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  • March Madness

    It sure does feel right to have the UNLV Runnin' Rebels back in the tournament, don't it? Brings back memories of Larry Johnson, Greg Anthony, Anderson Hunt, et al from back in the day. Oh yeah, and they knocked off previously #1 (in all the land, even if only for a week) Wisconsin. About 5 minutes ago. Good Times. I'm kinda getting all weepy over here. Song of the Day: Billy Idol- Rebel Yell. Do the math.

    And my other faves, the Tennessee Volunteers, also advanced to the Sweet Sixteen. It's been a good day.

    'Bye ' Bye Duke. I've a sneaking suspicion y'all won't be missed all that badly.

    I really thought Xavier was gonna pull off the upset against Ohio State. But DAMN did Oden get his money's worth on that 5th foul, y'all. That's how it's done, kiddies. I hope y'all had your crayons out, taking some notes. I know I did. Aw, who'm I bullshitting? I was making pretty pictures in my coloring book.

    Fucking sue me.

  • Things I learned from watching Curious George

    What? I've been home sick all weekend, other than a brief trip to work Saturday a.m., during which time I've slept roughly 34 hours. And yes, I got kinda all weepy-like whilst watching the update of the children's classic. But I'm man enough to admit it.

     

    Monkeys are fun. Monkeys help you pull chicks. Monkeys are smarter than people. I want a monkey, dammit.

     

    Yellow is totally the new khaki.

     

    I still hate Will Ferrell. Although to a lesser degree in this movie.

     

    Hollyweird is starting young on trying to ruin menfolks by having them believe that Just Be Yourself is actually sound advice and will help you in your efforts to acquire your dream girl.

    Uh, no. Not so much.

    The hot schoolteacher would've actually LJBF'd the absentminded professor (monkey or no) so fast and been off getting poled by Ivan the big Slavic doorman, after becoming tired of waiting for chump to pick up on her cues. Yet, because it's a work of extreme fiction, she doesn't.

    Remember kiddies, it's not your fault. They just never told you which self to be.

     

    Well, I do believe I'm off to see about calling in sick to work today. Not sure who exactly I'm supposed to inform, so it may take a spell. It's funny, before I had an automobile and a grownup job, I very rarely even caught a cold. Now I'm always tired and run down from dealing with all the bullshit therein. Oh well. Whatever. Nevermind.

  • You're not going to believe this...

    Hell, I was there, and I don't believe it my ownself. No, not the fact that, yet again, I find myself with enough time for a brief post whilst I listen to a Rion Williams podcast and prepare to leave for volleyball, either. Although I can totally see wherefore one might make that error. Happens to me all the time.

     

    Firstly, the other day, whilst doing whatever it is that I do in the workplace, I was crouched down like Pudge Rodriguez (Go Tigers!), counting some items (math is hard) on a bottom shelf. Naturally, some fucking nitwit manages to come roaring around the corner and smoke me in the back with her shopping cart. And then just looks at me with that stupid grin on her stupid fucking face. Moron. The fuck? I'm fairly difficult to overlook at the best of times, being freakishly outsized and all. Let alone when I'm attired in a bright purple (think Barney) shirt and a Fred Flintstone tye, as I was on this occasion. And yes, I was totally rocking said outfit, thanks for asking.

     

    Last week, I caught static for skipping volleyball in order to be in bed (alone!) early to be at work WAY too early. The implication seemed to be that I was instead choosing to spend my evening with my geophysicist. Uh, no, although I appreciate the thought. Hell, I didn't even stay awake long enough to watch Veronica Mars. That's how serious my need for extra sleep in fact was. I remember those not-so-long-ago days when I was wasting all that time pining away for The One, when noone would've ever suspected I had anything (or anyone) better to do with my time. Well, okay, mostly I'm just not really enjoying playing with this squad any longer. Fucking sue me.

     

    I wear Axe deodorant. Voodoo flavor. Because it makes me smell pretty, like a flower. Not because I'm buying into the culture and/or hype or because I'm trying too hard or anything. Anyhoo, I was told recently that I don't need it. I'm kinda loving my newfound workplace reputation as a manwhore. Alls it needs is congruence. And a good tale about getting married at the end of a drunken ONS in Las Vegas (nope, still no word, divorce-wise), of course. Check and check. I'm totally projecting the air of personal authority now, apparently. Who knew?

     

    Today I made the stuckup HB cry again.

    We were just trading barbs, like we do, and before I knew it...all Hell had Broken loose. I mean, she even rolled with it when I told her how comfortable her shoes looked. Whoosh, right over her head. Did I mention that she's only 20? And kinda fucking nuts? Well, now I have.

    I then asked whether or not the guy she'd just interviewed for a job had mentioned what a brat she, in fact, is. Then went on to say that he likely hadn't, as he wanted to be hired. Next thing I knew, fucking Niagara Falls. At first I thought she was just playing (she'd done so earlier, when my boy Clifton had mentioned her princess complex), making a pouty face and shit. Uh, no. Bawling like a little kid with a skinned knee. I'm just glad I had 2, count 'em, 2 witnesses that will attest to what I actually said. Or I'll have them fucking executed. So she leaves our office, crying. Then comes back in a few minutes later, making with ''what'd I ever do to you?'' I thought I was being Punk'd and shit. Ashton, come on down.

    Sadly, this will only set me back in my project of banging her stuckup ass. And then her mouth. Sigh. Bad times. Oh well, roll with it, baby.