Boogadaboogadaboogada

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)

Just when you think things can't get worse...

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...

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...

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..

The aesthetic theory to end all aesthetic theories

(Or why you shouldn't write papers when you haven't slept and had a bit to drink)

Apologies for the complete disregard for this thing, but yeah, school bullshit as you'll witness in just a moment. Before I delve into this vexing essay, of love lost and old Mel Gibson movies (the kind where he still has his accent, see Galipoli as well...) This will also be a good indication of all the valuable nuggets of knowledge I've acquired from my "Humanities through the arts" class.

For the tens of people who may actually see this, if you're a little confused, let me elucidate. You've probably heard of "Art History" or "Philosophy" right? If not, I'm going to have to start using words like 'elucidate' more often to scare you 'tards off. Fuck Your Blog is a classy place, not for slouches. Anyway... If you were to take Art History and combine it with Psychology and Anthropology and then throw it into a pair of women's pants and give it a portfolio. Art school approved!

Here it is. The essay that will undoubtedly gain me the disgust of the network of dudes who gave up on being artists or philosophers or personal assistants to Brett Butler of "Grace Under Fire" fame; and became Professors who teach this class.

I apologize for the lack of any formatting what so ever. You can save yourself time and download it, just don't pay attention to the name...

Download 'er

The text:
August 7, 2008
Humanities Though the Arts
My Aesthetic Theory
There’s an old cliché that states “Absence makes the heart grow fonder” and in relation to my thoughts on Aesthetics, I’m inclined to agree. Without being bombarded by pleasant things on a constant basis, one develops a certain appreciation for such luxuries when exposed to them. As long as the indulgence of said luxuries is not on a consistent basis, the purveyor of fine things is titillated in each of their applicable senses. For example, one who is aware of the mastery involved in a famous painting will savor gazing upon the fine art found in a Museum, provided it is not a routine excursion. One who constantly sleeps late will be able to find beauty in the sun’s ascension into the sky above, feeling delight in its warmth and awe at its majestic glow. The calculated notes in a grand symphony or opera will move a music aficionado, hanging onto every note as the sounds fill their ears with harmonious elation. All these things and more, though perceived as beautiful, even awe-inspiring, can become pedestrian with over exposure. Just as one begins to feel sick or retain weight after eating too much, it is not impossible to have too much of these normally breathtaking things. While your waistline may not expand as the aforementioned effects of gluttony, it is far more perilous to the enlightened part of the brain that decides what is pleasant and what is not, in the sense of aesthetics at least. As modern day inhabitants of the world, we look past the towering skyscrapers and near-infallible suspension bridges though they too are no less amazing than a Renoir or Monet. These are things most people see every day of their lives; there is nothing special about them anymore. This is why I believe my aesthetic theory lies within the absence of beauty, when the only thing to admire is the bitter lack of all that is green and glowing. It is in the absence of structure and in the visceral nature of mankind that indeed provide the source of beauty, inspiration, hope, and survival. It is the animalistic and savage will inherent in all human beings that command charge when there is nothing soft and nice left to gaze upon and social Darwinism is put to the test.
Dystopia: A society characterized by human misery, as squalor, oppression, disease, and overcrowding. Some would say this is what awaits us in the future; others seek comfort in rose-colored glasses, peering through cups supposedly half full. Whether through Hieronymous Bosche’s “Garden of Earthly Delights” or Dante’s Divine Comedy, the end of the world as we know it (pardon the REM reference) is an idea that has been ruminated through the ages rather extensively. Though many theological tomes predict divine retribution; Judgment Day; The Rapture, it cannot be proven any more factually sound than Harlon Ellison’s novella “A Boy and his Dog.” As nations grow stronger, bombs get larger, and priorities shift, the threat of complete annihilation or apocalypse are ever present.
While it is not a new topic by any means, the depiction of such catastrophic events has similarly grown in sophistication. No epic poems grace the New York Times best sellers list. Near as few as that are the people that read conventional books at all in the technological age we now inhabit. Why bother carrying around a dog eared paperback when you can simply download a piece of literature to some electronic device that fits in your pocket or can be clipped to a belt? Though it would be wholly untrue to say that films pertaining to the desolate and bleak future human kind may one-day face are not made for profit and entertainment, there is a slight cautionary air about them that simply cannot be avoided. While any film of this less than prestigious genre, or at least any worth mentioning, are beginning to show their age, it is hard not to associate the plight in such movies with those the world currently faces. The gas shortage world wide as seen in 1982’s “The Road Warrior,” Rampant consumerism shown vividly (albeit somewhat comically) in John Carpenter’s 1988 film “They Live,” or the effect of an over zealous Christian president in the 1996 film “Escape from LA.”
These aren’t films that typically win Oscars or other accolades from mainstream society. While their dialogue can be over dramatized, or the explosions and costumes a bit too overdone, their audiences are shown something that is impossible to paint upon a canvas or to scribe onto a scale. It is true that almost all the stories told involve the same archetypal ‘Reluctant Hero’ quixotically searching for something or someone, each one is dynamic in his own way. Though these heroes, which is a term to be used lightly at best, may be cut from the same cloth they all have separate motives for the course of action they choose. Max of Mad Max fame began as a police officer only to become the shadowy stranger in “The Road Warrior” and “Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome” Snake Plisskin, of “Escape from New York” and “Escape from LA” is a disgraced soldier who must choose his life or his integrity. Vic from “A Boy and his Dog” is simply a wanderer of the post world war three wastelands who becomes a pawn for an underground cult who entice the young man with their plan to use him as a breeder to sustain the population of their colony, which is more or less his only reason to live to begin with.

