Fuck Your Blog

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

2009-12-09T22:07:00.000-05:00

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.

Out but not down

2009-11-20T13:13:00.000-05:00

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.

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

2009-05-16T07:55:00.006-04:00

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:

Random lyric from a song as title-Check (Talking Heads-Life During Wartime)
Lame excuse for not updating-Yep. Work...
Bitching about something out of my control- Fucking Sun...
Misdirected anger- Tanning crowd (Bonus given for suggestion of violence)
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.

Oscillate Wildly

2009-02-03T04:24:00.003-05:00

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

Irreconcilable Indifference

2009-01-13T23:01:00.002-05:00

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.

Boogadaboogadaboogada

2008-11-24T20:44:00.004-05:00

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...

2008-11-23T01:09:00.005-05:00

Pseudothyrum and other silly words

2008-10-23T00:30:00.006-04:00

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...

2008-09-15T12:24:00.004-04:00

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.

2008-08-13T18:34:00.002-04:00

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

2008-08-07T16:42:00.002-04:00

(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!

2008-07-13T20:42:00.004-04:00

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

2008-06-25T12:46:00.003-04:00

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

2008-06-19T03:38:00.002-04:00

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

2008-05-30T06:08:00.002-04:00

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

2008-04-30T15:02:00.002-04:00

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.

2008-04-21T20:01:00.002-04:00

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.

2008-04-08T14:01:00.003-04:00

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?

2008-03-14T22:38:00.002-04:00

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

2008-03-05T10:54:00.003-05:00

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

2008-01-31T07:05:00.001-05:00

"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

2008-01-15T10:33:00.000-05:00

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

2008-01-02T14:08:00.000-05:00

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*

Fist as a verb

2007-12-20T05:42:00.000-05:00

Good morning all my loyal reader! I apologize for the extreme lack in updating this thing. Finals were pretty much a breeze, and I'm confidently going to claim I passed every class, though I am waiting to hear on the results of a couple classes.

Nonetheless, I'm done! You'd think I'd be happier about not having to hop on the train three days of the week, rain or shine.. No, not me. That damn school gives me a purpose, a reason to wake up. Now I'm up at 10 of Six in the morning, and by 'up' I mean I haven't slept. Why not? I'm not entirely sure actually.

One thing I am sure of, is that my room has more hazardous vapors in it than the shower area at Auschwitz (which may or may not have existed...OH!) It's also about forty degrees hotter than it should be with the with the window open as much as it is. And lastly, I'll always be completely unsure as to why I have no hair whatsoever on my calves.

Going to keep this brief, due to my lack of having anything to say and my need to sleep. Big day today, involving a pay check and buying some wood to build a shelf. Expect pictures of my stigmata'd hands after that inevitable debacle.

Trompe le Monde

2007-12-03T02:22:00.000-05:00

Sleepy eyes adjust to nicotine stained walls and cheap curtains. Waves of light splash off the carpet that had certainly seen better days. Dead cigarette butts lay just shy of their glass tomb; their impending doom reduced to nothing but another burn in the rug.

Her exterior is hot, literally, she is radiating. It's a nice feeling though, so close. She hums, letting me know she's there still. She hasn't moved an inch since I fell asleep. Those sharp contours, that sleek and slim body, they said she was the best. I didn't think I could afford her, but in this business, you can't afford not to have the best.

My fingers get her to do whatever it is I want. I own her, she responds to all of my commands quickly and without a word. She's all I need, and she's mine. After last night, everything we tried, I wasn't sure she'd be this warm to me, but she's indifferent. Underneath that pristine chassis, just circuits, just like all the others.

(Falling asleep next to your computer in bed;You may not be alone, but you're pretty dead inside.)

Giving Credit Where Credit is Due

2007-11-20T12:25:00.001-05:00

You ever notice how when you're watching the Price is Right, it's all commercials for life alert and power scooters and stool softeners? Stuff geared toward the elderly. Or when you should happen to surf by Jerry Springer (because my mature audience would never watch something like that...) it's all advertisements for sleazy attorneys who claim you can sue anyone or pawn shops promising money for your jewelry(heirlooms..) and stuff? Well, I got my first notice about my student loan, just kinda saying "Ok, we're paying your shit, but you owe us.." and right on cue, Credit Card applications by the barrel full.

Literally, the barrel full, I was throwing them out. I let the mail build up for a day and it was like an avalanche of low APR this, adjustable rate interest that! Visa, MasterCard, American Express! They all want me to spend their money! I should feel honored I suppose.

Since I'm a student, and I barely work anymore, I decided, "What the hell.." and opened one of them up. Ok, reading through. There's some % thingies, I was never good at those in school. Alright, no liability for fraudulent purchases. Cool. Oooh, pick your own card design? I was sold, granted their templates were lamer than lame, but whatever, I've always envied those fancy people with their tacky American Flag credit cards. Filled out the application online, got approved, and waited.

Today, at long last, I received my beautiful new credit card. From Capital One, complete with the "Starry Night" background I requested. I was going to go with the declaration of Independence header "We The People" but in todays world, it may as well been the Mayflower Compact since in the event that I did lose my card, no one is going to respect such a strong symbol of American independence, but rather rape my fragile credit line on a plasma TV or some pogs or whatever Identity
Thieves are into these days.

I read through the 'fine print' which was more numbers and % things, and then called the 1-800 number to activate my card. After my call reached the switch board in New Delhi, I spoke with a delightful young lady whose name I cannot pronounce, which isn't so bad because she couldn't pronounce mine either. We spoke of those APR things and she told me I could have $1000 somehow, and then some more about other stuff. I really couldn't understand her very much at all, crafty bastards. They're not outsourcing to save money, they're outsourcing to trick people. They may as well just get Ms. Swan to explain the policy on Identity Theft Protection. The only part I caught was that it'd cost me $9 a month, and I did most politely inform her she could fuck that noise.

My card got activated, I got a pin, I have a line of credit. I'm ready to join the millions of Americans crippled by debt. Payday is not until next week, but I simply can't live without an Ipod touch. No problem! Charge it! Charge it all! Lady behind me in line at Best Buy? Yeah, what the hell, you've earned that washer and dryer! Put it on the card baby! What's free money if you're not going to use it,right?

