I like Troegs. It might be my favorite brewer. Although Victory is up there as is Maui Brewing, even though their owner might be a jerk. He might not be, but he didn't appreciate getting dumb emails from me. SMH.
I also like coffee. I don't have a favorite coffee, but I am not against Starbucks like some yahoos I know. Sarah just recently advised me that the Venti (largest size) is actually a decent deal as it is only a few coins more than the Grande (middlest size). Why I never realized this before is beyond me. I guess I always thought that the Venti seemed unhealthy. smh.
So last night after little buddy decided to fall asleep for a few minutes, Sarah and I decided to split a 22 of Troegs JavaHead Stout, which sounds perfect as it is both beer and coffee. We have only been drinking stouts for the most part, although avoiding Guinness at all costs unless we happen to be at an Irish wedding. Troegs' coffee stout was on the table last night so it was opened and beginith to be dranketh. Like pretty much any coffee stout, it was good. It's a 7.5%er so it can get the job done, but it also was ridiculously smooth which is the sign of a doper stout. The problem was, however, I am getting sick and besides having lockjaw, my throat felt stupid when drinking the beer. So unfortunately after half of my half I decided it was just making my throat feel worse so I sentenced the rest of the beer to a life in the sink drain. All the sink millipedes thanked me, as I could hear a tiny-legged celebration and the sound of a firework or two blasting off as the coffeed goodness fell down the sink. A little may have been purposely spilled on the floor for the memory of Pickles the Cat.
NEWS FLASH: IVERSON JUST RETIRED AND WILL BE LEAVING TURKEY. smh
On to an update on the move to LA.
Ron and I were speeding away from the bullet-nosed lumberjack and made it safely on the highway. When we were side-by-side we decided to use the walkie-talkies we bought for the trip, but since we weren't walking I guess they should be considered drivie-shouties. They only worked when we were on the verge of crashing into each other.
Here is a transcript of the conversation:
Me: Can you hear me? over.
Ron: Yeah I can, can you hear me? over.
Me: Yeah works pretty good. over.
Ron: Cool, just don't speed too far ahead. over.
Me: Ok, that's fine. over.
Ron: What should we do now? over.
Me: I don't know, let's just drive overnight. over
Ron: That's fine, but I wouldn't mind a shower. over.
Me: Why are you taking all these showers. over
Ron: Huh? over.
Me: Hover. Over
Ron: Nashville, right? Over
Me: Yeah sure. Over
Ron: I told you these walkie-talkies were a good idea. Over
Me: They suck, I feel like we could just open our windows and have a better conversation. Over.
Ron: That sounds like a bad idea. Over
Me: Yeah I guess you're right. Over.
Ron: Want to get a beer. Over.
Me: Sure, but aren't the bars closed? Over.
Ron: I don't know, it's your story. Over.
Me: Good point, yeah let's go to a bar. Over.
Ron: Want to invite the lumberjack? Over.
Me: Sure, why not. Over.
Ron then called the Lumberjack. He was surprised to hear from him. He was wondering when the last time he saw us was. The one good thing about the lumberjack was that he usually was too drunk to remember really much of anything. Which was probably why he had a good jumpshot. So Ron and I did a side-by-side u-turn and headed back to Chapel Hill. We met up with the lumberjack once again, deep in TarHeel territory and went to a college bar. My memory makes me think it was middle of the day when this bar was actually visited so it was pretty early. The lumberjack didn't really have a sister I guess, but he did like an IHOP waitress. Ron was just hoping to find a shower as soon as possible, but we did drink a lot of alcohol that day, before finding a Best Buy so we could buy some good road cd's.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
sneezing bullets
Ron and I arrived in Chapel Hill in the middle of the night exhausted from the drive. Ron, who had showered three times, called up the lumberjack to see if we could crash at his place. The lumberjack agreed, gave us directions, and within minutes we were there. The "house" was nothing more than a large van parked at an IHOP. I asked the lumberjack if the IHOP was cool with him staying there, which resulted in some serious lumberjack contemplation. After a minute or five, the lumberjack decided that the IHOP was real cool with it, and he cracked open a beer. Ron asked for a shower. The lumberjack thought about it for a while before letting out a lumberjack laugh. Yep, he said. Ron headed towards the IHOP, leaving me with the lumberjack who was drinking a lot faster than he was talking. The more he drank the slower the conversation became.
