So easy, a caveman could do 'em...

Ummmm, hey...How have you been? What's new?

God, writing this is a little awkward. You (my audience) are kind of like that girl I saw for about a year, then for no apparent reason (Except for the cold sweats that awaken me at 3Am every morning with a demonic presence sitting at the foot of my bed telling me that he's the reason I never made it as a professional golfer, denouncing God every evening before supper, constantly vomitting, and continually explaining to the authorities that when I'm touching myself naked in front of my living room window and weeping, it's nothing more than an artistic expression), I stop returning your calls and just fall off the face of the Earth, breaking your heart. But then, out of nowhere, just when you think you've finally gotten over me, I get blackout drunk and call you out of the blue hoping for a second chance. Well, I guess I'm back, so let me give you all a quick update about me, and why I want to spew my creative juices all over you again.

I guess things all went downhill when I moved to the East Coast for the summer to basically sit on the beach all day and get paid for it. The money was great, but what do you think I spent it on? That's right---My coke and whore lifestyle...So after I went broke, I contacted the temp agency for more work...And where did they send me? A chemical dependency treatment center, aka, Serenity Lane. Ohhhh, this was a bad idea from the start. My boss was a 40-something ex-patient who used to be addicted to meth and was falling off the wagon faster than Meriwether Lewis' semi-retarded cousin before being mauled to death by a herd of buffalo on the Oregon Trail. Let's see, she also lied about being a mob informant for the CIA, called in sick on a regular basis with the most ridiculous excuses I've ever heard, her boyfriend left a message with me that he was breaking up with her, she took patient's personal files home with her, and yes, she still works there! The dude who trained me is another story all together. He only talked about video games and his time spent in juvenille detention as a teen. Then there was another lady who worked upstairs alone---for a reason. She was ugly as sin and a compulsive liar. Basically, she was just starved for attention and would say anything to raise an eyebrow. This obese woman actually said she used to beat Prefontaine in the 3K during her high school days at Coos Bay. She would have been an Olympian, but yep, you guessed it---bum hip.

So now, I'm back at home sitting on my unemployed ass making a career out of my fantasy football success with nothing else to talk about except the negatives. So do you want to give me another shot?

Dear Stan, I meant to write you sooner, but I've just
been busy.
You said your girlfriend's pregnant now, how far along
is she?
Look, I'm really flattered you would call your
daughter that.
And here's an autograph for your brother: I wrote it
on your girlfriend's ass.

I'm sorry I didn't see you at the bar, I must have
missed you.
Don't think I did that shit intentionally, just to
diss you.
And what's this shit you said about you like to cut
your wrists too?
I say that shit just clownin' dawg, c'mon, how fucked
up is you?
You got some issues, Stan, I think you need some
counselin'
To help your ass from bouncin' off the walls when you
get down some.

And what's this shit about us meant to be together?
That type of shit'll make me not want us to meet each
other.
I really think you and your girlfriend need each
other.
Or maybe you just need to treat her better.
I hope you get to read this blog.
I just hope it reaches you in time.
Before you hurt yourself, I think that you'd be doin'
just fine
If you'd relax a little. I'm glad that I inspire you,
but Stan
Why are you so mad? Try to understand that I do want
you as a fan.
I just don't want you to do some crazy shit.
I seen this one shit on the news a couple weeks ago
that made me sick.
Some dude was drunk and drove his car over a bridge
And had his girlfriend in the trunk and she was
pregnant with his kid
And in the car they found a tape but it didn't say who
it was to
Come to think about it...his name was...it was you.
DAMN!

WOO HOO! FAN MAIL!

Dear Alex,

I wrote but you still ain't callin...I left my cell, my pager, and my home phone at the bottom. I sent two letters back in autumn, you must not-a got 'em. There probably was a problem at the post office or somethin. Sometimes I scribble addresses too sloppy when I jot 'em. But anyways; fuck it, what's been up? Man how's your daughter? My girlfriend's pregnant too, I'm bout to be a father. If I have a daughter, guess what I'ma call her? I'ma name her Bonnie. I read about your Uncle Roger too I'm sorry. I had a friend kill himself over some bitch who didn't want him. I know you probably hear this everyday, but I'm your biggest fan, I even got the underground shit that you did in La Grande. I got a room full of your posters and your pictures man---I like the shit you wrote about "Poon-Tang" too, that shit was fat, Anyways, I hope you get this man.

Hit me back, just to chat, truly yours, your biggest fan,

-This is Stan

Dear Alex,

you still ain't called or wrote, I hope you have a chance. I ain't mad - I just think it's FUCKED UP you don't answer fans! If you didn't wanna talk to me outside your tavern you didn't have to, but you coulda signed an autograph for Matthew. That's my little brother man, he's only six years old. We waited in the blistering cold for you, four hours and you just said, "No." That's pretty shitty man - you're like his fuckin idol. He wants to be just like you man, he likes you more than I do. I ain't that mad though, I just don't like bein lied to. Remember when we met in Taylor's? - you said if I'd write youyou would write back - see I'm just like you in a way I never knew my father neither; he used to always cheat on my mom and beat her. I can relate to what you're saying in your blogs so when I have a shitty day, I drift away and put 'em on cause I don't really got shit else, so that shit helps when I'm depressed. I even got a tattoo of your name across the chest. Sometimes I even cut myself to see how much it bleeds. It's like adrenaline, the pain is such a sudden rush for me. See everything you say is real, and I respect you cause you tell it. My girlfriend's jealous cause I talk about you 24/7, But she don't know you like I know you Alex, no one does. She don't know what it was like for people like us growin up. You gotta call me man, I'll be the biggest fan you'll ever lose.

Sincerely yours,

Stan

-- P.S.We should be together too

Dear Mister-I'm-Too-Good-To-Call-Or-Write-My-Fans,

this'll be the last package I ever send your ass. It's been six months and still no word - I don't deserve it? I know you got my last two letters; I wrote the addresses on 'em perfect. So this is my cassette I'm sending you, I hope you hear it. I'm in the car right now, I'm doing 90 on the freeway. Hey Alex, I drank a fifth of vodka, you dare me to drive? You know the song by Phil Collins, "In the Air of the Night" about that guy who coulda saved that other guy from drowning but didn't, then Phil saw it all, then at a a show he found him? That's kinda how this is, you coulda rescued me from drowning. Now it's too late - I'm on a 1000 downers now, I'm drowsy and all I wanted was a lousy letter or a call. I hope you know I ripped ALL of your pictures off the wall! I love you Alex, we coulda been together, think about it, You ruined it now, I hope you can't sleep and you dream about it, And when you dream I hope you can't sleep and you SCREAM about it!!! I hope your conscience EATS AT YOU and you can't BREATHE without me! See Alex; [*screaming*] Shut up bitch! I'm tryin to talk! Hey Alex, that's my girlfriend screamin in the trunk, but I didn't slit her throat, I just tied her up, see I ain't like you, cause if she suffocates she'll suffer more, and then she'll die too! Well, gotta go, I'm almost at the bridge now....Oh shit, I forgot, how'm I supposed to send this shit out? [*car tires squeal*] [*CRASH*].. [*brief silence*] .. [*LOUD splash*]

A COMMENTARY BY WILFORD BRIMLEY

Where have you been, Alex? I've been missing your writins' more than the oatmeal I used to eat with brown sugar and maple syrup. Can't eat ma oatmeal with those fixin's no more on account of my diabetuhs. Oh God, how I miss that maple syrup...Can't eat pancakes or waffles with maple syrup neither. How do you think that makes me feel, Alex?! Makes me feel angry...Makes me feel agitated and even irate. The only thing that keeps me going nowadays is knowing that the good people at Liberty Medical deliver ma diabetuhs testing supplies right to my door. Like clockwork, Alex. The fellas over there are like little worker bees and I'm the queen. If I'm at a cockfight in Tijuana, I know exactly when I need leave to be back at ma house so I can get my diabetuhs testing supplies from Liberty Medical. You should always check your blood sugar and check it often...No reason not to. Just like your blog, Alex.

A few months ago, your blog used to be delivered to me as often as ma diabetuhs testing supplies from Liberty Medical, and I ate it up like I eat ma Quaker Oatmeal. Now what is there? A post from a over a month back about some friend of your's riding a damn horse??? I live on a damn ranch, Alex and you know that! You wanted a horseback riding story, I would've given you one. Hell, Alex, I'll give you one now: One time I was riding on horseback and decided to ride it up to Eugene, Oregon to strike my friend in the mouth and box him in the ears. Then I took off my belt and flogged him repeatedly until he begged for his momma. Did you like that story, Alex? Maybe you can write all about it in a week or two.

Aww dammit, you made me angry now. Damn near broke ma window when i tossed ma desk lamp across the room. I want more blogs from ya, but you're tougher to get ahold of than Tom Cruise in "The Firm". I gotta go now...Ma damn wife is hollerin' at me to reprimand the little Mexican fella who cuts the grass.

THE LEGEND OF LANGBEHN: Homeward Bound

A cigarette hangs from the hero's lips like a negro in 1840 as he calms his drunken and bong resinated head on the back porch of a college party on a cold and misty night in La Grande, Oregon. He staggers like an old French whore as he throws the butt into the neighbor's yard. Upon entering the house he soon realizes that the party has not only left the premises, but he as well. "They must have gone to the bar," his sloshed mind concludes. He walks fast in hopes of catching up with the group but to no avail. Five blocks later, he manages to stumble into the bar like a retarded kid who got into his dad's nose candy and orders himself a few drinks. He looks around the bar, the dance floor, the bathrooms and everywhere else, but finds none of his crew. "They will surely come here soon," he assumes. He orders another drink. Then another. And then another. He soon realizes that they will not be coming, for they must have gone to the bar seven blocks down the road. He knows he must get there soon, as there is not much time left before last call.