Oh but I jest. Your humble Blog-rator is not nearly that reckless (with money) that he would do such a thing. No, just like that condom you had in high school, this card is going to stay in my wallet until the time is right... or she's just that drunk.

My new BFF

2007-11-11T23:32:00.001-05:00

For years I rejected even the notion of pharmaceuticals, holding onto some sort of false pride. After accepting the inevitable that I can not trust my self to focus on whatever task is at hand unless it's playing computer games or watching movies, I saw my trusty doctor. Apparently, I have ADHD, but since I'm 20, I'm far too old to have made the "Your kid has ADHD" trend.

Born after 1987? You've got ADHD.
Every gotten into trouble? ADHD.
Acting out in class? ADHD again.

I have to say, as skeptical as I was, these things are freaking great! I was up until 4 am last night writing a manifesto and learning French! Without Adderall, I was sluggish and run down all the time, choosing anti-social behavior over that of a stimulating nature. That's all changed. Come tomorrow, I shall own most rightiously in all of my classes and then retire for the evening with Disk 2 of my pirated "Learn French in your car."

Why French? Why the hell not. My pills are wearing off for the night, and I've got to get some sleep anyway.

Au revoir! Douche bags...

Failure Cake/Epic funk

2007-11-07T12:53:00.001-05:00

I think something may have died in my office. It's not the cat, I just got done yelling at him for sleeping all day on my hoodie. I went down to get more coffee (a pot a day keeps the voices away) and I was hit with this epic funk that damn near burnt the hair out of my nose.

It might be that I smoke a carton of cigarettes every 5 minutes, or the stack of empty Fresca cans. It could even be the dried out paints, or the cup of dirty water, but something truly pungent has invaded my once pleasant milieu, something more eviler than Skeletor himself.

To the right, you'll see a cake that I baked and decorated myself. I blew off that paper I was supposed to write for English but baked a cake. A model of productivity is me.
It looked like shit but tasted alright, providing nourishment for a couple days.

That's right, I lived the dream of every 5 year old in the world, to eat cake every meal. Or every Ethiopian child, to eat a meal.

At any rate, I'll be doing some cleaning eventually, or emptying a bottle of Febreeze into this som'bitch. Whichever requires less effort, I'm lookin' at you Febreeze.

Electile dysfunction

2007-11-06T18:43:00.000-05:00

Judging by the ten or so calls I received today from anonymous numbers and pre-recorded 'Please support' messages, I'm going to take an educated guess and say it's election time. A time when people stand on corners and hold big signs with other people's names on them, and wave and smile at cars. And as I mentioned before, when I get 10 calls a day from recordings telling me to vote for someone I've never heard of.

I was thinking of running for mayor. I mentioned it quite a few months ago, but the last call I got (literally 30 seconds ago) urging me to support Mayor Phelan, was just the push I needed.

People always talk about the issues. I've got plenty of them. I've also got ideas of how to waste people's money. For example, instead of putting up those ultra gay banners on all the street lights in Quincy Center, we build more bomb shelters. And by bomb shelters, I mean shelter, as in one. Big enough to fit myself, my entourage, one (dozen) or so suitable child bearers, and a lot of guns in the event of a nuclear holocaust. When the bombs drop, we'll need someone like me, you'll see.

Rather than having resources for kids, we build robots. Not for cleaning or maintenance, but like some high-tech ass robots that just sort of co-exist in our society. Give 'em some quarks and let 'em loose. Good luck bringing down Postpartum Depression Torrettes bot, wreaking havoc at the local church. And it looks like ol' Decapo-borg just ripped another senior citizens head off. Since we don't need Christians or the elderly to have a good city, I don't see these things as problems.

In addition to a bomb shelter and robots, I would propose Quincy become it's own sovereign nation, much like the various Indian ones. All of the important areas will be represented (With the exception of Quincy Point, because it's Quincy Point...) and everyone would get along. We'll leave peacefully for a while, but then, using cunning and subterfuge we slowly annex the surrounding areas. First Dorchester, then Southie. We'll launch a few h-bombs into Weymouth because no one likes Weymouth, and move onto Braintree. Pretty soon, the suburbs will be under Quincy rule and before you can say "Appeasement" my term will be up and some poor fuck will have to try to undue the damage I've done.

Might as well just call me Jim Sheets...

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

2007-10-31T13:27:00.000-04:00

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.*

*Fuck-your-blog.blogspot.com 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.

Hated in the Nation

2007-10-24T14:56:00.000-04:00

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.

Little Social Security Office of Horrors!

2007-10-05T13:37:00.000-04:00

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.

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

2007-10-01T15:25:00.000-04:00

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!

A Helluva Afterlife

2007-09-24T13:57:00.000-04:00

Let me start first by saying: If you're overly religious or offended by the subject of heaven and hell, go fuck yourself.

On the train this morning, I started thinking about what hell would be like, if such a place exists. It's always been portrayed as sort of a fire pit with lakes of lava and rivers of dead babies and stuff like that. It's not really logical, I mean, what's going to keep all that fire going? Not to mention, if your body is rotting in a coffin, who's ass is getting prodded with the all mighty Satan's pitchfork? Would they really go out of their way to give you a new body just to get it all scorched and holy (as in full of holes, get it?)

The train was particularly packed this day, and with a giant bag full of art supplies and another messenger back full of laptop, it made things kinda shitty. I was smack dab in the middle of the car, and the poles were just out of my hand's reach, I could only hold on with my fingers. After 1 stop, my arm was tired. This would be something I'd hate to have to do for an eternity (IE: Eternity in "Hell"). As I stated before though, if I'm rotting in a coffin(suitcase,body of water,ditch,smoldering fuselage) I don't really have to worry about my arm popping out of it's socket when the train jerks.

If I had to give a visual of something my hell would be, it'd be pretty mundane for most. I don't foresee fire or lava or anything like that. Hell would have a very "Asian person's house" smell, and you'd get one pair of white sneakers with a rock in it that you couldn't get out. You'd have to wait in huge lines to do anything, like, to leave your hell house you'd need to wait in a line. No matter what, the guy in front of you would have a "XxX" tattoo on the back of his neck and excessive amounts of back hair. People would ride bikes, and wear bike shorts, but only guys. So like, everytime you'd look, hoping to see some nice female ass, enhanced by lycra, it'd be a dude (though I guess you'd learn not to look.) There'd be giant speakers set up everywhere, that would only play Dane Cook comedy (because he isn't funny... at all.)

