My dream to become a heroin-addicted million/billionaire living the rock star lifestyle may be beginning, well, today. They idea has been hatched and is the starting phases of what will hopefully only take a year, a few at the most, to start seeing some amazing returns. Before I get my idea into full action, I still have to research some potential problems and logistics, but after that you may see a slightly more cracked out red head with tons of hot bitties on his arm that are purely there for the money. Ah....the dream.
I can't tell you what the idea is, for this is the internet, and I don't want the idea being stolen by some smart guy I used to make fun of to the brink of transferring or killing himself getting sweet sweet retribution on me by stealing my bitties. Those are my bitties damnit! Anyway, I'll have more to write about later, such as me already writing my autobiography and just predicting somethings.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
The Great Race
Ok, so one of the things I feared the most almost happened.
I have no been to the gym for quiet some time, which made me re-enter the deadly 200lb zone. So I got my act back together and started back at the gym last night. The hardest thing for me to do is to start working out on a constant basis, so when I noticed it was 7:30 and I was still in the office and the gym closes at 8, I thought for sure my plan to shed some weight was already doomed.
But somehow when I got home, I got the will to go running outside. This is very unusual for me because there are a few factors that keep me from running outside in the winter months. 1) My lungs freeze very easily. If I even start to breathe heavily, my lungs don't seem to want to function well. Even if I breathe in through my nose and out my mouth like I was told to do, it never it still happens. 2) My skin dries extremely easily. The very thought of running in the dry cold air makes the area of my nose start to flake. 3) It's fucking cold out.
But nay, I disregarded all my better senses and went jogging, first saying I was going to just run around the block and maybe to campus and back. But the one thing about me is I get competitive, and more so with myself. I see somewhere else, I'll be like, well, you can run there and it won't be too much farther. Then when I realize how much farther it is, I use scare tactics on myself, calling myself a pussy and saying you'll never be a good son. You know, mental tactics that a horrible father would say to his son, thus making me press on. It's really the reason I'm not laying in a bed at 350 lbs right now.
So I'm nearing the end of my run and then I feel it. My organs sometimes give me up to a four minute maximum warning time when it's time to head to the bathroom. This is usually fine since I just get up and take a break from work and do my business. This time it gave me a max time of 2.3 minutes and I was staring at a hill that I don't even like walking up. It's a huge bitch of a hill that is perfect for sledding and that's about it. Little kids probably have a name for it like "Devils Ditch" or "The Great Schism." And here I was, trying to peddle my fat feet up it knowing that at any moment I was going to start one of my most feared things in life: Shitting my pants.
Now if you've never been chased by a ravenous beast or never saw a person you didn't like and had to get out of sight real fast, let me enlighten you on something about running. It's all about contraction on the lower part of your body, for example, your stomach. That is why you never see a runner with too big a beer belly. It gets your abs going. It makes the muscles contract. And what other act involves contracting? Yep, shitting. The harder I pushed up the hill, the more I thought I was going to shit my pants. I even had a fail safe place I could have popped behind a tree and let it drop, but it was in a cemetery. And the last thing I want to do given my luck these days is desecrate on some sort of old mob boss who will later come back to get me.
So I pushed on, and pushed in. Just hoping. When I got back to my apartment, I ran for the door....and ran into it. I had forgotten I locked the bottom door and threw my keys into the bush I always throw them in. I searched frantically for them like there was a killer after me and all I had to do was get in the door and I would be safe. So when I finally found them and got the key in the door, which seemed like it took me 5 or 6 tries due to how cold and nervous I was, I booked up the steps, most likely waking up my roommate on the couch, who sleeps in intervals of 10 min of sleep, 5 min of awake, busted through the door and made it JUST in time. It was the sweetest shit I've ever taken. Better than that one on our family road trip up to Maine.
I think the reason for this alarming scare was due to the fact that my body is smart. It was used to just sitting around and relaxing. It's like a 10 year old who has to go back to school after an awesome summer of baseball and ice cream. My muscles were in no way ready to get back to work, so as I was punishing the muscles through working out, they were going to punish me by making me shit my pants.
I won muscles. Eat it. Eat shit!
I have no been to the gym for quiet some time, which made me re-enter the deadly 200lb zone. So I got my act back together and started back at the gym last night. The hardest thing for me to do is to start working out on a constant basis, so when I noticed it was 7:30 and I was still in the office and the gym closes at 8, I thought for sure my plan to shed some weight was already doomed.
