Piping the star...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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