Doesn't sound to pleasant, does it? Certainly not a future I'd like to see. Thankfully, since I'm not part of that plague called Christianity, I don't feel the need to worry. Unless my theories are incorrect, I'll just have to deal with the minor inconveniences of life until I'm worm food.

Thanks for reading, and remember, have your Christians spayed or neutered.

Advetures In Brookline

2007-09-13T14:16:00.001-04:00

What do you do when you're class ends at noon and your next one starts at 4pm? Anything you want! However, when your school is in Brookline, your choices are slightly less exciting.

Armed with a veritable ass-load of free time and my totally sweet Macbook, I set out, to paint the town of Brookline red. After just 10 minutes, my school disappearing behind the other buildings in the area, I was in the filthy, wretched, bowels of Brookline. Also known as Brookline, without the filthy and wretched part, as it's quite clean.

I had been here before, my last Thursday class got out even earlier and I was forced to feed my wanderlust. This Utopian, predominantly Jewish hood has a toy store, lots of new wave hair salons (the kind that have a lot of beads and vases and gay stuff like that) and rival coffee shops.

Being able to hear your stomach over music is discomforting so I scoured the town center for anything resembling a Chinese restaurant, craving some tasty General Gao's Tofu. I got my tofu, but it was certainly not of the Gao variety, and that made me a sad panda, plus the rice had eggs in it.

With a belly full of bean curd, I padded along, down Harvard St. to the dueling coffee shops. On one side, you've got the New England favorite, Dunkin' Donuts. On the other side, you've got a Starbucks, for people who like their coffee to be dripped slowly from the ass of Rosie O'Donnel and pureed in a blender then heated up nice and hot and ridiculously priced. Obviously I chose the first one, and to my utter shock, they not only spoke English, were super nice, but they were like .50 cheaper than what it costs in Quincy!

Smoking a cigarette in front of the liquor store(with a giant clock) I watched a yoga cunt trip and fall right on her face not even five feet before my eyes. I had to beat a quick retreat for fear of her hearing my laughing and putting me an awkward position, like asking me why I would laugh at her for falling.

Now here I am, at the Brookline Public Library with an hour left on my battery and almost 2 hours til my next class. The bastards made me throw my coffee away too, which I guess isn't too bad because I know have yet another objective to fulfill.

So good bye anyone who read this, my oh so rare "Two in one day" blogs. See you all really soon with other dumb things you can read to waste time.

Going down on Ben and Matt

2007-09-13T07:03:00.000-04:00

Welcome to Boston, a city rich with history and culture. Come see the famous Boston Commons, visit the holocaust memorial. See Fenway Park, home of the Red Sox. See the city from one of the wonderful Duck Tours. How about Faneuil Hall? While you're here, stop off in Cambridge, where Ben Affleck and Matt Damon will now have intersections named after them.

You read right. These two "natives" are getting intersections named after them. In a state that saw the lives of Emily Dickinson, Robert Frost, Jack Kerouac, John Adams and son, and a good majority of the other founding fathers; and these two get a god damned intersection named after them?

Thank God! I was running out of reasons to hate it here. What's next? What else are they going to pull on our fair people? It's bad enough that the cost of living has made Boston a haven for yuppies and scum of the like, but now this? Gigli Boulevard? Bourne Parkway? Smokin' Aces Community Free Clinic.

Sure, we had that whole throwing tea into a harbor thing, but this is truly a defiant "Fuck You" in the face of everyone. Maybe I'm wrong here, but am I the only one disgusted by this? It wouldn't surprise me, being the only person in the state who thought "The Departed" was a massive pile of runny shit.

Ben: You were married to Jlo for like a week and your movies suck. Deep throat a shotgun.
Matt: "The Good Shepard" was the worst 2 hours and 38 minutes of my life, catch a bullet with your face.

Fuck Your Intersections.

Procrastination 101

2007-09-07T05:00:00.000-04:00

School has started and I've got to say, it's been pretty neat. The whole feel of the place is kinda nice in general.

Classes are not too bad so far, though I haven't had English or "Fundamentals of Design" yet. Thankfully, that dreadful last post is behind me. I wouldn't really have topped myself if I didn't get in, I just would have waited until next semester, but who doesn't love the drama?

I went out and bought an MacBook and I've got to say, it's quite possibly the coolest thing I've ever owned. It's just plain hot, the super model of laptop technology. The keys are so smooth, it's like typing on a vagina.

I've lost interest in this blog,sadly. Time is not on my side these days and I'm running out of witty things to say (if you haven't noticed...) It's about time to introduce phase two of FYB, which you'll (the 3 1/2 people who read this) will see.

Anywho, I've got a train to catch. The Brown train waits for no man....

Get it? No.. I figured.

You only live once

2007-08-30T07:03:00.001-04:00

*********Edit************
It turns out I did get accepted and went to my orientation,disregard the rest of this blog.
*************************
I didn't get accepted to college. This was the last resort. If this blog isn't updated after today, I've killed myself.

Thanks for reading.

xoxo,
Hans Strongo

PS:Fuck Your Blog

Nevermind the Pakis, here's MY computer support.

2007-08-25T12:57:00.001-04:00

After Itunes inevitably went ultra gay on me, I decided to restart my computer after many months. What's this? A black screen? A black fucking screen? Yes, your pretty Windows XP logo is cute, but where's my god damn desktop? Where's my leet wall paper? Where are my icons?! Where's the task bar and clock?!?!

Don't do this to me,baby. We can work it out. I'll buy you an ice cream if you work. I'll stop looking at other computers. It was one time, one fucking time! You know I'd never replace you. We've been through so much together, don't do this to me now.

You fucking cunt! Start or I'll fucking kill you! I swear to God I'll smash you into a thousand pieces, not even your mother board will be able to identify you. You like that bitch? Cold boot, in your fucking face.

Please...

Please...

Safe mode? Work! Oh my God please work. Yes. Yes! To when the times were good, go there! Do it! Do it!

And now we wait..

Wait...

Wait...

Yes! You're my fucking bitch! I own you! You work for me!

Eternal Sellout of the Myspace Kind.

2007-08-22T07:28:00.000-04:00

In an effort to whore my blog some more, I got a myspace. Yeah, yeah..I know. They are eternally gay and forever will be, but traffic! Fucking traffic! C'mon!

