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July 28th, 2004

Sordid Notes from the Boston Convention:
I have been spending money like a drunken--no drunken stoned and coked up--whore ever since I got here. It all started when I took a GOD DAMN $50 CAB RIDE FROM THE AIRPORT (I'm using caps to convey emotion...it's called writing folks, writing). This ride would have cost me $15 dollars MAX had I taken it in ATL. But apparently in Boston the Dollar has the buying power of a peseta and I, being the country rube that I am, was expecting the dollar to have the buying power of, well, a dollar. At any rate I'm already in the hole to my host family (Nina's friends). But I HAD to get drunk, and here's why: My editor, who is tricksy, told me, when I got into town, that "he would call me in the afternoon" and "I probably wouldn't be needed until that night." Well, you don't need Wes to tell you that if someone tells me I don't have to get up in the morning I take advantage. So I drank all, or most, of Jim's (my host) beer as he looked on in horror. What kind of drunk had Nina sent him....was this even the real Charles...or was there a responsible looking young man still wandering the Boston Airport?
Inevitably I get a call from my editor at 8:00 am. I am to cover a Kucinich (God help me) rally thingy in one hour. As I was sobering up I began to like Kucinich...a lot. He's a fiery little gnome and his only real speaking flaw is his inability not to start doing the Kucinich bounce, not to be confused with the bankhead bounce, which involves him hopping up and down when he gets excited. It was like watching Rumpelstiltskin give a political speech. Inevitably we have the surprise guest--JESSE JACKSON--who gave a good churchy barn burner and then, after one his top aid requested I interview him (I have NO idea why considering the NYT, [BLANK], Boston Globe, etc..were all in attendance) he fled from "20 or 30 protesters" I couldn't find. More later. My phone is ringing and it looks like my editor's number.
P.S. The ladies around convention way are sooooo hot. In my journalistic opinion. Oh, and a Fox person got beat up (sort of) which was funny.

July 26th, 2004

You may have noticed that I have temporarily hidden the link to this page from casinobonusguys.com. Don't worry, though it has gotten busy at work because of the DNC, I am still able to waste some time by writing this nonsense. The main reason I took the page down was because I received an email from a girl interested in renting a room in which she indicated that she thought we would get along after reading my "blog." It seems I have underestimated other people's investigatory skills. I gave this page a quick read through and thought, "My God! Why would she want to live with me after reading this?"
If I did not know the myself and read over this page, I would have a picture of a drunken Inspector Gadget wandering from one questionable situation to another. Except, I don't have a talking dog like Brain or a sexy daughter like Peggy (see - that's the kind of writing I would expect to scare someone off) to help me out.
I got to wondering, who is this girl that wants to live with someone she must think is a drunken Inspector Gadget? She has to be some kind of psycho, or perhaps sent by Dr. Claw. What if she is too compatible? The weekly costs of alcohol alone could be staggering. It was actually scaring me that this girl wasn't scared of me.
But, being a guy, I did not dwell on this fear and uncertainty and let different opinions of what this girl may be like battle it out in my head. Instead I came to the conclusion of, "Fuck it, she is probably pretty cool. Afterall, she may be interested in living with me. And I do kick ass."

July 24th, 2004

I may have found someone to share my new place with starting in August. A girl named Melody from Florida has been interested since she is starting work at the CDC this fall. With so many people working at the CDC I am a little disappointed that we haven't found a cure for everything in existence yet. Melody will be working in the disabled children department of the CDC. If this department is anything like the emerging infectious diseases divisions, I believe it will be working on finding new ways to fight disabled children.
Hopefully, Melody's job is a sign she is pretty laid back and tolerant, because I have been known to act a bit special at times. Unfortunately, it also means that I may have to start changing my vocabulary a little bit.
No more calling Charles a "Fucking retard."
Now I have to call him a "Fucking special person," which doesn't seem to roll off the tongue as well.
I may also have to download the edited version of my favorite Black Eyed Peas song, "Let's Get Retarded." Although, I might be able to convince everyone that the song is empowering, sorta like "Independent Woman," only for retards. Perhaps, if I could convince her that I have tons of retarded friends (which wouldn't be hard) then I would get a free ticket to be offensive. Just like, it is impossible to be racist if you have black friends or homophobic if you have a gay lover.
I was watching TV the other day, and I started to wonder about what would happen if they did a current-day remake of "The Million Dollar Man." Back when the original came out a million dollars could buy a lot of shit. I'm not actually sure what happened to the million-dollar man that made some scientist have to rebuild him, but it must have really messed him up for him to need all those bionic limbs and stuff.
With the price of health care so high, if he got the same injuries today, he would probably end up in Grady Memorial Hospital getting treated by a doctor hopped up on amphetamines.
"Were you able to save him doctor?"
"Yes, we were ma'am. However he will most likely remain in a vegetative state for the rest of his life... For another million dollars we may be able to perform a procedure which will give him the use of his eyelids so that he can communicate by blinking."
I guess a show about a vegetable would not be as interesting, even if it was called "The Two Million Dollar Man," and he could blink.
Even though a million dollars wouldn't do 'ole blinky much good today, I sure would like to have it. If I had the money, I would start my own brewery. I know you're probably thinking that I would just drink away all my profits, but I have an idea that would make me a bazillionaire (that is lot, I think). The only thing my brewery would sell would be the "41." The beer would taste like shit, but I would put all the companies that make 40 oz. beers out of business. Who in their right mind would buy a 40 when they could buy a 41? Don't try to argue that the other beers may taste better because nobody buys a 40 to savor the taste. Could you picture a bunch of rich country clubbers with monocles chugging 40s? No, because people only drink 40s to get drunk. And the only thing better than a 40 at getting you drunk is a 41.
Another "can't lose" idea I have had for a while is the reverse microwave. When you have some warm beer that you just brought in from the car don't you hate waiting by the refrigerator forever until it gets cold? Well, with the reverse microwave just put your beer in for a few seconds and, viola, instant cold. I'm not exactly sure how this device would work, but I just need to get a microwave to do the exact opposite of whatever it does now.
Do you ever take a pill that says "Avoid prolonged exposure to sunlight" on the side? And then you don't pay attention and end up looking like the Kool-aid man. (I wish I could burst through walls like him) Well, I want a pill that does the opposite. Give me some steroids for my melatonin. I hope all you scientist out there are taking notes because I want this stuff invented, stat. Just think, in the near future you could be basking in the sun, carefree, while you drink yourself stupid with a couple ice-cold bottles of 41 oz. beer you just pulled from the reverse microwave.

July 17th, 2004

I feel like an unflushed toilet... crappy. Last night's party was pretty good. My only complaint is not enough people got wasted. There were way too many coherent conversations going on throughout the night. At one point I realized nobody had even started drinking the champagne yet. So I opened a couple of bottles with the plan of passing them around. However, I ended up just drinking them myself, which may not have been the best decision.
If you have 110 percent to give before a football game, and 0 when you are dead, then right now I am at about a 2. That is nothing compared to the negative 5 I must have had this morning. The fact that I did not have to be at work until 3:30 just made setting my alarm even more pathetic. I just hope there isn't any breaking news this afternoon because I am not in a physical or mental state to handle that right now. It took me 45 minutes just to put on a pair of socks earlier. After the socks fiasco I was so out of breath that I had to lie down on the couch for a few minutes before I could even think about shoes.
Actually, I am working up a sweat just typing this so I better take a break.

July 15th, 2004

It seems that God does not have the sense of humor that I had hoped. Instead of laughing off my jovial commentary, He goes and causes a car accident in front of me that I inevitably run into. It is frusterating because, though there was absolutly nothing I could have done to avoid the wreck, I am still at fault for "following too closely." Nevermind the fact that I was at least 10 car lengths behind. There just isn't much you can do when there are cars on either side of you and the one in front of you suddenly goes from 40 mph to 0.
The girl who was in the middle car was very apologetic, and hot, so I couldn't get too upset. My car was still drivable, but it must have about $2,000 or more of cosmetic damage. However, I still don't take back my previous statements on insurance. I saved over $800 a year for the past 5 years by not getting comprehensive coverage. When you consider that I would still owe a $500 deductible on the $2000 of repairs, the $1500 or so insurance would pay out now would be nice, but not worth it overall.
I've calculated it out and if I can save $10 a day by not eating, then in only 200 days I will have saved enough money to make my car good as new. There are some woods behind where I live, and I have a hav-a-hart trap at my mom's house, so I'm sure I would have no trouble beating the crap out of someone leaving the grocery store with the metal hav-a-hart trap and stealing their food. I just hope the police don't start to see a pattern when it happens at the Kroger up the street 200 days straight.