Seven blocks is a long way to someone who knows he can finish at least two beers on the walk over. He pays his tab and rumbles out the door and begins to walk at a brisk pace in a sidewinder motion. Suddenly, he hears the whistle of a train to his left that is just beginning it's departure to unknown whereabouts. However, our hero manages to break from his drunken haze to realize that the train is headed straight for the bar he yearns to go to.

"Tiiiiiiight," he exclaims as he notices an opened boxcar. He sprints for the lugging train and manages to pull himself upon the chugging beast (much like himself) while being cautious to not tear his priceless USS TANG jacket. "There is a lot of traffic for a small town late at night," he thinks to himself as he continues to give the finger to the oncoming motorists. The cars soon begin to dissipate, and through his blurred vision he sees nothing but hayfields and notices that the railroad ties beneath his feet are moving much faster than when he had first hopped on. He has no choice but to bail.

The impact of the fall sends him tumbling down the rocky slope leaving him bruised and battered like my ex-girlfriend. He lays motionless for a few seconds but finally finds the strength to pick himself up off the ground. He takes a moment to get his bearings. He estimates that he is about 5 miles outside of La Grande. The hero is not equipped with a cell phone and with no signs of civilization he knows his only way of getting home will be with his legs. His first step is a painful one. It feels as if he is dragging a lock-jawed aligator with his mangled leg from the crash, but our courageous hero presses on.

He has not even gone a mile yet and the pain is becoming almost as unbearable as watching "Dukes of Hazzard", the movie. He decides to take a rest against a fencepost surrounding a field. He sits down and hears the unmistakable sound of a horse trotting towards him. Our hero manages to hop over the fence to greet the horse, he introduces himself and offers the horse a cigarette. The horse declines but seems content to help in any way he can. The brave man displays his festering leg to the steed and tells the horse that he will not be able to make it back to town without proper transportation. He asks permission to climb aboard, but the horse is apprehensive. After 30 minutes of drunken negotiations, the stallion complies, but makes it known that he will need to be back to his stable by daybreak and our gracious hero accepts the offer.

The injured soldier lifts himself onto the fenceposts and begins to coax his new friend over (He is bareback...It's hard to mount a horse without a saddle...Kinda like a fat chick without a fold). He jumps on his back faster than Jimmy on Nickers, kicks the gate open with his good leg and the two begin their trek home. Our hero lays his head on the horses neck so the 5-O don't spot him and is able to steer by kicking its sides. Alas! They are finally within city limits and continue the steady trot to the Cimmaron Apartments. When they get to our hero's door, he dismounts and with a wave of his hand, says, "Go home." He walks through his doorway and melts into his bed where he had the best sleep of his life, but his most painful morning the next day...And the cops are still looking for him.


An artist's rendition of the historic event


YES, THIS WAS A TRUE STORY!!!!

BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN: A TRUE STORY


"Jesusth Christh!!!"

So what's the deal with this "Brokeback Mountain" controversey? Everyone seems to be so hyped up on gay cowboys pitching tents in the wilderness and sitting on fence posts eating vanilla pudding. I, for one, do not see this as something disgraceful at all. I know what you're all thinking..."But, Alex, I've heard you refer to homosexuals as fudge-packers, pillow-biters, and Voge's!" Well, that all may or may not be true, but I have since found a new respect for those who stopped doing it in parking garages and rest stops along the highway and have branched their gay tendancies into the wilderness. In fact, I happen to know a couple of guys who have done this for the past few years, so if you make fun of "Brokeback Mountain", you are also making fun of my two friends Mr. Nickers and Cowboy Jimmy shown here.


*Grrr...Come here, cowboy...*


*Hi, I'm Jimmy*

I am glad they found each other. I know that Jimmy can't replace Phatty, Mr. Nicker's ex "fishin' buddy", but he's got that juicy booty that Mr. Nickers craves so much. Why can't everyone just learn to let them express their love for each other and not make fun of them when they come home from their excursions with foam donuts to sit on for the next few days. I'm sorry if I sound upset about this, but let's make one thing perfectly clear: You will hear the moans and cries of their love for one another echo throughout the canyons of Oregon's vast wilderness.

Their story of sexual survival should be celebrated without the guffaws of constant mockery of their impurities by those who don't know their heroic journey through an affair that will last a lifetime. So go ahead, call the lovers who were portrayed in "Brokeback Mountain" things such as butt pirates, bone smugglers, donut punchers, poofters, rump rangers, shirt-flap-lifters or even fans of Judy Garland. But if you do, you will not only be saying it to them, but to Mr. Nickers and Cowboy Jimmy as well.

BLAST FROM THE PAST....

I recently stumbled upon one of my very first collegiate speeches from Eastern Oregon University. My words had such ambition, conviction and promise back when I was a youngster...Hope you enjoy


Alex MacKenzie
Professor Axelrod
Formal Writing Assignment #3

An Invective Tribute To Someone Other Than the President

I would like to thank Billy Ray Cyrus. No, not for teaching the world how to line dance, and no, not for his hit song either. No, I would personally like to thank Billy Ray for teaching men and women that it was ok to stay in high school 15 years after graduation, but still go to the parties of their alma mater and start fights. This is not a derogatory statement about people’s hygiene, nor is it an insult on the music they listened to. This is about the hairstyle that has regrettably plagued the face of America since the late 80's and early 1990’s.

Yes, I am of course talking about the mullet—the combination of smooth southern articulation and the confidence to drink a beer faster than you can say, "Kentucky waterfall!" Well, I cannot give Billy Ray all the credit. The mullet must have been God’s gift to women. I still see Billy Ray’s followers from time to time at county fairs and Lynard Skynard concerts. I see them with women that I could only dream of having as my own. You know, the ones who wear the T-shirt of their "Mississippi mudslided" companion’s favorite NASCAR driver, with acid washed jeans, and white high-tops furnished with neon green shoe laces. Yes, the ones who’s only childhood dream was be a groupie for Van Halen, and if she is sporting the chicklet, then you have struck gold my friend.
The mullet is a powerful statement of one who is business in the front and party in the back. I often wonder what people from other countries thought when they came to America and saw a mullet for the first time. Probably a lack of progress. Leaders like George W. Bush and his "rally round the flag" optimism has only fueled encouragement to grow the "Texas tailgate" over this great nation of ours. Yes, an independent mindset for an independent USA. I know what you’re thinking, "If Bush grows a mullet, then he is assured reelection in the 2004 campaign." Wrong. People who sport the mullet must understand that they become the center of attention and laughed upon nearly everywhere they go, with the exception of their 1989 class reunion. Okay, so maybe Bush could get away with a mullet--not much would change. I am not a fashion consultant, nor am I a political advisor by any means, but there is one thing that I am sure of: People who are living with a mullet atop their heads are also living in the past. I understand that the mullet is not only a hairstyle, but also a way of life, a culture, and an attitude, but it does not contain the same powers that it once had during high school.

In other words, if we want the rest of the world to take every American seriously, then everyone must lose the "Camaro cut." One cannot mix the Fortune 500 with the Daytona 500 anymore. It must be long or short, and nothing in between, even if it does drive the ladies wild in certain parts of Florida. Times are changing and so must the hair. It’s an achy-breaky-bad-mistaky, not only for you but for the rest of America as well.

TO MY CENSORS:




How about a nice cup of shut the f*ck up.

Merry Christmas, everyone! To begin the annual celebration, I'd just like to write down a few reason's for why I'll be getting coal in my stocking this year.

1. Pissing on an aborted fetus.

2. Drinking out of an above ground pool filled with 90 year old woman discharge.

3. Touching myself to the teletubbies.

4. Drunk dialing Jesus. (His area code is 666! Is that ironic or what?!)

5. Slapping my grandma. (Her cooking is that good)

6. Yelling to a funeral procession that I just inherited $1 million.

7. Accidentally elbowing Rick Moranis in the balls during a pick-up game of hoops.

8. Inappropriately applying for the missionary position at my local church.

9. Beating the sh*t out of my guardian angel for messing with the thermostat.

10. Getting arrested for disorderly conduct and indecent exposure after getting caught beating a dead horse with croquet mallet in front of school children.

11. Telling Mrs. Claus it was egg nog.

12. Getting high on life. My tolerance is outta control now. I hafta do life 3-4 times a day just to feel a buzz.

13. Jesus got all pissed off at me cuz I was spreading a rumor that his middle name was Harold. You know-----Jesus H. Christ, Hark the Herald Angels Sing...Makes sense, doesn't it?

14. Starting this blog

Well, there you have it--12 days of Christmas and 14 sins. Not too shabby! However, in my opinion, these are all just normal and healthy simple guilty pleasures. Plus I did it with a dead guy.

I'd like to conclude this Christmas blog with a little story that puts the holiday season in perspective for all of us. This story is about little Johnny. Little Johnny is a very sweet little boy who lives in the ghetto with two very loving parents who work like Mexicans to put food on the table and so they can afford testicle cream for little Johnny. It was the 18th of December and little Johnny wanted nothing more than his very own dog for Christmas. Well, little Johnny strolled right up to his adoring mother and gave her his request. She knelt down to little Johnny with sympathetic eyes and explained to him that money was tight among them, and that getting a dog just wasn't possible for them until they could make more money. However, she went on to tell Little Johnny that if he wished and hoped and prayed to God and Jesus and Santa really really hard, then just maybe his dream of getting a dog would come true. So every waking hour from that day until Christmas morning, he wished and prayed for a dog just as hard as a little boy could. Well, when Little Johnny awoke on Christmas morning, the most miraculous and amazing event had occurred!

Little Johnny's dad went blind so they had to get a dog.

THE END

I haven't written on my blog for at least a month now, and I'm sure most of you have probably assumed that I have died from V.D., or sold my computer for crack...Well, I'm not going to sit here and confirm or deny either. Let's just say that my life is in shambles...It's not good when the people in the liquor store, pawn shop and the guns n' ammo section at GI Joes know you by name. Where's that f-ing angel, Clarence, when you need him? So, why haven't I written in my blog for awhile? I got no heart...Because a she-devil stole it from me!