So yeah, if you're interested, my thing is at www.myspace.com/fuckyourblog and send me a friend request. Join the Fuck Your Blog army and all that.

In other news, I put in my 2 week notice at Burger King, where I've been working for the past couple months. It seems like the shittiest job in the world, and it is, but there's certain things that make it not so shitty. Perhaps the one that sticks out most in my mind is not really giving a fuck whether I get fired or not. If you haven't had a job like that, I suggest you get one before you die, you won't regret it.

Another important aspect of working there is sluts. There are a lot of sluts in Weymouth. As the old saying goes: "Girls in Weymouth will have sex with you" and they will. Even with my lower than low standards, there are a few I wouldn't touch with a pool skimmer, attached to a yard stick,attached to another man's penis... but that's to be expected.

Having a cool boss helped, and the fact that there are some supple barely (not quite) legal hunnies for which to gaze upon while working. These few are the exception to the skanks mentioned above. Sweet girls, untarnished by their town's reputation. That plays a large factor in the "Hans Strongo wants to defile your body" scheme. Luckily, with the absence of occupational responsibility and a lax sexual harassment policy, my advances are given the freedom they need to possibly blossom into that drunken night those poor naive girls will look back on in disgust many years from now.

I will bid the kingdom good bye, leaving with a sense of satisfaction, 3/4 of a gallon of marinara sauce, and about a pound of mozzarella cheese, which is also how I'd imagine the morning after sex with Rachel Ray would be.

I don't get it either...

Rock Bottom

2007-08-17T01:21:00.000-04:00

When you say "Fuck the Towel" and aim for the floor,
subconsciously reminding yourself to avoid that
patch of carpet in the morning. You never do.

Srs Bsnss!

2007-08-08T22:27:00.001-04:00

Two weeks ago, at quarter past three in the morning, while the quiet city of Quincy slept comfortably. I lurked, under the cover of darkness to the porno store to return my delinquent rentals. I'm not going to lie, atleast one of those DVDs was entitled "Elbow deep,100% hardcore fisting" but that's beside the point.

I swept through the suburban utopia, pulling my trench coat up above my ears in an attempt to mask the shame that showed in my face. Ok, actually it was my hoodie, and I would have had the hood up if it wasn't hot enough already.

Finally, I arrived at the Night Deposit box. I had to act as if I was engaged in some sort of conversation on my cellphone, as a car drove by just as I was about to relinquish myself of the smut. At long last, my pornography was returned safe and sound, and two days late (still no late fees though, awesome!)

In other news, I signed up for college. New England Institute of Art. I'm to be a full blown art fag, in the field of graphic design. As you can see by all of my pictures, I know quite a bit about photoshop. Or atleast putting words over pictures, that I can certainly do. I met with a guy today and I have to write some essay about why I chose graphic design, which I'm putting off doing because I don't feel like it.

I didn't care for the amount of guys in girl pants, but I guess I'll have to adjust if I want to make fat loot fucking with photoshop though. The sacrifices I make..

My break from the internet is now over. I'm back full swing until September. That means I'll be socializing again in real life! Which means back to binge drinking and all that good stuff. Because of this, I'll be turning my basement into a pirate bar. That's right, a fucking pirate bar! Pirate stuff, pirate flags, a bar... Pirate Bar! So for you readers who know me in real life, give a call to my cellphone on Friday, this time I'll probably answer.

Supreme Champion Kitten Launcher

2007-07-27T22:45:00.001-04:00

I'm not a morning person

2007-07-26T07:01:00.000-04:00

They had met through work, both being entrepreneurs of a sort. He was a take charge kind of guy, she was a small town girl trying to make it. She looked to him for guidance and protection, like the father she had never had. He saw her as the daughter he avoided with the sole of his Timberland. Things were going great until tragedy struck, as it often does in this crazy game.

It was a business transaction like any other. Traveling salesman, nondescript; like so many other Johns before him. The same motel room. He wore a gray suit, blue slacks. She wore a tight black dress, clinging mid thigh to her black stockings.

There was a full moon that night, just barely peeking through ominous black clouds. A dreary Tuesday like so many others in the city. Nothing could be suspected on this November evening, certainly not in a situation like this. While she rattled off the prices for services provided, reciting as if from some imaginary sex menu, he simply smiled.

Removing his tie and untucking the oxford shirt from his cheap trousers, the man stood up. Throwing his blazer on an adjacent chair, he laughed. Unsure of how to react, she too let out a nervous squeal. Removing his undershirt, he revealed a deep scar on his chest that seemed to be pulsing with every beat of his heart. He arched his back and clenched his teeth, doubling over, shoulders almost touching as he retched and quivered.

She was barely out of her second knee high boot when he was on top of her, tearing through the cheap fabric of her black dress with his pointed incisors. "You ripped my dress you fucking prick" she shouted, slapping the side of her head with the palm of her hand.

He stopped. Craning his neck he peered into her pale blue eyes with his own. They glowed a sickly orange, his once plain face now bristling with what looked like dog's hair. His teeth jutted like a wolves, he snarled and took short breaths like some feral beast. Surely there was no price fit for this treatment.

She recoiled in horror, vaulting this man-beast off of her by lifting her legs over her head, a method she had certainly perfected. He was launched into the 27 inch black and white Magnavox that sat on the dresser. She pulled herself up, using the bed that had bought her Prada bag as support. grimacing at the tear in her favorite dress, she looked for the attacker, bringing the stiletto out of her bag slowly.

He was no longer there. The splinters of a dresser, the crumpled carcass of a television, and a bible were all that occupied that floor now. She threw her back to the wall, her breathing labored. Figuring he must have ran from the room in a fit of shame, she looked to the heavens and let out a sigh.

Checking his watch, two hours had gone by. He had not heard from his top money maker and had begun to worry. He knocked on the door of the usual room. No answer. He pressed his ear to the door, his diamond stud making a slight rap against the imitation wood. No sound. He kicked in the door, sending it flying off the hinges. The lights were off, but from the moonlight flooding the room, he could see the bed had no occupants. The shower was running, cautiously he went for the door of the bathroom.

