My December 25th Shopping is Done!

Nope, my Christmas shopping isn't done because I don't shop for Christmas. Jesus was born in September so stop giving me this "Jesus' Birthday" shit. I'm done with it. Anyhow, I bought the three gifts that I need to buy people. That means that three people are getting gifts. To those people I say, "You are getting some rad shit!" To everyone else, "Eat a dick."

It's actually nice to have this stupid stuff done. All I have to do is rap this stuff in aluminum foil and draw some gay pictures on it to make it festive. And I think that this weekend I'll be getting my winter soltice branch. I just have to find a pinetree nearby with some decent branches. Then, I'll roll up some aluminum tinsel and I'm good to go. That's as much decorating as I'm doing.

I don't know why I wrote this stupid thing. It's more retarded than most of the things I normally write. That's why I'm finishing this.

Did you ever...?

I seem to get the feeling that if I were to die, certain people that I know really wouldn't notice. I mean, if no one told them I was dead then they would go thru their lives and never really think about me. It gets pretty fucking irritating. Especially when these certain people tell you how great you are. One of these days I think I'm going to punch these people in the face. I'm sick of being the friend of last resort. It's goddamn depressing. It gets even worse when you go out of your way to try to help these people but when you just want someone to talk to, they have more important things like their douchebag boyfriends or psycho girlfriends. It's ri-goddamn-diculous.

Getting dumped on by random people is one thing, but to get dumped on by someone who says they care about you is the worst. There's a reason I only have a couple of very close friends. They don't dump on me. Most of my other friends don't dump on me either, but then again, we don't try to solve each other's problems. We're there just to hang out, drink a bit and have fun. And if someone really important comes up, we'll be there, but we're not there to share feelings and emotions and all that crap. That's what my very close friends are for. There a few people, though, who always seem to want my imput on their lives and I give it gladly. But, the second I really need someone to talk to just to get thru the night, where are they? Nowhere. And better yet, they let me know that I'm not as important as, let's say, watching some shitty movie with some moron. It's awesome.

What the deuce?

So, I went to Wal~Mart today so I could purchase a few things. That's what you do. They have an ATM there, so I figured I'd take some money out so I could pay for the things that I wanted to purchase. Well, for some reason, I couldn't and still can't remember what my pin number is. It's retarded because since they day I got it, I've remembered. Punching in the four numbers became second nature to me. It was pure instinct. Today, though, I couldn't remember it. I felt like a jackass.

I'm sure it's happened to other people. I mean, I'm sure everyone's had one of those moments where they can't, for the life of them, remember a phone number or a person's name. The phone number thing happens to me all the time. I'll try to call someone up and I'll just blank out on what their number is. It's even worse if it's someone that I call all the time. I'll stare blankly at the numbers and start to drool. "Was his number 4201, or was it 4102? Maybe it was 4210." Hell, it could have been 8549 and I'd still sit there thinking the number was some combination of 1, 2, 4 and 0.

Because of my stupid brain, I won't have toilet paper until tomorrow at the earliest. Fun times will be had by my asshole when I start using paper towels to clean it out. Should be a blast.

Give me a holla or a "what, what" if this has ever happened to you! Then throw your hands in the air and wave them like you just don't care.

All Dressed Up...

...And no one to do. It's the story of my life.

Fuck the holidays. Fuck them up the ass with a big black dick. While you're at it, fuck me too. I could use the break in the monotony.

I was 1 for 2 in Trivial Pursuit. 0 for 1 in Parcheesi. 1 for 1 in Sorry. For the weekend, I was 2 for 4 in boardgames. I'd say that makes me a winner. So, c'mon ladies, you know you all love a winner.

I have this cyst behind my ear. I hate it. I get them all the time and they always go away, but I still hate them just the same. I keep fearing that one day I'll get a cyst and it won't go away and it will just keep getting bigger and bigger until it's so big that people start saying "Wow, you have a big head on that cyst!" And with my luck, it won't even be cancerous so I won't be able to get pity. I'll just be the freak with the huge cyst. And you can't use a cyst to enter a freakshow. You have to be an actual freak. That's just not fair.

Scrubs is a great show. I recommend it.

I also recommend brand new socks. There's nothing better than slippiing your feet into a brand new pair of socks. Well, there's getting laid, but new socks is a very close second. Mostly because I can get new socks. Also, new socks would only cost me $6. Getting laid would probably cost me more than that. I'm not sure about the price. Does it really matter?

