I'm finding it hard to have nothing to say.
I have a new wallpaper up. It’s called “Until They Mattered” and I have it in the wallpaper section.
They loved me, but I didn’t love them.
I cut them out of my life and scribbled over them.
It was only me, only the boys, that counted. I hated my family Until They Mattered.
But then it was too late.
Hooo kids. My life has been one big, glowing ball of stress and nervousness. I have trouble eating; I have trouble sleeping. All I do is think about the situation. I fantasize about how I hope it will get better, and how I fear it will be worse. My thoughts, my actions, my mood is consumed by this thought. And I can fully blame it all on one person : John Harrington.
¿Que es John Harrington? John Harrington has been hailed as the “Bill Gates” of his time. He is the man personally responsible for constructing and designing the water closet. Water Closet is Brit Lang for toilet.
I hate my toilet.
Right now I don’t even want to SAY toilet, I am that angry. In our particular situation, our water closet companion has begun to wet himself. It started shortly after we got the house. We noticed that after we flushed, a peculiar wet stain would slowly creep out from underneath the base and cautiously make it’s way to the bathroom.
See, the good thing about carpet is that you can see exactly where the carpet soaked up the water. And if this had been linoleum, I probably would have slipped on the water and busted my head clean open. Oh, but I wouldn’t be dead. I’d just have an infection the rest of my life from the sewage water that entered my fractured skull as I lay there near-death. I could still lead a productive life, but I’d always hear people saying, “Why do you use that blue toilet bowl stuff in your hair?”
I hate those people.
It’s not enough for the Porcelain Chum to soak everything in his juices. He has to make sure things smell, too. Right now our bathroom is a step above smelling like a bum box, but it’s not far off. Actually, litter box is closer to the truth. The toilet leaks cat urine.
I hate cat piss. To sum up – I hate my toilet. I hate those people. I hate cat piss. They seem to do that, though. You buy one for the family. Everyone takes turns petting it to make it feel at home. You feed it regularly, and you pray to it, and you love it. Then it just freaks out and goes totally nuts. I mean, you saw this coming, but you never thought it would get this bad this fast. All you did was keep the door closed because there was a party going on. They hate the dark and your forget that. Now it’s leaking everywhere – and it knows where the knives are.
Maybe I got a little over dramatic about it. I just wanted things to be perfect. I needed things to work out. I love the toilet, I really do. I just don’t know how to tell it I love it. I gave it magazines. Good ones. Well, mostly computer ones, but I saved the best of the LIFE subscription I used to get and the TIME subscription my parents got and the NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC mags I stole from the library.
We’ll get this figured out soon. I know it. I can feel it. I will say this much, Jeff is going to make a call. Sometime soon – it’s going to be plumbing day, my friend, and you’re going to get the plumb.
Look, Mom, teal. There is lots of new stuff with this page. For one, the left, top, and right boxes will follow you wherever you go – from page to page. They are watching you always.
There are also six new wallpapers on the site. Including a special one especially made for the Vistan version of the site.
The other major change was the “comment” link. It now says “comments” instead of the confusing thought bubble and vague, cryptic number along side. It now pops up. Go figure, I liked that better all along.
The site looks coolest in Mozilla or some such Gecko browser, but IE does just fine on this one. No tricky HTML this time – it all worked just fine right away.
The other major change is not on the site, but in my life. I’m getting married. Yeah, right. Not this bachelor. I’m single and swinging until I die alone and in tears.
No – I have a cell phone. The number is :
I have some other big news. I’m pregnant. Yeah, right. Not this male. I’m unpregnant and unbitchy until I die alone and in tears.
No – I am renting a house in Madison. The address is:
Let me tell you about it.
It’s a quaint, college house on North Harth Avenue in Madison. The graceful, well-kept lawns of the Dakota State sway nary a block from my doorstep. The first thing you may notice about the house is the siding. This sleek, durable, yellow siding covers 50% of the house.
It’s a warning of things to come.
Step inside, please (around the disintegrating fire hydrant of cement). The doorbell doesn’t work, so you can quit pushing it. The front door leads you to our living room. You can tell because there are no chairs, a huge ass stereo/dvd/TV system, and three couches of different sizes, colors, and smells. There are also computers, who are harvesting our body’s energy to complete their evil deeds.
The first door to your right is Brandon’s room. No one is allowed in, though Heather and I broke into it and took some pictures. A brief glimpse at the sports car he keeps there is enough to realize that Brandon, or Fish, is the “Rich Kid” of the house.
The second door on your right leads to the bathroom. And there’s a door in there that leads to the toilet room. The toilet room is about the size of an airplane bathroom stall, except with no overhead lights or a sink. There is however a magazine rack (take that Iceland Air) and a toilet paper dispenser (take that Vermont) and holes in the wall where the light was hanging until Lacey managed to destroy it in her drunken rage. She could have waited until she had actually had something to drink.
The bathroom has a nice border of Mickey Mouse going across the top. Unfortunatly, not much of it has survived and there seems to be only one complete panel of Mickey giving us a thumbs up and smiling (like he knows what it is we do in the bathroom). The shower feels more like someone’s spitting on you than I’d care for, but I’ll live with it.
Journey back into the main room, and past the miniture christmas tree, and into our kitchen. We have a kitchen table, a fridge, a stove, a microwave, and some food. We usually make Jeff cook (and he does a real good job), but when Jeff’s gone, we have frozen pizzas that I usually don’t burn. Off to the left is Carl’s room (right off the Kitchen, Carl? Are you planning on getting the munchies??) which isn’t insulated. So, come winter, Carl will be his own little blueman group. Solo. With no instruments.