But somehow when I got home, I got the will to go running outside. This is very unusual for me because there are a few factors that keep me from running outside in the winter months. 1) My lungs freeze very easily. If I even start to breathe heavily, my lungs don't seem to want to function well. Even if I breathe in through my nose and out my mouth like I was told to do, it never it still happens. 2) My skin dries extremely easily. The very thought of running in the dry cold air makes the area of my nose start to flake. 3) It's fucking cold out.
But nay, I disregarded all my better senses and went jogging, first saying I was going to just run around the block and maybe to campus and back. But the one thing about me is I get competitive, and more so with myself. I see somewhere else, I'll be like, well, you can run there and it won't be too much farther. Then when I realize how much farther it is, I use scare tactics on myself, calling myself a pussy and saying you'll never be a good son. You know, mental tactics that a horrible father would say to his son, thus making me press on. It's really the reason I'm not laying in a bed at 350 lbs right now.
So I'm nearing the end of my run and then I feel it. My organs sometimes give me up to a four minute maximum warning time when it's time to head to the bathroom. This is usually fine since I just get up and take a break from work and do my business. This time it gave me a max time of 2.3 minutes and I was staring at a hill that I don't even like walking up. It's a huge bitch of a hill that is perfect for sledding and that's about it. Little kids probably have a name for it like "Devils Ditch" or "The Great Schism." And here I was, trying to peddle my fat feet up it knowing that at any moment I was going to start one of my most feared things in life: Shitting my pants.
Now if you've never been chased by a ravenous beast or never saw a person you didn't like and had to get out of sight real fast, let me enlighten you on something about running. It's all about contraction on the lower part of your body, for example, your stomach. That is why you never see a runner with too big a beer belly. It gets your abs going. It makes the muscles contract. And what other act involves contracting? Yep, shitting. The harder I pushed up the hill, the more I thought I was going to shit my pants. I even had a fail safe place I could have popped behind a tree and let it drop, but it was in a cemetery. And the last thing I want to do given my luck these days is desecrate on some sort of old mob boss who will later come back to get me.
So I pushed on, and pushed in. Just hoping. When I got back to my apartment, I ran for the door....and ran into it. I had forgotten I locked the bottom door and threw my keys into the bush I always throw them in. I searched frantically for them like there was a killer after me and all I had to do was get in the door and I would be safe. So when I finally found them and got the key in the door, which seemed like it took me 5 or 6 tries due to how cold and nervous I was, I booked up the steps, most likely waking up my roommate on the couch, who sleeps in intervals of 10 min of sleep, 5 min of awake, busted through the door and made it JUST in time. It was the sweetest shit I've ever taken. Better than that one on our family road trip up to Maine.
I think the reason for this alarming scare was due to the fact that my body is smart. It was used to just sitting around and relaxing. It's like a 10 year old who has to go back to school after an awesome summer of baseball and ice cream. My muscles were in no way ready to get back to work, so as I was punishing the muscles through working out, they were going to punish me by making me shit my pants.
I won muscles. Eat it. Eat shit!
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Time Travel - As Real As The Hills
So apparently I wrote this a long time ago, probably during one of my over-night sessions working when I didn't have internet and wrote it in a word document. You can tell it's dated because there are references to a girlfriend, which is no more. Due to me being lazy, I'm not going to fix it to make it real time. But time travel is one of the biggest things that bothers me. Is it possible? Wouldn't we know by now? Could we change the past? Or is it set in stone? Destiny? Pizza for Dinner? Enjoy.
So in one theory I present a type of destiny, where one person going back in time is already set in history because and then there is another that throws destiny way out the window. They both seem extremely right, and that is why I don't really like to think about this much even though I always do when a plot of time travel comes up in the movies.
The theory of time travel has been a subject that has been discussed among me and my friends while we were amidst large drunken stupors for many years. I think it stems from the fact that many of our favorite movies are based on time travel. Back to the Future, Terminator, Time Cop….all the good ones. But it seems that every movie has contradicted itself. I will use Back To The Future as my basis for this theory and work from there.
So in one theory I present a type of destiny, where one person going back in time is already set in history because and then there is another that throws destiny way out the window. They both seem extremely right, and that is why I don't really like to think about this much even though I always do when a plot of time travel comes up in the movies.
