On Being Named Time's Person of the Year

All I can say is; it's about damn time.
Time Magazine's annual Person of the Year Award is usually given to the person, group, or thing that has defined the greatest number of lives throughout the year (how else do you explain George W. Bush winning this award three times). So imagine the agony Time must of felt when their candidates for this year's award included only members of the two stupidest groups of people on planet Earth; celebrities (who had either given birth or adopted a baby) and politicians (who were probably exposed for their perverted practices).
Fortunately for Time, I was there to warrant major consideration for this award, not because I graduated high school, passed my first semester of college, and wrote a feature-length screenplay all in the last twelve months, but because my website has contributed to the growth and perpetuation of the Information Age.
Now, I know what all five of you readers are thinking. How could the commentary on my simple little website define 2006? Well, allow me to refresh your memory.
Firstly, the world wide web enabled me to affect and change many of the people and events that defined 2006. For instance, who was able to set more trends than MTV this year? And after I ripped that bitch, Ann Coulter, a new one, guess who's book fell from #1 on the New York Times Best Sellers List? And guess which university's football team lost three straight games following my denouncement of Liberty University? And how has the state of Kansas been able to legislate the teaching of intelligent design even into the year 2007? As usual, you may not have noticed my greatness or how my website has affected these events throughout 2006, but thankfully, Time Magazine has.
Even though I would normally take the all the credit for this award, I credit the readers for helping me win. Without them, I would have to rely on my narcissism to keep this site going. Thank you, everyone. All five of you are the real winners this year. Although I've already posted Time's official Person of the Year cover, I created a cover especially for you. You deserve it, maybe not as much as I do, but still, enjoy it while I allow you to.

It's A Celebration!

It's snowing in Winston-Salem and it smells like oranges. It must be Christmas.
*Note: we were celebrating Wake Forest winning the ACC football championship and advancing to the Orange Bowl. If you couldn't tell from this picture, it was kind of unexpected.

MySeLf aNd My ArTwOrK: VisuAl GenIus aNd importAnt coMmENtary

Fourteen weeks ago, I was simple-minded fool (like yourselves) just out of high school, low on college credits, and high on stress. In my seemingly futile attempt to pick classes, I stumbled upon a course entitled Digital Art 114. I reminded my self-serving self that I would have to eventually take an art class anyway (because of this supposed "liberal arts" curriculum) and it did fulfill a film studies minor requirement (as if it could bring credit to my already incredible films), so I decided to take it. After fourteen weeks, I discovered that I am the greatest artist who ever lived.
Go ahead. Click on my profile, enter the exhibition, and gaze at the truly amazing work that I've brought to life. You may notice the brilliant title of the show, "Art-tastic". If you need any more proof that I'm a magnificent word-smith, you'll notice that I removed the "fan" out of "fantastic" because my collection will already make enough fans out of the people who see it. I thought it was redundant to have another "fan". But you could've figured that out on your own, right? Didn't think so.
You'll also notice that I didn't write out explanations for the brilliant commentary that each piece provides. I will eventually since most of my readers are too eternally clueless to understand the inner workings of an artist's mind, but for now, my teacher has to grade and be astounded by my awesome work. Therefore, the site for my exhibition must remain simple and banal. An "A" still wouldn't do me justice.
The composition of each piece is so striking that you'll be bashing your heads against the wall wondering what medium I used. Oil-based? Water colors? Crayons? Wrong again. Of course, I used Adobe Photoshop and Adobe Illustrator to give life to every one of my babies. Now, you'd assume that using a computer program would make creating an image easier. But once again, you'd be wrong. You think you can click "new layer" and start over? You think you can just open up the edit file and click "undo?" You think you can just press "p" for "picture" and come up with a masterpiece? Don't make me giggle.
So if you'd like to be blown any, just visit the "Art-tastic" exhibition in my profile. But if your mind is too weak to handle my genius (which is probably the case), then go back to your finger-painting and soup cans and leave us real artists to wallow in their own vaginas. Thank you.

Good Times and Math? Only at College

I usually don't write on a whim, so please excuse the poor quality of this post.

My website targets an audience of 18-22 year olds in college Coincidentally enough, both of my readers fall into that demographic.
Since I'm fortunate enough to get so much feedback from them, I often hear how great a time that they have had in their nine-week-old college experience. They even have the gall to say that no one could be having a better time than them. Well, I'm here to say that they are liars.
I have statistically proven that my brief college experience has been the greatest college experience had by any student at any institute of higher education ever (whew). Just think of the over 15,000 students who graduated from a Ohio State University last year. I have had a better time in college than all of them combined. Just image the the thousands of graduates that attended Harvard in its 370-year-old history. My great experience would put theirs to Ted Haggert shame (You didn't even need scientific proof to know that).
But since we are now a society based on concrete evidence (now that the Democrats have the House and Senate) I have conceived a simple mathematically formula that will definitely prove that my good times in college have far exceeded that of any else (ever). Granted, I haven't even taken a math class in six months, so you may call this math fuzzy, but I prefer to call it cute. Now, everyone, direct your attention to the board and be quiet!

Lim x = [(G+N) + S - (Tp - H)]x

First, don't even attempt to write a proof for this equations. Proofs suck. We begin to conceptualize this formula as a limit to 100, and the closer that limit is to 100, the better college experience you have. Second, we add the your current grade point average with the number of impossibly awesome teachers that you have. These variables are labeled "G" and "N". Next, we add the current number of credits that you have for second semester. This variable is labeled "S". We then subtract the number of financial holds that one may have during their four years in college by the number of times that one toilet papers the campus. We label these variables "H" and "Tp" respectively. Finally, this formula is then grouped into an orientation that conveniences me the most.
Now that I have but you to sleep, it's time to apply my own variables to this formula. Since my GPA is a remarkably low 3.1, and my number of great teachers is a remarkably high 6, this first group adds up to 9.1.
Now, other students may have not registered for second semester class, but they should be grateful. Since the first three classes I registered for miraculously conflicted with every, and I mean every, other class scheduled for the second half of the year, I have only 7 hours of credit. But to counteract the my impossibly remarkable inability to register for classes, I have been fortunate enough to TP the campus four times and to face only one financial hold.
But wait, I forgot the all important variable "x". Now, for me, it could be infinity, or the number of hours I have spent in the computer lab doing art. But instead, the variable "x" is the ultimate definition of how great one's college experience can be: the number of wins your college's football team currently has. For me, this equals an unexpected NINE.
So, let's compile these numbers and see how great my college experience has been so far:

Lim x-->9 [(3.1+6) + 7 - (4-1)] 9. Lim = 99.9

My nine week college experience is one-tenth away from being perfect. I suppose that could small number could be added with my completion of Digital Art I. So remember, proofs suck, and if you come across anyone who is bold enough to claim that they had the best time in college, you get in their face and them a bald-faced liar. They haven't mathematically proven that how good their times were, like I have. Man I'm great.

George W. Bush is the greatest president who ever lived. Ever.