July 10th, 2004
God and Gambling

It seems like gambling is becoming more and more popular these days. The World Series of Poker is broadcast numerous times on ESPN and its ratings have done so well that it inspired similar programs such as Celebrity Poker and other amatur tournaments. There is even a reality show about a start-up casino. Lottery jackpots have also grown to such enormous size that they warrant national news coverage.
The expanded popularity is great for those of us who make money in the gambling business. The odds only get better for casinos and professional gamblers when you add a bunch of inexperienced players to the mix. While casinos should win about 51% of all wagers, some idiot hitting on 17 or chasing an inside straight draw, will quickly shoot those odds up to around 70% or more. What does all this mean?
God really likes casinos and professional gamblers.
The Bible makes it very clear that whenever someone does something good, it is because God was with them, but if something bad happens, God has clearly turned his back to them. Just read Judges and you'll see that the Israelites never win a battle without God's help and never lose one without His scorn.
What I find strange is that God always seems to be with me 50% of the time when I flip a coin. You're probably just laughing to yourself right now thinking, "Those stupid people from Biblical times just had no concept of odds at all." But we obviously haven't come too far since then. Slots, the casino games which consistently have the worst odds, are also the casinos most popular social security thief. (Just be happy that all that money missing from your paycheck under the FICA column is going to a good cause.)
I think a good explanation for the Bible's reasoning is that God got tired of having to fix the outcome of everything from sporting events to holy wars. So He invented odds to help him out. He then had so much free time on His hands that He started experimenting in mind altering drugs, boned a Jewish chick while He was on a bender, and hasn't come back to Earth since. (Can you imagine the child support he would owe as the Father of mankind?)

I sure hope there isn't a Hell, and if there is, then I hope God has a sense of humor.

July 8th, 2004

I'm looking at getting another beach trip together. I'm going to get a bigger discount than before, so if we get close to the same amount of people it will probably only cost around $20 a person for a long weekend. Right now I am looking at the dates of August 12th-15th or 20th-22nd. I'll let you know more, and try to find out who can make it, as soon as I pick the time.
Tom Ridge is giving a conference right now about the risk of future terrorist attacks. Of course, he is only telling us that we should be worried, even though we don't know what to worry about.
People today are all a bunch of nail-biting pants-wetters. The biggest risks anyone ever seems willing to take is with the stock market, and even then they puss-out whenever Alan Greenspan so much as takes a crap. There is insurance for everything. You could probably buy stock insurance if you're worried because your favorite company just hired Kenneth Lay. If you buy a $12 toaster oven they will try to sell you a $20 warranty.
"But this warranty covers any defects or repairs that are needed for the next 5 years."
"No thanks. I will be careful with it."
"Being careful isn't good enough. These things break all the time. They usually don't even last a year."
"Then why the hell would I even buy your toaster oven? I want one that isnt a piece of crap."
My mom once made the mistake of buying an extended warranty on a 13" TV/VCR combo. After about 6 months the VCR stopped ejecting tapes. My mom tried to get them to fix it, but they claimed that only the TV portion was covered under the warranty. I yelled at them for a while about how it was a TV/VCR COMBO, but they maintained that they would only make repairs if the TV portion was broken. My question was then, "Does this warranty cover accidents such as dropping the item?"
"Yes, our warrantys always cover accidents unless they were acts of God, such as lighting."
"OK. Well, the TV portion is about to break if you don't fix the damn VCR. And I can guarantee you, it won't be an act of God."
They finally agreed to replace the whole thing, but it just goes to show how ridiculous extended warranties are.
Buying extra insurance and extended warranties is sorta like reverse gambling. You may fuck something up and get paid out every now and again, and you may hear about people who beat the system by getting cancer and winning the health insurance jackpot, but in the long run the house always wins.
You'd think you could avoid all this stupidity by just taking a few little risks, but people are so damn scared of everything this isn't possible. The next time you have to ruin your shocks on some speed bumps, wait outside a gated community, take off your shoes at airport security, chill out in Guantanamo for a little while, or watch another damn terror threat update instead of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, think of all the pussies out there making it possible and be happy that you are paying taxes for all these things that piss you off.

July 5th, 2004 - 2:50 AM

As you can see by the time above, it is freaking late and I am at work. I guess the night shift isn't that bad. For the past hour all I have been doing is watching Late Night with Conan O'Brian. I'm not really sure if I will feel the same way at around 6:00 in the morning though. I wore myself out today moving stuff into my house. Probably the most enjoyable thing to move was a big 'ole piano. I don't actually play the piano, (At least not well anyways) but it was offered to my mom so I said to myself, "Hey, free piano."
Maybe I thought everyone was joking about how heavy these things are because I originally tried to move it with help from just my mom and little brother. That didn't work out for me. Luckily, Chad was a pal and lent a hand.
Every weekend we all end up going to Moondogs in Buckhead and every weekend we promise ourselves that we aren't going to go there again. Well, I've stopped promising myself anything, because I am tried of letting me down. This last weekend we did a double take and went on both Friday and Saturday. The place isn't that bad. There are always a lot of people there I know and it has cheap pitchers. One thing that is weird, it has two-way mirrors in almost every room. Either this place was once used for police line-ups or they went a little overboard on the security. Whenever I see a two-way mirror I always want to stare deeply at the thing and, all of a sudden, point directly at the mirror and make the universal "I'm going to kill you" sign by drawing my other hand across my neck. Chances are, there is not going to be anyone behind the mirror to notice, but wouldn't it be awesome if there were? I'll have to be sure to control my urges if I ever am in a police line-up. Stuff like that could probably get me into some trouble.

July 4th, 2004

I have moved just about everything out of my old house and into the new already, but unfortunately one thing I had yet to move was my police uniform. I say "was" because Kevin and Charles ripped the uniform up last night. Kevin seemed very convinced that he had a good reason to destroy my uniform because he said Charles was wearing it "gayley." I don't really know who to blame for the destruction of my stuff but I think it is sufficient to say that they are both dumbasses.

Kick Ass Police

I am not a police officer. In fact, I don't even like police officers, but I had a nice history of wearing a police uniform. It started back in high school when Eddie, Kevin, and I went to an inner city thrift store to find Halloween costumes. We lucked-out because we found 3 authentic Rockdale County police uniforms. I now know why it is illegal to impersonate a police officer; it is because it is a lot of fun. (Authorities make sure that if anything is a lot of fun it is made illegal.)
That Halloween night started with me being a nice big brother and taking my little brothers out trick-or-treating. I thought I was a little to old to be trick-or-treating that year, but I found it was hilarious to walk up and bang on some random persons door with a stern look on your face while wearing a police uniform. Some people knew it was a joke, but there were a few who came to their doors with an "I just shit myself" look on their face. (These people were probably growing pot plants in their basement) To a few of the people who looked particularly scared when they opened the door, I followed up my act by saying "I've gotten reports that you gave these children poisoned candy," while gesturing to my little brothers.
Later that night, Eddie, Kevin, and I put on our costumes and set off for a Halloween party that someone we knew from high school was throwing. When we pulled up front of the house the place was pretty packed and the music was blaring. All three of us walked side by side in standard "don't fuck with me I'm a policeman" fashion toward the door. Our friends Matt and Charles had gotten to the party a little earlier than us and were already sitting on the front steps enjoying a couple of 40s. When Charles saw the flash of light reflected by three badges walking toward them he turned to Matt and hissed, "Throw it!"
But before Charles had hurled his 40 into the distance Matt stopped him and reminded him of the costume purchases we all made earlier that afternoon. As funny as Charles's reaction was, it was nothing compared to what we got when we opened the front door. The music immediately stopped and everyone fell silent. Then, in the background, someone yells, "Fuck the police!" and runs out the back of the house.
Half of the party then joins this person in sprinting with wild abandon into the woods. The other half (probably the ones who hadn't drunk themselves stupid yet) took a split second, and burst into laughter. Everyone congratulated us on our costumes and offered us a couple of beers, but no sooner do we get to the keg than we hear a scream, "Ahhhhhhh....." followed by a loud crash.
Apparently, one kid was a little late on the news that we were not real police officers and decided his only escape was to leap from the second floor. Luckily, he wasn't hurt, only covered in garbage because he landed in one of the large garbage cans next to the house.
For the rest of the night, battered and bruised people wandered back to the party from the woods, covered in dirt and with twigs in their hair. But everyone found humor in the situation and ended up having a great time.
The next year we were all in college for Halloween. Eddie and Kevin were at Emory University and, though I was attending The University of Georgia, I was back in Atlanta for Halloween. Emory has a tradition of throwing a giant party for Halloween called Dooley's Ball where they get live bands and provide beer and food for everyone. (The amount of alcohol poisoning incidents that occurred during these parties has since caused Emory to cancel the tradition.) To get into the party all you have to do is show your Emory ID. This would have been a little tough for me, because I never went to Emory. With my trusty police uniform on I found that my lack of an Emory education was not a problem. As Kevin and Eddie showed their IDs at the gate to get in, I just gave the security guards a quick nod and walked on through.
Dooley's Ball packed the Woodruff field with people that year and there were really long lines to use the few portapots that were provided. When I walked past this line I noticed one student couldn't stand the wait. He had taken to urinating on the outside of the toilet. When he finished I walked up behind him, put my hand on his shoulder and said, "You're going to have to come with me son."
He turned around with a saddened expression on his face as I pulled out my handcuffs. Before I made this guy cry in front of all his friends I had to tell him it was a joke. After laughing about it for a little while we got a picture of me pretending to handcuff him.
I was looking forward to future adventures of police impersonation, but, sadly, my shirt is sitting on the floor of our front porch ripped to pieces all because Charles was wearing it too "gayley."

