go crap monkey x2

Spring break is over.

Fuck.

Had to go back to class today. Uncool. I was tired as balls too. No sleep in the past two days or so will do that to you. "But you were on break over the weekend," you'd say. "What possibly could have stopped you from enjoying a greatly deserved alcohol induced slumber," you would also say. (Fuck question marks. More on that later.) Well, a few things actually. List power GO.

1. Sharing a fold-out couch with 2 other men. I don't like people touchin' me. And if anyone calls me Francis, I'll kill ya. (bonus points for comment relating to reference.)

2. Serial fornication by drunken parties in very close proximity to me.

3. Serial fornication by drunken parties sharing a bed with another man who upon realization of said fornication, rolled over and accidentally kicked me. (Bed and pull out couch so close they touchify.)

4. Drunken party of two in adjacent room putting on a CD to hide sounds of fornication. Worst CD I have ever heard in my life. I considered taking my own life on several occasions during the playing of this CD.

5. Lost my mind.

6. Went up a spiral staircase and stumbled around in the dark drunk at 4AM trying to find something to ball up into a pillow. Unsuccessful, I laid down on the floor.

7. Tried to sleep on floor.

8. Failed miserably.

9. Got up at 6:30. Aprox. 1.5 hours after I fell asleep.

10. Ms. Lyndonville diner.

So it ended on a good note I supppose. Hot chocolate and pancakes can make just about anything better. Except a sucking chest wound, I suppose. But it would help.

Ricola. Bitch.

I forgot I had this window up. Sometimes I write in this for a while and then forget I what I was doing. I bought a metric shit-ton of CD-R's today to burn CD's to listen to in my truck. So that's why I forgot about you for a while. And I'm sure your life has been made whole by this knowledge.

Oh yeah, about the question marks. They're gay. Who wants question marks anyways. Statements are cooler.

Why in gods name do you read this.

It's 1AM

And I have no idea where I am.

I am in New London, New Hampshire. And if you gave me a map I sure as fuck couldn't point that shit out. Cortez himself with a fucking map, compas, gps, and a 12" doublesided pleasurator couldn't find this place. I drove through at least six other towns from the highway that I didn't know where they are. I was somewhat convinced I was going to hit a midnight pedestrian and be catapaulted into some sort of new england Stephan King horror story. It's been a twelve pack since then. So once again, for the however many times this week, I'm drunk and I don't know where I am.

I'd relate to you the stories of my drunkeness over the past week except one fact prevents me from doing so. For only the second time in my life, I blacked the fuck out. One of my friends is convinced I was roofied. But given the all male company of the situation, I would like to leave that 6 hour portion of my life a mystery. I'll let you in on a bit of it. I woke up. The screen to the apartment I was in was kicked out 6 feet clear of the window, the bottle from every single beverage we had consumed that night was thrown out in the snow, there was a unusually large pile of vomit on the carpet and I had no idea where I was. Trust me, this was a reoccurring theme of my spring break. I have still yet to find out what happened that night. I assume it was me who booted on the carpet, but the kung fu'd window, trophies, and scores of crayons is definitely a mystery. And I think I'll leave it at that.

If there's one thing I've learned this week, it's that chicken wings and Guinness are a combo that tastes like golden plated extasy firehosing from the teat of awesome. I cannot describe.

My hostess just passed out.

I should bust out the yellow pages to find who I'm going to pay as I guide to get me the fuck out of here in the morning.

My wingman abilities are second to none.

And I want a fucking eight-figure karma check for it in the morning.

That is all.

Dammit Burquest...

I am not a lush.

But sometimes I do wonder.

Ten or so jello shots in about an hour will do that to you.

Make you wonder, that is.

Today was not an exciting day. I officially went on financial grounding this morning around noon. So what does that mean to me? No flying for two straight weeks. Two weeks including spring break. So it's more like one week. No, I suppose it's two weeks. I'm arguing with myself. I suppose I'll venture into the fridge for another one of those cherry-jello vodka concoctions.

I woke up around 2 in the afternoon. Watched the golf until its conclusion, and then proceeded to be even lazier for the rest of the night. That's when I thought jello shots would be a good idea. So we all (Hello DAVE!, Ashley, and I) went to Wally World to procure the neccesary ingredients. Which are, and I was mind fucked, jello packets, vodka, and water. Could you believe that shit? Yeah, I did too. It's not that amazing. Shit, I forgot to go get that jello shot. Brbizzle. Goddamn, time for a reverse-negroplasty I suppose.

It smells like old fucking hotdogs next to the trash in the kitchen. Someone should probably take that shit out. Here's a 3 minute ms paint of what just happened.



Yeah, that's pretty much the long and the ms paint of it. And it only smells when I stand in that exact spot. If I move 3 nanoinches to the left right or front center, it doesn't smell like decrepid ass hotdogs anymore. But if I stand in THAT EXACT SPOT, my inner child hangs himself.