Friday, January 11, 2008
The Year of Cake
So as I sat here on a Friday night in the middle of Janurary in the begining of 08 folding laundry, playing Tony Hawk on N64 and drinking beers by myself, I started to wonder, how the hell did I get here? Then as I turned on the TV and saw shows like I Love New York and A Shot of Love with Tequila whatever and I realized that though I am very Pro-Life, I understand why aboritions are still around because it still gives us normal people hope that these people don't have to exsist if we don't want them to. In one of the new episodes of Law & Order, there was a topic of a scientist being able to find a "gay gene" and the episode revolved around how this one dad wanted to abort his son because his family had the supposed "gay gene" and he didn't want a gay son. You know how crazy awesome it would be if we could find a "will be an abomination to the human race and will set everyone back 10 years" gene? Think about all the good it could do. Our specieces could move forward without any advancements. Just the fact that we could get rid of some of these people would probably just make people feel better, be kinder to each other, or at least put a hop in people's step. Either way, I may dedicate my life to finding that gene.
So it's the new year. The Year of Cake (as me and Jake labeled it as my ex-girlfriend drove us home from Maryland - a hopefully totally separate story to be told later). Basically, with this being the Year of Cake, you must either learn to make, learn more about, or, as the route I'm going to take, eat more cake. There is no real reason behind this, except that it was funny at the time and it will become a year-long-drug-out-joke-that-is-funny-to-no-one.
The only thing I can say about the new year is I'm going to have some hilarious (at least to me) things to talk about that I'm not at liberty to write just yet (tales of extortion, booze-till-you-lose, and hummers - the cars and the, well...).
So here we go, 2008....starting in Red Headed Cyberspace on January 12th apparently since I haven't posted in a real long time.
I promise some goodness soon...
So it's the new year. The Year of Cake (as me and Jake labeled it as my ex-girlfriend drove us home from Maryland - a hopefully totally separate story to be told later). Basically, with this being the Year of Cake, you must either learn to make, learn more about, or, as the route I'm going to take, eat more cake. There is no real reason behind this, except that it was funny at the time and it will become a year-long-drug-out-joke-that-is-funny-to-no-one.
The only thing I can say about the new year is I'm going to have some hilarious (at least to me) things to talk about that I'm not at liberty to write just yet (tales of extortion, booze-till-you-lose, and hummers - the cars and the, well...).
So here we go, 2008....starting in Red Headed Cyberspace on January 12th apparently since I haven't posted in a real long time.
I promise some goodness soon...
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
The Columbian Devil's Breath
So my fear of Colombians has reached critical mass after watching this nine part documentary on the most feared drug in the world. According to the highly regarded words of Wikipedia, scopolamine, or the Colombian Devil's Breath,
"can be highly toxic and should be used in minute doses. As an example, in the treatment of motion sickness, the dose, gradually released from a transdermal patch, is only 0.33 milligram of scopolamine per day. An overdose can cause delirium, delusions, paralysis, stupor and death."
But a lot of drugs do this. What the documentary showed was that this drug, in it's proper and most widely used form, makes a person lose all their free will, and will go out and do whatever a person asks them and will have no recollection of doing so. Now to people who frequent my life, one would think this is an amazing drug and that me and my cronies would have tons of fun with this. Imagine me slipping this into Wiskey's freshly brewed Hot Tatty and convince him to do hysterical things (the thought of doing this to him excites me so much that I can't even think of a hilarious scenario that I can put down on paper). Hell he usually does without the use of this drug and just a few decades worth of beer, but with this one, the limit is endless.
But what the drug is used for is to steal, plunder, pillage and rape. Now, again, if you know me, I'm down for the first three (the last, not so much). Stealing, plundering and pillaging is what my ancestors did, assuming I was from Viking decent, which I often do when I'm drunk. Actually, Vikings raped, but not my ancestors. They could get it without using violence or force. Cause they were pimp Vikings. Yeaaaaa.
Anyway, the thought of this drug not only existing, but being part of history scares me too. In the 60's, they used it as a sort of truth syrum to beat the communism out of people, but the problem is that it served as a hallucinogenic and actually caused more harm than it did good because, since the people administering the drug didn't really think of it as a hallucinogenic, they took every word as truth, therefore creating more of scare. Fucking communists.