I'm serious. Few appreciate how great a president George Walker Bush is. And even more amazing is the manner in which he has established his greatness as the leader of the free world; starting and failing to end an impossible-to-win war, increasing the national deficit, mutilating the English language every time he opens his mouth. Sure, some presidents take the easy way out in becoming great leaders by doing what what's logical and what everybody wants. But like a person into leather, chains, and gag balls, G.W.B likes things the hard way.
Now, I must admit, I make these claims with a tiny shred of bias. But before Democrats can say "he's a hick, let's smoke some pot", or even Republicans can say "then he's a hippy, to the big business-mobile", my favoritism for Dubbya falls far beyond the normal headache-inducing, ED-causing political rhetoric. No, my bias for Bush begins with my love for defending the defenseless and giving a voice to those who either can't speak English or can't speak it that well, like the sweat shop owner, or the baby seal clubber, or good ol' Dubbya himself. Of course, if you could say that if I truly wanted to help the disenfranchised, I would defend the various peoples being suppressed by greedy corporations or oppressive governments. Unfortunately, I can't, since I don't have a documentary film crew following me at all times...yet.
I also connect to Bush on a human level. At times, it doesn't feel as though George is president of the United States. Instead, he's like the president of the AV club, or the chess team, or any other position of leadership that is just asking for scrutiny and insults. I've calculated that in six years, Dubbya has taken more flack than Hitler, Stalin, and Castro combined. I came to this conclusion after realizing that although all three of those men are more despicable than Bush, none of them were as stupid. Therefore, Bush not only takes criticism for historians and everyday people, but he also takes shit from the scum of the Earth; wannabe stand-up comedians who can't find good material even if it bit them in the ass.
But all biases aside, I believe George W. Bush is the greatest president ever because has passed the most important piece of legislation in the history of United States. It's called Murphy's Law.
As you already know, Murphy's Law states that anything that possibly can go wrong, will. For a self-proclaimed Christian, I can't conceive how God could have screwed Bush more. In one and a half terms, his administration has faced the worse tragedy in our nation's history, one of the most complicated and difficult wars we've fought in our nation's history, and one of the most destructive hurricanes to cross the continent in our nation's history. I don't care if you have one or more brain cells or gubernatorial brothers that got you into the White House, no one deserves to be held responsible for that many unforeseeable disasters.
However, if you do hold Bush accountable for all those misfortunes, then look no further than the second interpretation of Murphy's Law, which states that things will go wrong if you let them. Now, if you look past the bad intelligence that got us into an unnecessary war, or the failed attempts to prevent environmental harm that could've caused a stronger hurricane season, or the unnecessary tax cuts that ran up the nation's deficit and prevented the funding of our troops overseas and the reconstruction effort in New Orleans, then these catastrophes aren't exactly Bush's fault. But since people can't look beyond these menial oversights, the president must be held accountable. But I'm glad that so many do hold Bush responsible for these disasters because it sets a precedent for future presidents to never fuck up. For if even the slightest thing goes wrong and "The Daily Show" picks up on it, then the American people will blame the president whether it's his fault or not (notice how I didn't include the word "her" beside "him").
Therefore, I predict that when my children sit in their history classes, reading over their text book material on their Blackberries, and look back on George W. Bush's presidency, they won't see the negativity swirling around 9/11, the war in Iraq, and Hurricane Katrina. Instead, they will see the positive outcomes that emerged from Bush's passing of Murphy's Law. And if my kids do see that negativity in their textbooks, then it's home school for them (Stupid biased, revisionist historians. I hate those bastards so much).

Irony U.

Now, I'm not going to publicly announce where I attend college over a webpage for all the world to see (instead I just reveal my hometown back in Massachusetts so if others look for me, they'll pester my parents instead). However, I will offer readers one gargantuan hint; my school just defeated Liberty University, otherwise known as Jerry Falwell U., in football, 34-14. Although a lot of overly optimistic and probably pre-menstrual people will say that notching a 20-point victory over any adversary is reason to celebrate, in my five weeks here, I've never been more embarassed for my school. Any victory over Falwell U. by a margin less than 50 points should be considered a disappointment. Our football team has a tendency to play down to its opponent (observe the 14-13 win over Duke in which we needed to block a last-second field goal for proof), and winning by 20 is about as far down to this opponent as our team could play. Simply put, Liberty University football is just like a high school football, except worse.
That's why accepting a 20-point victory feels so dissatisfying. It's not just the football team that our school should defeat, but the entire university in principle. For upon founding his school on Christian ideals in 1971, Jerry Falwell named it after a cornerstone characteristic of our great nation;" liberty". With a name like "Liberty", the school should not be located in Lynchburg, Virginia, but right in the middle of Irony, USA. Here is a list of the restrictions at a university named after freedom:

• Single students who are under the age of 21 are required to live in residence halls.
• Student participation in on-campus demonstrations, petitions, or picketing is prohibited unless approved by Liberty University administration.
• Distribution of literature in residence halls requires written approval from the Residence Life office.
• Penalty for the viewing of movies rated "R", "NC-17", or "X" are a reprimandable offense.
• The playing of video games that are rated “A” and “RP” (Note: "RP" means "rating pending", or not yet rated) is not permitted and a reprimandable offense. Any “M” -rated games with descriptors indicating any sexual content, alcohol/drug content, or strong language are not permitted.
• Music that is offensive (i.e., lewd lyrics, anti-Christian messages, etc.) to Liberty's Christian stand is not permitted.
• Students should not sled on University property.
• The University institutes an on-going program of mandatory random drug testing for students.

• The railroad tracks adjacent to the campus must be crossed only during designated times and at the designated crossing.
• If a student finds him/herself or another student in crisis and/or experiencing suicidal thoughts and desire immediate counseling, I should contact my Resident Assistant (RA), Resident Director (RD), Dean (Dean of Women/Men) or Liberty University Police Department (LUPD) personally or by phone.

Okay, I included the last two restrictions just for fun. I mean, where else would you find an administration ignorant enough to include rules on crossing railroad tracks in the code of conduct for college students? And I am pleased to see that they included some regulations on suicide prevention. After reading these rules, what student wouldn't want to kill him/herself?
Now, by no means do I want to sound like I endorse playing "M"-rated video games, listening to offensive music, or doing other debaucherous activities when I point out the absurdity of these restrictions. However, the strict regulations at this Christian-based university violates a fundimental pillar of Christianity; free will. That's why the all powerful God doesn't force us to love Him. He would rather have people who love Him under their own volition and sinners in the world than be worshiped by a bunch of zombies. Therefore, rules that follow Christian ideals should be encouraged, not enforced. Free will guarantees that people follow God's ways under their own personal accord and not under the influence of contradictory douche bags.
Congratulations, Mr. Falwell. You and your university are a discredit to Christianity.

