A Post in Three Bullet Points

1. Last night my roommate bought a 17 piece hair trimming kit, and I gave him a fauxhawk. It looks fucking sweet at all get out, even though he was on his fourth beer bong of the night, and I had had a few screwdrivers.

2. I always match my underwear to my shirt. Always. I decided to wear an ugly shirt today so I can wear one of my favorite pairs of underwear. The shirts I normally wear with it are dirty, so now I have to go along today in an ill-fitting dress shirt and really sexy underwear.

3. In yesterday's post, I mentioned that Tuesday nights are dry nights at the local gay bars. It's Tuesday night again, and the bitches have promised not to bail on me again. I'd just like to remind any stalkers that I'll be downtown tonight, in case you're interested. I promise I'll change to a better-looking shirt.

I promise to stop talking about my roommate so much after this.

Rumor has it that Tuesday nights are dry nights at the local gay bars. After plans were made to start my Thanksgiving vacation with hot gay sex, or at least the promise of, I was feeling pretty damn pleased.

My roommates were heading home Tuesday, choosing to skip classes to make it to the airport before the huge rush. I was going to have the entire place to myself, and was going to fill it with copious amounts of hot naked men who wished to service my every sexual need. That was the plan.

Now, this may come a suprise to some of you, but I'm fairly meek and mild-mannered in real life. I don't enjoy meeting people, and am timid and stand-offish until I get to know a person. Fortunately, a few people from the building, who could be described as 'fag hags' if I were the sort of person to use a term like 'fag hag,' planned to come along with me to help lubricate me socially with alcohol beforehand and make sure that my mojo was working. We have good people in this building. Good people who are sick of my complaining about my complete inability to get laid in any way, shape and form.

It's been one year, people. I am getting cranky.

Well, at least I thought they were good people. Slowly but surely, however, one by one they all called my cell to apologize, but plans had changed and they couldn't make it on Tuesday. Figures--women are nothing but bitches and hos.

Tuesday morning rolls around, and I'm working to find a ride home early; it's not like I'm one to go out by myself. I come back to the room to find my roommate at his computer. Peering over his shoulder, I find he's on Travelocity.com.

"Yeah, I heard that everyone bailed, and I was just seeing if I could change my flight to tomorrow, so that you don't have to go alone."

Even though it didn't work out, I swear to god, I could have kissed him.

At Night, Alone, I Marry the Bed

I'm going to be taking a break for the next week or so, in part due to the holiday, in part due to the fact that the last few weeks of posts have totally sucked donkey balls, and in part because I haven't really been feeling up to par lately.

I started contemplating a sabbatical almost three weeks ago, when I composed a post revolving around this picture and quoting confessional poetry.

That's probably a bit too melodramatic for what I'm feeling, but I still like the picture.

In lighter news, when I return after Thanksgiving, posts should get interesting again. For those of you who've forgotten, my roommate is from W. Virginia, about 25 minutes away from Martha Stewart's prison. I've already threatened to touch him in his naughty place if he doesn't bring back photos.

So you'll get pictures of Martha in prison duds or pictures of my roommate being molested in his sleep.


Either way, everyone wins!

My roommate is slightly miffed at me.

Not that I think that 'miffed' is the exact word to use, but rather that it's a word that needs to be used more often.

Tonight, one of the gay acronyms (GLBTPSAFTQA ad infinitum is sponsoring a dance. When people ask me "Hey Bob--what are you doing Friday night?" I've taken to responding with "I'm going to Gay Bash," and jokingly refer to it as such-- "It's been so long since the last gay bash. I've really got some pent up energy that I need to work out" or something along those lines.

My roommate is uncomfortable when I say 'gay bash,' and I say that if anyone gets to feel uncomfortable about gay bashes, it's me.



Gay bash gay bash gay bash.



(Yes, I know I'm a bad person, and it's things like this that cause the karma that has left me sex-free for over a year.)

I promise not to make a habit of this

When we moved into our room, we found a pair of women's soccer cleats waiting for us, hanging from our doorknob. What a lovely welcoming present. Apparently, these made their way around the building all summer, without an owner in site. This is where Ebay comes in handy.

Soccer cleats--Womens size 9

Also, we seem to have acquired an extra sweater along the way.

Large Ralph Lauren Polo Sweater

In a related note, our refrigerator is empty.

Think of it this way:

1. If we make money using Ebay, we'll probably buy alcohol.
2. If we had alcohol, we'd probably do things we normally wouldn't do.
3. We normally don't get naked and post naked photos on the internet.


I'm just saying.

Another interest in picture form

I'm not sure if I get it, but I like it. Rimbaud, as interpreted by my good friend Liz.