But I am veering from the what I was trying to accomplish with this post. It is my extreme fear of Colombians. Not only are the males of this obviously dominant race cause fear in me cause they can so whimsically cause you to think you are their friend and then, in a cocaine induce rage, beat you to death with the blunt side of their rifle, but the women are so out of this world beautiful, the mere shake of the bottom half of their torso can act as a drug, making you drool all abouts your most likely sweaty shirt. And they are damn good temptresses too. They can make a 400 pound racist tantalised and will allow him to think he has a great shot of making sweet sweet love with her. Which he does not.
My conclusion: They don't fucking need this drug, yet the have the most of it in the world. Maybe they know this. Maybe that is why I'm just finding out about it and it's not running wild in the US and Germany. Maybe they have full knowledge of what it can do and they just use it on people who are out of line. Or maybe it is just unethical because it's the easy man's way out, a welfare of tantalization if I may.
I'm not really sure, and I think more research needs to be taken into account. But I looked this stuff on two websites, more than I ever have for any paper I've written in college. So I am done.
And so with this, I amend my previous post about the top five things I am afraid of, and the list now goes like this:
5. Pooing My Pants In Public
4. Drowning
3. Receiving Butt Sex/Giving BJ's
2. Colombians
1. Face Paint
Yes, I have changed a few of them around, but with further review, this is the right order.
"can be highly toxic and should be used in minute doses. As an example, in the treatment of motion sickness, the dose, gradually released from a transdermal patch, is only 0.33 milligram of scopolamine per day. An overdose can cause delirium, delusions, paralysis, stupor and death."
But a lot of drugs do this. What the documentary showed was that this drug, in it's proper and most widely used form, makes a person lose all their free will, and will go out and do whatever a person asks them and will have no recollection of doing so. Now to people who frequent my life, one would think this is an amazing drug and that me and my cronies would have tons of fun with this. Imagine me slipping this into Wiskey's freshly brewed Hot Tatty and convince him to do hysterical things (the thought of doing this to him excites me so much that I can't even think of a hilarious scenario that I can put down on paper). Hell he usually does without the use of this drug and just a few decades worth of beer, but with this one, the limit is endless.
But what the drug is used for is to steal, plunder, pillage and rape. Now, again, if you know me, I'm down for the first three (the last, not so much). Stealing, plundering and pillaging is what my ancestors did, assuming I was from Viking decent, which I often do when I'm drunk. Actually, Vikings raped, but not my ancestors. They could get it without using violence or force. Cause they were pimp Vikings. Yeaaaaa.
Anyway, the thought of this drug not only existing, but being part of history scares me too. In the 60's, they used it as a sort of truth syrum to beat the communism out of people, but the problem is that it served as a hallucinogenic and actually caused more harm than it did good because, since the people administering the drug didn't really think of it as a hallucinogenic, they took every word as truth, therefore creating more of scare. Fucking communists.
But I am veering from the what I was trying to accomplish with this post. It is my extreme fear of Colombians. Not only are the males of this obviously dominant race cause fear in me cause they can so whimsically cause you to think you are their friend and then, in a cocaine induce rage, beat you to death with the blunt side of their rifle, but the women are so out of this world beautiful, the mere shake of the bottom half of their torso can act as a drug, making you drool all abouts your most likely sweaty shirt. And they are damn good temptresses too. They can make a 400 pound racist tantalised and will allow him to think he has a great shot of making sweet sweet love with her. Which he does not.
My conclusion: They don't fucking need this drug, yet the have the most of it in the world. Maybe they know this. Maybe that is why I'm just finding out about it and it's not running wild in the US and Germany. Maybe they have full knowledge of what it can do and they just use it on people who are out of line. Or maybe it is just unethical because it's the easy man's way out, a welfare of tantalization if I may.
I'm not really sure, and I think more research needs to be taken into account. But I looked this stuff on two websites, more than I ever have for any paper I've written in college. So I am done.
And so with this, I amend my previous post about the top five things I am afraid of, and the list now goes like this:
5. Pooing My Pants In Public
4. Drowning
3. Receiving Butt Sex/Giving BJ's
2. Colombians
1. Face Paint
Yes, I have changed a few of them around, but with further review, this is the right order.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Tis' That Time Of Year
No, I'm not talking about Christmas, I'm talking about the time of year where I take a week off or so, unwind, get real comfortable and then get real REAL sick. When I was in school, this always happened on a break of sorts. Though I have no medical training what so ever, I've always reasoned it out to be this: the weeks before the break, I always ran myself into the ground with midterms or finals combined with tons of boozing. Combine that with my refusal to properly cover my feet during the winter months with constant sandal wearing, you would think I would get sick, but sooner. I then realized that once the dust settles and I am able to relax, that is when I get sick. Therefore, my germs are smart as balls. They know that if they attack when I am in full swing, they will have little chance to do the most damage. It is like waiting for an opposing army to finish a really long battle where they think they have defeated a strong and formidable enemy, only to find out when they sit down to rest and reflect that an even bigger evil still lurks about. So the germs wait. They wait till my white blood cells think they are out of the worst and they most likely reproduce like wild flowers. Then, when I lay down for a week of laying on the couch and watch nothing but Law & Order and various white trash shows, they attack, dead on.
