My friends.....
Mood:  on fire

Friends are a good thing to have. I'd rather have good friends than money any day. I'd like to think that I'm a good friend. I'm not so much the good friend that will give you compliments or make you feel better. Nay, I'm the kinda friend that is willing to drive to Minneapolis the day after my birthday at 2 in the morning to watch as you beat the shit out of the guy who fucked your girlfriend sorta friend. I'm the type of friend that will ask "Do you want me to rape him?" when some guy is a dick to you. Yeah, I'm that kinda friend. I'm the one you call on to help fix the situation when you accidentally kill a hooker. I'm the type of guy you don't acknowledge when you run for public office, but I'm the one who will rig the election for you. I'm the type of friend who will always make sure your beer is cold, your children are safe, and your back is covered. Why do I do this? Not because I'm some sick fuck that enjoys doing bad things. It's because I'm fucking loyal. I don't fuck my friends, especially when they are down. So, if you're my friend, you're covered. You need anything done, you just ask for it.

Are you my friend?

Vilification
Mood:  celebratory

Ok muthafuckas. It's been one hell of a long time, but this fucking blog is back with a fucking vengeance. Let's get one thing straight. I've gotten into a lot of trouble at work for shit that I've said on the Internet. I'm sure that I could get into trouble for shit on here, but I'd like to take this opportunity to say that it was done a long time ago and that it's a fucking joke. Don't take it seriously, and don't sue me or cry to my boss or any shit like that. It's jokes muthafucka.

 That being said, I've got a few things to share that have happened in the almost year since I last wrote on this damn thing. Lots of empty beers, broken hearts, and felony murder.

Let's see here.......I still haven't graduated college. I lived in my car. I got a dog. I moved into a house. I got better at golf, and fell out of love. This past 9 months has been pretty damn productive. I drank my way across Chicago, fell asleep on the subway, and got into a fight with a drunken mime. I lost 2 friends, made many more.

I'm still the black sheep, but I'm not disowned yet. I got another tattoo and saw the Murphys again. I left the greatest apartment ever, and watched Christmas Vacation 147 more times.

 But enough about me. How about that hooker from St. Patricks Day in Chicago?

Yummy
Mood:  not sure
Now Playing: The Misfits
That was a pretty good three or four days. Let me now give you a quick recap. Not that you really care, but I need to “express my feelings”, and you just may be entertained by it in the process. I got up last Thursday thinking that I could really use a beer. After eight hours of working with impeded children, I had enough and was very thirsty. I went home, where I found Bill waiting on my couch. We headed out to the Alley’s where we were pleasantly surprised to find $3.50 pitchers, $1 Jello shots, free pool, and a very helpful bartender. I’m not gonna lie to you here, it’s good to work at a bar. The perks are endless, and very good. This is a little anti-climatic here. We just ended up getting molly-whopped. 8 pitchers, 8 Jaeger bombs, and several Jello shots later, we were all ready for bed. I just wanted to mention this night because a very special person came out that night. His name is Richard Eckley. You can call him Eckley. I call him Josh.

Anywho, the next day is where things started to get cool. After a lazy day of Halo and Chinese food, we headed back to the Alleys. You see, it was Friday the 13th, and the bar decided to have 13 cent beers from 8 to 10. Great deal right? You betcha. We get out there, and the place is packed. I got through 2 beers, and they were asking me to help. Shit. My friends were here from out of town. I didn’t wanna do that shit. But, they told me I could drink while I did it, so I was game. There I was, slinging drinks, getting pissed as all hell at fuckers that would pay a quarter and take their 12 cents in change. Really, who in the blue fuck waits for 12 cents on a 13 cent beer? Christ. A quarter a beer is the deal of the fucking century. Do you really need to make it difficult for me and you? Shit. Anyway, it was getting close to ten, and I’m really anxious to get out of there. Then I notice a 50 and some other bills sitting on the bar. I think to myself that somebody just had their cash out in front of them. However, nobody came around. I serve one more beer, and go back to look at it. Yoink! It went into my pocket. $150. That’s one hell of a “tip” don’t you think? Big thanks to whatever dipshit left it there. Then we drank a shitload of Jaeger bombs.