Ron and I knew the lumberjack from college. We were on an intramural basketball team together, although the lumberjack never showed up to many games. When asked why he missed so many games, the lumberjack would sometimes shrug. Other times he would just laugh, creepily. Eventually we stopped asking and eventually he completely stopped showing up. He had a decent jump shot though.
I asked what brought him to North Carolina and he responded with a shrug and a comment that alluded to his sister having a baby. I asked if he was helping his sister with the baby and he drank two beers before responding that he was. He said he was watching the baby while his sister worked during the day. The inquiry on the whereabouts of the dad was answered with another shrug and an "Iraq I think". These details are unneeded for a lumberjack and after a couple of more questions I decided that my need for the answers was not that important either. The important thing was we were only in North Carolina for a couple of days and we knew where to find pancakes.
Ron came back from IHOP with a large grin on his face and stumbled into the van. I asked what the smile was for and he told me that he met a girl. This seemed to get the lumberjack interested, so he decided to ask who he met. Ron then went and talked about how he met a waitress, which after a few minutes was discovered to be the lumberjack's sister. This resulted in lumberjack rage which then resulted in Ron and myself running through the parking lot to our stupid little cars. From the road we saw that the lumberjack appeared to be shooting at us. Or sneezing. We never knew for sure. The only thing we knew was that we needed to get to Nashville by morning.
Ron and I knew the lumberjack from college. We were on an intramural basketball team together, although the lumberjack never showed up to many games. When asked why he missed so many games, the lumberjack would sometimes shrug. Other times he would just laugh, creepily. Eventually we stopped asking and eventually he completely stopped showing up. He had a decent jump shot though.
I asked what brought him to North Carolina and he responded with a shrug and a comment that alluded to his sister having a baby. I asked if he was helping his sister with the baby and he drank two beers before responding that he was. He said he was watching the baby while his sister worked during the day. The inquiry on the whereabouts of the dad was answered with another shrug and an "Iraq I think". These details are unneeded for a lumberjack and after a couple of more questions I decided that my need for the answers was not that important either. The important thing was we were only in North Carolina for a couple of days and we knew where to find pancakes.
Ron came back from IHOP with a large grin on his face and stumbled into the van. I asked what the smile was for and he told me that he met a girl. This seemed to get the lumberjack interested, so he decided to ask who he met. Ron then went and talked about how he met a waitress, which after a few minutes was discovered to be the lumberjack's sister. This resulted in lumberjack rage which then resulted in Ron and myself running through the parking lot to our stupid little cars. From the road we saw that the lumberjack appeared to be shooting at us. Or sneezing. We never knew for sure. The only thing we knew was that we needed to get to Nashville by morning.
Monday, January 10, 2011
the move to LA
I moved to LA a few years ago. I lived there for about five or six weeks. I moved out there with Ron DiSlosmo and slept on the floor of his apartment and/or hotel room. The only reason I moved out there was because Ron was moving there. Ron was moving there because he "got a new job" which really meant that his parents found his porn collection.
So when Ron decided to move, he sent me a text or a phone call asking if I wanted to move too. I did I guess I said. I was tired of sleeping in a hallway. So it was time to move. I packed up all of my socks into my car and drove to New Jersey to meet up with Ron. When I got to Ron's house, he was already waiting outside. His car was filled with bubbles and he was holding two large cacti. Can you fit these in your car? he asked. I said yeah sure, and I threw them into the neighbor's yard when he was checking the air pressure of the tires on his bicycle that was strapped to the roof of his car.