He could feel the dampness a foot from the door through his gator skin boots. With his large, ring laden hand, he turned the knob. He burst in, and to his horror found the remains of his favorite ho, still being gnawed on by this wolf creature. He turned to leave but stumbled on a piece of shattered furniture. He felt the burn of fangs in the back of his neck as his vision of the parking lot went black.

Vacation from the internets

2007-07-18T16:56:00.001-04:00

I woke up at 10 AM today. I crawled out of bed, clenched the rug with my toes, and took a piss. Nothing monumental. I smoked a cigarette and had a cup of coffee, still pretty pedestrian. I went to the store and loaded up on Morning Star Farm's finest in imitation burgers, chicken nuggets, bacon,and sausage and made my way back to my place, hooded and well concealed from the drizzle .

I did all of this without looking at my computer once. It has been off for two days, a new record (save for when it's being fixed.) I've decided to take a well deserved break from the internet and start living my life, something that is long overdue. I'm taking a break from any taxing social obligations as well, and due to my new found alcohol abstinence, I'm sure no one will mind.

"You're not drinking..You're a vegetarian, and now you're isolating yourself from people? What the fuck man!"

Yeah, that's what I thought too. I want to paint. I want to travel. I want to lose 20 lbs. I want to watch sunsets and drive around at night. All these things are made increasingly more difficult to achieve when you've become burdened with things like relationships, whether friendly or romantic. I'm giving up. On both, for now.

I'm not depressed. I'm being productive. I'm doing the most positive thing I can for myself, which is staying away from elements that drain my time and energy with negativity. No more will I drag myself into work on a Saturday morning, still partially drunk and feeling sick from the Chinese food I ate at 3 in the morning. I'll still be pissed off by the fact that I'm at work, and I'll still be cross and snippy with customers, but that's who I am. My whole mission is to continue being myself without having to be bogged down by upholding a social life.

There's no ill will toward anyone, this is just something I want to to. I'll continue 'blogging' (I fucking hate that word) and I'll continue working two jobs. Wouldn't want to disappoint the three people who read this thing.

Lastly, on the subject of vegetarianism: If Hitler can do it, so can I.

Added flav-ah

2007-07-15T00:15:00.000-04:00

I made these. Slap them around the internets where applicable. Better versions available at the links below each picture.

"Bonus Points"

Blind Guy Banner

Horse Banner

Midget Banner

Vomit

Show your friends, because you can never be too ostracized.

Big women,big women,big women fill my eyes!

2007-07-14T01:22:00.000-04:00

I'm not entirely sure what happened inside my head, but I've had a craving for the love of a larger woman. Those hips...oooh those hips. Those soft features and large sweaty tits have haunted my dreams as of late. Heroin chic is out, and baby, I wanna buy you a steak.

Marsella,from the bank, one of these days I will muster up the courage to ask you to a sensibly price dinner. Wooed you shall be with my amusing anecdotes and expertly timed zingers. Marvel at my observational and situational comedy, and if I play my cards right maybe I'll get a tour of the vault? Eh? Vault being her vagina, though I hope with her taste in smart clothing she'd have a more hygienic method of storing her loots.

I'm thinking about going rockabilly, if not for looking cool, then for those 'fly' chicks they get. You know the type.. Sassy, with a 'Fuck your rules' attitude and some 'hawt' tattoos. Cherries,dice,ect ect. I'll have to drive a hearse, but hey, I can adapt.

Tre Chic faux pax

2007-07-07T04:29:00.000-04:00

Fitness kick. New phone. Binge drinking.FRAGMENTS!

I know I addressed this once, but my new phone is so freakin' awesome that I felt the need to mention it again. In other news, I'm back to exercising. I worked out for an hour yesterday and vomited. It makes me think about quitting cigarettes. FOR A MINUTE!

Fashion is dumb. They should make those sweatpants with words on the ass say better things. Like "gonorrhea" or "chlamydia" and things of that nature. Juicy sounds gross enough, like diarrhea or something.

I drank like 13 or something beers in about an hour today. A few hours later, I took a nap. That's why I'm up at 4 AM and bored out of my mind (thus the blogging.) This is boring.

Ode to Fresca

2007-07-01T00:21:00.001-04:00

In a dimly lit tenement block on New York's lower East Side,circa 1963, a soft drink was born. With the crisp, refreshing side of his father and the smooth citrus taste of his mother, Fresca was introduced to the world. Leaving behind the life of crime his good friend Grape soda embraced, Fresca excelled to become the "Adult soda with the distinctive, one-of-a-kind citrus taste" that we all know and love.

Sure, Fresca never had a Van Halen song to rock out to. But while Crystal Pepsi was being enjoyed by those hundreds of people, Fresca was networking. Building lasting bonds with a taste that never left you unsatisfied. Fresca wasn't out to become famous, he just wanted to be liked.

While OK Soda was out selling Ludes to kids at raves, Fresca was delighting the world with it's crisp citric bite that made you feel appreciated. When you sit down with a Fresca, things are going to be more than just OK.

Surge pushed us to get X-treme! Get your skateboards! Let's hit the half-pipe! It's only a scratch; it's only a broken vertebrae! Get up! Get Surge! Surge it! Yeah! Fresca did the opposite. Fresca promoted chilling out. "Hey buddy, why don't you take a load off and enjoy some wonderfully delicious, always delightful Fresca?"

How can you say no?

This distinctive refresher with a light citrus taste just keeps on rocking. Long after the Mellow Yellow's and Pepsi Blue's of the world fade out, Fresca will be there. Whether you've just mowed the lawn or some particularly violent and sweaty coitus has concluded, when you reach for that Fresca, you've made that right choice.

Yuppification

2007-06-30T20:27:00.000-04:00

My phone has been dead for almost a month so I went and picked this little gem up the other day. It's officially the coolest thing I own. I already have an Ipod, so fuck an Iphone, and plus Apple is kinda gay.

My status in the world is increasing. I take it out and pretend to talk an awful lot more than ever. I can even read my own blog from it (and do), what more could you ask for?

It's got a stylus pen so I can scratch my balls and I can organize my week with it too. It's like having a secretary who will scratch your balls with a tiny stick (and not sue you.)

Yeah, it drained my bank account but it was so worth it. Who needs a positive balance when you've got such a sweet piece of machinery? Exactly.

And the colored voices in my head began to sing!

2007-06-27T08:30:00.000-04:00

It would seem that summer is finally here. The oppressive heat, the blistering sun, and oh yeah: The ladies.