Anyhow, I was bored. Now I'm still bored, but at least I killed fifteen minutes and not myself.

When ordering SLC Punk...

Don't. It's a pain in the ass. After almost two weeks of sitting in limbo, trying to find out what was going on with my cancelled order, I finally called Overstock.com and talked to some sweetheart of a guy who didn't have the foggiest idea what was going on. I so badly wanted to get transferred to a higher up so I could rip them a new asshole, but instead, I had to talk to some kid who's probably in high school still. I just didn't have the heart to tell him to eat shit and live. So, I should have had a copy of SLC Punk that I was going to give away as a belated birthday/early Christmas present by now, but I don't. Instead, I have a $10 coupon to use Overstock.com's shitty service again. I figured I'll buy something that's about $8 and with the shipping, I'll be able to get it for free.

Luckily, the order got cancelled because the person I was ordering it for has decided that I'm a loser apparently. I'm used to that, but I always figured she was different. Oh well, what else would you expect from me? That a girl would actually think I'm pretty swell? Yeah right. There's a reason I'm single. I don't know what that reason is, but I'm pretty sure that vaginas are allergic to me. Or, maybe I am, in fact, a huge fucking loser and no one's had the heart to put me out of my misery. What do I know? Apparently, a whole lot of nothing.

Which sucks, because this girl seemed to be pretty rad. I thought that she was different than most girls. I guess I was wrong. Or maybe I was right and I'm wrong now. How the fuck should I know? I do know one thing...

Tomorrow is Turkey Day and I'm going to eat until I puke. Then I'm going to eat some more. Then, if I'm lucky, I'll eat some more. I'm fat. Might as well get fatter. But, on top of that, I'll get to see some of my friends. And, if there's anything at all playing at the movies, I'll be seeing it. It's kind of a tradition started back when Gib and Russ first started driving. They went to a movie on Christmas night. I started going the next year and we have yet to miss our yearly tradition. Except for the one year that all of the movie projectors broke... at the same time. They all broke just before the last movie was about to play. We thought it was odd. No big deal. We only almost died twice on the way down.

Just thinking about that night gets me pretty bummed, but in a happy way. I mean, I love to think back on the very boring, yet very fun and stuipd nights we used to have. Now everyone's moved away and thinking about those nights gets me bummed as all hell because I'll never have nights as good as those. Plus, throw in the fact that most of my friends, and by most I mean all, have moved way out of town. I'm lucky if I get to see any of those bastards more than once every three or four months. It sucks. Luckily, people around here are fucking awesome.

And I always get asked "You mean you don't have any friends around town?" and the answer is pretty much "Nope!" I mean, there are people around here that are super cool, but would I consider them my friends? Hardly not. It's hard to hang with people when they spend the majority of their free time at a bar. Sorry, but I just don't roll like that. Bars are my kryptonite. But, even when things are going down outside of bars, I tend not to get invited and understandably so. It's just a bummer, that's all. And I'm not allowed to drink anymore since I tried drinking myself to death a few weeks ago. But, there's no need to worry about me, at least until Valentine's Day. Of course, I might extend my suicide date to sometime in April because NOFX is playing in Cleveland in March. I needs to see that. So, I might be sticking around until springtime. Lucky me.

Seriously, old Metallica is fucking awesome!!!

Fuck Overstock.com

Amazon.com will always be my destination for buying anything over the interent. They always have decent enough prices and free shipping. Not to mention the awesome as balls customer service I've received when something did happen to fuck up. Like, one time, I bought a Dead Milkmen cd. I opened it up and I popped it into my cd player. I rocked out for a good solid forty minutes when out of nowhere, the cd stopped playing mid song. No skip, no weird noise, no nothing. It just stopped. I pulled out the disc and looked at the bottom of it. Somehow, the cd had been molded wrong. You could see where some of the little holes turned into one big hole. It pissed me off because the Dead Milkmen rule and I had a cd that only played the first twenty-one songs and got fucked up towards the end of the twenty-second and final song. I hopped back on the internet and sent a little message ot Amazon.com. Wouldn't you know it, but after five minutes of going thru their little sales return stuff, I was able to print out a label to send the cd back to them. Sure, it cost me two dollars, but that's way cheaper than buying a whole new disc. I was expecting to have to wait a week or two to get the new cd, but I actually got it in two days. I hadn't even sent the damaged cd back yet and they already sent me a new one. That's called service, my friends.