From here we can go upstairs or downstairs. Let’s go upstairs first. We go up the stairs (imported from Holland or what? These are carpetted ladders) to where Jeff and I sleep IN SEPERATE BEDS. I’m way by the window, and Jeff’s way by the stairs. The upstairs room is large. It spans the living room downstairs, minus the diversions into Brandon’s and the bathroom. I have yet to put my stuff away, but I have a lot of ideas. I guess I’m waiting to get my computer up there, so I feel whole. I need her. I love her.
There are three hidden rooms upstairs. Two of them go to Hell and one is the “You Didn’t Pay Your Rent” room. Collin will be staying there when he comes. I’m sure it’s comfy when you kill all the mice. Muhahaha.
In the basement, the creepiest room of all, there is a couch and a toilet. This used to be a party house. Now all that remain are their alcohol stained furniture. The basement is cement until you get to the backroom. It’s this earthen area where we found the coffin (!). Well, it looked like a coffin until we got close. Who would store a cabinet on it’s back in the basement in the earthen part? Retards who wanted to scare the crap out of me, that’s who. I hate retards.
Some odd things about the house are the large amounts of coax and the different types of carpet. There is coax shooting out of practically every wall in the house. There is even a line coming out of the house and ending on the line. You know, cause that makes sense. That line, by the way, is dead. The carpet seemed to be a grabbag sale. Get 10 different types of carpet for the price of one. There are something like 9 different types of carpet for 7 different rooms. Tell me how that figures. Maybe they got the carpet with the coax.
Despite it’s eccentric nature, I love the house. It’s hard being away from home for so long, but I long to be independant – to rid myself of the strings attached. The only way I can do that, though, is to kill all you mothen-flakers and eat your bodies.
Sweet dreams.
I’m the reason Christ is dead. I don’t mean that the way you think I do. You should be angry. Some of you are thinking, “We are all the reason why Christ is dead. He died for our sins.”
That’s so not what I mean.
This is actually a very twisted story for me. I’m caught between feelings even now, as I tell it. I was happy, feeling triumphant, when I did it. Then I felt remorse. Then I realized that I hadn’t actually won at all, so I felt anger. Now I don’t know what I feel. Maybe it’ll help to tell my story, too.
My name is Lucifer. My friends call me Satan. Well, my enemies call me Satan, too. And sometimes people call their enemies Satan. I’m a pretty popular guy. I’m in the bible, for God’s … crying out loud.
After our big fight I’ve held a grudge against God. He seems to have forgiven and forgotten (I hated that ad campaign) but I’m not one to be so Christian. I knew for a while that he was going to send his “I’m-Mister-Perfect-And-Can-Walk-On-Water-Holier-Than-Thou” first born to earth. I had a plan.
“Demons of Hell – gather.” They grudgeningly put down their shovels and made their way (still grudgeningly) to the Hell Colliseum. I’m not sure why we have shovels. Must be that shoveling forever was the best God could come up with.
My first mate, Cain, answered the call vocally, “What the here do you want?”
“Quiet. Or I’ll give you a smaller shovel. It has come to my attention that the Allslighty is sending his only son to earth.”
Cain snickered. “What does that matter? Earth is the last you’d send something you love. He’s given up. What does it matter to us?”
“Cain, how much of the Jewish doctrine do you remember? Do you remember that part where the Gates of Heaven are shut until the Savior of the World returns to offer salvation?”
“I was too busy killing siblings to recall old books by dead prophets.”
“Why did I make you my first mate?”
“Because I was the first person down here who had tenacity.” He nudged Adam hard in the rib. Adam muttered something under his breath and walked to sit down somewhere else. I almost felt sorry for that guy. It’s my fault he’s down here. Go figure; I’m good at what I do.
“We have to kill him before he accomplishes whatever it is that he’s trying to do. Intelligence is sketchy on exactly how he will open the gates. Watch him, people. Make sure he doesn’t get near any lock-smiths. If he buys a crowbar, kill him. If he asks for the price of an SUV, kill him. If he seems to be jumping extraordinarily high, kill him. I’ll give you more later.”
There was the din of people getting up and moving around. Then Cain came up to me. “You know, you could just kill him instead of playing this wait game. I have a contact in the government. I can get him close to the Mess. I can have things arranged.” As cocky as he was, sometimes he was useful.
“Alright. Start this.”
On earth, Cain roamed invisible. The power of a demon is temptation. We walk around, unseen, and whisper ideas to you. You don’t have to listen, but the fact that you’re thinking about greatly increases the chances of doing it. No one’s ever done something without thinking about it. He saw the official that was his contact. He had convinced this guy to extort money, sleep around, and kill criminals. His name was Scruyus; he was a tax collector.
Scruyus was talking to his friends Bilus and Judas, also tax collectors. Cain wasn’t sure how this was going to play out. He thought he’d just whisper his idea when it seemed right. He listened to their conversation.
“I’m sorry, my friends. I have a meeting with Jesus. We’re eating out and then we’re gonna go pray,” Judas was saying.
“Are you pretty good friends with this guy?” Scruyus asked.
“Yeah, I guess. We’re not best friends, you know. I don’t even know his middle name, but I know it starts with an ‘H’. I’m about as close to him as I am to you guys.”
Bilus didn’t like that statement. “Maybe we should kill him. The government is looking for buyers.” Scruyus laughed.
Cain saw his opportunity. He whispered into Scruyus’ ear, “No, Judas should kill him. He would never suspect it. It’ll be funny.”
The first seed was planted. I could already tell what was going to happen. Judas would be the one to betray him. It wouldn’t be enough, though. You can lead a horse to the cross, but you can’t make him die. He needed something else, but what? I would have to wait for the answer.
Soon Jesus was on the cross and bleeding. He’d been tortured, mocked, and now hung out to dry. I almost felt bad for him. And despite all this, he was not dead. There was a bit of a crowd gathered at the Mount. I had a plan.
