After I wake up every day, while taking my morning shit, I am posed with the question; Why are fish so smart? Except the last two mornings. These mornings, my shits have been void of silly fish questions and contemplation of the silly fish answers (fish are so smart because they live in schools). This question (and, Why is it so easy to weigh a fish?) is presented to me by little fish cartoons that repeatedly pop out at me as I am trying to pop one out. But not for the last 2 mornings, because these silly, curiously ill-timed-question asking fish where on the shower curtain, which Missy took when she moved out of the house.
Bathrooms, as a rule, must be awkward, filled with pointless, stupid knickknacky things. Like grandamas house, whose bathroom has pictures of naked babies coming out of eggs, sitting in sinks and wearing little dress up bonnets (note how none of these babies are of any relation to the family). Some people’s bathrooms have too much popurie, which must mean that they have the foulest shits of all time.
Public restrooms have only one decoration, graffiti. Bars and the science library have exceptionally large amounts of graffiti. While studying chemistry I always have to read about ‘bob’ and how he will give you a BJ in the next stall over at 3 everyday, which is etched into the door. Public restrooms are always awkward, there is always the person who tries to strike up a conversation, or talking on their phone (I will admit this has been me on several occasions). My phone has always been trouble in the restroom. When I am not worrying that it will somehow fly out of my pocket and land in the urinal, leading to a disgusting sequence of events, I am freaked out about it ringing. This may not be so bad for some people, but you must understand that my ring tone is not exactly calming or quite. It is me screaming that my phone is ringing, on repeat. Which, when it rings while reliving myself, just sounds like my Johnson is screaming at me, causing strange looks from the neighbors intently staring at the cracks in the wall. I then have to recover with some kind of comment, fish jokes never go well.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Sunday, July 19, 2009
dysfunctional
my brain is missing something... beer, late nights filled with, yelling, slurring, and swearing like a sailor. Am I growing old? No I cant be... the other day I had a long conversation about how some fat people have a front butt. And if they have to buy pants for that. I have just gotten off the trail of the crazy band wagon for a reality check and then it up back in to the driver seat for the horizon. Or some shit like that.
Spending so much time by myself has made me feel a little cuckoo. You know, you start feeling like an old person. The ones that talk for inappropriately long amounts of time when they get half a chance. I might find myself keeping the mail man from doing his job and think back later to how I ended up telling him how, as a child, my favorite color was a mix of green and purple, and how this later.... well I won’t go into it because I can’t become an old-person-esk social retard.
To fight this 'old' thing I have been doing several things. One; googleing words. When googleing the word bannana (my first attempt at spelling banana) I got 47,000 hits. You may be surprised at the number of people who made this same 'simple' error. I, on the other hand, was surprised by the lack of people thinking and writing about bannanas. Until of course I saw the 'Did you mean: banana?', damn it google, you got the best of me again. The made up word crong (I cant remember what I was trying to spell) got 18,800 hits. Urban dictionary states that Crong has four meanings; crap-wrong hybrid, meth bong, crazy strong, and boner. How the last one ties in beats me but I decided to use all four in a sentence.
My buddy passed me the piece, I took a hit and leaped up yelling " Crong bong, it was a freaking crong!” immediately falling back as the effects took over, leaving me so crong that I took a brick and broke it over my giant crong.
Well anyways you should try using all of them and see how you do it.