The next day Frederick got married. Up at 6 to drive 5 hours into Missouri. Yeah, fun times. Played Beer Pong, went to a frat party, got wasted. Hell, Logan was even pulling cock blocks that night. I just don’t feel like typing this anymore. Sorry.

Word to your mother.....
Mood:  lyrical
First things first, as I dive back into the world of bloging. Ah yes, my blog. It seems to be the thing to do nowadays. It seems that everyone has their own opinion about something I could go on and on about how blogs seem to be nothing more but pseudo-intellectual bullshit, and how some people use them for all the wrong reasons. For more on that, I’ll refer you to Maddox, since he is better than everyone.

Maddox is better than you.

Now that I’ve cleared the air on that, I’d like to start with a disclaimer. I got into some shit about one of my old sites. It seems that when I said that I worked at a home for retards, some people got offended. I’d like to take this moment to state my intentions on this damn thing, to avoid further trouble.

DISCLAIMER

I SAY SOME PRETTY FUCKED UP SHIT. DON’T TAKE IT TOO SERIOUSLY. If I happen to use words like retard, fuck, or bitch, don’t get too cranky. Most of the things I say involve me laughing at those less fortunate than me. I call people retards and fags all the time. I say that I’d like to fuck 14 year olds, and that the Holocaust is a myth. Sure, I say shit like that all the time. Refer to the top of the page for the key phrase

STORIES, TALES, LIES, AND EXAGGERATIONS

PS-didn’t I have to do something like this before?

I'm back bitches!!!
Why is this back? Because I'm fucking pissed!!! And a little bored.

