Sunday, January 31, 2010

Pop, Lock, and DoPs it.

I promised you a story on the last post... so here we go (oh here we go oh here we go.. Arnold!)*

About 8 30 post meridian time, Thursday

So im in this frat frat frat frat. its a really sweet frat frat frat, and joining was mos def a really good decision. kind of like when georgetown decided to reject that offer to join the ivy league. also a smart choice, no doubt.

Anyway, im at this pregame with my frat frat frat, doing the usual collegiate stuff. beer pong, playing fifa, etc. Pretty standard, but also very good stuff. Overall, everyone seems to be having swell time. Spirits were definitely on the upper part of the good stuff o-meter. They however, hadn't heard the news.

I got the call at around 8 30. No, not the same call from that backstreet boys song. but close. This one was from our fraternity president, telling me to meet him in this freshman dorm so that we could have a little chat with the 3 clowns who had e-mailed us earlier in the day telling us that they had decided to drop out of our pledge program. Because we were expecting their change of heart just as much as one expects the new jersey nets to win a basketball game, the news was not only shocking, but also unnerving. So even though i was mid beer pong game, I immediately peaced. And i'll be the first to say that there aren't many things more important than finishing a beer pong game. But this kind of was.

Ten minutes later I had arrived in this second floor common room. The scene looked like something out of some mobster movie. The three fools were sitting around big looooooooowell (our president), as he was attempting to try and convince them to rejoin. Dressed up in a suit and all (he had come from some business function), he looked like a crime boss trying to persuade some thugs to help him with a hit.

I sat down, and immediately joined the conversation. Because everyone was being all serious satellite radio, i decided to make some jokes. you know, the usual mood lightening stuff. i figured that would be the best way to get to the bottom of (mike) the situation, as these kids were all up tight and shit. After about 40 minutes of talking about pretty much nothing (they basically talked around every single question of ours), we decided to give up. We deduced that they were only really interested for the parties, and honestly, we really didn't need slimeballs like that. So we thanked them for their consideration and all of that other proper formal stuff, and left.

But after all they had put me through (me being rush chair, recruiting them as ruthlessly as lane kiffin, them being all gung ho about joining, and then them dropping out as suddenly as twitter rose and fell), i was not about to let them off that easily. So i decided to leave my wallet behind. Purposely. that way, they would have to contact me again. It was a last ditch effort, but i didn't really care at that point. Plus, i thought it was genius move, and i was pretty impressed with myself for even thinking of such slyness (and lucy)

I arrive back in my apartment, where the pregame is in full swing. Like, it wasn't bunting or check-swinging. It was as full throttle as a pregame could be. Slightly depressed by my lack of success, and even more depressed that i couldn't waltz into the room ala borat and declare, 'Great success!' I decided that i didn't really feel like drinking. Or for that matter, be around people. I get like that sometimes. Anyways, I decided to vacate the premises and head off to the library and get some work done, and possibly entertain my audience with this blog i decided to start doing. apparently really cool, you should read it.

As I was about to leave, I realized that I needed my gocard to get into the library. Because my gocard was in my wallet, its name was kind of contradictory at that point, because i couldn't actually go anywhere. Might as well have been the stop card. Joking aside, my lack of gocard wasn't a huge deal- I could just borrow my roommates. So I asked J money for his gocard. Thankfully he obliged. My problem was solved. Or so i thought... (insert ominous music here ).

I get to the library. If you've never been to Joseph P. Lauinger memorial library, there is a security booth at the front at which you must flash your gocard in order to gain entry. Because they never really actually take your go card and examine it like a worry wart does while checking over his answers for the 7th time during a chemistry test, i really didn't think i would have a problem. Boy, was i wrong.

