If ever a friend I didn't enjoy the company of, it would be Brittney Stroud. Not to be confused with the lesser evil, Brittney Spears, this one of a kind ginger is a pain in the ass.
At this moment, she eats the chips beside me. Never caring to ask me whether or not I would allow this. I hardly have food, but yet she keeps chomping down my crackers.
As she got up to grab some liquid, she tripped, and I found immeasurable amount of joy from this.
I wondered if she knows how bad she smells. A rancid smell, not unlike a rotten body one might find randomly by the creek. The kind of stench you are familiar with but you hope not to ever see in your own life time.
She picks her nose without dignity, and I once again question why a person like her is a distance friend of mine.
See, you can write with others around, Brittney!
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Car battery, why won't you charge?
After being hooked up for at least 6 hours, this battery of my car will not charge. Or maybe it's the charger. I've never been good with cars so I don't have a clue.
Yesterday, I go to start it and nothing comes on. Not even the lights, radio, anything. She's dead. After running to neighbor's house to neighbor's house with no answer, one randomly drives up the driveway. Thank god for latent neighbor sense power, right?
After jumping it, I realize that I have to get gas. Which means I need to stop my car. I take the chance and turn it off and fill up, and then realize that it isn't going to turn on. I walk into the gas station and ask if anyone can give me a jump. The only three people in the shop, works I believe, suddenly contract down syndrome. They stare blankly at me, and an awkward couple of minutes fly by without a word. Finally, another lady finishes up what she was doing and states that she will help me.
After she does, the others finally snap out of their retarded trance. One of them, who suddenly remembered he knows quite a bit about cars, told me that the battery was a cheap piece. This is contrast to what my father told me: it said it was top of the line.
On the way to my destination, I questioned him about the battery. Apparently, it was on sale/clearance. All 3 times I had to be jumped, each person related that the battery was junk.
So today, I sit awaiting a call so that I can jump this sucker back to life and take it to find out what the exact problem is (hint: It's the battery).
I'm buying a ship. Screw this land travel.
Yesterday, I go to start it and nothing comes on. Not even the lights, radio, anything. She's dead. After running to neighbor's house to neighbor's house with no answer, one randomly drives up the driveway. Thank god for latent neighbor sense power, right?
After jumping it, I realize that I have to get gas. Which means I need to stop my car. I take the chance and turn it off and fill up, and then realize that it isn't going to turn on. I walk into the gas station and ask if anyone can give me a jump. The only three people in the shop, works I believe, suddenly contract down syndrome. They stare blankly at me, and an awkward couple of minutes fly by without a word. Finally, another lady finishes up what she was doing and states that she will help me.
After she does, the others finally snap out of their retarded trance. One of them, who suddenly remembered he knows quite a bit about cars, told me that the battery was a cheap piece. This is contrast to what my father told me: it said it was top of the line.
On the way to my destination, I questioned him about the battery. Apparently, it was on sale/clearance. All 3 times I had to be jumped, each person related that the battery was junk.
So today, I sit awaiting a call so that I can jump this sucker back to life and take it to find out what the exact problem is (hint: It's the battery).
I'm buying a ship. Screw this land travel.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
FINALS FINAL FINALS FINALS
Yay, double post. Probably because the previous post to this one happened yesterday, so it doesn't count.
anyway, finals have arrived like a poor man's christmas. Crap. Tackling them seemed simple, but that probably means i misread every question. I bet the teachers are high from all the red marker they will use.
I really wish they'd tell you the times of when your finals are. My Weather final had the audacity to not give me a time, so I assumed it'd be an hour after my other classes (since they all followed that order). No, common sense and practical logic do not win in this world. The room was dark and empty. I searched the corresponding rooms, and ended dry as before.
And lastly, emailing the teacher should preform some good, right? AHAHAHAAHAHAHAHHAAH! Professors don't even care that you couldn't find it. I haven't got a freaking response back yet. Can't I just be done with ICC?
anyway, finals have arrived like a poor man's christmas. Crap. Tackling them seemed simple, but that probably means i misread every question. I bet the teachers are high from all the red marker they will use.
I really wish they'd tell you the times of when your finals are. My Weather final had the audacity to not give me a time, so I assumed it'd be an hour after my other classes (since they all followed that order). No, common sense and practical logic do not win in this world. The room was dark and empty. I searched the corresponding rooms, and ended dry as before.
And lastly, emailing the teacher should preform some good, right? AHAHAHAAHAHAHAHHAAH! Professors don't even care that you couldn't find it. I haven't got a freaking response back yet. Can't I just be done with ICC?