In her own words: "He ran away to Africa and scorned sweet poetry.... Poetic genius, stormy affair with older genius... aw fuck all this let's play with lions."

Not that I'm feeling down or anything...

There's nothing like reading the archives of group hug to remind me that, in the grand scheme of things, I'm doing ok.

I have masturbated to the thought of sucking Jesus Christs' dick. I don't know, the whole "son of god" thing turns me the fuck on. My clam always quivers when I thing about being on the receiving end of some holy sperm.

---

My name is Brian, and I am 22 year old first year university student. I am a sexist pig who enjoys dating younger girls who I can treat like shit, and take advantage of. Yesterday I grabbed my roommate's ass in the elevator. He was uncomfortable, and it really turned me on. I like to rumage through his underwear drawer and watch him while he sleeps. I am thinking of ass-raping him, it will be a lot easier if he complies, but anything goes with me.

---

Everyone at work thinks I look like a taller version of Harry Potter. I pretend to be annoyed by this, but secretly I want nothing more than to don a blue robe and swing my mighty wand around screaming 'Wingardium Leviosaaaaa!'

---

One time my girlfriend came over, she blew me and then I ate her out. She asked me how it tasted and I told her it tasted a little sour. Then I fucked her and when I looked down at my dick, it was covered in blood. We broke up the next day.

---

I've tried on multiple occasions to get my wireless mouse up my ass, and see if I can click an icon

---

I like to put my penis on lightbulbs that are hot. I don't know why and I feel really ashamed after I do it, because it's so weird.

---

I like to go on rape survivor forums and call them sluts and whores. The torrents of flame posts that ensue give me a sense of pleasure. I like to hurt women. This is because I've never had a girlfriend and I'm extremely bitter about it.

---

I sometimes wish that I could be a wolf or a dog just so I could be able to lick my partners' genitals in public without being arrested...I'm gay, but I'd go bi if I could do that.

Finally, a meme I enjoy.

Livejournal sure does have its share of crappy forwards, memes, online quizes, and surveys. However, it finally is doing something interesting, for once.

A current meme going around my buddy list is to pick out an interest from a friend's list and doodle a little sketch for it. I should have five or six pictures coming my way within the next week or two. I'm excited, if only it means that I can post the pictures here and then not worry about coming up with something interesting.

First up, we have a picture from K. Mmm... elitism. My favorite!

What Kind of Queer Are You?

WOW! What a suprise! You're an "Emo Kid"
We have no clue if you are gay or not, you damn
emo boys look gay but sometimes you're not!
MAKE UP YOUR MIND AND SUCK DICK! You're sad and
lonely, you find yourself quoting lyrics and
writting some of your own.


What kind of queer are you?

When does the next Harry Potter drop, anyway?

Sometimes I have a love/hate relationship with the school newspapers. Sure, they're free, but the stilted language, grossly inadequate (or just gross) sex columns, and the opinion page which, were I living in a world of Harry Potter, would not only scream and yell but writhe about in a tourettic fit (see howler) leaves me cold and uninformed.

But then sometimes the comics page says something of pure genius, and I know that I'll be distracted in my AmLit class for yet another day.

This was one of those times.

(The Facebook) is nothing more than a trendy way to trick yourself into thinking people are interested in you.

It's just a self-serving online circle-jerk to help whiny emo kids and cam-whores draw even more attention to themselves, and I will not help stroke the ego of some 'hipster' from Kenosha.

Truer words have never been spoken.

Hitler Got Laid, So Why Can't I?

With a few minor gender modifications, this could be my theme song.

Modify the lyrics, that is. Not my gender. Thanks, but, um, no thanks. The sentiment is still the same, though.


Even Hitler Had a Girlfriend.mp3
(right click, save as, rock out, rinse, repeat)

I still haven't found a girlfriend though I've tried a lot
So can you help me please; it's tougher than I thought.
The odds are pretty good but the goods are pretty odd
Still at this point, I'd take anything you've got.

You see this all the time--nice girls in love with jerks
What could they be thinking? Tell me how it works.
If I've got some problems, well, I wouldn't be the first
But the ones I have in mind are even worse

Even Hitler had a girlfriend
Who he could always call
Who'd always be there for him
In spite of all his faults.
He was the worst guy ever
Reviled and despised
Even Hitler had a girlfriend
So why can't I?

Life is full of contradictions, hard to understand
For every happy woman, there's a lonely man.
Nixon had his puppy, Charles Manson had his clan
But God forbid that I get a girlfriend.

