I'm such a vagina

I hurt in about every way possible. Obligatory "Hi howya doin, I know I write about as often as Corkey from LGO." But it's to be expected. I'm up home now, I drink more than I should, and work less than I should. Life has been fairly uneventful the last week or so. My day pretty much goes: Wake up around 7, work till 4:30, play either tennis or golf, or some combination of both, and then drink with friends until I fall asleep. Oh, and I'm addicted to Gatorade. I always thought tennis was a pretty pussy-ass sport. But it's a decent workout, and did I mention it's hard as fuck to play? Well, hard to play well. It's easy to just hit the ball over the net and have it land on the other side, but when someone else feels it's their life goal to strike you in the nuts as fast as possible with the little hairy yellow ball, it becomes a tad more difficult. By the way, this is me at work today.



Me vs. the Craptron: Round 2.

Later.

Wow.

I'm still having trouble grasping the fact that I saw the last new Star Wars film ever.

Wow.

Preemptive "fuck you" to people who would chide me for being a nerd.

And for those of you wanting a review... For hardcore Star Wars fans, it was like getting your heart torn out. Blissful agony.

Psych

Well. My not-so-loyal fanbase... I, apologetically so, am drunk again. For somereason when I'm drun kmy browser still finds it's way back to the dashboard. I think it's because it's the only favorite I haven't clicked on yet. So I end up here, drunk again, wiling to type utter bullshit that you can read in your leisure time. Where to start. Oh how about the part where I end it.

Later.

Yet I Always Fail to Notice

I had to fucking login to the dashboard. I guess the f-bomb was unnecessary as it wasn't that much of a inconvenience. Possibly had something to do with the fact that I finally took the plunge into Firefox today. Wow, the shit was I doing using other browsers. It's as insane as today when I saw Johnny Damon basically naked on my television. I'll break it down for you. It was like "Hi, I'm Johnny Damon in my underwear." I was like, "What." And it's like, "buy Puma pants." And then I said, "How about no." That's pretty much how it went down. And then 3 minutes later some other guy was naked on my television. It went something like this. "I'm mostly naked skateboarder guy." Followed by me once again, "What." And then, "Buy a Puma jacket." To which I responded, "No." Apparently the Star Wars program I was currently watching had a high demographic of gay soccer players. Why was I watching VH1 anyways. What a shit television station. Which reminds me, I should pay the cable bill before they shut it off... Again. What a bunch of dicklickers. You don't pay for like 20 days or so and they shut off your cable. Assholes. My room smells like asshole. Damn. I'm one dirty motherfucker. There's clothes and shit everywhere. I really need to get packing in the near future. I've got to bounce up out of this piece in about a week. Ever write a sentence and then look back and not understand why you did. Happened to me. It could happen to you. The crap monkey is staring at me on my desk. It's not crap in the fecal meaning of the word, but more in the dice gambling game meaning. It's a monkey with a cup in it's hand. I'm told (by the intricate directions hanging from the monkeys neck) that if I pull back it's hand, it will in fact shoot crap. Sometimes it scares me. When the blue LED's on my computer hit it just right, it's watching me. If it ever tried to kill me though, I'd be in trouble. The first place you would think to hide is under the bed. But little do you know it's dark under there. There's probably monsters under there to. But then you'd have to weigh the pro's and con's of fighting either a demon monkey or monsters unknown under my queen sized Goliath bed. Seriously, it's huge. There could be mutant cockroaches under there or something and I'd probably never know. On second thought, I don't want to know what's under there. There might be more clothes. Damn, I'm parched like Jesus in the Mojave eating microwave popcorn. The delete key on my keyboard is stuck like a mother. No you sicko. It's from applejuice. Sometimes when I use it it deletes far more than I would like it to. I proceed to call it names and cry for a while. Then I pull myself together and start typing again. My old cell phone is under the control of Satan. Funny story behind that. I was sleeping the other day. I do that a lot. And in the dream I was having, my cell phone was making the noise like someone was plugging it in and taking it out of the charger. Now, I fucking despise that noise. And I was screaming at the people in my dream. "STOP FUCKING WITH MY FUCKING CELL PHONE YOU ASSHATS." And I think I got rather cross with quite a few of them. And then I woke up. And my old phone had randomly turned itself back on, and to boot, couldn't decide whether it was in a charger or not. I promptly got up, shut it off, and went to take a leak. Pretty anti-climatic story I suppose. But it was strange. Speaking of strange, my dreams lately have been quite strange. I'll tell you the one I had last night, or at least, what I remember of it. I was in a grocery store, and there were the most amazing value packs of cereals I had ever seen. For some reason, they each corresponded to different ages. And the higher the age, the better combination there was. I don't remember the exact cereals, but it's like one of those packages you get at Sam's Club that has a bunch of different cereals in it. And there was one that said '89 or something on it. And I'll said to the guy at the counter, "I'll take the '89 please." And he says, "ahh yes, good choice sir, fine year." and I'm like, "It's cereal, what the hell is wrong with you." And they sold guns in the grocery store too. But the displays were all messed up. Like someone had shoved all the guns butt first into the plaster wall, and only the muzzles were sticking out. And you had to pull the gun out of the broken plaster to look at them. After a while of shopping I took my new package of awesome cereal out to the beach that was conveniently right outside the grocery store. There I went surfing. Now, I've never surfed a single day in my life. And this was apparent as I lost my surfboard shortly after getting far out into the ocean. Some wave threw me up really high in the air. And I landed far away out in the middle of the ocean. And I was by myself. I'm not really sure what exactly happened after that but I woke up. And I was EVER SO FUCKING DISAPPOINTED that I had no cereal. I was craving it so hard. But the disappointment was short lived, and I got up and took a leak. So, my dreams are very strange. I remember bits and pieces of what happened before the grocery store in that dream. But not enough to place together in a coherent story. Ahh. Water. Tasty water. In my tasty cup. Well, it's not a cup, but a Nalgene bottle. A bottle I swore I'd never get because they're so fucking trendy. But whatever. It holds a generous amount of water and doesn't break when I drop it. Plus it has a really cool Rockstar Games sticker on it. That sticker is the SSSSSHIT. There are two songs left in my playlist, so I have 8 minutes left to wrap this up. Yeah, like that shit will actually happen. It's 2:30AM and I'm on absolute cranial autopilot. Typing shit as it funnels out of my head. The top to my Nalgene bottle is blue. I just figured I'd tell you that. Maybe you wanted to know that. Maybe you're still curious as to why Charles Barkley was in all those deodorant commercials that I described so long ago. It's hard to say really. Celebrities seem to be doing all kinds of strange commercials lately. It's come to my attention that because the semester is over and everyone is going home, hardly anyone reads this anymore. Well, as a famous internet writer once said, "You're not doing me a favor by reading this, I'm doing you a favor by writing it."