Today I discovered that I am 9 and 1/8 inches thick at my widest point . I found this out after another activity to stave off this whole 'old' thing; running. Notice that it is not jogging, something an old person does. Running in itself is not that unusual, for me or anyone else, but it was littered with occurrences that lead to me determining my thickness. As I was running, much faster than old people do, I saw a bug, a bee of some kind to be precise, not that unusual. As we were headed for a collision I tried to dodge, but due to my high velocity, I missed. Which is unusual, noting my cat like agility. Anyway the bee, now stuck in my locks of hair, was hit by my hand’s natural reaction to wipe it away, causing the bee to sting me. I instantly collapsed in pain. It was no bee, but some kind of super mutant bee that had been designed to inflict freakish amounts of pain on the human race, making my hand swell to 9 and 1/8th inches. Well ok I guess it did not happen much like that, but the bee was a freak. Looking at my finger now I don’t see a sting so it may not have been a bee, and I guess it did really have anything to do with my width anyway, maybe unusual for bees or bee like things. When I returned from my marathon length sprint, I found the house locked. This is not unusual, Josh, always locks the door every time he leaves the house, I am constantly being locked in. Nor was it unusual that I did not have a key, some may find it surprising that I am locked out/from/in many things all the time. I shared your surprise for the situation. After walking around the house I discovered the only open window also had the screen ripped off, Hurrah what luck! Using my cat like agility, I jumped up to the window, finding only my head able to fit through the small opening. After some worm-like wriggling I squeezed the rest of my body through the hole, falling into the kitchen. Inspecting the opening with a tape measure (something an old person would never have on them) I was able to determine that it was 9 and 1/8th inches open to the crong hot weather outside, and thanking god that I didn’t have a crong preventing me from fitting through the door-crong word-window or that I fell on Molly's crong disturbed cat, I went to go take a shower and forget about the death bee.
Spending so much time by myself has made me feel a little cuckoo. You know, you start feeling like an old person. The ones that talk for inappropriately long amounts of time when they get half a chance. I might find myself keeping the mail man from doing his job and think back later to how I ended up telling him how, as a child, my favorite color was a mix of green and purple, and how this later.... well I won’t go into it because I can’t become an old-person-esk social retard.
To fight this 'old' thing I have been doing several things. One; googleing words. When googleing the word bannana (my first attempt at spelling banana) I got 47,000 hits. You may be surprised at the number of people who made this same 'simple' error. I, on the other hand, was surprised by the lack of people thinking and writing about bannanas. Until of course I saw the 'Did you mean: banana?', damn it google, you got the best of me again. The made up word crong (I cant remember what I was trying to spell) got 18,800 hits. Urban dictionary states that Crong has four meanings; crap-wrong hybrid, meth bong, crazy strong, and boner. How the last one ties in beats me but I decided to use all four in a sentence.
My buddy passed me the piece, I took a hit and leaped up yelling " Crong bong, it was a freaking crong!” immediately falling back as the effects took over, leaving me so crong that I took a brick and broke it over my giant crong.
Well anyways you should try using all of them and see how you do it.
Today I discovered that I am 9 and 1/8 inches thick at my widest point . I found this out after another activity to stave off this whole 'old' thing; running. Notice that it is not jogging, something an old person does. Running in itself is not that unusual, for me or anyone else, but it was littered with occurrences that lead to me determining my thickness. As I was running, much faster than old people do, I saw a bug, a bee of some kind to be precise, not that unusual. As we were headed for a collision I tried to dodge, but due to my high velocity, I missed. Which is unusual, noting my cat like agility. Anyway the bee, now stuck in my locks of hair, was hit by my hand’s natural reaction to wipe it away, causing the bee to sting me. I instantly collapsed in pain. It was no bee, but some kind of super mutant bee that had been designed to inflict freakish amounts of pain on the human race, making my hand swell to 9 and 1/8th inches. Well ok I guess it did not happen much like that, but the bee was a freak. Looking at my finger now I don’t see a sting so it may not have been a bee, and I guess it did really have anything to do with my width anyway, maybe unusual for bees or bee like things. When I returned from my marathon length sprint, I found the house locked. This is not unusual, Josh, always locks the door every time he leaves the house, I am constantly being locked in. Nor was it unusual that I did not have a key, some may find it surprising that I am locked out/from/in many things all the time. I shared your surprise for the situation. After walking around the house I discovered the only open window also had the screen ripped off, Hurrah what luck! Using my cat like agility, I jumped up to the window, finding only my head able to fit through the small opening. After some worm-like wriggling I squeezed the rest of my body through the hole, falling into the kitchen. Inspecting the opening with a tape measure (something an old person would never have on them) I was able to determine that it was 9 and 1/8th inches open to the crong hot weather outside, and thanking god that I didn’t have a crong preventing me from fitting through the door-crong word-window or that I fell on Molly's crong disturbed cat, I went to go take a shower and forget about the death bee.