Stuck in the Hot Hot Heat Vol. 3: There's a reason it ends in "double hockey sticks"

If you need any indication of how boring the second half of my summer was, I would refer you to C-SPAN. However, since I would never subject anyone to that kind of pain, I will describe the summer dullness in one, singular action: I decided to sacrifice a week of my freedom to be a counselor at a Christian Hockey Camp. Now on paper, this week was shaping up to be seven days of heaven. You've got Christianity (good), Hockey (great), and camp (awesome). However, it just didn't add up. What was heaven for the kids ended up being hell for me. Or as the nine-year-olds said, "h-e-double hockey sticks".
Every boy and girl attending the camp that week was randomly assigned to a group of six or seven, led by a single counselor. Members of the staff saw the random groupings as an appointment from God. Apparently, I had a lot of sins to pay for (and still do). Six eleven-year-olds were placed in my possesion for an entire week. I know what you're thinking, and I too thought to myself, "how can anything go wrong?" But as I quickly discovered, there is only so much you can expect from a group of pre-teens. Did I expect them to always listen? No. But when they are put in a situation where they are forced to be in constant contact with one another, can't they just be nice to one another? Is that too much to ask?
Needless to say, members of my group got along like Israelites and Hezbullah, or Scots and everyone else. My group was divided between four little punks and two little nerds. Still, the four young hellions touched my heart. They were the kind of adorable little misfits that you wanted to pat on the head and kick in the ass every now and again. Either way, these boys were four red-blooded, All-American kids, even the one from Ontario. On the opposite end of the coolness spectrum was Kevin and Cody. God bless them. The moment I saw them unpack their Pokemon cards and Yu-Gi-Oh pillows (five words I never thought I would have to use on this site), I knew these boys were in trouble. And the icing on this anthrax-laced cake, this week was the first time they were ever away from home. Perfect.
In retrospect, Cody wasn't that bad. The worse he could ever do was stare at me with his soulless eyes in a futile attempt to get a rise out of me. But then, there was Kevin. Now I now I am going to sound harsh in my description of this child of God, but believe, he (and his parents) have it coming. He was six going on eleven. He seemed so sheltered that I think Jake Gyllenhaal in Bubble Boy had it better. To insult this kid wasn't like hitting the broad side of a barn. It was like hitting the broad side of the Pentagon, or Great Wall of China. So this group of four, like a pack of wild dogs, pounched on Kevin every chance that they could. And to make matters worse, Kevin would try to defend himself after every jab, making him even more sceptable to put-downs. However, some funny moments did arise when Kevin had his mental lapses. For instance, when Kevin would break a rule, like wander away from the group, I would say would always say in my incredulous tone of voice, "Kevin, you're wandering away from the group". And without fail, Kevin would respond with an annoyed "I know". He just couldn't make that cognitive leap into realizing that he was doing something wrong. But as much as Kevin unintentionally induced headaches, he did tug at my heart-strings. As I stated earlier, this week represented the first time he was ever away from home, so obviously, he would fall apart and act like he watching the end of "Patch Adams" every time he thought of his family. Now of course, I fell to pieces whenever he cried. Anyone would. But even you sympathized with him the most, he opened himself to even more insults. Whenever he cried, he would stick out his tongue like he had tabasco sauce on it. Every night, I prayed that Kevin would one day survive high school.
From what I've said of Kevin and Cody, imagine what eleven-year-olds would do to them? Now, try eleven-year-old hockey players. I know that kids will poke and jab at one another from time to time, but there came a point in the week where I had to separate Kevin and Cody from the rest of the group. Seeing them being taunted just became harder for me than it did for them. But, surprisingly enough, everyone seemed happier because of it, proving that segregation (whether it be in the United States or South Africa) wasn't just enforced by the ignorant, but by pussies like me who just want to avoid conflict.
However, on Thursday night, those four little hoodlums realized that I had less to punish them with, now that week was almost over. Therefore, they tested their luck against me. They started throwing things at Kevin and Cody, and the insults only worsened. At that time, there was only one way I could lay the hammer down on them, and that was taking away their snack bar privileges. When it came time for the four boys to drown in a sea of artificial sugar, I pulled a Lee Corso and said "not so fast my friends". The boys squirmed and pleaded with me to give them go to the snack bar (it was two-for-one day, and they were treating pushpops like crack at this point in the week). I wasn't going to budge, but then, a miraculous thing happened. And if you ever needed proof that God exists, here it is. A little voice cried out "C'mon, Greg. Let them go." It was Kevin. For all the crap he took from these guys earlier in the week, he was still willing to stick you for them. My heart just melted. I let the boys go to the snack bar, and in gratitude for Kevin's courtesy, the boys gave Kevin some of their candy. Perfect.
Now, this would be a fitting end to any story. But no. In a Spielbergian twist (that's movie-geek lingo for not knowing how to end a story. See AI and Munich for proof) , Kevin's father visited Thursday night. Yes, Kevin's homesickness became so bad that he invited his father down from New Hampshire to attend a Chapel service. Interestingly enough, his father was more than willing to comply. I started to smell fish (which, along with the pungent scent of hockey equipement, isn't too good for the nose). And since it was Thursday night, Kevin's father witnessed some of the razing his son had suffered. On Friday, when parents had to choose whether or not to pick up their degenerate kids, he became so outraged by this taunting, he went straight to the camp director and called this a case of "bullying". Now, I know I've made this situation seem bad, but I'm guessing that this week was worse for me than it was for Kevin. Still, the father demanded that the boys apologize to his son and that their parents know that their children were "bullies". "Hmm," I said to myself "let's analyze the situation.":

A sheltered child being picked on by kids who don't know any better / A parent overstating the severity of a situation.

Unlike Kevin, it didn't take me long to put two and two together. As it turns out, the camp director and I agreed that the father was exaggerating the situation just a tad, and every boy in my group said they had a wonderful week. In fact, one of the boys ended up apologizing to Kevin anyway. So, each one of my boys left camp with smiles on their faces and God in their hearts.
But that was far from the best part of the week. Did you forget this was a Christian Hockey Camp? I was blessed enough to be an on-ice instructor during this week, and after every ice session, my fellow counselors and I would play around after all the kids left the ice. At one point, while I was dicking around the puck, I went one on one with the goalie coach. Now, he had full padding on and was a little rickety in the joints, but he could still get around to stop a puck or two. So, while I was contemplating what to do on this breakaway, I put my faith in God's miraculous ways. As I came in on net, I shifted to my back hand, then twisted. When the puck was on my stick and completly behind my back, I flicked my wrists. The goalie went down for the save. The puck came in, deflected off of the inside of his pad, through the five-hole, and into the net. In a display of skill that I usually don't, or in some cases, never have, I shot the puck from behind my back to score a goal. For me, it was further confirmation that God exists, and He is good.

Here's to one year...

On August 9th, 2005, a completely insignificant event on this planet Earth brought a tiny sense purpose to one young man. My website (again, I will not use that other, uglier word) has been rolling along for exactly one year now. Reading over some of my older articles, I was surprised that I actually made myself laugh, so you dickholes should be thankful that I provided you with a year's worth of entertainment. I don't quite know how to celebrate, so I'll down a six-pack of Heineken in reverence. And yes, I prefer to drink an imported beer, and admitting it already makes me more of a man than most people. And now, as I raise another bottle, now that I am completely sauced, I can say, "Here's to another year, you...eh, I got nothing. Thanks for reading."

