjoy cozying up in front of the hearth and watching 30 kilometers of cross-country skiing? If there is anyone, I sure don't know'em. Fencing is popular, as is that age-old tradition of whatever the hell those people on the skis are shooting their guns at. Maybe they’re aiming at the French judges.

So next time you turn on NBC to watch horrible coverage of last nights Nordic Combined, try to remember, you’re watching history, you’re watching greatness, and if that’s not enough, just think, at least you’re not watching CNN.

Kabul in 2012!!

2002-02-13T21:06:00.000-05:00

*This is what's on my mind right now*

Its Wednesday, 8:46pm, that's early.
I got a speeding ticket three days ago for $295. That's terrible.
I'm going to fight the ticket in a court of law.
I'd rather fight the ticket in a tennis court, or a food court.
The cop that gave me the ticket had a half-accent. I hate half accents; I wish people would just make up their minds.
Either have an accent or don’t, Chester.
What ever happened to those cute cartoon chipmunks?
I don't hate cops, but I wish they would stop people I do hate, rather than stopping me.
I'd like to give a cop a ticket for stopping me.
"That'll be $295 for impeding my progress, officer".
That’s ridiculous.
I’ve never been to court before. That’s a lie.
I lie every 3445 seconds, unless I’m asleep. That’s deceitful.
I like to combine lying and swearing, it makes for a nice combo.
Like this: ‘I’m fucking Brilliant!’
That’s hilarious.
I have hockey tonight at 11. That’s fun.
I’ve had four concussions from hockey. That’s dizzying.
I wonder what Martin Short is doing right now?
Both my Playstation controllers are broken. That’s bad.
I don’t have any Playstation games to play anyhow. That’s appropriate.
I heard the word ‘curmudgeon’ today. I had to look it up.
Does anyone actually buy a dictionary? Or are they all stolen from a school?
I hate school. Good thing I don’t have to go.
I hate work. Good thing I don’t have to go.
Uh oh.
‘What?’ Okay, I’m coming. Geez’
Brain, wait here, I gotta go.

2002-02-02T17:15:00.000-05:00

*To My Blog*

Dear Web Log,
I'm sorry that I have been neglecting you lately. It’s not that I don’t love you, I do, but I’m growing weary of your silence. If only you could speak to me - tell me that you love me too - everything would be so wonderful. But, alas, you do not, you cannot. So here we are, you and I, unrequited, unsatisfied with the relationship that is, the relationship that must be. But I have faith that we will endure. We will endure both as individuals, and as a pair, for you and I have what few other do, we have each other. And… cough, cough…COUGH, COUGH… choke. Excuse me. Where was I? Oh yes. And although we haven’t spent much time together lately, nothing can get in between us. It took a good friend to help me realize that, thank you Amy Koolaid.
So, Web Log, I hope you can forgive me. I don’t mean to hurt you; I don’t mean to make you cry – if in fact you are capable. I only want to make you happy. So I will leave you with these words:

If you find yourself in the friendship of another, like Ebay.com, or some new security software, don’t think of me, for I will carry on. The time we had together was special to me, and while I will try to visit you more often, I cannot promise you anything. Remember, whether you are turned off or being updated, visited by others or waiting to be read, we will always, always have the time we spent together on the Top Ten. Oh, those were the days.

2002-01-28T01:39:00.000-05:00

A conversation between four people not talking to one another:

Amy: I wouldn’t do that again.
Brian: The moisturizer is wherever you left it.
Donald C.: Could it be possible that I’m the one to blame?
Amy: I don’t think it’s a smart thing to do.
Jane: hahahahahaha
Amy: Fine go ahead if you must, but I warned you.
Jane: ahahahhahaha
Brian: Well, then I don’t know, do I? Why don’t you try looking in the bathroom?
Donald C.: I did do that, didn’t I?
Amy: Now see what you’ve done?
Jane: hahahahahaha

2002-01-14T20:55:00.000-05:00

*Update*

Ajn says i need to update my blog. considering that Ajn is usually right, i will commence the update........NOW.

does anyone have anything i can write about? i can't think of anything interesting to say. one time i wrote all about sand, but that didn't go over too well. you know, i wrote about all the little surprises you sometimes find, all the different varieties of granules, and the randomness of the beer caps strewn across the beaches of the world, stuff like that. i thought it was pretty clever, but i'm an idiot.