Overstock.com on the other hand is a fucking joke!!!!

I ordered a dvd. One simple dvd that I was hoping to give to someone as a birthday present. A somewhat belated birthday present, but a birthday presetn nonetheless. So, I ordered the dvd from Overstock.com because it was a few dollars cheaper than Amazon. After paying for shipping, I think I saved a dollar, but I'm broke so a dollar saved is a dollar I get to spend on rent. I had expected to receive the dvd in about five to ten days because that's what their shipping thing said. Well, the next day I open my email to see that my order was cancelled for failure to make payment. That's funny because in my email right below it is an email from PayPal saying that they've already sent my money to Overstock.com. You'd think that if I sent the information about the payment they would hurry up and get my order sent out. Well, apparently not. It's been email after email and no one will send me my order. They said that within four business days that would get back to me. They didn't. It's been over a week. I sent another email saying that it's been over the four day waiting period. They haven't even gotten back to me on that. So, I'm out sixteen dollars and I still haven't gotten my movie sent to me. I SHOULD HAVE GOTTEN IT BY NOW!!! Overstock.com? How about Overstock.assholes!!!

What would you do for a Klondike bar?

I'd kill a hobo. What would you do?

W.W.J.D.?

He's probably give the hobo a sandwich. That's why I know I'm not the second coming of Christ. Also, I'm not Jewish.

I am circumsized, which is a practice of Jews. Also, it's more than you wanted to know about me. Speaking of things you didn't want to know about me, I have a little tab of skin on my weiner where the doctor screwed up cutting off the foreskin. I think the little tab sucked up all of my penis-growing energy. That's why it's so tiny. Not that anyone would know for sure. Three lovely ladies know, but they ain't talking.

So, I heard about the practice of the "second virginity." It's where guys and girls who have had sex already decide to abstain from sex so they can give the guy or girl they marry their "second virginity." So, from now on, I'm no longer a loser, I'm just saving my "second virginity" for marriage. Of course, I'm never going to get married so at least I can take solace in the fact that I'm saving something. I mean, I'm not saving souls or money, I might as well save my "second virginity." Maybe that's what I'll the new band that I'm never going to start.

Or maybe I'll call it "Chess Team Alan Harris."

Maybe not.

So, today is Day 1 of Project Asshole. I just decided now that this blog will become my chronicle of being an asshole. I'm going to be rude and mean to girls and just talk about it on here. It should be fun.

There's not much to speak of today at Team Asshole. Things will get better as the days go on and I get used to not caring. It will really get better when a girl comes to me for advice and I tell her to shut the hell up. Just typing this stuff right now is making me fall in love with the idea of telling a girl to shut her trap. Fuck, I might not even put it on the internt. I might actually buy a journal for this. Already being an asshole is paying dividends. I'm no longer bummed.

Truant! Truant they'll all yell!

I don't know how the fuck someone can be bouncy, but dammit, that's the word I'm using.

Hello. I didn't see you come in. Welcome to my gay blog. Normally I sit my fat ass down to write one of these things with some sort of topic in mind, but not tonight. I'm just flying by the seat of my pants. And if you've read any of my other entries, you know that the seat of my pants if full of painful 'roids. It's the curse of being a guy. That and dying ten years earlier than women. That and not knowing what the fuck is going on with women... ever.

So, if you were to check my picture rating on Myspace, you would see that I average a 4.0, which I think is kind of low. I mean, I would rate myself a 4.2, but then again, I'm vain. But, here's the problem. That 4.0 is based on ZERO votes. That means no one has given me a score... at all. So, the 4.0 is how attractive Myspace.com thinks I am. How fucking depressing is that? Apparently not too depressing because I can't even get pity sex from a two dollar whore.

The Penguins won last night. That's the bright spot of my week. It was pretty damn exciting, too. I would prefer the game to be over after the first period so I wouldn't have to give myself a heart attack every fifteen seconds. Why can't I just like a team that wins all the time? I'm fucking stupid.

You know what else is stupid? Babies. They can't even fucking talk. My dad's dog is smarter than a baby. Stupid babies.