Society is dependent on its people, without a populous to rule there can be no ruling class. Without laws there is no order and without order there is chaos. While all this may be true, without museums can there be no art? Without instruments can one not enjoy a melody? Without seeing the sunrise or sunset, can a person not still draw energy from its rays? These are the things we take for granted; in our sprawling metropolises, while traveling through the vast caverns of subway tunnels or upon the never ending asphalt of our roads. Perhaps the minimalist designs of our skyscrapers, hospitals, office buildings, and schools do not draw the same attention as the archaic arches of gothic churches or the splendor of the great-domed cathedrals. What would it take to reinstate the awe once held by these structures? Overly eager use of the metaphorical “Big Red Button” and the ensuing nuclear holocaust or perhaps an unyielding assault from the elements; a vengeful God or moody Mother Nature at the helm. The lack of seeing such things would surely remind those who have become ungreatful for such modern wonders, as those afflicted in aforementioned films, of the true meaning of beauty.
Humankind has always prided itself on rationality; and though it has and will continue to be debated, there are a number of things we hold true to separate us from animals, though the ability to create art seems to be the most appropriate for this discussion. Our uncanny ability to decide what is good or bad, pleasurable or unpleasant, right or wrong. From the style of painting, to the way we do our hair, mankind has certainly come a long way from its humble beginnings, either as apes or children of Adam and Eve. However, without the gilded framed paintings in the marble floored museums we so pride ourselves on being privileged to, what more is there to humans but flesh and bone and the inherent trait of destruction.

Live free or die... In a fire!

My sincerest apologies for the lack of updates, folks. This blog is my baby, but I've been treating it with the type of neglect found commonly in overweight white women with greasy hair who shop at Fashion Bug and try to rent movies at Blockbuster with their EBT(food stamps...) card. My bad. I have a good excuse at least! I have been out of state!

I've always wanted to use that excuse and actually mean it. I guess New Hampshire, our (meaning Massachusetts) friendly northern neighbor, isn't the most exotic location one could think up but let me tell you, it was the bee's god damned knees. It's an entirely different world and yet only two or so hours away. I was shocked by it all.

