Wednesday, October 31, 2007

Bloggin' is my business and business is mediocre at best.

First and foremost, Happy Halloween. The day when whores wear extra tight pants and cat ears and call it a costume. When kids get abducted by pedophiles and houses get vandalized by teenagers. I hope they're still freezing eggs, those were always the best to throw at someone's face.

Sadly, with my responsibilities, I will not be celebrating Halloween, as I have a class until 10 PM. Sure, I could go out after, but then there's that pesky 9 AM class the next morning. Yes, all work and no play makes Hans Strongo a bundle of rage. Meh, what else is new? It's all pretty pedestrian, the holiday thing. Not just Halloween, all of them.

I've given up drinking. Yes, I know, I know.. I've said it before, this time for real. No more "Just a couple beers" or "No hard shit" I'm just done. No more alcohol. If my blogs start to make sense and show some coherent structure, you can blame my abstinence and I apologize in advance. I figure if I can give up drinking, I'll be able to give up smoking a lot easier, because addictions suck and I'm striving to be even more of a douche then ever.

For you geeks out there, they released Manhunt 2 today. A brief synopsis of the first one: You're a death row inmate, you're released by a dude called "The Director" who watches you on camera. You have to kill a bunch of people, snuff style, in order to gain your freedom. Fun stuff! Now, before it's release, this game was branded by the ESRB(bunch of retarded Christian fucks) as Adults Only, which will pretty much guarantee that the game will tank. With an AO(adults only) rating, stores have to be extra strict with sales of the game. Well, even with the Mature rating, leave it up to the liberal bags of dicks to try to ruin everything. This game was all over the news, being blasted for it's "Over-the-top violence and realism." Parents are being urged to not allow their children to play this, because logically, they will turn into pure bred killing machines. One Harvard twat even said that when played for the Wii, it teaches kids HOW to kill... They then went on to say how Columbine was pretty much influenced by a violent video game the two faggy goths used to like to play. Imagine my surprise, here I am still thinking Marylin Manson was still at fault.

Kids, play all the violent games you want. Shit, go into the streets and act out your favorite Grand Theft Auto moments. That's what kids do these days, accept it. They're going to sell drugs, they're going to have unprotected sex and rainbow parties. They're going to burn down churches and suffocate in plastic bags; it's nearly unavoidable. For these children, I'm releasing my idea for a new game controller.

Now, it's not yet patented, so please don't steal my idea. The gist is, after an afternoon of merriment and mayhem, giggles and guts, when your child must feed his need for blood after hours of polygonal pandemonium, let them play with this little gem. It comes with 1 9mm slug (refills available for large families) and an easy to use 1 button interface. Simply put the mouth piece into your mouth(or to the side of head/under chin) and pull the action trigger.*

* not responsible for any injuries/deaths caused by product. Don't be a fuck-hole, violent video games don't turn people into psychos, organized religion and politicians do. Listen to heavy metal and worship Satan, have unprotected sex, and do whatever the hell you want until you're old enough to be tried as an Adult, then grow the fuck up.

Wednesday, October 24, 2007

Hated in the Nation

I tried as hard as I could, even playing along for the jinx factor. Sadly, the Red Sox are in the world series. This could be the end of our fair city as I know it. Sure, Boston is rife with crime, decay, poverty, and yuppies. Now on top of train delays and weather that changes more frequently than some sort of frequently changing machine, the city is faced with an army of popped collars, pre-faded jeans, flip flops, and 'vintage' style hats.

A plague of miscreants, leaving their nice suburban homes and office jobs to brave Landsdowne St for their favorite team. And no, there's nothing wrong with that, I have nothing against a group of over paid, over appreciated guys who get paid gross amounts of money for doing something they love (bitter?). It's the fact that these people (and I use that term loosely) act like the biggest douches on the planet.

MOVE INTO THE FUCKING TRAIN! Pretty much common sense right? To a Red Sox fan, when the train driver says "Please move into the train so that others may board" it means "Eeeeey, stand by the doo'ah, guy. It's gahnna be wicked pissah,dood!"

Oh, I'm sorry your kid has a broken leg. Maybe you should have left them at home instead of bringing them to a baseball game? No sir, I'll not give up my seat for your defective kid. It's every man for himself on the train, and Red Sox fans get absolutely no sympathy from me. Don't want to be crammed next to another dude? Sure, I don't either, but it doesn't make you gay. The way you idolize an athlete, now that's leaning a bit on the homo-scale.

If my memory serves me well, the Yankees played the Indians for their shot at whatever we played the Angels for. So then, shouting "Yankees Suck" at the top of your lungs from Park Street to Kenmore served what purpose? And um.. haven't they won like 4x the amount of World Series we have? This is our second time being here in 20 years, don't get so god damn cocky.