So, after Friday's failed attempt at suicide, I have decided to stop trying to kill myself, at least for a little bit. Of course, I still have the Valentine's Day deadline that I'm pretty set in stone about. Should be a blast. Get it? Neither do I since I wouldn't kill myself with a gun. I'd probably use a bottle of sleeping pills. Just go to sleep and never wake up. Most cleaner. I don't want my family to have to worry about paying for the cleaners and whatnot. Even in death I'm too nice of a guy.

So, you know what I hate? I hate fruitflies. They are the bane of my existence. That and Jesus. He's been a thorn in my side ever since I smuggled him and his brothers across the border in my banana truck. Between him and these damn fruitflies, I don't think I'll ever sleep or eat a fresh banana. Damn you Jesus. Damn you!

I also hate being a "great guy." I've been told that quite a few times by girls right after I've told them that I think they are neat. Well, if I'm such a great guy, why won't you go out on a date with me? Oh, you only date not-so-great guys? Wonderful. Apparently, being great isn't quite as important as being hot. Wonderful. If I'm such a great guy, why the fuck am I writing a stupid fucking blog? Exactly. I'm thinking about being not such a great guy. Of course, that only works if you're hot. So, it's a lose/lose situation for me. Either I'm single but have tons of female friends who tell me things like "I can't believe you're single" or I'm single and everyone thinks I'm a dick. That sad thing is, I prefer being a dick. It's not as fucking heartbreaking.

Of course, Fritz got the worst line ever. EVER! He was told by a girl the following: It's just not the right time in my life for a nice guy like you. Talk about bullshit. I wish girls would just be honest and say that you're ugly. Or tell us that you don't like us like that. That's atleast honest. This bullshit about being too good of friends if fucking retarded. Why would you want to date someone who you aren't friends with? "Hello random guy, wanna eat my cootch?" Does that make sense? Apparently that's what girls want if they don't want to date a friend.

So ladies, a little honesty would be appreciated. Tell me I'm fat. Tell me I'm ugly. Tell me I smell. Tell me my dick's too small. Tell me I'm lame. Tell me I don't have a car. Tell me I don't make enough money. Tell me anything as long as it's the truth. Or, be a decent person and tell the truth in a nice way. Here's the perfect line to end someone's crush on you. You ready for it? Here it comes:

I just don't like you in that way.

How fucking difficult is that? It's a lot less painful than the "you never know" or the "wow, if I were single I'd date you in a second" or the "you're such a great guy, why are you single" and my favorite "you're too nice of a guy." All of that is bullshit. The next girl who tells me that, I'm punching them in the mouth. Think I'm joking? Fucking try me.

Now I'm depressed again. What a fucking shocker that is. How long is this fucking thing already? Way too long. If I was smart I'd just delete all of this shit, but I'm not. I'm a moron. Want proof? I have a laundry list of proof.

You know what my two loves in life are? Boobs and hockey. If I could play with some boobs (other than my own... plus, they are man-titties not boobs) while I'm watching hockey, I think I would be able to finally be happy. Hell, just playing with some boobs would brighten my day. But, since that's never going to happen again, I'm lucky that it's hockey season. If it weren't, I'd be even more depressed.

Q: How many feminists does it take to screw in a lightbulb?
A: Two. One to screw it in and the other to suck my dick.

I love that joke.

Bad Religion Like a Mofo

So, I almost died on Friday night. I drank what we in the industry call "way too much." Once I was drunk, I decided that I wanted to drink until I died, or at least went into a coma. So I drank. And I drank.

I remember that I had to go to the bathroom. Once I finally made my way up to the bathroom I took a good long piss. The second I finished pissing, I knew then and there that I had drank way too much. I knew that I was going to die. I also knew that I was going to die at my friends' house and that would mean that they'd have to go thru a lot of work to take care of my corpse. I didn't want to do that to them, so I figured that I wanted to live thru the night. I did. But, only after I threw up for four and a half hours.

Surprisingly, I didn't wake up with a hangover the next morning. I did wake up to watch a bunch of really, really old Nickelodeon game shows. It was pretty awesome.

Luckily, for me, I didn't die on Friday night. If I had, I would have missed the great game shows, as well as the greatest concert EVER! Pennywise always reminds you why you love them so much every time you see them live. Over time, you tend to forget that Pennywise is great because, frankly, their albums all kind of sound the same. But, once you see how amazing they are live, you want to pull out every one of their albums and listen to every song over and over again. And normally, I would have done just that except...