This year they decided D-Day would be Christmas.
It first started at 1 AM when I woke up and couldn't really swallow due to my throat pounding and burning. I knew from here on it would be a doosey of a day. I searched frantically for some NyQuil hoping that my brother's fiance didn't take the last one due to her not feeling well the same day. Luckily I found one last dose ready and willing to do combat with my intruders. They did not know what they were getting themselves into.
When I awoke later that morning, a morning where I'll usually run around like a puppy, not knowing what to do with all the new toys and gifts that fill my living room, I wandered downstairs, blanket over my head like a child acting like a ghost with a bed sheet, sat down in front of the tree with the rest of my family and did not talk for about two hours. I couldn't. The germs had taken control of the head and neck and were on their way to the lungs. A resistance was holding them back just enough for me to send re-enforcements: Irish Tea.
I'm pretty sure the reason the Irish live so long while being jolly little alchies is because of the wonders Barry's Tea will do to your body. I am still sick, but within an hour after drinking one simple glass, I was able to eat breakfast with much ease as opposed to trying to force down every morsel of food without groaning in agony. But I knew I wasn't out of the woods yet. In my earlier years, I would have taken this as a sign that I have won the war, but this was only a small victory. I knew there was still more fight in the enemy, thus leading to more bed.
Five hours. I haven't taken a five hour nap since college and that was after a 26 hour study/booze session. When I woke up this time, I did not feel any more refreshed, though I woke up in the same health state that I fell asleep in, which is actually a good thing. Usually when I'm sick and fall asleep, my immune system does the same, and when I wake up I'll usually feel 5 times worse than I did.
As of now, I'm still feeling like I did when I woke up. I'm sore all over, can't decide if my head wants to stay congested or not, and have a slight tickle in the back of my throat that randomly hurts like hell just about ever hour. My only hope is that thing will pass before I go back to Staten Island for more exciting tales from the Sports Information Office.
This year they decided D-Day would be Christmas.
It first started at 1 AM when I woke up and couldn't really swallow due to my throat pounding and burning. I knew from here on it would be a doosey of a day. I searched frantically for some NyQuil hoping that my brother's fiance didn't take the last one due to her not feeling well the same day. Luckily I found one last dose ready and willing to do combat with my intruders. They did not know what they were getting themselves into.
When I awoke later that morning, a morning where I'll usually run around like a puppy, not knowing what to do with all the new toys and gifts that fill my living room, I wandered downstairs, blanket over my head like a child acting like a ghost with a bed sheet, sat down in front of the tree with the rest of my family and did not talk for about two hours. I couldn't. The germs had taken control of the head and neck and were on their way to the lungs. A resistance was holding them back just enough for me to send re-enforcements: Irish Tea.
I'm pretty sure the reason the Irish live so long while being jolly little alchies is because of the wonders Barry's Tea will do to your body. I am still sick, but within an hour after drinking one simple glass, I was able to eat breakfast with much ease as opposed to trying to force down every morsel of food without groaning in agony. But I knew I wasn't out of the woods yet. In my earlier years, I would have taken this as a sign that I have won the war, but this was only a small victory. I knew there was still more fight in the enemy, thus leading to more bed.
Five hours. I haven't taken a five hour nap since college and that was after a 26 hour study/booze session. When I woke up this time, I did not feel any more refreshed, though I woke up in the same health state that I fell asleep in, which is actually a good thing. Usually when I'm sick and fall asleep, my immune system does the same, and when I wake up I'll usually feel 5 times worse than I did.
As of now, I'm still feeling like I did when I woke up. I'm sore all over, can't decide if my head wants to stay congested or not, and have a slight tickle in the back of my throat that randomly hurts like hell just about ever hour. My only hope is that thing will pass before I go back to Staten Island for more exciting tales from the Sports Information Office.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
5 Things I'm Deathly Afraid Of
So as per a conversation I was having with Ian J right after a great calming nap that probably rivals the one that Judas had before he turned Jesus over to Pilot, I decided to post the top 5 things I am deathly afraid of.
