I think i figured out my problem:

And it's a catch-22. Not simply that my problem happens to be a catch-22, but that my problem IS catch-22 (not the band... they're still my favorite). And by nature, a catch-22 is always a catch-22. Isn't that just the best kind of problem to have?
I concur.
Anyways, let me lay it out for you like this:
I am a pessimist. I do not think happy thoughts. I don't have hopes or dreams, or aspirations. And if I do, they're for bad things, or things that I convince myself aren't worth pursuing. If in the rare event that I ignore my initial warnings and pursue something worthwhile, there always, ALWAYS, without fail comes a point at which I convince myself that I cannot succeed, and often that I have already failed. In essence, what makes me unhappy is overthinking. I overthink everything; I evaluate, estimate, and predict situations precisely and constantly. And due to my nature, the end result is never good.
Example: Everytime I am in the car and another car gets too close, or a car swerves quickly, or someone slams on the brakes, or even if I just get distracted by thoughts of the speedometer, my thoughts always flash to the end result of an accident. If I was in an accident just then, what would my mangled corpse look like? I always like putting my right arm behind my head, so it is generally dislocated and frequently detached as it is crushed against the headrest by the side panel of the door. Of course, the airbag's on, so my glasses are shattered. Bits of the frames and possibly the lenses are buried in my swollen bloody face. My nose is pulverized, an indistinguishable fleshy lump on my mess of a gap-toothed face. Odds are, I bit my tongue off, or bit through a cheek. My knees probably slammed into the dash board; the patellas fibias, and tibias are crushed. My femurs are slammed backwards into my pelvis, crushing into the sockets. In short, I am dead. Blunt force trauma, implation, exsanguination. All that good stuff. It happens.
Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think it's considered "normal" (read: "healthy," "sane," whatever) for this to be a common or frequent occurance.
So the simple solution: Just stop thinking about it.
There's really nothing simple about it. The only simple truth as far as I'm concerned is that thought is the only undeniable truth. Life and death are often heralded as the only truths, but without thought, neither holds any weight. What is a life without consciousness? It's being an inanimate object, which are hardly alive at all. What is death without awareness? A long sleep. That's all. If we didn't think about and seek out to give everything meaning, they wouldn't have it. And that's where the catch-22 REALLY kicks in.
The way I see it, it's pretty obvious that my problem is that I think too much. So the alternative is to think less or even to stop thinking at all. But then existence is fleeting. Without utmost awareness and maximum analysis, there is NOTHING.
But of course I have to choose one over the other. There is no compromise. And I choose thought. I suffer every day. It's like living in a nightmare every moment, awake or asleep. There's nowhere to hide. No safe memories, no hopes for the future, no light at the end of the tunnel. Being an antitheist, there is nothing after this life, and as a nihilist, nothing worth living for in this life. As an absurdist, of course, I am almost obligated to choose thought. But without the prospect of fleeting feelings of happiness, I have less to look forward to than any Meursault. When I really think about it, there's not even a cause for morality. But in this society, to avoid confrontation and interaction the best way to go is unnoticed.
I guess what I'm trying to say is LEAVE ME ALONE.
I only make people miserable. Even if I seek out to create connections with people, there is a constant threat of betrayal lurking around the corner. I believe in the inherent bad nature of humans, and as a result, I always manage to sabotage any meaningful relationships.
What this means, in essence is that I will be a hermit.
It's really that simple.
I'll get a degree (or not), get a job (or not), telecommute, and live alone off of my salary (or welfare), ordering everything I need - including but not limited to groceries - off of the internet to be delivered to my house. If I'm lucky (which I rarely am), I can file for permanent disability and get a trained service animal.
I'll have cats, and the only people that I will ever see will be Daniel, Michael, and my nieces because they are the only creatures on this earth that I have the capacity to love. I will be scarred, bruised, and broken, just because it's second-nature to self-inflict pain.

And then I will die. Since I honestly just can't picture myself dying by anyone's hand but my own - nature included - it will probably happen on a slow winter day, probably about 30 years into the future. I'll go outside for the first and last time, and lay in the snow (of course there's snow where I live) and kill myself. I'm thinking a bullet to the temple. Worst case scenario, I'll die in my sleep, in which case I will rest in peace knowing that I murdered myself with by long-term alcohol- and drug-enduced poisoning. Noone will miss me, with the exception of my now-starving cats. In any event, I hope there are tears on my leather-hard face. It will have been years since I had cried, but they will be tears of joy. What could be sweeter than release after a life of inner-turmoil?
And that's my problem. If you have a solution, shove it. Seriously, I don't want to hear it. Just let me be, and noone will be hurt. If you reach out and I deny you, I take no responsibility for the hurt you suffer. It's what you get for making yourself vulnerable to another human. Maybe you'll learn from your mistakes, and everyone will come away from the situation better. Except me, I'll still be the same. Except maybe just a little bit more frustrated.