People spoke to other people in genuine and amicable tones. They waved from their cars and held doors. I had a conversation with a complete stranger at Walmart (where I've seen more people in those wheel chair thingies than I ever have before...) that lasted a good 5 minutes, and not even the awkward kind of "Who is this dude and why is he talking to me" type of things.

I guess it could have been the latter since I started the conversation. At any rate, I was thoroughly impressed with the grand scope of everything involved. Stars man... fucking stars! When can I go out and look at the stars out here in this shit hole city? Never! But out there? The blanket of the heavens. Orien loosened up his belt to let the Big Dipper out and Leo watched the whole damn thing.

I never claimed to know anything about astrology...

A fire every night, enjoyed upon stumps with imported beer and good friends. What more could someone ask for? Complete and utter contentment with life. When you're surrounded by woods, water, and darkness, you've either just escaped some madman's cabin and you're running for your life or you're in New Hampshire. Watch out for madmen too though, I'm sure they're out there. Which brings me to the point of my excursion I'm sure everyone I know is sick of hearing.

True dark. Ever experienced it? I'm not talking about shutting all the lights off in your house and putting sheets over your windows, I mean absolute darkness in nature. I went off for a stroll in the wee hours of the night. Along the highway, it occurred to me that I was engulfed by the eldritch darkness. I embraced it like a small child; meaning of course I was cool with it for ten or so minutes then got uncomfortable. But for the few minutes I plowed through that ebony abyss (*) I was so taken aback by it all. I shut my iPod off and just listened to the deafening silence around me. Then I heard something that sounded like it could have been Bears or yetis so I went back to the light.

Lakes, Walmart, cheap beer, legal fireworks. I think the only thing New Hampshire doesn't have is diversity. It's like a giant homage to Happy Days before they brought in 'Sticks' the black drummer, with whom the Fonz was good friends with, to illustrate that segregation could sit on it of course.

Not wanting to pine too much for that country living, I'll wrap this up. The harsh reality that I will soon be crammed into a train car making my way further into the cold urban terrain of Boston into the slightly less cold and more Kosher semi-urban terrain of Brookline is both sobering and sad. Until we meet again New Hampshire, you silly little thing.


(*)I wasn't sure if this line was included in Dr.Phil's autobiography or not, but it's damn close to his account of fisting Oprah. Just covering my ass here guys...

Bitches Eat Free

Back again, back again... Can you really be back somewhere if you didn't leave though? I'm sick of all these paradoxes I seem to be running into, solely based on the fact that I think about things way too much. It's almost worth offending or ostracizing a room of people just so I know that I'm not thinking.

Alcohol helps with this generally. But with alcohol, comes that period of time the next morning when you have to think about all the people you may have hurt. If your knuckles aren't pushed back into the middle of your hand or ripped open, there's a good chance you didn't hurt anyone physically (though not a bad idea to check your shoes for blood.)

I've never been one for philosophy, or regrets. I find them both ridiculous in their own ways. Philosophy has been a way for 'intellectuals' to ponder life's meanings and argue one point or another in some banal and stiff collared fashion since those Man-loving Greeks. I do like Voltaire, but he was an entertainer. French AND a total douche? Who would have thought those two qualities could have been in one man? Especially a French man...

"Regrets? I've had a few... but then again, too few to mention." Ol' Blue Eyes, or Sid Vicious, depending on who you ask, said it best. I have these moments of regret from time to time. Not that I've done anything truly horrible in my day, but when it comes down to it, it's the things I haven't or won't do that really get me in those metaphorical "Gun in mouth" moods.

I'll never kill myself. I'll never be able to deprive the world from doing so. I'll never find what I'm looking for. I'll never be as happy as I could be. Why? Because I've become too philosophical. I put more thought into the idea of things instead of actually doing them, and for that, I torture myself.

"But 'Hans' why don't you just do the things you want to? As long as they're not totally outrageous or expensive beyond belief, what the fuck man?"

It's simple really. Too simple, and thus requires this stupid mound of brain tissue to get all fucking prosy and muck things up. The worst I can do is fail. The worst anyone can say is no. But god damn, if it didn't come with the awkward, soul crushing, heart splitting feeling of defeat.