We started driving South and before we knew it we had reached Baltimore. It was time for a rest stop. We found that truck stop just outside of Baltimore and Ron grabbed his slippers, bathrobe and a towel and made his way for the showers. Ron would proceed to shower at every rest stop the rest of the way. I went into the convenience store and wanted to see how many cassette tapes I could fit into the pocket of my hooded sweatshirt. The answer turned out to be a lot and I slow rode my way to Chapel Hill listening to Fog Hat while a clean Ron drove ahead of me, leading the way, soap suds splish-splashing there way out of his tiny little car. Sounds of the boss rolled out of the tail pipe. In Chapel Hill we were greated by the Lumberjack.
More to follow
So when Ron decided to move, he sent me a text or a phone call asking if I wanted to move too. I did I guess I said. I was tired of sleeping in a hallway. So it was time to move. I packed up all of my socks into my car and drove to New Jersey to meet up with Ron. When I got to Ron's house, he was already waiting outside. His car was filled with bubbles and he was holding two large cacti. Can you fit these in your car? he asked. I said yeah sure, and I threw them into the neighbor's yard when he was checking the air pressure of the tires on his bicycle that was strapped to the roof of his car.
We started driving South and before we knew it we had reached Baltimore. It was time for a rest stop. We found that truck stop just outside of Baltimore and Ron grabbed his slippers, bathrobe and a towel and made his way for the showers. Ron would proceed to shower at every rest stop the rest of the way. I went into the convenience store and wanted to see how many cassette tapes I could fit into the pocket of my hooded sweatshirt. The answer turned out to be a lot and I slow rode my way to Chapel Hill listening to Fog Hat while a clean Ron drove ahead of me, leading the way, soap suds splish-splashing there way out of his tiny little car. Sounds of the boss rolled out of the tail pipe. In Chapel Hill we were greated by the Lumberjack.
More to follow
Thursday, January 6, 2011
running with dogs and a thought on uniforms
I try to run a lot of miles five times a week. Most of the time, this is easy to accomplish, but if there is a monster storm or an important day to celebrate, I'll miss some time. No biggie. I'm not an Olympic athlete, so I can miss a day or a week. Life usually goes on.
Lately I've been running with imaginary dogs. This is a little worrisome. I don't do drugs, and while I don't get a lot of sleep, I don't really blame sleep deprivation for my hallucinagenic (sp? even a word?) condition. I think it is because running in the cold weather sucks. Nothing is fun about running in the cold. Unless you're a fan of frostbite and falling on black ice. Or it's tolerable if you're doing it to spend time with your imaginary dogs.
Most of my dogs are rehabilitated pit bulls. Rescued from a dog fighting ring. They're nice enough, but I wouldn't stick your face in front of them just yet. Give them some time to get more comfortable for a life free of rape-stands. They're good dogs though. Poor guys. A little skittish, but fun to run with. They bark at the cold to keep it away from me. On any given day I can run with up to five dogs. I usually have a dog rotation.
Monday it's Packer and Martin
Tuesday it's Scooter and LaFawna
Wednesday it's Mitch, Treach, and Lil Squeak
Thursday it's Fox, Harry, and Doris
Friday it's Monday, Horse, and Hatcher
Saturday it's Log, Fire, Brain, and Bird
Sunday it's all the rest. (Each remaining dog is named after the position players on the 1985 World Champion Kansas City Royals).
That rotation is not set in stone. For example, I did a short run today so I didn't need Doris or Harry to tag along. It was just me and Fox. We ran fast. We talked about that time Jesus stole my identity for a bit. He needed to buy some high-priced electronics. I didn't mind at all.
Ok, that's all for today. Oh, one more quick thing, I was thinking about sports jerseys today on my run. I have no problem with people buying sports jerseys. I prefer the t-shirts with the players' names on the back, but I can understand the appeal of jerseys. I have a couple (although none are current as Brian Westbrook's Eagle career is now over). But I think jerseys and jeans are silly. I think fans that choose to wear the jersey, should also wear the bottom half of the uniform. I understand you want to show you're a big fan of Bart Scott, but Bart Scott isn't sacking QBs in jeans now is he? Nope, he's wearing tiny white pants. I never understood how people would line up for a new player's jersey, but they never buy the bottom half of it. That needs to change asap. So if you're making the trip to Indy, I want to see you in full uniform if you decide to wear the Scott jersey to the game.