[Apologia and Addendum by Kevin Goldburg, July 12th 2004]

In response to your July 4 entry I must wholeheartedly and sincerely acknowledge and admit to the actions that I chose to take on the night of July 3. I find it necessary to apologize and ask for forgiveness from not only you, the owner of the late shirt, but also from all those innocent people who, through no fault of their own, were forced to witness such horrible, callous, and random destruction of so splendid an article of clothing. I take full responsiblity for my actions. The shirt did nothing to me. While it is undoubtedly true that Charles was wearing it gayly, this was not the fault of the shirt persay. If I could go back in time and had it all to do over again, my drunken and nonsensical aggression would have landed solely upon the head of the wearer (Charles) rather than the wearee (your shirt). Of course, hindsight is 20/20. I only hope that perhaps someday you can put this ugly and unfortunate episode behind and, in time, come to forgive me.
Sincerely, -Kevin J. Goldburg

July 3rd, 2004

Below is a copy of the unique way Charles sent out a party invitation this afternoon. I think it is supposed to sound like it was written by Homer, (not Simpson) and he must have done a good job, because like The Odyssey I have no idea what it says. I get the impression that we are having a party tonight, but beyond that I am lost. I would have been even more impressed if Charles had managed to convey all that information in a Haiku.
My mom came by my new house this afternoon with all my little brothers, and they all started cleaning it for me, which is awesome. Each of my brothers harbors some sliver of hope that, if they are nice enough to me, I will let them move in. I should probably let them know that there is no way in hell that is happening, but there are a few more things I need cleaned first.
I just ate the biggest Moe's burrito in the world. The guy accidentally thought that I ordered double meat so he gave it to me for free. I'm not really much of a grazer. I usually just eat one giant meal each day sort of like a kick-ass snake. (Don't ask me why the snake kicks ass, he just does.) This practice goes against the advice of just about every dietitian in the world, but I think it just goes to show they are all full of shit.
I have always wanted to publish a one-page diet book and call it "Don't eat so damn much!" Unlike other diets, results are typical if you quit eating so damn much you will lose weight. The book's one page would just contain some inspirational phrase such as, "Quit eating so much, Fattie."
Even if it doesn't sell as well as the Atkins diet I'm sure I would make a bundle. Another diet Charles is very fond of is called "The Lake Diet." This one is slightly more complicated. First, you have to live on a lake. Each day you gorge yourself on as much hamburger meat you can shove down your throat, wash it down with at least a 12-pack of beer and then water-ski until you are too tired to stand. I know you are probably not a nuitritionalist so I won't get into the scientifics of why this diet works, but if you are disciplined enough to follow it you will be as thin as Mary-Kate in no time.

Charles's Party Announcement

Sing in me oh Muse
And partying be thy song.
Through me tell the story of that great party
Skilled in all ways of getting us kicked out of
The neighborhood.
Sing of the house, already fled by doomed
Westall in his anger, doomed and ruinous,
That caused the Franklin Circlos to throw a party.
thus the will of Zeus, who throws ever clear shots from mount olympos was done.

Charlos turned at once, telling his criers
To send out shrill and clear
To all ATLien troops, the call of party, and
The grey-eyed goddess Akilah kept pace behind
Him, bearing her shield of storm and cigarette smoke,
And each man in his heart grew strong to party
For at Akilah's passage, partying became lovlier
Than responsibility,
Lovlier than waking before 3 on Sunday.
As migrating birds, house by house, came the tumult to 1181,
countless as the beer bottles on the lawn the day after.
So too like clouds of buzzing, fevered, flies that swarm about
A keg new opened: so restlessly by the thousands moved the partiers of
ATL, lusting to rend the house of 1181 Franklin Circle. Propstos'
Lordly mie was like the mien of Zues, whose joy is booze hounds,
Oaken wasted as Ares, God of War, he seemed,
And deep chested as Lord Poseidon whose hate is
Kitchen appliances.
Tell men now oh Muses, dwelling on olympos,
Who were the ATLien lords and officers?
The rank and file I shall not name; I could not, if I were gifted with ten tongues
And voices unfaltering. Let me name only the captains of the contingents.
From ATHENOS came the giant, Adam, and with him came Patricklos of the
Foul smells who alone had bested Propstos with his stench.
With them traveled James liqurousis, whose strength was unmatched even by Bacchus
in The art of liquor pong.
Next Mateos of the expensive six pack, who Apollo, god of Suntrust, held In great regard.
Came then Chad Sarcasticus, favored also by Apollo,
Whose shotgunning was unmatched by all save the Immortal, Westall,
Who in turn was bested by Charlos, skilled in many ways of drinking.
Then came the East Cliftonites, led by their warrior princess Ninos, of the curly hair and biting wit. With her traveled Leaos, the merciful.
From the North descended Aprilos the tiny, who sacrificed a hekatomb of rams to
Her patron Lisa Gurreros in the hopes that she would once again vanquish
many mighty warriors in the honored contest of beer pong. So too came Meghan
the easily offended.
From Foxxes came Erin the cold, who had vanquished Laurones the marathoner in debate.
Alongside her rode Foxis Seanicus, the deceived but funny as hell.
Christemporos was the last to come, for he had to contend with the wailing
of his family, though throughout his heart yearned for battle.
Uknown aboard the ships were Benares (god of war), GT Matt from whom all nonsense comes, and assorted others.

Okay.so I'm getting tired of this even though I am bored at work. Here's the deal: PARTY topping everything Friday. SATURDAY AT MY HOUSE STARTING WHENEVER YOU LAZY CHUMPS CAN GET HERE. I will be drinking as soon as I wake up, so be ready to hear a lot of lil john sounds and "but you don't hear me though" (lil flip (it's called rap, look it up)). No holds barred folks, bring whoever (girls) and let's see if me and propst (propst and I for the douches out there) can get a formal letter asking us to leave the neighborhood. 1181 Franklin Circle

Today we party for our country. Tomorrow we are hung-over for the world.

--Charles (404) 234-3424

Post Scriptos: For anyone wondering why I'm being a dork and writing an epic poem for this party..I got three words for you: Toga TOGA TOGA. Sexy (for girls) and creative (for guys) is encouraged.Prizes will be awarded for each.

July 2nd, 2004

Wow, I am watching Matthew Broderick on TV right now and he has gotten a little tubby. There is no way Ferris could outrun his sister's car now that he is carrying an extra 40 pounds. I bet Sloan must have dumped him, because she was super hot for an 80s chick.
I am staying at my new place now. It is sorta nice to have the place to myself, but I'm sure I would get tired of that. There are not very many 1 person drinking games to play. I'm still looking for a roommate, so if you are not a murderer, or at least you promise not to murder me, and you want to stay in a nice place next to Emory and Virginia Highlands let me know.
You know what movie is going to be awesome? Harold & Kumar Go To Whitecastle. You can tell this movie is going to be good because it didn't even need an exciting premise to be a attract your attention. Most movies now a days take some exciting event, like the bombing of Pearl Harbor, and make it suck. But this one goes straight for a sucky event and makes it really exciting. I'll admit, this is all speculation, but if Dude, Where's My Car taught us anything, it is that llamas look a hell of a lot like ostriches, and that Wes is always correct when he is speculating.
Doh, another alarm just went off at the [BLANK] building. They don't make us leave the building when this happens, which is nice, but it doesn't exactly inspire confidence in the alarm system. All the alarm lights start flashing, a siren goes off, and then a little computer voice says, "Attention, we have detected an alarm in your part of the building. We are currently checking on the cause of the alarm."
This message is nice and informative, but I hope they have a different one for if something really goes wrong. I don't want to be sitting at my computer typing this while there is a 5-alarm is fire taking out half the building. If that happens I'd prefer the computer voice sound like Samuel L. Jackson and say something like, "Everybody get the fuck out or you're all gonna die! Hell, most of you Motherfuckers are dead already! Say what again motherfucker, say what again, I dare you, no I double dare you, say what again..."
The voice could then just start saying a bunch of random Samuel L. Jackson quotes, but I think people would get the point.