the truth is, i never have anything important to say. i'm quite the bullshit artist. now that i think of it, i don't think i've reached the level of artist, i'm a bullshit peddler. i'm the moron wearing the sandwich board and ringing a bell.

every once in a while i may say something funny, by accident, or i may misspell a word that ends up creating a coherent sentence, but the reality of the situation still remains... i have nothing to write about.

it could have something to do with the fact that i'm lazy... take a look at the "i's" in this little rants and you'll see what i mean. i don't even have the motivation to hold down the shift key. pathetic.

so Ajn, here’s your update. i’ve used some periods, a few commas, and a word or two lobbed together in an attempt to communicate with other members of the species. i have failed you miserably, once again. i can only offer these final few words as consolation:
rah rah ditty, mcfoo plaff turko waif. crum?

2002-01-01T02:50:00.000-05:00

*New Year*

The only thing New about the Year is the calendar of scantily dressed women draped on the hoods of whatever your automobile of choice may be. The real 'New Year' begins on your birthday, not on January 1st. Instead, we should call it 'New Calendar', or 'New Date Book', because that's really what it is.
New Years is a sham of a holiday, there is no significance to it whatsoever. A day created 2000 (and two) years ago by the Gregorian reform of the Julian calendar; today New Year's Eve has as much significance as the annual kegger at Pi Kappa Tau.
Lets get realistic; any day that is set aside to get liquored and smooch a chick is just fine with the guys. Likewise, a well-deserved day off work and a night out is plenty to obtain the endorsement of women. But what exactly are we ‘celebrating’? I understand Flag Day, Mother’s Day, and Veterans Day, it’s right there in the title, but ‘New Years’?
We begin a new calendar year…right? Is that it? Well what does that mean for me? I have to remember to make my cheques out for ’02? Okay, what else?
Hardly anything I can think of uses January 1st as some sort of pinnacle. It’s not the end of any natural cycle, or the beginning of anything particularly special in the world. We would be better off celebrating the equinox, or the solstice. I have a coupon from Wendy’s that is good through February 2002. Even fast food doesn’t recognize any importance of New Years.
I think the whole New Year celebration is a joke. If we are going to continue to commemorate that day I suggest we as a society get together and petition for a mini-celebration on April 16th. What a terrific day April 16th is. Break out the bubbly; grab your best girl, its April 16th!!!
Lets all wise up and call a spade a spade. New Years Eve, from now on, should be called…
New Calendar Beer Sex Eve. If you can get the name changed to that, then I’m in.

2001-12-23T01:23:00.000-05:00

*This is what is on my mind right now:*

Today I am sick. My chest is heavy and my nose is running. That is a bad thing.
My girlfriend is on some exotic island without me, tanning and playing, and going out each night. That is a bad thing.
My computer is angry with me because I installed Windows XP on it and a good portion of my software was not compatible. That is a bad thing.
It’s 12:41am on a Saturday night and I’m at home by myself. That is a bad thing.
There are a lot of bad things going on right now. That is a bad thing.
I rented the movie ‘Pearl Harbor’. I wasn’t at Pearl Harbor when it was bombed. That is a good thing
I have 6 pillows on my bed and I get to use all of them tonight. That is a good thing.
Tomorrow is Sunday…I don’t know how I feel about that yet.
I’m running out of toilet paper. That is a good thing.
Just kidding about the last one.
I want to smoke a cigarette but I have none. That is a bad thing and a good thing.
I don’t have much food in the house but I’m not hungry. That is a bad thing and a good thing.
My screen resolution is at 1024 by 768 pixels. I don’t give a shit about that.
It used to be 800 by 600 pixels. I don’t give a shit about that either.
My computer keeps trying to sneak out the window while I’m sleeping. That is something I’m concerned about…for a few reasons.
Where are my pants?
Tomorrow I have a hockey game but I’m sick. That is a sketchy thing.
My desk is a mess. That is a messy thing.
I’m running out of thoughts at the moment. That is a good, or a bad thing, depending on you.
I have an overwhelming desire to take a shower. That’s an okay thing.
Is my girlfriend going to screw a native? No, really, is she?
I constantly feel the need to classify my thoughts. That is a psychological thing.
I wonder why I’m me. That’s a philosophical thing.
I wonder why you’re you. Just kidding, I don’t really care about you.
I want to hear a song I like. That’s a… what is that?
I want to start another line with ‘I’.
Nice.
I want to start something else soon. That’s an impatient thing.
I want to be impatient. That’s a convenient thing.
No really, I want to go now.
See ya.