Thanks.
Woof.
According to BBC this Sea Lion is writing the word Rabbit in Chinese:
Lately I've been running with imaginary dogs. This is a little worrisome. I don't do drugs, and while I don't get a lot of sleep, I don't really blame sleep deprivation for my hallucinagenic (sp? even a word?) condition. I think it is because running in the cold weather sucks. Nothing is fun about running in the cold. Unless you're a fan of frostbite and falling on black ice. Or it's tolerable if you're doing it to spend time with your imaginary dogs.
Most of my dogs are rehabilitated pit bulls. Rescued from a dog fighting ring. They're nice enough, but I wouldn't stick your face in front of them just yet. Give them some time to get more comfortable for a life free of rape-stands. They're good dogs though. Poor guys. A little skittish, but fun to run with. They bark at the cold to keep it away from me. On any given day I can run with up to five dogs. I usually have a dog rotation.
Monday it's Packer and Martin
Tuesday it's Scooter and LaFawna
Wednesday it's Mitch, Treach, and Lil Squeak
Thursday it's Fox, Harry, and Doris
Friday it's Monday, Horse, and Hatcher
Saturday it's Log, Fire, Brain, and Bird
Sunday it's all the rest. (Each remaining dog is named after the position players on the 1985 World Champion Kansas City Royals).
That rotation is not set in stone. For example, I did a short run today so I didn't need Doris or Harry to tag along. It was just me and Fox. We ran fast. We talked about that time Jesus stole my identity for a bit. He needed to buy some high-priced electronics. I didn't mind at all.
Ok, that's all for today. Oh, one more quick thing, I was thinking about sports jerseys today on my run. I have no problem with people buying sports jerseys. I prefer the t-shirts with the players' names on the back, but I can understand the appeal of jerseys. I have a couple (although none are current as Brian Westbrook's Eagle career is now over). But I think jerseys and jeans are silly. I think fans that choose to wear the jersey, should also wear the bottom half of the uniform. I understand you want to show you're a big fan of Bart Scott, but Bart Scott isn't sacking QBs in jeans now is he? Nope, he's wearing tiny white pants. I never understood how people would line up for a new player's jersey, but they never buy the bottom half of it. That needs to change asap. So if you're making the trip to Indy, I want to see you in full uniform if you decide to wear the Scott jersey to the game.
Thanks.
Woof.
According to BBC this Sea Lion is writing the word Rabbit in Chinese:
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
zombie sink repair for zombies and over-aged children NSFW
I am not a zombie and I am not really a man as I am not yet 40, but there was an issue discovered in our house that required me to learn how to fix a sink. Fixing things is not a big deal for normal humans, but since I am not a normal human, I usually manage to make things extra difficult. Changing a kitchen faucet apparently really isn't that hard to do.
The problem that required the kitchen faucet repair was a leak sprung in what I will call the "neck" of the faucet. For the most part it wasn't a big deal, but we got one of them dishwashers that you have to roll up to the sink and connect to the faucet. When water would back up when the dishwasher was on the chill portion, it would shoot out of the neck, not unlike blood from someone who accidentally got hit in the neck by a javelin. So the water was terminated to that particular sink and a trip to Home Depot was made. A new kitchen faucet was purchased and plans were made to have me, your zombie hero, to replace the damn thing.
So I figure out how to get under the sink comfortably, which is probably the most difficult part about sink repair. I figured out how to unscrew the water connections to the existing kitchen faucet. After about a few minutes of unscrewing some rusty connections the old kitchen faucet was removed. Proud of myself I chewed through the packaging of the new faucet only to discover that we bought the wrong product. It turns out we have the hose connection, but you can't simply reconnect the existing hose to the new faucet since it needs to have the special connection. How dumb is that? So a return trip was made to Home Depot, and the proper product was purchased.
