Last Night Was A Real Hoot/Disaster

I started out in poor fashion last night. I bombed an accounting test. Given, accounting is the most dismal science known to man, and as an animate character it kills me slowly from the inside out. But at any rate, I bombed it. I studied hard, did the homework, had no life for the whole week, all for nothing. All the book-splitting, T-account forming, balance sheet bullshit, and I remain financially infuckingcompetent. So, depression sets in. I want a beer. I want twelve beers. I want to go see MY TOTES FAV BAND BURNIN' SMYRNANS AT MEDICI! It's free, my old room mate was going, why the fuck not.

So, I start home in a cloud of failure, get Megan an ice cream. It's the nasty kind she likes with gummi bears in it. I pull into the drive, and there are two cars there I have never seen before. I open the door. My roomate is there with some friends, and a few easy women. They are drinking Natural Light, the smoothest, bum rated piss-water around, and they are drinking it without the beautiful accompaniment of coasters. I can't handle it. I just can't. My roomate introduces me, and I quickly introduce them to my good friend Mister Coaster, and my other good friend, Mister Get your fucking feet of the sofa. It didn't come out that way. I wasn't yet drinking. But worry not friends, that part of the story quickly approaches. I discover that this entourage will be joining us for the evening. It's fine, I could use the company of some random strangers. So we go to the bar. There are six of us in a five seater, but at least i'm not driving. We pull in to the bar, which is most appropriately attached to an IHOP. As I approach this seemingly "free" event, a neaderthalesque bouncer peers out from the smoky pit. "That'll be six bucks". "Um, I'm of age". "It's six bucks". "I assume the beers are free then". He just looks at me like I have Down Syndrome. I shell it out while mumbling how evil and wrong they are for charging a cover to someone over twenty one. Fuckers. I buy a beer, it's three dollars, which isn't too bad. It was some good Dutch beer that tasted like Oranges. I sit down, become comfortable, and wait for the band to start.

By the time the band kicks in, I have had a few. I had a few before I got there, and now I have had a few more. Other people were buying and driving, so I helmed the drinking department. I felt it was the least I could do. My roomie is just sitting there looking like he is having the absolute worst time in the world, so I offer to by him a beer. He softly mutters the words "Chimay". Dare he threaten me with some type of exotic brew? What delights boil beneath the surface of this so called Chimay? So, I head to the bar. You can't hear a goddamn thing, so I point to the beer list, and to my new beloved Chimay. He pours the golden nectar in to chalice befit for a king, embossed with the words "Chimay". OMG it even gets its own glass, no, chalice! He hands me the two glistening cups, along with a tab that I glance at mildly. I glance again. TWENTY ONE FUCKING DOLLARS. Chimay was no longer my friend. It was a Bastard. It was dead to me. I deliver the glass to my roomie, whom after considerable time and expense, finally seems happy. Good for him. He looks up at me, "Mmm, this is good". "Fuck Chimay". I've been toppled from my thrown of delight, by Chimay. Ruined by some Dutch fagsauce brewed by some rediculous monks that cost ten fucking dollars a glass. I am now in a bad mood. I decide immediately where to target my agression. Those girls. They have done nothing wrong, and yet they will become the object of my blatant hatred.
I go over to them, and start to puff on their Hookah. Guava, typical. She starts a conversation, which I entertain for a bit. It's harmless. Then, for no reason at all I mutter these words: "See that exit door over there? Make it work". She thought I was joking. She starts to laugh, and it sounds like the screams of a thousand dying kittens. She says "Do you treat all women this way?", and I reply "Do you buy all your coats at Goodwill"? She shreiks "Charlotte Russe"! and then turns quickly away. This conversation is over. She pretends not to hate me for the rest of the evening, but you can see the glow of vile contempt in every bat of her plucked and waxed brow. What do I care? I've got mine, bitch. Over time, my anger is quelled by the dastardly Chimay, which is actually quite delicious, but still not worth ten dollars. No beer is ever worth that much. I don't care if it's been brewed with stem cells. The night ends right where it began, at an ice cream hole. This time it's Steak N'Shake. I pass on everything, because I know it will all pass right through me, and I don't want to foul up my new PD&C jeans. I go home, get yelled at, go to sleep, and here at am at work typing a goddamn blog. The night was a failure. A miserable failure. But, I'm not sad because I didn't forget. I'm just happy I can remember. Thanks for that, Jeebus.....Fuck the dutch.

Florida Is A Hit With Old People, Gays

If you have ever been to Florida, you probably spent a great deal of time behind a Buick at 40 mph, screaming your ever-living brains out. I experience this supreme pleasure every single day of my life. I suppose its just so frustrating because I'm a young, fast-paced individual, and it's Driving Miss Daisy every goddamn day out on the highway. On the other end however, are frat kids buzzing through traffic at 100 mph, behind the wheel of a cheap car with an expensive paint job. Mom and Dad should be sterilized. So, everywhere I search for a happy medium. A traffic demographic that I can really deal with. So, I looked at my average speed and duration of travel. My vehicle choice, and my favorite places to drive, factored them all together, and viola! A terrifying result. My travel buddies are no one other than....The Gays! Those Versace wearing, exfoliating, messenger bag toting lady-boys. I suppose it could be worse. I guess the gays never really bothered me. I never stopped at their "friendship booth" in college. I was afraid of their cooties. Perhaps I should have extended my hand out in friendship (with Purell protection of course). If only I would have known that i'd be chasing the rainbow on my daily commute, I would have been more open towards my bronzed brethren. So, I would like to take this opportunity to thank the Gays. For saving me from the Frat Kids, (who are just gays in the closet), and the old people who know that you stand for everything that is wrong and evil. Carry on valiant homos! Carry on.