2001-12-12T13:48:00.000-05:00

*Boredom*

Taken from a pamphlet on male boredom, found on the subway:

“… Sometimes when I’m alone I pretend to have a tic. It only last for a few seconds, a minute, max. It can range anywhere from a shoulder spasm to a full body, worm-like, break dance wiggle. I usually do it until it gets tiring or I forget about it altogether. One time I threw out my back and had to take an Advil.”

Boredom can play nasty tricks on you if you fall too deeply into its clutches. The line between constructive time management and utter stupidity becomes very blurred, and the two seem to bleed into one another. Personal judgment cannot be trusted in times of severe boredom, it is suspect at best. If you are considering lighting anything on fire, or dangling something from a high place, please reconsider. Trust me on this one; I speak from experience.

Boredom is a disease, like alcoholism, or lupus. Every person, man and child, has stared into the gaping trench of its grasp. I used to fight boredom daily. “Hi, my name is Andrew, and I’m bored.” Having said that, here are a few pointers to help cope with, if not avoid, the boredom in your life.

1. Playing with little children is fun, but stop after one complete hour.
2. There are roughly 52 Sunday’s in a year, be prepared early. Friday is a good day to begin scheduling.
3. The magazines you’ll find in your doctor’s office will suck - bring your own when necessary.
4. Like little children, girlfriends can be fun. However, under no circumstances should you attend a movie picked by your girlfriend unless she is withholding sex or you have recently called her fat.
5. Avoid looking at pictures of other people’s vacations. In case of slides, fake a seizure.
6. If you are watching an infomercial, it is too late for you, try to spare the ones you love.
7. Stay away from school, period.
8. The opera is NOT beautiful, football is.
9. Avoid all malls, flea markets, rummage sales, and grocery stores, unless you are completely alone or with another male.
10. Whenever possible, sleep.

2001-12-02T02:25:00.000-05:00

*Yellow?*

I think piss should be the same color as what you drank. It would be so much fun, like a game. You could be at a urinal in a bar and say "Hey, I don't remember drinking that!".

Pink, orange, blue, whatever color cola is, purple, everyday is a new adventure. If you drink water, it should be automatically attached to whatever you drank prior, giving it a shiny finish, like the gloss on a Skittle.

Beer and apple juice would be pretty boring, tomato juice may be a bit scary, but it would all be worth it for the milk piss.
It would be a great metabolism barometer too.

I guess we can't have everything though. Asking to have multicolor urine is just too much, and I respect boundries. But wouldn't it be just great? Don't get me started on shit.

2001-12-01T17:41:00.000-05:00

*Confessions of a Killer*

It’s a beautiful day outside. The birds are in the trees; the trees are in the ground. It’s only 10 o’clock in the morning, I’m getting ready to leave, and I feel as wide-awake as I ever have in my life. I’m seeing clearly know, I see the way things ought to be.

Finally, there is clarity in my life after all the years of turmoil. I mean, I didn’t have it as bad as most; I’ve been rather fortunate in fact. I’ve always had a home, a decent job, and food to eat. I can’t say as though I have ever been in love, but I know that there were some who have been in love with me.

Ah, to be young though, carefree and accountable for nothing but where you shit. Those were the days; the days when people seemed a lot more tolerant and less invasive in my life. But, there’s no use in griping about the present, that won’t benefit me. Instead, I will take pleasure in where I am, find solace wherever I can, and understand that everything will be okay.

I know now that I don’t have to be perfect. I don’t have to be the most beautiful, or the smartest, I can just be ‘good enough’. As long as I am comfortable with who I am, and what that means, I will be okay.