June 27th, 2004

I think someone could really make a lot of money selling American flags in the Middle East. Here in the USA we buy our flags, hang them up, and keep them for years, but in the Middle East they are burning flags constantly. They must spend a fortune on flags just so they can go out and burn them. That has to be the best planned obsolescence that any corporation could hope for.
You could revolutionize the flag burning industry with a few high priced innovations. I'm sure the Iraqis would be all over an extra slow burning American flag or a flag that is reversible so you can protest either the US or British occupation depending on your mood. It may seem like you are selling out America to make a quick buck, but you will laugh all the way to the bank knowing that you are capitalizing on the very Western ideals that the Iraqis are protesting.
I remember after the September 11th attacks some Emory University student decided to exercise his free speech by burning a US flag on campus TV. A bunch of fraternity brothers later proved why we don't need a law prohibiting flag burning by kicking this kid's ass. Just because something's legal does not make it a good idea.
I finally closed on my new house this past Thursday, and closing on a house is a huge pain in the ass. To get approved for a loan you have to send them a million faxes of every little stock, and bank account, and car title, an Best Buy gift card that you have. All of this is really pointless too, because I could have forged every piece of information that I faxed the loan agency in less time than it took for me to dig it out of the archive of papers that my mom saves for me. If they ever needed to know what I got on my 3rd grade report card my mom would have it. Then you have to deal with a bunch of insurance agencies that all want to scam you out of as much money as possible. And you have to get these insurance people to coordinate with the loan agency and organize a closing date with your title attorney who works with your real estate agent. It would have been easier to teach a bunch of monkeys how to write poetry over the phone than it was to get all these people to work together.
I finally got everything ready and the closing date set, and one day before the closing was supposed to take place I got a call from the loan agency letting me know that they couldn't give me the loan. Someone, years ago, had tried to look up my credit report and miss-typed my Social Security number. My credit officially doesn't exist because every thing I have ever done is tied to a SS# ending with 89 instead of 39. Even a copy of my SS card couldn't straighten everything out. I had to go down to the SS administrations office and get them to vouch for me.
Most of the time government agencies are slow because there are a million people in front of you in line who speak a million different languages and are trying to do things a million times more complicated than you need to do. However, at this particular agency they must have already realized nobody speaks the same language, because they had hired tellers who didn't even speak English. I was very frazzled by the time I got a letter confirming the SS#. I had only a few minutes before my closing and I still needed to go to a Bank of America to get a cashier's check. I ran up the stairs of the closest bank and was out of breath by the time I got to a teller and asked him for some money. He gave me a small slip of paper and told me to write down the information. I didn't really understand what he meant so I just wrote "$20,000" and handed it back to him. After a funny look and a few minutes of hushed talking on the phone with someone who was probably looking up my entire history, and not finding anything because the didn't end my SS# with an 89, I got the cash and I was able to make it to the closing in time.
Now that I have a house, I just need to move all my shit in and find some roommates. If I don't get any roommates I will be so broke that I will have to sit at home in the dark and eat spaghetti without sauce every night. Even Beast Light would be too expensive for me. Luckily, I am not at that point of brokeness yet so I can still go out drinking tonight. It is a Saturday after all.

June 25th, 2004

I've been bitching a lot lately, so here's a 'feel good' story for all you's guys

TORONTO (Reuters) - A Canadian man, driving a car packed with weapons and ammunition, was intent on killing as many people as possible in a Toronto neighborhood but gave up the plan at the last minute when he encountered a friendly dog, police said on Thursday.
The middle-aged man, who police said was mentally disturbed, had planned to carry out the shooting spree on Wednesday to ensure he would be put in jail permanently, Toronto police said.
He had set himself up in an east-end park to load his weapons and then planned to drive around shooting. He later told police that a dog then approached and started playing with him.
The encounter melted the man's heart, and he then went in search of police to give himself up, police said.
"He happens to be a pet lover, and decided that since there was such a nice dog in the area, that people were too nice and he wasn't going to carry out his plan," Detective Nick Ashley told reporters.

June 22th, 2004

It is 9:00 am right now but it already feels like the afternoon for me. Today is usually my day off, but I am working an extra shift for some good overtime pay. Unfortunately, that means I had to wake up at 6:00 am. It is amazing to me that old retired people are able to get up at this time every day. I guess it helps that they eat dinner at 4:30 and are in bed by 7:00 each night. But if I were 70 years old and had nothing better to do, I would sleep as long and as often as possible.
In the news today Bill Clinton's book is now on sale and there are people lined up down the block just to buy it. I like Bill Clinton and everything, but don't you think the story of any president's life would be able the most boring thing you have ever heard? Current president excluded, these people spent their lives staying out of trouble and kissing other people's asses in order to move up in the political world. I haven't read the book yet but I can pretty much guarantee there isn't going to be a chapter about Clinton getting smashed and shooting fireworks out of his mouth or one about the time his favorite hooker turned out to be a transsexual and hilarity ensued. If Clinton really wanted to write a book about his life and make it interesting he should have written some sort of Clinton Biography - Harry Potter crossover, or maybe he could team up with the Hardy Boys to solve the mystery of Creepy Lake.
If I ever write the story of my life I am totally going to lie my ass off. I'd probably be the first person ever sued for plagiarizing parts of his own biography. Observant people may realize that it would be impossible for me to have fought in the Civil War and both World Wars, but I'm willing to bet that they wouldn't be the majority.

Scientists Develop Antidote for Burping Sheep
BERLIN (Reuters) - Scientists have developed a serum to reduce methane gas in burping sheep, cows and other ruminants, a German magazine reported on Monday. The Hanover-based monthly Technology Review will report in its July issue that Andre-Denis Wright, a molecular biologist at Australia's CSIRO Institute, has found a vaccine that reduced the methane emissions of sheep by eight percent. The magazine said that scientists believe the amounts can be reduced even further and more testing is planned.
This article just goes to show that there are way too many scientist in the world. I bet these guys got into the scientist field hoping to work on curing cancer or creating a new efficient fuel source, but they must not have scored high enough on their SAT (Scientist Aptitude Test) because they got stuck with farting and burping sheep.

