Wednesday, December 9, 2009

"...that's nothing, you should see me play piano..."

 With the holiday season once again going down on us, I felt it appropriate to remind you all with a special holiday update. At the same time, I fucking hate holidays, so you're going to have to just deal with more of the same old ranting, questionable grammar, and low-brow puns.

Sorry to have been so blunt there, I understand if you want to go back to your regularly scheduled web browsing. I'd link you, but I don't want to be connected with any of the weird shit you're into online (you know exactly what I'm talking about...) If you read the last post and haven't yet learned to live with my vagueness, here's a few reasons I barely write anymore.

Back in July(roughly around the time I stopped writing), I bought one of these babies (the Xbox360, not an Emu as seen above...) and since my motivation to be creative,provocative,social, or active has gone down quicker than a $20 crackwhore. I've racked up 2 days and change of Call of Duty Modern Warfare 2 alone, the shame of it all...

                                  Nerd remorse aside, I have been attempting to fill the void in my life that no amount of first person shooters and chain-smoking can fill.  As this is the most of written  in almost a year and I like to withhold plans so it seems like I've got something up my sleeve, I'm going to leave it at that. The reality of course is that I've got other shit to do and my 4am wakeup to finish homework  is taking it's toll on my ability to focus.

God damn you Adderoll, you're never around when I need you most.

Friday, November 20, 2009

Out but not down

 Good afternoon loyal fan(s), I'd like to take this opportunity to completely ignore the fact that I haven't updated this thing in almost 6 months. The overwhelming support I've been receiving from kind folks wanting to offer me Russian whores and cheap Viagra was all I needed to return to this mecca of self gratification and ego stroking I call home.

It's been quite a half a year if you must know. I've grown my hair out, gone back to school, and really not much else. At the cost of continuity, I've got to say, shit's been alright. I have big plans developing, in the form of something awesome, but you'll have to wait for it to happen. When it does, you'll know it's happened...

I really don't have much more to say. Mountain Goats concert later on this month. I'll be there. Almost through this semester, pretty sure I'm doing well. This is starting to sound like a conversation I'd have with a relative I don't particularly like, so I'm going to call it a day. I'll have something better eventually when there's something I can bitch about.

Saturday, May 16, 2009

This Ain't No Party, This Ain't No Disco...

I know, I know... Three or so months without an update and now here comes an update? I bet you're thinking "Oh man, he's going to pull out all the stops and have something truly amazing for me, because I'm a loyal fan." The proof is in the pudding, my friend.

I've got no pudding. I do have money though, the fruit of 102 hour pay periods(two weeks) which is what I'll blame my blog-neglect on. It's not that I had a personality crisis and couldn't seperate my online persona from real life and went through a bout of crippling depression... Don't be ridiculous! There's more to life than worrying about everything else, or being social, and if you're going to be social, there should be alcohol. I found out that despite my lack of Irish heritage, I enjoy Guiness quite a bit. I need to get over my misanthropic tendencies though, because apparently empty bars aren't as happening a time as I think. That'd be a good segway for my "Fuck what everyone else thinks, only my opinion matters" but much like the Boston Globe, I need readers.

The summer is coming, which means nothing good can possibly happen. The weather gets hotter, and after April eased the tip into the collective vagina of Massachusett's South Shore, I can confidently say that if you enjoyed it, you deserve to be beaten with a bag of dead puppies. I'm hoping Phase II takes off so I can fufill my dream of living out my years in Alaska or the Arctic circle, away from any temperatures over 60 degrees. What can I say, I don't like to be all sweaty and gross when I'm outside. I don't want to turn brown and get skin cancer, which is exactly what the sun does. You know what else is brown all you people who soak up those cancerous UV rays? Yeah.. shit, feces is brown. You're all shit...

"Hey Hans! I happen to love tanning. I even go sit in one of those oversized dildo looking booths in the off season and fry my flesh... You know, like every other stupid cunt does."