“Find me the list of boys who tossed rocks at the Wailing Wall today.”
“Done.”
“How many are at the Mount right now?”
“6, sir.”
“Locate Judas and Bilus.”
“Done.”
“How close are they to any of the boys?”
“100 yards from one of them sir. Boy by the name of Thomas.”
“Excellent. Cain, I have a new assignment for you.”
Cain, again on earth, quickly located Judas and Bilus. Judas was feeling guilt. That stupid human. Cain walked up behind him. It didn’t matter what they were talking about – this was important. He whispers, “There’s a boy over there named Doubting Thomas. Get him to say an ‘H’ word. Don’t ask why, just do it now.”
They walked over to Thomas, who was sitting with a friend. “Hello boys. Is one of you Doubting Thomas? I heard that you were throwing some rocks at the Wailing Wall today.”
“Maybe I was.”
Cain whispered, “Son, you see Jesus down there? He’s in pain, son. He wants release. You can give it to him.”
“No. I will NOT kill Jesus. I believe him.”
As I watched this, I heard the voice of my lead intelligence officer. “Sir, we have new intell on this situation.”
“Go ahead,” I said.
“It seems that killing the savior is a bad idea.”
“What?”
Uptop, Cain was whispering, “You’re a good Jewish boy, aren’t you?”
“Intelligence has recently translated part of the bible that suggests that through Christ’s death the gates will be open. In which case, we don’t want him dead.”
The boy was furious at such a question. “Of course!”
“What did God give the Israelites in the desert?” Manna.
“Sir, if he dies, we lose.”
“What is the square root of 144?” 12.
“Get Cain back here now! Shut that kid up!”
“Do we serve Caeser?” No. It’s a ploy for us to save up money until we can move out, get our own place, and party all the time instead of study like we said we would.
Alarms went off. Cain’s cell phone rang. That’s right – cell phones originated in hell. And TV and rap music. Like you didn’t know.
Cain wouldn’t answer it. He was so close. What could it be?
Cain whispered, “What is Jesus middle name?” The boy froze. Maybe he didn’t know. Did Cain have to whisper to this kid, too? That would take time. They needed this guy dead now.
Then the kid spoke, “H.”
“No!” It was done. The sky became abruptly overcast and the ground quaked. The Son of God died before their eyes. Cain’s laughter was louder than the thunder. I could fell my authority shrinking as souls left my dominion. One by one, ancient servants of God disappeared in front of me. I got more than my share of raspberries.
Then, uptop, I heard, “Way to go, Tom. You’re going to hell.”
‘Well,’ I thought. ‘It’s a start.’
I’m the reason Christ is dead. I don’t mean that the way you think I do. You should be angry. Some of you are thinking, “We are all the reason why Christ is dead. He died for our sins.”
That’s so not what I mean.
It started off having nothing to do with Jesus. I was at home being a good Jewish boy. I’m about 15. 15 3/4 if you’re a good looking Jewish babe reading this. I can quote the bible front and back and at my Bar Mitzvah I was the only one still standing (just in case there IS a good looking Jewish babe reading.) Anyway, as a good 15 year old, I was sitting around NOT throwing rocks at the Wailing Wall bidding God to smite me.
As it happened, an old begger happened to be walking by. He screamed at me. “Don’t you know what comes of little boys tossing rocks at the Wailing Wall bidding God to smote them?”
“They get smote?”, I answered smartly. I mean, the answer wasn’t smart, but the way I said it – that was smart. I had 10,000 ounces of attitude behind that line.
“No! They get cursed!” Old men are funny the way foreigners are funny. You think they’re hilarious for a while, but then not being able to understand them gets to you and you end up either pushing them into traffic or selling them bad ecstasy. So, I gave the old man my last tainted ‘e’ and hit the road.
“Wait!” he shouted at me. He had already taken the hit. “Um… wow, this is good. Uh, whenever you say a word beginning with ‘H’, someone will die. And I… wow, this really IS good stuff.” He fell over and tried to lick his ears.
I couldn’t help but be intrigued by the old man’s message of warning. I decided to go visit my friend Lazarus. He seemed perfect since he had just been dead and then raised up again. He was an older gent in the city, but we both ran ecstasy routes through Jerusalem. We were business partners, you could say.
“Lazz, buddy.” His ‘e’ pills featured an ‘L’ with an empty tomb behind them. It was a new design he had made up given his recent celebrity. Jesus had no idea what he was helping proliferate.
“Hey, Tee. Can I help you?”
“If you … mysteriously died suddenly, would Jesus bring you back?”
“Oh, no. He left these paddles. He said, ‘I’m not always going to be around, you lazyass.’ You just hit this button and press them to my chest. Then you yell ‘Clear!’ and push these little buttons on top. Pretty handy thing. This damn heart of mine keeps going out.”
“Mind if I kill you for an experiment?”
“Go right ahead.”
“Hebrew.” I waited. That was a pretty good ‘H’ word, if I say so myself. Suddenly Lazz’s eyes started twitching and he fell over. I ran to the paddles, pressed them to his chest, and screamed clear. Nothing happened. I hit the bottons on top and his body jolted up from the ground. He started coughing and turned over.
“Did it work?”
“Better than you could imagine.”
I knew it worked. Now I just needed to use it. I had no victims in mind. No one owed me an abnormal amount of money. There were no rival drug dealers who I had quarrels with. I had this immense power, and I had no beneficial way to use it.
“Hey, Tom. Wanna go up to the mount? They’re doing some crossing.”
“Sure. Why not? Maybe I can help them along.”
“What does that mean?”
“Oh, nothing,” I smirk to my friend. He already thinks I’m wierd, but I think pretty soon he is going to quit hanging out with me. Oh, well. His loss, right?