5. Receiving Butt Sex and giving Blow Jobs.
The one reason I made the life decision to stay away heroin or cocaine is so I can stay away from these two things. It's also why I'm trying to be a model citizen. Due to my pasty skin, my rolly jolly contortion of my body and my lack of any fighting skills past the skills those of a sixth grader, I'm definitely getting raped in prison. This is an experience I think will silence me forever. I'm generally a goofy guy who makes jokes on people and myself. If this were to happen, I definitely would probably become a mime. Plus, if I were ever forced to give a bj in prison, I'm most likely dead because I'm definitely puking or passing out right away, which will probably lead to getting shanked in the ear (by a knife, hopefully only a knife).
These are also the reasons I'm not gay. That and I think kissing a dude would make me puke and I love ever so much, the boobies. Female boobs are too cool to pass up.
4. Drowning.
I think this would be the worst way to die. I get in such a frantic panic if my comforter is over my head when I wake up and I can't breathe normally. I also can only hold my breathe for maybe 30 seconds. But I love booze and boats and floating. So the possibility of this happening to me haunts me in my nightmares. If I ever imagine of dieing while peacefully sleeping, it's usually from drinking in my pool of my exotic mansion with tons of bitties sleeping pool-side while I fall off my flotation device in a drunken stupor and never surface alive again. That, or I'm shot by my cousin, which I can't really figure out why that dream comes up every once in awhile, but it does.
3. The near Apocalypse
Given all the scare tactics that both hippies and conservative alike are giving to the world added with the events of the Terminator series kind of unfolding upon us and we're doing nothing about it added to the fact that record executives are still allowing Nickleback to record music and promote their albums, I kind of fear that the apocalypse for the human race is upon us during my life time...which sucks. Humans have been around for how long now? And it's gonna happen when I'm around? That sucks. And some might try to ease me by saying I've had it better than people in the 700 AD due to technology, but when a. that technology is going to kill me one day (again, ala Terminator) or b. I can't afford any of the goodies. Sure I have running water and a toilet in the house, but I love to poo in the woods. It's somewhat funny to me (and disturbing to others) when I'm hiking and I have to poo (I don't go running for the closest forrest whenever I have to go). But I just think it's unfair, whether it's a flash flood from the melting ice caps or a giant meteor crashing into Georgia or even a cybernetic robot slicing and dicing me, for this to happen when I'm alive. Let it happen to my kids when I'm long gone.
2. Pooing my pants in public
Yea, this would be terrible. Especially if it's at a bar and I'm totally getting it down with a hot chick. And if anyone knows me, there are times where I only have about a 5 minute warning to get the hell to a bathroom and let it fly. I don't know why this is and it is most likely a problem I should get checked out, but sometimes I only know minutes in advance that I gotta go. My biggest fear isn't even the cleanliness of it. It's the fact that these type of things are stuff that people never let go. Hook up with an ugly chick, yea sometimes thats forgettable stuff and if it isn't, at least you can laugh at it with them. If you can laugh at pooing yourself at your 20 year college reunion, the time when you are trying to convince that one girl from your American History class that you never got with and really really wanted to that you really are wealthy and that the Ford Focus you pulled up in was only a rental cause you crashed your Ferrari the other day and they got the rentals switched up with some Earth saving hippie, then you indeed have problems.
1. Face paint.
Yea. I said it. Face paint scares the figgity fuck out of me. When it's on your face, it just kinda makes your face all stiff and smelly that it just makes me want to vomit. Add that to the fact that if you make a ton of facial features throughout the course of the night wearing face paint, it cracks and flakes all about, which again, makes me want to spew. Thats all I really have to say about this one. It scares me to death.
Honorable Mention: Wind.
In between posting this, I was quietly reading my Rolling Stone in the bathroom and the wind was doing a number to my house, blowing abouts on the roof and making loud noises. Why must wind bully people so relentlessly. I think the thing that scares me about wind is that it's so sneaky, especially when there aren't any leaves or anything around to show it's presence. Leaves to wind is like powdered sugar to the invisible man. But the reason this didn't make the list is because of the hilarity wind brings me when I'm ready for it. Have you ever seen a short person knocked over by wind? I'm talking totally nocked off their feet screaming with their hair blowing all around. I sure have. And it was increadi-fucking-ble.
