Hooray for Boobies

Or something.

Went to the Keys yesterday for my long cross-country solo flight. The pictures are in my webshots gallery. Click the link over on the left.

I'm going to be busy as all crap until about Monday, so don't go into shock if this is the last update for a spell.

Enjoy the pictures, and the fact that you weren't in the keys and I was.

The hate is swelling

Buckle up, keep your hands inside the vehicle at all times, and if at any point during this rant oxygen masks deploy don't bother putting them on because you're clusterfucked anyways.

WHAT THE FUCK

Long story not so short.
I had my last day of classes today. A proverbial "judgment Day" if you will. I had some fairly big hurdles to engage this last week or so. One of those being that I needed at least a 90% on my final Turbine Engines exam. Well, I bitchslapped that test back to Africa with a 98%. One hurdle down, 3 to go.

So I was feeling pretty good going into my last Aircraft Performance exam. Once again, I had fucked myself early on in the semester and needed to pull out another 90% to maintain my 3.0 GPA. So I spent an entire night and the next day studying for this test and creating the note card for it. Want to see my note card? It fucking ruled. If you take Don Smith for Aircraft Performance, use this note card, and don't be as stupid as I am, and you will win. The end boss will seem like Joe Glass.

...

FUCK, I lost it. This day just keeps getting fucking better and better. Hang on, I'll snap a shot of it out of MSWord. There.



Anyways, to get to the point, I got a fucking

88%

on the test. ONE GODDAMN QUESTION SHORT. That alone would piss me off, extremely. But then I get the test back and look at it... The third to last question... I got it wrong. I think... That's odd. And I look at the question. "No, I got that right," I think. And then I look back at the ScanTron... I FUCKING BUBBLED IN THE WRONG ANSWER. So, I failed to make my B by 1 measly question, and the reason I missed it by one question was because I BUBBLED IN THE WRONG ANSWER ON THOSE #2 PENCIL PIECE OF SHIT COCKNUGGETS?

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HORSESHIT.

Good thing I probably made an A in my stupid business class. Or else I'd really be pissed about this. Depending on how finals shake out, maybe more hatred to follow.

And just for good measure.


FUUUUUUUUCK

PSA

Ashley's blog sucks balls. Yeah, what. The fuck are you gonna do about it? I bet one thing you wont do is fucking update your blog.

It's the last week of school. I've got a quartic arseload of stuff going on, so don't mind me if this thing doesn't get updated all that often. I found out my brother can't come down to FL to drive back with me until the 20th of May. Holy shit, that's an entire month from now. Let's list the things I have to do in a day.

1. Work out: An hour.
2. umm...
3. uh...
4. Sit on my computer?
5. Watch a movie...
6. Gah...
7. Sleep a bit?
8. Shit I dunno...
9. Maybe fly?
10. Lose my mind.

And 10 is the key step there. Because it is exactly what's going to happen over the next month of me having shit to do but sit around my apartment and switch thumbs.

I just found that Voltron sticker I got in the mail. Now where to put it...

999

So I wake up this morning and check my blog statistics. The hit counter sits teetering on the 999 mark. So basically whoever reads this first. Cograts, you're my 1000th hit. Now that's not a very big number at all for most sites on the internet, but for a blog about me talking about stupid shit, that's pretty good. And in the first 3 months to boot. So here's to another 1000 in the next 3 months. Holy shit, what's this? I just got an e-postcard. Let's see what it says.



Haha, that Tony.

RUN MOTHERFATHER

It's the end of the semester sprint for me. Everyone hates me because I only have 2 weeks left of school. Yeah, well go fuck yourselves. I've got work out the asshole going on this week. Last night I didn't go to bed until 5 in the morning. Now you may say, "Wasn't that because you were lazy all Sunday and you procrastinate like knocked up nun going to confession." And, you know, you'd be right. It was because I was lazy, but that doesn't change the fact that I don't like it. I was tired as balls all day today. I think it was the first time in my time at this school that I openly slept in a class, and absolutely did not give a shit what the prof thought about it. I just tipped my hat down and put my chin on my chest. If she had a problem with it, well she can go fuck herself too.