I can live with myself, and after all, that is the most important aspect of living. If you can sleep well at night, you are living well. I don’t give a fuck what the ‘others’ might think of me; I am powerful in my own world. This is my world, and everyone else is just visiting.
I can do whatever I want, and I can be whom ever I desire, nothing can stand in my way. Not the birds in the trees, not my neighbor, or my father, or the beautiful woman on the corner. Life is good; I am good.

Everything is going to be okay. There is stillness in my mind, a calm I haven’t felt in years, or perhaps never before.

Damn these Twinkies are good! Well, I better go.

2001-11-30T20:28:00.000-05:00

*BYE*

I suppose the day had to come, like all others. Its just a shame, that's all. He wasn't the loudest, or the funniest, or the prettiest, but he was one of the best.
So fare thee well, my friend, we'll catch you on the other side.

"Floating down the stream of time, from life to life with me"
-George Harrison
(1943-2001)

2001-11-24T18:18:00.000-05:00

*The Radiant Beyond*
I missed my chance to become a teenage suicide. Not that it's an event I sorely regret, but it's sad when you outgrow things.

The reason I bring up such a morbid topic is because I had a chat with death today, she was more gracious than I could have ever hoped. At one point she even offered me a lick of her Chupa-Chupa but I graciously declined, mostly because it was cola flavor. Who ever decided to blend candy production with the cola industry made a dreadful error, the stuff tastes like my feet.

Death said the reason she approached me of all people was because I had an undeniable tolerance for muted absurdity. I had to agree.

“Would you like to come with me?” she asked.
“Where, exactly?” I replied inquisitively.
“Away from this place. I know you don't like it here.”
“That's not true,” I said. “Life has many opportunities”
“Death has many opportunities” she injected.
“That's beautiful, I think I'll have that embroidered on a quilt.”
“Why are you being so pedantic?”
“Why are you being so romantic?”

I don't know why exactly that sentence came to mind, and I’m really not sure why I said it. I suppose it was because I didn't know what pedantic meant, so I figured a rhyme was in order. Nevertheless, the confusion threw death for a loop and forced her to re-evaluate the whole conversation. She began to stroke her sickle, rather erotically, and began to bite her bottom lip.

“You haven't made much of your life, have you?” she said as she continued to caress the shaft of her death tool.
“Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans.” I quoted.
“Paul McCartney?”
“John Lennon.”
“Good one.”
“Thanks.”
“I was close…”
“Yes you were, very good.”

At that point I figured that death was either going to take me to hell or kick me in the nuts, neither being an especially desirable option. As it turned out, I was wrong, at least for the time being.

“Your job,” I said, “isn't it relatively uneventful?”
“Not really, I get to travel.” She replied as her tone fluctuated.
“Yeah, but isn't it kinda like shooting a deer at a petting zoo?”
“Not at all, I mean…”
“What I'm saying is, there's no challenge involved, doesn't it get boring?”
“No cause…”
“Well I think it would get boring - but I get bored in the shower.”

I thought as long as I kept talking it would at least delay any plans she had for me. I was really worried about the kick in the nuts.

“Hey?” I asked. “If you're here talking to me, does that mean nobody's dying?”
“Not at all.” She said confidently. “It doesn’t work like that. Okay, My turn…”
“Alright then.” I encouraged.

Crap.

“Have you found god.” She asked, as she tilted her head to the side.
“No… I tried to once, but apparently he doesn't live at the bus station.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Okay, maybe he does live at the bus station, but when I went looking, he wasn't home.”
“He's never home.” agreed death.

I'm going to hell.

“So what then, sir, do you think happens to you when you die?” she asked as she lifted up her robe and began to tug at her black knee-high stockings. Death had beautiful legs. I was afraid to answer the question honestly, so I said nothing.
“Do you want me to tell you?” she paused for a while as I stared at her with the same look my dog gets when I put him on the phone. And then she shouted – “Nothing!!! As soon as you die you are born, only, not in the way you think. That whole reincarnation thing – crap! You don't 'come back as a turtle or the Prince of Egypt, in fact, you never leave where you are. All the religions and teachings you people put so much faith in have it all wrong. There is no cosmic secret; there is no holy grail. The trick is – you have to figure out where you’re going, and you have to get there. But, if you’re path is thoughtless, and you’re journey isn’t true, it will last for eternity, like mine.”