I meant to fix the damn sink Monday, but the stupid narwhal tattoo experience made me skeptical to attempt a fix late at night because I didn't want to wake my dad up when I 1) opened a fountain 2) fell through the kitchen floor, so I decided to leave the kitchen sink waterless for an extra night.
So last night comes around and I am determined to make the repair, so after dinner Sarah takes his majesty into the living room and I descend into the depths of under the sink hell. It turns out that changing a kitchen faucet is pretty easy. Here are the steps:
1. Buy a new kitchen faucet
2. Go to Home Depot and return the kitchen faucet you bought for the proper one
3. Take the old faucet out. Basically you have to unscrew 4 things and unattach the hose part. The hose part didn't disconnect easily so I just took some scissors and destroyed the hose. If the new one didn't fit, we would probably have an issue.
4. Take the new faucet out of the box. Look at the instructions
5. Put the new faucet in. Go underneath and tighten some stuff. This requires a second person to hold stuff up top as you tighten.
6. Run the water
7. Check for leaks
8. Call your dad if you get nervous about a little water coming out of the cold water handle.
9. Agree to just see if it fixes itself
10. Check to see if there is still a leak. If there is, freak out. If there isn't, chill. Right now I'm in chill mode.
Today is our third wedding anniversary. It's amazing how much has changed in three years, but the one constant has always stayed the same. Sarah and I fantasized about buying NBA teams and dedicated field hockey fields in our names to our alma maters, last night when figuring we would win the Mega Million. We did not win. But it does not matter. Because being with Sarah and Maksim is far greater in my book than being a 355 millionaire.
(Although if we won, I would have put an NBA team in DelCo.)
The problem that required the kitchen faucet repair was a leak sprung in what I will call the "neck" of the faucet. For the most part it wasn't a big deal, but we got one of them dishwashers that you have to roll up to the sink and connect to the faucet. When water would back up when the dishwasher was on the chill portion, it would shoot out of the neck, not unlike blood from someone who accidentally got hit in the neck by a javelin. So the water was terminated to that particular sink and a trip to Home Depot was made. A new kitchen faucet was purchased and plans were made to have me, your zombie hero, to replace the damn thing.
So I figure out how to get under the sink comfortably, which is probably the most difficult part about sink repair. I figured out how to unscrew the water connections to the existing kitchen faucet. After about a few minutes of unscrewing some rusty connections the old kitchen faucet was removed. Proud of myself I chewed through the packaging of the new faucet only to discover that we bought the wrong product. It turns out we have the hose connection, but you can't simply reconnect the existing hose to the new faucet since it needs to have the special connection. How dumb is that? So a return trip was made to Home Depot, and the proper product was purchased.
I meant to fix the damn sink Monday, but the stupid narwhal tattoo experience made me skeptical to attempt a fix late at night because I didn't want to wake my dad up when I 1) opened a fountain 2) fell through the kitchen floor, so I decided to leave the kitchen sink waterless for an extra night.
So last night comes around and I am determined to make the repair, so after dinner Sarah takes his majesty into the living room and I descend into the depths of under the sink hell. It turns out that changing a kitchen faucet is pretty easy. Here are the steps:
1. Buy a new kitchen faucet
2. Go to Home Depot and return the kitchen faucet you bought for the proper one
3. Take the old faucet out. Basically you have to unscrew 4 things and unattach the hose part. The hose part didn't disconnect easily so I just took some scissors and destroyed the hose. If the new one didn't fit, we would probably have an issue.
4. Take the new faucet out of the box. Look at the instructions
5. Put the new faucet in. Go underneath and tighten some stuff. This requires a second person to hold stuff up top as you tighten.
