a love letter to my adherents
Dear Important Internet Blog,
Hey, buddy, can you keep a secret? I ended my drinking binge which began on the twenty-second of July. That is pretty pathetic if you ask me, but as human nature goes, I would feel wrong not to project my summer-drunken-indulgent-self-abuse on someone else. I choose Gaston. Shit, he is, after all, the one who said my birthday should be treated like Hanukkah (or Chanukkah for you fundamentalists), thusly propelling me into the deep regions of a world entirely encompassing inebriation for many consecutive days continuing far after my booze-laden roadtrip. Sadly, the carbs from all the alcohol did not help me gain any weight, which is a damn shame because how can I pretend that I will start working out to rid myself of excess weight if I cannot attain it to begin with? Just another perplexing mystery surrounding my odd genetic make-up.
I wish Russ could rap because this annoying broad was being all uppity to us, and he insulted her strictly using pop culture references, it was hilarious because he was just being a playful ma'fucka, and he kept busting out the zingers. I think the reference list started off something from "The Professional" to a Janet Jackson early single to "Seinfield" to "Heat" and so on. The best part was how they were all relevant to this person's lack of tact, and he somehow logically segued them all, fucking brilliant. In other words, do not be rude and try to start a fight with him, because he wields the ability embarass you while entertaining the hell out of a'body else there. No wonder BeRad took such a liking to him.
I already know a'body is getting me ties, briefcases and various office supplies for my birthday. I can't believe they force you to get a 9-5 just because you turn twenty. I don't want to be confined to a cubicle. Nick said he would make me a gift to decorate my desk, and UNT Carrie promised me a red stapler as homage to "Office Space." I have pretty much been only able to express extremes when it comes to emotions due to the extent of pent up teen angst that is bursting out of my body as I near the demise of my teenage status, so I cry and scream a lot, plus I keep throwing up the "devil-horns" sign so that even the deaf know how restless I am. Being twenty probably means I will transform into a debaser, or at least that is the Hollywood depiction I want to strive to achieve.
OU Housing requires tenants to sign a common law marriage if you move in with someone of the other sex...thanks, Bible-Belt school. A friend of four years who has a two bedroom apartment at Parkview (where I want to live) said I could move in, seeing how I dislike living on a short mat in my parents' office and she would like to pay less rent. Strangely enough since I am a dude and all, I do not even have a desire to ever imagine this girl naked let alone marry her, so now it seems like I will keep searching because my reputation, not just my financing, is on the line, and I do not want to be known as a cuckold, nor chance becoming a bigamist in the future cuz I would rather go to jail for something like a coup d'etat or at least chopping heads off parking meters like C.H. Luke.
I have a great idea that involves relief printing, xerox transferring, and stealing/breaking furniture. I explained to Nathan in full detail of my plan the other night, and I was getting all hyper, just like when it came to me in the morning after 3 hours of sleep, and I hope he fully appreciated it but I fear not for he was stoned. Sigh.
Facial stubble constantly has become a priority to me. Since I shaved my strongly Haitian-rooted beard I grew in July, I have noticed all my effeminate facial features. Again. Funny how you can so easily forget something. But I have come to the impulsive conclusion that all culturally-identified light-skinned multiracial individuals have a genderless quality. What can I say, every time I see someone similar to me, I know they are either a pretty boy or a cute chick, just sometimes a little hard to determine which of those they are. I mean, until I was thirteen and shaved my hair short, I was often falsely identified as a lil' dread-headed hippie 'tween. Sigh again, I need to block these memories out of my mind, I could overload my teen angst outpour that will not cease until 5:51AM August 8, 2004.
Briefly Sincere,
Zach
Hey, buddy, can you keep a secret? I ended my drinking binge which began on the twenty-second of July. That is pretty pathetic if you ask me, but as human nature goes, I would feel wrong not to project my summer-drunken-indulgent-self-abuse on someone else. I choose Gaston. Shit, he is, after all, the one who said my birthday should be treated like Hanukkah (or Chanukkah for you fundamentalists), thusly propelling me into the deep regions of a world entirely encompassing inebriation for many consecutive days continuing far after my booze-laden roadtrip. Sadly, the carbs from all the alcohol did not help me gain any weight, which is a damn shame because how can I pretend that I will start working out to rid myself of excess weight if I cannot attain it to begin with? Just another perplexing mystery surrounding my odd genetic make-up.
I wish Russ could rap because this annoying broad was being all uppity to us, and he insulted her strictly using pop culture references, it was hilarious because he was just being a playful ma'fucka, and he kept busting out the zingers. I think the reference list started off something from "The Professional" to a Janet Jackson early single to "Seinfield" to "Heat" and so on. The best part was how they were all relevant to this person's lack of tact, and he somehow logically segued them all, fucking brilliant. In other words, do not be rude and try to start a fight with him, because he wields the ability embarass you while entertaining the hell out of a'body else there. No wonder BeRad took such a liking to him.
I already know a'body is getting me ties, briefcases and various office supplies for my birthday. I can't believe they force you to get a 9-5 just because you turn twenty. I don't want to be confined to a cubicle. Nick said he would make me a gift to decorate my desk, and UNT Carrie promised me a red stapler as homage to "Office Space." I have pretty much been only able to express extremes when it comes to emotions due to the extent of pent up teen angst that is bursting out of my body as I near the demise of my teenage status, so I cry and scream a lot, plus I keep throwing up the "devil-horns" sign so that even the deaf know how restless I am. Being twenty probably means I will transform into a debaser, or at least that is the Hollywood depiction I want to strive to achieve.
OU Housing requires tenants to sign a common law marriage if you move in with someone of the other sex...thanks, Bible-Belt school. A friend of four years who has a two bedroom apartment at Parkview (where I want to live) said I could move in, seeing how I dislike living on a short mat in my parents' office and she would like to pay less rent. Strangely enough since I am a dude and all, I do not even have a desire to ever imagine this girl naked let alone marry her, so now it seems like I will keep searching because my reputation, not just my financing, is on the line, and I do not want to be known as a cuckold, nor chance becoming a bigamist in the future cuz I would rather go to jail for something like a coup d'etat or at least chopping heads off parking meters like C.H. Luke.
I have a great idea that involves relief printing, xerox transferring, and stealing/breaking furniture. I explained to Nathan in full detail of my plan the other night, and I was getting all hyper, just like when it came to me in the morning after 3 hours of sleep, and I hope he fully appreciated it but I fear not for he was stoned. Sigh.
Facial stubble constantly has become a priority to me. Since I shaved my strongly Haitian-rooted beard I grew in July, I have noticed all my effeminate facial features. Again. Funny how you can so easily forget something. But I have come to the impulsive conclusion that all culturally-identified light-skinned multiracial individuals have a genderless quality. What can I say, every time I see someone similar to me, I know they are either a pretty boy or a cute chick, just sometimes a little hard to determine which of those they are. I mean, until I was thirteen and shaved my hair short, I was often falsely identified as a lil' dread-headed hippie 'tween. Sigh again, I need to block these memories out of my mind, I could overload my teen angst outpour that will not cease until 5:51AM August 8, 2004.
Briefly Sincere,
Zach