Stuck in the Hot Hot Heat Vol. 2: Surviving Gay Day

The Irish have March 17th, trees have April 27th, and now gay people have June 26th. It may not be official, but to me, the last Monday of every June will forever be known as Gay Day. Now, as a teenage male, I usually get bombarded with homosexuality on a daily basis, but on this day, it seemed particularly unbearable. The progressive half of my mind took a beating for twelve hours. And if you don't believe the sudden barrage of gayness against heterosexuals, just look at the alleged cases of heterophobia in Provincetown, Massachusetts. The overwhelming gay population taunts the town's straight citizens as "breeders" and attacked the people who signed a petition in favor of banning gay marriage. Now, it's not as if I'm in favor of constitutionally prohibiting civil liberties, but publishing the names on a petition that you oppose is probably a little bit lower than where gay activists intend to aim.
Anyway, the assault began when I boarded the subway for Boston and picked up a copy of the world's biggest piece of gay propaganda in circulation: the Metro. This miniature version of the Boston Globe usually has some kind of gay news to report just to catch the reader's eye. I took the bait when I spotted an article about the gay pride parade that took place in San Francisco on the previous day. Like most news stories, I dismissed it and continued reading. However, when I reached the Arts section, things started to get a little weird, or in this case, queer. Half of the section (which usually occupies a quarter of the entire paper) was devoted to gay literature, including reviews and (brace yourselves) pictures. Now I typically don't judge a book by its cover, but some of these novels bordered on pornographic and just begged for an obscenity charge. Like the idiot that I am, I proceeded to read some of the reviews. Although only one book was pictured, its title and synopsis have since been seared into my brain forever. Surf 'N Turf was the name, and the plot went a little something like this:

The story is basically the movie Mean Girls transported to a beach-side community, where two rival gay factions, the "queenies" and the "meanies", do battle.

Yes, I too fell out of my chair doubled over in laughter when I read that, even on the disgusting, subway car floor.
When I got off the train, the first vehicle that passed on the street was from the Duck Tours, which are a common site on Boston streets. I have no idea how to classify their amphibious vehicles, so I just call them "automo-boats". Again, seeing these automo-boats is an ordinary occurence, but this particular one had a great big rainbow pattern on its side. Now, my mind doesn't usually rush to certain conclusions, but today just had to be special.
At this point, you may be asking why this gayness has surrounded on me on this particular day. You may also be asking why I was on the subway. I'll respond to both of those questions with a single answer: I went into town for a book signing of The Alphabet of Manliness, authored by none other than the great Maddox. For those of you who do not know Maddox, do us all a favor and punch yourself in the nuts (or ovaries as the case may be). He is an incredibly talented (and vulgar) satirical writer, the creator of The Best Page in the Universe, and one of my biggest influences. Internet goers have visited his site over 150 million times. The Alphabet of Manliness is his first venture into the publishing world, and it is so manly, even the sentences don't have periods. Because of the overwhelming masculinity that surrounds this book, the gay powers that be needed to compensate, lest I become too manly. However, a closer examination of the book's cover may suggest a different interpretation of manliness, maybe one closer to the themes I had seen all day, but that's for you to decide.
Since Maddox is such a huge celebrity (very famous), a large crowd gathered to meet the legend at his book signing. This resulted in a large line that twisted and turned its way throughout the Borders Book Store. Unfortunately, the line, coincidentally enough, found itself in the gay and lesbian literature section, where none other than Surf 'N Turf was waiting to be purchased. However, my favorite title was the Lesbian Vampire Chronicles which, interestingly enough, was classified as African-American literature.
Now, having a book signed by their idol is satifactory for most people. I, however, took the opportunity to display my comedic prowess to one of the funniest men alive. On his site, Maddox stated that he would be doing a free breast signing at the Borders Book Store in Boston, and anyone without breasts should bring a copy and a signed apology for not having tits. I took things a step further. Rather than an apology, I spent several hours on a rendering of myself with boobs for Maddox to sign. It looked a little something like this:

I am now acquinted with two celebrities, Maddox, and actor Bob Saenz, who is currently helping me develop my screenwriting ability via message board.
Afterwards, I ate a big ol' burger at Burger King and returned home with my heterosexuality in tact. I proved it to myself by getting roaring chubby after watching a straight porn between a man and a woman, the way God intended porn to be viewed.

*Note: I do not actually watch pornography. It is a dangerously addictive activity and can potentially lead to ED, so don't do it. Your dick will thank me.

Stuck in the Hot Hot Heat Vol. 1: His Reputation Precedes Him

Now, this story may not be written with the best of intentions. But remember, I'm violating intellectual property laws just to bring you this bundle of laughs. This story does belong to my twin brother, Jon, but don't worry, I'm sure he won't sue for that much.
Our tale begins with Jon eagerly anticipating his first day of work. A big grin covers his face as he thinks about working full time for the entire summer. He arrives at Day, Berry, Howard & Associates in Boston ready to start his day.
Jon's official job title is "office filler". He basically performs all the duties of a regular employee while he/she is out on summer vacation. But if a part-time filler (especially one as competant as Jon) can easily replace a full-time employee, I wonder how valuable that employee is the company.
Anyway, as Jon works, another filler introduces himself. His name is Matt and he is far from being a model employee. His hair is disheveled and he struggles to keep his mind on his work. Matt does, however, have a perfectly good reason for his less-than-stellar behavior. The Saturday prior, Matt had attended a bachelor party for one of his closest friends. At this party, he and his friends engaged in several debaucherous activities ranging from the consumption of alcohol to ogling young ladies to smoking illicit substances. And this is the kind of person who can replace you at the office while you are on vacation.
But soon, Matt had had enough of himself. He wanted to hear more about Jon. He mentioned all the exciting things that were going on in his life, including his recent graduation from St. John's Preparatory School. Then, the conversation came to a screeching halt.
"Wait," said Matt, "you went to St. John's Prep?"
"Yes." answered Jon.
"Do you know any of the chemistry teachers there?" Matt inquired.
"Why sure!" Jon said, "I know Mr. Boyle and Mr. Ford-"
Matt burst into hysterics. Jon was puzzled, why is he laughing, the weed should have worn off by now. His answer; he wasn't used to hearing his friend being call "mister".
My jaw hit the floor when Jon got to this point in the story. It was true, my chemistry teacher and Jon's good acquaintance was actually friends with this little degenerate. For those of you who don't know Mr. Ford, I pity you. His reputation and shear awesomeness precede him. He is probably one of the sharpest, coolest, and best teachers on the planet. Everyone in my chemistry class would agree. But his best quality remains his straightforwardness. He's a straight shooter, better than Annie Oakley. Calling him as straight as an arrow is not a fair comparison. Honestly, an arrow simply cannot stack up against Mr. Ford.
His supreme, cool nature is what made this next revelation even more shocking. Not only had Mr. Ford befriended this hoodlum, but he too was at that same bachelor party. Matt, however, can testify that all of Mr. Ford's activities were quite legal, unless you count silently sitting in the corner with a bottle of tequila in your hand unlawful.
Now, on one level, I tell this tale to enhance Mr. Ford's already glowing reputation. If he can maintain a level of popularity on simply being a chemistry teacher, imagine how admired he would be as a raucous partygoer (okay, maybe not raucous). But on several different levels, I tell this tale to demean my poor teacher. My reasoning is two-fold:
1) Why is he hanging out with these little punks who can barely hold the same job as my twin brother?
2) Pot smoking, I can forgive. But failing to invite me to this bachelor party? No. For shame, Mr. Ford. Hopefully, bringing your activities to everyone's attention will make you remember to invite me. For shame.