It appears the sun has defrosted whatever part of my brain that gives me the balls the hit on chicks, and though I hate myself for doing it, I give in every time. The girl at Borders, the woman behind me in line at 7-11, even people coming into my work; no one is safe from my smooth talking and relentless libido.

It dawned on me the other day, while eating Ramen noodles in my underwear at 1 in the morning and watching "Sean of the Dead" on Comedy Central: I need a woman. Not just any will do anymore, it's time to move up from the minor leagues and get back into the game.

My last sexual encounter was certainly less than spectacular (for me not her.) I won't go into the details, because I'm mildly disgusted with myself, but let's just say I faked it and couldn't look at her for the rest of the night. She wasn't my type in the least, and this is what I blame my sluggish performance on, but what exactly am I into?

I always hate to say a girl is "Not my type" since I'm not exactly sure what type is right for me. If it's got anything to do with past relationships, I'll take issues. Lack of self-esteem, paranoia, jealousy, ect. Those would be my turn ons, if we were taking that route. Real interests I have:

Glasses: No coke bottles or anything, but cute glasses are win. They make a girl look sophisticated, no matter how vapid she may be. Sure, I'll find out later of their resentment to killing lemons for lemonaid, but it certainly softens the blow.
Since I'm also a sucker for pretty eyes, if you have such eyes, they'll be magnified and I'll be able to see them even better.

Sense of Humor: If you laugh at my jokes, you're in. I don't care how off color or certifiably inappropriate it is, if you crack a smile, I'll love you. This also ties in with the ability to be candid, speak what's on your mind or just in general. Not that you should prattle on about things I could care less about, but awkward silences make for a bored and agitated Hans Strongo.

Vagina: Not really a preference but a prerequisite. At least one required for any type of relationship/one night stand/my attention during a donkey show,ect.

Down the road it helps if you can cook and you'll put up with my shit. Those three things will certainly help you get to that point, where you're cooking for me and dealing with my shit.

I'm contemplating running for mayor of my fair city, more to come on that later.

Proof reading is for suckers.

$25 well spent

2007-06-21T14:27:00.000-04:00

As seen here

A timebomb ticking...motherfucker!

2007-06-18T07:19:00.000-04:00

Everyone gets angry, it's impossible not to. These past few months, I've noticed a rise in my 'irrational and murderous rage' levels. Hands shaking, fists clenched, sweat beads cascading down my face and all from some extremely mundane things. In an effort to not actually kill someone for a minor annoyance, and keep things in order, I'll list them.

The Elderly: "Respect your elders" they say.... What says respect more than holding someone down, the grip on their Polident® smile slowly giving as the dentures slide to the back of their throat. Repeatedly kicking about the face and neck, as if to tenderize an old milk carton. Brittle ribs crack like nilla waffers, space age plastic hips give way to circa 1991 WWF style Leg drops and pizza dough skin quickly plums with broken blood vessels and blunt force trauma.

You're as old as the hills, wonderful! You deserve a discount because you're incontinent and cranky? They ask a lot of questions about different things but never seem to listen to a word of advise. It is my belief, that everyone over 75, with the exception of those with special permits, should be put somewhere and not allowed out.

White Trash revival: Larry the Cable guy isn't funny. Jeff Foxworthy isn't funny. Incest isn't funny. See a connection? When you don't bathe, you start to smell bad, and when your body fat percentage is over 30% you shouldn't wear just a tank top(no matter how hot it is!)
There's not a whole lot of ''Rednecks" in the North East, but there are dumb yokels nonetheless. Wearing NASCAR hats, holding the arm of their beautiful brides(Almost always over 200 lbs, waaay to short shorts, and a Tweety bird shirt with some mildly 'fresh' slogan on it.) You are white trash, please stop living.

Children: You shit yourself for the first 2-3 years of your life, then you become that which occupied your pampers for so long. Don't get me wrong, I like kids... just not when they're making noise. They cry and bitch and get their god damned way, every time! I had a kid flip out in line because the little twat wanted some random piece of confection. You know what their parents did? No, they didn't beat the brat in the middle of my store, they didn't even tell it to shut it's Gerber hole. They caved, gave the spoiled cunt what it wanted.

New public service from FYB: I will beat your kids! No longer do you have to feel the guilt of public discipline. Send me an email, we can set up an appointment. The next time little Suzie or Billy act up in public, I'm there, raining blows upon them like some sort of fucking psycho! They'll never throw a temper tantrum again..

When I was a kid, if I acted like a dick bag, it was always "Wait 'til your father gets home." My mother didn't have to say "Because you're getting your ass kicked," it was just implied. It got me into line real quick; that and the wooden spoon... But people don't beat their kids anymore! It's not politically correct these days. Instead of unleashing the fury to the ass of a child, it's all "Sit in the corner" or "Timeout." Learn to parent,plz.

"Blue tooth" headsets: You aren't important. I'm sorry, but you're not, and that stupid thing in your ear just makes you look stupid. Do you really think you're too good to raise your phone to your ear? This little device, if you didn't know, allows business men and poor people (who like to buy things they can't afford) feel like they are important. They keep these ridiculous things in their ears all day, having conversations with what appears to be themselves, then they get upset when you don't answer them right away. Oh I'm so fucking sorry! I thought you were on the phone....

Douche bags...

I only wish these came a lot larger so they could choke on them when I shove it down their throats. Business men en masse, all "linked up" with these things. It boils my blood,grinds my gears, gets my goat,ect. I want to walk up and rip them off their head,ear included, and crush them in my hand. Or smash them into a brick wall, user attached, until the conversation or person having it is dropped.

*Deep breath*

Exhale.

Chain-smokin',grease burnt,and tired..

2007-06-15T05:15:00.000-04:00

My sincerest apologies for my lack of useless shit here at FYB, you're source for the dumbest stuff that pops into my head. When you work two jobs, sometimes being on your feet for 13 or more hours a day, it kinda makes you want to anything but come up with (not so) witty things to say for the few people you beg to read your blog. Still, I wouldn't trade it for the world.

I'm actually busy these days, having something to do is always a nice feeling. Sure, I don't get to stay up until 4 every night, drinking and playing Ultima Online, but you have to make sacrifices. Not that I really have anything I need at this point in time, thus making my whole 'sacrifices' argument useless, but still...