This is becoming the diary of an adolescent girl. If I post next week that I finally got my period and how Eve 6 is awesome, someone please kill me, since I can't even do it to myself.

le sigh.

Maybe sprout wings

As if my "Rooftops and Mutton Chops" post wasn't enough reminiscing and nostalgia, it was yesterday exactly one year ago that I became a vegetarian.

Yes, one full year without eating the flesh of another living creature. Its not hard, but seriously, don't try it. The less people that become Vegetarians, the more interesting the ones who are remain. I don't know what it is, but once someone knows about it, you're looked at in a different way, generally positive. Sure, there's the fag stigma involved, but I go to Art school. If you think I'm a queer because of those two things, let me know and we can arrange my kicking your teeth in and/or fucking your girlfriend/wife/sister/mother.

Moving right along...

Yeah, I don't really have anything else to add. It's 3:52 in the morning and I'm beat. No sleep til Brookline though, it's Thursday already!

Of Rooftops and Mutton Chops:A Year in Retrospect

Can you believe it? One full year has come and gone since I started pouring my deep and dark secrets into this shiny computer for all of the internets to see. Not that I've said anything too shocking, or that anyone who I haven't awkwardly and entirely self-satisfactorily told of its existence has read it. You know what I mean though... Or maybe you don't?

It takes a lot to write a blog, despite the way it's so carelessly thrown around. Otherwise, you end up being like one of the thousands of other douche bag bloggers out there, and no one wants that. That was my original goal with this blog: Search and destroy! Comb through the mediocre, pseudo-intellectual, creatively masturbatory and altogether mundane blogs from one corner of the internet to the next.

But, like most things with more than a few steps and effort involved, I lost interest. I decided to join that group. Those elite few that blog through the realization that they're really not as hilarious as they think they are. They push themselves to come up with something witty, even though they haven't slept and they've got stuff due at work or school or at the unemployment office.

We 'bloggers' are like the inoperable brain tumor of the net. Sure, you can go sailing with your dogs and all that jazz, but sooner or later, you're going to end up reading one. And you're going to think it's stupid and gay and want to make fun of it. But what type of medium does one choose for shit talking a most likely obscure and unknown place upon the internet? A blog! Fight fire with fire, that's the ticket. Well, long story short, I've been here for a year and pussied/lazied out of the original dream.

I'd like to think I've performed a service to those precious few that diligently read this; palms sweaty with anticipation of an amusing Hans Strongo anecdote. You folks are the reason I boot up in the morning. The reason I live the way I do, with the exception of alcoholism, which I inherited.

That's actually not true, not entirely I guess. I feel bad for letting this thing go for so long. Jesus, almost an entire month without an update? Way to go... I strive for accuracy with this bullshit, and perhaps that's my problem. I have to wake up, go to school or work, and prose up all the pedestrian bullshit that happens on the way. I don't want to sound like I'm whining (Or whingeing for you Eurotrash types) but yeah, that's sort of how I do things. If there's nothing epic going on, it takes that much more effort for me to come up with something to write about, and if you ask anyone of my teachers from high school, effort is not one of my strong suits.

Rest assured though, my devoted blogees, I will be attempting to come up with more bullshit for your time wasting and brain numbing pleasure. Phase II is coming! You've been warned, be there or be square!

Back by Popular demand

After a short hiatus and brief mental breakdown, your favorite (maybe at least like, top 10?) blogger is back with a brand new invention. Well, ok... I didn't invent anything, but something does grab a hold of me nightly and I DO flow like a har..


No! No more Vanilla Ice. He died, and it's for the good of the world.


Vanilla Ice didn't actually die, but it's a good idea to make up rumors about obscure celebrities dying. Vanilla Ice is actually a really bad example, since most people would just be like "The dude who did 'Ice, Ice, Baby' and then went on to be some sort of wannabe hardcore act? Fuck him."