Public bathrooms: the gateway of relief or thunderous door to Hell?
Jef told Cat and I to hit Kay's Coffee Shop. Good, Borders makes you pay for their internet. T-Mobile pay-as-you-browse can suck it. Kay's is a quaint, little coffee shop for everyone to show off their Mac computers and play obnoxious music that supposedly carries deep meanings.
The coffee was just as overpriced as the place we just left, and I certainly didn't taste the white chocolate in my drink as I was promised. My bladder reminded me of its existence, so I located the bathroom at breakneck speeds. The man at the counter smiled as I wizzed (heh) by. His job was done.
After closing AND locking the door, I tore off my pants and underwear like a sex starved school girl. After unleashing a waterfall of yellow, I hit the flush. That's when this whole event turned sour.
The toliet let loose the most horrifying sound my ears have had the displeasure of encountering. It's hard to describe something so foul, but I shall try: three school girls are being murdered slowly, a cat is howling in pain after being severed, and every ghost still screaming in pain from their previous death.
It's all that, condense and turned up to Alvin and the Chipmunk levels of squeeling.
The sound was pure, uncontainable evil. I felt like I needed to cry, because my life is coming to a premature end. I ran out, and scrambled to my seat. I didn't speak for a bit. Who would when their manhood was almost devoured by hell itself?
The coffee was just as overpriced as the place we just left, and I certainly didn't taste the white chocolate in my drink as I was promised. My bladder reminded me of its existence, so I located the bathroom at breakneck speeds. The man at the counter smiled as I wizzed (heh) by. His job was done.
After closing AND locking the door, I tore off my pants and underwear like a sex starved school girl. After unleashing a waterfall of yellow, I hit the flush. That's when this whole event turned sour.
The toliet let loose the most horrifying sound my ears have had the displeasure of encountering. It's hard to describe something so foul, but I shall try: three school girls are being murdered slowly, a cat is howling in pain after being severed, and every ghost still screaming in pain from their previous death.
It's all that, condense and turned up to Alvin and the Chipmunk levels of squeeling.
The sound was pure, uncontainable evil. I felt like I needed to cry, because my life is coming to a premature end. I ran out, and scrambled to my seat. I didn't speak for a bit. Who would when their manhood was almost devoured by hell itself?
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Because feet can talk.
I know one of my friends might be offended if I name them, so I will leave names out until able to change:
I went to a concert Saturday. Great concert, great people, and, thankfully, a relatively small crowd. To be honest, I don't remember everyone that was in the room with us, but I had a general sense of who was. When it was over with, we ran out since nobody decided to put in windows where we were. Leaving to sit around the merch table and converse with the band, I saw a short, round black guy. Since I myself am of the darker race, I recoiled since the rules state that only one of us is to be at an event at one point in time. 2 or more is a catastrophic.
Excusing the self racist joke, I realized I hadn't seen him in the room where the band had played. Really, a small room like that lets you get acquainted with people easily. Sweaty jumping and pushing antics makes you get to know people well. For example, I found out what a wasted man's armpit taste like after not wearing any deodorant.
I ignored his existence until he appeared suddenly by the two friends involved in this incident. Shyly, he eventually asked the girls there if he could show them a trick. Neat!, I thought. He's going to flash us! I've never encountered a flasher before!
But alas, he merely stated he could talk to feet.
What? Ew, no. That's wrong. Feet are terrible. Possibly the worst part of the body, the malformed hands at the end of your legs. I once had a dream we only had stubs, and I was happy. Whatever. I knew this was trouble, for a man of feet is no friend of mine.
His pick up line was probably the worst I've heard. You never explain your fetish until they are drunk. Vile mistake in pimping 101. Wanting this to end quickly, I jabbed my foot forward and asked him to talk to it. I was shut down when he told me he can't talk to boy's feet.
He stared downward throughout his explanation of why and how he could talk to feet, but it wasn't out of shyness, or to look at the chest pillows of the girls around. It was for the feet. As if longing to be noticed by them, to tickle and caress. Maybe, if he was lucky, one of the ladies would release her bare kickers to him so that he may shower it with affection. He then, finally, dropped the megaton punchline of the night:
"Your feet say you are very cute." - (wait, what? What does that even mean?)
No foot job for you, buddy! His only gift ended up awkward glances and half hearted go-away-responses thinly veiled with kindness. He retreats, and we giggled about it. Some of the girls ask who that was, and nobody knew.
This wasn't the last of the foot fan. Oh no, people. He returned for another shot of glory. He was going to get him some tantalizing toes tonight. Somehow, he convinced two of my nicer friends for a picture without their shoes on. I was away during this glorious moment. Afterward, the girls told me what happened. I thought a bit, and then explained to them something horrific.