“I think I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I said.
“You will in time.” She said as she smiled. Death had a beautiful smile.
“Just remember what I just told you, oh, and try not to drive so quickly in your car.”

And then, just as quickly as she had appeared, she was gone.

I guess you could say my talk with death taught me nothing, but that would be untrue. I do wonder though why death chose me of all people to carry her message. I mean, I’m not going to carry it very far; I’m staying on the couch.
But even so, I just can’t stop thinking about how sexy death looked today.

2001-11-23T12:44:00.000-05:00

*Skool*
I have a problem with the education system in this country. Let’s be honest, a lot of people I know are really, really stupid, and I have it on good authority that 100% of them were in school at one point.

Doesn’t it seem fundamentally wrong that only one of the three “R’s” of education actually begins with an “R”? My friend Flingo, who sells carpet at the Wal-Mart, graduated at the top of his high school class almost six years ago. He got an A+ in film class for a documentary he made on the making of a documentary. He just followed me around with a camera while I did my assignment. I got a C. And on a side note, my documentary was spectacular. It was called “A transvestite, a banker, and a man named Jacob”. It starred my cousin Gray; he’s a genius with dialects.

Flingo has the cognitive capacity of a retarded gold fish. I’m not sure if that sentiment is phrased correctly in terms of being politically correct, but I assure you, it’s accuracy is precise. He is the kind of guy that is oftentimes disappointed when he realizes certain things aren’t edible. He does idiotic, dangerous things and escapes certain death almost daily. And Flingo likes to stare at the sun.

Flingo’s not stupid-smart in that Forest Gump kind of way. This guy graduated with honors from an institution of education and he still thinks the saying is “lets play it by year”. The thing that irritates me about the situation is that some people actually think his complete idiocy is brilliant or artistic in some way. It’s flooded with the irony of a burnt-down firehouse.

I’m not angry about the situation; in fact I find it rather comical. What does irk me is that the same system that puked up Flingo has since gone unchanged. The same teacher that gave him an A in geography is still teaching at the school. I would have no problem with the extended tenure if Flingo hadn’t just recently gotten lost on the subway rail. I’m not going to harp on his stupidity factor much longer, I think the point is made, but one final note for good measure. Flingo, who received an A in social studies, thinks that all midgets come from the same country, a country of midgets.

Now there’s nothing wrong with being clueless. The world needs people to flip burgers, paint walls, or sell pencils on the street corner. And all the power to those people, it’s all honest work and they should be commended. But it’s obvious that the man who cleans the urinals at the train station learned… let’s say… not a lot.

I’m not saying that teachers should be held accountable for the subsequent dim-wittedness of their pupils. More often than not, it is out of their control. However, I think it is the responsibility of teachers, and other educators, to evaluate students based on intelligence and competency rather than on regurgitation of textbook mumbo-jumbo.

Scientists have taught monkeys, and dolphins, to remember things like sounds, shapes, and words. I think humans, even young ones, should be held to a standard a tad higher.

“That’s very good Billy, but bubbles the chimp knows sign language, so you lose.”

And what about those people who make it through their school career and still can’t read! How did these people fall through the cracks? I’d like to see those cracks; I need a new parking space for my Suburban. How can someone who cannot read or write get out of grade 2? Please explain.

I’m not the smartest person. I’m the third smartest. Flingo and bubbles are obviously much more clever.

2001-11-19T03:00:00.000-05:00

*Theives*
Why is it that everytime I think of something, Someone just barely beats me to it?
3M, Microsoft, NASA - Go fuck yourselves!!

2001-11-17T23:47:00.000-05:00

*Women*
Sometimes it’s better if you don’t ask questions. I made the mistake of asking my girlfriend if I looked fat in my new jeans. She said ‘No’, but I could tell she was lying. Women - I’m beginning to wonder why it is I am attracted to them in the first place; they’re practically good for nothing. When was the last time your woman did something nice for you?

They leave the toilet seat down, which is almost impossible to lift, they sit around all day and watch soap opera’s, and they take us nowhere! The whole thing just makes me want to have a good cry.

Why can’t women understand where we’re coming from? Is it too much to ask to hear the words ‘I love you, honey’ once in a while? I don’t think so; I think I deserve that kind of affection.