5. Receiving Butt Sex and giving Blow Jobs.
The one reason I made the life decision to stay away heroin or cocaine is so I can stay away from these two things. It's also why I'm trying to be a model citizen. Due to my pasty skin, my rolly jolly contortion of my body and my lack of any fighting skills past the skills those of a sixth grader, I'm definitely getting raped in prison. This is an experience I think will silence me forever. I'm generally a goofy guy who makes jokes on people and myself. If this were to happen, I definitely would probably become a mime. Plus, if I were ever forced to give a bj in prison, I'm most likely dead because I'm definitely puking or passing out right away, which will probably lead to getting shanked in the ear (by a knife, hopefully only a knife).
These are also the reasons I'm not gay. That and I think kissing a dude would make me puke and I love ever so much, the boobies. Female boobs are too cool to pass up.
4. Drowning.
I think this would be the worst way to die. I get in such a frantic panic if my comforter is over my head when I wake up and I can't breathe normally. I also can only hold my breathe for maybe 30 seconds. But I love booze and boats and floating. So the possibility of this happening to me haunts me in my nightmares. If I ever imagine of dieing while peacefully sleeping, it's usually from drinking in my pool of my exotic mansion with tons of bitties sleeping pool-side while I fall off my flotation device in a drunken stupor and never surface alive again. That, or I'm shot by my cousin, which I can't really figure out why that dream comes up every once in awhile, but it does.
3. The near Apocalypse
Given all the scare tactics that both hippies and conservative alike are giving to the world added with the events of the Terminator series kind of unfolding upon us and we're doing nothing about it added to the fact that record executives are still allowing Nickleback to record music and promote their albums, I kind of fear that the apocalypse for the human race is upon us during my life time...which sucks. Humans have been around for how long now? And it's gonna happen when I'm around? That sucks. And some might try to ease me by saying I've had it better than people in the 700 AD due to technology, but when a. that technology is going to kill me one day (again, ala Terminator) or b. I can't afford any of the goodies. Sure I have running water and a toilet in the house, but I love to poo in the woods. It's somewhat funny to me (and disturbing to others) when I'm hiking and I have to poo (I don't go running for the closest forrest whenever I have to go). But I just think it's unfair, whether it's a flash flood from the melting ice caps or a giant meteor crashing into Georgia or even a cybernetic robot slicing and dicing me, for this to happen when I'm alive. Let it happen to my kids when I'm long gone.
2. Pooing my pants in public
Yea, this would be terrible. Especially if it's at a bar and I'm totally getting it down with a hot chick. And if anyone knows me, there are times where I only have about a 5 minute warning to get the hell to a bathroom and let it fly. I don't know why this is and it is most likely a problem I should get checked out, but sometimes I only know minutes in advance that I gotta go. My biggest fear isn't even the cleanliness of it. It's the fact that these type of things are stuff that people never let go. Hook up with an ugly chick, yea sometimes thats forgettable stuff and if it isn't, at least you can laugh at it with them. If you can laugh at pooing yourself at your 20 year college reunion, the time when you are trying to convince that one girl from your American History class that you never got with and really really wanted to that you really are wealthy and that the Ford Focus you pulled up in was only a rental cause you crashed your Ferrari the other day and they got the rentals switched up with some Earth saving hippie, then you indeed have problems.
1. Face paint.
Yea. I said it. Face paint scares the figgity fuck out of me. When it's on your face, it just kinda makes your face all stiff and smelly that it just makes me want to vomit. Add that to the fact that if you make a ton of facial features throughout the course of the night wearing face paint, it cracks and flakes all about, which again, makes me want to spew. Thats all I really have to say about this one. It scares me to death.
Honorable Mention: Wind.
In between posting this, I was quietly reading my Rolling Stone in the bathroom and the wind was doing a number to my house, blowing abouts on the roof and making loud noises. Why must wind bully people so relentlessly. I think the thing that scares me about wind is that it's so sneaky, especially when there aren't any leaves or anything around to show it's presence. Leaves to wind is like powdered sugar to the invisible man. But the reason this didn't make the list is because of the hilarity wind brings me when I'm ready for it. Have you ever seen a short person knocked over by wind? I'm talking totally nocked off their feet screaming with their hair blowing all around. I sure have. And it was increadi-fucking-ble.
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