Use lesser hated, and yet more random celebrities, like as follows.

Example:

You:"Dude, did you hear about Andrea Barber?"

Unsuspecting person:"Who the fuck is Andrea Barber?"

You:"Kimmie Gibbler from Full House, don't you remember?"

Unsuspecting (though now intrigued) person:"Oh yeah.... What happened?"

[This is where it counts, and the most important part of your utter and pointless lie.]

You: "They found her heroin saturated corpse hanging from the rafters of her home in Wichita. Supposedly, she left a note, but they haven't released anything yet..."

U-P:"Holy shit... that's fucked man..."

Hook, line, and sinker; you reeled yourself a big ol' gullible mouth bass. By using obscure celebrities, particularly those who have stayed out of the lime light for a while, you create closure.By associating a character to the name, you establish connection to your target's memory.Make sure to include a place of death; if you've got a decent grasp on geography, pick a nice place you expect someone whose career died before the did to live. The 'details' of their death show that YOU are an authority, and the more elaborate, the more it becomes not only believable, but you convince that person that they must just be out of the loop, almost guaranteeing this bogus info will be passed along upon said dolt's next trip to the market,PTA meeting, or Brothel.

Why should you lie about celebrities? Well... They're scum. Deep down, everyone loves when movie stars (Or the annoying neighbor from beloved early 90's sitcoms) die. Just make sure you do it with style, sophistication, and a straight face.


Until next time you lovely little sunflowers.

Take this blog and shove it.

I'm done.


Thanks for reading.


Thanks for nothing.



"And in the final moments, with his last living breath, he shouted hoarsely : 'Fuck Your Blog.' That was the last we saw of Hans Strongo, the villain supreme."

Scuba diving and politics don't mix.

Holy shit, someone hasn't been updating this...

And that someone is me!

Yeah, sorry lady and gentleman, I've been busy. Art school and all that shit.

Summer Sanders. Anyone remember that chick? She was an Olympic Gold Medalist swimmer who went on to host Nickelodeon's 1997 Smash hit "Figure it Out." Why would I bring up something like this? Clearly you haven't been reading this bullshit from the beginning.

In other news... Well, ok, there is no other news. I'm pushing myself to update this thing while not doing my "Life Drawing" final. There you have it, folks. Hans Strongo is all about his fan(s) and irresponsible at the same time. Like you couldn't figure the last one out.

Semester is over in about two weeks. Expect updates more frequently, and MAYBE, just maybe.. Something special in the near future. For now, I'm going to get back to watching Lifetime movies, which is the only place you can find Shannon Doherty since Rose McGowan took her spot on Charmed. Or was that the other chick? Not Sam from "Who's the Boss?" but there's another chick. Is it Courney Cox? Was she on Charmed?

Another stunning revelation: Hans Strongo does not watch Charmed regularly enough. We're just breaking down the barriers here today! I guess I owe it to ye faithful few who visit this page every day, hoping to satiate that nagging Strongo fix. To keep up with all these dark secrets revealed, I can't make a cursive "Z" or "Q" and don't plan to ever learn. Third grade was trying enough without having to absorb that jazz.

In entertainment news: "There Will Be Blood" wasn't that great. It was as if the title was reassurance to those curious parties who didn't bother with it in theaters. Much to the dismay of haematophiliacs everywhere, the aforementioned blood was scant at best. It may have been because I wasn't paying much attention, or that it really sucked as much as I thought, but yeah, don't waste your time, money, or hard drive space on these garbages.

Alright, I feel like I've fulfilled my obligation. To all of you read this thing, leave a fucking comment or something. Sheesh, talk about lack of motivation...

Free stuff?

Possibly, but until I win an iPod, feel free to proxy that as much as possible.


Click this silly little banner, put your info (or info you make up) and get me some free shit! All you have to do is make searches. Some people say that there's Malware involved, but if you're not downloading anything, you should be fine.



After that, go to proxy.org and type www.winzy.com/strongo and do the process again, as many times as you possibly can. Or you can do it for yourself too!