You know the saying ‘If I had breasts I’d never leave the house’? Well I do have breasts, they’re attached to my girlfriend, and I run from the house daily. If it’s not one thing it’s another. ‘Do this, do that, clean this, cook that,’ it’s enough to drive a man crazy. I have to shave everyday to please my girlfriend, and it’s never enough.

All the really great women are gay anyway.

2001-11-17T04:31:00.000-05:00

*Nickle Intuition*
Stevie was an eight-year-old genius. He wasn’t the ordinary sort of genius; the kind that could perform astonishing math problems or read entire books in one sitting. No, Stevie was unique; he had the remarkable ability to know what other people were thinking. He didn’t hear voices, or stare deeply into his subject’s eyes, he just knew, like a sixth sense. Of course, his intuition was not 100% accurate, but it was as close as any human has ever been to reading minds.

Being of a young age Stevie didn’t really know how to harness his gift. It would come and go, fluctuate in terms of strength and frequency, and sometimes abandon him completely. It seemed that whenever he most needed his ability, he couldn’t call upon it to service him. Instead, Stevie’s power arrived at menial times, when it was more often than not, useless to him.

One afternoon, while playing video games in the local malls’ arcade, Stevie was approached by some larger boys he did not recognize. He scoured his mind and tried desperately to come up with names, but his mind was blank. He didn’t know them from school, or from softball, or from any of his extra-curricular art classes. What they wanted from him was even more bewildering.

“You got any money, kid?” The largest boy asked.

Stevie said nothing; he just looked around for someone to help. The useless guy with the Pez dispenser full of quarters
attached to his belt was obviously nowhere to be seen. Instead, the only bystanders were two small blonde girls pumping nickels into a Barbie video machine that only took quarters.

“Well, do ya?” The large boy asked again, this time taking a step closer to Stevie.

Stevie still said nothing; he just looked over the shoulder of the large unnamed boy to see if by some stroke of luck his older brother happened to be approaching. No such luck was afforded.

“If you don’t cough up your cash this second kid, I’m gonna beat your face in.”

Well that didn’t sound good to Stevie at all. This would have been a perfect time for his intuition to kick in, but nothing was happening. The only sensation Stevie was experiencing came directly from his stomach. It was called panic.

“Alright kid, you asked for it.”

And just like that, the large boy lunged forward and socked Stevie right in the gut sending him to the ground. The two little girls at the Barbie machine turned to see the commotion. One of the large boys’ cohorts franticly searched all of Stevie’s pockets for money or anything else worth pilfering. The boys made off with $2.50 in quarters and a fresh pack of Stevie’s Double Bubble. Stevie was left on the ground of the filthy arcade; the two little girls were frozen with shock.

After a few minutes on the ground - and after making certain the larger boys were long gone - Stevie slowly clambered to his feet using the Commando 2 video machine for leverage. Stevie snarled in the direction of the two little girls as if to say ‘thanks for the help’. He didn’t really expect much from the puny kids but one measly little girly shriek would have helped draw at least some attention. Instead they just remained there, motionless, and did what bystanders do, they stood by.

Well that was just about enough humiliation for one day for Stevie. He brushed himself off the way he saw it done in so many movies and started toward the grocery store where his mother was shopping for food. He was supposed to wait in the arcade until she came to fetch him, but stay there one more second, he did not want to do. Stevie walked slowly across the front of the large supermarket peering down each individual aisle in search of salvation in the form of his mother. She wasn’t in the cereal aisle, or the aisle with all the pet food. She wasn’t in the canned soup aisle or the detergent and coffee aisle either. Stevie was just wondering why they put detergent and coffee in the same section when he caught sight of his mother standing in line at the bread counter. ‘Finally’, he thought, as he picked up the pace of his somber walk. He nestled up beside his mom at the counter without saying a word. He just stood there, with his hands resting deep in the pockets of his pants and waited for his mother to notice him, which didn’t take long.
“Steven,” she exclaimed, “What are you doing here?” Stevie’s mother opened up her arm inviting him to cuddle up close. Stevie just shrugged in response to his mother’s question.

“Well I’ll be done soon, honey,” she whispered leaning over to get closer to Stevie’s ear, “I’m right after this lady.” She continued as she pointed discreetly to a fat woman leaning on the counter.