"Stuck in the Hot Hot Heat": Strange Stories from a Strange Man

As many of you probably don't know, I will be leaving for university this coming fall. Therefore, I have put forth my best effort to make this last summer of dependence on my parents as memorable as possible. After two months, this summer has been memorable to say the least. But enjoyable? Well, I'll let you decide.
Over the next couple of posts, I will describe (in pain-staking detail) the events over last sixty days that have finally made me a man. These stories will include bachelor parties, A-list celebrities, hockey, pranking, and 11-year-old boys, all in that order. So sit back, relax, and set your brains to "dumb" because it's going to be one ugly ride.

Who is Ann Coulter?

Seriously, who is she? I have absolutely no clue. I am without a clue on the subject. People describe her as bitch, but I view every woman outside of my mom, my aunts, and my future wife as somewhat of a bitch. So, I did all my research (by research, I mean I looked it up on Wikipedia) and discovered that calling her a bitch is far too deep in litotes to even be called an understatement. Satan could not have done any better with the anti-Christ.
Again, my entire arguement is predicated on this Wikipedia article, which can be found here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ann_Coulter. In a way, this article comes as a welcome relief to me. For too long have I tried solving figurative Rubix cubes in defending intelligent design and justifying my fanataicism for the Milwaukee Brewers. Now, it's my turn to point the gun at the broad side of the barn and fire (except the gun is a crappy-ass website and the broad side of the barn induces headaches across the United States.) Anyway, let's read the article, shall we.
The first thing that struck me was the front cover of her book entitled Slander. Sure, it's a good way to invoke ire, but the word "slander" is printed on a newspaper. Therefore, it would be called libel and not slander. And this is coming from a woman who graduated from Cornell University no less. The second thing that struck me was the fact that she called the "Church of Liberalism" "godless". I, for one, didn't know liberalism was a church, much less that it's godless. In fact, calling a church "godless" doesn't make it much a church now does it. I'm beginning to see why Ms. Coulter opposes women's suffrage.
Coulter has also been described as a "liberal's worse nightmare" and a "conservative darling". Who the hell would make this bitch their darling? I'm sure conservatives would love to portray a woman who supports apartheid as their "darling". Hell, even her parents can't possibly love her. I bet we don't hear much from them because they probably commited suicide once Ann hit television. If only they had taken her with them.
Now, a close examination of the facts will reveal that she is both a woman and certifiably nuts. Therefore, we can conclude that she believes in such evils because she wants attention. Let's face it, deep down inside, that's what all women want, isn't it? So just buy the bitch a damn mirror. She can give herself all the attention she wants without bothering the rest of us.
But as long as people keep being stupid...wait, scratch that. As long as people keep being people, Coulter will be writing books and appearing on television. I, however, will take action. I will stop the madness. How, you ask? My plan is to get her the sack and proceed to bang the brains out of her (assuming she has brains or even a vagina). I will get her in bed and take her around the freaking world. It seems like all of her extreme political views stem from a lack of attention and a need for some sweet lovin'. After all, we all know that women need stimulation. How do you explain high school girls going out with the most dispictable guys? Girls in high school will bang anything that moves, that's how badly they need lovin'. Clearly, Ms. Coulter has ignored her snooge and has taken her sexual frustration out on the world.
So, I will sacrifice all my masculine greatness to Ann, so that she may realize she belongs in one place...bed, and maybe the kitchen. But then again, giving my virginity to Ann my not be all that bad. I mean, who wouldn't want to have sex with a praying mantis? Ha ha, your move, Ann!

Thus Ends the Worst Week of My Life

Now please, I know this clever and very original post describing my week is going to sound like one big complaint. However, I, as you already know, am much better than that. Over the past nine months, I’ve gotten countless laughs at other people’s expense. Well, now it’s time for a taste of my own medicine. So please, get a cheap laugh or two at my misery, and I hope you find it more amusing than I did (which is entirely probable).
Firstly, a lot of small things conspired to make my week bad (I had to go into work. I didn’t win the lottery). However, some extraordinary events cause what is probably, and I do not exaggerate, the worst week in human history. Take these examples.
Late Saturday night and early Sunday morning, my week started as no one else’s should; paying $10 to see “X-Men: The Last Stand”. It’s not that the movie was bad; it’s just that it wasn’t good either. It wasn’t poor enough that I had weeks of A-material afterwards, but it wasn’t good enough to recommend it to all my friends at the cocktail parties. The following morning, I vomited five times in the most unpleasant Sunday morning I’ve ever had (and after thirteen years of going to church, that’s saying something). This is the third time I’ve had this stomach bug, and none of them occurred after a night a night of getting sauced. So in my experience with this illness, I’m usually fine by noon. However, this week just had to be different.
I didn’t get better till Friday. During the week, I could’ve been diagnosed with the following illnesses: influenza, the measles, whooping cough, dysentery, and polio. Multiple things disappointed me about my prolonged sickness.

1) In four years of high school, I have missed two days of school. So next time, I expect better out of my suddenly chicken shit immune system.
2) I didn’t set the record for the most illnesses in 168-hour period. Setting a world record in even under the most incredibly grueling circumstances makes even the most unpleasant experience seem worth it.
3) I was disappointed by my recovery because because it ruled out the possibility of me having AIDs. At that point, I kind of felt like having a terminal illness.

But AIDs didn’t light a candle to the coup de grace of this week…conjunctivitis. That’s right, the illness that only five to twelve-year-olds suffer from, somehow infected me.
In times of hardship, men usually turn to sports for solace and the feeling that they have achieved some kind of victory, even though they didn’t do anything except cheer on a team. However, sports only confirmed that this was the worst week of my life. The Brewers went a miraculous 0-7. Not only that, they were outscored 56-17. On top of that, they lost twice on Thursday. That’s right, in the bottom of the ninth, Jose Castillo hit a supposed walk-off home run and the Pirates proceeded to celebrate one of very few victories that they will have this season. However, the umpires ruled the home run a double, giving the Brewers another chance to blow it. As un-luck would have it, Ryan Doumit hit a single to right, scoring Castillo, and effectively forcing me to drink antifreeze in sorrow. And in a dowsing of poison onto this Caesar salad of badness, my team lost once again in the ninth against the Nationals on Saturday night. I later stuck a kitchen knife from Vector Services up my ass to distract myself from the pain.
To make matters worse, the Buffalo Sabres lost Game 7 of the Eastern Conference Finals to the Carolina Hurricanes. Now I know I don’t make as a big a deal of my fanaticism for the Sabres as I do for the Brewers, but that’s only because my father grew up a Bruins a fan (yes, even in New Jersey) and he just would not have it if I rooted for a divisional opponent (he’d kick my ass). Also, how can your root against Buffalo? You’d be forced to cheer for hockey team from North Carolina, which is obviously against God’s will. That poor community in upstate New York deserves a championship above all others (aside from Milwaukee of course).
Now I know you’re probably holding your sides and doubled over in laughter, but please, I advise you to be weary. I’m attending a lot a graduation parties this week and…well, let me put it this way. Have you seen the movie “Just My Luck”?

Intelligent Design kicks ass!