June 19th, 2004

Reagan Ruins My B-Day

Last night was really confusing for me, which is weird because I didn't drink that much. I went out to a party at Nina's house but since I didn't get there until around 12:00 it wasn't long before people started leaving. After about an hour or so most of the people I know had left for Buckhead and Charles had entered into a drunken stupor on Nina's couch. I asked Charles if he wanted a ride home, but he simple mumbled something unintelligible and flicked me off.
I decided to call it a night and headed home. When I got there is seemed there was a party at my house. The driveway was filled, and the street was lined with cars. The inside of the house looked like a party too. Every light was on, the music was going and beer was everywhere. However, this party kinda sucked because there wasn't a single person in the house. I end up just going to bed.
The next morning I wake up to take a piss I see wet clothes everywhere. There are clothes in the hallway, in the kitchen, and in my bathroom hanging from the lights. The most confusing thing to me is the fact that I didn't go to bed drunk so I shouldn't be this perplexed when I wake up. There are also a lot of people awake and running around the house. I check out my watch and it is like 7:30 in the morning. A girl I know, who is sporting a white t-shirt like a dress (I guess some of the clothes on the floor were hers), then notices me standing in the hallway. Rather than say anything, she just laughs at the fact I am in my boxers and runs off. In my bathroom I not only find more clothes, but there are also some girls that I don't know using my shower. I figure I better go use Charles's bathroom instead. Somehow Charles managed to get himself back home and is curled in a fetal ball on his bed. I eventually try and go back to sleep because it is so early in the morning, but it is tough with a bunch of giggling girls running around your house. When I do wake up at around 10:00 the house is silent. Every person who was running around like a "child with ADD" is now sprawled in a comatose state. I decide to do some laundry, but when I walk through the kitchen with a pile of clothes in my hands I come across the only two people still awake. And they are going at it, in the biblical sense, right in the middle of the kitchen. I just casually turn around and go back to my room with my clothes. But when I walk past Propst's room I have to do a double take. His door is wide open and there are two people butt-ass naked lying on his bed. They didn't even bother with the covers. I don't know whether to be disappointed or glad that I missed out on whatever deviant sexual shit that happened last night.
I should be closing on my house either the Tuesday or Thursday of this coming week. And I am really looking forward to moving because, as you can see, my current house is quickly becoming a brothel.
I used to clean the whole house pretty well each weekend, but since I have known that I was going to move out for the last three weeks, I haven't been as interested in keeping the place presentable. I figure I will just clean it really well one time before I move everything out. In the meantime, our house has begun to resemble a place someone would go to buy some type of drugs, and I don't mean a pharmacy. We need some girls living with us clean all this crap up. I've always been able to handle living with girls, but Eddie and Charles have had some troubles. (Although it doesn't help that the girls were bat-shit insane.)
Eddie, Charles, Ben and I went down to spend spring break at the beach a few years ago with a few girls, Jenny, Darcie, and some crazy friend of Jenny's who's name I can't remember. I knew the trip was off to a bad start when we showed up to the hotel and were greeted by Jenny crying and bitching about how worried she was that I had not been answering my cell phone. She had even been calling my house to see if something had happened to us. There was a pretty simple explanation; I had left my phone at the house. (As I learned on a later trip, taking your phone to the beach is a bad idea.) We then proceed to drinking, but since it is already late, the girls have a bit of a head start on us. They have met some University of Some Shitty State fraternity brothers and Darcie goes down to the beach with them. It isn't long before she comes back bawling. We were all worried they and done something to her, and we were going to have to go get our asses kicked protecting her honor, and such. In-between sobs she says, "One of them asked if I would suck his dick!"
"Well, that sucks, but why are you crying?" I asked. I have never been very good at consoling people. I was on the girl's shit list from that point on.
Luckily, the next morning things had cooled down enough that we all decide to go to lunch together. We noticed a restarunt advertising margaritas and stopped in for a drink. However, as the waitress tells us, "We are out of every alcoholic beverage we have."
I decide the next best thing is to order some beer battered mushrooms for $5.95. But she brings me 4 tiny mushrooms on a plate. To the Darcie's horror I complain that I am not paying $5.95 for 4 mushrooms and then we only leave a 14% tip because the place sucked balls. This somehow leads to more crying and yelling.
On our way home we stop by the grocery store to buy some milk for white russians. The other guys go to get some liquor and I grab the milk. When I get to the cashier the girls are in from of me and they have a grocery cart filled to the brim with crap. They picked up Boca burgers, stir-fried vegetables, baby food, and a 10 lb bag of random candy. Just as I start to snicker because their total comes up to around $300 one of them turns to me and says, "That's not so bad. With 7 of us it will only be around $45 a person."
My heart sank when I realized I had just unknowingly taken part in the purchasing of all that crap. To this day I refuse to let other people go grocery shopping for me. The experience was that traumatizing.
Throughout the week tensions are strained by random sexual encounters along with general female craziness. This one girl keeps trying to get us to read her 300-page thesis. It is a diary of the time she spent on a ship, but that is about all I remember because it was the most boring thing I have ever laid eyes on.
By Friday we are all drained from the large amounts of alcohol we have been consuming as well as the constant yelling that had become almost commonplace. We go to a bar called the Florabama and it becomes apparent that these girls, and alcohol have pushed Eddie over the edge into crazy land. He is stumbling around the bar groping random people until he comes upon a couple of cute girls standing alone. He walks right up and says, "You girls are the sluttiest girls I have ever met."
Then he just stands there smiling while they stare horrified at him. Charles has to go up and try to explain things, but he isn't much better off than Eddie. While Charles is apologizing Eddie slips off and grabs some guys coat. "This is Ben's coat," he says.
Charles still hasn't finished apologizing to the first people and Eddie already has another person who wants to fight him. The weirdest thing was, Eddie ended up stealing this guy's coat at least 5 times that night under the impression that it was Ben's coat, and each time we barely manage to talk this guy out of a fight. I think we eventually convinced him that Eddie was mentally retarded. Jenny, Darcie, and Jenny's friend are horrified at our behavior and proceed to bitch at us for the rest of the night.
If someone could invent a car that was powered by bitchiness we could set a new land speed record by getting the whole gang back together for another spring break. Unfortunately, I don't think that is possible, mostly because a bitch power car is just nonsense, but also because we have all gone our separate ways. Jenny is now a bank teller in Wooster, Ohio while her boyfriend goes to school there. Darcie, I'm guessing, has returned to Mobile, Alabama where she still bursts into tears at regular intervals. Eddie has moved to Costa Rica to avoid any further encounters with these girls. And Charles is moving to Iowa so he can finally fulfill his dream of running backward through a cornfield.

June 13th, 2004 (The Olsen twins turn 18 today.)

I finally remembered! I have with me right now lots of little bits of paper on which Kevin has scribbled some of the more memorable quotes from the 5th grader's standardized test essays he had to read. I think these quotes make it clear that the biggest threat to our country is stupidity. I'm not talking about the kind of ignorance that comes from poor quality schools; I'm talking about a lack of basic cognitive thinking, 'the round peg goes in the round hole' type of shit. For example, each of these essays is supposed to have a theme which is introduced and then supported and summed-up in the conclusion. I wonder what topic this young girl was given to write about.

One time I went into the kitchen + there was the funnyest thing ever. It was a big huge baby dipper it stunk so bad that I fainted, then it was funny that I laughed my heart out.
Then, right beside it was a big baby with no dipper on and that baby needed a bath but, I wasn't going to give it to him/her. Then, it had a little accident on the floor the whole house was stinkien the dipper had a poo-poo in it and mom made me clean it up so unfare.
So I did, then I took a bath.
The baby was the fartenest baby I have ever seen. I wasen't going to touch it not even for the world because the baby had to poo-poo all the time grose,
the baby didnt care because it was his poop."
Maybe I could see a young child who was very excited telling this story, but not a 14-year-old kid actually writing it as an essay. However, I do think his conclusion was a good one, "the baby didn't care because it was his poop.

One day a 1/2 lion 1/2 zebra escaped the circus he came to are school he killed my friend joey we unfortunately had to feed him to the wood chipper and flush his bits down the potty! And then the animal got shot. The End.
You know your 5-paragraph essay has some problems when it is only 3 sentences long and one of those sentences is "The End." Here are a few other quotable quotes taken from some fine essays. Sometimes it can be fun to try and guess the context of the quote.
"On my 7th birthday, thats when I turned 7."
"He smells like an unflushed toilet."
"It was as wild as a child with ADD."
"I saw a man on a bueatiful hore." (Hopefully he meant horse)
"I was laying there like a retarded kid."
"I was in Idaho at the beach."
"I fell to the hard grass."
"A 1-foot booger rope."
"I had a bad day because I fell in some dog crap."
"We was weaker than a bear who got shot 2 times."
These quotes will show you that it doesn't take a future Einstein to come up with a really good analogy. I really shouldn't be so hard on these kids though. After all, I read things much worse that adults write to [BLANK].com on a daily basis.
Since my last few entries have been sort of negative, I figured it would be a good idea to sum this one up with a list of things I hate. Please note that this list is not comprehensive.
-People who drive with their convertible top down and windows up.
-People who work at Best Buy. No, I don't want to buy your damn warranty!
-Dogs that bark.
-Famous Pub.
-The telephone.
-The Mummy Returns.
-Cops that are dicks.
-Super Christians.
-Grumpy old people.
-Peas. (People put them in everything and they are impossible to pick out.)
-People who buy shitty groceries and expect everyone to pay for them.
-Any movie with Hugh Grant.
-Fartenest babies.
-Smokers.

June 12th, 2004

Darn it. I forgot to bring the excerpts from some of the essays Kevin graded. Oh well, unless Reagan dies again I should have time to write them down tomorrow.
Thinking back on last week I just come up with a big blank spot in my memory. So, I must have either gotten involved in the same kinda shit as Ben Affleck in that movie Paycheck, or I had a very boring week. Charles and I did end up going to Atkins Park in Virginia Highlands last night, but we didn't really see anyone we knew. At least I was able to get some beer and chicken fingers (They are awesome!).
When we decided to head home we walked to my car, and walked, and walked, and walked. I had forgotten where I parked. We must have walked over a mile looking for that thing. We went all the way to Briarcliff and came all the way back twice. I was very grumpy by the time we reached the car.
I was already a little grumpy on Friday though, because I had to talk with a damn insurance salesman about home and auto insurance earlier. I know exactly what coverage I want and exactly what the prices should be, but this dumbass keeps saying things like, "You'd be a fool not to get $300,000 liability on your car insurance and full comprehensive coverage. And what about protecting your valuables in your home? You don't want a deductible that high. What if there's a volcano? You could lose everything if you don't have a volcano policy."
OK, so I made that last one up, but you get the idea. His scare tactics made me think of the way Bush is keeping all the dumb rednecks on his side; convincing them that if we don't spend billions on national security, Gruetly Tennessee could be the next target of those evil Arabs. The thing is, bad shit happens, and no matter how much money you spend, bad shit is always going to happen. Insurance companies are not going to help. Maybe one day UNICEF will get into the insurance business, but until then, insurance companies are going to be scamming stupid people out of their money. If, on the very slight chance, one of these idiot's cars is hit by an uninsured motorist, or a tree falls on his house, he can smile because his pessimistic anxiety caused him to buy a premium, $5000 dollars a year, insurance plan. He'll be smiling all the way to his agent's office until he realizes that all he has been paying for is really expensive peace-of-mind. When he extends his hand for the check his agent is just going to say, "No."
He can argue all he wants, "But what do you mean? I have been paying an extra $500 a month for tree insurance and a tree just fell on my house."
"Yes, but that was a dead tree. All its leaves were brown. You're insurance plan only covers live trees."
"That tree wasn't dead. Its leaves were brown because this is November."
"Well, it may have been alive before that lightning struck it and caused it to fall on your house, but by the time it caused the damage to your roof it was most certainly already dead. No tree could survive a lightning strike like that."
He can try to fight them in court, but since he spent all his money on insurance, he is going to have to settle with My Cousin Vinny, while the insurance company uses all that money he gave them to get Erin Brokovich....to give them all blowjobs, and then hire Johnny Cochran to defend them.
Shit happens, take responsibility and deal with it. If you think some company out to make a profit is going to fix everything for you, well... then, I can give you a great deal on some volcano insurance.