I did manage to finally pass my college level math class that enables me to graduate. However, I also became addicted to polynomials.



I would like to personally take a few seconds to thank god (bow your heads please) for creating PBR 40's that can be purchased at Tom's Market on 18th and Agate at such a low low price! Speaking of God, Christians are nuttier than squirrel-shit. Oh lordie lordie lordie! It's kinda like a Woodstock for the brainwashed. There's a band playing Christian music, with everyone twirling around with their hands in the air screaming "I love you, Jesus!" I can't wait to see what someone does to get backstage so they can get on their knees and please Jesus. The Christians can say whatever they want, but this is no celebration or worship...This is a congregation of people who are scared as/of hell. They call Jesus their friend, their lover, their savior....But isn't he kinda like the judge in all actuality? Although getting your ass kissed every sunday is flattering, wouldn't it also get old after 2000 years? I swear to god (not literally), everyone in that church-house looked like they would get hit by lightening if they didn't sing loud enough, or let some tears out...It's kinda like they were faking orgasms for Jesus...Hello! He's omnipotent, he can tell! Not exactly like a Seinfeld episode. I was raised on Catholocism, and although I don't agree with everything they preach, they keep it simple...You stand, sit, kneel, get in line, have some bread, sip some wine, sing hymns in one key....They don't ride around on bicycles telling everyone that their religion is better, nor do they hop on a jet to Africa or Asia and "save" the hooligans who have AIDS because they never accepted Jesus as their savior. Anyway, I'm almost positive that nearly everyone who reads this is Christian. However, I'm only bashing your religion because no one observed my birthday on the 1st (Except for Zach-Catholic, and Ryan-Atheist), since everyone had to get ready for JC's on the 25th ....The lord bites you in the ass in mysterious ways, doesn't he Christians? President Bush is also Christian, and so I blame the Christians for the gas prices. Just as the Christians blamed the Non-Christians for Hurricane Katrina.

There is one thing I found hilarious at Church on Sunday. It was all about setting goals for yourself, and I kid you not, one of the rules for setting them was as follows: "Goals should be premeditated, done for the lord and carried out with purpose. Can anyone say:



Seriously though...NO OFFENSE TO CHRISTIANS READING THIS!!!! I'm sure that we catholics are crazier than rats in a tin shithouse to you as well.

Wheweee...Well, that was theraputic...I'll try to blog more...Talk to y'all later!

Well, I'm sitting here at my desk with a Santa Claus hat and a bottle of bourbon recovering from my trip to Arizona. I'm back in Eugene for a few days until I head out to Sunriver on Thursday. It was my first time in Arizona, and the first time I had ever spent Thanksgiving away from home. It was cool though, since most Thanksgiving dinners with my family are rather dysfunctional consisting of my relatives peppering racial slurs about how Mexican weddings are bad for America. By the time dessert is served, everyone usually tells me I should take it easy on the booze for the rest of the night after they catch me groping my cousin.

In the meantime, I will be taking this opportunity to vent about a certain Fromo (French-homo) roommate named Ryan James Voge.


*Misseur Voge practicing douchebaggery*

This is my third year in a row living with him and let's just say that the guy should be the professor of Proper Lysol Usage 101. The dude is a germaphobe...Plain and simple. If he catches the slightest whif of odor in the kitchen, the refrigerator door opens and every single item inside that could eventually expire one day is tossed out like the negros in New Orleans. He doesn't even check the expiration date! I have had one-week old bricks of cheese, in a freezer bag thrown away without my permission. What is he, a f-ing bloodhound? Ryan---THE ODOR YOU SMELL COMES FROM THE BEER CAN PILE, OR FROM MY ROOM WITH A SIGN THAT SAYS, "DEAD HOOKER STORAGE", SINCE I AM IN THE BUSINESS OF STORING DEAD HOOKERS!

Well, the girlfriend is back, so nothing in my room is mine anymore...It's ours....And "it" needs the computer now, so I need to go before a fight insues...

I am officially writing this blog on behalf of Brother Jason and myself. This blog will contain graphic language towards the city of Eugene's bastards in blue...Reader discretion is advised.

Not to go into detail about the mishaps of November 4th, 2005, but let's just say that the eugene police department's (That's right, I didn't capitalize, cuz i don't respect dem bitches) ways of getting things taken care of in a state of quality and orderly fashion are freakishly similar to the Mayberry Police Dept. Apparently, they have been busting up too many 420 parties and have acquired a dense layer of bong resin throughout the brain.

I don't wanna point fingers, but a certain officer R. Maloney ID# 237, is the most incompotent prick on the face of the Earth. Jason and I took a little trip down to the police station to retrieve his driver's license after two weeks of confiscation. After setting an appointment up this evening to finally be able to pick up his license, "Cancer Boy" Maloney (Seriously, the dude was that pathetically bald at 27-30 years of age...He looked like he should have been carrying around a feeding tube!) walked out casually and reported to Jason that he had somehow lost it. Jason understandably flipped out, and after doing so, Homo-lonely started blaming it on other people he worked with...Ohhh, very professional way of serving this fine city...Douchebag. So who pays for his incompotance? Jason...He has to get over to the DMV and pay an unnecessary $30+ to get a new ID. What the hell is going on? Last I checked, we were both relatively wealthy white males...Affirmative action is getting outta control. It's either that, or Officer Maloney suffers from SPS (Small Penis Syndrome) and has to take his boyfriend's frustration about the matter out on kids, like Jason.

He's just a little bald dork who will die alone, and who got picked on a lot in high school and probably got beat with a sack of Valencia Oranges by his uncle after being molested, and had no other choice but to join the San Francisco Naval Base until he finally found his identity as being known as "The shy guy that's always willing to give the reach-around". I think everyone who reads this should write a letter to Officer Maloney to remind him of his stoner memory, and his complete and utter incompotence. Remember, our goal will be to make him cry! Disregard for the law and quality in which someone is supposedly serving the community, pisses me off... I hope he ends up in prison for police brutality and is hate-f*cked by a bunch of billy-clubs. Ok, now I think I can sleep....Goodnight, everyone.

So I'm scaling Mt. Vesuvius and I start to fall...I mean I'm about to die...I'll never forget the terror. As I'm falling, I'm thinking, "Holy shit, Alex...Haven't you been smoking peyote for six straight days and couldn't some of this be in your mind?" And you know what? It was. I was totally fine. I've never even been to Mt. Vesuvius!

Q: So why couldn't the little kid see the pirate movie?
A: Because it was rated "RRRRRRR"

Well, not a whole lot to talk about this week, except for those damn pirates. Have you seen this? Have you heard about this? Some Somalian dudes in a friggin' life raft trying to take over a cruise ship...Well sure....that'll happen. They had guns and ammo (Much like their cousins in America), but all they could do was put a couple dents in the hull. After watching "Black Hawk Down" (Porn movie: "Black Cock Down"....I dunno...They just come to me....Kinda like a gift, ya know?) you'd think they'd be better prepared for action of that---"calliber" (snickers). Ok, and if they can afford an arsenal like that, all be it weak, what the hell are they trying to steal things for? Something tells me that they weren't doing it to feed their families. They probably had scurvy and just needed some cans of fruit or something. If you ask me, child trafficking in third world countries is much more lucrative...They should just do that.

I just booked a house in Sunriver for a nice romantic weekend for my birthday. It will be all for nothing though if none of my friends from the swingers club show up. Oh well, sometime that weekend, I plan to just have some alone time. You know, just taking it easy...Doing things like getting drunk and playing in oncoming traffic. It will be nice to finally be able to relax a bit.

All my friends have been telling me that I need to shoot my own turkey for Thanksgiving over the past several years. They said it's one of the most exciting and rewarding things you can do. I never believed them, but they were right! I finally went out and did it a few days ago, and wow, it was absolutely amazing! Just imagine yourself holding up the gun, taking aim, pulling the trigger, watching people in the supermarket running around screaming....What a rush!

Well, it's about noon on Monday after a very uneventful weekend...Unless you want to count getting abused by the Eugene police on Thursday night, going on a car chase Friday afternoon, drinking myself silly before and during the duck game on Saturday (Seriously, 6 beer cans under my seat before the 1st half ended), or going skydiving with a parachute on Saturday night; there really isn't a lot to tell.

Everyone seems to be pretty excited about the newest "Amazing Race" that will be starting sometime this week. However, I refuse to watch it because of false advertising. When it made it's network debut a few years ago, I thought it would be a documentary about white people. How disappointing! As it turns out, it's some reality show about a bunch of people in a rat race for money. When I saw this, I was angrier than a skinhead watching "The Jeffersons".

So, Terrell Owens, the cocky wide receiver for the Philadelphia Eagles was suspended for conduct detrimental to the team for the remainder of the season. T.O. has also been referred as a little bitch, a tool, a douchebag and ape-like. This guy actually cried in an interview over the summer because the Eagles were only paying him about $3 million a year and thought he was getting a raw deal. This brings up my next point for Jenny W...Wait, that's too obvious, let's call her J. White. Can we please suspend C. Warner for like a year or whatever for conduct detrimental to the team? We can hire one of those mixed up and vulnerable strippers who is trying to get her life back on track while in reality, she will always be dead inside and will sleep with coworkers just to make her feel just a tiny bit better about herself (A la N. Ribble). It sounds like a great idea to me! By the way, I will never refer to them as their politically correct name, "dancers". Until I get an invitation to one of their ballet recitals, they will always be referred to as strippers by me.