“Four poppy seed bagels, and a loaf of rye bread” Stevie said, unintelligibly beneath his breathe.
“How can I help you?” The bakery man asked the fat lady.
“Um, can I please have… four poppy seed bagels and a loaf of rye bread?”

Stevie smacked his forehead with an open palm and shook his head in disbelief.

2001-11-17T04:11:00.000-05:00

*Standing Sue*
Sue was often taunted because of his name, but he liked it just the same. He lived with his aunt and her 7 children in a small wooden house in the valley near no particular place at all. Sue could never remember the names of all his cousins so he numbered them from one to seven in order of their ages, and organized them in his mind by the color of their cereal bowls.

Cousin One had a green bowl, cousin Two had a blue one, Three had yellow, Four had blue, like Two, but he was missing a thumb so he was easy to pick out, Sue called him Hitchhike. Five, Six, and Seven had orange, silver, and purple, in that exact order. Sue's cereal bowl was wooden. It was made out of three makeshift shingles that had fallen off the roof the day that Sue came to stay.

Sue never thought of himself as a ‘Cinderella’ because his aunt loved him very much. So much so that his cousins would often get angry with both he and their mother. Two Blue and Six Silver were especially sensitive. Sue loved his aunt very much, mostly because she always had chewing gum for him. Sue didn’t like Six Silver though; she was relentlessly determined to bind him to heavy furniture.

Sue was walking beside a small creek one balmy day, a creek that he had never seen before. He gazed in wonderment at that creek and began to walk along the dirt path drawn beside it. He had been in that valley everyday since he had gone to live with his aunt and he had never before noticed that creek. He tried to visualize every time he was in the area to see if his mind could recollect the stream. Sue was stumped; he couldn’t remember a thing.

His walk soon turned into a trot, then a jog, and before he knew it he was moving his arms and legs as fast as he could but gaining ground no faster. He never took his eyes off the stream. Sue finally reached a clearing in the woods and was stopped suddenly as if he had run into a glass wall. His jaw dropped as he stared across the open field into the distance and saw his cousin’s - One Green and Two Blue - waving their arms in the air and chasing each other in a circle. This sight would not have been so strange if not for the fact that one green had never walked, and two blue was unable to chase, according to the clinic.

Sue knelt down at the mouth of the clearing, and laid his hands and head on the ground. When he raised his head to behold the sight for a second time he found that Seven Purple had now entered the chase-circle and all three had spread their arms out as if they were children pretending to be airplanes. That just threw Sue off completely. The air around him was beginning to take on a strange smell, he wasn’t sure what he could and could not trust, largely because Seven Purple had not left the house since the day his father past away, but there he was, in plain view, elsewhere.

Sue turned away and looked back at the path beside the creek he had followed, only, the path was gone. He violently twisted his head back toward his cousins to see that Three Yellow, Five Orange, and Four Blue had joined the sibling circle. But now, they were running two feet off the ground, still chasing each other in a circle with their arms spread wide. Sue rubbed his eyes and then refocused on his cousins, he found the sight to be undeniable. He then took a few steps forward only to sink suddenly up to his knees in a mid sized puddle. He looked to the left, and then the right, behind, and then in front of him. He noticed that the creek he followed had vanished, like the path. All that remained was the puddle that consumed him.

Sue looked down into the puddle to see his mirror image slowly take the form of his dancing cousins. Sue ogled the puddle with addictive fervor, his eyes never straying from the sight of the cosmic demonstration. A small leaf from a nearby tree fell into the center of the puddle and threatened to compromise the integrity of the image, but Sue could still make out the phenomenon.

Sue couldn't believe what was happening to him. More than that, he couldn't believe that Five Orange had gotten over her fear of circles and Hitchhike stood within three feet of Two Blue, to whom he was allergic. The whole ordeal put Sue in a dizzy spin. His head grew heavy and his soaked knees grew weak. His body flopped to the side lazily and he landed head first into a pile of feathers. He woke up bewildered sometime later, all wrinkled, clutching a pillow in a bathtub in Zurich.