I've been working on some super secret things to give to my loyal fan(s). I've received almost 700 hits thus far, so someone is reading my stuff. This makes me happy, knowing that at least one person might get a chuckle out of these worthless ramblings. Good game lurkers, keep up the good work.

It's 5:27 AM. I've yet to sleep. Rather than slumber like any normal person, I watched "The Last Run." "The Wonder Year's" Fred Savage as a sex addict, need I say more? It had a good ending, the dialogue was strong, I give it an A- overall.

Well, until we meet again,or just when I become more interesting, I shall bid you all adieu.

Justice? El oh El!

2007-06-07T12:10:00.000-04:00

Paris Hilton was arrested and put on probation. She then violated said probation. The real kicker here is that they actually tried to send her to jail. Oh Paris, you poor little thing! The original deal was 90 days AND she'd get protective custody from the other inmates. Her sentence was cut down to 45 days(go figure.)

Oh Paris, it must have been terrible! You had to endure three (3!) days in Prison, separated from all the actual criminals (and people that don't have daddy's money to play with and the best lawyers , you know, they type that get spunk-depository Heiresses out of minuscule jail sentences for being irresponsible twats.)

She was released today after 72 hours! Three days and she's home, due to "Medical reasons" according to the news. I didn't know 'Cock Withdrawal' was a medical condition. To show that they still meant business, they've placed her on house arrest.

SHE LIVES IN A MANSION WITH EVERY POSSIBLE AMMENITY!

So for the next 42(?) days, she'll lounge by a pool. Text message her friends, make some sex tapes,ect. But she's being punished. Now go to your room,Paris, you get no dessert tonight.

At least Martha Stewart did 6 months.

Pork Fried Boredom

2007-06-07T01:45:00.000-04:00

Has anyone noticed the amount of American characters Hugh Jackman has played? He's English (Aussie?) and yet Wolverine, one of the Penguins in Happy Feet, guy in The Fountain... Americans! Don't get me wrong, he's a great actor and all, but you've got to wonder where he got his technique, as he does it pretty well.

~Intermission~

Now that it's five minutes until 2 in the morning, I think it's safe to say that I'm not going to be called back. Maybe it's karma, since I don't do very well with calling people back. Big plans were going to be made, jugs of Sangria would be consumed (like 3 of them, my idea) and bowling wouldst thus occur. But NoOoOo...

Went to 7/11 to buy a new lighter, because God knows where mine went. Now if I could get him to tell me where, I could have saved myself the awkwardness of saying to the lady in front of me, "How ironic" to her total of $7.11 (Pack of Marlboro lights and a Diet Pepsi.) Or even the disappointment when I was informed they were out of BICs for the rest of the week. I played it cool; bought a few packs of smokes, a slim jim,and some hardcore pornography and left.

Sorry, I lied about the Slim Jim, that part never happened. Regardless, the whole reason I went to the store was for a lighter. The whole reason I didn't mind going was because I was already dressed, waiting for friends to call. The whole reason I lost my lighter is because I was rushing around getting ready for a fun filled, alcohol fueled evening. Funny how things work,eh Charlie Brown?

"It was only one flipper baby!"

The Showdown

2007-06-04T23:22:00.001-04:00

It's a hazy June day, not quite summer but hardly appropriate for that cardigan. Four men, dressed in the finest duds Marshall's has to offer, meander back to the office, their double knit slacks ride uncomfortably against their navels after an ever so powerful 'power lunch.'

With the music two notches past reasonable and bass long past the line of good taste, four men, dressed in the height of urban fashion available(without leaving the suburbs) cruise the main drag for any 'fly hoes' for which to 'holla at.'

A red light. An uneven sidewalk. Rod goes sprawling onto the pavement. 'C-dub' (Real name Charles) pulls his 'whip' (1994 Pontiac Sunfire,hunter green) to a stop. Noticing Rod's predicament from the corner of his eye, 'Loc da Mak' (Loke-the-Mack, real name Travis) let's out a bona fide 'gangsta' giggle.

Phillip, the brawniest of the group, standing at a towering 5'9, with what could have been muscles protruding though his navy blue,button down, Ralph Lauren shirt ($16.99), shot a cold stare into the direction of the heckling homies.

A volley of insults were exchanged, the 'fresh ride' pulled into an adjacent parking lot, and the two rival forces soon found themselves face to face in the middle of the outdoor food court.

To Be Continued

Because it's sterile and I like the taste

2007-06-03T11:17:00.001-04:00

June is here, May is gone. The beer is gone. Lost are the chilly mornings and jacket weather has become sooo last month. This is upsetting, in it's place comes sticky humidity and sunburns. Girls in next to nothing is a plus, but I'd trade the few attractive,scantily clad women I get to see for Eskimo garb any day. It's too damn hot, plain and simple, and it's not even that bad yet! As they say, "It only gets worse."

People bitch about the snow, I don't, I love it! Give me an excuse to wear my heavy jacket with a long sleeve shirt underneath. Thermals under my pants. Tucking my pants into my boots so they don't get wet, I can't get enough. I think part of the reason is that I don't have a car to dig out of 5 feet of snow. Or care about how icy and treacherous the roads are.

I don't drive! Yes! The secret to my infatuation with winter and shitty stormy weather. I don't have a license,and thus embrace the snowy season. I've been out of school almost two years now, but still get some sort of sick satisfaction watching the morning news for school cancellations. But now what? What do we have now? Brush fires and UV index warning, and douche bag meteorologists warning the elderly to stay in the air conditioning.

I'm finally going to break down and get my license. So if you see a blue Oldsmobile, blaring Devo through the suburbs, it's probably me. You should probably stay out of the street too if you're a pedestrian. Not that I'm a bad driver, but just a friendly warning.

While on the train the other day, the woman across from me wasn't wearing panties. Score right? This is an accurate depiction of the scene:

I believe in swordfish

2007-05-20T21:25:00.000-04:00

I quit smoking today. Yep, after almost 10 years of smoking, I gave it up.*

On the way to the store today, to pick up another 12 pack of Diet Dr.Pepper, I had to shove through a crowd of marauding teenagers. What scum! Taking up the sidewalk with complete disregard to anyone else! I miss that age..