We make it up to the mount but the crossings have already begun. “Go Jesus!” I yell. See, the crossings don’t always end up with someone dead. It’s a lot like a sporting event (of which I am always king – for those good looking Jewish girls who are still reading).
They were having trouble with Jesus. They taunted him, they starved him. They even stabbed him, and nothing was going. Jesus is a helluva fighter.
Two men, from the bottom of the mount, approached us. They called themselves Jude and Bil. “Hello boys. Is one of you Doubting Thomas?” I sheepishly acknowledged this. “I heard that you were throwing some rocks at the Wailing Wall today.”
“Maybe I was.”
“Son, you see Jesus down there? He’s in pain, son. He wants release. You can give it to him.”
“No. I will NOT kill Jesus. I believe him.”
“You’re a good Jewish boy, aren’t you?”
“Of course!”
“What did God give the Israelites in the desert?” Manna. “What is the square root of 144?” 12. “Do we serve Caeser?” No. It’s a ploy for us to save up money until we can move out, get our own place, and party all the time instead of study like we said we would. “What is Jesus middle name?” H.
“No!” It was done. The sky became abruptly overcast and the ground quaked. The Son of God died before my eyes.
“Way to go, Tom. You’re going to hell.”
I’m the reason Christ is dead. I don’t mean that the way you think I do. You should be angry. Some of you are thinking, “We are all the reason why Christ is dead. He died for our sins.”
That’s so not what I mean.
I’m old. At the time of this writing I am 45 years old. It almost seems an insult to have lived this long. It almost seems like God is saying, “I’m putting you here for as long as I can, because when you croak it won’t be me that you spend your time with.” I’m writing this story because I believe it’s important. Maybe one day scores of people will read what I did and strive not to make the same mistakes I did. The mistake is that of egging on unstable people.
I hung out with Judas frequently. We were both tax collectors. We’d hang around the market, in a quiet spot, and crack tax jokes. On this particular day, I happened to walk over to Judas and Bilus just as Bil was finishing up his joke. “So I said, ‘You could call it Max evasion!'” I guess you had the hear the rest of the joke.
“Hey, Bilus. Hey, Judas. What’s up?”
“Hey, Scruyus. How’s your day?” Judas asked.
“Oh, let me tell you. It’s so BC out there today. I had two Nazareans who pretended they didn’t know Hebrew in order to get out of payment. So I killed one and the other was more than happy to pay me for his life. Oh, and he suddenly remembered his Hebrew, too. Miracle, eh?”
Bilus scoffed, “Miracle! Have you heard about this new guy? He’s a Jew. Actually, he might be Nazarean, too. He’s performing miracles around the country. He’s gotten awfully popular.”
“I’ve seen him,” Judas said. “Actually, I’ve hung out with him. I really get into the stuff he says. He’s a brilliant guy.”
“Judas. Come on. He’s a payer not a payee. You know how we feel about those kinds.” Bilus had a point. We’ve never been much accepted by the secular factions of the world. “I mean, come on. Does he even know the difference between a 1040 and a 1040EZ? I mean, one’s sandstone and one’s marble, but does he know which is which?”
“No, he probably doesn’t. But what does that matter? I lived most of my life with no idea we even paid taxes. Why can’t some people spend their whole lives not knowing? There really are more important things than deductables.”
“Says who?”
There was silence. Bilus really didn’t seem to like this guy. I, myself, didn’t know the difference between a 1040 and a 1040EZ, but then again most of the people in my neck of town didn’t pay their taxes. I usually had to kill one of them and collect the money that way.
“Look. Bilus, Judas, let’s go to the inn tonight and have our fill. We can get drunk, fill out tax return slabs for fun, and go home feeling better. Why not?”
“I’m sorry, my friends. I have a meeting with Jesus. We’re eating out and then we’re gonna go pray.”
“Are you pretty good friends with this guy?” I asked.
“Yeah, I guess. We’re not best friends, you know. I don’t even know his middle name, but I know it starts with an ‘H’. I’m about as close to him as I am to you guys.”
Bilus didn’t like that statement. “Maybe we should kill him. The government is looking for buyers.”
I laughed, “No, Judas should kill him. He would never suspect it. It’ll be funny.”
Judas pondered this. “How much money?”
“Oh, no way. I’m not listening to this. Judas, I forbid you to kill anyone. Allright?”
He was silent. He shared a look with Bilus. They were scheming.
“I gotta go. I’m due for a death tax payment. This is going to be tricky because I normally force people into giving me money by killing them. Maybe I’ll have Jesus come and raise him up for me.” No one laughed but me. “Hey, Bil. Stay out of trouble. Hey, Jude. Don’t let me down.” Then both of them, at the same time, said, “See you later, Scru.”
That was the last time I saw either of them again.
It’s quiet like a coffin in here. Nancy’s gone today, and I am hard-pressed with the duty of staying in the office. Otherwise I’d be doing inventory or greenhouse. As it is, I am to remain at this desk until my lunch hour. Then, during HER lunch hour, I think I AM going to go to the greenhouse. Who’s going to know?
Well, besides all of you, that is.
This weekend was nice. It started on Friday at around 4:00. Jeff and I entered his vehilcle and drove to Sioux Falls. Jeff had to meet his dad to exchange the van he had for the car he wants. He told his father that we would meet him at around 4:30 (so we were going to be a little late getting there). He calls him mom.
“Hey, mom. It’s your son.”
“…”
“…Jeff.”
“Oh, hi Brett. How are you?”
“*sigh* Hey, when did Dad leave for Sioux Falls?”
“Around 2:30.”
It is pertinent to know that Sioux Center, IA, is about an hour from Sioux Falls.