I guess I'm the new "Website Administrator" for the ERAU Ice Hockey team's website now. Don't get me wrong, I know about as much about PHP as I do about PCP. I just barely started to grasp some kind of understanding on the MySQL stuff. Which, actually, isn't all that difficult. But I had never used it before. So I'm going to do my best to hack my way through it and update the site enough so that the cobwebs don't move in. Even though they already have after almost 2 years of inactivity. If you care, the site is www.erauicehockey.com.

Still haven't flown to Marathon yet. The Gods have decided that every single weekday will be full of sunshine and happiness. But come the weekend, wind and rain will reign supreme. Because what's more fun then fucking me out of my flight time? Apparently nothing.

I'm going to go find something productive to do.

P.S. Monkeys are weird.

BAM

In case you've been living under a rock the past week or so, last night was UFC 52: Couture vs. Liddell 2. And like good college students, we set out to find a venue that not only would have the fight, but also be serving alcohol. If that be our goal, I think it was mission accomplished. Dave, Ash, and I all set out to the DAB Winghouse to get our share of beer, chicken wings, UFC, and tittays. To sum it up, there were some great fights, pitchers of beer were had, a metric fuckton of chicken wings were consumed, oh yeah, and it being the Winghouse (a marginally better knockoff of hooters) there were also some wimmins on hand. Which was an added bonus.

And this is how Couture vs. Liddell ended.



Who woulda thought?

If you were one of the lucky many who saw the PPV last night, feel free to leave comments below.

Back in the Saddle

Rooogaine. Right off the bat.

1. Last week was mayhem.
2. Blogger wouldn't let me on their fucking website.
3. All lists must have 3.

So Trav and Palmer were down for the entire last week. All the things I said before about me not being a drunk. Goddamnit. Get thrown straight out the fucking window of life. I was a drunk. The entire past week. Never in my life have I spent so many consecutive nights so drunk I don't remember how my clothes got off and I was in my bed. I woke up every morning needing to open my mouth and stick it under Niagara falls. To illustrate this point, I'll show you the, in my opinion, best photo that pretty much describes the entire week. I give you the work of art entitled; Palmer and Bottles.



Apparently, (and I say "apparently" because I was much passed out at that point) Trav and Dave decided that Palmer was lonely all passed out on the air mattress by himself, so they stacked as many container friends as they could on him... and then took pictures. The best part though, was the next morning. At like 4AM or whatever the next morning Palmer wakes up and starts to move, and all of a sudden it sounded like the apartment was transformed into the fucking Tri-Town Recycling Center. Bottles cascaded everywhere. So then I guess that's when Palmer thought it'd be a wise idea to hunker down on the floor by the sliding glass door. What a great drunk. 5 Stars.

I think I have a few other pictures from the week. I'll have to take a quick second to photoshop some things into them though, so you know what's going on.

For example: Early in the week, it was discovered that if you openly look at women, they have a tendency to want to strike you. I don't know why. But quickly a new battleplan was drawn up. The key to this plan is to check out women without them knowing it. And a key piece of technology was needed specifically for this purpose.

Bam, you guessed it. Mirrored sunglasses.



Now, to effectively pull off the mirrored sunglasses maneuver, another thing is key. Say it with me now. "Look with your eyes, not with your head." Yes your owl-like movements may give you a better view, but dammit Jim, you'd best be keeping it discreet. Observe.



Notice how this is a textbook display. Although there are 5 possibly attractive women directly to his left, Trav keeps his "eyes" on the prize. Which means, head straight ahead. Bravo, Travis, you've taught us all so much.