6. Run the water
7. Check for leaks
8. Call your dad if you get nervous about a little water coming out of the cold water handle.
9. Agree to just see if it fixes itself
10. Check to see if there is still a leak. If there is, freak out. If there isn't, chill. Right now I'm in chill mode.
Today is our third wedding anniversary. It's amazing how much has changed in three years, but the one constant has always stayed the same. Sarah and I fantasized about buying NBA teams and dedicated field hockey fields in our names to our alma maters, last night when figuring we would win the Mega Million. We did not win. But it does not matter. Because being with Sarah and Maksim is far greater in my book than being a 355 millionaire.
(Although if we won, I would have put an NBA team in DelCo.)
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
2011 tattoos
I got a tattoo last night. From a tattoo shop.
Want to hear more?
Ok!
I like tattoos. I don't get addicted to things very easily due to an appreciation of apathy, but I do like tattoos. I have several. Mainly small ones. My first was a blue dove that I liked when I saw it on a car air freshener, the second was a red fox seen on the cover of a Belle and Sebastien CD. The third may have been the Kurt Vonnegut quote, while the 4th may have been the Kurt Vonnegut drawing. The fifth coulda been the trumpet clip art, but it was probably the nick drake guy sitting on top of the vonnegut quote. The seventh most likely was the Endless Summer, while the 8th undoubtedly was the cat playing the drums. The 9th was the Hawaiian hut achieved on our honeymoon, but thinking more carefully about it, I probably mixed the hut up with the cat. That sums it up I think, but I could probably be missing one or two. Oh yeah, I have the Mickey Spillane book cover girl, so I guess that accounts for ten. If you think about it carefully, a tattoo rarely goes for less than $100 unless you get a tiny letter on a knuckle, so I imagine I have spent close to $2000 on tattoos. Is that math right? Probably. SMH
So no one can simply have ten tattoos, so I told Sarah for a lot of years that it was time to get a new one. I have many ideas of what I wanted to get, but for whatever reason I decided I needed a narwhal for Maksim, even though he roars more like a lion. So Sarah hooked me up with a nice tat gift cert to Bone Daddy's (that's right) tattoo shop in Aston. Appointment was booked, idea discussed, arm shaved, tattoo received. I don't know, hopefully narwhals aren't too trendy (like ninjas or snap bracelets), but I'm pretty happy with it. He's a little too sad looking for me to really say it's a Maksim tat, so I'll have to go back in a year to get the 12th, most likely a lion.
This pic is very Myspacey as it was taken in a tullet stall, but I did my best to keep the tullet out of the pic.
In other news, the sink is leaking. I will attempt to solve the problem once and for all tonight. Changing sink parts is challenging as it is tough to fit an entire adult body into the tiny space underneath the sink, while keeping your sweatpants from falling down. I'll probably keep my gun out of the wasteband during the fix. If all goes well, I will provide an update tomorrow. If the sink falls on my sternum, I will ask Sarah to send an update.
ANGRY BIRDS (update): I am on level 7-3 or so. It's when you gotta kill the pigs with the night time city landscape in the background.
Peace
Want to hear more?
Ok!
I like tattoos. I don't get addicted to things very easily due to an appreciation of apathy, but I do like tattoos. I have several. Mainly small ones. My first was a blue dove that I liked when I saw it on a car air freshener, the second was a red fox seen on the cover of a Belle and Sebastien CD. The third may have been the Kurt Vonnegut quote, while the 4th may have been the Kurt Vonnegut drawing. The fifth coulda been the trumpet clip art, but it was probably the nick drake guy sitting on top of the vonnegut quote. The seventh most likely was the Endless Summer, while the 8th undoubtedly was the cat playing the drums. The 9th was the Hawaiian hut achieved on our honeymoon, but thinking more carefully about it, I probably mixed the hut up with the cat. That sums it up I think, but I could probably be missing one or two. Oh yeah, I have the Mickey Spillane book cover girl, so I guess that accounts for ten. If you think about it carefully, a tattoo rarely goes for less than $100 unless you get a tiny letter on a knuckle, so I imagine I have spent close to $2000 on tattoos. Is that math right? Probably. SMH
So no one can simply have ten tattoos, so I told Sarah for a lot of years that it was time to get a new one. I have many ideas of what I wanted to get, but for whatever reason I decided I needed a narwhal for Maksim, even though he roars more like a lion. So Sarah hooked me up with a nice tat gift cert to Bone Daddy's (that's right) tattoo shop in Aston. Appointment was booked, idea discussed, arm shaved, tattoo received. I don't know, hopefully narwhals aren't too trendy (like ninjas or snap bracelets), but I'm pretty happy with it. He's a little too sad looking for me to really say it's a Maksim tat, so I'll have to go back in a year to get the 12th, most likely a lion.