20 Friends? Heh... I've done it about 9 times. 20k in Winzy points all put toward an end of month sweepstakes. No cost, other than about 20 minutes a day making searches for "Pancakes" at a rate of one letter per search and a lot of exclamation marks.

No Sleep til Brookline

G00dness, it certainly has been a long time since this dystopian portion of the internet has been updated, and for that, I apologize. My only regret is that I have no good excuses to explain my extended absence.

I didn't get beaten to death by an angry mob of Red Sox fans, I didn't get abducted by Dr.Phil to be a panelist for his latest publicity stunt/Britney Spears intervention. I didn't catch HIV from being in the same state as Paris Hilton(because it can happen!)

So then what the hell was I doing for a whole goddamn month or so? Well, not a whole lot. Art school is tough, because it's not just "Hey! Write this ten page paper on a subject from this list." It's more like: "Hey! Why don't you take a product label, match its colors using only acrylic paints. Oh, and you can only use primary colors." That's the shit I've been dealing with. Yes, Art school can be a pain in the ass, but for every tedious logo redesign or gesture drawing, there's a hot artsy chick, so it all balances out.

I'm not sure if it's come up before or not, but I do not use illicit drugs of any kind. I take sleeping pills, and I'm prescribed to Adderol (Up to 30 MG now!) but other than that, I've been "Clean and Serene" for close to six years. Well, not counting booze, which over the past six years I have consumed copious, often socially disastrous at time, and while it was and continues to be partaken in illegally, alcohol is not a drug.

Moving right a long, you've got to be creative for art school. You've gotta have what it takes! Not just any loafer off the street is cut out for art school. You think just because you can wriggle into your little sister's jeans you can get a place here? You've got another thing coming, chief. You've got to think on your toes and stuff, which is why I don't sleep.

What?

Every Thursday, for about a month, I stay up all night. It's absolutely amazing, like a drug but you can keep your self respect. Nothing else is quite like sleep deprivation. Colors are brighter, coffee is hotter, air is airier. Everything is an adventure. I get on the train in the morning and the only thing that matters is that I don't fall asleep. I find myself being amazed by the woman in front of me, and how large of a mouth she has. It's a time when Frank Black makes perfect sense, and you find yourself taken aback by things you never would have thought of before. You talk to people you wouldn't, you say words you normally wouldn't, and despite your crippling exhaustion, you just can't stop!Combine this with Adderol? I'm a fucking wrecking machine. A coffee chugging, mad rambling, bleary eyed, fucking powerhouse of awesomeness and weirdness combined into one beautiful man shaped machine.

Hopefully, my anecdote will be sufficient enough to palliate the frequency(or lack of) updates for you my loyal legions of fan.

And if not, well... Fuck you and Fuck Your Blog!

The Filth and the Floozy

"Hey kid, if you're under 18
You'll probably get off easy
so feel free to blame it on it me.
Hey kid,
Just remember if you blame it on me
I'll take the heat and you can plead insanity
Kill a Celebrity"
Ramallah-Kill a celebrity

Forget Ozzy, these are some lyrics that need to acted out in real life. Particularly on this piece of shit to the right.

If you've gotten this far and are wondering what the fuck I'm on about this time, you apparently missed the morning news (at least in America.) Ms. Spears is going crazy again! In less than a month, this is her second trip to a hospital for psychiatric issues. Enough is enough!

This story was reported before a story about John Edwards and his dropping out of the presidential race (WBZ-4, Boston) and it's now being discussed further on the Early Show. Is this really the country we live in? I can bear police injustice, starving kids, and limits on constitutional rights, but really? Are you kidding me? This fucking cunt is taking air time from the future leader of the free world?

Hey Canada, shave your legs. I might be coming over later, wear something nice, maybe light a few candles.