Many things happened to go our way this week as well. Like, for example, did you know that between the hours of 4 and 7 it is happy hour at Bernkastel Festhaus? NEITHER DID WE. That means $2.75 pints people. And you can get whatever the crap you want. I had quite a few Guinness and Harp black and tans. They were awesome. That's a place I will definitely be visiting in the future. And there were so many drunks there, and 4 in the afternoon. It was hilarious. First, there were these two crazy dames from Georgia. I don't know what was so special about them. They were just crazy. And then there was the batshit crazy patrone guy. For the entire time we're at the pub he's trying to bum cigarettes off us and telling us, "You've got to try Patron dude, it's so gooooood." Or "I've been drinking Patron and beer allll morning. You've got to try Patron dude, it's so smooth." Or another classic, "Dude, you've GOT to try that Patron." I think Palmer bought a shot for the guy because he felt bad for him. Myself, I just stuck to the beer. Had two pints of this German beer called Oktoberfest. It was pretty good, I have to say. But I was pretty far in the bag by then, so it didn't matter.

And then came the ultimate asshattery of the week. When we pulled into the parking garage I had stuck the parking ticket into the vent of my truck, so that I wouldn't lose it. And of course, we came back later and I was drunk off my ass. I reached to grab the parking ticket, and what did I do? That's right kiddies, I shoved that shit right down into the vent system by accident. I say, "Shit, I lost the parking ticket." They say, "How could you have lost the ticket, it's right... oh." So then we drive down to see if we can get out of the parking garage on the only three dollars we had left. We tell the guy our predicament, and he has no love, whatsoever for us. He says, "Lost ticket is 6 dollars, you're gonna have to back up if you can't pay, I'm a mean dirty old man, baaaaaaaaghhh." So we drive back up into the parking garage, trying to figure out what to do. I'm trying to count change, but failing miserably. I couldn't tell which ones were which. They're all almost the same size anyways. And 3/4 of them are the same color for christssake. We drove to the other end of the garage, hoping there would be a less old, and less angry man there. But there was a young angry man. He sure as hell seemed to hate his job. He was going to make us fill out a debt form, and then drive out and come back and pay him. What an asshole, we had like $4.52 of the $6, and he wasn't going to let us slide. And then drunken palmer hits a walkoff homerun in the bottom of the tenth by saying, "Oh wait guys, I found ten bucks in my wallet." We coulda stomped him.


That's just one of our many adventures from the past week. Hope you enjoy them, as I'm writing them here more for a documentation purpose than anything else. I'll relate more drunken adventures when I get around to it.

Pinch Hitter

So I jump ship in Hong Kong and make my way over to Tibet, and I get on as a looper at a course over in the Himalayas. A looper, you know, a caddy, a looper, a jock. So, I tell them I'm a pro jock, and who do you think they give me? The Dalai Lama, himself. Twelfth son of the Lama. The flowing robes, the grace, bald... striking. So, I'm on the first tee with him. I give him the driver. He hauls off and whacks one -- big hitter, the Lama -- long, into a ten-thousand foot crevice, right at the base of this glacier. And do you know what the Lama says? Gunga galunga...gunga -- gunga galunga. So we finish the eighteenth and he's gonna stiff me. And I say, "Hey, Lama, hey, how about a little something, you know, for the effort, you know." And he says, "Oh, uh, there won't be any money, but when you die, on your deathbed, you will receive total consiousness." So I got that goin' for me, which is nice.



Updates to resume shortly.
Much drunk lately. Apologies.

Blogger died.

Blogger died, and I've been drunk the last three days. Shit happens.

I'll put something in later tonight when I'm in the bag.

You've got to be fucking kidding me.

For anyone opposed to rage induced spite, please click the little fucking red x button in the top right portion of your screen.

Still with me? Aight.

It's 9AM and I've drank 2 beers and had 3 jello shots. Why, you may ask. Are you really that much of a fucking drunk. No. Let me spin you a little yarn about gusty winds, flight planning, and daylight savings time.

Beep Beep
^that's my fucking alarm going off at what I thought to be 5AM. But it was fucking 6AM, I just didn't know it. I was supposed to take off at 7:15AM. And yes, for those of you with a slide ruler that's allowing 2.25 hours for flight planning. This will come into context later.