Sex Sells Chocolate, Inspires Fantasy

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After all these years, sex is still in style. Flappers came and went, the whole Betty Crocker thing was a load of shit, Fedoras were cast to the wayside, and before we knew it smack and sparkle dresses fell out of favor. But oddly enough, sex still sells. We crave it, we can't live without it, it's like crack for our naughty bits. Why, I was recently watching that new Cadbury Flake commerical with Joss Stone, and I wanted that chocolate not because it appeared to be flaky and delicious, but simply because Joss was sucking the goddamn life out of it. She could suck the bend out of a river. I got all hot and bothered by a chocolate commercial, but given the whole thing was nothing but a black & white ad-orgy, I suppose I can be forgivin. There was a horse and a beach, and Joss Stone for chrissakes! By the way, I think the chocolate was meant to represent a Phallus.

Things You Already Knew: College Is A Scam

It appears, shockingly, that college is a big, fat fucking scam. Textbooks in particular are costing students arms, legs, and sometimes even torsos for those fancy new books in cellophane.
The findings below, were posted by the U.S. General Accounting Office, please enjoy the ass raping:

College textbook prices have risen at twice the rate of annual inflation over the last two decades, following close behind annual increases in tuition and fees at postsecondary institutions. Rising at an average of 6 percent each year since academic year 1987-1988, compared with overall average price increases of 3 percent per year, college textbook prices trailed tuition and fee increases, which averaged 7 percent per year. Since December of 1986, textbook prices have nearly tripled, increasing by 186 percent, while tuition and fees increased by 240 percent and overall prices grew by 72 percent. While increases in textbook prices have followed increases in tuition and fees, the cost of textbooks and supplies for degree-seeking students as a percentage of tuition and fees varies by the type of institution attended. For example, the average estimated cost of books and supplies per first-time, full-time student for academic year 2003-2004 was $898 at 4-year public institutions, or about 26 percent of the cost of tuition and fees. At 2-year public institutions, where low-income students are more likely to pursue a degree program and tuition and fees are lower, the average estimated cost of books and supplies per first-time, full-time student was $886 in academic year 2003-2004, representing almost three-quarters of the cost of tuition and fees.

Wasn't that great! Now back to school kiddies, make sure to buy the shiny new textbooks so that you can make your professor's extra stipend! And don't you dare buy those cheap Communist imported textbooks. Much like Canadian medicine, they are the devil in the flesh, and you will go to hell.

Breaking News: Death Is Funny Sometimes

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Hillary Clinton Cracks Herself Up

Yesterday, in a debate with fellow Democratic candidate, Barack Obama, PR swilling lesbian, Hillary Clinton, accused the black massiah of plagiarism. Dubbing his campaign "change you can Xerox". Well, Mrs. Clinton, how much did Xerox pay you for that plug anyway? While we all can pretty much figure out that her and Billy have got the liberal press wrapped around their goading little fingers, I can't imagine for the life of me how she is holding on to a single vote. Ponder this america, a vote for Hillary, is a vote for Socialism. Which we all know is a form of "Diet Communism". Just listen, vote for McCain and leave these two goons in the dark where they belong. They don't deserve the presidency, they deserve a swift kick in the ass. In Hillary's case perhaps a hard shot in the groin, which she might gleefully welcome.

Katie Holmes Maybe Pregnant With L.Ron's Second Incarnation

Yes, Katie Holmes may be pregnant with the second child of good-looking crazy person, Tom Cruise. Some Scientologists believe that their last child, Suri, may have been the reincarnation of long-dead Scientology God, L. Ron Hubbard. This could be huge. If their calculations are correct (and they always are), This second little miracle could be birthed into a world of insane religious tax-evasion, the true Scientologist Massiah. Could this prodigy save all of us lowly SP's from the evil lord Xenu? Only time will tell friends, only time will tell. In the mean time, make sure to keep your Thetans in check, and keep writing those checks and paying those taxes like the little piss-ants you are.

UCF Student Government Elections Gestapo Will Make You Vote, Goddammit

The halls of UCF are anything but vacant. Mostly, they are annoyingly filled to capacity by students, golf carts, and most recently, elections officials that will heckle you straight into the voting booth. One even walked with me on my way to Microeconomic Theory. A class that I would like to charge into unmolested, thank you. When asked if I had voted by this most annoying person, I told him I had not. I had not, because in the Central Florida Future, I read a rediculous article about how the SGA delegates were trying to get each other impeached over an email "scandal", which I have since dubbed "Whogivesashit-gate". It told a woeful tale of how the president, Brandi Hollinger, was so flustered and angry, and how the Smith-Giery campaign insisted upon impeachment of members of the Logan-Brandon campaign. Who cares? The SGA and no-one else apparently. Why, I even passed up a free t-shirt to avoid voting, and my closest friends know that I never turn down a perfectly good dishrag. Links to more hapless bull-shit after the jump.

Obama: The Black Jesus of Our Time

Yes, I said it. Barack Obama is black Jesus. Well, isn't he? With all of the sumbliminal self-love campaigning going around, it's sometimes hard to distiguish the fake Jesus from the real one; which in itself is a little ironic. Some of you though, and you must admit it, love Barack Obama on an un-natural, and perhaps even unhealthy level. Some have started to coin terms like "Obamalution" and "Obamisms". I like to call that an "Obamanation". Seriousely folks, I don't think he is a bad guy, but I don't know how much more of this self-centered, give-me-a-hug garbage I can take. A small part of me believes that we should just sacrifice our children to Hillary now and be done with it. Perhaps we can all escape to freedom while she feasts upon the innocents.