a long time coming

Due to the overwhelming ecstasy I've found from not dwelling at the lovely little institution that is the University at Albany (aka The Bane Of My Existence) I have not written for quite a while. In this time off I've rethought my life and decided it really wasn't necessary for me to rethink it at all because I'm so god damn awesome.

Grades for the semester:
A in Calculus II
A in Physics Lab
A- in Physics
A- in Computer Science
B+ in Social Problems

With respect to all that's reasonable in this seemingly illogical world, these grades don't make any sense whatsoever. I calculated them based on the syllabuses and they should have all been lower, especially physics; the teacher must have really not been fucking around with the curve for me to get the grade I got. Not that I'm complaining or anything. In fact I'm happy. I usually have to resort to sexual favors for this sort of grade inflation and I don't know if my jaw could have handled all five teachers (so much for that plan I had for not being so tactless on here anymore).


I know this is going to be a huge disappointment to the ladies out there, but I am now spoken for. Yes, you read that right. The most eligible bachelor the world of blogging has ever seen has a girlfriend. Try not to faint. And, no, she's not a three hundred pound wildebeest suffering from down syndrome (no offense to wildebeests - I would never want to demean these wonderfully unintelligent bovids of the African grasslands... oh, and no offense to people with down syndrome... but with all due honesty, they're probably too dumb to read this) she is actually very attractive and quite smart. She also has really great hair. I can't stress that enough. Best hair I've ever seen on a lady. Brown. Curly. Smells nice. Got to love it.

I also recently acquired a picture of my best friend and his girlfriend which he said I could post on here (I didn't talk to his girlfriend about it but she looks great in the picture so I doubt she would mind - besides, nobody reads this anyway). My crony said he was looking forward to what I would say about this picture. Well, I'm looking at it and I really don't think I have to say anything because the picture speaks pretty well for itself but I guess I will just to indulge you, despite the fact that I think you've had a bit too much indulgence in that picture.

You look like a fucking a rapist. What the bloody hell is wrong with you? Did you just get done having tea with Jeffrey Dahmer and Ted Bundy? Do your parents keep you in the basement at home and feed you puppies for dinner? What a sick bastard. Up yours you scary ass serial killer... how was that? Anyway, great pic. I really dig it. Good luck with the dance competition in Florida (that is of course you don't eat your dance partner before then).


--Note--
Seriously, no offense to wildebeests, especially mentally handicapped ones. Wildebeest are an important part of the plains ecosystem. Their eating and trampling encourage new growth and they are an important food source for predators such as lions and hyenas. Rock on wildebeests. Rock on.

Since Victor wants to know what people think of his picture so badly, please, everyone, leave a comment on here with your opinion of it.


"Way back in history three thousand years
In fact every since the world began
There's been a whole lot of good women sheddin' tears
For a brown eyed handsome man
It's a lot of trouble was brown eyed handsome man"

picked a bad day to stop sniffing glue

Notice: Dream Weaver by Gary Wright could quite possibly be the most annoying song ever written.


Dear Gary-

Those electric wind chimes or whatever the fuck you have in the background of that song makes me want to kill someone, more specifically, it makes me want to kill you. Hearing your phony ass lyrics and the forced feeling you sing with is like listening to a dying yack being beaten to death with giant bag full of more dying yacks. I'd rather attach a pair of jumper cables to my testicles than listen to the shit you try to write off as music.

Love,
Matt


Honestly, I don't know anything about Mr. Wright or why his music bothers me so much. There's plenty of music out there that I don't like but for some reason which I can't explain, Dream Weaver makes me want to stomp kittens (thought I'd put an animal cruelty joke in here to placate all the animal haters out there). And I like kitten too so it's a very odd feeling for me. Dream Weaver just makes me want to destroy something beautiful.

Anyhow, today was the last day of finals for me. That undoubtedly means nothing to anyone but I just thought I'd share it with you.

It also turns out I have carpal tunnel syndrome; most likely due to the excessive amount of masturbation and typing that I do. I have some brace for my wrist now but it makes it very hard to use the keyboard and even harder to stroke myself without some serious chaffing occurring from the velcro strap. Could be worse though; at least I'm not this guy-

Some People Will Try Anything

This man thought it would be a good idea to inject cocaine into his penis. Needless to say, it didn't turn out too well for him. After a three day erection, his dick fell off and his blood coagulated forcing the doctors to amputate both his legs and all but one finger. I feel sorry for the poor bastard; even a three day hard on isn't worth that.

Lesson to be learned: Don't inject cocaine into your penis... unless you're Gary Wright. Seriously, do it Gary. You know you want to. Please, dear god, have him do it. I beg you. God, just listen to Dream Weaver. Trust me, having his dick fall off and losing his legs and fingers is getting off easy for bringing a song like that into this world.


--Note--
My goal for my next post is to actually come up with something decent that doesn't involve such horrible imagery (unless you like kitten stomping, amputee, yak smut that is). I don't know if I can do that. This blog has been getting worse and worse but I'll see what I can do.


