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Tuesday, December 31, 2002
The last day of the Old Year. Where has it all gone? Oh there it is, in that good ol' proverbial toilet.
Being cynical is cool!
| Mr. McBastard | 8:14 PM | | |
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Monday, December 30, 2002
I once asked someone -- my brother, I think -- why people have fingernails. He told me that the fingernail protected the tender, sensitive skin underneath. This never made any sense to me. . . .
Whenever I talk to someone -- friends, neighbors, and strangers -- I always seem to keep my distance. I don't often assert my opinions and I usually deflect probing questions back onto the asker. For some reason I avoid giving up my personal feelings to any listener. It takes a lot of trust in someone before I reveal even the least personal information to them. It's as if I don't want anyone to see beneath the image I portray.
. . . . Is the tough fingernail there just to protect the sensitive skin underneath? Or is the sensitive skin there because it is protected from the elements and never allowed to toughen?
| Mr. McBastard | 11:37 PM | | |
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Thursday, December 26, 2002
Wow.
Another Christmas has come and gone. . . .
Yeah, that's all I got.
| Mr. McBastard | 12:04 AM | | |
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Monday, December 23, 2002
It just so happens that the best thing for headaches and an upset stomach is a healthy dose of ibuprofen and several hours of a video gaming with three old friends. Never underestimate the healing power of animated gore and wholesale violence.
| Mr. McBastard | 6:45 PM | | |
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Saturday, December 21, 2002
I think the worst thing about vomitting isn't the pounding thrust of your stomach trying to evacuate its contents or the bile burning the back of your throat, but the lingering taste that seems to stay with you even after you've brushed your teeth.
| Mr. McBastard | 5:44 AM | | |
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Thursday, December 19, 2002
Some advice I wish I had received eight years ago:
Cavity
Pick and choose what you believe
You will be leaving this town soon
You will be drying your own eyes
And you'll be licking your own wounds
But the nagging dull pain
In the back of your mind
Will never go away
Noiselss sound, sightless vision
Ignoring ignorance again
Tearing down and boring in
It never will be healed within
| Mr. McBastard | 4:43 AM | | |
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Wednesday, December 18, 2002
Unjounalistically ripped from The Onion:
Fact Repeated As Urban Legend
BREWSTER, WA—An actual occurrence passed into the realm of modern folklore Tuesday, when actor Robert Reed's 1992 AIDS-related death was repeated as urban legend. "Dude, this guy I know told me that the guy who played the dad on The Brady Bunch died of AIDS," said Jeff Gund, 16. "Can you believe he believed that?" Gund went on to tell the equally implausible tale of a woman who cut off her husband's penis and threw it in a field, only to see the man surgically reattach it and become a porn star.
| Mr. McBastard | 11:58 PM | | |
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Monday, December 16, 2002
I killed on my Latin Final on Friday. I'm pretty sure I'll get an A in the class. The Biology Final tomorrow shouldn't be too hard either. I expect I'll get the same I have on the previous tests: a high B or low A. I'm on the border between an A and a B; I've got an 88.9%. So, whatever I get on the test will most likely be what I get in the class. But my Systems Programming Final on Tuesday is going to be hard. And even if I ace it, I'll most likely only get a C in the class. Most likely, I'll just walk away with a D. A difficult class combined with a lessened interest in computer science made Sys. Prog. a very challenging class.
| Mr. McBastard | 5:41 PM | | |
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Thursday, December 12, 2002
The Taste Of Ink
by The Used
Is it worth it can you even hear me
Standing with your spotlight on me
Not enough to feed the hungry
I'm tired and I felt it for awhile now
In this sea of lonely
The taste of ink is getting old
It's four o' clock in the fucking morning
Each day gets more and more like the last day
Still I can see it coming
While I'm standing in the river drowning
This could be my chance to break out
This could be my chance to say goodbye
At last it's finally over
Couldn't take this town much longer
Being half dead wasn't what I planned to be
Now I'm ready to be free
So here I am it's in my hands
And I'll savor every moment of this
So here I am alive at last
And I'll savor every moment of this
And won't you think I'm pretty
When I'm standing top the bright lit city
And I'll take your hand and pick you up
And keep you there to so you can see
As long as you're alive and care
I promise I will take you there
And we'll drink and dance the night away
As long as you're alive
Here I am
I promise I will take you there
Lyrics courtesy of A-Z Lyrics
| Mr. McBastard | 10:56 PM | | |
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Wednesday, December 11, 2002
My favorite overall albums based not only on the quality of music and lyrics of the individual songs, but also song order, mood, and replay-ability:
- Gorillaz -- Gorillaz
- Dookie -- Green Day
- Slowly Going the Way of the Buffalo -- MxPx
- Are We There Yet? -- John Reuben
- Satellite -- P.O.D.