This pic is very Myspacey as it was taken in a tullet stall, but I did my best to keep the tullet out of the pic.
In other news, the sink is leaking. I will attempt to solve the problem once and for all tonight. Changing sink parts is challenging as it is tough to fit an entire adult body into the tiny space underneath the sink, while keeping your sweatpants from falling down. I'll probably keep my gun out of the wasteband during the fix. If all goes well, I will provide an update tomorrow. If the sink falls on my sternum, I will ask Sarah to send an update.
ANGRY BIRDS (update): I am on level 7-3 or so. It's when you gotta kill the pigs with the night time city landscape in the background.
Peace
Monday, January 3, 2011
year of the rabbit
I'm not big on resolutions but I decided for 2011 I would write a lot more. I intend to write a blog every single day in 2011. Today is January 3rd. And this is my first blog of the new year. So therefore I have failed. But like a good neighbor, state farm is there, and I shall continue on as if day numero uno and dos did not exist in the blog world. Like that scene in 300 where there's no way they are gonna win, but they fight anyway because in the end they didn't want to go back to cubicle life because they rather die heroically as opposed to dying a slow death processing student loan applications. Things might have been different if that little troll dude didn't end up backstabbing them because he wanted to smizz with all the Persian dude's concubines. That's basically what this is more or less exactly kind of like.
2010 was pretty much the raddest of years. A little buddy named Maksim Walter joined Sarah and I in our quest for world domination. The quest has become easier with him in the mix. His first typed word may have been cop poop.
Maksim (logged in as Sarah)
Sweetie: j j7nnnnnnnnnn58
65
2:19 PM c S nnnnnnnnnm x
sz,
fv
me: 65
Sweetie: cop'oop;k x
me: cop'oop
I've been saying cop poop all these years. Acorns fall. And hatch into greater trees. That hopefully can dunk.
2010 was also heroic for other reasons, but now is not really the time to discuss them. This blog is about 2011 and what to expect (if you were expecting). Expect nothing and therefore every thing will be something. That was my yearbook quote, except it wasn't, but if it was you probably wouldn't have believed it anyway. My yearbook quote was actually from a Propagandhi song which was an actual punk rock band from Canada that played songs about stuff and had albums where the songs could be heard that could be purchased or stolen because stealing actual cds used to be easier than stealing imaginary cds if you had a friend named Jones.
The above could have been summed up in a twitpic from the BBC:
2010 was pretty much the raddest of years. A little buddy named Maksim Walter joined Sarah and I in our quest for world domination. The quest has become easier with him in the mix. His first typed word may have been cop poop.
Maksim (logged in as Sarah)
Sweetie: j j7nnnnnnnnnn58
65
2:19 PM c S nnnnnnnnnm x
sz,
fv
me: 65
Sweetie: cop'oop;k x
me: cop'oop
I've been saying cop poop all these years. Acorns fall. And hatch into greater trees. That hopefully can dunk.
2010 was also heroic for other reasons, but now is not really the time to discuss them. This blog is about 2011 and what to expect (if you were expecting). Expect nothing and therefore every thing will be something. That was my yearbook quote, except it wasn't, but if it was you probably wouldn't have believed it anyway. My yearbook quote was actually from a Propagandhi song which was an actual punk rock band from Canada that played songs about stuff and had albums where the songs could be heard that could be purchased or stolen because stealing actual cds used to be easier than stealing imaginary cds if you had a friend named Jones.
The above could have been summed up in a twitpic from the BBC:
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