You like the heat? Get a fire. When you find some fire, die in it. There. I said it. This may rub some people the wrong way, but I've my my "Opinionated Hat" on (which is a proper noun and thus capitalization is required...) so yeah, eat a bushel of dicks. The hat does exist by the way, I'm not being clever. It's also been called by New Hampshire hat, douche bag hat, and "The Hat that some older chick hit on me in outside of 'The Half Door' some time a while ago." I'm not really a hat guy, considering my head is shaped so perfectly. Not wearing hats is my way of giving back to the world. You're welcome.

At any rate, I feel like I've met the required criteria for this little entry. Let me run through the checklist though:
  1. Random lyric from a song as title-Check (Talking Heads-Life During Wartime)
  2. Lame excuse for not updating-Yep. Work...
  3. Bitching about something out of my control- Fucking Sun...
  4. Misdirected anger- Tanning crowd (Bonus given for suggestion of violence)
  5. Random anectdotal run-on-Hat thing/getting hit on at "The Half Door"
Yeah, I think we're good here. I promise new entries will be added in a timely and eventual manner, at some point at some time, and possibly some real big changes. You'll just have to wait and see, now won't you... If you're seeing this at all that is. Leave some comments so I know my growing Solipsism isn't justified.

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

Oscillate Wildly

If you look around the site, you may notice I added another level of obnoxious to the color scheme, I felt the place needed some sprucing up. I'll fix it at some point, maybe next year. I down played the whole New Year thing because at the time, I was committed to not doing anything new. No big resolution or anything like that, but as luck (and my commitment to goals) would have it, I caved.

I have a bunch of little goals in mind, but fuck them, they suck. The one I'm focusing on with the little attention I have is getting into shape. It's not an easy task, but after finding some old pictures of myself (at 190 lbs) it hit me: You were great looking! While I've tried before in the past to remotivate myself into a slimmer state, this time's for real. I say this because I'm already three weeks into the madness that is "Being Healthy."

"But Hans... You smoke cigarettes, you don't eat fruit, and you're constantly staying up for days at a time. How are YOU healthy?"

Well, lets just say it's healthy the Strongo way... No one cares how much cholesterol they have or whether or not they're getting enough potassium in their diet. The real issue at hand is how they look. People who DO care about what they eat and put into their body and all that other silly shit, well, they are already attractive and well liked. Me? I've lost 9 lbs in 22 days by eating Frosted Mini Wheats, salads, and tofu. Do I get the recommended daily amounts of Vitamin D? Who knows? Do my pants fit better? You bet your flabby ass that all this talk of fitness makes you feel guilty about...

"Hans; you're being ridiculous. You've got a good personality, that's what people care about. And your sense of humor...."

That's enough out of you Devil's advocate/voice in my head(blog). You're fucking wrong. Personality is great, but it's what seperates the father to be from the "Hold my bag while I try on this vibrator." You might be the funniest guy alive, but without some modicum of "Dayum he lookin' fine *tripple snap*" then you're simply comic relief. You will be commissioned forever to make caddy comments during tv shows with your "Girlfriends."

This is my defiant fist into the vag of societies standards. Yes, I aware I am totally falling victim to the age old trend of hating myself via poor self image, but I want to look good in my own eyes as well. These past few years of being out of shape have given me the edge I need to go straight to the top. Married women, recently widowed women. No longer will I settle for the drunk chick that bites when you make out with her (though if you're reading this, give me a call...) when I have my God-Like Physique. Mark my words, loyal fan...

Suck my personality,world.

Strongo-1, Calories-0

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

Irreconcilable Indifference

Another new year and another extensive and unannounced hiatus. I'd like to say I've been really busy with this, that, and the other thing; in all honesty, I haven't done a damn thing. Thankfully, the holidays have come and gone and people are back to being douche bags.