So, I've decided to start a career as a lab rat for the University of Oregon's Science Department. Seems as though they are the only people who will hire me in this f-ing town! I have to admit it though, it is pretty fun. Has anyone else had the pleasure of getting an ultrasound (with that lube stuff) preformed on your upper groin by a hot chick in a nurses uniform? When she was hooking me up to an I.V., she told me that I might feel a little prick. Well, I looked over at her jackass lab assistant (You know who you are, A.Y.), and said, "Really? I can only see one." From that point on, my male dominance had been established and AY walked out of the room more distruaght than the time Dubya watched Toby Keith come out of the closet and announce that he was indeed a Ford truck man. Seriously though, all I had to do was ride a stationary bicycle for one hour with a little encouragement from Peter Griffin and his family. No, they didn't let me watch it. It was on in here (pointing to my heart) and here (pointing to my brain)...You see, that's the beautiful thing about Family Guy. Inside those walls, they can take away everything....But not Family Guy. (Shawshank, in case you're confused...Maybe it's because you're Irish.)

Let's see, who else do I want to rant about? Jason Boness, you're the next contestant! Come on down!!!! Sorry Jason, but my blog is like a Christmas cookie made by some retarded kid. You don't want to eat it, but you have to in order to make the little whirlin' dervish (See Brimley quote below) feel happy about himself. So anyway, here it goes...What's the deal with your Dave Matthews obsession? He sounds like a hobo with his balls in a vice grip. His little rhythm guitar riffs are in more places at once than a gay gym teacher's eye's at shower time. And why does everyone think he's so poetic? Just because nothing he sings about makes any sense whatsoever, doesn't make him a poet!!!! Take "Crush" for example....from what I gather, he smokes pot and drinks, feels high....then he doesn't know if he's right side up or upside down, all he knows is that he's dancing on the ground. Then, he goes on about how he really likes some chick (actually, he never specifies gender...hmmm). Now how does all that sh*t tie in together? I swear, the dude just makes up words as he plays, and people think it's beautiful because everything he sings and plays is so complex, when in reality, he's just some dumbass liberal pothead who writes lines like, "I was there, when the bear, ate his hair and thought it was a candy". What???? So anyway, Jason....If you're gonna play Dave Matthews, it's gonna have to stay at least 50 feet away from me! That goes for you too, Jimmy, but I've always questioned your sexuality...

PS: A southside is an amazing drink....Rum, lemonade, lime wedge and mint leaves. It's addictive, like heterosexuality.....Turn off Dave, and try it sometime, Ryan and Jason!

So last night, a little boy and I were walking deep into the woods just as it was starting to get dark. He couldn't believe how spooky everything looked and how scared he was becoming as we walked through the thick misty forest. So then I said, "How do you think I feel? I'm going to have to walk back alone!" Ok, so there's my offensive, yet, Halloween appropriate joke. Oh wait, there's one more I gotta do for Jimmy.

Q: So what's the difference between oral and anal sex?
A: One makes your day, and the other makes your "hole" "weak"....

Only Jimmy (-Ryan + James + (-Voge) = James + sexified = Jimmy) can relate to that one....I've been trying to contact the spirits with the ouija board for the last few days, but I think Jimmy's overusage of Lysol and bleach products probably wiped away any chance I had with that. I never thought you could kill a soul, especially with common household cleaners. Dammit Jimmy! I was gonna try to hook myself up with a chick ghost. But not one of those skinny young ones....Bones are for dogs, you know what I'm saying? No, I want one who's a little bigger so she's just happy to be there, and more eager to please....And an older lady---Your gonna want a ghost who knows what shes doing. Trust me, 18 year old virgins may look good on paper, but believe me----they aint all that. The ouija board could have totally hooked that up!

So, I won in fantasy football again----Big surprise....On Saturday night, I was escorted from the bar by a bouncer for knocking over a plant. It was a total accident! All I did was see some dude wearing a USC football uniform, sprinted to him and blindsided him into the wall. That poor, poor plant....So much chlorophyll to live for. I don't have any plans tonight or for this week. Oh, and apparently there are some skanks out there who don't understand what Jimmy sees in me and who don't want him living or being associated with me....Well, I'll tell you what he sees in me! Ummmm.....hmmmmmmmmmm........whew......I'll get back to you on that one.

Sorry I haven't blogged in awhile, but I have a damn good excuse. For the past week or so, I've been having the best sex of my life! This girl is absolutely amazing. She is perfect for me! Unfortunately, I woke up to her packing her suitcase in tears. I naturally asked her what she was doing. She told me that I was a pedophile, and that she wouldn't stay another minute. Well, I told her that "pedophile" is an awfully big word for a 12 year old to be using and let her go. Let's be honest, I like my women how I like my whiskey---12 years old and mixed up with coke.
(In accordance with Megan's Law and strong persuasion by my legal counsel, I am forced to clarify that this paragraph was fictional).

Things might get crazier than a rat in a tin shit-house this weekend. Some dudes that Ryan and I went to high school with all came down yesterday. John Harris, Jake McCallum, Jason Blythe and Josh "Turnover" Stover...If they were a boy band, I would call them J-4. I bet you're wondering about how Josh attained the nickname of "Turnover". Y'all are probably assuming that he was a pretty faggy basketball player who couldn't make a successful pass even if Paris Hilton was at a Spanish Fly convention. Well, although all of that was true, he actually was bestowed the name "Bend Over" Stover by his boyfriend, Renaldo at the time. So, after that, "turnover" was inevitable. Me on the other hand? I play basketball the same way I make love...One on one when no one else is available with as little dribbling as possible.

I hate to say it, but I'm going to love watching the Saddam trial. Well, not for the trial itself, but for the National news networks response to his defense. Just watching the hearing was comedy for me, and now I sort of dig Saddam. Every single news pundit referred to him as defiant like he was in sixth grade and had just gotten suspended for refusing to come down from the eagle's pearch when the bell rang. In my opinion, I think the dude is just a little competitive and can't accept defeat. He's like the dude who everyone saw go home from the bar with a fat chick, and the next morning when he's confronted by his buddies, he shows flashes of irritability and nervousness. However, since no one actually saw him do it, he will deny the fact that it happened and will hold on to his claim of being a strong man with high standards until the day he dies. Me and Saddam? Yeah, we're boys.


*This picture shows that Saddam drinks
the same whiskey I do!*

I got an 84% on my first math midterm thanks to some help from my friend, Jose Cuervo, shown here.

So I ran into my ex girlfriend the other day...Then I backed up and ran into her again! Hey, I gotta start with a hook. So I took my Math 105 midterm yesterday and feel pretty good about it. Although, I've said those exact same words many times before, so who the hell knows. I get my test back in the mail sometime next week, so right now it just feels like I'm on the Maury Povich Show waiting for the paternity tests to come back to prove that I'm not the father. Doesn't really matter if it's a math or paternity test...If I get the desired results, I will jump around screaming, "Yeah, bitch! Yeah! I told you so, you dumb bitch!" ---When it comes to 4 year old Jason....Alex, you are not the father.

The retarded can't go to heaven, which is a shame. Not because they're bad people, but because they just don't understand the concept of a higher diety or the afterlife. You can't beat it into them like you can with the blacks or Indians...Ok, if you are black or Native American, and you're offended, then you obviously missed the point of my story and you need to find Jesus. If you're retarded and you were offended, then you're not really retarded.

The beard is still growing. I've never had it this long, and I'm actually praying for the ducks to lose to Arizona this weekend. Facial hair and oral herpes do not mix well! My fantasy football team is still undefeated after week 6, so I think I'm gonna get drunk and beat up some midgets. So I heard that a window washer in Portland fell to his death this morning next to my old office...Let's just remember the good times we had with Ernesto Sanchez. Apparently, he thought the word carabiner was racially motivated and refused to use them as a window washer. That goofy bastard....One tequilla, two tequilla, three tequilla...floor. I thought he would have died landscaping...Always playing with those damn lawnmower blades. He could never get enough of those lawnmower blades.

Code brought up a damn good point...O'Donell's is probably the best kept secret for nightlife in Eugene. Ok, sure, the only people to hit on are NASCAR dads, the disabled and potential serial killers, but if you find yourself sitting next to one of them, start a conversation with them (Especially the dude in the wheelchair)! You wont regret it. You know these guys will have a story to tell...Always more interesting to hear their views on life and stories of their turbulent past, than the unbearable banter from sorority chicks who talk about...Ummm, actually, they wont talk to me, so I have no idea what they talk about. And let me tell ya, it always brings a smile to my face when I see a black guy walk into O'Donell's with a white woman. Get ready for some stare downs. The black buck will look about as comfortable as Dubya during the 2004 presidential debates and reminds you of when Andy Dufresne got surrounded by the "sisters".



That's all I got.

Well, life is getting kind of stressful...No job as of yet, I have my first midterm this week and it doesn't help when I have douchbags like this guy wishing my mom a happy birthday on the comments section of my last blog:



Does anyone know who this is? Is this a joke? All I know is that he's originally from Eastern Kentucky---Enough said. Can't wait until I can wish his mom a happy birthday and show him who daddy is (assuming his trailer park survives the next few tornados). To me, he kind of looks like George W. giving a stump speech at a college kegger and reminds me of that kid you trick into staying at home on a Friday or Saturday night so he's near his phone when you and your buddies need a ride home from the bar. Also, dude....Look at my hair....Nothing drastic, just short and simple and in with the times....It does not look like I just came home from a 1987 Wham concert. All we can do is hope that he continues reading my blog...Perhaps he can learn something. God, I really hope he isn't a friend of a friend...If so, kindly let me know ASAP! Oh, and if you happened to sleep with him, HA HA HA HA HA!!! Ok, everyone just save your breath, I know that was mean, shallow and harsh...BLA BLA BLA....But FYI, I did him a favor...If he keeps reading my blog, he'll be getting laid like a tablecloth at a Hula party. Granted, to get the chicks into his room he's gonna have to grease up their hips and push, but hey, it's a start. Take notes, big guy. Oh man, his buddies in the Babylon 5 chatroom are never gonna believe this!