- Blue Album -- Weezer
| Mr. McBastard | 10:08 PM | | |
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Tuesday, December 10, 2002
A little insight into what goes on behind the scenes in Centennial, room 350:
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
P: So, they left you with some hot guy?
Z: Yes.
P: What are you doing?
Z: I'm writing down everything we say. Go on.
P: Hey, that's what you said. Oh, "we say".
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
P: Ah lalalalalalala! (laughter and fart noises) (donkey/baby noises) I'm back, Daddy, egh! (laughter)
Z: Stop making stupid noises!
P: Why?
Z: (stares) This is hard, we need a third party to do this.
P: Wheres' Sam? He should be back any time. He should be back anytime. (wink) (hocking a lugey) Oh, that's a good one.
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Z: It's much better with the little parenthesis [sic].
P: Have you ever tried it without the parentheses? You misspelled "parenthess." You fucking misspelled "parentheses," bud.
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P: How much d'you wanna bet that the tape is in Katie and Alison's room and not Jenn and Kristen's room?
Z: (gets fifteen cents)
P: I see your fifteen cents and I will raise you Sam's picture from boyscout camp.
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P: You know what I was thinking about the other day?
Z: What?
P: OK, you know in Forest Gump, technically Jenny had sex with a retard. Why does everyone else look past this?
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P: What's up, Sam?
Sam: It's cold outside.
P: (sings) Baby, it's cold outside.
S: Don't sing, you can't.
P: I can sing and I do.
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P: I'm nice to you all the time.
S: Oh yeah right!
P: I talk to you. I ask you questions. I give you hugs. I wager your pictures from boyscout camp.
S: (silence)
P: Hey, where'd you get this from Sam?
S: Justin gave it to me.
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Z: Is that the Index?
S: Yeah.
P: If it's an index, shouldn't they just have references to other papers?
S: Refrences to other papers?
P: You know like an actual index? . . . . Like in the back of a book?
S: No, I get it. It was just stupid.
P: Sam, I don't think you do get it.
S: No, I get it, I just chose not to respond.
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S: So, did Jeff Corwin bring animals?
P: Yeah.
S: Really?
P: Yeah.
S: Because I don't think he did: (reads quote from Index concerning Jeff Corwin NOT bringing any animals)
P: What kind of animals we talking about, Sam?
S: Like real animals.
P: Well, he brought animals, you just had to have a special pass to see them.
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P: Hey, if we're gonna be holding doors open for 'em they shouldn't be bitching about us making more money. Am I right, Sam?
S: Yeah.
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P: Them coloreds are taking over. You know what we should do? Kill 'em.
S: Have some good ol' hangings?
P: Then kill 'em.
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P: It's probably good if you're a girl and have a low sperm count, like zero.
S: (silence)
P: Well, I don't know, what do you think Beyer's sperm count was?
Z: Who's Beyer?
P: Coach Beyer.
S: (laugh) Probably.
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P: So, that's Chris Bass?
Z: Who?
P: The guy last night?
Z: Is that his name?
P: Yeah.
Z: Then yeah.
P: And he likes Tabs.
Z: I guess so.
P: He didn't look like a bad-looking guy did he?
Z: No, I guess he doesn't have much going for him.
P: Who, him?
Z: Yeah.
P: You know, black guys are screwed here. There's like three black chicks.
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Z: I gotta go to lunch soon.
P: When?
Z: Like 1:30, because I have class at 12.
S: You're gonna go at 1:30?
Z: I'm going at "shut up, Sam." I meant to say 11:30.
S: Yeah, thats what I thought.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Z: Where ya going?
P: Class.
Z: You have a class.
P: Yeah.
Justin: I farted on your bed.
P: That's alright.
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Jenn: I would not be a bitch to somebody if I thought it would hurt their feelings. Know what I mean?
P: No.
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P: Tell me if this makes any sense, I was watching an interview with Jennifer Lopez about that movie where she's (yawns) a maid, ya know, and . . . whoa, you're like a ninja, I didn't even hear you come over here . . . (phone rings).
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Alison: Who's that
J: Michael Keaton. He doesn't make a very convincing rock star.
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J: Hey, if you were a hotdog, would you -- Oh my God . . . . Hotdogs!
| Mr. McBastard | 9:29 AM | | |
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Monday, December 09, 2002
This fell out of my head and landed on my keyboard a couple of nights ago.
He was a recovering alcoholic, but not in the traditional sense. He was using alcohol to recover from his recent divorce from his second wife. The road to recovery is a long and arduous one, but James' treatment was going nicely.
He took a dose of Jack and shuffled toward his recliner. James nearly sat down in the chair, but missed and was content to stay on the floor. James' appartment was dark and cold, as it often was when he returned from work, or more likely the bars. The single bedroom, 300-square-foot dwelling was where he had called "home" for three years, but since his wife had left, it was just a house. He just lived there, barely living at all.
