I went back on my own ideals.

I realize now that none of us will confess when the opportunity presents itself. Nobody likes a confrontation. It’s revolting, but I can accept the fact that most of us are spineless cowards in these situations. I know you were hoping to lean on the crutch of friendship after all this went down. That’s an act of cowardice that I will not grant you. Wallow in the guilt you despise so much, as it consumes you.

Thanks for the fun while it lasted.

I concentrate no more on the ordeal. I have fucking SAT’s in less than a week.

Isn’t it amazing how one guy can be right all the time?


I don’t understand.

That just doesn’t make any sense at all. Whole backbone thing. To have a fucking spine.

Were you oblivious to the fucking hints? They were dropped with the intensity of bombs. Any bimbo would have picked up on what was going on.

Fuck, I’m being nice calling them hints. They were answers that practically bitch slapped you in the face.

Wow. And here I was in fucking La La Land. Thanks for the rude awakening.

Okay, that’s all.

Hey, I’m gonna be unique too. Email only entry. So nothing can be said here.

Bah, I’m over you. No more Beatles of course! But Killswitch is plenty fine to fill the void.

I sold my soul today. For $5. No really. A kid gave me $5.
And may I add that I signed it away on this elegant piece of tattered
looseleaf paper written on in the most calligraphic of handwriting. In
fact, the only thing that could have made it any more official would be if
it was written in pencil. Crayon perhaps!
I consider the unofficiality of the “contract” non-binding, ensuring me
full possession of my soul, as well as $5 in my pocket scot-free. EAT

Holy shit have I got a story. So lunch ends 5th period. I’m walking out
listening to my MP3 player. I’m walking by and some short toad with
disgusting red hair stops me, telling me to put my MP3 player away.
Grudgingly, I put it away. As I’m walking off however, she waddles up
to pester me again. This time, she wants to see my ID.

This is my ID:

Cute, huh? It’s a joke running for months now. I lost my ID outside in
gym somewhere during September or October. Nobody’s noticed or given a
shit since. It shows how successful the whole program is, right?
Security, my dickhole. I’m not gonna get into the semantics of how
flawed the whole ID system is, but I know one thing: until they enact
swiping ID’s sometime in the year 2065, ID’s will remain inherently
redundant and ineffective.

So anyway, I pull out my ID and show it to her. I think she went into
seizures. She looks up and tells me, “This isn’t a high school id,” and
proceeds to SNATCH my ID from me. I’m staring at her like she just
flashed me. She tells me that she’ll give it to the level administrator
and proceeds to waddle off into the teacher’s faculty room. “FUCK
THIS,” I say, as I follow her into the room. Here she thought I was
going to strangle her, as much as the thought crossed my mind. I was
fucking livid. That’s when Mr. Mohr walked in to defuse the situation.
Mohr in himself is somewhat of a pudgy toad, as well, but he managed to
calm me down a little and keep me from making any rash actions. Good
thing too. So I go to 6th period and sit there, boiling. The
second the bell rings, I go to see Szukics. He lets me in and we have a
short little discussion on the ID system. I tell him that I think it’s
flawed in every sense of the word. I tell him why my ID, although
somewhat inappropriate in a high school setting, still identifies me
more than sufficiently. It has my name, photograph, hell, it even has
my Goddamn student number, a number that apparently stays with you
throughout your whole East Brunswick school career. This student number
is like your Social Security number; it’s fucking “Open Sesame” to all
your information. Szukics had none of it, however. Dumbass. He also
demanded I acquire a proper ID from the library. It was all I could do
to keep myself from laughing in his face. Spend $3 on an ID that’ll
last me 2 months? Riiight. So with
that, I took my ID and shoved off for class, which I was healthily
tardy for. It was Health, in which I sat behind a chair, obscured from
immediate vision, listening to The Beatles for the remainder of the
period. It was awesome. I suppose to avoid a similar situation in the
future, I simply shouldn’t listen to my MP3 player in the hallways
anymore. Bummer.

Revolution’s been renamed “Wii” (pronounced “we”). What? Yeah.
Mr. Holkins discusses it further here.
Mr. Krahulik ridicules Nintendo in a hilarious fashion here.


Can you level with me on the frustration felt when
working on a project that keeps fucking up on you? It’s akin to the
last level in a videogame that you have spent 3 weeks (or so it seems
at least) dying in.

I have just spent 3 DAYS
working on a
fucking program in Comp Sci. The objective is so simple, I want to cry.
Deceptively so, however, because the coding is fucking HELL. The actual
logic didn’t even take half of this time. I probably got the main
layout done in about a
half hour, but the debugging was what bogged me down. I just sat there
altering code for 2 days trying in vain to get the fucking test data to
work. And so it finally did.

Fucking if loops. Hehe. Dan knows what I’m talking about.

Here it is, in all its glory. Sneak a peek if you will. Plagiarize at ease. I care not.

Also, badminton was fantastic today. Went overtime 18-16.

Can everyday be like this one? I mean, I can think of very few things to add to make this day better. Seriously.

WOW…I never even realized how catchy this was. Hello, next song that’s gonna be stuck in my head for 3 weeks.

The entire first season of Doug is on my hard drive. Can it get much cooler than that?

Who remembers the Honker Burger? I do.

Who remembers

Patti Mayonnaise? I do.

Skeeter Valentine?
Roger Klotz?



Man…my childhood flashes before my misty eyes.

New South Park in 20 minutes entitled “Manbearpig,” in which the boys
are trapped in a cave and Cartman finds treasure. Yeah, I’m about as
lost too. This is regardless, however. You are still obligated to watch
it. All of you.

*EDIT* The episode was good. I’m super serial. *EDIT*

I looked like a pirate today. Or a pilgrim. But I like pirate better.