Moving on, I will be in Arizona during Thanksgiving weekend! Plymouth Rock is just outside of Phoenix, right? I mean, when I think about Thanksgiving, I think of an abundance of Native Americans giving up their land to a bunch of gun weilding rednecks who use the land to build college campuses that provide a good location for the next "Girls Gone Wild" video. But the rednecks and the Native Americans all find common ground since they will both be found sleeping on the sidewalk cuddling with a bottle of bourbon. Oh wait, I was waaaay off! I was thinking of the time when I was in a town outside of Phoenix where I bought rocks from some redskins (Hey, if the NFL can use it, so can I!) driving a Plymouth. Anyway, my point is this...There'd better be a pool and a big plate of sausage!

On to sports, the Ducks beat the Huskies like a red-headed stepchild with a garden hose and a sack of potatoes! Nothing pleasures me more than something like that (No offense, Kimberly). I should lock up my sixth straight victory in fantasy football this week as long as that big dumb black oaf, Stephen Jackson, stays out of the end zone...(Relax, people...I'm just testing the karma waters today). Well, that's about it. Can't wait to see the comments on this one!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOM!!!!!!!!!

Everyone had better wish my mother a happy birthday, or I will come over to your house and I will cut you....

So, "Husky fever" (A homosexually transmitted disease, in my opinion) will be rampant in Eugene this Saturday when the Ducks face the University of Washington. For those of you who have been living under a rock the past few decades, this is a HUGE rivalry and the Huskies are hated more than that youth league soccer coach we all had who would keep us after practice and pretend that he had just suffered a rather serious snake bite and needed someone to suck out the venom. But that's a story for another day.

Right now, I've decided not to shave my beard until the ducks lose...Well, it was out of laziness at first, but now I'm kind of curious to see what Kenny Rogers looked like as a 24 year old. Keep rolling Ducks! Here's my prediction of how many consecutive wins the ducks will have...


*Present*


*Me in the year 2021*

It all starts this Saturday though. I really don't think I should predict anything this week, since all of my predictions went completely awry last week. I still don't know how the Ducks ended up beating Arizona State last week. Can you say, "Vegas mob fix"? No matter what happened, Oregon has the swagger now and will be a tough team to stop and has a legitimate chance of winning the rest of their games in the next few decades (fig. 1, 2). Anyway, like the overused response to the media by athletes, "We're just gonna take one game at a time." So, for this game, Huck the Fuskies!

Plane ticket to San Diego: $315

Bottle of whiskey: $24

Unregistered handgun: $400

Cab fare to Qualcomm Stadium: $28

Seeing the look on LaDanian Tomlinson's face when I threaten his life for not playing hard enough and costing me a game in Fantasy Football: PRICELESS.

I'm on a gravy train with biscuit wheels, LaDanian...Don't derail me! If I go down, I'm taking you with me! You're doing super so far though, keep up the good work! Still the only undefeated team in the league!

ALEX: 5-0

TOM: 4-1

JOHN G: 3-2

JOES: 3-2

STEVE/RON: 2-3

JOHN H: 2-3

RICK: 1-4

DAN/NICK: 0-5

Next up in the crosshairs....John Hammond, come on down! You're the next contestant! ---You know where you are!? You're in the jungle, baby! You're gonna die!!! (Settle down, Congo)

When I was about 12 years old or so, I took a trip to the canopy jungles in the Republic of Congo completely alone. Now, I bet you're all wondering why such a young man would take this type of trip unsupervised...

Anyway, my arrival came as a surprise to these strange black people whom I referred to as Africans. They were like the kind we have in America, but they carried rifles instead of handguns and wore polychromatic head-wraps instead of black bandanas. However, I still could not understand what they were saying as their ebonics seemed to be much more advanced as they spouted off complete gibberish with a clicking of the tongue. Feeling threatened, I plunged deep into the bush. I went deeper and deeper until I saw a strange figure in the distance. I had no idea what it was. All I knew was that it was gigantic, hairy, and extremely angry. I took a few steps closer and saw the mighty beast.


*The huge beast demanding a girlfriend and lots of candy*

We locked eyes. It was as if time stood still. He spoke telepathically to me and said to not be afraid and to come to him. I apprehensively walked to him with extreme caution. I shook his hand and he introduced himself to me as Junk Nasty Henderson. He explained to me that he and his crew had been under attack by the Africans and had been praying for someone of my skin tone to come along and save them. From that time forward, I was dubbed "The Chosen One". He was a magical silverback who pimped bitches on the side.


*"Bitch betta have my money," Junk Nasty would say.*

After spending several months with he and his crew, he said he would give me a gift so precious and so magical and something he never thought he would ever allow anyone to receive---Especially a white boy, like me. He put his arm around me and told me that he wanted to enter me. I told him that I was flattered and gladly accepted. He disappeared into a golden ball of stardust which hit me deep within my soul. I had become part of Junk Nasty Henderson! I could feel myself start to grow larger and larger and felt his presence within me. From that day forward, I have bestowed the name Congo upon him and is with me at all times. He gets a little out of control sometimes, especially when I play, "Welcome to the Jungle" by Guns n' Roses. It doesn't matter though, because he is my best friend.

So anyway, that's why I'm so well-endowed.

I'm not going to lie...I've been drinking. I just watched the White Sox sweep the Red Sox in the first round of the MLB playoffs. Besides, drinking makes baseball fun, especially when your favorite team folds faster than Superman on laundry day. It's cool though, Jason was sleeping on the couch during the game, so he was technically there with me, which does not make me an alcoholic...Yet. Ryan is studying in the library. Or was it scoring drugs? I can't really recall since I was so bombed. Oh well, I don't really feel like talking about my baseball team, my potential/impending drinking problem or my roommates, so here's a funny picture of some guys playing wheelchair basketball instead. Enjoy!

I have to vent about something that has been eating away at me for the last several years now. The roommates and I have been watching the new HBO series, Rome since the cable was installed on Tuesday. You'd think that they'd have everything historically accurate by now, but why do the characters speak in English accents??? This falsity has been used for every Roman movie I have ever seen! Actually, is it false? Did the British begin their civilization in Italy? Did they all just one day say to themselves, "Well, I really like Rome, but it's not cold or foggy enough and there aren't enough plagues."? Everyone had an English accent on Gladiator (Still waiting for someone to use the title, "Glad He Ate Her", in a porn someday), Spartacus (Ryan's favorite movie for some reason), Alexander, and many more. Did Shakespeare's plays really have that much of an effect on the entertainment industry? In those days, you could get away with inaccuracies such as these. I'm surprised you still can. There must be at least one historian out there who agrees that the ancient Romans spoke Latin/Italian. So why can't they make the actors speak in those accents? It boggles my mind and if there wasn't so much gratuitous nudity and unnecessary sex scenes in this HBO series, I would never watch it again! This is like making the characters in The Godfather speak in Southern hillbilly accents. People wouldn't buy that, so why does everyone continue to eat this up? Am I alone on this one? Doesn't anyone else notice this? Until someone comes along and proves that the British did in fact rule ancient Rome, I will be forced to only watch the series through "On Demand" so I can fast forward to the scenes with Roman whores swordfighting to the death, topless, for one of the army generals.

Not sure what's going for me tonight or this weekend. I may go up to Zach's place in Corvallis on Saturday to see his new puppy that La Skanka gave him a couple weeks ago. Guess he wont be breaking up with her anytime soon! Anyway, his name is Hurley and he's a yellow lab (big surprise) and since I love screaming at puppies until my voice is hoarse and beating them without mercy, Zach's place is sounding pretty good right now. Ultimately, it will all depend on when the duck game is on. Last night, I saw a couple of big scary negro guys who are on the South Eugene Football staff get kicked out of Taylor's for calling the waiter a "dick" because they only sold Miller Light in bottles and not on tap. Yep, the waiter definitely deserved that one. Then they got rowdy...To me, it is the most hilarious thing you could ever witness from a black dude, unless you're the one he's yelling at. The street slang was shooting out of his mouth like a friggin machine gun. Meanwhile, Vern (We all know Vern---Looks like a former 98 degrees band member) and Chris Miller (The head coach for S. Eugene and a former Duck/pro QB) sitting there looking as white as possible and pretending not to know who these "hooligans". Well, I smiled...Then I went home and watched the first half of American History X before Edward Norton gets released from prison. Ok, actually I turned on a softcore porn called Spiderbabe (Spoof on Spiderman---horribly done, believe it or not), but I did hum "The White Man Marches On" to myself on the walk home from the bars...By the way, if anyone reading this is black, please know that I am totally kidding and do not want my apartment shot up or my stereo equiptment stolen.

Editors note: When posting a comment on my blog, please click "other" and write your name in. I always like to know who I'm getting feedback from. This one goes out to my sister, Liv: How do I post a picture on my profile? I've got a great one, thanks to Uncle Roger's recent email! Help me get it up! (everyone can take their mind out of the gutter now).

Today is a pretty boring day...I'm just sitting around here awaiting the rapture of our savior (aka, cable guy) who will be here between 10 and 4. I've been filling out online applications and emailing my resume to many different places today, although, I don't think many of the places I have submitted to are looking for a former transgendered crackwhore and probably frown upon that while reading my resume.

In other news, I am still the only undefeated team left in the fantasy football league and I kind of feel bad for making my dad cry all day Sunday, I have to do what's in my best interest. How do you think Tony Soprano felt when he had to kill Big Pussy for wearing a wire? How do you think Spongebob felt when he had to beat the sh*t out of Patrick with a tire iron for sleeping with his hoe? Well, that's how I feel now...Sorry Dad. My prediction about the Patriots not going to the Super Bowl or making the playoffs (Maybe a wildcard berth if they're lucky) still holds true. They will be a 9-7 team at best. Write that down. My prediction for this upcoming Saturday when the Ducks face ASU in Tempe is less than desirable for the Oregon fans out there: ASU: 63 OR: 27....Their offense is the epitome of what our defense cannot defend. It will be a shocker----



if they beat us by less than 21. It's going to be ugly.