Bad Religion put on one of the greatest shows I've ever seen. Possibly the greatest. I can't believe just how great they sound live. I had just seen them last year in Philly, so I was kind of expecting the same set and what not, but they totally mixed it up. It's amazing that a song that came out in 1988 can still sound so fresh. Bad Religion keeps giving me more and more reasons to make them my favorite band of all time.

So, all in all, I'm pretty glad that I didn't die on Friday night. Not that I'm all that happy to be alive, but atleast I have the memory of what might have been the best two hours of my life.

Plus, there's always next week to drink myself into oblivion.

The most disgusting phrase in the world is....

Vaginal Blood Fart.

It's also the name of the new restaurant that I'm opening up someday. See? I actually made the blog category relevant to what I'm writing. I don't tend to do that because, frankly, all of those categories are fucking retarded. Plus, I tend to go off on tangents quite a bit.

Anyhow, I finally, finally, finally have a bed that doesn't sink down to the floor. Last week I went out and bought a few eight foot long 1x4's and got them all cut short enough that they were an inch too long to fit in my bedframe. Talk about the story of my life. Luckily, Beaman came over and cut the shit out of the boards. Now they fit like a glove... or like a board into a bedframe and my mattress rests nicely on them. Now, I could, theoretically, have a girl over and fuck her brains out and I would break my bed. Of course, that's theoretically, because we all know that will never happen literally.

So, with a bed that works and a penis that never finds work, I find myself becoming more and more jaded. It's actually quite funny how bad it's become. Oh well. At least this jaded bitterness should fuel quite a few songs and maybe even a movie script. Who knows? I don't.

I've just grown very bored with writing this, so I'm going to stop. This upcoming weekend is going to fantabulous. Hello Bad Religion. Hello Pennywise. Hello pain killers and vodka. Hello waking up somewhere random. Goodbye memory.

Want to know how small my penis is?

Well, if you do, you can slide it down your throat and then measure how far it went in. But, seriously...

It's Friday night and I think I'm dying. I've had this annoying sore throat for the past week and now I'm sneezing a million times a day. Plus, I'm starting to get that tickly cough you get right before your lungs decide to become a twenty-four hour a day mucus factory. That should make this weekend super fun. But, with me, aren't all weekends fun?

Answer: No

So, I'm going to see Bad Religion in a week. That should be super kick ass. Nevermind the fact that Pennywise will also be there. It's going to be a kick ass weekend. I get to see all my friends from Pittsburgh, but I'm also going to be very, very intoxicated. I have fifteen Darvosets that says I'm getting seriously messed up. Maybe I'll die. Oh well, I won't be missing much.

I just got the new Al Franken book. It's pretty darn good. It's called "The Truth: With Jokes" and the title says it all. I recommend it for everyone who gives a shit about politics. Whether you're a liberal or a conservative, you should read this book. Or don't. See if I give a shit.

You know what I hate? Well, are you going to guess? For Christ's sake, take a fucking guess. God dammit, you people who don't guess. You make life shittier than normal. But, I'm glad you assholes didn't guess because it makes a nice segue into talking about what I hate. People. Most of all, women. Also, I hate men. I hate just about everyone. But, the reason for hating men is too simple. They are fat, hairy douche bags who don't deserve the superiority that they love to throw around. I hate anyone with a weiner. That's a pretty simple reason. Now women...

There's a delicate sandstorm to navigate. I hate women for so many reasons. They are just as assholistic as men, but somehow we don't seem to notice it. Why don't we notice it? Breasts. Plain and simple. If it wasn't for breasts, I wouldn't find myself doing such stupid things to impress them. If it wasn't for breasts, I would get so god damn depressed when I see a super rad girl dating some jerkoff. If it wasn't for breasts, I wouldn't end up being the guy that girls come to when they need a girlfriend, but I'm the only one around.

How depressing is it that I'm one step away from being a woman? I mean, women treat me like I'm a woman. Maybe I should go the final yard and get my boys chopped off. Then I just need to start tucking. Then maybe I'll start getting invited to Girls Only Nights. Oh wait, I already get that. Lucky me.

Could I be anymore pathetic?

Answer: No.