Well, if you read all that. Sorry.

Here's to another night of fucked up dreams.

Cheers.

How to Albatross #5 on Vertigolf 2

Link

First, aim exactly here:



So it's just to the left of the start of the dark brown shadow. Then hold down spacebar until it hits the ball automatically. That should leave you a shot from about here:



That's where the hardpart is. You have to aim it so that it goes off of both hills perfectly and not hit it too hard. Bam, albatross, and you skip all the bullshit.

Bullshlap

Well, the obvious lack of updates this past week was caused by me having to drive across this godforsaken state to go see my grandparents for a while. It was good to see them for the first time in a few months, but the drive was hell. I-4... Do I hate it? No, I'm sure I hate it. Yes. What a shitty road. First of all, it's always under construction. It's been under construction since I got to this college, and who knows how long before that. And in Orlando someone ALWAYS CRASHES. They must have a huge crash at least once a day. And it always seems to happen just as I'm passing through. I sat in 90 degree clutch-burning bullshit traffic for about 2 hours combined in my entire trip. It's utter horseshit. Why can't people just learn how to drive. It's really not that difficult. Hell, there are only 4 controls in most people's cars that actually pertain to driving. They don't even have to fucking shift. How difficult can it possibly be?

So now I'm back in Daytona. I have a solid week now until I make the 21 hour drive back to NH. There's a fun drive. Let me show you what it is.



That's bullshit, is what it is.

What else is bullshit is the amount of packing and moving stuff around that I have to do before then.

Should probably get my life together.

An open letter...

To: Lorne Michaels.
From: Tucker

Dear Lorne,

Tonight I woke up and turned on my television. Accidentally, my cable box had been positioned to receive the channel that transmits your show "Saturday Night Live". The saddest part of this, and which is what I write you in regards of, is that I was hoping against hope that it was a rerun. Unfortunately, it was one of your new episodes airing for the very first time. I was first treated to a musical interlude by a band called System of a Down. Now, I use the word "band" loosely. Which is not saying much as I would call a pickup bed choir of expatriated messicans a band before I would label them as such. So this "musical" performance ends, and I weep. Because as poor as it was, I knew what was coming next. Yes, one of your endlessly witty sketches. I cowered behind a throw pillow to find that the recurring sketch "Weekend Update" was coming on. I have some very fond memories of Weekend Update throughout my life and numerous Comedy Central marathons. The jokes in this sketch were, one might say somewhere in the spectrum of dull to uninspired to horrific-apocalyptic-shitstorm. It's as if your writer took an issue of the Inquirer while waiting in line at Wal-Mart, and wrote everything right there in his head.