RESTART!!
OK I am restarting this SOB. I am doing this for one reason: I need something to do besides study and listen to MCAT audio books.
Today I awoke at 6am (which I will be doing for the next two weeks). In the time that it took to roll over, close my eyes and turn off my alarm it was seven. So much for my plan. At seven I went on a run, went to work, studied, wasted time, studied, ate, wasted time and studied. As you can tell there is not much to do. So what do people do? I believe that I am addicted to stress or doing things or just busyness. Everyone has that little thing that they do to waste time, a filler. I think for a lot of people its facebook (damn you facebook for taking so much human brain capacity time) it is for me but mostly I go to NBA.com. HAHAHA, yeah that's right my secret is out, my time suck is checking out rookie rankings, and team rumors. I have been to NBA.com no less then 13 times today. When I am not looking at which 4 position guy will be traded next (answer: Lamar Odem) I am yelling at Molly's cat mera, or mira or mirra or how ever you spell the stupid cats name. Well not really yelling, I do other things like think of ways to get her drunk, or... scarring her by standing up or something. After living with this thing I have come to the conclusion that all domestic animals are insane. They are domestic because there mind is broken somehow. They have been bread to have weak wills that snap early in life, most likely from pure boredom. They have nothing to do but wander the same areas looking at the same shit (actually this is must not be as bad as it is for us because they may not remember things in the same way we remember things, or for the same amount of time... or it may be worse).
The other thing that I have been doing is looking at rooms to rent in Portland. I hope to move there within the next month. Shit! There are a good number on craigslist, but I hate writing to these people with a person pitch about who I am; " I am a 22 year old male who likes, bla bla bla bla" what the fuck do people want. Needless to say that with a pitch like that I haven't had too many takers. HA! I would give them my facebook but lets be honest, how would you judge a guy with 950 pictures of him wasted? Now that I think of it, its not that bad of an idea; "Hey, here's pictures of me mostly naked, drunk, in a costume, guaranteed good time".
Today I awoke at 6am (which I will be doing for the next two weeks). In the time that it took to roll over, close my eyes and turn off my alarm it was seven. So much for my plan. At seven I went on a run, went to work, studied, wasted time, studied, ate, wasted time and studied. As you can tell there is not much to do. So what do people do? I believe that I am addicted to stress or doing things or just busyness. Everyone has that little thing that they do to waste time, a filler. I think for a lot of people its facebook (damn you facebook for taking so much human brain capacity time) it is for me but mostly I go to NBA.com. HAHAHA, yeah that's right my secret is out, my time suck is checking out rookie rankings, and team rumors. I have been to NBA.com no less then 13 times today. When I am not looking at which 4 position guy will be traded next (answer: Lamar Odem) I am yelling at Molly's cat mera, or mira or mirra or how ever you spell the stupid cats name. Well not really yelling, I do other things like think of ways to get her drunk, or... scarring her by standing up or something. After living with this thing I have come to the conclusion that all domestic animals are insane. They are domestic because there mind is broken somehow. They have been bread to have weak wills that snap early in life, most likely from pure boredom. They have nothing to do but wander the same areas looking at the same shit (actually this is must not be as bad as it is for us because they may not remember things in the same way we remember things, or for the same amount of time... or it may be worse).
The other thing that I have been doing is looking at rooms to rent in Portland. I hope to move there within the next month. Shit! There are a good number on craigslist, but I hate writing to these people with a person pitch about who I am; " I am a 22 year old male who likes, bla bla bla bla" what the fuck do people want. Needless to say that with a pitch like that I haven't had too many takers. HA! I would give them my facebook but lets be honest, how would you judge a guy with 950 pictures of him wasted? Now that I think of it, its not that bad of an idea; "Hey, here's pictures of me mostly naked, drunk, in a costume, guaranteed good time".
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