When we got to iHop, the drop point, there sat his father reading the paper and waiting patiently for us but hopefully not an hour’s worth of waiting patiently. We made the exchange, I almost forgot my phone, and we took off for Big Stone City.
Two hours, 100 songs, and 10 pages later, we pulled into the Watertown Mall Parkinglot. You may say, why did you do that?, and I may say, because what I didn’t tell you was that we were going to see “The Matrix: Reloaded” in Watertown first, and it would be true.
We saw the movie and I loved it. You can discuss it with other members of the lazydesert community right here. If you aren’t already of a member, be sure to register. It’s the best thing you’ll ever do… forum-wise.
The next day, after lounging around for most of it, I managed to catch Megan Johanson online. Turns out that her graduation party was on Saturday and not Sunday, and I would have missed it completely because I’m not good at reading. So, luckily, she reminded me.
When we got to the fire hall in Milbank, we were bombarded with an overly large number of tables. As it turned out, Megan’s graduation party was a quad, and, as it turns out, her table was way in the corner. I think that Jeff and I hung out with Megan, Amy, Zack Larson, Seth Larson, and eventually Derek from 6 until 10:30. We mostly complimented cars driving by and threw Jelly Bellies at them. There was a time that Sarah was there. Sarah, one of my closest friends in the world (I hope she’s reading this) ever, hadn’t invited me. She claimed that she “thought she had” and then reinvited me. How sweet. She eventually left and the group of us were left to our own devices again. I hadn’t hung out with Megan in a long time. It was very nice to see her again.
Then Jeff and I drove on back to the Sioux Historic to hang out with Bryce, Lindsey, Chris, Alexis, Kirstin, Dan, Carlson, Ryan, Alicia, and Todd (who never had less than two beers in his hands at all times). I spent most of my time buying $.75 drinks of water and sitting with Carlson, Dan and Jeff talking about how utterly alone we were while simultaneously lip-syncing the words to “Jesse’s Girl.” Then Alicia pulled Dan and I (and we tried to pull Jeff) out onto the dance floor. We did three rap songs, then Dan and Jeff and I went home.
The next day, Bryce and Jeff and I go to graduation ceremony. Like most graduation ceremonies, it was hot, long and boring. Unlike most graduating ceremonies, Bryce, Jeff and I were far enough away from other people that we could make sarcastic comments the whole time. We had some good ones, and some crude ones, and some that I cannot post here. Suffice to say, they were good seats.
After the ceremony was over, we hung out at the high school waiting for people to say, “Oh, I can’t believe I forgot your invitation! You have to come!” but it only happend once. Thanks, Julanne. Thanks a bunch. She seems to think that a crappy dual hug would fix his blunder. She got no pen, thank you very much.
My graduation presents included second-hand pens that I found around the house and a card in which I wrote a message (usually sweet and endearing) with said pen. I gave presents to Megan, Sarah, ALi, Shellia, Missa, and Tony. Julanne’s graduation consisted of Bryce, Jeff and I being the first people there and being scared to eat any of the food. We did however see a lot of pictures. Sarah’s graduation party consisted of awesome lefsa rolls and my signing her guestbook three times.
ALi’s graduation frightened me at first. I had seen her whole family around the school and I’m not sure that I’ve really talked to them since ALi and I broke up. So, of course, I was scared. I got to her party and the first thing I hear is “You made it!” When did I say I wasn’t going to show up?? Her whole family said it. Oh, you came! How wonderful! Did I seem like the kind of guy to NOT show up? Is that what they thought?
I had some food, and sat with Jeff. Then Ange, ALi’s eldest sister, hit me with some food on the back of the head. That was all the excuse I needed to chit chat. I think I had a very nice conversation with Ange, Jenny (also ALi’s older sister), Jeff, and a lady who works with Jan (ALi’s mom). Turns out that no one hates me in their family, and I think that’s great. Then my mom shows up, and now they all love HER. EVERYONE loves my mother. Ange especially took to her. Maybe I’ll get Ange her email address. They can be pen pals.
Shellia’s was a little weird. I think I’ve talked to her in person 2 or 3 times. She’s a friend of ALi’s who became an internet friend of mine. She also used to date this guy who scares the hell out of me. Missa’s went well, too. Hers was mostly over, but her mother insisted we drink a gallon of punch each. She also seemed a little less than coherent at times. I think she was really really tired. We stood around, shot the breeze, drank punch. Opsahl and a friend of his who I know but cannot recall the name of came in. He actually did really well with comebacks. It was a little disarming.
Tony’s graduation party was the final one. I chit-chatted with Corey for a while, I was asked to retrieve Tyler from upstairs, and I made Jeff say, “I love South Dakota.” All-in-all, it was a good day. Jeff and I packed our stuff up, grabbed some Mountain Dew, and took off. The ride home consisted of sorting through Jeff’s unmarked CDs. Everytime I took a sip of that Mountain Dew, though, I wished it was graduation punch.
I can’t wait until I graduate… again.