The only thing worth looking forward to during the major holidays (the kind I get paid extra to work...) is not having to be in class. With that in mind, I go back tomorrow. Another semester in Brookline. Crammed into trains like the families of said Boston suburb (circa 1933-1945), and being forced between my scholastic responsibility and those horrid social obligations. As if I wasn't sulky enough, right?

Truth be told, I'm at the point where I'm beyond "First day jitters," this being my 5th semester. Just three or so more and I can join the world of pretentious assholes making the world a prettier place through the magic of graphic design. Or photoshopping penises into or out of pictures (depending on the client.) At any rate, I'll keep this short and sweet because the barrell of sleeping pills I took earlier are begining to massage my eyeballs with their magic little fingers, made out of jello and kitty cats.

That doesn't sound very hygenic at all.

Monday, November 24, 2008


While it pains me greatly to admit, I have to state publicly that I was wrong. The reemergence of late 90's androgynous teen heart throbs (although one of them was like 30 at the time...) is not the worst thing to happen. Much more dire than this proof that the sun should just burn out and kill the world that allows songs like "Mmmbop" (lyrics included, if you hate yourself that much...) to become hits is the fact that I am terminally ill.

Ok, so I have a cold and there's nothing terminal about it, but you can't argue that it isn't deffinetly a minor inconvenience. You could, I suppose, if I wanted to do the whole Devil's advocate thing, but for all intensive purposes, if you don't agree you're a cunt. I suspected something wicked afoot Saturday morning when I sneezed a record bajillion times in a row, yet I chose to go to work anyway.

My carelessness has come back to bite me in the ass it seems as my snot faucet will not cease. What's worse is I haven't had the resources to initiate my cure for the common cold, which is to consume an entire box of cold pills and a carton of orange juice in a smaller than recommended window of time. Bonus points if you use the cold pills that make you 'trip' (Cloricedens?) Instead of been trying to extract the healing powers of Ramen noodles and only being able to find four cold pills, suffering justly. Pseudoephedrine, Nonbenzodiazepine, Vitamin C, and a bit of ethanol are crossing blades in a gladiatorial death match throughout my body against this pugnacious pest of a cold.

Now to let nature take its course... (irony intended)

Thursday, October 23, 2008

Pseudothyrum and other silly words

As promised, I'm attempting to update this wretched thing. It's really becoming more trouble than it's worth, but much like the mysterious red blotches you found on your genitals after you slept with that questionable broad, its not going anywhere.

If you read the last post, I lamented briefly about my birthday coming up. Well, for those of you who are chronologically challenged, it's been over for almost a month now. Yeah, twenty one! Woo-fucking-hoo. Not quite so exciting when you've been cultivating cirrhosis of the liver since the tender age of thirteen, but hey, what can ya do?

If you're really dedicated, and have read back even farther, to where I was all cryptic and sort of mopey, kiss those days good bye. Not that things are going great or anything, but that horrible uncertainty is out of my life forever. While the news wasn't received in the most pleasant manner, and the aftermath burned like your esophagus after downing a room temperature cup of Ruble vodka (the kind that costs about $2 a pint...) it brings me comfort to have closure. It has officially been confirmed that I cannot distinguish between when a woman is hitting on me and just really a nice person. That's all I'm really going to say about that subject, simply because I don't want to seem like a chatty-Cathy. It's bad enough I've been reduced to her gay friend essentially. No no, I'm kidding. Blogger, you really suck with communicating sarcasm.

In other news, they tell me there's some sort of election going on? Ha! I'm kidding, no one talks to me, I saw it on the news. I haven't really followed an election since Clinton was running, and that was only because my big sister made it seem like it was important. By the time he was blowing his load onto his secretary's cocktail dress, I was much more concerned with finding my own plump secretary to blow loads upon and not about foreign policy.