So I got a new phone over the weekend and thought that I will at last have texting capabilities, but noooooo....For the last five years all I've heard is---"I texted you, why didnt you ever text me back?" Or, "When are you going to get with the times and be able to text?" It was during those times when I felt lonlier than Kunta Kinte at a Merle Haggard concert. So, Apparently I'm still not "hip", or "with it", and maybe I'm just not destined to come out of the darkness yet. So, until I eventually fix that, I guess you'll just have to deal with my voice....

Is everyone else excited to watch the Red Sox repeat this year? I've got my beer for the next month or so...Does anyone else? Oh, and here's another fearless prediction---Alex, 73.8 John Gillis, -17.4 in next weekend's fantasy football action. Cable guy is here! Adios!

This one goes out to Claudia, since she was wondering what "poon-tang" is...

Poon-tang dates back to ancient China where it was served as a dish for all the young men in the Hung Dynasty to promote vigor and stamina. It was invented by a man simply known as Mr. Tang.



*rare photo of Mr. Tang, circa 485 BC.*

Here is the recipe:

--2 cups of suk ma wang noodles
--2/3 cups cream of sum yung gai
--a few healthy dashes of cumin
--12 inches of "Tangstein Sausage" (Mr. Tang had a Jewish 2nd cousin marketing this meat who was living on the land of what is now known as Germany at the time) .
--a few splashes of semanese oil
--as much soy sauce as desired
--2 salted egg foo poons.

This is predominantly served with fish tacos, which was a platter that Mr. Tang discovered while on a family vacation to Spain. However, this can be substituted with tuna, skin crab or roast beef.

So there you have it, Claudia. Feel better? Just some of Ryan's completely harmless culinary art skills. Nothing more. If you ever feel like having some, then just come over to my place...

Well, I'm finally settled in my new place with Ryan Voge, the same roommate I've had for the past 2 years, along with a new one who answers to the name of Jason. I'm pretty sure he speaks english...I don't know...I have to establish myself as the alpha male around here, so I just yell at him...He knows better than to speak to me, which is a good start. For those of you wondering, yes, Ryan is still the biggest metrosexual the city of Eugene has ever seen. He's single for the first time in 3 years and is making up for lost time. I swear, that guy has been getting so much poon-tang (sp?) that he's going to have to open his own Chinese food restaurant so everyone else can get a taste. The old, "Hey, I'm Ryan...I just broke up with my girlfriend of three years, 5 months and 18 days....Wanna go back to my place and let me videotape me giving you the old pinch and squeal?" seems to be working well for him. He's puttin' dat sh*t on da table---Puttin' it on da table!!! I'm so glad he's not with Leslie anymore...Nice ass, but after 3 glasses of wine she would start her annoying constant giggle and beg Ryan to drive her to Ben and Jerry's for ice cream every single night. Then they'd come back to argue about who loves who more. Nails on a chalkboard, my friend...Nails on a chalkboard. I still think her license plate that says "DANCER" will get her into trouble one of these days...Or into a movie.

As far as my education goes, I went to a Math 105 orientation at Lane CC last night and the professor said that there's a small chance that I might not be retarded afterall.
His opening line for the lecture was, "This class is for the students who need this requirement to transfer into a 4 year college, and for those who can't pass Math 111, since the nationwide failure rate for that class is close to 50%." I will be graded on 2 midterms and a final exam...No homework, but he gave us lists of problems to do to prepare. Oh, and get this---OPEN BOOK, OPEN NOTES---Things are looking up. Apparently, this class was completely experimental last year and is now legit.

Still no cable TV. Not till the 4th of October. So between now and then, it would be great if someone could put me on suicide watch. I'm going to need a lot of beer. All there is to do during the day is job hunt and homework...But who wants to do that? I forgot my squirrel fishing gear at home so whenever I see one of the little bastards scamper past my window I feel more helpless than a cokehead without a snorting-straw, a hooker without a tongue or genitals, a stripper without a pole, a horse without a --- eh, you get the idea. Luckily, I'm going up to Hillsboro this weekend to pick up that stuff, along with my new phone...Finally! I will also be bringing back clean laundry and heaps of groceries upon my return. Thanks Mom and Dad...

Has anyone ever thought about what it would be like if you got in a fight with your dad and ended up beating him to a bloody pulp? Well, that's what I am forced to do on Sunday when our fantasy football teams collide into an all out brawl. Sorry, Dad, it's business...I gotta put dat sh*t on da table...Put it on da table! I believe that I am the only undefeated team in the league now. I am a strong man! Who wants to try and knock me off the mountain?! The only thing I will say about the duck game last Saturday is that the refs were on their knees blowing the game for us in the 2nd half...However, they were doing the same thing to the Trojans a few times in the first. Not to mention a lucky break on a muffed punt and the interception of a ball that should have been caught in the endzone by Jarrett. No matter how you look at it, the ducks would have lost no matter what...I thought they showed ample athletic talent to compete with them, but they didn't have the same poise and maturity as USC. We wasted a lot of energy celebrating in the first half, instead of getting up and simply acting like we've been there before and that we make great plays on a regular basis. Overall though, I'm not worried about the ducks not making it to a bowl this year or losing the Civil War. We showed that we could drive on USC and gain positive yardage...But we couldn't get the ball over the goaline!

How's FATCO going, Robin and Sampson? Is everyone missing my pornstaresque looks and crossword finishing ability?

BUMPER STICKER IDEA:

I'm not drunk ... I'm Asian.

QUOTE OF THE DAY:

"When I come home late at night, don't ask me where I've been, just count your stars I'm home again."

-Axl Rose, '93

It's about 4:30 and I'm lagging behind in packing for school. When you have an elderly cat who gets cold in 85 degree weather and melts into your lap, it can be really tough to get motivated, so now I'm just planning on leaving when rush hour dies down instead of trying to beat it. My bed isn't set up down there so I will probably end up just sleeping on the futon tonight and focus on putting my room together tomorrow...Unless there's a Eugene hoe reading this who'll let me sleep at her place---(503) 939-4106. I'm looking at you, Leslie Morrison...

We probably wont have the internet at our place for at least a week, so I'll probably have to use the computers at the school library with the Asians who look up anime porn all day. Hopefully, I will be able to shoot out some blogs between now and then. It's a huge week for the ducks this Saturday as they are playing the #1 team in the country: USC. I don't have a ticket yet, but hopefully someone I know will die or something and then I can use their's. Just to let everyone know, at about 10am that morning will be the start of something artistic, something wonderful, something that will possibly bring a tear to your eye. For during that time, I will start my drinking binge and extend to anyone who reads this the honor of watching true art in motion. You'll see debauchary, irrational behavior, laughter at inappropriate times, bum fights, copping feels, laying on the pavement, knocking over tables, yelling at girls, and demanding more cowbell from the fat chicks. It will truly be a worthwhile experience for you and the entire family to enjoy. I love displaying my artistic visions for all to see. Everything will be improvised....No musical accompaniment and I usually make up the choreography as I go. Anyway, tickets will cost one beer or mixed drink per person...Children under 7 may watch for free.

Not much more to say. Oh, and I killed a hobo last night...You should have seen the look on his face!

Today is my last day in NYC and don't really want this to end because I will be fed my usual doses of reality starting tomorrow. This trip was worthwhile for me, but if you happen to be deathly afraid of other people from different races and ethnicities, then this might not be the ideal vacation for you. Whenever we had a question for someone around here, the answer would always come back in very broken English, no matter how white they looked. Lets see, we also saw an amateur mariacci band playing on the subway, a couple of happy-go-lucky crack whores, a lady who yelled at me for standing too close to her elbow on the bus, and a lady with obvious ass implants. We also went to a Chinese restaraunt called Mr. Tang's. When you see a name like that in Chinatown, you have to go...You just have to...We also took a stroll through Central Park and oh my god I wish i had my rod, reel and peanuts here! Agressive little bastards! We took a walk across the Brooklyn Bridge for some nice photo ops and took a ride on the Staten Island Ferry where I was able to rub up against a little boy without anyone noticing! God I love this country! Hmmmm, where can I fill out a form to be a soccer coach this fall? I will have to post some pictures on here when I get them developed----Of the city!!! But don't worry, NAMBLA friends, I will email you the good pics too when I get a chance.

Here are the things we didn't do---So don't ask...

1. Broadway--If I wanted to watch a bunch of fags running around singing and dancing, I'd go to San Francisco.

2. Baseball game--If I talked her into going to a Mets or Yankees game, then I'd get put into a guilt trip and have to see a Broadway show with her. God, I hate musicals...Plus, I'd probably end up getting my ass kicked at a Yankee's game. Can you say Steve Bartman?

3. The Met--Apparently, watching dogs hump eachother at a dog park isn't a waste of time, but a trip to one of the best museums in the world is.

4. Night Clubs--We were going to go with one of Kimberly's friends, but the stupid bitch never called us back until 7am the next morning claiming she forgot her phone...Let me tell ya something---Club skanks don't forget to bring their phones there---EVER!, but they are apt to forgetting their phones at the clubs...I've seen it a million times...Oh well, she saved me $$$ I suppose...Ok, so maybe I'm grateful, and possibly Jewish.

5. Set fire to A-Rod's house---We got there, but I forgot matches....Aye aye aye....

Other than those things, we were able to see everything worth seeing/experiencing in Manhattan and it turned out to be a very worthwhile trip. Surely some things that I will never forget.

In other news, the ducks actually won on Saturday and I am beating Joe Walliman in fantasy football 47.9 - 2.9--- much like the apes that attacked the couple in Bakersfield a few months ago. Your tears taste yummy, Joe....