June 6th, 2004 (Anna Kornikova's birthday)

I meant to write about some of Kevin's excerpts from 5th grader's papers today, but unfortunately I forgot to bring them with me to work. Kevin had a job where he graded standardized essays for public school 5th graders. Personally, I think this job would be very depressing. Whenever I read the letters submitted to [BLANK].com I am astounded by the stupidity of people everywhere. These people don't just make grammar and spelling mistakes, they have so little common sense that it boggles the mind.
We are running a special on President Reagan's recent death that allows people to submit feedback. We get about 2 emails every second so there is no way anyone is actually reading all these things. I've been looking over a few and I have found a large number of them begin with "-Please forward to Ms. Nancy Reagan-"
What are you thinking!?
I should reply to them all with a love letter and include "-Please forward to Ms. Britney Spears...or perhaps the Olsen twins-"
Even if I did magically have Nancy Reagan's email address, and I did forward her all these messages, she would meet up with Ronald long before she ever had the chance to read them all. Luckily, I still get a good amount of crazy conservative emails to give me a chuckle.

"What a sad day. Homosexuality is not a minority-it is a choice. Minority is someone who was born with there particular skin color. If I was Afro-American ,I would be highly offended that a homosexual put themselves in the same class that I was. God wouldn't make someone something that he says is an abomination to him."
Sometimes I want to respond to these people because I think it would be so easy to utterly destroy them in an argument, but then I remember how hard it is to argue with a woman and reconsider. Women usually make absolutely no sense what-so-ever, but they will vehemently harangue you with their nonsense till you ultimately agree just to get them to shut up. No, I am not bitter.
Damn it. Larry King Live is on again.

May 30th, 2004

I have signed the purchase agreement on a new home in the Emory/Morningside/Virginia Highlands area. Now all I need to do is come up with the money to pay for it. The house should be closed by June 24th. So be expecting a house warming party sometime after that. This may be a BYOC (Bring Your Own Chair) party though, because I doubt I will have much furniture, other than that awful cow colored futon. The basement of this house will be a perfect place to get nice and loud, and not get the police called. But I haven't really worried about having the police called on a party since high school, and even then the police didn't bother me too much.

Pistol Exthpert

Junior or senior year of high school my friends and I were at an extremely mediocre party (but all parties seem fun in high school) when it started to smell like bacon. Kevin and Eddie were stumbling around the front yard while I was sitting inside watching basketball (I have not idea why...I hate basketball). Kevin then noticed a lot of white Crown Victorias were driving up and parking in front of the house. Figuring only people on Medicare and police officers drive white Crown Victorias, Kevin and Eddie crept closer to get a look at the license plates. Sure enough, they were all government issue. Kevin and Eddie took off toward the back yard just moments before the police mounted their strike. As Eddie and Kevin ran through the party they yelled the necessary "PO PO!"
Some of the people followed Eddie and Kevin's lead and ran into the woods in the back yard. The host, who had dug a hole to put the keg into, covered the whole thing with a wheel barrow. And some of the less experienced partiers ran into the house screaming, "Look out here come the POElice!" Meanwhile, I am still sitting inside watching basketball. I can hear the commotion outside, but, for reasons I don't even understand today, I just kept my cool and my seat on the couch. Only when a stream of people push through the back door and pass in front of the TV do I think to put down the beer in my hand and pick up a sprite that happens to be sitting next to me. No sooner is the sprite bottle in my hand than 4 pissed off police officers fly through the door and chase the stream of partiers into the house. Not one of them even glances at me.
Around this time, Eddie and Kevin have made their way through the forest and had begun to walk around the neighborhood. They couldn't go back to get their car because the entire house was swarming with police. Every police officer in the city must have been there. They obviously didn't care much about other less important crimes that were probably going on elsewhere. They wanted to bust some highschoolers with underage drinking.
The police begin rounding all the kids they have apprehended into the living room where I am sitting. It takes them a little while to convince some kids to unlock the bathroom door, but the threat of a battering ram gets them into the living room quick. I just sit there on my comfy couch and watch everything with a wide-eyed look of stupidity. All I needed was a bowl of pop-corn and it would have been the perfect reality show.
Matt, who had also been apprehended begins sweet talking one of the cops. "I see you wear batting gloves," he says, "I myself play baseball. May I ask why you wear them?"
As sophisticated as his grammar was, the fact that he was speaking like a 17th century British lord only made him seem more drunk. He followed up by asking, "How did you get that badge that says pistol exthbert?" (That's not a typo; that's how he said it.)
At some point, while Matt is badgering the police officer, I decide that I need to use the restroom. I get up and walk off. Amazingly none of the cops even looks at me. When I reach the bathroom, however, I realize I have made a mistake. I see the sink is cover with weed. Someone obviously tried to wash it down, and failed miserably. So now, I am the only guy in this weed covered bathroom with cops circling just feet from the door. Having to pee sure can get you into some sticky situations. Luckily, I am just as invisible leaving the bathroom as I am entering it.
By this time the cops have lined everyone up and are getting them to sign their name and number on a sheet of paper. Well, I didn't really care what the police were planning on using that list for. I still didn't want my name on it. Rather than get in line, I just walk back to my spot on the couch, take a seat, and stare blankly as the action unfolds in front of me. After wandering the streets of Atlanta for an hour or so, Eddie and Kevin happen to meet some girls they know at a gas station. Apparently, these girls were planning on going to the party but all the flashing blue lights outside dissuaded them. Eddie and Kevin still want to see what is happening back at the party because they ran off before any of the real action began and they end up convincing the girls to drive them back by the house.
Back at the house, the police had finished getting everyone's signatures and had begun smelling each persons breath for the presence of alcohol. This, I also wanted no part of. As enthralling as the situation unfolding in front of me was. I decided it was time for me to go. Using what had worked for me so far, I stand up and walk out the back door. Nobody stops me. Outside there are more cops trying to figure out where the keg was, (They never found it) but neither one of them paid any attention to me as I walked by. When I get to the street I hear my name being yelled and look over to see Kevin and Eddie in a car filled with girls. I don't know whether I was more happy to have such a great ride ready for me or that someone had actually acknowledged my presence, but I could tell my first police experience was going to have a happy ending after all.
I wonder whatever did happen to Matt?

May 29th, 2004

Larry King Live must be one of the most boring shows on TV. It always comes on during my shift so I either have to watch it, or risk looking unprofessional by watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer instead. Tonight he has Dr. Phil on (Buffy was a re-run). There is nothing I like more than watching a 300 year old man jabber about women's feelings with a 300 pound walrus. What do Dr. Phil and Oprah Winfrey have in common?
A vagina.
Only one more hour of work for me, and then it is off to start drinking. I didn't go out at all last night and right now my liver is rumbling (cause he is hungry). Wouldn't it be cool if your body parts could communicate with you in ways other than just hurting? Then, instead of having a headache in the morning after a long night, you would just get a lecture about binge drinking from your brain. You could also do cool things like compromise. If your stomach was hurting, you could just promise it that you wouldn't eat Mexican food for a week and it would quit it's bitching. But the best thing by far would be the ability to threaten your body. I would just carry around a flask with a single shot of everclear in it. If my back ever started hurting, or I couldn't remember something I needed to, I would just pull out the shot and say, "You know I'll do it.... So you better shape up or I am going to give you a reason not to remember things."
I am contemplating not even putting this entry up on my web site because it makes so little sense. But I bet Picasso thought the same thing after finishing the Guernica (He didn't have a website, but you get the idea).

