Today's entry's title is a great song by Led Zeppelin, but also relevant to what I'm about to do, which is ramble. Rambling is always good, and my professors always say that 90% of the writer's fight is putting pen to paper (or...fingers to keys...) and just getting something down. Not only have I found this to be true, but it's some of the best advice I've ever gotten. So I'll pass it on to any aspiring writers: whether you feel like writing or not, force yourself to; daily if at all possible. Especially if you have extra time on your hands that you might not know what to do with. Simply exercising your trade with no real goal can lead to a thousand places, and you have absolutely no idea what kind of nonsense can be turned around into a best selling story or piece. A few good ideas are simply keeping a journal, or look up some prompts or writing exercises. You'd be surprised with what you come up with.
On to the satirical part, or as I've come to know my work, not-quite-as-witty-as-it-is-blatant and not-quite-as-professional-as-I'd-like.
I think I'd like to talk about my Suitemate Tyler for a second. (When I say suitemate, I mean that he occupies the room that is connected to our shared bathroom in our dorms.)
I'd have to say that Tyler is my most recent inspiration for hilarity. Namely, he's the perfect example of that asshole on Xbox Live that everyone hates. His favorite thing to do is talk with the voice that sounds like a little kid, and to tell the truth, it sounds pretty real when put through the headset. When he's being obnoxious and people tell him to shut up, he usually says "You wouldn't talk to me like that in REAL life!" Which is hilarious because hell, we've all received threats over the internet in some form or another. Sure, you could kick my ass in real life, even though I could potentially be a master of Muay Thai who's been training for decades. Of course you're going to use your hard earned money (if you have any) to buy plane tickets, food, and probably shelter to come across the state, country, or world to kick my ass. In fact, if for some reason you made it to my door there's a good chance I wouldn't even open up to you, or I might not be home and your entire trip is wasted; or made more expensive at the very least. And if for some reason I did open the door to you, and you tried to kick my ass, I may have a gun, a weapon, or a 220 pound friend with 20 inch arms who can benchpress 300 pounds over to my house.
In short, don't be a retard and profess that you're going to kick someone's ass over the internet. Attack their race, gender, sexual preference, religious background, age, and gaming expertise instead.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Monday, January 25, 2010
In the beginning...
...There was a lonely college student who had too much time on his hands.
I've always hated blogs, honestly. Just what the world needs is a portal for people to anonymously post their bias ideals, or about how Christy looked at my boyfriend the wrong way, how dare she! She's a skanky bitch and if she pulls that again, I'll gouge out her eyes with a soup spoon. (Whoever you are, check you insecurities.)
So why am I doing this, even though it's something I hate?
I'm an aspiring writer, and this is a great way to exercise my trade. On the same token, I can get it out to masses and see what they think.
Now that the boring introductory shit is over, let me post something of significance that I wrote in my offline journal awhile ago.
Manly bathroom etiquette. There’s a one-urinal rule. Always leave a urinal between you and the guy next to you, no one wants to see your dick nor do you want to see theirs. IF you’re at a crowded event like a metal concert, and you have to be right next to someone, you keep your eyes on your own junk. And IF, by some rabid accidental eyeball wandering situation, you see another man’s dick, your mind IS NOT allowed to go any further than “damn, I saw a dick”. When someone is in a stall and is wrestling with a monstrous shit, if they are farting loudly, you must not laugh at them. They are locked in a deadly combat and are not subject to ridicule. If you still laugh at fart noises, maybe you need to paste some pubes on yourself and pretend to be more grown up. You do not smile in the men’s room, there is nothing funny going on in there. It is a place of business, not fun. You have ten seconds to wash your hands and move on, you do not look at yourself in the mirror. You have somewhere more important to be. You are allowed ONE squeeze of soap because you do not want your hands to smell fruity OR like shitty gas station soap. You do, however, have permission to use up to 10 sheets of paper towels because men are messy and wasteful.
I've always hated blogs, honestly. Just what the world needs is a portal for people to anonymously post their bias ideals, or about how Christy looked at my boyfriend the wrong way, how dare she! She's a skanky bitch and if she pulls that again, I'll gouge out her eyes with a soup spoon. (Whoever you are, check you insecurities.)
So why am I doing this, even though it's something I hate?
I'm an aspiring writer, and this is a great way to exercise my trade. On the same token, I can get it out to masses and see what they think.
Now that the boring introductory shit is over, let me post something of significance that I wrote in my offline journal awhile ago.
Manly bathroom etiquette. There’s a one-urinal rule. Always leave a urinal between you and the guy next to you, no one wants to see your dick nor do you want to see theirs. IF you’re at a crowded event like a metal concert, and you have to be right next to someone, you keep your eyes on your own junk. And IF, by some rabid accidental eyeball wandering situation, you see another man’s dick, your mind IS NOT allowed to go any further than “damn, I saw a dick”. When someone is in a stall and is wrestling with a monstrous shit, if they are farting loudly, you must not laugh at them. They are locked in a deadly combat and are not subject to ridicule. If you still laugh at fart noises, maybe you need to paste some pubes on yourself and pretend to be more grown up. You do not smile in the men’s room, there is nothing funny going on in there. It is a place of business, not fun. You have ten seconds to wash your hands and move on, you do not look at yourself in the mirror. You have somewhere more important to be. You are allowed ONE squeeze of soap because you do not want your hands to smell fruity OR like shitty gas station soap. You do, however, have permission to use up to 10 sheets of paper towels because men are messy and wasteful.
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