I’m tired of waiting around. It’s just like…enough already, you know? Something’s gotta give sooner or later, and I’d rather it sooner. I’d really really rather it be sooner. Ambiguous, I know.
Patience, young grasshopper, he says.

Fucking double physics tomorrow. I want to play badminton so badly.
The class is AWESOME. Everybody who was there second quarter is back
again, plus some new people. Love a good game of competitive badminton.
There’s no other sport that offers the satisfaction of slamming a
birdie (or shuttlecock) into your hapless opponent’s face. It’s
harmless and humiliating all at once and yields the greatest feeling in
the world. 

And Abel and I fucking dominate. It would be considered rape in any
other setting, that’s how brutal it is. All who face us leave sobbing,
shuddering husks of their former selves, traumatized to the point of no

I saw Scary Movie 4 a few days ago. It wasn’t that bad!
Funny stuff. You can’t expect highbrow humor out of a movie of this type,
obviously. So you just laugh at all the slapstick shit going on.

The intro with Shaq and Dr. Phil was fucking hilarious.

Also the exchange between Mahalik and C.J. at the bar.

C.J.: “But if you’re missing then you can’t turn up and if you turn up then you were never missing. You can’t appear and disappear at the same time.”

Mahalik: “….Unless you’re a zombie.”

C.J.: “Damn! That’s some deep shit!”

Mahalik: “Yeah, I’m gonna put that on Myspace!”

Tom throws a baseball and hits Cindy in the forehead.

Tom: “Oh my god! Are you ok?”

Cindy: “It’s ok, I’ve had balls in my face before.”

The Japanese exchange between the little boy and Cindy was

“Toshiba Seiko sashimi!”

“Yamaha sushi tojo!”

Oh and those tripods were SUCH a fucking rip from the
walkers in Halflife 2. Absolutely shameless.



(^Total wallpaper material.)


Cold – Stupid Girl

I used to listen to this song addictively about 2 years ago. It’s awesome rediscovering music.

Hmm…it’s funny how you see yourself in people sometime.
Like, certain mindsets people might have that you have since either outgrown
from, or very well may still share.


Such a mindset is one that most certainly plagues all men at
one point or another. Rather, up to a
point or another. It’s the mindset of emotionless gratification; remorseless
fucking, or “friends with benefits” as it is sometimes eloquently put. Seems
perfect for the longest time. No dealing with the hassle of relationships,
emotions, fights, blahblahblah, just fill the urge and be done with it.


Gets boring, unfortunately. There’s only a finite amount of
time you can take it till one day you say to yourself, “This sucks.” When an
emotionless vacuum exists between two people, it’s just…bleh, you know? As
guys, we probably don’t care for the irrelevancies of relationships; it’s about
sexual attraction for a huge majority. At the outset anyway (as single.) For
chicks, for the longest time you look for your knight in shining armor. And you
go through schmos who’re fuck ups in one way or another, running the gamut of
emotional instability/insecurity/etc. I think sooner or later you lower the bar
a bit and set more practical standards. We too, obviously have some level of
standards. We want something above a street whore (I speak for myself at
least), but we want someone who won’t make us feel inferior at the same time.


Reflecting on myself, I know I don’t want “friends with
benefits” any longer.
Oh oh! Moment of irony! Back when I wanted “friends with benefits”, I
couldn’t get it (Thanks Prince Charming.) Now, I can get it, but don’t
want to! End moment of irony.
Not half a year ago, I was neck deep in the
mindset (there’s just no other explanation for the idiots that I’ve
gone for in the past). I
think it’s also a matter of ego and the fact that I tend to
myself. I don’t want some dumb slut (anymore). That’s too easy and I’d
disrespecting myself in the very process because I know I could do
leaps and
bounds higher and better. I could take my pick from the menagerie of
beasts in
this school; the mindless sophomores with tits that weigh more than
brains. As easy as taking candy from a baby. But then what? A little
fun, and
now I have some nagging retard on my back, making my life a living
hell? No
thanks, I’ve gone through that already.
A path I’d rather not revisit. It’d be a chain of dating and dumping; going out
with the chick for two weeks, sucking up all the fun, and then dropping her
like a bag of coals the second things seem to go awry. A somewhat revolting
practice as I describe it, but one that is undoubtedly practiced by more than a


I may have been an asshole in my time, but even I couldn’t go through with that on a
constant basis.


There is obviously more to seek in a woman for me besides
good looks. Being able to just talk to each other is an amazing thing, in my
opinion, just because of what it IS. Talking to a girl like a regular person?
What? I’m sorry sir, are you high?
Yeah man, just talking to a chick is a thing to behold. And she plays a
paramount role in this as well! She can be either a total dumbass (read: every
Tagworld candidate that im’s/pm’s me) in which there’s no fun except to just
make fun of her and piss her off, or she can be some stuck up condescending
bitch. You want neither of these in a partner for conversation.

I dunno, the whole “compatibility” thing is sort of a
misleading bullshit buzz phrase to me. You either like each other or you don’t.
“Chemistry”? Save science for people who know what they’re talking about. I’ll
establish something else here: a woman with a backbone. A girl who wouldn’t be
deceitful and cowardly enough to lead you on if she didn’t share the same
feelings you did
. Putting feelings on the table is something of paramount
importance, I think. No façade, no bullshit, no unsureness. Actions are carried
out much more fluently when the facts are clear.

Hey! Know what else I don’t want? Some bitch who’s too much of a coward to tell you that she’s dating a dude knowing full well you like her. Yeah. Definitely don’t want that.

Typing this out, I realize that this is just a
really fleshed out version of the tagging bullshit that everyone’s been doing. I’m
fashionably late, too. Oh well. Coincidence or not, it’s just shit on my mind.