Even Hitler had a girlfriend
Who he could call his own
To sweeten days of bitterness
And feeling all alone.
I'm not as bad as Hitler
But it doesn't mean a thing
Since they'd rather be with Hitler more than me
I don't see
Why they'd rather be with Hitler more than me.

Mr. T. Experience

Theoretically.

Don't you hate it when you add a blogger to your buddy list, and mean to talk to him about a recent post, but by the time both you and he are online at the same time, which is about a week later, you've forgotten what it was you wanted to talk to him about, and so then the conversation doesn't exactly own up to what you wanted it to, and even though you're not the greatest at AIM conversations, you know you could have done better if you'd thought about it more and then you write a run-on sentence that would make your English teacher from high school cry and you just wish you would have had something better to talk about then to trade quips about the South, causing him to fake an away message because you're so boring?


Theoretically, of course.

This is pathetic.

I need a boy. Post-haste.

God, I can be such a cunt when in a bad mood.

Roommate: Where were you? It's late--I was worried.

Me: Out.

Roommate: What'd you do?

Me: I went out.

Roommate: Where'd you go?

Me: On a walk.

Roommate: Yeah, but where did you go?

Me: Hospital.

Roommate: Why'd you go all the way over there?

Me: I'm a sucker for symbolism.

Andrew Sullivan on BIll Maher

Andrew Sullivan was on Bill Maher tonight. I think he was on earlier in the week, but I'm just catching the rerun this evening.

My, somebody's panties were in a twist. And it wasn't Bill Maher.

I mean, I've met more than my fair share of whiny queens, but I've never been so happy with a firm bitch-slap than I was when Bill gave Andrew what was coming to him.

Another forward, from my mother

Who are these people who voted for Bush? I don't know them. Do they live in an alternate universe from mine? I've been wondering that all day. Then someone sent me this message. Maybe this explains it:


You might be a Dubya Supporter if...

...you lost your job at the mills and you are now working as a greeter at Walmart, but you think the economy is stronger than ever before.
...you think that the institution of marriage needs protection from gays, despite the fact that you are in the middle of your third divorce.
...when you see a sobbing Iraqi woman on TV, you think she is crying for joy at being liberated, and you can't understand why more Iraqis aren't overwhelmed with joy to see American troops marching down their street.
...you demand that the government give you school vouchers to send your kids to a parochial school, but protested when Muslim students wanted to wear their head wraps to the local public school.
...someone tells you that no complex problem has a simple solution, and you immeaditly start chanting, "Flip Flop! Flip Flop!" even in a public place.
...you think that the Bible says that God wants us to use up everything the Earth has to offer so as to bring on the End Times sooner.
...you got in a bar fight when a stranger told you that Dubya had joined the Texas Air National Guard to avoid Vietnam.
...you know that the WMD's in Iraq will be found tomorrow, that Osama was a regular guest of Saddam's, and that the United Nations was just a front for Iraqi sponsored terrorists.
...the last time someone told you that the increasing frequency and severity of the hurricanes hitting Florida were a predicted part of the process of global warning, you told them, "No, those hurricanes is God's way of punishing all them lying Democrats thats were tryin' to steal the 'lection from my homeboy, Dubya - and warnin' em not to be tryin' that again!"
...you live in a trailer park, and beleive that your home is directly threatened by terrorists.
...you know that Muslims, terrorists, Iraqis, Afghans and the French are all really the same, and are in league together against the United States.
...you can't decide if John Ashcroft hasn't been given the authority he needs, or if he is just soft on crime.
...you get so annoyed at all those poor people, and can't understand why they spend so much time and effort trying to stay poor when they could spend that time being productive members of society.
...you want anyone who says that we aren't winning the war in Iraq locked up in jail, along with Jane Fonda.
...whenever you see Dubya on TV, you stand up and yell, "Hail, Caesar!"
...you cheered for Ken Starr, but you consider attempts by journalists to get Dubya's driving records and Cheney's energy commision meeting notes to be invasive, tabloid style journalism at best.
...you think more American's don't have health insurance because they just don't want it.
...you protest at abortion clinics agains the murders comitted there, but you still send letters congratulation to Dubya every time the electric chair gets fired up in Texas.
...you went around calling Clinton a "hop head" and a "druggie" for trying marajuana, but discount Dubya's cocaine use "'cause he got born again."
...you tried to find "Earth Last" on the web so that you could make a donation in order to help stop the environmentalists from controlling your life.
...you get mad at homosexuals for not seeking help for their "illness."
...you argue that the greatest day in American military history was the day that Dubya stood on the deck of the USS Abraham Lincon and declared, "Mission Accomplished."
...anytime anyone mentions France, Germany, China - or any nation that doesn't agree with current US foreign policy, for that matter - you just exclaim, "We'll kick der arse!"
...you resent any form of government intrusion into your life, but think that the Patriot Act is weak and needs its enforcement provisions strengthened.
...you go to McDonnalds and order McFreedomFries with your McBurger.
...you gave money to the Swift Boat Vets, but want Kitty Kelly's new book to be banned.
...you donated money to Martha Stewart's legal defense fund.
...you hid your Bible under your bed, just in case the Democrats win the election and try to take it away.
...you support Dubya's lawsuit against the FEC because only the Democrats make an effort to get around the soft money laws.
...you write letters to Dubya in favor of a flat tax so that your taxes will be lowered even more.
...you don't let your kids go to the public library or use the internet so that they won't be corrupted by Satan's hand on Earth.
...you rail at sex education and condoms in schools, because if there was no sex education or condoms in our schools, teenagers would never have sex.
...you think all those wounded vets coming back from Iraq are just a bunch of whiners - they got paid to fight, and when you fight, you get hurt.
...when you go squirrel hunting, you know that you'll be needing your AK-47 with the extra-long clip, the muzzle-flash supressor and the collapsable stock. Those squirrels are squirley, after all.
...you know that we don't need to give Afghanistan any huminatarian aid - after all, didn't we drop packages of peanut butter and rice after the invasion?
...you took the catalytic converter off your car just to help prove that Global Warmin was a hoax.
...God told you that he wants his Chosen Nation to smite the infidels who are sullying His creation with their continued existence.
...you really think that one day, the tax cuts that Dubya gave to the top 1% will apply to you. Or to your kids.
...you think that God created the so much beauty on Earth for more space for parking lots, and to give Himself more places to hide oil.
...you think that John Kerry is a cowardly war criminal who was able to con the military out of three purple hearts, a bronze star and a silver star - but the couragous Dubya fufilled his service obligaitons, and the military could not possibly have made a mistake with HIS records.
...you think that Clinton was a sleaze, but you want a Real Man in the White House.
...you got mad because those damn greenies stopped you from driving your Hummer off-road in Yosemite.
...you know that we have to shut down the Iraqi press, enforce a curfew in Bahgdad, have tribunals for Iraqi prisoners, and kill all Iraqi insurgants on sight in order to bring freedom to Iraq.
...you reported your Granny to the FBI for buying her medication in Canada.
...you think that whoever wrote this list is a traitor and should be locked up. Probably at Abu Ghraib. Or maybe even shot.