I explained to them why he wanted that picture. The disgusting truth:
The man has a problem. He probably does this to many girls. He has a foot fetish, and will probably hold many masturbating sessions to those pictures he took of them and those feet. He wasn't at the concert for the music, if you get my meaning. And no man looks at feet like that just wanting to take a friendly picture of them. He means to get to know them well.
Now, do note that as sick as that sounds, some people probably do this to your pictures already without you knowing it. This case just had an open field, is all.
One friend took it with stride. Meh, she responded. The other, not so much. She didn't want to think about it. I guess it wasn't too flattering. By that one, I was sent to find the friendly fetishist. But he vanished. I didn't see him at all after he took the pictures and split. Gone like Santa. If Santa had a feverish love for feet I gather.
Oh, and there was bread there too! Like, a box of it!
I went to a concert Saturday. Great concert, great people, and, thankfully, a relatively small crowd. To be honest, I don't remember everyone that was in the room with us, but I had a general sense of who was. When it was over with, we ran out since nobody decided to put in windows where we were. Leaving to sit around the merch table and converse with the band, I saw a short, round black guy. Since I myself am of the darker race, I recoiled since the rules state that only one of us is to be at an event at one point in time. 2 or more is a catastrophic.
Excusing the self racist joke, I realized I hadn't seen him in the room where the band had played. Really, a small room like that lets you get acquainted with people easily. Sweaty jumping and pushing antics makes you get to know people well. For example, I found out what a wasted man's armpit taste like after not wearing any deodorant.
I ignored his existence until he appeared suddenly by the two friends involved in this incident. Shyly, he eventually asked the girls there if he could show them a trick. Neat!, I thought. He's going to flash us! I've never encountered a flasher before!
But alas, he merely stated he could talk to feet.
What? Ew, no. That's wrong. Feet are terrible. Possibly the worst part of the body, the malformed hands at the end of your legs. I once had a dream we only had stubs, and I was happy. Whatever. I knew this was trouble, for a man of feet is no friend of mine.
His pick up line was probably the worst I've heard. You never explain your fetish until they are drunk. Vile mistake in pimping 101. Wanting this to end quickly, I jabbed my foot forward and asked him to talk to it. I was shut down when he told me he can't talk to boy's feet.
He stared downward throughout his explanation of why and how he could talk to feet, but it wasn't out of shyness, or to look at the chest pillows of the girls around. It was for the feet. As if longing to be noticed by them, to tickle and caress. Maybe, if he was lucky, one of the ladies would release her bare kickers to him so that he may shower it with affection. He then, finally, dropped the megaton punchline of the night:
"Your feet say you are very cute." - (wait, what? What does that even mean?)
No foot job for you, buddy! His only gift ended up awkward glances and half hearted go-away-responses thinly veiled with kindness. He retreats, and we giggled about it. Some of the girls ask who that was, and nobody knew.
This wasn't the last of the foot fan. Oh no, people. He returned for another shot of glory. He was going to get him some tantalizing toes tonight. Somehow, he convinced two of my nicer friends for a picture without their shoes on. I was away during this glorious moment. Afterward, the girls told me what happened. I thought a bit, and then explained to them something horrific.
I explained to them why he wanted that picture. The disgusting truth:
The man has a problem. He probably does this to many girls. He has a foot fetish, and will probably hold many masturbating sessions to those pictures he took of them and those feet. He wasn't at the concert for the music, if you get my meaning. And no man looks at feet like that just wanting to take a friendly picture of them. He means to get to know them well.
Now, do note that as sick as that sounds, some people probably do this to your pictures already without you knowing it. This case just had an open field, is all.
One friend took it with stride. Meh, she responded. The other, not so much. She didn't want to think about it. I guess it wasn't too flattering. By that one, I was sent to find the friendly fetishist. But he vanished. I didn't see him at all after he took the pictures and split. Gone like Santa. If Santa had a feverish love for feet I gather.
Oh, and there was bread there too! Like, a box of it!
Monday, May 4, 2009
Nifty link of the week: Down for everyone or just me?
Ever wonder if it's just your computer not loading the site, or if it's going on for everyone else? Wonder no longer, as I've located a site that will alert the standing of whatever site you throw into it.
Link: http://downforeveryoneorjustme.com/
Simple, right?
Link: http://downforeveryoneorjustme.com/
Simple, right?
Save me, Avast!
Alright, let's try avast.
No, didn't fix anything. This computer virsus is a mean one.
No, didn't fix anything. This computer virsus is a mean one.
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