I flash the gocard, perhaps slightly faster than normal. As I was about to walk by, the lady at the desk assertively bellows 'Stop. Let me see that.' Knowing I was screwed (my roommate doesn't look anything like me), I calmly explained that I lost my wallet and that I was just trying to get some work done, and that I would leave if I she couldn't let me in

This lady however, was downright psycho. Imagine the entire plot of american beauty, tyler hansborough, and edward norton during fight club combined. That was this lady. She proceeds to start cursing and yelling at me, saying what i did was completely dishonest and insulting. Slightly taken aback by her complete out of controlness, I again apologized, told her I made a mistake, and asked her for the gocard so I could leave. She however, flat out refused to listen to anything I had to say. Though she may have looked like aretha franklin, she certainly had no r e s p e c t.

'You're a liar,' she said. 'I'm not giving you back this fucking card. I'm reporting this to the base station'

She was referring to the base station of DoPs, Georgetowns department of public safety.

Knowing that anything negative i said from there would only get me in more trouble, I decided to respectfully ask her where the base station was.

Half amused half outraged, I made the trip to the base station. Right before I arrived, I ran into a DoPs officer.

wow, this is much longer than I thought it was. probably better to read it over two posts. I'll conclude here, but i'll finish the rest of this thrilling tale tomorrow

I know you are reading because you tell me you are, so make a comment. It would make me feel good (inc.)

Song of the day: in my frat frat frat, my brother name is boy band. thus, in that spirit, we got a classic:

I just want you to know: Backstreet Boys

*reference to the hey arnold theme song. outstanding show, except the fact that stinky lived on a farm in the middle of the city never really made too much sense..

Friday, January 29, 2010

make your own kind of music

Sup all. yesterday was pretty much crazy town. but not really in the butterfly way.*

well get to that eventually. hype is good for any story anyway. even if the actual story is worse than charles barkleys golf swing, it gets people thinking about it. and thats what people want from you these days. your attention. if you think im wrong, watch a commercial.

for now ill leave you with some expertly crafted information

Things that don't really deserve to exist and should be outlawed fo' eva eva: Part one

Doritos: Quite possibly the most foul substance ever to walk the earth. Well actually, those pathetic excuses for chips dont have legs so i guess they cant walk. which i guess is a huge plus for society, because theres no doubt all doritos would be wextophiles**
Reasons why doritos should be as hated as much as peta hates michael vick:
1. They taste bad. which im pretty sure is a decently counter-productive characteristic to have if you are a food product. Though its not necessarily their fault. im pretty sure that when the dorito dudes were doing there thing down in the dorito factory, ABC was filming that show 'the mole.' you may have never heard of it, but it was this reality show where they got 10 people together, and one person was responsible for undermining every single task the group did. so when all the other chip designer extraordinaire's were being all chip skylarky trying to design the best tasting chips, this mole dude messed up the ingredients by putting in this substance called HDH (Humanly disgusting hormone)
Ok, so the first one was kind of subjective. maybe you just so happen to enjoy HDH. though if thats the case, you probably enjoy eating moldy bagels as well. whatever. here are strikes two and three:
2. The smell. doritos smell just about as good your high schoool cafeteria's sloppy joe and your local town dump combined. And it wouldn't be too bad if the terribleness of its smell was concentrated. But unlike orange juice, that insulting odor is multifaceted. it acts on two levels. in espn analyst spirit, heres the breakdown:
-the general odor that they emit is highly undesirable, well call this the Offensive odor, it actively attacks you and your surrounding environment.
-it wouldn't be so bad if the stank just stop there. but it doesn't. because after you consume the HDH infested substances, it infiltrates your breath. just like a staunch defense who won't even let up a first down, the now complete awfulness of your breath prevents anyone from getting near you. so if theres some sketchball guy or psycho girl approaching the danger zone, just hit up a bag of nacho cheese
3. The taste and smell is bad enough, but the powder shit is just unbearable. Essentially if you eat doritos, the powder of doom ensures that you become a walking talking HDH possessing, hobo smelling clown. essentially, the powder spreads the disease. H1N1 watch yourself Because your hands are covered with this awful virus, they reach the level of disgustingness worthy of adam sandlers black foot in mr deeds.