Ode for Tuesday Night

As Eleanor Roosevelt once said, it isn't enough to talk about peace, you have to believe in it. And it isn't enough to believe in peace, you have to work at it. And yesterday, we worked at it. We worked our fingers to the bone, slaved like dogs, put pedals to the metal and noses to the grindstone. And we failed.


It was Tuesday night and about twelve people sat in the downstairs lounge to watch the election play itself out. Ten Democrats, one Libertarian, and one Republican-- and he was from Ohio.

As the first few states came rolling in, the mood was jubuliant. We weren't winning, but we weren't out of the running. Elections became closer and closer, and the discrepencies between when MSNBC called states and when CNN did grew. Pennsylvania turned blue, Florida red, and then a long, bitter battle for Ohio. When MSNBC called Ohio for Bush, in the middle of interviewing a Democratic representative from Tennessee (I believe), you could see the tears form in his eyes as he was badgered into responding.

"Well, we haven't heard those results here... (gulp) and we'll have to check the war room and see... I'm not... I don't... We'll still have to crunch some numbers, if what you're saying is true..."

"I'm going to have to disagree with you there. We here at MSNBC have called Ohio for George W. Bush, which makes it almost impossible for Kerry to win the presidency. What do you have to say about that?"

"Well, I... um... again, I'm going to have to check back in the war room and..." The tears in his eyes grew more and more evident.

"I hate to disagree with you so much, but you're wrong."


It was then that the waterworks started. For the Congressman, and for us.

We switched stations after that, back to CNN, where we remained for the rest of the night. Even though they didn't have Dee Dee Myers (one of my favorite, if not my favorite, political pundits), they had balance and nuance, and weren't in such a bind in the later hours of the night. Other states had gone to Bush, but since MSNBC, FOX 'News,' and others called Ohio too early and weren't men enough to admit their mistake, the counting became skewed as they didn't want to competely tip the scales to Bush prematurely. He sat at 269 for most of the 'witching hour'.

Our building is skewed towards foreign exchange students; it's just the way the building is marketed, and a few stopped by the lounge to grab a soda or to check out the results. By midnight, they were just as shocked as we were. They were scared about their student visas being revoked; we have a guy from the Sudan whose family won't speak to him when he's in the states, they hate his decision to come here so much. Our RA is from Canada, though for some odd reason he's a US History grad student, and he came in around one and said everything that we were too scared to say.