Michelle took a lot of pictures from the ERAU ice hockey fan appreciation free skate thing the other day. If I wasn't as lazy as Checkov in the Wrath of Kahn I'd upload them to webshots or some shit. There are a couple of movies on there too, but I don't have my unix account with the school because, once again, I'm as lazy as that black guy who gets the thing in his ear in Wrath of Khan. Yeah, like you people haven't seen that shit? That movie is amazing. Khan is all like "I'm gonna use the genesis thing on your bitch ass cause you dropped our shields and shot us and deceived us adn where I'm from that's not fucking gangster, that's fucking homo. Man up unlike your little bitchass is remotely capable of doing." And Kirk is all like, "Khaaaaaaaaaan!". It's a good line, and a good flick. Check it out some day when you feel like being a fat smelly linux nerd and living in a trashcan. I don't live in a trashcan, and I don't know that much about linux. But I think I know enough about star trek that I am not allowed to touch vaginas. I'm not quite sure where that level exists at, but I'll be fucked six times from sideways by a Carpathian if I'm not close.

Han, get the fudge away from me.

I made this for a thread entitled Sticky Wicket.



+10 nerd points if you laugh because you understand it.

Well, now that it's about 3:30AM I think it's time to draw this entry to a close.
Psyche. I'm going to get another shot.

Holy shit, honestly. WHAT IS THAT FUCKING SMELL.

Fade Away

"Burnt out" is about the best way I can describe my last few days. I have flown... hang on, I need to check this out... I have flown 5 times in the last 7 days. And the two days I had off were due to shittay weather. It's odd, but for the first time the Mastadonic Riddle Thunderpenis of Financial Burden (Copyright Commercial Upright 2005) is actually turning out to be more of a blessing than a curse. My bank account is a deserted wasteland. And because of this fact, I can no longer fly until after spring break. To be honest I could use the break. Everyone who reads this and flies knows how shitty a flight can make your day. Especially a cross-country flight. And on top of that, a cross-country on a weekend. I don't know if this just applies to me, but cross-country flights take up a good portion of my day. Everything is planned around it. It goes something like: I must wake up at least by noon, because then I can watch TV and eat breakfast, sit on my computer for a while, shave my back, and then go to the flightline to pick up some nav sheets so I can come back and plan the beast. It's a bitch.

I don't really shave my back. I'm glad I don't have to, that would be quite the buxom bitch. (NP reference. I thank you.) I would assume it'd be like trying to scratch that hard to reach place in your back, except with a metal razor blade. Which could be dangerous. I have a leftover rum and orange juice in the fridge, I think I'll go liberate it now. Be free from your tyrannical oppressors! And go to mein liver. Baleedat.

Dammit, Dave's lucky I'm a half-decent roommate. Or else he would've woken up tomorrow morning and all his Strawberry-Banana Orange Juice would be gone. Because I would've consumed it with my rum. But after a bit of straight up rum I sit here with a can of Miller Light. Which is only a thinly sliced cunthair above a carbonated version my own urine, and not remotely as sterile. Lucky there's a family guy. Because that's what's playing in the living room right now. I'm going to watch that for a while, you wait here. I'll be back. Hopefully drunker and less coherant.

haha, suckers.

Now I'm durnk and laszy.

"Publish post button go'

You see, the problem here is that you suck.

"Call me back in an hour and maybe then you can go."
-The Flight Sup.

Fucker.

I don't want to go flying right now. It's a shitty day out, raining, clouds and the such, and I would rather be flying with my buddy Bacardi. This is me and Bacardi, we're married.



I'll keep you updated as the story unfolds.

Bwahahahaha

Looks like Phil Mickelson lost more than the tournament this weekend...



like, his anal virginity.

"Talk about a hole in one."

The truth will set you free

So said Mr. Clark anyways.

So I've found a website so awesome in nature I feel the need to plug it on my blog. I've already shown a bunch of you what it is, and I had read the book before. But I didn't know it was also a website. I present to you the World Rock-Paper-Scissors Society. If you thought the game of RPS (Rock-Paper-Scissors) lacked complexity, you are not a smart person. RPS, at times, can be a game of borderline clairvoyance. Some people have the gift, some people do not. And the people that do, they get shotgun, a lot. That reminds me, enjoy this PBF toon.



And because I'm a waste of human space I also made a new shirt for the shop based on my views of RPS.



And with that, I'm out.

Ugh

This doesn't happen often. But I'm sick as a dog. This is the first time I've ever medically grounded myself at this school. I cannot believe how insanely easy it was. There were times before I could've gotten out of a jam or two by calling health services if I knew how little of a deal it was. You literally call and say "I want to get medically grounded" and they say "ok, what's your name and student number." And that's it. I wanted to yell into the phone, "WHAT IF I'M FAKING IT? YOU'RE JUST GONNA BELIEVE ME?"

Oh well. I know I haven't updated in a while. I've been busy as shit and not to mention, sickly. Today should be a fun-filled day though. I have to take a makeup test for my commercial groundlab final. Shouldn't be all that hard. Any of you who have taken a Riddle groundschool know how it is once you get to the point where you don't even look at the questions anymore. Just by looking at the three answers you can pick the correct one. Well, that's where I am with almost the entire 100 question final. And then I have a business test. Business class is not cool. The prof teaches it all general like, and then gives us these specific ass tests. I'm going to have to study for that one methinks.

Anyways, I'm going to peace out A-town. Later.