I've seen the debates, which of course I mean recaps on the morning news. Quite frankly, I'm not concerned. No matter who is running the country, rest assured we'll find ourselves a way to hit rock bottom again. That said, I have a hard time stomaching the people that say there's no racial bias in this election. I'm sure all the 'socially aware' (see:18-34 crowd) are ONLY voting for Obama because of his stance on the important issues. I do not know enough about the aforementioned 'important issues' so I'll end what would otherwise turn into a rant at that, but we'll see what happens when the people hit the ballots. When their peers aren't around to say "Dude... if you don't vote for Obama you're a racist..."

Now now.. unclench those fists and keep reading. I'm not saying I want McCain to win either. After 8 years of Bush, we really don't need another warmongering republican to raise taxes and all the other shit that they say republicans do. Killing innocent people, eating babies, yada yada yada... There's NATO,NAFTA,FBI,CIA,WTO, and a shit load of other acronyms that are someway related to the USA. What this country desperately needs is TNA.

Yes, I did just say that American is in need of Tits-N-Ass(TNA) and I'm designating Alaskan Governor and Vice Presidential candidate Sarah Palin as the supplier of necessary Tits-N-Ass. Why? Why the hell not, she's a VPILF. She's got the sexy librarian look, she's got power, and she's got like five kids (so you know she's easy...) In addition to all these qualifications, she was also some sort of beauty pagent model or whatever(It was in the 80's or earlier, speaking of years with bush...). Lead our great nation into glory Saracuda, in an evening dress!

Sure, she may be a heartless cunt. Ok, sorry, that's not fair to say. She IS a heartless cunt, but that aside, I would much rather watch her from the comfort of my fallout shelter than Joe Biden. I'd like to reiterate that I have an extremely limited grasp on the issues at hand in this election, I'm just a sucker for chicks with glasses.

Maybe it's the beer or the hour, but I'd like to encourage people to be more open with their feelings. I don't mean cry on my shoulder or anything like that, but don't hide what you're thinking. The other day I was heading to class. It's 11:40 and I'm at Park St. My class is at 12, and under normal circumstances, I can make it only a couple minutes late. The train finally comes, at 11:45 and I jump on. I navigate artfully around the other outbound commuters to my favorite spot on the Green line, the handicapped spot. I was still feeling triumphant having beaten the near impossible solitaire on my ipod on the train ride up and now I get my favorite spot... things couldn't possibly get better...

Sure, the whole train smelt a little bit like Mac N Cheese right after you add the cheese and milk, but I wasn't going to let it bug me. I had a good spot, I was going to be on time... BUT WAIT! Some asshole in a wheel chair needs to be on the same train as me, at the same time for who knows what reason! They got the special ramp/lift thing and loaded his gimp ass onto the train, forcing me out of my beloved cripple corner. I decided if he got off at Arlington, I'd attack him out of pure rage. Lucky for him, a bunch of really unattractive women got on, preventing him from leaving even if he wanted to.

I let him know, through icy glares and an audible "What the fuck" when he wheeled over to me, that I was not pleased with his presence. A particularly oily women near me saw my frustration and shot a look of disapproval. I gave her a "Hey lady, when this train jerks forward my elbow is going into your throat" look and went back to sulking about the loss of my spot.

Moral of the story:I have nothing to write about...

Monday, September 15, 2008

Piping the star...

My goodness an update! Who'dve thunk it? Certainly not me, but there's a lot of important things I have to do today so it seemed only right for me to waste 15 or so minutes of my life to amuse the one of two people that bother reading this, if not myself.

First and foremost, a very happy belated birthday to Terrorism. Just seven years ago, people only knew you as an itsy-bitsy widdle bomb in the basement of the late World Trade Center, but boy how you've grown! That may have been an extremely insensitive thing to have said, but if you've read anything prior to this entry, you shouldn't be surprised. This also can be attributed to the record high number of retarded t-shirts, stickers, and American flag sales, not seen since the 1980 Olympic "Miracle" game in which The United States hockey team put a good ol' fashioned whooping on those filthy Russian commies. They said it couldn't be done, but when your coach is Snake fucking Plissken, anything is possible.