100 Things About Me
Now Playing: wee man passed out on the couch
1. I was born in Iowa City, IA. A long long time ago.
2. I went to a strip club. Once.
3. I like Coke.
4. I’m Dutch.
5. That makes me better than you.
6. I once cut the palm of my hand in a manner where I could see the tendons moving back and forth. It was pretty gross.
7. I like techno music.
8. I was almost married.
9. She was insane…..
10. ….and sexy…..
11. ….But mostly insane.
12. I like gin. It gets me into quite a bit of trouble, but I keep coming back to it again and again. It makes my heart smile.
13. When I was little, I thought this little farm north of my hometown made up the state of Wisconsin. I have no idea why. It just looked like Wisconsin.
14. I regret one of my tattoos.
15. When girls have pig tails, pony tails, and/or braces, I am incredibly turned on.
16. I like Jenga
17. I really like Beer Jenga.
18. I once killed a family of kittens. I feel really bad about this.
19. That family of kittens ended one of my relationships….with a girl.
20. I still have a pair of shorts that I got in the 5th grade.
21. I am in fact a ninja. Albeit a very chubby one
22. I hate the phrase “Git ‘er done!”.
23. I once owned a pair of New Balance 803 trail shoes. They were the greatest pair of shoes that I have ever owned. I miss them everyday.
24. I spend most of my days thinking about girls…..and zombies. But not “girls and zombies wink wink”. That’s not much of a turn on.
25. I hate goths.
26. I refuse to capitalize “goths”.
27. I once spent 3 straight hours trying to do the Care Bear Stare.
28. I really like punk rock.
29. I once threw up popcorn and rum and coke. A lot, into a Wal-Mart sack at 6 in the morning, while talking on the phone to my girlfriend, who was in Italy.
30. I haven’t liked rum and coke since.
31. I once had a dream that I fell off of a telephone wire.
32. I’ve hated heights since then.
33. I’ve masturbated 12,391 times………….this week.
34. I’m a big fan of Chinese buffets.
35. I really only prefer chicken on a stick and rangoons.
36. I eat the other stuff so as to not seem obsessive.
37. I like hibiscus flowers.
38. There have been 4 movies that made me cry.
39. I learned the hard way that broken bones should be reset.
40. My parental relationships are strained.
41. It hurts.
42. I’m terrified of spiders.
43. Statistics. I passed the class after seven times taking it.
44. Do you remember the game “Mouse Trap”? That shit never worked.
45. I’m still bitter about that.
46. I once kissed a girl named Roxanne. Seriously.
47. Halloween makes me happy. There aren’t many days when all girls dress like strippers and I can dress like a Ninja Turtle and everyone is accepted.
48. I once went for three straight weeks wearing only flip flops.
49. Because I fucking hate socks.
50. My putter is green.
51. I shed tears the day Payne Stewart died.
52. Same thing for Lester Burnham.
53. My parents coo coo clock scares the shit out of me. Always has, always will.
54. I’m not a big fan of clothes.
55. This was my number for nine years.
56. I feel that warm ketchup deserves to be listed as venal sin.
57. I once said the word “fuck” to my mother because the only ketchup available was warm.
58. I finished the six pack and a pound.
59. I once had a dog that I loved. His name was Speedball. My mother made me get rid of him, and wouldn’t let me come home until Speedball was gone. I miss him very much.
60. My favorite color is green, but I hate to wear it.
61. Unless it’s camouflage.
62. I’ve never been good at roller skating.
63. I like chicken strips.
64. I miss Perkins.
65. I once rode my friends bike, and split my head open on the street because that son of a bitch didn’t tell me that he had no brakes on his bike.
66. I have a red bike and a blue bike.
67. Their names are the Red Rabbit and Muffy.
68. I once covered my ceiling with tin foil.
69. My favorite part about Christmas is the Christmas lights.
70. I’ve never seen a puppet with a hard on.
71. I’m still working at this whole “golf” thing.
72. In my lonelier days (yesterday), lava lights were my friends.
73. Pooping is one of my favorite things.
74. Poop is one of my favorite words.
75. I dream of one day robbing a bank.
76. One time when I was younger, and on a lot of drugs, I was “writing” with my finger on the back of my girlfriends sweater. The “ink” was glow in the dark, and I was working out quantum physics equations. I forgot all of it a few hours later.
77. To me, and I don’t think I’m alone this one, the word “moist” sounds pornographic. So does “ointment”, “sheets”, “marshmallow”, “cream”, “fresh”, “warm”, “pants” and “supple”.
78. I’m not scared of zombies.
79. I’m good at hide and go seek.
80. I hate vegetarians.
81. I lie.
82. I played 29 straight college football games.
83. I missed the first one.
84. Because of a knee.
85. I puked before all of the others.
86. I miss it.
87. Fireworks make me happy.
88. I have a really high opinion of nachos and sandwiches. They just seem to be such versatile foods.
89. I’ve been to the South, and I have the scars to prove it.
90. I’ve gotten a new hero in the past month. His name is Rube. He is a grim reaper on a fictional TV show. He is the supervisor of other reapers. He is one of my new heros.
91. I’m not kidding about that.
92. I have arthritis.
93. I once ate a fried pork chop. Like, the entire thing was breaded and fried. Bone and everything. Seriously. Then I had a small heart attack, and then washed it all down with sweet tea. Oh the fucking South.
94. I miss Cholula hot sauce. It’s the stuff they had in the dining hall in college. Somehow, it was able to make everything taste ok. Not good, but everything was ok. Cholula ought to have been give a medal for that.
95. I have never been Homecoming King or Prom King.
96. I’m very ok with that.
97. I can read.
98. Really. I can.
99. The word I hate more that anything else is “husky”. Say this word and I will fucking murder someone.
100. Man I wish that I had

blaaaaahhhh!!!!
so, i went to the bar with logan tonight, and i got pretty damn shit faced. i really couldn't tell you why, especially since it was a school night. kinda pathetic during the week isn't it? but hey, what else is going on? shit, if you have a better idea of something for me to do during the week, you let me know. yeah sure, i'd rather be doing something constructive like helping the elderly, having a girlfriend, or graduating college, but those options just aren't there for me, so i decided to go out with logan and have a few beers. anyway......

then, it got busy as fuck, since it was college night, and i ended up behind the bar slinging drinks. needless to say, i served up about two hundred drinks, and only charged for a third of them. moral of the story???? if you're poor, just go to the bar when i'm serving drinks....drunk as a fuckin' monkey. i'm pretty sure that i left the fucking bar as a total mess too. when you're a wee bit shitty, and then trying to pour out drinks in a hurry, and have ADHD to top it all off, something is getting spilled. you try puring a long island iced tea while shitfaced and then getting distracted by something shiney and try to keep all the booze in the glass. i tell you what, it's damn near impossible. then, this huge fucking fight breaks out, with 15 or so dudes, and me being all brave and courageous, i decide that i can make a difference. so i'm out there pushing dudes into the fight, and then it occurs to me that maybe i should "break it up" since i "work there". i decided to fuck that idea, since i recently had knee surgery, and the fact that i didn't wanna go all ninja on a bunch of of college shits. so then the cops show up, blah blah blah, some people went to jail, and i was still drunk as an indian. to top it all off, i was standing outside of the fucking bar talking to an ex, and i think to myself "jesus christ, i should have graduated college by now". so logan and i then decided that we were to go home. being still drunk, as was logan, we decided that some food was in order. i know that it surprises you to hear of two fat guys craving food, but it's true.then, to make the night even more special and memorable, i went home alone. ah the life of a fat kid...