Well, I'm in the Upper Eastside of NYC. It's 10am here and the air is already too thick and heavy to breathe. I got into town at about this time yesterday and after several cat-naps, vitamin C and a healthy dosage of heroin I was ready to hit the town...I saw one minor celebrity...Too bad it was that f-ing skank, Rachel Dratch of SNL...Would it kill her to get some major reconstructive facial surgery? I'm sorry....Maybe I'm just a little upset that she never acknowledged me when I walked up to her and yelled, for all to hear, that she was my greatest sexual fantasy of all time. We also saw Time Square, Rockafellar Center, Rainbow Room (NBC Studios), Little Italy, Chinatown and Kimberly took a piss at the ESPN Zone. I also rode the subway and the bus...Surely the finest public transportation this side of the Continental U.S.! We had a nice Italian dinner in Little Italy where some sort of fair had been going on so we got to listen to arguments between the carnies about who has to work the next day in the background...Almost as good as being serenaded with dental drill...We are getting ready to go get some bagels (So help me god, they'd better be made by the Jews!!!), then we'll probably go through Central Park and to the top of the Empire State Building...I am staying in an 11 story brick apartment which is in the middle of 15 other brick apartments...Everything is packed in tighter than Mr. Weasel's fudge here and everything is narrower than a nun's uterus. The cab drivers honk at the people in front of them for no reason whatsoever, so I'm just like, dude...Driving laws in America differ from those in Eurasia...In fact, you should try eating some American food like tacos...Well, I need some more cowbell and a bagel so I must be going...Hope to be back on again soon with another update...Oh, and thanks for waking me up from my slumber yesterday, Mom...Remember that 7am here, is 4am there....Expect a call tomorrow morning....by the way, I'm feeling much much better....I'm still going to beat C. Waner with a tack hammer though for giving me flu symptoms during my flight!

QUOTE OF THE DAY:

"Do you see what happens, Larry?! Do you see what happens?! This is what happens when you find a stranger in the Alps!"

-A "Big Labowski" line, edited for T.V.

I'm not really sure how much time on the computer I'll get in New York and since today is my last day here at the office and don't care how much work I get done (What are they gonna do, fire me?) I think I'll write a sh*tload...I'll rant, rave, complain, be offensive, and oh my god---If my boss walks by my desk one more time and disturbs my time of untouchable creativity, I will throw my chair at her and make fun of her god-awful orange shirt!

Well, I leave for New York City tonight at around 10:00pm (PT) on a red eye flight. I will have a one hour layover in Atlanta and will arrive in NYC at 8:37 am (ET). Does anyone else dislike talking to frequent flyers as much as I do? It seems like every single person who's ever been on a plane has the most extreme turbulance story. Why do I get the feeling everyone I've talked to has embellished their stories? Every single one ends with, "Everyone on the plane was freaking out! I wasn't scared at all though, just because I fly so much." Wow! What an incredible story of survival...Y'all don't gotta lie to kick it... The same thing happens when it snows...Everyone has to beat everyone else with the amount of snowfall that hit their residence. Does anyone else notice this? Let's say you tell someone that 4 inches of snow fell at your house. The other person will always retort with a higher inch count at their place! Trust me, this never fails!!!

I'm not off to a good start today. I have a stuffy nose and little bit of a sore throat. I know it was C. Warner's fault...Me and my homies are gonna shank her in the exercise yard this afternoon. It's not bad at all right now, but it feels like it could very well explode into something bigger. I'll just try and stay drunk during my entire trip so I don't feel it...Hey, at least it's not V.D. from that Vietnamese transexual hooker or a kidney stone! You know what else is awesome? Hurricane Ophelia is hoovering on the Carolina coastline threatening to set a roadblock between Atlanta and New York. I will not be a happy camper (perhaps literally) if I have to spend the day in Atlanta. I also want to note that if they put me next to a f-ing baby, I will flip out and probably throw a bigger tantrum than the little bundle of joy (especially if it cries in a Southern accent...I'm not kidding, I've heard indian babies cry like a rambling convenience store owner or cab driver before on Light Rail...It happens!). Maybe an English nanny will be on the plane to shake it back to sleep...Hey that reminds me of a joke: Q: How do you make a dead baby float? A: A glass of root beer and two scoops of dead baby.

+ = yummy!

Today is my last day at the office, but it feels like I'm the only one here that knows about it...Needless to say, when you're considered to be at the bottom rung of the ladder, you don't get any benefits whatsoever. Not even a f*cking card! I'm not complaining though...It's how it's always been and how it will always be for everyone at my level so you just kind of expect it and accept it (Excluding the good people at the Tanasbourne office. You guys rock!). Oh well, C. Warner will be missing me tomorrow when her workload doubles and she is found under her desk rocking back and forth drooling and staring off into space as the phone rings off the hook...Hmmm...That gives me an idea. C. Warner is deathly afraid of germs so i think I'm going to breathe all over her things at her desk like I'm cleaning my sunglasses next time she goes on break.

By the way, I think our government is brilliant! They are f-ing up the country so badly right now that potential illegal aliens are probably thinking they're better off staying put in their homeland. Awesome job, Mr. President! It's no longer the land of opportunity, but rather the land of recovery. However, there is an apparent national day of prayer on the 16th, so everything should be as good as new after that! Jesus Christ, what is happening? Seriously...J.C.---Ya there? Is this because I took a permanent marker and drew a bandana and sunglasses on you and at the bottom wrote, "My dad can beat up your dad"??? Dude, I'm sorry...Take a joke and let it go! Next time you get pissed at the U.S., just send a natural disaster to Idaho and Utah or something...

Well, I think that's about all I have to say today...I hope everyone feels as invigorated as I do! I hope to be able to post another entry while I'm in NYC, but if not, then I'll give everyone more cowbell in about a week or so. Until then---PISS OFF!

Ahhh, isn't it great when your Monday is really like a Thursday? And what a wonderful Monday it is! Ducks won 47-14---Huskies lose 56-14. My fantasy football team is also slamming my opponent, Rick Carman, like a friggin' toilet seat, 37.2 - 5. It was nice to be back at Autzen Stadium on a somewhat wet and gloomy Saturday afternoon. I managed to get drunk enough to enjoy a pretty boring football game, but not enough to embarrass my parents and their friends to the point where I'd get cut out of their will (The day that happens, is the day I put them in a home). The score indicates that the Ducks pounded the Grizzlies and executed their offense and defense flawlessly. However, I don't think we gained more than 80 yards on the ground and looked more confused than a blind man in an orgy when we got inside the red zone. The new kicker for the ducks, Paul Martinez, has been a breath of fresh air. He already has 11 field goals in only 2 games! Before the season started, I thought that if we ever had to send the field goal unit (ha ha ha....I said "unit"...ha ha ha) onto the field, the result for the ducks would be like running backwards, naked through a cornfield. In the past few seasons, he used to be a punter for the ducks--and a shaky one at that. I was terrified to hear that he would be taking on the kicking duties for Oregon this year. He has proven me wrong though, and I am beginning to realize that some Mexicans might not be that bad (Kidding!). However, the bottom line is that we looked very poor and unorganized offensively against a borderline Special Olympics football team and I am scared sh*tless for our next two upcoming games against Fresno State and USC.

On a side note, I'd like to give a special thanks to Zach for not being a moron and wearing OSU apperal to the game like he said he would. We tailgated with a former U of O offensive lineman who is about 6'5", 330lbs where Zach is about 6ft, 130lbs...I don't care how much military training you've had...By the end of that fight, it would have been Zach standing on a box, naked with a hood over his head and jumper cables attatched to his unmentionables, with me squatting down giving the thumbs up to the camera.

After the first week of fantasy football, I will be 1-0 with a commanding victory. Not bad for a team led by Kerry Collins, who struggled with alcoholism earlier in his career and is throwing to Randy Moss who will undoubtedly be suspended at least once this year for violating the league's substance abuse policy. My running back, LaDanian Tomlinson, scored his 13th straight rushing touchdown, tying an NFL record. And holy sh*t, Zach...Indianapolis' defense scored! That's all you, dawg.

Tomorrow is my last day here...I will miss everyone...They've taught me so much!

Change of plans...In a good way...I just received word that we will be able to stay in a very posh and elegant apartment in the center of Manhattan instead of that sh*thole youth hostel (No cancellation fee either!). Kimberly took a walk over there to see for herself yesterday and said it was by far the most disgusting place she'd ever been to. She told this to her boss who realized that her mother would be out of town this weekend, so we could just stay at her place. This is the same elderly woman (WAIT!....elderly? Hmmm...Are you all thinking what I'm thinking? That's right! Insurance scam. Just make the weekly $1,000 check payable to Alex MacKenzie and I'll take care of your "Protection Against Robots" paperwork for you.) who owns a 17 bedroom beachfront property mansion in Rhode Island, so you have to think that this is a very upscale place. If anyone reading this is fuming with jealousy, let me just say that there are some downsides...Hmmm....Let me think....Ummmm....I hate the way old people smell. So there you have it---there's at least one con! (They all smell like steamed rice. Am I the only one who thinks this? If I am, I'll shut up. )

Ahhhh sheeeeeeet, just got holla from my dawg, Bruce "Coke Monkey" Anderson. Yo man, can I axt you a quession? How come you don't neva call ma' digits no moe? And when you gonna ditch dat hoe o' yoe's n' be a playa like you was back in da day? Juss be all like, dayum bitch get up off my flava! Yo dawg, I remember when you was reppin' H-Town during Christmas dat one year when you was all dressed up like motha f*ckin' Kringles cuz you got dat fat azz dat dem homies luved when you was in prizon..packin' yo gat in dat big azz red sack o' yo's. I still gotz dat sack and itz where I keeps my condoms...Yo dawg, juss playin'. Yoe sista been axin' bout me? I still be pourin' one out for you fo' sho...(I was emphatically poundin' my fist against my heart the whole time I was writin' dat sh*t.)