The shittiest thing about this is that I'm not going to be able to get away from this fucking story. Plastered across every newspaper on the train is going to be Whore-Face Bucket-Cunt Brit, and Park St. will be running rampant with cellular douches all gabbing to whomever about her 'downward spiral.' Practically fresh from her last custody battle and this is how she acts, oh boy are those kids going to be fucked up...

It wasn't discussed in depth, but they say Dr. Phil will be present with her. Oh great! Where the fuck is Dr.Kevorkian, that's the Doc for her. This woman doesn't deserve to live, and yes, to anyone who wishes to question me, I AM qualified to make this decision.

I just vomited, I'm so fucking enraged. To the staff at the UCLA medical center: Please do the right thing and suffocate her with a pillow. Pull whatever plug she's on. Anyone living in the area, please murder this bitch in cold blood.

"Hit me baby one more time."

Oh I'd fucking love to.

A Niche to Scratch

Hello my dears, it's been a while.School has started again, which makes my time even more limited, especially now that I'm out socializing and stuff. No more staying up late or drinking everyday, but there's one thing that never seems to change. As if by fate, I always find myself the victim of really horrid images that seem to pass for pornography.

Now, I'm not some crazy sex pervert or anything, but it's a lot like being on boat in the middle of the ocean with a fishing rod and having nothing else to do. The internet is porn. Sure, there are these neat blog dealies (and many many many not so neat ones) and you can IM all your friends or play some games, but when you break down the internet, it's quite easy to see.

Before you start making assumptions about my masturbatory habits (you sick fuck!) let me preface this by saying: No. It's not like that. I'm no saint, and I AM human, but these late night cruises on the information super highway lead me off that seedy Exit into pornsville, and usually, it's the very wrong way. Until they invent a Porn-Porn (ya know, like Tom-Tom) I'll share with you tens of tens of people who get stuck reading my stuff my pornographic faux pauxs.

Google! We all know it, we all love it. Where do you go when you need to find something on the internet? Whether it be a picture or lyrics to a song (every picture, with the exception of this, this, and this have been from Google.) Now that you've found your picture of the coffee table you think would look great in your living room, what do you do? Personally, I can only stand myspace to check messages/delete the porn-bots, and ya know, ADHD...

Soooo... Just Google and I. Nothing else is going on, no one is on ICQ and I've got no new Myspace comments from my loyal fans (you sons of bitches!) Hey! I wonder if I can find that picture of Brittany Spear's vagina that everyone keeps talking about. Google, you super sleuth, go git 'er!

Interesting. My curiosity has momentarily been satiated and I don't need to eat for the rest of the day. If you Google the term ass, looking solely for pictures of donkeys, you're going to get some interesting results (provided safe search is off.) Whether you like lovely lady ones or the big ol' hairy dude ones (you sick weirdo!) you're going to find it on Google. Here's where I get in trouble.

Often Googleing the first thing that pops into my head, I get a plethora of weird things. Clicking on said images, you get to see a small preview and an option to see the original source. Some of the things that pop up are just so gosh darn inappropriate for anyone to see that you've got to wonder what sort of site would be held responsible. But of course! The soft, often sticky, smelling strongly of cologne, underbelly of the internet.

If you've never been to a porn site, I'll explain. They organize their pictures and movies into categories, according to the target audience. While some sites specialize in just one thing, there are also things called "Galleries" that cater to all sorts of tastes/fetishes/disorders. You've got your Amateurs, Anal, Blow jobs, Cum shots, etc. Whatever act of perversion your little heart desires to see. You make your selection, and like magic, get moved on over to a full listing of just that particular category. If all this is old news to you, and you're a porn expert, remind me not to shake your hand if we should meet.

This is where the internet steps in to ruin porn for everyone. There are some things that no one should ever see, let alone do with another being (dead or alive). It really boggles the mind to think who can actually sit and watch this stuff and not only tolerate it, but enjoy it. Two girls, one cup; we've all seen it. Somewhere out in the world, someone has that saved on their computer as a screen saver. Someone has played it repeatedly while rubbing one out before having to leave for his job as your child's 6th grade teacher.