the fight looked something like this....

yeah. it was all pretty good. i'd have to say that the highlight was passing out alone.

a shitty entry.....sorry
Now Playing: DJ Pax
As you may or may not know, I worked at a seed corn company in my younger days. For the most part it sucked, but there were some really redeeming aspects to the job. The first would have to be the fact that I started working there when I was 15. Yesh, back when I was chubby (some things never change), wore glasses, and women thought I was a “cute and nice” guy. Anywho, being this young guy, who wouldn’t hit puberty for nine more years, it was great that every girl there would wear bikini tops while out in the field. Furthermore, they would wear Daisy Duke gym shorts as to avoid pesky tan lines. Man, those days were great, although when you’re a 15 year old with a constant hard on, it’s awkward and embarrassing. As the years went on, and I continued to work, gaining experience, aquiring a supervisory job, and never losing the hard on, the perks of the job became better. For one, I developed what some people may call a pair of balls, and began to steal from work. I was able to get a lot of cool shit, although I never really had a use for it. I was also able to gain a comfort level that allowed me to drink heavily on the job, which contributed to a greater overall enjoyment of said job.

By far though, the greatest perk of the job were the roadtrips. The company that I worked for has fields all over the country. The fields I will be addressing are in middle Illinois and in southern Wisconsin. The company would send groups of about 12 high school and college kids to the fields for a week to do work on them. The company would cover good hotels, good food, and transportation. All we had to pay for was alcohol, and we paid a great price.

Well…….I’m kinda sick of typing this shit. I really do have some killer stories about this. I’ll share them with you…really. I just don’t wanna type it all out. I’m sorry.

I have never shot par.......
Now Playing: Tiger Army
I came to stark realization today. I was riding back down to Mt. Pleasant with my pal Shane, and we were talking about our recent dealings in the issues of love and relationships, or the lack thereof. I was speaking as usual about the perpetual state of being single, and the ups and downs of such state. He spoke of wanting to end the routine of the one night stand, and random hook ups that dot the landscape of bachelorhood. I had to agree with him, but stated that the hope of finding someone to actually settle with and stick with for awhile can be a dangerous thing in itself. Having faith in finding that person can lead to as much pain and heartache as not finding it. Then it fucking came to me. My new theory on women, and why it’s causing such a pain in the ass for me.

You see, my luck with women and my golf game are one in the same.

My golfing ability is anything but good. I’m terrible. Bogey golf is great for me. Needless to say, most of my time on the course is spent drinking beer and driving around aimlessly in the little golf cart. Like I said, my luck in the game of golf is shitty, much like with women. There have been many many many many many times out on the links when I was ready to give up. Times when you’re just having a crap ass round. You’re ready just to throw in the towel and give up on the worthless game forever. When you’ve shot nothing but double and triple bogeys, and lost your balls several times. You don’t think you’ll ever win, and then it happens. You drain a thirty foot putt, or chip one two inches from the cup from 100 yards out. You get one fucking shot that’s good. That one shot boosts your confidence back up enough to keep going through all of the shit. One god damned shot that makes everything seem worthwhile. Your shitty round of golf has all gone away with one fucking swing of the club. That my friends, is the way relationships go. It’s shitty as fuck, but once in awhile you get one fucking good shot that gives you the impression that it’s not all that bad. It can be anything really. For some people it’s getting laid, for some it’s meeting someone new, for some it’s getting laid twice, for some it’s making out with someone in the corner of the bar, and for some it’s as simple as a phone call. Whatever it is, that one fucking shot keeps you going, and won’t allow you to quit, and I suppose that sometimes one shot is a good enough reason to keep going.

So you know what? Keep golfing, and I’ll get the first round back at the clubhouse.

It doesn't remind me....
looks like I was wrong about her.....