She said “don’t,
“don’t let it go to your head
Boys like you are a dime a dozen,
Boys like you are a dime a dozen”
She said
“you’re a touch overrated,
you’re a lush and I hate it
but these grass stains on my knees
they won’t mean a thing”
And all I (all I)
Need to know (need to know)
Is that I’m somethin you’ll be missin
(is that I’m somethin that you’re missin)
(maybe I should hate for this)
Maybe I should hate you for this
Never really did ever quite get that far
(maybe I should hate for this)
Maybe I should hate you for this
Never really did ever quite get that…
I’d never lie to you
Unless I had to
I’ll do what I got to
Unless I had to
I’ll do what I go to, the truth
is you could slit my throat
And with my one last gasping breath
I’d apologize for bleedin on your shirt
And all I (all I)
Need to know (need to know)
Is that I’m somethin you’ll be missin
(is that I’m somethin that you’re missin)
(maybe I should hate for this)
Maybe I should hate you for this
Never really did ever quite get that far
(maybe I should hate for this)
Maybe I should hate you for this
Never really did ever quite get that…
Cuase I’m a wishful thinker with the worst intentions
This’ll be last chance you get to drop my name
Cuase I’m a wishful thinker with the worst intentions
This’ll be last chance you get to drop my name
If I’m just bad news, then you’re a liar
If I’m just bad news, then you’re a liar
If I’m just bad news, then you’re a liar
If I’m just bad news, then you’re a liar
If I’m just bad news, then you’re a liar
If I’m just bad news, then you’re a liar
If I’m just bad news, then you’re a liar
If I’m just bad news, then you’re a liar
Have you ever heard of Gary Busey? No, you haven’t. Maybe you have, but if you have then you know that he is ugly enough to induce vomiting.
And that guy on Seinfeld – Kramer – that guy is a genius.
He is a genius.
“Hey. Let’s give that guy just out of the mental ward a knife!”
“No, Heather.”
*whinny face*
“No.”
I’m at Heather’s right now, and she’s rubbing off on me. I can’t hold a thought for more than – he look at HIS hair. You’d think that a neurologist would be able to operate a bloody comb. Gary was in Lethal Weapon and Universal Soldier III: Unfinished Business. You can pretty much tell that his acting career mirrors his mental downspiral.
Heather has a 2.0 GPA. She is a retawd. Too bad her kids won’t be around to clean up after her forever. You can tell she wears on Chris. You can hear him crying at night. He pretends that he’s just washing his hands, but you can hear his soul-wrenching sobs all the way into our house. It’s haunting as it is saddening. Note: Gary Abusey’s mom is ugly also, and his kid is an ablino; but the albino is not quite as ugly as his dad.
I will know admit that I thought that Gary Busey was Nick Nolte.
Heather:
I quit doing the XMen thing because I wasn’t feeling it. Guess what : that movie is a hella lot of typing to do. I don’t think anyone got it, though. Maybe Bryce did, but he hardly posted anyway. So… thERe. I started this new thing. This thing here. That I am starting.
I HATE MY LIFE. HEATHER MAKES ME WANT TO DIE.
OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER.
DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE.
I WOULD CRY BUT IT LOOKS
LIKE THAT WOULD GIVE
HER TOO MUCH
CREDIT
:'(
<@:) Um. Something about how much I love Heather... yada yada yada. She's not reading this over my shoulder, so I can type whatever I want. :'( WHAT? Organisms are important to anyone ever. Daria is on and there's a sad clown on the wall. What a combination of phrases. "No, not by that." He has a smiling clown pillow. An NO YOU DON'T adventure in moderation. If only Daria had more friends who didn't bring her down. Did you ever wonder what sort of people write Daria? Maybe they're just like her, and maybe their favorite new hip/creative artist is Avril Lavigne. Scary, huh? Well it's time to take my pill(s). Stay White, people.
Then Frosty The Snowman hands Rogue some of his mom’s clothes, and they share a moment. Like, “Oh, man. I so want you. But I can’t cause you’ll kill me” sort of thing. Then they just go for it, death warnings be damned, and kiss. And then she does that “I can see my breathe” thing. Then they kiss again and she almost sucks his brain/life out through his gulliver.
Wolverine, however, has different tastes. He grabs himself a cold one and proceeds to get drunk. Just then the parents walk in. Talk about humour! They start to freak out because an overly muscular, surely man is drinking their beer and they don’t know him. Parents over reacte so much, don’t they?
Finally FreezeTag calms his parents down and explains to them. He tells them that he’s a mutant and that he has powers and that Wolverine is a professor at the school. “What do you teach?” “Art.” Oh, the laughs! Then he gets a call. That thing that he pulled out of the cool XCar (that looks like a dorky cell phone) is going nuts. It actually means that Storm is trying to talk to them.
Then the police show up. Oh, no! It looks like when the kid brother went upstairs to cry he called the police, too. Wolverine, sensing danger, unleashed his claws and stands on the porch. “Sir, drop the knives. Drop the knives!” “I can’t.” Things are getting a little heated, so Wolverine retracts his claws *schink!* and CopA shoots him in the head. He drops like last quarter profits for Enron.
Pryo, whom we suspected of being less than on stable ground, loses it. “You know those dangerous mutants you hear of on the news? Well, I’m the most dangerous.” *sizzle* He destroys cop vehicle after vehicle and toasts a couple cops, too. Everyone starts firing. He’s really giving mutants a bad name. Rogue grabs his bare calf and uses his powers to suck the fire up. Then the jet comes in. They all climb aboard and hoard it for home.
Meanwhile, one of the guys who works Magneto’s cage is sitting at a bar. On the television we see a report of what had happened in Boston. “Turn that off,” he says. “Why? Does it bother you?” Enter the only unbelievable part of the movie. This guy is fat, kinda disgusting and alone. What made him think that super-model/actress Rebecca Ramen-Almost would want to have a drink with him? She gets him into the bathroom (where all the parents cover their children’s eyes), but she knocks him out and fills him full of lead instead. I mean that last part literally.
Cut to the secret base. Here we see Xavior in (what appears to be) the splender of Mutant Mansion (or whatever it’s called) but *dun dun dunn* IT’S NOT! It’s an illusion thanks to Jason Stryker. He decides to make himself look like a little girl (with freaky eyes) in this illusion. Weird, huh? Mutany indeed. We now realize that the plan is to walk Xavior through the steps that he would use in the School. Stryker’s son is making it look like it’s just a regular day back home. The vision comes and goes (and it makes a cool effect) but he does a good job of overpowering Professor X’s psychokenetic abilities.