"Britney spears having a show? More like she SHOULDN'T have a show. Heh heh heh."

Genius. Pure. Unfathomable. Genius. Notice Lorne, how I take the highroad. Notice how I didn't say, "what, is SNL written by a bunch of monkeys shitting on typewriters?" Because that would be taking the obvious humor copout. In writing future episodes, maybe you should try not scripting the very first thing that comes into your head.

This brings me to the second part of my open letter. Mr. Michaels, I hate to be the first one to tell you this. No one casted on your comedy show is funny. It hurts to have to break this news to you, and I know I'm the first to tell you because if I wasn't the entire cast would already have been drawn and quartered in the streets of New York. This is not just a lull. This is literally the most unfunny SNL cast in the history of the show. The show has reached a terminal velocity of suckitude headed at the concrete deck of shittiness. Again, one may take the blame to the writers. But when I see someone deliver a line that is less devastating than a comeback made by a fourth grader on the late bus home, we have a problem. Where are the new Dan Aykroyd's? Where are the new John Belushi's? WHERE ARE THE NEW BILL MURRAY'S? I know they exist. I know there are funny people in this world. I laugh at them every day. The problem here is that I do not laugh while watching your show.

So, in closing, you have a problem on your hands. On one hand you have a shitty show. On the other hand you have a shitty show. See, you have a problem on your hands. Better wash it off. And make with the funny.

Forever Yours,

Tucker
XOXO

Kingdom of Heaven, Sugar Hill, and Where's the Beer?

Those are the three topics of the day, eh.

Just got back from an afternoon viewing of Kingdom of Heaven. It was a good flick. Ridley Scott did a terrific job of just letting the viewer be an observer. He didn't try to do all the special effects bullshit too much, just let you observe. So if you've got a free night this weekend or something and you don't know what to do, check it out. It's got the comup stamp of approval.



As far as topic two goes, I'll be going home on the 21st probably. Which gets me in later at night on the 22nd. I'm not sure if I'm going to start right into work immediately or take a week off to get my shit together. But in all likelihood I'll be starting work right away on Monday. Can't wait to get back and have a few pints with everyone. Daytona is really starting to grate on me, and a night by a fire out in the woods would do me a world of good. I know that for sure.

Got third in an eight ball tournament the other night. Beat some of the better players in the house to get there too.

Topic 3: Where's all the beer.

Answer: I drank it last night. Sorry.


And the rum too. Yes. All of it.

Bob, what time is it.

It's 2AM, and I'm all kinds of exhausted. You're lucky I have the energy to type this cranial fecal matter up. So I just got back from a nine ball tournament I had absolutely no place playing in. Now that I'm done school, done all my clubs, done just about everything, I've got a lot of free time on my hands. Waldo's has a cash tournament on Tuesday nights, and it's only 8 bucks to get in. Plus you can play from 8-1AM for free. So I thought, "what the hell" and went out tonight. Little did I know that this was an entire different crew than the guys that come out for the free tournaments on Tuesdays and Saturdays. The first guy that played me gave me the nine ball. Which basically means I only have to run to the eight, while he has to go all the way to the nine. And if at any point the eight is on the table I can combo into it and end the game, and also with the nine. So basically what it means is that he knew he was going to give my a down home country asswhoopin', so he decided to make it sporting. And it was a little sporting, except that I only won 1 rack, and he won 4. Actually, after the first rack seeing how well this guy played, my goal became just to win a single rack. I did do that. So I guess it was somewhat of a success. So I went sailing into the losers bracket like, shit I dunno, something that sails to the losers bracket with a certain amount of purpose. Maybe not so much, since my purpose was losing. Kicked ass at that. HANG ON. Back on track. So I got my game in the losers bracket, and imagine that, it's against another guy that's going to assram me without lube. He must've played shitty or something because I almost won 2 racks. But in the end he came out on top 3-1. Not bad for my first outing at a tournament with players of that caliber. I think winning a rack a match is decent for a player that had been playing for about 4 months. Not wanting to feel like I didn't get my moneys worth, I stayed all the way until 1AM playing rack after rack after rack. I think I must've gotten in close to 40-50 racks tonight. Good times, good times.

Going back and reading that over, I've decided it's one of the more pointless blog entries I've ever made. So I feel like you deserve a treat or something for reading it. Like the Santa in Home Alone, everyone who reads ComUp gets something. But I aint got no tic tacs. How about a funny picture instead.



You can laugh, I wont tell anyone.

Holy Shit, It's a Cat

Look what fell out of the vent system in my truck today.



Further proof that god still hates me, and he goes out of his way to make it known.

Focker out.