In addition to people shitting on/in/around each other, you're going to find a lot worse than just some simple Coprophilia and you've really got to wonder how people can be into them. Different strokes for different folks though, right? I don't want to meet the people that get their strokes to this stuff:


"Monster Cock"- Dudes with giant dongs fucking chicks. Why you would want to see a hot chick being plowed by some dude with a penis longer than your arm? You don't have one anywhere near comparable in size to his, or else you wouldn't be sitting in a musty room yanking your crank to it. You might actually get to, ya know... use it on someone? Also, if you're main interest in your pornography is the man parts (with which this would be the focal point) you might as well just go with gay stuff. They might not be packing pork loins, but it's quite clear if this is your forte that you're infatuated with man meat.


Pee/Poop: Yeah... Eww. Come on... I still try to convince myself that girls don't poop, and it has gotten me this far in life. You've got to wonder where in life people went wrong that they end up being on the end of a 'Golden Shower.' Is baby food really that expensive?


Midgets: Sure, when you're hanging with your buddies this might be funny to watch. Ol' Bridget the Midget, who I probably would have sex with (she is a midget...) but it's not really something you should be watching alone.


Transsexuals/Transvestites: Hey! Guess what? You're gay! Sure, you like the soft curves of a woman, but you're still thrilled by the rigidness of a hard cock. You're a homosexual! Make up your god damned mind, bi-sexual doesn't exist for guys. Build a thousand bridges,you're a bridge builder. Suck one cock, you're a cock sucker. I might be close minded, but you're getting your rocks off to chicks with dicks, who's got the problem?


Mature: There's a reason women go through menopause. I'm not sure what reason that is, and while I'm all for being "Over 40 and active" no one should ever see it. Mmm, yeah.... Cellulite and saggy breasts, that's hawt stuff. If you've really got a hankering to fuck your buddy's mom, give it a shot. The worst she can say is no, and there might be some awkwardness, but think about if you actually got to.

Hairy/'Natural': In the real world, women are busy. Not all of them have the time to meticulously remove the hair from their vagina. Now women who are being paid to perform sex acts for the internet, you'd think they'd take the time to trim a bit. I understand that this is a fetish thing and no so much like "Woops! Forgot to wax my vag..." but who the hell really wants to look at Big Foot in a leg lock?

'Young': Ok... I know what you're probably thinking. Now this doesn't necessarily mean Child pornography, but they certainly try. In my humble opinion, it's twice as fucked up to try to find a girl who is legal but looks like she's only 12. So all you girls who think you're too skinny, or you're self conscious of your mosquito bites, worry not! You may never be a topless dancer, but as long as you can wriggle into some Osh Gosh B Gosh, you may be the next Young porn phenomenon.

Hopefully if anything, this entry has been informative to those who haven't been exposed to the real reason behind the internet.Let's face it, in a world where games like World of Warcraft have BILLIONS of players, is there any wonder why so much abhorrent porn exists? It's fairly safe to say there's a lot of fucked up people on the internet, with WAY too much free time on their hand(s).

So before you frown on the guy who gets arrested for having sex with animals, stop and think. Some where, at this very moment, there is someone sitting in a dimly lit room, with an overflowing ashtray and a two liter of RC Cola making a Google image search for the same thing. The only difference, the 'Friend of Beasts' is actually getting some.









Kinda...

Snappy New Year

A new year is upon us! Rejoice and be merry. Then kill yourself. Make a bunch of resolutions you'll never stick to, like losing weight or quitting smoking. You won't do either. You'll talk about it, and maybe write it down. You might even take a stab at it for the first week of January, but we both know it's not going to happen, quit while you're ahead.

It's 2:17 and my throat hurts. My stomach too, and my knuckles. What does this have to do with anything you say? Nothing, I just felt like telling you about it. Deal with it.

I have nothing new at all to share with ye internets, but it's been a little while since I updated. So yeah, there you have it.

Losing interest in you own blog....

*sigh*