Okay, the theory of evolution is probably the most reputable explanation for the current state of mankind. Wait, what am I saying “probably”? However, some people out there still believe that humans just plopped down onto Earth by the will of some superior intelligent being. Why would people believe such an ignorant, unfounded, and overall ridiculous theory, you ask? Simple, because it kicks ass.
After a long period of consideration, I have created a master thesis: intelligent design officially rocks the socks off of evolution. Unfortunately, evolution is simply too scientific and definite. Unlike intelligent design, it doesn’t allow your imagination to run wild. Just imagine how awesome it would be have some superior being launching fire and brimstone from the skies just to create various species. I can picture it right now, God chilling at the end of the universe and making dinosaurs appear at the snap of all twelve of his fingers. Then, he sends a figurative middle finger to those stupid lizards in the form of an asteroid. Oh man, I bet your ass is hurting right now from being kicked so hard.
Plus, the first few chapters of the Book of Genesis gives people another opportunity of blame themselves for something, which seems to be the hot trend today. You find it all over the news: “Oh, it’s our fault global warming exists, it’s our fault terrorism still exists.” Even the theory of the giant spaghetti monster has enough power to rock crotches across America.
Now, let’s examine the theory of evolution for a moment. I won’t write out the exact definition because I’ll probably fall asleep half way through. So I’ll just draw a diagram to illustrate my point:

*YAWN* Let’s face it, evolution is b-o-r-i-n-g dull. No wonder state legislatures are permitting the teaching intelligent design in public schools. School is boring enough as it is. Hell, church is boring enough, so you can’t blame religious leaders for attempting to inject some excitement into it. So, if anything, we can all agree that although people who believe in intelligent design may be stupid, they, at the very least, keep things interesting. Give them credit for that.

I am Overly-Amazing and Underly-Appreciated

And don't even question the grammatical correctness of my title. Its honesty far surpasses anything English class could ever teach you. However, even a truthful title needs a little explanation. I make such an outrageous assertion because my awesomeness is greatly unrecognized. Granted, that awesomeness serves no actual purpose. I haven't cured cancer or won the Nobel Peace Prize...yet. My greatness lies only from my incredible and unsee trend-setting power.
Few know how amazingly I set trends. What Bill Gates has done for computers, I have done for trends. Of course, all of you with your simple, conformist and, let's face it, vastly inferior minds will say, "But Greg, I blindly follow every trend I see other teenagers doing. If you set a trend, I would know about it." a) You have some nerve coming off to me that way and b) of course you don't see my awesome power. If you did, I wouldn't be bringing it to your attention. But without much further ado, allow me to enlighten you on the great number of trends I have set.
I'd say the earliest trend that I've set began back in 2001, that magical year when I first became a Brewers fan. After five years of facing one-word questions beginning with "why", weird looks, and snide remarks, people seemed to finally accept the fact that I like a team for no reason. However, I didn't expect people to completely turn the corner. Literally, they always turn the corner asking me "how da Brewahs doin'?". I didn't think I could find a question more annoying than "why do you like the Brewers?" I was wrong.
None of the other trends I've set piss me off quite like this one. The Brewers are my cross to bear. I claimed them. I found them first. Finders keepers, losers weepers. Now enjoy the Red Sox success while you can. Don't waste your time following the Brewers. That's my job.
I gave birth to another trend in September of 2004. Now, if you're guessing that I'm going to talk about free-writes, congratulations, you are wrong. I didn't start free-writing's popularity, but I did outside of school. Technically, I wasn't the first to post stupid crap on a website (I refuse to call it a "blog" on the basis that the word sucks), but nobody cares about Gori. If it wasn't for this website, free-writes would just be a pleasant memory of junior year. If it wasn't for this website, you would see Alex start two different blogs or see Ashish start one of his own about berating Republicans (it didn't last, thank God). But to be fair, Alex's site has gotten quite the readership in its short existence. But he'll never match my twelve, count 'em, twelve consistant readers.
And finally, if it wasn't for my website, no one would be musing about Quiznos. Sure, my friend Ashish may have loved the sub shop before I posted my article, but I don't remember him mentioning it EVERY SINGLE DAY before I posted it. In fact, because he clamors about going there everyday, so does Alex. And because Alex clamors about going there everyday, so does Sanchez. And because Sanchez clamors about going there everyday, so does the rest of my chemistry class. And because the rest of my chem class clamors about going there everyday, I want to put a bullet in my skull. Now whenever you just mention the word "Quiznos", my whole chemistry class orgasms in delight. Hell, even following the question "do we have a quiz?" with the word "no" could make my chem class aroused.
Now, I didn't intend for this post to be one big nag. Just remember, while you're checking the Brewers' score while updating your blog on how awesome Quiznos subs are, that Greg started it all. But I know you won't. So...I'll just...cry myself to sleep. Oh boo hoo hoo hoo hooooooo.

Awake from the Mundane Falacity

my god, bush is annihilating the most significantly important values upon the america is based. it only makes sense, since america is such a baren wasteland of money grubbing bureaucrats that wish only to get wealth and money and power. all those fatcats what is oil from the middle eats. that why we went to war with the poor iraqie ppl who only wanted peace. i'm the only who sees that. instead america just brought war and violence to that peaceful land. it's all bush's fault. all he wants is money and violenec. I think we should hang him in front the capital building and set his corpse ablaze. thatll show america how bad violence is. he's such a nazi. a nihlistic anarachist that wants to spread his fascist and sadist agenda all over everyone. bush is so evil.
I can't believe how many people buy int oto the deception and lies. why can't ppl be as smart as me and see thru the garbage and lies. the lies are what piss me off the most. they lied about the weapsons of mass "deception" (oh snappp! i'm sooo cleaver) and they lie about how the corporations are out only to get money and oli. i wish everyone was as smart as me. i would move to san franscico (that would be awesome)and liek, help the other ppl with important issues. i would like set a utopia where like a guy would make bread and give to ppl for free and like a guy would protect ppl from violence and lies. that would be perfect. the war and fighting owuld sease and we would live in a perfect world. no fighting and no religion. yeah, i hate those rednecks and fox newz trying to force their beliefs down my throat. it's so stupid to believe in something that bigger or more important than yourself. Nobody show tell me how to live. ill do whatever i want play by nobodys rulse. and they should legalize wheed. oh that would be sweetttt. im gonna go light up right now.







Note for the slow: My post is short and it is not insightful. I've taken an extreme political stance. There are a multitude of spelling errors and annoying hyperlinks. I've broken away from every one of my tendencies, and the article is posted on APRIL FUCKING FOOLS' DAY! So we can only reach one logical conclusion: I have smoked massive amounts of marijuana.