I'm still young, don't get me wrong, but the reminders of my aging keep coming up all the time and it's depressing as hell. Pay for insurance? Picking said insurance, not making enough money to actually live on. It's scary! To hold onto my youth, I've decided to start a gang, based on something that got me in trouble in High School (and inadvertently sent to 'juvie'.)

Yarbles Crew, Why Cee in dis bitch. Joo noe? We'll take gangland by storm, you'll see. It's pretty easy to get in, but we have some pretty strict guide lines to adhere to:

You must wear a white bandanna in your left back pocket at all times

Grey t-shirts are worn for any type of gang meeting/barbecue/picnic/car wash

You must be able to perform the gang handshake without a moments notice (revealed upon application approval)

You must act like you know everything, and let other people think this too

Never say sorry, unless you have to, but don't be sincere about it

Be able to snarl

Act smug at all times

Pretty standard stuff. I am obviously the leader. We'll find some other 'crews' to 'rumble' with down the road, but for now we'll just mull around my backyard, drink Heineken and scoff about the latest styles, hypothesize, scrutinize,and other things that end with the suffix 'ize.' Send all applications to Hans.Strongo@gmail.com, include your name and address so I can send your bandanna.

*I quit smoking for 45 minutes because I left my cigarettes on the kitchen table

Straight Edge? In my face?

2007-05-15T07:30:00.000-04:00

It dawned on me the other day at work that I have no idea what the hell the song "Black horse and The Cherry Tree" is about. I tried as hard as I could to focus on each and every lyric and put some sort of meaning to it. I ended up dropping everything I was carrying and saying "Fucking Cunt" in front of a 4 year old Filipino. It bugged me each time the song came on(about once an hour) and I wracked my brain, trying to wrap my brain around what kind of message this woman with bright red lipstick was getting at.

On the walk home, I had the Ipod on shuffle. From 'Brother's Roast beef' to Dunkin Donuts, Manowar told me about how great they were[Kings of Metal] and while I waited to cross Hancock Street, I learned about the benefits of the AIDS virus from Ethnic Cleansing[Hail AIDS.]

Back at work, I'm lost in a sea of confusion. On my time, the music I listen to is simple. I relate to it. If I'm going to punch you in the face, or drink some beer, or talk about love being a battlefield, you're going to understand it. I don't need to throw out archaic terminology or use complex metaphors to describe my feelings. Sure, I can! I sometimes do even, but it's not really appropriate to launch into prose when the guy selling you cigarettes asks how you're doing, or to baffle him with your prolific take on life.

Perhaps you're a fan of this KT Tunstall broad. I'm not. I'll tell you why even. The song she sings, not that it is awful, but it is. Like most pop songs are. Yes I called it pop, why? It's Popular. Or was. It was on the radio, it was on Mtv. You have no license to artistic integrity when you package yourself for mass media. Put on 60 lbs and then belt out one of those "OOoh OOohs" with your ruby red lips. See how far you get then, baby.

You can read the lyrics to the aforementioned song at the link below. http://http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/kttunstall/blackhorsethecherrytree.html

Also, here is a lemur

Come back to us, Joey Lauren Adams.

2007-05-08T20:15:00.000-04:00

You delighted us in Empire Records as the lovable, neurotic, whore. You stole our hearts in Mallrats when we got to see your boobies. We waited at the edge of our seats for you to eat muff in Chasing Amy. You made us cry in Jerry Maguire (so it was Renee Zellweger, but they could be sisters! Or atleast neighbors)

Where have you gone, Joey Lauren Adams? Why do you hide from the lime light, letting lesser actresses like Kiera Knightly steal your thunder? Who names their daughter Joey? Are you a baby Kangaroo?

Whether your're in rehab or just getting back to your Marsupial roots, I want you to know that we all miss you. It doesn't matter that you were in Dr. Dolittle 2. If you see this, let's hang out. OK?
Audrey Tautou(French actress famous for such films as Amelie and more recently,The DaVinci Code). Let's just say I'd like to 'yes' in her hair.

All up in yo bungus!

2007-05-05T14:37:00.000-04:00

Not quite, but hey, I added a counter! I even took out the hidden advertisement they had their for 'Natural Male enhancment.' Ever wonder how "Bob" from the enzyte ad lives? Going to the gas station/mall/adult book store must be hell for that guy. I can only imagine trying to pick up a hooker and being recognized as "The dude from the dick pills comercial."

Moving along at break neck speed... 28 weeks later? Dub tee eff? (That's what we cool kids do, spell out acronyms,bee tee dubya) Anyway, I'm assuming this is the sequel to "28 days later" which was I guess alright. With the exception of opening with some dude's penis and "Rage" zombies, not a bad flick. But why? End it there!
Danny Boyle, who directed 28 Days Later, also directed Trainspotting. Trainspotting, which you don't know (since no one I know in real life will read this garbage) is one of my favorite movies/books. It's been said that there's work being done on the sequel to Trainspotting(Porno) and I've been waiting for this for quite a while. More waiting I guess.

I'll leave you with this,my loyal 10 followers.

Boston Mediocre!

2007-05-04T22:20:00.000-04:00

I hate the Orange Line. It smells like shit and everyone on it sucks. There, I said it.. For those of you who don't know, the orange line is a train route here in Boston.

This water tastes like paper towels. Figure that one out.

I'm missing a party for this. Not that I necessarily planned to sit hunched over a keyboard, chain smoking and firing out lines of text in my neato-burrito blog... It's just that watching "This is Spinal Tap" and playing 4 hours of Fallout seemed like a good idea, while missing 4 phone calls from well wishers and the party planning comittee. It wasn't like I was supposed to bring the crepe paper.

Was I supposed to bring the crepe paper?!

Pretentiousness for sale!

2007-05-03T07:51:00.000-04:00

Seriously: Can I get some money for this?

I've always considered blogs the most selfcentered things in the universe. Douchebags across the universe(yeah, universe) clacking away at their keyboards trying to verse their opinions to a sea of deaf ears. Or eyes, you know what I mean. I suppose you could say this is a cautionary post, because this is where I'm going to tell you that you'll find nothing constructive.

I'm caustic; I don't get along with people in the real world. I don't like people and yet work in customer service...

I don't socialize, and wonder why I'm so lonely.

All this "I" talk makes me want to go to Ihop.

Atleast now I can say "Oh this is soooo going in my blog" in a really lispy voice. And then paint the walls with my brain.