So I wake up, get on my computer, notice the clock. It says 6AM. I think, that's bullshit, it's 5AM. And then it hits me. No, it couldn't be. www.google.com I go. I search for daylight savings time. A site comes up with a table, and April 3rd 2005 is on it. I think that was right about the time where I exclaimed, "FUCK!". I throw on some clothes and book it out of Lake Forest like a fat kid hitting up China Buffet. When I get to the flight line I go up to the flight supervisors office, explain to him my situation, and he's nice enough to extend my takeoff time by an hour to allow for my flight planning. Sweet shit, says I. And I go down to the flight planning room to get my weather and plan out my flight.

Now, most of you probably don't understand what planning a 7 hour flight to the Keys and back entails. I think it would best be described my the monologue from the made for TV movie... ah, fuckit. Here's a picture.



That's roughly 3 full sheets of planning. Here's a shot of one close up.



Holy fucking roughly 2 hours or so of planning, Batman. Now, I wouldn't really care... if I was going on the flight.

This is where the spite ensues.

I get all the way done with my assraping flight planning, and another kid who happened to be going to the same place I was comes downstairs. He says, "Just thought I'd let you know, I just canceled my flight." I said, paraphrased, "Why the cockgobbling motherfucker would you do that?" He says, "'Cause the winds in Marathon are gusting up to 22 knots from the north." In Marathon they only have two runways, 7 and 25. Which, for you non-flight people, means runways pointing at 7 and 250 degrees magnetic on a compass. Dammit, here's the picture.

Fuckit, I can't find a good airport diagram. But just believe me, the wind was gusting almost perpendicular to the runway. And for airplanes, that is bad.

So anyways, I'm thinking, "This can't be fucking happening, I just planned all this shit out, there's no way I'm getting cancelled." I finish up what I had left to plan and go up to the flight supervisor's office. I tell him that I'm all ready to go, all planned and everything. Fuck yeah, mistah, yessir I'm ready to go mistah flight sup. And he says, "Well, there's one thing bothering me, it's this wind here, see." And he points to this.



And I'm thinking, "No, you motherfucker, don't you even think about weathering me after all the work I just did, and getting up at 5AM, and rushing over here. Don't even fucking think about it."

He says, "Those winds aren't forecasted to die down for a while. I don't think we should really take any chances, so why don't we just throw this flight on the schedule again for next weekend." It took me everything I had not to say, "How about no, you fucking cockmonger. It's a beautiful day, there isn't a cloud in the motherfucking sky, and the winds are perfect everywhere but there. And you're going to weather me because the winds PROBABLY ARE GOING TO BE BAD? You asshole."

But all I said was, "Ok, that works."

Ashley made a metric shit ton of jello shots last night. It's pretty dick for me to eat them, but I'll make him more. And did I mention, I don't give a flying fuck. Or I guess, a non-flying fuck. So the rest of my morning is this.



And just for good measure. Go fuck yourself. I'm out.

Marathon tomorrow

So I'm going on my 7 hour solo cross-country flight to Marathon tomorrow. I got weathered today. Still had to get up at bitchass 5:00AM just to go over and get it weathered. When I wake up in the morning and look outside, and the lightning blinds me, I should be able to call someone up and say, "Bitch, cancel my flight." But that would make too much sense for our school. So I had to drive all the way over there and cancel it. And I figured, while I'm up why don't I get some breakfast. But unfortunately, nothing opens until 6AM. Except Denny's, but the Denny's on International scares the shit out of me. I've seen people there before that I wish I hadn't. That's not very descriptive, but use your fucking imagination. So anyways, nothing's open, so I think to myself, "I've only got a quarter of a tank, I'll go get some gas." The absolute CHEAPEST gas I've found in this fucking town is $2.24 per gallon. I was hoping to fill up the last 3/4 of my tank and see a number less than 30 bucks for once. BUT IT DID NOT FUCKING HAPPEN.

I hate fucking gas.

Gah, I've got to get some sleep. For those of you wondering where I'm going tomorrow, here's a diagram of how I'm going to the keys, and you're not.



I'll be sure to take plenty of pictures of me in the keys, and you not being there.