My Typical Day

It's a shame that most people use these easily accessible online journals to document their otherwise meaningless lives. What they need is good course in creative writing at the nearest community college, then maybe a normal day for them would seem more interesting to me. But in the interesting of staying relevent, conformist, and cool, I've decided to discuss my typical day for you, the humble reader.
My day usually begins around 1, maybe 2 'o' clock in the afternoon. Getting started is probably the hardest part of my day, considering I have to navigate around my room surrounded by the five or six chicks that I banged the brains out of the night before. Everyday, I must endure their incessant whining, "Oh Greg, don't go! Oh Greg, come back to bed!". But I work through it, for my services are needed 128 out of the 365 days a year.
After eating a healthy breakfast of nails soaked in Pepsi and drinking a tall glass of orange juice, I go to work at the local hospital. My job is rather simple, I must irradicate every incurable disease from every man, woman and child in the emergency ward. True, some of the patients have the grave illnesses ranging from the dysantary to the chicken pox, but I heal their wounds with the help of Almightly God. Often, doctors will ask me "Greg, how are you so awesome? How do you manage to cure these grave sicknesses?", and everyday, I answer "With a little prayer, nails, orange juice, and punanay, always in that order".
After my work in the hospital is done, my next activities depend on the season. If the baseball season happens to be in full swing (I'm so clever), then I will speed home at a average speed of about Mach 3 to see the Brewers on MLB.tv (a great service by the way). If snow happens to be coating the ground, then I strap on my cross-country skis and drudge my way up to Sunday River for some real skiing. I hope to participate in nine events in the 2010 Winter Olympics (The sprint, the team sprint, the 30K classical race, the 50K freestyle race, the slalom, giant slalom, Super-G, downhill, and the Combined in case you were wondering). Yep, I anticipate at least seven gold medals in my future, just to be realistic. After destroying the downhill slopes, I usually take part in the other activities that the mountain has to offer, if you know what I mean, and I think you do. That's only because I think of myself as a frat boy, and I can't think of any other way to have a good time than to get absolutely wasted.
After experiencing all that Sunday River's night life has to offer, I stumble, err, run home as fast as a can to resume my studies. I usually encounter a pack of wolves on my way, but I only cross their path just to toughen myself up. They typically snarl and growl like pussies for a while, until I go Chuck Norris all over their asses. However, I don't beat 'em upside the head to hard, otherwise they wouldn't be able to fight me anymore. But despite their persistant belligerance, I haven't reached optimum toughness yet, since I still have some scraps and bruises. This forces me to admit myself to the nearest hospital.
But once I get their, I encounter another problem. The nurses always attempt to pick me up by using crappy double-entendres like "Ow, you're a dirty boy, you need a sponge bath". They claim to be the heralded Night Nurses from Jersey, but I can tell that they are not Jersey trash. Trash usually gets picked up. But I always tell the ladies to back off, because I have room for only one, maybe three women in my life, and right now, they're locked in my closet.
I rush home to release them from my smelly closet, and, as usual, they come out demanding to have sex. But I'm better than that, by always making the excuse that I can make them ride the stallione tomorrow. I resume my homework, pass the test the next day, they go home to lie my ladies down by the fire in order to, you guessed it, read them a bedtime story. I'm currently in the middle of "Curious George", but the ladies are having some trouble keeping up with the plot. Oh well, that's a story for another day.

The First Annual Tellie Awards

Every night before I go to bed, I say a little prayer thanking God that he gave me rich parents. Now that the prices at the movie theatres are just atrocious, I count my blessings whenever I get to see a movie. This year I was fortunate enough to see some great ones, since I don't have the balls to view a film that I might not like. So, without much more further, elongated or prolonged form of ado, I present to the most prestigious awards in all of film, my own; the First Annual Tellie Awards.

Best Animated Feature of the Year Nominees:
Wallace and Gromit in the Curse of the Were-Rabbitt

And the winner is...
Wallace and Gromit in the Curse of the Were-Rabbitt! Hey, I was shocked too that it won. But don't be surprised that it won, be surprised that it's not the only animated movie I've seen this year.

Weakest Animated Feature of the Year Nominees:
Robots

And the winner is...
Robots! Not only does the movie have the most uninspired title of the year, it is the only bland computer-animated film I've seen in my entire life. To give you an impression of how bad it is, I'll summerize the movie in one sentence; Ewan McGregor had a better performance in Star Wars Episode I (now that's saying something).

Best Special Effects:
King Kong
Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith
War of the Worlds

And the winner is...
King Kong! I needed to give King Kong an award just to stick it to my brother. I think he'd rather pour a full bottle of Windex in his eyes than see this movie again. Apparently he approached a movie about a 30-foot tall gorilla like a National Geographic Special. He still won't let me live it down.

Sickest Screenplay of the Year Nominees:
David Goyer & Christopher Nolan (Batman Begins)
Michael Haneke (Caché)
Paul Haggis (Crash)
Andrew Niccol (Lord of War)
Tony Kushner & Eric Roth (Munich)

And the winner is...
Andrew Niccol, Lord of War! This award doesn't go to Andrew Niccol for his work in Lord of War as much as it does for his penning of The Truman Show (which is only the greatest movie ever made). I'm recognizing him for the greatness of that particular film since no one else would (the bastards).

Super-rific Supporting Actress of the Year Nominees:
Juliette Binoche (Caché)
Hope Davis (Proof)
Yomi Perry (Crash)
Rachel Weisz (The Constant Gardener)
Gary Beach (The Producers)

And the winner is...
Rachel Weisz, The Constant Gardener! Honestly, the rest of the nominees are just filler (even Mr. Beach, who was in drag most of the time). Weisz blows all of them away.

Super-rific Supporting Actor of the Year Nominees:
Morgan Freeman (Batman Begins)
Colin Hanks (King Kong)
Jared Leto (Lord of War)
Liam Neeson (Batman Begins)
Michael Pena (Crash)

And the winner is...
Michael Pena, Crash! So what if he's in the movie for about five minutes? I assure you, his performance will bring tears to you're eyes...not that it made me cry or anything. Not only that, but I love Morgan Freeman, (See The Shawshank Redemption to find out how much) so Pena has to be pretty solid for me not to just hand over this award to Mor-dogg for his shear awesomeness.

Lucious Leading Ladies of the Year Nominees:
Katie Holms (Batman Begins)
Tea Leoni (Fun with Dick and Jane)
Bridget Moynahan (Lord of War)
Uma Thurman (The Producers)
Naomi Watts (King Kong)

And the winner is...
Uma Thurman, The Producers! As you can see, this award doesn't exactly evaluate the performance as actresses. Heck, Naomi Watts' voice changes in every scene. However, I did notice the other, finer qualities of these fine young actresses, starting at the chest and ending at the legs. That's why I nominated Katie Holms (Pressing the mute button in every scene in which she spoke greatly enhances her performance). But every Oscar, Tony, or any award in the world wouldn't do Uma Thurman justice. I guarantee that although every man in the theater is sitting, they will be giving her performance a standing ovation.

Pimpin' Male Performances of the Year Nominees:
Daniel Autriel (Caché)
Christian Bale (Batman Begins)
Eric Bana (Munich)
Nicholas Cage (Lord of War)
Ralph Fiennes (The Constant Gardener)

And the winner is...
Eric Bana, Munich! Just watch the scene where he speaks over the phone with his son, then try to tell me that's not one of the best performances you have ever seen.

Best Director of the Year Nominees:
Michael Haneke (Caché)
Fernando Meirelles (The Constant Gardener)
Andrew Niccol (Lord of War)
Christopher Nolan (Batman Begins)
Steven Spielberg (Munich)

And the winner is...
Fernando Meirelles, The Constant Gardener! I know, I'm shocked too (and I'm giving out the freaking awards). Even though Spielberg directed the Indiana Jones movies and Nolan directed Memento (which should earn them every directorial award from now on), Meirelles raised awareness of corporate greed and the plights in Africa in an easily accessable, sprawling epic, which is a good thing for idiots like me.