Being the nice guy I am, I revamped the logo for you Red Sox Nation types. Please, feel free to use it, embrace it, love it. You all have certainly earned it with your boy crushes on large Dominican men, over used(and factually inaccurate) slogans, improper T etiquette, and general failure to be decent human beings. Enjoy my lovelies

Yes, a Vulcanite Anal douche, sounds very Star Trek but you've earned it. No really, no need to thank me, it's all for you Red Sox Gay-tion. If the Red Sox lose the series, I'll personally assist in any way I can in a mass suicide, honestly, it'd be my pleasure. I'll dispense the Kool-aid right on Yawkey way for yas.

Bunch o' cunts.

Friday, October 5, 2007

Little Social Security Office of Horrors!

I lost one of my books for school and had a bit of a meltdown. After doing one of the mandatory stress tests and totally freaking out on the poor women whose job it is to read the shit, I felt a little better. I decided rather than waste the day reading comic books and watching movies, I'd be productive.

As I've stated in the past, I don't drive. Never got my license, driving permit is expired, I have no valid ID whatsoever. After going to the tattoo place, I was informed I'd need at the very least a Mass ID. The only problem with a Mass Id, is that I need a real social security card and all I have is a photocopy. I glanced over the Social Security website for the requirements of getting a replacement, and it stated clearly that they could not use photocopied ones or birth certificates. At this point, I'm freaking out. What a vicious circle! Can't get ID because I don't have a Social Security card and can't get one because I don't have ID! I took my school ID, birth certificate, pieces of mail, and my photocopied card just in case.

For those of you who are familiar with Quincy Center, the Social Security office is in Presidents Plaza, across from the T station. I had no idea, but yes, it is apparently more than just a Dunkin Donuts, a "Stash's Pizza, and a Dentists office. Who knew? Anywho, it's on the second floor of this building. I went in, took a number, and sat down in my own section of the room. What a sight it was.

On one side of the room, you've got a myriad of cultures, all trying to figure out social security or they've been caught using a fake one, who knows? On the other side, it was a grazing ground for a group of industrial size vats of tapioca pudding, vaguely resembling human beings. And last but not least was a band of coffin dodgers, older than the hills and smelling of Polydent and death. They were there to let the Social Security people know that against the very will of the universe, they would still be receiving their social security checks. Adult diapers and hard candy aren't going to buy themselves, now are they?

I waited for what seemed like an eternity, I thought for sure we'd have at least one casualty before my number was called. Between the shifty eyed Latino man jumping out the window at the sight of an INS agent, the Mack truck sized woman, whose breathing I could hear over my (very loud) music, heart giving out, or one of the denture wearing geriatrics to simply getting too close to the air vent and turning to dust before my very eyes, leaving a pile of orthopedic shoes, cataracts glasses, sensible slacks, and a "Life Alert" bracelet behind.

Alas, nothing of the sort. Waiting, waiting, waiting. There was a slight argument, but no blood, not even profanity. Finally, number 104 (that was me) gets called. I snake my way through the refugee camp, fat camp, and the AARP headquarters and get to the window. I tell the woman behind the glass my needs, and present my Student ID and application. In the back of my mind, I half expected to be told I didn't exist. A SWAT team busting down the doors and repelling through the windows to haul me off to some secret base in a mountain somewhere. Or have to face an interview with Harrison Ford or something to determine if I was a replicant (Blade Runner reference...) Safe this time. She entered my info in the computer and gave me a piece of paper. I will be the proud owner of a brand new Social Security card in 7-10 days.

Monday, October 1, 2007

I hate it here (Adventures in Brookline, part Deux)

Another day in Brookline, where the library gets barely any signal wireless wise and everyone reads the fucking newspaper. Don't these people have jobs? I decided after finishing up at the library, I'd loaf around the streets of "The Line" and see if I could find anything cool.

After 30 minutes in Brookline alone, the mind starts to wander. The sheer lack of anything cool to do puts tremendous pressure on an outsider, mentally and emotionally. I must've looked like Arnold Scwartzenegger at the end of Total Recall (when he is on the surface of Mars) I thought my head was going to explode.

Luckily it didn't. I don't think this town could handle such excitement. After getting some shitty pizza at some shitty pizza place, I went to my school. I was like 2 PM, and thus had 2 hour to kill. I decided to see what kind of connection I could get sitting at one of the many little outside tables we have. Sure enough, great connection! I'm fucking zooming! Signal was stronger than the Pee smell in the doorway to the garage under the Stop and Shop building in Quincy Center.

My 4 PM English class was canceled, I can finally leave Brookline!