May 22th, 2004

I know that I usually only update this page about once a week, but I am experiencing an unusually slow day at work. The hardest days at work can be the ones where you have absolutely nothing to do because you still have to think up ways to keep yourself busy. I know what you're all thinking, but people can see into my office so I can't just watch porn all day. I can, however, talk on AIM so if you are bored send me an IM at Atlanta911. I know it is a stupid screen name, but I picked it out when I was like 13. I have actually talked to people who have asked, "Did you make that screen name because you were in Atlanta on 9/11?"
That is just about the dumbest thing I have ever heard. The number sequence 911 does have other meanings. I simply chose it because it there was already an Atlanta910.
One thing I can do while I am bored at work is read all the news stories that come down the wires. Most of them are boring forgettable stuff about Iraq, prisoner abuse, and the coming presidential election, but every once in a while you find something really interesting. Check out this excerpt from a wire entitled "Cicada related injuries on the rise."

"They do freak people out. They are big. They are bigger than most other flying things and they really don't seem to have any tremendous purpose in which direction they are flying." Several children fell off bikes, Baker said. "We had a concussion, a 9-year-old who was fleeing a cicada on her bicycle and fell off," he said. Another child hit his head on a brick wall while he was running away from one of the insects. "We had a stab wound to the arm from a kid who was trying to kill a cicada on the arm of another child but unfortunately he was using a knife," Baker added. "Another kid tried to kick one under a lawn mower and cut his foot, and we saw a crush injury to the hand when a kid tried to put a cicada under the wheels of a moving car."

I sent this article to a few friends because everyone thinks a kid getting injured is hilarious, and Propst wrote back with the comment, "I hope that all of this took place in a special ed school."
I got my first paycheck in the mail the other day and boy was it a downer. I've never had a job where they withheld taxes from my paycheck before, and this one took away 26%. Didn't Bush give some speech about "nobody in America should have to pay more than 20% of their wages to the government?" Well I guess that idea isn't working out too well for him.
All I owed in taxes last year was $260. I now make about triple what I did last year, but I just paid $400 from one paycheck! If the government keeps bitch slapping me like that I will be paying over $10,000 this year. That's 39 times what I paid last year.
I wish I could just promise not to use anything the government provides and pay no taxes. I'd fork over a little so I could drive on the roads, and I should be able to cover the cost of law enforcement through the numerous tickets I get every year, but that is about all I would need. Sure, they could try and sell me some protection from terrorists but I ain't buying. Call me crazy, but I don't think I am going to be the target of any suicide bombings anytime soon... This is probably one of the stupidest rants I've ever gone on. I think my chances of the government agreeing to let me start a pay-per-use plan are pretty slim.
In summary, I'll take advantage of some advice I got from a movie that said, (You get 3 points if you can tell me which one.) "It's always best to end with a quote."

May 20th, 2004

I was hired full-time to work at [BLANK] earlier this week. That means that since I am no longer considered a contract employee I now receive free parking and a full benefits package, but perhaps most importantly, I will get free pizza from the Romano Pizza place from 12:00-1:00 every day.
I will need to start saving that lunch money too because I have been looking at houses to buy recently. With mortgage rates so low, I could be paying just a few hundred dollars more a month for mortgage than for rent. I already went to speak with a mortgage broker and, after sweet-talking him for a little while, he decided I was a trustworthy looking fellow and pre-approved me for a $260,000 loan. I don't really think the sweet-talking did any good though, but it always helps to be nice. He surprised me by telling me I had an excellent credit rating. Maybe there is someone else out there named Wes who didn't renege on his promise to buy 4 more CDs at the regular price from the BMG music club... BMG is sort of like a drug dealer because they draw you in by offering the first 5 CDs for only a penny, but then they jack up the price. Fortunately, after I got my first 5, I realized that there really weren't any other good CDs out there. I don't think things like that happen to drug dealers much. BMG then just started sending me random CDs with bills on them, but there was no way I was paying for the soundtrack to that 1995 movie with Drew Barrymore, "Boys on the Side," or paying for any Bette Middler CDs (I was sent 2). I figured less damage would be done to my credit by stiffing them than would be done to my masculinity by paying for such awful music.
I went to look at some houses last weekend too. I don't think I found any that I really liked yet though. Most of them were pretty small because they were in really good neighborhoods. There was one really nice house that was huge and even came with a hot tub, however, the entire house smelled of pee. I don't know how you could even cause a complete house that large to smell like urine if you tried, but someone had definitely succeeded. I argued with my mom saying that I'm sure I would be able to get the pee smell out, (I also have no sense of smell so I wasn't bothered too much) but apparently the house stunk so bad that it wasn't even worth considering. What puzzles me is, if you are planning on selling your house, even if you don't want to spend the time to fix it up, shouldn't you at least take the time to get rid it of any pee smells?
I don't know if I am going to be able to have any good stories from this weekend. Half the people I know went out of town. To make up for them not being here I will probably just have to drink enough to gain double vision. Then it will seem like nobody is missing. I'm not really looking forward to Monday either. I have to take a class on sexual harassment before I start work. Although, since I haven't taken the class yet, I guess that means I am free to sexually harass anyone I want and I can just claim ignorance. I wonder where that hot TV integration girl is right about now…

May 15th, 2004

It is 8:00pm right now and I am still hung-over. I tried to go on a run this morning to sweat out some of the stale beer in my blood stream but that didn't work out for me. I wonder if getting a full blood transfusion would fix any hang over. I should call the Red Cross about that one. I could use anyone's blood too, because I am AB, the universal getter. This idea is sounding better and better.
Last night I was way tough on the ole' liver Some friends and I decided to play "Edward forty-hands." It is a loose adaptation of Tim Burton's movie "Edward Scissor-Hands." You take two 40 oz. bottles of malt liquor and tape them to your hands with duct tape, and you don't get to remove them until you finish both. I know it doesn't sound very enthralling, but it is great fun finding out how many things you need your hands for. Did you know you use your hands for everything from opening doors to using the restroom? I've never had to perform the latter without hands (Charles has twice) but I did get stuck in my room last night when the wind blew my door shut. We had some loud music on so nobody could hear my cries for help either. I had to wait for the song to end before anyone noticed I was in need of assistance.
After finishing our two bottles of Old English we decided we needed to go to a bar. Propst and Patrick went to Moondogs in Buckhead, and the rest of us decided to drink a lot of cheap beer at Moe's and Joe's in Virginia Highlands. My memories from that point forward are selective, and it certainly wasn't me who got to select them. If I met you last night, you may need to re-introduce yourself to me, but you would probably have to do that anyway, because I never remember anyone's name.
Propst was so drunk that he spilled a full glass of water on his bed. After realizing he couldn't sleep on his wet sheets he removed them, but the mattress was still soaked. He then used the kind of cunning someone only gets from a full night of drinking, and he got out his iron and started ironing the bed.
One of the things I do while at work is read the emails sent to [BLANK]. Reading the things random people write has really hurt my view of humanity. There are far too few emails that make any kind of sense what-so-ever, and the ones that at least have a coherent point usually are just yelling at me because they think that every station but FOX News is spreading liberal lies and communist propaganda. I don't know if they just feel the need to vent or what, because even if I had omnipotent control of all news stations I wouldn't FOX Newsify them all no matter how many emails I got.
I'll share with you a few of those emails now...

"OK LIGHT AND HEAT IS OK, BUT DISROBING AND KILLING SOMEBODY'S PRIDE, ARRESTING 90% OF INNOCENT CIVILIANS IN IRAQ, IS THAT THE RIGHT WAY TO DO AND THEN KEEPING THEM NAKED, THAT LAW MUST BE IMMEDIATELY STOPPED, THAT IS TAKING AWAY PEOPLE'S PRIDE, WHEN WILL YOU TALK ABOUT THAT GUYS AND GALS? THE TIME HAS PASSED LONG AGO, THIS WAR IS ILLEGAL, PERIOD, FORGET WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN IN 10 YEARS, IT'S NOT WORTH IT EVEN IF THEY ALL LIVE IN GOLDEN PALACES AND THE TRIAL OF SADDAM IN IRAQ WILL BRING FORTH ANOTHER CIVIL WAR, WE ALREADY HAVE ONE BUT ON A SMALLER SCALE, AMERICA WAKE UP OR SUFFER CONSEQUENCES YOU DESERVE... U DONT KNOW THE PAIN IRAQ CAUSED, NO THAT WILL NEVER BRING PEACE TO THE MIDDLE EAST!"

For some reason this email really intrigues me. I really want to understand where this guy is coming from. I mean, what is his message? Is he mad about the war in Iraq, or is he just a redneck confusing some nonsense he heard from George "Dubya"?
"The title of incompetent "Jill Lawrence" at [BLANK] said "Bush approval rating hits lowest point"
My God, how many times do I need to email all you liberal media pundits before you change your biased ways????? You betray our founding fathers with your efforts to curb voters to vote for the Slow-Thinking, dim-witted Kerry.
Note this from ignorant Jill's article:
"Likely voters also gave Bush an edge in 16 states that were close in 2000. The poll shows Bush leading Kerry, 51%-49%."
You call that an "edge," Jill? Bush is trouncing Kerry, but you don't want to admit it. However, I understand most/all Liberals don't do well with math as they flunked out and went into Journalism (but still suck at writing). So, that's as good as an excuse as you have at the garbage you write.

