Fuck you, Fortune Cookie.

This one is awesome. An Oscar Wilde quote above a urinal? Get outta town! I wonder if he wrote this whilst peeing. Because guys can do that. We can pee, standing up, while vandalizing public property. Everyone should really invest in getting a penis.

Today

This made me laugh:

"Who was the first guy that looked at a cow and said, "I think that I'll drink whatever comes out of those things when I squeeze them?"

-Calvin and Hobbes

This gave me chills:

And this made me nostalgic:

Well, the world didn't end. And good thing it didn't because I GOT PLANS, alright? I have to write a book, and like, learn to knit...etc.

At least we now know that, should the end of the world come in 2012, there will be enough status updates/tweets/blog posts to write a multi-volume encyclopedia. It's interesting how it takes an "end of the world" kind of day to make you realize the extent of our generations' need to document our every minuscule action on this planet. It makes me think that when the apocalypse happens i'll at least know I'll be able to find Tom because he just checked in at Pep-Boys, "Hella gettin the lift on my F350 bro. Bout time!" And Jackie will be digging through poolside rubble on the Las Vegas strip because it was "Girlz day at the pool with the besties xoxo omg"

these are my beast franz

Blog Fail

I have been a terribly lethargic blogger these past few weeks. I got through waves of feeling as though my blog becomes a bit too masturbatory. I find that when I have funny topics to write about, it has more meaning both to me and to you, dear reader. My friend Angela agreed provide me with prompts to keep me on track and hopefully get me addicted to writing like cracked out, meth dealing pimp, and provide me with a portfolio of sardonic essays at the same time. I also believe it is for her own selfish benefit to distract her from law school, which I am okay with. Maybe I should look into prostitution...I am surprisingly okay with being used and abused.

Whilst talking to Angela on the phone the other day, she was telling me how she was embarking on a road trip from Illinois to the Grand Canyon with her parents. Through a series of brain ties and advice about arriving in the desert, she provided me with my first prompt.

My Senior Prom.

According to every reenactment of high school that has been shoved down our throats since our pre-pubic hair days, the senior prom is supposed to be the "be-all end-all, horse and carriage, lose your virginity, ride a centaur off of a rainbow into a vodka filled pool full of mermaids" kind of night. And if my life EVER worked out like that, I would never have enough fodder to write a blog of this nature in the first place so...thumbs up for that one.

My night was headed for the shitter right from the start. Someone let me out of the house in a white tuxedo. Now, I understand some people look good in a white tux, but when you are a pale, gangly ginger with red skin and chapped lips from acne medication all being accentuated by the teal vest I just had to have in order to match my date's dress, well...you aren't breaking any hearts. The group I was part of included eleven other couples so there was twenty-four people total that would all be going to dinner together, taking pictures together, riding in a limo together, and sacrificing a baby goat together... if we got drunk enough. There was one boy who was essentially in charge of making the itinerary for the night so as far as I was concerned I just had to give him a certain amount of money and my life would be cake. I suppose I should have been a bit more skeptical when we nominated this particular fellow to be in charge of our funds. He was the "super-pepped, student body, go-getter, you'd assume he was on crack with how much he got accomplished if you didn't know any better" kind of guy. I would have been fine with the standard dinner, drinks, hook-up kind of scenario, which is why I was a bit overwhelmed when I arrived to the pre-prom party and was handed a t-shirt that read "THEprom2006" on the front and the names of each couple within individual stars on the back.

The limo arrived after the necessary pictures had been taken by the parents that cared enough to show up to the house we all met at, and away we went, all 24 of us in one limo that happened to have maybe four or five small air conditioning vents. The perfect situation to be in when you're wearing what feels like six layers, in the middle of May, in the desert, in the afternoon. So I arrived to the restaurant a bit more moist than when I had started the night. This was the perfect time to find out that our coordinator had arranged for us to be seated outside. Perfect. I was already slightly suffering from seasonal allergies but I knew if I didn't touch my face or eyes I would at least be able to remain somewhat comfortable. It didn't matter that I couldn't taste my food, I could at least still breathe through my mouth. Silver lining.

This leads me to the icing on the prom cake. Yes there was another hour or so of driving in the sauna limo and a lackluster experience at the venue for the actual dance, but its the after-party that really matters. We arrive to our party house, which was already set up with candles and rose petals lining the entrance way, once again thanks to our group leader, and we all changed in order to liquor ourselves up and dance like most high school seniors will do at an after-party. After four or five shots I was feeling pretty damn good. I was dancing, I was laughing, I was Prom fucking Peter, here for a good time. This was until I decided to take a break and step out on the balcony. I saw a couch at the other end that looked mighty comfortable and I decided to take myself a little rest.

After about five or so minutes of laying on this couch my throat starts to feel a bit itchy, and with a slight gust of wind I feel little tiny particles fall onto my face. I open my eyes, look up, and see that I am laying underneath a canopy of six or seven, full in bloom, olive trees. In other words my kryptonite. I reach up to wipe the pollen off of my face and by doing so, smear all the pollen that I unknowingly had on my hand, across my entire face and into my eyes. Immediately my eyes start watering, itching, and slowly swelling shut. I ran into the kitchen to wash my hands, and by this point I'm only able to see through two slits basically, so I just say fuck it and stick my head into the sink to have the running water basically pour into my eye sockets. Apparently I looked fucked up enough to have one of my friends run and grab his mother next door, who told me she wouldn't give me any medication since I had been drinking, but suggested I take a shower.

My response, "OHHHH mmmmk THANKS!"

After showering and changing my friends recommend I lay on the couch in the basement for a little while. When I woke up an hour later I see, barely, that my couch had become somewhat of a resting place for the "party flat-liners" which included a girl sleeping at my feet who had given a blowjob in the bathroom earlier that night and promptly vomited right after. This was my prom. A night that started red faced and sweaty, and ended with me drunk, blind, and left for dead.

C'est la vie, fuckers.

Advice from a Bear

Rivers know this: there is no hurry. We shall get there some day