It's been a while...

Gucci Mane going to jail for a year. FUCK. Anyway, here's Glenn Beck with a description of how it all went down (I think).

"The nigga forgot to do some community service . He only did 25 out of 600 hours or community serivce and violated his probation by smokin weed drankin and poppin pills or sellin weed and pills and boostin alcohol. shit i dont know all i know is he supposed to do a year"

Damn, it's been a while since I threw anything down on this blog. It's mostly because I don't really have much to hate anymore. My situation here at school is pretty good.

STOP THE PRESSES!

I just remembered something that really made absolutely no sense to me.

People who swear intramural sports are their ticket to the big leagues. They play like it's the World Cup semifinals, and their country will behead them all if they don't come back with that ugly ass trophy. Meanwhile, other FUN people show up to games drunk as fuck and laugh their way through the games. That's that shit.

Anyway, I'll write about this later - I have to go brush my teeth, find clean clothes, eat a can of tuna, and cry all the way to class. (It's like this every morning.)


Watching: Nothing, but I would watch Good Times if the TV were on.

Listening to: Either "We Global" by DJ Khaled or "Southern Smoke 30" by DJ Smallz, your down south supplier.

This Isn't Super Bowl XLIV...

...so why the fuck did you just clothesline a girl?
1) It's not professional football, 2) it's flag football, 3) it's co-rec (AKA guys and dolls).
Douche.

Uncalled for. Well, since they don't play in raggedy ass mesh jerseys, and instead play for their NATIONAL TEAMS, I guess it's OK.

People like this deserve a swift kick in the nuts.

Sure, you can go back to your hall and say, "FUCK YEAH! WE REALLY BEAT THEIR ASSES!" But what did you accomplish? Tell me. I'll try to throw out some suggestions of what you might think you're doing for yourself. Then I'll show you why you're gay.

1. You love to win and hate to lose. You won. Now you have every reason to chest bump, right? WRONG. You have nothing to prove here. So you're better than a bunch of kids who have their textbooks waiting for them as soon as the game's over. So what. Would you high-five your friends if you tag team wrestled Gary Coleman and a kindergartener and won? I hope not, and if so, you belong on the floor of an Indian train (that's not a sex act, I think).

2. You guys know you're the best. I know I'm the best at having stinky socks, but I'm not proud of that, because what do you get from being the best at something as unimportant as intramural sports? If you were THE BEST, your name would be DJ Khaled. If you were the best at what you did, you would be on the varsity team, or the club team at least. Go drink douche juice out of a silly straw.

3. I'm just a competitive dude/chick. OK. Then just play as hard as possible without sprinting out the door when the ref doesn't call some ticky-tack foul (this actually happened). Competitive means you play as hard as possible all the time. You're just a whining pussy when you argue over calls. Competitive is something that depends on you. Whining is when you try to get other people to do what you want, and I just can't respect that. Indirectly, that's why I hate watching soccer - they're trying to get calls from the ref. Why don't you just run faster than that guy instead of tripping for no reason. EAT ME. (You'd be surprised at how angry I get when I type shit sometimes and I just start hitting the keys like a woman who ain't puttin' out tonight.)

All in all, don't pop champagne when you win a game during the season, especially since every single team makes the playoffs. You may pop it if there's at least one bottle per person and you're all gonna do Andre-bongs. That's fine. Just don't look for a cameraman and newsanchor following you asking how it feels to finally get over that hump.

Having Power

I finally tried one of the Domino's sandwiches (the Chicken Bacon Ranch) and it was amazing. Even though it was a glorified pizza between two pieces of crust, it was still that shit and it spit hot fire. It was also essentially free, and so to that, I have nothing else to say but, "Ain't nothin' wrong with that."

Anyway, there's a hurricane coming. Hurricane Hanna. Or maybe it's a tropical storm. I don't give a shit. All I'm waiting for is for the storm to come so it can rain all over my already fucked-up bike and just break it for good. Even more than that, I can't wait for the storm to come so me and my roommates can hang out in no power. That would be some bomb ass shit. I personally think there's nothing more fun than trying to find out what you can do to have any kind of fun without power. Well, there's a few things, but I would be reunited with Chris Hansen if I did some of those things.

I'm gonna play weatherman here, mostly because I have nothing else to do, and also because my dream is to be a weatherman in Arizona. Easiest job in the country. "For the next seventy days, it'll be nearing 105 degrees and completely sunny." Then you can just chill and pound a 12 pack of Keystone Light, make hella mistakes, and then pass out face-first on the set of K-whatever, airing out of Phoenix. So, here goes nothin'.

Here's what people on the Weather Channel and shit like that are saying:
"This cyclone could become a hurricane before landfall, and it will be moving quite quickly through much of the Mid-Atlantic and further up the East Coast. Power outages are likely from motherfuckin North Carolina to the coast of Virginia."

I'm calling bullshit on a lot of that right now.

95% of the time, a woman hurricane ain't gon do shit, because, hello, it's a woman. You might say, "Katrina, Isabel, remember those?" and I'll say, "Shut up, Katrina just sounds like a girl who fights dudes for fun, and Isabel was no Andrew or Floyd." How bout that. Anyway, yeah, Hanna sounds like a gurl who does her nails every night and goes to the club to find guys, but not to run train on her. NOT EVEN EIFFEL TOWER. No, no, she wants the compliments and that's it. Anyway, yeah, Hanna ain't gon do shit until it changes its name to Hans (pronounced with as deep an accent as possible).

It's moving fast, man. You usually need one of two things to knock out the power: Either one or two really good gusts or some prolonged wind. I don't see the second one happening, and the first one is iffy because it's gonna go by real fast.

Finally, if it makes landfall in SC, it'll weaken. It's already weak. In the few hours after it makes landfall, it'll be a garbage depression or something and who will care, other than the Weather Channel, because they live for hurricane season, snow, and heat waves. If none of that is happening they have NOTHING to go on, and they'll probably report on a thunderstorm about 12 miles SSW of Tupelo. And I'm sure more than about 29 people care. Pssssh.

Peace out.

Currently watching: Some movie with Robert Drugfiend, Jr. that everybody else seems to love, and hey, it ain't that bad, but I'm in bloggerzone right now.
Currently listening to: Yo Gotti, "Back 2 Da Basics." This CD is hotter than Plies in a brick oven in July.