2001-11-17T02:59:00.000-05:00

Nickel Intuition
Stevie was an eight-year-old genius. He wasn’t the ordinary sort of genius; the kind that could perform astonishing math problems or read entire books in one sitting. No, Stevie was unique; he had the remarkable ability to know what other people were thinking. He didn’t hear voices, or stare deeply into his subject’s eyes, he just knew, like a sixth sense. Of course, his intuition was not 100% accurate, but it was as close as any human has ever been to reading minds.

Being of a young age Stevie didn’t really know how to harness his gift. It would come and go, fluctuate in terms of strength and frequency, and sometimes abandon him completely. It seemed that whenever he most needed his ability, he couldn’t call upon it to service him. Instead, Stevie’s power arrived at menial times, when it was more often than not, useless to him.

One afternoon, while playing video games in the local malls’ arcade, Stevie was approached by some larger boys he did not recognize. He scoured his mind and tried desperately to come up with names, but his mind was blank. He didn’t know them from school, or from softball, or from any of his extra-curricular art classes. What they wanted from him was even more bewildering.

“You got any money, kid?” The largest boy asked.
Stevie said nothing; he just looked around for someone to help. The useless guy with the Pez dispenser full of quarters attached to his belt was obviously nowhere to be seen. Instead, the only bystanders were two small blonde girls pumping nickels into a Barbie video machine that only took quarters.

“Well, do ya?” The large boy asked again, this time taking a step closer to Stevie.
Stevie still said nothing; he just looked over the shoulder of the large unnamed boy to see if by some stroke of luck his older brother happened to be approaching. No such luck was afforded.
“If you don’t cough up your cash this second kid, I’m gonna beat your face in.”
Well that didn’t sound good to Stevie at all. This would have been a perfect time for his intuition to kick in, but nothing was happening. The only sensation Stevie was experiencing came directly from his stomach. It was called panic.

“Alright kid, you asked for it.”
And just like that, the large boy lunged forward and socked Stevie right in the gut sending him to the ground. The two little girls at the Barbie machine turned to see the commotion. One of the large boys’ cohorts franticly searched all of Stevie’s pockets for money or anything else worth pilfering. The boys made off with $2.50 in quarters and a fresh pack of Stevie’s Double Bubble. Stevie was left on the ground of the filthy arcade; the two little girls were frozen with shock.

After a few minutes on the ground - and after making certain the larger boys were long gone - Stevie slowly clambered to his feet using the Commando 2 video machine for leverage. Stevie snarled in the direction of the two little girls as if to say ‘thanks for the help’. He didn’t really expect much from the puny kids but one measly little girly shriek would have helped draw at least some attention. Instead they just remained there, motionless, and did what bystanders do, they stood by.

Well that was just about enough humiliation for one day for Stevie. He brushed himself off the way he saw it done in so many movies and started toward the grocery store where his mother was shopping for food. He was supposed to wait in the arcade until she came to fetch him, but stay there one more second, he did not want to do. Stevie walked slowly across the front of the large supermarket peering down each individual aisle in search of salvation in the form of his mother. She wasn’t in the cereal aisle, or the aisle with all the pet food. She wasn’t in the canned soup aisle or the detergent and coffee aisle either. Stevie was just wondering why they put detergent and coffee in the same section when he caught sight of his mother standing in line at the bread counter. ‘Finally’, he thought, as he picked up the pace of his somber walk. He nestled up beside his mom at the counter without saying a word. He just stood there, with his hands resting deep in the pockets of his pants and waited for his mother to notice him, which didn’t take long.

“Steven,” she exclaimed, “What are you doing here?” Stevie’s mother opened up her arm inviting him to cuddle up close. Stevie just shrugged in response to his mother’s question.
“Well I’ll be done soon, honey,” she whispered leaning over to get closer to Stevie’s ear, “I’m right after this lady.” She continued as she pointed discreetly to a fat woman leaning on the counter.
“Four poppy seed bagels, and a loaf of rye bread” Stevie said, unintelligibly beneath his breathe.
“How can I help you?” The bakery man asked the fat lady.
“Um, can I please have… four poppy seed bagels and a loaf of rye bread?”
Stevie smacked his forehead with an open palm and shook his head in disbelief.

2001-11-17T02:26:00.000-05:00

Attempting to change the world