From his vantage point, the living room tilted slightly and spun slowly. Deciding that it spun a bit too slowly, James took another drink from his bottle of self-prescribed whiskey. It seemed to have an almost immediate affect. He braced himself against the floor with his head and left shoulder, being careful not to spill the medicine bottle being tightly gripped by his right hand.
The silence hung in the air as thick as the stench of alcohol. Time did not seem to pass. James couldn't tell if the he'd been thinking about trying not to think for a minute or for an hour. It didn't matter. The thing he was trying not to think about -- his wife -- was always in the back of his mind. James gagged, caughed, sputtered, and fell into unconsciousness. He spent yet another night with his head in a pool of his own self-abuse.
| Mr. McBastard | 11:14 AM | | |
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Saturday, December 07, 2002
I need something.
I wish I knew what it was.
| Mr. McBastard | 3:38 AM | | |
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Friday, December 06, 2002
The Straw:
Mommy: It's obvious that this is just not a good stage for me and my kids...I'm sure it will pass...I hope... 
Mommy: A few months ago, I was sharing with a friend of Zach's how I felt that I was a failure as a mother...much to my surprise thier reply was...
Mommy: "Oh no, Mrs. T, you're a good mother. You just have kids that treat you like shit." Interesting perception from an outsider.
Mommy: Well, I suppose if they treat me like poop that's because I've allowed them too...the fault is mine.
Mommy: I feel like I'm on the threshold of crisis...and that's always an indicator-time to do something different...
Mommy: The straw that broke the camels back...how much $$ or time would it have cost to type these 3 words in a message dated 11/20...Happy Birthday Mom!
The Camel's Back:
I'm sorry I forgot your birthday. I'm sorry I'm a bad son. I'm sorry I don't say I'm sorry enough. I'm sorry, but I can't go back in fucking time to November 20th to tell you Happy Birthday. And if I could go back in time, I would go back to when you thought the world of me, because I can hardly stand the look of disappointment and displeasure in your eyes. I know it's disappointment, because I see that same look in the mirror everyday. It's hard enough as it is convincing myself that I'm a worthwhile human being.
Why did you let me treat you like shit? Why did you let me listen in awe to your wisdom and judgements? Why did you let me respect your every decision? Why did you let me tell you at every damn opportunity I could find that you are the most important and influencial person in my life?
Putting all sarcasm aside for the moment, I'm tired of feeling like shit, too. I'm tired of inadiquacy. I'm tired of not living up to other people's standards. But most of all, I'm tired of feeling bad about this post.
| Mr. McBastard | 1:31 PM | | |
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Thursday, December 05, 2002
I shaved my armpits yesterday in the shower. I don't really have a good reason for why other than I wanted to know what it looks like, feels like, how it's done, etc. I guess the closest explanation is that a girl named Rachel that lives down the hall from my dorm room kept bugging me to trim my "Martin VanBuren" inch-long sideburns (which I personally enjoy). Then she mentioned all the things that girls have to do to keep up appearances (i.e. shaving legs and armpits).
I remembered all this in the bathroom while looking into the mirror and wondering if maybe I should trim the shaggy 'burns. And it came to be that I decided to both trim my facial hair and shave my pits.
Just for your information, it's harder to shave one's armpits than I had figured, the armpit being a concave surface and me not wanting to cut the shit out of myself and all.
| Mr. McBastard | 10:14 AM | | |
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Wednesday, December 04, 2002
Advice
I've heard those cries of pain
Coming from my own throat
Coming from my own belly
Cover yours before they slit it, too
And bleed you for everything you're worth
I've seen you with your hand out
Asking for inheritance
Asking for the earth
But they'll give you a handful of dirt
Close your hand into a fist
And fight for all you're worth
| Mr. McBastard | 4:14 PM | | |
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Monday, December 02, 2002
I think I've come up with something incredible: An hour sit-com that tells the news but in an entertaining format. It would be infotainment. It would probably be most easy to implement on a local level rather than covering the national issues, but there are some smart and witty writers out there that could come up with something funny and informative about terrorist attacks and threats of war. I figure this is a good way to "dumb down" the news for those simpletons and cretins (me included) that otherwise wouldn't want to watch some boring ol' newsanchors behind a desk. There are some kinks to be worked out, I'm sure, but they can easily be solved with an experienced team of writers and journalists.
I think I may be on to something. I'm thinking of calling it News-O-Rama!
| Mr. McBastard | 6:26 PM | | |
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There's a penny on the ground next to the couch, but I'm not going to pick it up. It's tail-side up; that's Bad Luck, ya know.
| Mr. McBastard | 5:12 PM | | |
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