Back to the prison, the guard brings Magneto his food. He walks down the long plastic bridge to the room and sets down the tray. Magneto smells something in the air. “There’s something different about you today.” And he lifts the man up while still standing 5ft away. “Too much iron in your blood…” And he sucks it out of the guy so it forms three ball bearings. The guy is dead, and Magneto demolishes his chamber with the three balls. They wizz around him smashing everything.
The guards panick and begin to pull the plastic bridge away. Oh, no! How is Magneto going to get across?? Use the ball bearings. Flatten them out to disc size and float yourself over there. Hell, you can use the other two balls to kill everyone in your way. It looks like he’s free, folks.
The jet is in the air and so is the US Air Force. They are charged with the duty of “taking that plane down.” The X-Crowd gasp. What will they do? The planes are on either side of the jet and ask them to land now. They won’t; they just keep flying. The planes back off. “The planes are backing off,” they think with relief. It would be relieving except that they’re backing off to launch missles. Storm gets an brainstorm… oh, man that was bad. She creates her own tornado alley. One of the planes goes down. The other holds tight. She lets the tornadoes up and the jet fires it’s two missles before the pilot ejects.
The missles race closer and closer to the flying vessel. They try to shake it. Storm cannot out manuever the weapon. Jean sits still and concentrates really hard. Then her eyes catch fire and one of the missles explodes. I love Jean. I really do. She concentrates hard on the second one, but she can’t hold it off. It explodes inches from the plane and Rogue gets sucked out. Nightcrawler disappears in a puff of black smoke and reappears in midair, next to Rogue. He grabs her, disappears again (with her), and reappears in the plane. The plane, however is going down. The earth is rushing up and then they stop. With his hand up and a smirk on his face, there stands Magneto.
In the footsteps of so many of my relatives before me, I have decided to uphold a tradition that Rausch’s (and probably Miles’, too) have enjoy for years and years. This tradition is that of ruining a good movie for everyone who hasn’t seen it by divulging all of the pertinent themes, phrases, plot twists, and effects.
The movie started about the same way as the first. Can we say, “fill time with CGI”? There’s a nifty voice over that says something like “We’re freaks, this is our story.” I think it was Jean Grey, but maybe not. It could have been Storm.
Zoom Out to some lady talking about this retarded Lincoln picture in the White House. Hmm, Lincoln freed the slaves from the slavery. Does this parallel the story we are seeing?? Uh, yes. We are seeing the White House because, dun dun dunnn, there is a “spooky character” walking around with a tail.
Shoot ’em boys, but it’s too late. He’s really good and not being shot and manages to incapacitate all of the secret service men. The really really cool battle ends in the oval office where Nightcrawler is about to skewer the president with a knife, but he doesn’t. He gets shot and teleports out of there. He drops the blade which has a “Mutants Forever” or some such saying on it.
Then we see Wolverine who has clawed his way up to Canada. There’s a big dam and some weird wolf that leads him through this base. He then goes back to the school. Rogue and Frosty are about to kiss when she realizes that she could suck the bloody life out of him if she got too carried away, so they just laugh awkwardly at each other.
Oh, Wolverine’s back. Everyone loves Wolverine. He meets the boyfriend. *eek* Then he sees Jean. Can we say sexual tension. Then he sees Cyclops. *eek* “Your bike needs gas” Toss keys. “Then fill her up” Toss back. Come on guys, try to get along, please!
We are now introduce to a new character : Stryker. Yeah, the same one as in Airplane. Maybe not. But he tells the president that the Mutants must be stopped, yada yada yada. Of course this is terrible. Ok, so I’m blanking. Then, uh, Stryker goes to see Magneto in the ultra cool, plastic, transparent prison. Stryker drips some stuff onto his neck and then Magneto is unable to control himself.
Oh, no.
At this time, Storm and Jean Grey go to find the mutant who tried to kill Mr. Prez and they head to where he lives. Xavior and Cyclops go to visit Magneto to ask HIM about the assasination attempt (to see if he did or if he knows anything about it). Just at the juiciest part of the dramatic hot dog, things go wrong. As Xavior discovers that Magneto told Stryker the details of Cerebro (alllllll the details) gas begins to fill the chamber. Cyclops (in the out chamber) is attacked by some petty humans, but then Lady Deathstrike takes him out.
Cut to Wolverine having a nightmare about his stupid past. He gets up. This kid is blinking through the channels. He never sleeps. FrostBite is up, too. They chat as Stryker and his militia walk in. Holy bullet holes! Many of the kids escape by special, secret tunnels. Leave it to the principle actors (Rogue, IceMan, and Pyro) to get caught up behind the rest. There is a showdown where Stryker hints that Wolverine should know him a LOT better, but SnowBall puts an end to it. They escape and head to Boston.
Meanwhile, Storm and Jean trick manage to capture Nightcrawler who has a German accent and appears to be Roman Catholic (and a bit of a fanatic). He has body carvings for every sin. Yeah, glad I’m not a member of that congregation. They get in the plane and take off.
[abbreviated from this point on]
The kids and Wolverine have since been travelling to Boston where SnowBell’s parents live. Oh, no, he didn’t tell them he’s a freak. This may be awkward. Dr. X is being held in a base somewhere up North (hallowed Canada?) and has a device on his head that makes him wince whenever he glares.
Enter a key piece in the puzzle. His name is James. He’s Stryker’s son who is, dudah!, a mutant. He’s an illusionist. Turns out that Stryker thinks that being a mutant is a “problem to be solved” and Xavior couldn’t save his son. So, he turned his son into a weapon. (The son has a blue and brown eye. Very mutany.)