Speaking of birthdays, many of you may know that I will be getting yet another year closer to death very soon. So soon, that you could say it's exactly twelve days away, on September 27th to be precise. Yes, I will be reaching the ripe old age of 21, which for most is kind of a big deal since you can drink. When you've grown accustomed to getting black-out drunk on $10 handles of Vodka since the age of 13, the spark just doesn't seem as bright. Nonetheless, it's an excuse for inebriation and a chance to celebrate my own accomplishments, now if only I had a few to boast we'd really be in business.

I've been getting a lot of people asking "How are you going to celebrate? What do you want to get for a gift?" and since you fine people (person...) can't actually see me shrugging, I'll come out and say that I haven't the faintest idea. I don't like parties. Let me rephrase that: I don't like parties where I'm under the spotlight. Parties that other people throw, like in highschool where they don't lock up valuables and one person tells another person who tells twenty people and then the cops show up? Yeah, those are great. But to be the man of the hour? Wow, a lot of pressure there. I have to smile and thank people and read cards and stuff, be scrutinized under a microscope. Ride a god damned pony, distribute goodie bags, wear a silly hat. Ok, so that last little lament has happened for a good three or four years, but all the same....

There will be a party of course, nothing elaborate or too luxurious, but a happening time nonetheless. I am eternally grateful to have such wonderful people doing it in my honor, and am looking forward to it, yet I cannot help but feel a twinge of something. Not regret, since well, I haven't tried that hard to make it this far. Getting older just sort of happens, and while I'm not nearly as old as some people who may be reading this, it's a Rosanne Barr (pre-lipo) sized mind-fuck when you really think about it. With the amount of difficulty that goes into staying on topic, I'll just let you think about that a little bit, or else I'm going to end up getting way too philosophical and/or just more ridiculous and impossible to understand.

I got to get a taste of beloved New Hampshire yet again yesterday, on an adventure to Canobie Lake Park. For those of you who may not know the majesty of Canobie Lake Park, it's what Six Flags would be if it had been built in 1902 and scarcely modified since. For Massachusetts natives, it's a rare treat experienced mostly on Elementary School field trips and random treats from masochist parents who feel they can control their kids at an amusement park. It was a good time, I almost won an Xbox 360, if it weren't for some little bastard kid who got way too close and threw off my concentration. Nonetheless, merriment was had by most and though it wasn't nearly as cool as when I was 11, it was still pretty rad.

To sum things up: I'm getting older, looking forward to a party, and have serious problems organizing thoughts. Tune in for the next update, coming eventually...

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

Kicking butts, taking names.

I know I've joked/threatened/weakly attempted this in the past, but the time has come for me to give up on smoking. Sure, it does wonders for making one look cooler, and everyone needs to a little reminder that maybe they're run too long or walked up too many stairs, but the time is now.

Like most in the fair state of Massachusetts who are not ready to pay eight bucks a pack, a big "Fuck you, I hope your family gets murdered" at those who have made this change happen. You are scum and I reiterate that I hope your family is murdered/and or raped. All hostilities aside, this is a great opportunity for me, since I have no money, to go without those wonderful little cancer sticks.

This is actually not a complete certainty, as nothing in my life really ever is, but I've been putting forth an effort to stop. Less than a pack a day, which just a few months ago was around two or two and a half (thats 40 cigarettes or more per day..) This is all entirely for something I will make no reference to, not even really a vague description. Its not because I don't want to get cancer or anything, but yeah, it's something else. However, those uncertainties really manage to fuck things up when you're making a literal life or death situation, and while it may be my fault for not just getting an answer, well... Shut up!

That's really all I've got. This was started a few weeks ago when i was more motivated to quit smoking. Now there's some new variables and such. Feelings may get hurt, friendships will probably end, and I've got a hunch I'll continue smoking until I die at the ripe old age of whenever-the-fuck. Or maybe I'll just find out for sure the answer to my question..