And now, the moment you've all been waiting for. The moment of truth. The moment that you've been hanging on the edge of you seat for. The moment that you've skipped reading several cliches just to see...
Best Picture of 2005 Nominees:
Batman Begins
Caché
The Constant Gardener
Lord of War
Munich

And the winner is...
Lord of War! It sucks hardcore that more people didn't a chance to see this movie. It kicks so much ass that my butt was sore after watching it (from the kicking, I mean. Get you're mind out of the gutter). Sure the inspired acting of Nicholas Cage and the superb directing of Andrew Niccol made it great, but what made this movie go over the top, you ask? It featured the ultimate bummer song, Jeff Buckley's "Hallelujah"! That one piece of musical genius incapsulates the incredible joy and sadness in seeing Lord of War. Go see it. It's cool.

"Quiznos": Italian for Sandwich Perfection

I usually reserve my days off for visiting my favorite culinary place in the whole wide world (since I'll be damned if I have to make my own lunch). Just ten minutes for my home is the Mecca of all sub shops, Quizno's, otherwise known as Perfect Food Capital, um, Place...USA. In over twenty visits to Quizno's, I have never been disappointed. However, on the 3rd of February, 2006, my most recent visit was slightly less perfect than I expected it to be.
I arrived promptly at 1:30 PM and ordered my usually Traditional Sub, which is a divine almagamation of ham, turkey, roast beef, lettuce, mayo, and tomato. However, the employees, who I know on a first name basis, finalized the order of one man who was behind me in line before they finalized mine. With my brother already sinking his teeth into the culinary orgy of deliciousness that is a Quizno sub, I obviously become agitated. However, my slight disappointment turned into outright rage when sandwich superman Max did not slice my sub in half as he usually does. Despite this egregious error, I decided to bite my lip and take this mistake like a man (Others would normally throw a hissy fit in this situation, but not me). But when I sat down to partake in lunchtime bliss, Quizno's maintained its DiMaggio-like streak of satisfying meals. In retrospect, being disappointed by a break in usual protocal is like being disappointed by the Super Bowl because the commercials weren't good. As always, the focus of the Super Bowl is the game, and the focus of Quizno's is always the sandwich.
The greatness of Quizno's Subs became quite clear after I paid my first visit to the sub shop in the summer of 2004. That visit became the highlight of my day, even though I visited the Grand Canyon on that very same day. Yes, the holiest of all fast food restaurants outshined the grandeur and majesty of the Grand Canyon. I bet God eats Quizno's whenever He's hungry, and whatever comes out of God after He's done eating becomes the food the food they use at Subway.
Taking a bite into a Traditional Sub at Quizno's is like treating your mouth to massage. You can combine every delicious food that you've ever eaten in your entire lives, and I guarantee that it won't even come close to the fattening glory that is a Quizno sub. How good is a Quizno sub, you ask? Have you ever had an orgasm? Multiply that by fifty, and you'll know how it feels to sink your teeth into perfection between two slices of bread. Visit your local Quizno's immidiately if not sooner, and I guarantee that your dining experience will change the way you look at food forever. And don't worry, the check from Quizno's has already cleared, that's why this is my first post in a month.

College Football's Greatest

I reserved this post just for today. Next to baseball, hockey, and just about every other sport, college football is the greatest sporting event that man has created. Now the Rose Bowl and the National Championship Game may be on tonight, but that's not important. I've devoted this post to debate the greatest college quarterback to ever play the game, and to say that there is no debate. Without a doubt, Paul Peterson is the greatest quarterback...ever.

Paul "Pistol" Peterson: The Greatest

His career might have started late, but that's only because he was fulfilling his Mormon duty TO COMPLETE MISSIONARY WORK IN NICARAGUA! Have you spent two years in Nicaragua? I think not. His Jesus points automatically increase by 100 points. Now, because most college admission officiers are dicks and they won't accept students who can't get a real education because they're too busy saving the world, Paul went to attend Snow Junior College in Utah. There, he just chose to play football, became the starting QB, and THREW 55 FREAKIN' TOUCHDOWNS IN ONE SEASON. That would break David Klinger's Division 1-A record of 54 touchdowns, but Paul felt just too good for Division 1-A. Awesomeness points: up 50. But one day, he thought to himself, "I'd love to pursue a Finance major a Catholic university, even though I'm Mormon". He could have chosen to attend Notre Dame, but decided that they sucked no matter who they're coached by. So he turned to Boston College. Awesomeness points up another 25.
Now, Peterson is the quarterback to ever play the game, but those talents are hidden behind his outward appearence. Maybe people couldn't his skills as a QB because HE'S 6'0" AND 190 POUNDS! Greatest at the position despite his small size: 200 awesomeness points. Still, he became the backup to that chump Quinton Porter at the start of the 2003 season. But while Porter blew, Paul threw for TDs. Eventually that chump got injured in a near blowout against West Virginia. Peterson orchestrated a great comeback, but he let West Virginia have that one, since the Mountaineers are pretty cool (25 extra coolness points) . In the final regular season game in Blacksburg, #13 ranked Virginia Tech scored a late touchdown to tie the game at 27-27. With only two minutes left in a tie game with hostel crowd and seventy yards to go, Paul was all like, "Please, don't make me laugh". After faking the handoff, Peterson hit receiver Larry Lester for 56 yards and a touchdown. BC: 34, VT: 27. Kickass points: up 80. In the San Franscisco Bowl on New Year's Eve, Peterson was wondering if they could increase the difficulty level because it was like a video game. They planted a home-cooked beatdown on Colorado State, 35-21. He was so great, we can only assume that he ran into a burning building to save a family of ten later that night.
Thankfully, coach Tom O'Brien came to his senses and redshirted that chump Porter and started Peterson for his senoir season. His fellow players nicknamed him "Pistol" (get it, Paul "Pistol" Peterson), but it certainly doesn't imply what that man carries...yes, he does have a cannon for an arm. Anyway, he kicked some ass for the first three games of the 2004 season, until he let Wake Forest win one because it's such an pimpin' school. Heck, he even threw two picks in the first half in a game against Notre Dame just to keep it close. But to come out on top, he threw two clutch touchdowns in the second half to score a comeback victory against their rivals, 24-23 (Awesomeness points up 800). He ultimately worn himself out so much during the season that he broke his hand in a game against Temple. Did he cash in his chips like so many other pussies out there? HELL NO, HE PLAYED A BOWL GAME AND THREW FOR TWO TOUCHDOWNS WITH A BROKEN HAND! He even broke his leg later in that game, but I'm sure he could've kept playing, I guarantee it. BC came out victorious in the Continental Tire Bowl against UNC, 37-24. He could have won the Heisman that season, but even that award wouldn't do him justice.
I, much like everyone else, wept like an infant after Peterson's college career was over. But just when we all thought that he would fall back on that finance major of his, he signed with the Ottawa Renegades of the CFL, playing behind former Heisman runner-up Brad Banks. His football playing days may not be over, but he'll have to win about eight MVPs and twelve Super Bowls just to outdo what he's done during his college career.
So let's review:

• Missionary work in Nicaragua,
• Had record-setting season in junior college with 55 TD passes,
• Decided to attend Boston College,
• Orchestrated a huge upset against Virginia Tech,
• Won first bowl game as a junior in San Franscisco Bowl,
• Led team in a comeback victory over hated rivals Notre Dame,
• Played with a broken hand and broken leg,
• Won second bowl game in Continental Tire Bowl,
• Playing in the CFL...

I may be excommunicated for heresy, but I move to rename God "Paul Peterson".