Cut to the quaint house in Boston. IceBall has changed clothes, (since it’s his house) and Rogue looks on at the picures that dot his walls. Downstairs, Pyro looks less than consumed with Jealousy. Oh, wait, he doesn’t. Perhaps a forboding??
This post is not a humourous piece. This is informational. I want to apologize for those of you who have tried to reach me by MSN : africansnowweasel@hotmail.com : or AIM : rauschpax : or ICQ : 161393312 : and haven’t been able to. For one, I just found out that AIM seems to forget when I go away, so everyone thinks I’m there.
I’m not.
For MSN I just appear offline – a lot. It’s been a hectic set of days (weeks, even) and it won’t slow down for another week and a half. I’ve had banquets, band reheasal, Bob Holly and Miles band rehearsal, meetings, and still had time to stare off into space while driving… fast.
What a rush that is. I love the faces of children as I speed towards them with a ton of metal surrounding me. I never much cared for playgrounds in my childhood, but now I never drive past them. I drive through them.
What?? *sigh* What is wrong with me…
That’s it.
When it’s in ruins. How do you ruin a party? Evidently, you invite me to go along. I seem to be either an attractor of bad parties or a destoyer of good ones. It works much the same way inviting your dog to the cat show works. Wait, how about inviting your rapid, hyper-active dog who can’t control his bladder. Yeah, that’s closer.
My first experience with a party wasn’t until college. You can call me a loser (or su><0r) right now and get it out of your system. I have never much been into drinking and that is the staple of a party. Unless it's a gay "Let's play hide and seek!" party. I like to show up to parties like that with a flashlight and a silencer. This particular party wasn't like that at all. I think it was Quinn who brought me here. It was a quiet looking inconspicuous house on the edge of town. We entered the house and proceeded downstairs. It was dark downstairs. There were blacklights everywhere and a strobe light set up next to a computer stereo system. God invented Winamp for geeks. The lights confused me and the cramped area made me feel disorientated and confused. I felt wasted and I wasn't the one drinking. Everyone else was. Suddenly someone from upstairs down and bid the musical din to silence. "Nobody panick, but... The cops are circling the house. They gave us 10 minutes to get everyone out before they give out tickets." There was commotion. "10 minutes is a long time. Just be calm and go right home." I got upstairs with the rest and waited for the rest of my group. I noticed two guys begin out the door with their alcohol when the owner of the house stopped them. "Are you guys idiots?? The cops will see that. Leave it." We got outside, sprinted to the car, and drove back to the dorms. My first party and it had been busted! This was a very bad scene. Jump forward to the week of the play. Enter Heather. Heather : "Let's DO SOMETHING fun!" How can a guy argue with that? Heather : "I found us a party. Let's go, girl." *sigh* We got in the car and drove out of Madison toward the Hillside Supper Club on the lake. Here is where Jake (who played Perchik) had a lake house. We got out of the vehicle (after several comments made to slight my manhood and sexual orientation) and we entered his humble basement "home." We all sat in the "kitchen." The girls sat in chairs. Heather and I sat on the couch. The other four guys (yes, other four guys, Heather) sat at a table playing a drinking game with cards. Why is it that drinking games are so complicated? If drunks come up with them, shouldn't they be simple and easily won? I mentioned this to Heather who said, "That's a great ide... what?" She hadn't had anything to drink, but you couldn't tell. You also couldn't tell that it was a party. We left when Jake was drunk. This took only about 20 minutes because he was being cocky and fate decided to teach him a lesson. Then this weekend. Jeff and I go to visit Collin at the Mount in Yankton. It's a long drive. I nodded off a couple of times and so did Jeff. Except, Jeff was driving... Oh, well, we made it fine. We found Collin and enjoyed some Theatre. Then it was off to get drunk. As Collin put it, "I'm wearing my 'drink beer' shoes. Notice how they are the shoes I wear everyday." Too long for MSN but not too long to Awayken.com. We found our first party with Susan Canton as our guide. We walked in, made introductions (she called Jeff by the name "Dave" which was weird), and then we watched 'Stealing Harvard.' Minute by minute people began leaving until it was only us and the girl who lived there. The girl, consequently, was asleep in her chair. We left quietly. The next party we went to was a little livlier. There were people drunk out on the sidewalk, even. This should be classy. We walked in to an attempt at swing dancing as Winamp (again, the geek's golden God) blared out a metal cover of a Rolling Stones song. There were chips in the "kitchen" and sprite in the fridge (score!) so I poured myself a drink and Jeff, Collin, and I discussed the finer points of blog authorship. Then some more people showed up. Then some left. Then the party began to slide down. It ended with XBox. Nothing is more depressing than watching girls try to play video games, but it's even worse when they try to play while intoxicated. The latest notch in the belt of my lameness came at Zimm Fest 2003. This was supposed to be the rockin' concert and social gathering of the semester. Of course, Zimmermann Hall was running it so you can guess how it turned out. No one showed up for two hours into it. The DJ played to a room full of people with "Staff" name tags on and no urge to dance and get groovy. At 9 the bands showed up. Punky Junior High kids with a bad full of power chords to let rip. You can tell a good band when they wear the shirts of OTHER bands while on stage. I wonder if Metallica does that... There were a lot of guitar and a lot of bass and a lot of drums. I really had no idea what they were saying. If you asked me what the song titles were, I had no idea. None. I can hardly name the bands themselves. I spent much of the night running the bar. This entailed making up how to make daquiris simply by adding ice, liquid, water, and blood. I guess that there's a way, a method, a form. After spilling six cups worth of strawberry flavored slush on my clothes and hands, I had about figured this damn process out. These nights went pretty well. Despite a ruined party, I usually had fun. Otherwise, why would I bother trying again? Well... now that I think of it. Why bother trying again? Oh wait, I remember. The chicks.