It's funny, because growing up, even in high school and college, it was drilled into our head that checks and balances was the greatest part of American democracy, that was the golden ideal, that no one party could ever take control like this. I think you're screwed... You really should have just let the South go. Most historians believe that slavery would have been eliminated by 1900, with or without the civil war. Slavery was on its last legs, and Southern abolitionists were gaining more influence and respect. The South is what's holding you guys back. You've got a lot of backwards, stupid hicks who are confusing religion with government, and it will be your downfall. Look at all those red states; they're the Bible Belt. They're the people who believe that WMDs were found, and that Saddam and Osama were linked. The mantra down there is "Guns, Gays, and God." They're voting on things that don't matter, and things that the president doesn't have control over.... I just, I feel really bad for you guys, because you're never going to know the financial security your parents did during the 90s. You're going to slip and slip down the drain if these people keep on winning and keep on taking control.

(via Daily Kos)

As each state crossed that line, we grew more and more panicked, talking about Roe v. Wade, social security, Supreme Court justices, education, health care, foreign policy, the debt, etc.

"Just think of how large the deficit will be for our children!"

"Just think! I'll never get to have children!"

That shut everyone up.

We stayed up until 4:15, when Wisconsin was called for Kerry. At the time, we thought it would take days, if not weeks, for Ohio to work its way to a close. It was just too close to call, we thought. We'll wake up in the morning and things will be the same.

As we silently made our way up the stairs, back to our room, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was the Republican, from Ohio.

"Listen, Bob. I, um... I didn't realize... err... Listen, I... I just wanted to let you know... I'm sorry."

I still didn't sleep well that night, but it was that thought that kept my heart from breaking until the next morning.

So...

I'm scared. I can't look at the television screen for any amount of time without my hands starting to shake and my eyes beginning to tear. I honestly fear for my safety and well-being for not only the next four years, but for the rest of my life.


So. Is anyone in need of a cabana boy/trophy husband? I'm not bad looking, I'm a twink, I'm fairly well-read and don't mind mixing drinks in skimpy outfits. I'm a lightweight, and a cheap date. I'm an Honor Student who can make an ice-cream cone disappear with his mouth. I'm a homebody, so you won't have to worry about me running off. I can cook, I'm great with children, and parents adore me. I grew up doing community theatre so I can act out any fantasies in the bedroom that you may have.

Drop me a line if you're interested.

(US Residents need not apply.)

For Laurie Anderson and the End of the Moon

The reception was tremendous, with a standing ovation in awestruck appreciation. The audience would have stood and applauded forever, the memory of her lingering apparition on stage, if the time would only have allowed, but obligations of the life outside the theater gradually pulled them, in rapt contemplation, out of the theater.

The Badger Herald

Genius, my roommate says to me, is in the eye of the professor. It doesn't really matter what you think, but rather that your ideas match the professors'. After all, they're in charge, and they've dedicated their lifes to knowing that shit. They can say the sky is a lovely shade of putrid green, and if that's not your response on the final exam, you fail.

Laurie Anderson, pioneer of performance art, let the scattered candles set the stage. Not resorting to the high technology of her previous shows, she spoke, minimalistically and serene, about science and beauty, fear and technology.

While she was NASA's first Artist in Residence, Anderson learned about a new breed of spacesuits, once that could increase arm strength by 40 times. It comes with built-in medical treatment, such as a splint for when the strength device malfunctions. The suit is now being modified by the US Army.





I'm sorry. I can't do it. Laurie Anderson did in fact rock my world, and I was about to write a long post, relating her work to the election, and my fear of a Republican victory. But then I realized that you guys shouldn't be reading blogs, but you should be going out and voting.



DO IT!!!!

As inspired by McSweeney's

Things I wanted to say to one of my roommates this weekend but didn't

"Rich--someone called for you while you were at dinner. Oh, it was 15 minutes ago, and they'd like their fashion back."

"I have more artistic integrity in my smallest fart than you have in your entire body."

"What has a tiny brain, a big mouth, and an opinion nobody cares about? You!"

"No, I don't find you condescending... I mean, how could you condescend to me?"

"I don't know what your problem is, Rich, but I bet it's hard to pronounce."

"Oh, you're not in costume yet? I thought you were going as a giant douche. My bad."

"Watch your step--you don't want to trip over your double-chin."

"Rich, you're so deep in the closet you're finding Christmas presents."

"It's people like you who make me think that maybe Hitler had the right idea."