UPDATE:
This was just a one-night episode I had. I kinda freaked, for whatever reason. I still think a lot of this is true, but I just hope my predictions for the future are slightly off. Only time will tell.

It's weird, I know, but i'm talking about it again.

No, not French twin porn (by the way, they were fake twins, so you don't need to be all freaked out). Dating. It's been on my mind. I'm finally testing the water, and let me just say, it is frigid, uninviting, and mind-altering.
Truth be told, I don't really see myseld as a "casual dating" kind of person, while at the same time I'm definitely in no fit shape to be in a serious relationship. Maybe when my mood swings around and I can think about something that doesn't involve ending myself, I could have a moderately successful relationship, but who the fuck knows when that's going to be.
And all this begs another question: what the fuck to do about the date I already have?
On the one hand, I could go, but there's really only two possible outcomes: I fake like I'm not entirely hating myself and we end up having a great time and dating, only until I fuck it up because I'm to insecure. OR I could go, obviously be miserable, and the only difference would be skipping the "having a great time and dating" part.
On the other hand, I could call it off. And there's really only two ways to do that: Tell the truth. I could tell her exactly what I just said wrote, but that's really just the same as going and being miserable, minus the awkwardness and expense of the coffee/whatnot. OR I could bullshit. I don't even know what I'd say, but if I somehow convinced her that I was a normal, non-psychotic person but still didn't want to go on the date for some reason that's unselfish while simultaneously being not her fault, I'll be back at square one, with the burden of having to tell and keep up this lie I told to a girl I like a lot.
It's a lose-lose-lose-lose situation.
Honestly, I have no idea why I even have as many friends as I do, because most of the time I overthink everythin too much - which never ends well - while the rest of the time I'm just a terribly selfish, uncaring person.
Someone should kill me, and I hope it's me.

Dating Tips:

These are my awesome, foolproof tips to help you have a successful dating career:

1) Don't.

Seriously, just don't.

If you're honestly snooping around for tips to dating, then odds are it doesn't come naturally to you. It's probably "just not your thing." And that's totally cool. Most of the best ways to connect with people are not generally "date activities." Example: Just hanging out. Seriously, just chill with the girl you like and some friends - hers or yours, doesn't really matter - and just relax. Be yourself. It's a lot more comfortable than sitting down, one on one. If there's more than 2 people, odds are conversation will sorta just flow. You'll get a good feel of what the person's like just by the way they interact with people around.


If for some reason you don't like my tips and find yourself on a date, anyways, just... let me know what the fuck to do. I don't really see myself as a "date" kinda guy, so now that I've got one, I'm utterly petrified. I can almost hear the awkward silence now...

Life is cruel and unforgiving.

Oh boy. Where to begin...
I guess I'll start with the beginning:
I want to a party last night.
I was told almost immediately upon entering by "MrsClaus" (my friend, and a hostess) that her friend thought I was "really cute."
Shortly thereafter I am informed that TheFriend is not there. My feelings are hurt.
I quickly realize that there a large number of gay dudes.
I think I got felt up by a gay dude.
I got asked if I was gay. Queue drinking.
I am asked if I am gay again. Queue unhealthy binge-drink..
I tell one of the hosts of the party (a female) that she is a bitch, and as she becomes offended, I try (unsuccessfully) to convince her that it was a compliment
I leave the room pursued by the sounds of her shrieking.
I am asked if i am gay for the 5th or 6th time in the night. Queue attempted suicide by alcohol-poisoning.

The next thing I remember, TheRoommate is telling me I need to wake up, it is four, and that it smells like puke in our room.

If maybe I could just have one peaceful, successful night with a GODDAMNED WOMAN, I wouldn't do these things to myself.

I'm fully aware that this is more crude than usual, but it's SOO worth it.

I think i've discovered the best thing in the world.
Honestly.

Get this, and please, try to keep up.
IT started, one day, when bored (with life) I found myself /gif-ing. I discovered a particularly enjoyable clip of two girls making out in a tub (naked). IT was pretty awesome in of itself.
BUT IT GETS BETTER.
As to be expected in any 4chan forum, it was "sauced" and I downloaded the file, just to see more of it.
I should've expected that it would be special, because I'm really not a big fan of porn - I've honestly only ever downloaded like 2 videos before.
BUT GET THIS:
The girls: turns out they're FRENCH.
AND THEY'RE TWINS.

Throw into the mix some hardcore (best music to masturbate to, IMO) and we've got fapping GOLD.

Wednesday eve.

I don't remember last night, but thanks to Mander, i have a few select quotes.