Jeff"

Jeff here, is a typical god-fearing conservative who sends emails our way almost as often as he beats his son for being a homosexual. This email actually makes a lot more sense than most of his others, but unfortunately that isn't saying much. For some reason because Jill reported on a poll showing Bush was up by two percentage points and did not refer to him as "trouncing slow-thinking, dim-witted, Kerry" she is betraying her founding fathers. Why George Washington is being betrayed is beyond me.
"Why is news so bloody? Could it be that some people love to suck blood so much? Is it really true? Well, I guess so. People are more or less unfeeling reptile, you know. Hopefully less, by God. Please remember, people are not naturally suited for blood foods as a diet. Eat garlic. Ward off the God-cursed blood suckers. Pray to your high self.
Forgive yourself for any injury upon others. Learn to live. Learn to love.

Dennis Miller"

And finally, we have an example of someone who is completely insane. What makes it even weirder is that Dennis signed his name on this email just like he had written a casual message. If I ever run into a Dennis Miller I am going pee my pants.

May 9th, 2004

It is a very good thing that my new job doesn't have early hours on the weekend. I didn't get to bed until around 5:00am the past couple of nights, but I was still able to get an acceptable 7-8 hours shut-eye. Some people would have trouble sleeping if they had a strange schedule that was 3:30pm-12:00am some nights and 7:00am-3:30pm on others. Luckily I am an expert in the art of sleeping. In high school I used to have people come up to me and ask how I was able to sleep with my eyes open every class. I never told them though, because I needed to borrow somebody's notes at the end of the day. I kinda miss high school now. Sure, the hours and pay sucked, but you were expected to act stupid and immature. Now people just give me weird looks.

Spring Break Nazis

One of my best spring break trips happened senior year of high school too. We rented a huge beach house on the Florida panhandle and about 9 of us went down ready for some rambunctiousness. (The spell checker says that is not a word, but I disagree.) Unfortunately, we had some sheltered girls going with us who, at the last second, tell us that their parents are going to be chaperoning. This caused most of the week to go by in a very G-rated fashion.
Luckily, for us, and all you people reading this story (because it would be very boring otherwise), some business dealings meant that we would be chaperone free for about 5 hours, from 10:00am - 3:00pm, one day. You may think this isn't enough time to get into much trouble, but that first bottle of tequila we drank thought otherwise.
Within 30 minutes of being on our own Kevin, Eddie, and I were dancing around the room to Lynard Skynard while wearing togas and toilet papering the inside of our own house. Once we run out of toilet paper we realize we better leave because if we are there when the rest of our friends get back they may try to make us clean everything up.
By 12:00 we are stumbling down the beach in togas while reenacting scenes from Saving Private Ryan. I cannot stress enough how difficult it is to run down a beach while drunk. It is a good thing sand is kinda soft, because we fell a lot. It doesn't taste very good when it gets in your mouth though; so don't try to eat it.
Somehow Kevin falls down a sand dune that must have been at least a million feet high, and we get separated from Eddie. When Kevin and I arrive back home we are distraught. Seeing that we are incredibly drunk, everyone begins asking, "Where's Eddie?"
But all they get in response is Kevin wailing, "His blood is on my hands!"
I try to explain further, but for some reason everyone refuses to believe our story that the Nazi's got Eddie. To help them believe us, Kevin gets out the visual aides. He lies down in the middle of the kitchen floor and starts squirting mustard in a large spiral on his chest. (For the rest of the week we were finding mustard stains on EVERYTHING) I then come out of the bathroom with a beach towel wrapped around my head and proclaim, "Hey! Look at me; I'm a Kosivanian!"
Kevin immediately jumps off the floor and scolds me, "You're a Kosavar you idiot!"
At that moment, our chaperone returns from his business trip and opens the front door. With Matrix like reflexes, which is amazing because I don't think The Matrix had even been released yet, Sarah Shanwise forces us out the door and down to the beach. Kevin proceeds to pass out in a lawn chair with a gallon jug of water in his arms. His head had fallen back and his mouth was wide open in a way that he actually got a sunburn on the back of his throat.
Later that night Charles and I met a group of 6-7 hot girls from Bumblefuck Kentucky. One of them had just been crowned homecoming queen at their high school and she had an identical twin. How sweet is that?
We all go down to the beach to drink under this gazebo tent thingy with our new hot friends. Unfortunately, being from Kentucky, these girls weren't the best conversationalists. This fact becomes less apparent as we begin putting a hurting on their stash of Bartles and James.
After finishing his 4th or 5th bottle Kevin throws it straight up over his head. It comes down on the top of the tent, rolls down the side, and falls right on the top of Matt's head. Matt was very confused because so much time had gone by between the time Kevin threw the bottle, and something hit his head, that he couldn't put the two actions together.
At the end of the night we bid the hot girls farewell, and JoJo and Arthur peed all over their cars, because they were racist. I protested a little but they probably deserved it. Being hot can't win all your battles for you.

May 5th, 2004

Here is something that I found pretty funny. Let me emphasize that I DID NOT WRITE THIS. I only found it humorous. It is pretty tough on the opposite sex, and I happen to like girls.... the hot ones anyway. ;)
I also think that a better title for this article is How to Never Get Laid Again, Ever.

How to Argue With Females
Comedy Article by www.pointsincase.com
By staff writer Justin Rebello

The Allied Invasion. The Trojan Horse. The Divine Plan. The following strategy puts them all to shame because it defines how to finally defeat the great beast of society...women.

Arguing with girls, like yoga, is a meaningless and inane exercise. A lot of guys hate doing it, most notably because it never seems like we can win. But you can win. Here's how.

Step 1. Abandon all logic. Girls don't use it, and you certainly shouldn't allow it to handicap you.

Step 2. If you believe strongly in something, do NOT give in to any aspect of it. Compromise is useless against girls, because they will rationalize that if they can get you to concede to one element, they can get you to quit on the whole fuckin' Periodic Table. (Nothing like a little chemistry humor, right?)

Step 3. Don't be afraid to take cheap shots. Ever argue with a girl about something and they randomly insult you with something that has no relevance to the argument? That's their way of trying to wear you down and push you off-topic. Fight fire with fire, I say. Tell her she has a fat ass, small boobs, an ugly face, disorienting facial hair, unwiedly hips, and is a genuinely awful person.

Step 4. Cite precedent. Girls have no concept of historical factors relating to the current situation. Most girls reading this just went over to dictionary.com to see what "precedent" meant.

Step 5. Interrupt her. Don't let her talk. Girls hate that like they hate other girls. It's hilarious, too. They get all frazzled.

Step 6. Don't take her seriously. Laugh at every point she deems serious in nature. Fart, if possible. Derail her emotional train.

Step 7. If the argument escalates, cut off all communication with her. If a girl can't find you, she can't continue arguing about bullshit. Change your phone number, relocate, and get a name change if you must.

Step 8. Don't be fooled by "Let's stop arguing please." That's their way of making you let your guard down, so they can swoop in after you're worn down. Instead, say something like "Yeah, all this being right is exhausting for me." Pisses them off. Just trust me.

Step 9. Compare her unfavorably with another girl. This is especially effective if the comparison is with a girl that they simply abhor. Tell her something like, "Lisa is so much more compassionate than you." Girls hate other girls, like a deer hates a shotgun. And how do you take down a deer? Exactly.

Step 10. Don't be intimidated by the water works. That's their ultimate contingency, knowing that guys can't deal with a crying girl. Stay strong, don't let yourself get emotional, just think of something funny. Replay scenes from "Office Space" in your head if you must.

Step 11. Bust out, "I don't feel like fighting. I've proven my point." Then stop. Leave the argument. It pisses them off because a guy's natural reaction is to resolve, whereas a girl's is to continue forever and ever until the end of time until they hear that they are right. If a guy decides that he is right and won't budge, their whole concept of male-female relations is shot to shit. Again, mind games.

Step 12. Ask her if she's on the rag. Self-explanatory.

Step 13. When all else fails, tell her she's just like her mother. It's an ace-in-the-hole and will emotionally cripple her to such a degree she may even forget her whole argument.

Remember, girls are the less intelligent of the genders. All throughout history men have out-thought, out-invented, and out-created women in every facet of existence. Isn't it about time we won an argument for once? Gentlemen, that time is now.

May 1st, 2004

I finally finished my hell week that consisted of my working two jobs each day. It is Saturday right now and I am at work, but it