Anyway, for all of you who don't know, Bruce is a 30-something, husky, merry, lobsterish, balding fellow who is a father of 2 and used to work at FATCO with me...It's a rough office...You gotta know the street lingo if you want to survive and C. Warner is hanging on by a thread. Me and Bruce though...Yeah, we was boyz. (Settle down ladies, he's taken!)

This weekend I'm going to the Duck game against Montana with my parents and my partner in crime, Zach. He's bringing his woman though, whom I refer to as "La Skanka". When translated into English, it means beautiful, adoring, caring, loving, pure woman...It's like the Hawaiian word, "aloha" though, so it can also mean the exact opposite. But yeah, long story short---My parents are driving me, and La Skanka is driving him, so we are going to be very not sober...I'm not sure if the game will be televised or not, but if it is, I will be the naked jackass running onto the field with 4:20 left in the 4th quarter. "Whaaaa haaappen'd occifer!!!??? Ohhh, I'm sorry, I thought I was in America! Yeah, wha' country is this? Cuz for some reason I thought this was America!" As for the game, I'm not too worried about the ducks losing. I mean, Montana??? Their offseason conditioning consists of nailing fat chicks in the snow, if I'm not mistaken. Apparently, the beavers went one up on that and are apparently doing the deed with homosexual rams as part of their training regiment. They could very well be the best conditioned team in the PAC-10...(I would say nation, but I don't even want to think about what goes on in the SEC).

Other than that, I don't really have anything else planned. I will probably just be getting things ready for my trip to NYC. I hope everyone has a good weekend...I will be back on Monday with a full report for y'all to read.

QUOTE OF THE DAY:

"I'd like to take this time to dispell any myths or any rumors about the retarded. The retarded do not rule the night. They don't rule it. Nobody does. They don't run in packs. Although they may not be as strong as apes, don't lock eyes with 'em--Don't do it! It puts 'em on edge. They might go into berzerker mode. They'll come at you like a whirlin' dervish of fists and elbows. Teacher may start screamin', 'no, no, no!' But all they'll hear is, 'Who wants more cake?' Lemme tell ya something--They all do. They all want more cake."


--WILFORD BRIMLEY, '99

Well, last night was the office party. Lots of wine, lots of Bud (light), lots of Hef. Good times, right? Eh, not so much...Mother dearest was there so I couldn't do my usual routine in past office parties. You know, imitating the crock hunter with the beer tap getting as much venom out of the little beauty as I could to 'elp save a life...Or wearing a a bow on my head with a sign around my neck reading, "To women, from God". Well, it wasn't total loss...I did manage to wrangle in some racial slurs about former workers, commented on a marketing rep's chest, and asked the president of the company if he was interested in going to a gentleman's club with me.

*I stood in front of my mom so she wouldn't smell my breath*

Tuesday is my last day here, since I'm leaving for NYC that night. Not really sure what to expect while visiting there. I read some of the reviews from former travelers who stayed in the Upper Westside hostel we just booked for about $90 per night...And well, let's just say that I wouldn't be surprised if a dead hooker was on our bed with mice going in and out of her stab wounds and coke spilling out of her nose like the needle scene in "Pulp Fiction". But hey, free coke! Besides, I lived with that stuff everyday during my sophomore year in college. Although, I recall pissing on the hookers after we hit them over the head with baseball bats back in the day and I'm pretty sure heroin and PCP were our drugs of choice...I guess one never realizes how different the West Coast is from the East Coast. How interesting and insightful! I am beginning to understand why Tupac and Biggie are not with us any longer.

However, the hostel is in a fairly good location right next to Central Park. I should be able to see all the things on my list! And yes, a dead hooker was one of them...Other things on my list include:

1. Pakistani cab driver: I just want to see if their accents differ from Oregon's Pakistani cab drivers.

2. Crazy guy flipping out: The first thing that comes to my mind when I think about the Big Apple is a random vagrant shuffling through trash, yelling obscenities to himself and giving the finger to pedestrians who cross his path.

3. Selling rocks in Harlem: Hey, gotta pay for the trip somehow, and since I'm too proud to whore myself, that's pretty much my only option.

4. Join a cult or an off-the-wall religious sect: Hey, it's a free wardrobe and haircut!

5. Tell my construction story at a blue collar bar: You know...That huge friggin' ball-breaker of a job on 60th and 3rd.

6. Stalk Woody Allen: Kimberly, you're gonna have to walk fast for this guy!

7. Sleep with a Rabii: I just want to take the heat off of the catholic priests for awhile...

8. Squirrel fish at Central Park: I wonder if the little bastards are as ferocious there as they are over here.

9. Meet Carson Daly: He can't ignore my fan mail forever!

10: Play around with the children: I love kids!

It's about 3pm at the office, and after an extremely busy day I am officially bored. The NFL season commences this Thursday and college football started last weekend---Life is good. I think I speak for every true sports fan when I say that this truly is a breath of fresh air. Is it just me, or did the NFL preseason games start just soon enough to allow me to pull my head out of the oven which was caused by the constant banter by the sports media that had only been able to cover golf, tennis, NASCAR, meaningless baseball games, constant poker tournament re-runs and competitive eating? Granted, the preseason football games are just as meaningless as those activities (Yes, I said activities) mentioned above, but I think that everyone feels rejuvinated after getting a small taste of what's to come in an undoubtedly different kind of year. THE PATRIOTS WILL NOT WIN THE SUPER BOWL THIS YEAR. In fact, I'm not so sure they'll even make it to the playoffs.

College football is off to a good start too. I love it when Washington loses and Oregon wins. Did anyone else notice that the Huskies began their losing tear as soon as the NCAA put their program underneath a microscope? I really do believe that there is little honesty among D-1 programs and that most teams can't win unless they can lure in the talent with certain incentives. The only problem is that most people are too smart to leave a paper trail and the people who do discover the injustices are too greedy to blow the whistle, since more often than not, the whistle blowers come from within. Just look at what happened to Colorado and Washington (Both former Neuheisel schools)---No one wants their school to have a downfall like that.

The Ducks, on the other hand; beat a solid Houston team and looked good and exciting during their first game of the year. To me, I think they were pretty much on par for the mistakes I predicted they'd make on offense. New offensive coordinator, young offensive line, distractions like shirtless drunken rednecks with red foam cowboy hats feeding chewing tobacco and Budweiser to their 5 year-old children. Hey man, it's a culture shock (Unless you're Dante Rosario who's from Dayton, OR).

The defense in the first half reminded me of that retarded kid you see eating soft-serve ice cream at the local Dairy Queen----Very slow, getting creamed and funny to watch unless he's yours. They got it back together somewhat in the second half, but I'm still waiting to see this "unbelievable D-Line" that everyone keeps yapping about. Although, everyone will look damn-near perfect against Montana, so who cares? Meanwhile, Adrian Peterson's Heisman hopes were all but obliterated in the first game of the season.

What's better than NFL football? Fantasy football! The game for the guys who never made it past their respective JV football teams in high school (With at least one exception), and who probably play dungeons and dragons during the offseason. It also helps guys learn how to cope with their child's performance in little league games. Consider the child as the owner's "blue chip" player. If he does well, you can brag about him/her to all your friends and say things like, "Told ya so! I knew this was the year for him!" But if he struggles, you begin calling adoption agencies and orpan edges. Or in this case, the commissioner to turn in your player and your dignity. This is what makes it exciting, not to mention the free education of how to be a statistician every Sunday and Monday.

Dang, that's a lot of stuff written in about 30 minutes...Pardon any mistakes.

Labor Day weekend...Where do I begin? Well, let me start off by saying that I did in fact end up getting a sore throat, however; I feel inclined to blame it on the mass amounts of meth I smoked and not C. Warner's imaginary virus in an attempt to make everyone at the office feel sorry for her. My weekend was kind of blah...I went down to Corvallis on Friday night and stayed with my two buddies, Jake and Trent. I came over to their place dressed to kill, wearing sandals, a shroud and a turbin. They had a keg of PBR, stories of their summers and an abundance of hetero/anglo pride! The next day they were able to get me an extra ticket to the OSU vs. PSU football game. Well, the tailgating was fun...The football game and the country music concert afterwards for the Ag. majors and the ram molesters----eh, not so much. Luckily, I was saved by a plethera of beer and a vinyard owner from McMinnville. Is there anything the Beaver Hut can't do? I decided to give Blake a call since he was down there too. Drank more...I told Jake and Trent to come over. Unfortunately, a couple imposers who weren't invited came over with them and ruined everbody's fun...We let it slide and all went back to Jake's place. Everyone was having a difficult time sleeping, so i decided to tell them a bedtime story. It was about a fat oafish gopher who breathed really hard through his fat little nose when asked his opinion on any given subject. He also tended to sit and stare at you with a dumbass grin on his face whenever he was involved in a conversation he had no business being in. And let me be perfectly clear-- Mr. Gopher was really fat. He was so fat that only 2 female gophers had gone through tunnels with him before the age of 24. The other main character in the story was Mr. Weasel. He was a sneaky little marmot who happened to be friends with Mr. Gopher because no one else cared to be his friend. Mr. Weasel likes to think that he is more successful than anyone else in the forest, but he is merely a root and berry salesman and is given many things by the weasel elders in which he does not earn for himself. Some of the creatures in the forest consider him to be mildly retarded because he can't let go of his past from Varmint High. He thinks he was the coolest weasel there, but it turned out that no one really liked him and his athletic feats in the nut toss or berry run weren't really that impressive. Anyway, they decided to poke Mr. Bear and got eaten alive by him....The end! I was very glad that everyone was able to sleep so well after that rousing story!

After that, I decided to come back home the next morning and was basically lazy for the rest of my long weekend. Didn't do much of anything. First time in awhile where i didn't have any obligations that I or my parents made for me. Leaving for NYC a week from today. Can't wait! Did everyone else have a good weekend?