"I've just closed my eyes again
Climbed aboard the dream weaver train
Driver take away my worries of today
And leave tomorrow behind"

sorry

Just to let people know, I haven't posted recently because I've been busy failing my finals. After that I'll probably cry for about a week so I don't know when I'll be able to update this thing again.

my problem... one of them at least

Two of my friends (I should really note that this sentence would have normally read 'my friend and his girlfriend' but because my friend's girlfriend mentioned that she didn't like to be labeled as such since she's just as much my friend as her boyfriend is, and because I'm such a caring and empathetic person who heads all the comments on his blog, I will from now on anonymously refer to her as my 'friend' or maybe even 'lady friend' if I feel like it, unless of course she has a problem with this which could very well happen because I'm in fact neither caring nor empathetic and usually read the comments on here in utter reverie... anyway) recently brought to my attention that my real problem when it comes to 'getting it on with the ladies' isn't necessarily the fact that I'm a pathetic loser with a face that could stop an enraged Yeti dead in his tracks (though he was nice enough not to rule that facet out completely) but because I think much less of myself than I actually should. I'm sure in somebody's sad and twisted mind, those would be considered words of encouragement but I think I might be looking at it a bit different. I see it as just another hurdle to leap in my endeavor to find a companion in this forever darkening pool of empty dreams and pain that some sick fuck decided to call life (talk about a depressing sentence - thinking I might have overdone that one a bit).

Essentially what the conversation amounted to was that I'm not Don Juan and even if I was Don Juan I'd be too stupid and inept to know it. The opportunities I don't have are passing me by just as fast as the opportunities I don't think I have are. Of course, at the same time this is happening, I'm attempting to woo a girl that I in fact have absolutely no chance of wooing because I'm about as good at telling a girl is interested in me as I am at playing the accordion with my penis. I mean, you're told that you don't see the possibilities right in front of your face so you think you have a chance with a girl you don't actually have any hope of getting with. You think you're just not picking up on something while she's contemplating picking up some mace and a restraining order. All this sort of makes you want to crawl under a rock and then beat yourself to death with another smaller, pointier rock.

I'd like to think I'm being far too dramatic about the whole process. I'd like to think that it's much easier than I'm making it out to be. Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't. Maybe everyone I talk to just has something I don't. Maybe life isn't fair. Maybe... maybe I should spend more time trying to get girls to like me and less time talking about it on my blog. What a fucking loser.

--Note--
Honesty, one of my problems I think I have is that I go for women that have too many expectations. I need women who are well, looser (not just the way you're thinking but also who don't have such rigid criteria for adequate boyfriends - lets face it, if a girl is going to go out with me they can't exactly be stringent). I'm thinking I'll start with prostitutes and then work my way up from there. I don't have much money though... let me see... what can three dollars get you these days?


"Well my temperature's rising
And my feet left the floor
Crazy people knocking,
'Cause they want it some more.
Let me in baby,
I don't know what you got
But you better take it easy.
This place is hot."


--Edit/Update--
Big story on Digg -
Researchers Discover That Dogs Laugh
I'm no pet lover but really, who gives a flying fuck?
Had to get that off my chest. Sorry.

what to do blues

I think I need a new hobby; cruelty to animals just isn't as entertaining as it use to be and I've heard my other favorite pastime can cause blindness. I need an avocation that is entertaining, healthy, and most importantly, leisurely (none of that jogging shit or anything that involves much moving about for that matter). I want something fun, yet not too fun. Something that defines what I like but not who I am. Preferably something that involves nudity.

Adding all those up and what do you get? A pipe dream. Maybe a wet dream if you're lucky but probably not.

I'm thinking of possibly developing a drug addiction. I don't know to what though. There's so many great choices. I could go with heroine or crack but that's pretty typical and alcoholism is such a bore. I don't want to be cliche. Everybody will be like, "oh, that Matt kid went and got addicted to cocaine, how unoriginal." I don't think I could live with that. No, I need to get addicted to something really out of the ordinary. But what? Let me see.


NyQuil? - Too mainstream, too green.

Tums? - I'm thinking I could crush them up and sniff them - Do a line of Tums, how awesome would that be - No, that probably wouldn't even do anything now that I think of it.

Coffee? - I wouldn't take it normally, what I'd do is boil it down into pill form and take it rectally - Nah, too much work, too gay.

NutraSweet? - I'll melt it into a thick paste and inject it straight into my neck - Eh, it'd probably harden or something and I'd die, probably not a great idea.

Urine? - That's right, I'll get addicted to drinking my own piss - I don't think I'll do that and I don't think I have to explain why.

Cheese? - umm... I don't know, I could just eat a lot of it and maybe it would do something interesting - Running out of ideas here.


The problem with this (besides the fact that these are all ridiculously bad ideas of course) is that people have undoubtedly tried do all of these things. Countless people chug NyQuil, everything that can be snorted has been snorted, they did that coffee thing back in Vietnam now that I think of it, I'm sure some stupid fuck actually did the NutraSweet thing, I'm sure some sick fuck drinks his own urine, and I bet there's at least one person out there with some sort of messed up cheese fetish (my sister for instance).

What's the world coming to? I can't even get a creative drug addiction to supplement my tiring hobbies. I should have expected it though. The sixties have come and gone and who am I to think that I could find a drug somebody during that time forgot about?

Damn. Damn it all. What am I to do? Sit in my room and drink my generic Coca-Cola? I guess I'll just have to stick with what I've got. Bad for me and bad for the local wildlife. Everyone loses. I'll be blind and they'll be dead and/or maimed. Fuck God and fuck people who believe in God.

--Note--
Just want to make sure people know when I'm joking. I'd never, and I mean never, drink generic Coca-Cola. That's just wrong.


"This story that you heard you may think rather queer
But it is the truth you'll be surprised to hear.
I did not want no job upon the board,
I just wanted to take a broom and sweep the bloody floor."