Song of the yesterday (we missed one): make your own kind of music: cass elliot

listen to the message. unless you are a mindless robot, its pretty good advice to live your life by

song of the day: butterfly: crazy town

interesting video to say the least. and great song

*See song of the day
**see last post
***see spot run

Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Wexican Food For Thought

I was walking to class today. By the way, it really sucks when its cold and you have to walk the class. Its kind of like going to dinner at a guests house. Even though their food is almost as disgusting as those dudes that sweat EVERYwhere they go, you have to eat the food. otherwise you are just an inconsiderate meanie.

Anyway, i am here to address a major problem in todays society. its called wexting. You've probably never heard of it, but theres no doubt in my mind you're an active contributor to the problem. I guarantee it. but just to clarify, im not that dude from mens warehouse

Wexting (V): the act of simultaneously walking and texting.
Other forms:
Wexter (n): a person engaged in the act of wexting, or a person who is notoriously known for his or her wexting habits
Wexted (Past tense)

Wextophile: A person clinically diagnosed with an addiction to wexting.

To learn more about this phenomenon, visit Wexter's Laboratory

**Not to be confused with drexting (Driving while texting)

So i was walking to class, and it was cold. and since im too cool to wear a winter jacket, it was even colder. but thats not the point. since i was on this kind of narrow pathway, i couldn't really do the good old skip move where i get to pass you because you are a slowpoke and haven't evolved into slowbro yet. like a 34 year old businessman who has been waiting for a promotion for 10 years, i was trapped behind the guy ahead of me. just couldn't move up. then out of nowhere, this clown directly ahead of me whips out his phone and starts wexting. because one of the many harmful side effects of wexting is reduced walking speed, this fool slowed down considerably from his established pace. Now, if this decrease in speed was gradual, i wouldn't be going all out about it. But the guy literally stopped as short as a driver who realizes at the last minute theres a stop sign.

it happened in an instant. I couldn't hit the brakes in time. and since there was nowhere to swerve, I crashed. like that bandicoot. but unlike that sweet playstation animal dude, my crash wasn't fun. in fact it was really painful, because the impact of the collision effectively swept my foot off the walking path, causing me to roll my ankle on the corner of the sidewalk and grass. to make a long story short, im on the 15 day dl. the fans are furious. its like steve bartman all over again.

Wexting is responsible for millions of minor injuries and immeasurable cases of tardiness per year.

The facts are clear. You wext, you lose. Be like Jesus. He walks.

Song of the day: Since you love the 90's, heres some solid 1999 action

She's so high: Tal Bachman

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

The Lance Lance Revolution

I wish i could fly. that would be sweet.

Ok, back to reality. If I were Eminem, oh, there would go gravity. I’m not really sure where gravity could actually go, considering it is a conceptualization that mankind that doesn’t actually physically exist. Kind of like time. Which is actually really relevant to this blogger clogger banana-nana fo flogger, because I have to pick a place to begin. Naturally a logical progression of time would suggest that I start at the beginning.
But what is the beginning? Because every beginning is the end of something else which could be considered the middle of another event. To me, time is kind of like a spider-web. Each string is connected to another, which is connected to another, which ends up forming this complex thing in which every string is rooted in those around it, which are rooted in those around the next one. And the next one. You get the point. One falls, we all fall kind of mentality. In my messed up literary methaphorical thesis, each string is needed in order to tell a story that transitions into the next story, which may transition into another best-seller. Some are more juicy then others. Like if a fly got trapped in it. Those are the ones that show up in your obituary. Those are the ones that people judge you on. Those are the ones that you will be remembered by. Which is totally unfair if you think about. Because the fly would fall on its face without the other strings. I mean, without N’Sync, would JT have brought sexy back? Though the album was great, it should probably be changed to “Yes, strings attached”

In real talk, welcome to the blog. Where your word is heard. Unless of course your word is the bird.

Trust me, you'll be entertained. And my name isn't even cedric.

Song of the day: the rock show, Blink 182 fresh from the album, take off your lance and jacket. classic sauce.