The socialist leader on campus is reeeeally good at beer pong.If you plan to smoke weed and drink. drink first. otherwise it fucks your life up. it completely fucks your life up. it should be a drug of its own oh my gooooooooooood...heheheheheTHATS NOT A DONUT...thats a bagel. hehehe pumpernickel donut, chocolate bagel...fuck it I'm taking his danish...hehehe...You ruined me for other people. we developed around each other, and i know that sounds like a euphemism for gay but sex but its not.All girls are either bitches or whores. Bitches think their too good for me and i think im too good for the whores.did you know that you can put marijuana in anything? ANYTHING MICHAEL, ANYTHING! did you know that? i had it with spaghetti. Spaghetti with rasta sauce hahaha...these danishes are reeeeally good...Yayyyy muffins!i bit off more then i could chew, LITERALLY! hahahahaheheheheheheheheheHAHAHAHAHAHAHA thats not even funny! i dont even know why im laughing any more hehehe...i know why its funny now, i have muffin stuff on my lips and it tickles hehehehehe...i think i have muffin in my nose. i think that somehow i have muffin in my nose heheheheDont worry! there are plenty of other muffins that have not been in my nose hehehe...if i die right now because of the muffin in my sinus's, my only regret? that i died.Michael. You know what i think is wrong with the world today? Not enough disco. seriously, the world in america today would be a better place with more disco.HEY! theres like...TWO girls with dredlocks. im kinda flipping out. they're like hippies. and you know how i feel about hippies Michael. Ahh my GOD i think i just got noodles in my sinuses and hey LOOK another girl with dreadlocks.hehehehehehe im enjoy a caaaat...i dont think youve ever heard me make this sound before michael hehehehehehehehehe a KIIIIIIIIIITTY CAT heheheheheheheheread that back to me...no like five of your HUMAN EARTH SECONDS

The months of November and December thusfar.

I've been extremely busy working hard at school (read: getting drunk and playing Guitar Hero) so I haven't been around to post much. So with that information (as well as the knowledge that BOTH of my computers have been down) I leave you with these, select gems of stories from the past weeks.





November:

• I ended the quarter in the hospital! Yeah. Psych ward at Strong Memorial, because i guess attempted suicide is a frowned upon behaviour in "normal society." If they can't take a joke, fuck 'em.


• I kissed a girl. I know that doesn't seem like much (and trust me, it's not) it has some humorous value to it in that I told everyone I saw that night in excess of a dozen times. Yeah, I was drunk, and its the most action I got in a year.


• I made a successful and climactic return to San Diego. Me and the WSC (Wolves in Sheep's the picture on their website do the talking. Seriously. How can you NOT eat there? Anyways.... Prime's analysis: Exceedingly Mexican.
• I deliver the frequently promised dick-punches to Zabe and Ash.

December:

• Back in Rochester. Party the first night a get back. I "acquaint" myself with a girl. Since a gentleman does not kiss and tell (and because I actually still have a chance with her) that's all I'll say right now.
• Back to class. I won't bore you with the details.
• My infamous Friday night party spot is disbanded! Indefinitely! FUCK THE PO-LEECE!
• I drink in much honor of the party spot. I drink the beer. I flip the cup (twice, actually, because the kid standing next to me - looks a lot like Tucker Max - is a hell of a drinker, but a terrible flip-cupper). I am awesome at flipping cups. I play my signature game: Drink the beer. I win my signature game. Several minutes later, I lose my signature game... in the toilet. I play my signature game again. I drunk-dial. Here are some tasty quotes from that particular conversation:

Prime: "Labatt Blue is the pizza of beer."

Prime (to TheRoommate'sGirlfriend):
"Youareadrunkenwhoregositinthecorner!"

Prime (to TheRoommate'sGirlfriend): "The only way you are staying in my room
is if you sleep in my bed."

TRG: "OH MY GOD EWWW.... Does Optimus want me?"

• I go home. I am awesome at guitar hero. I do drunk (mostly)naked video chat with a girl and thoroughly embarass myself, reading Trotsky to her roommate and slamming the computer shut on her when she tells me that she is out of Otter Pops.

And that's the update.

I know it's not very good, but FUCKING DEAL.

Wow. It's been a while

I've been up to macking on girls.


That's all I have time to explain.

Hopefully I'll get back to posting regularly on here.

Streetlight Manifesto

I know its been a while since I talked about music, so... here it is: A Concert/CD review + analysis (that makes three parts, by my calculations.)

Part 1 - Somewhere in the Between CD review:

HOLY. MOTHERFUCKING. SHIT.
The End.

(Ehh... let the record show that while it still hasn't technically been released, it leaked after I pre-ordered my copy, so I feel no shame in possessing the songs. So there.)

Part 2 - Streetlight Manifesto + Suburban Legends + The Stitch Up at Club Infinity in Buffalo, Nov. 7, 2007:

HOLY. MOTHERFUCKING. SHIT.
Also, there was a girl/group of girls (?) that kept pinching my butt. It was flattering while being simultaneously annoying.

Part 3 - Lyrical Analysis of Streetlight Manifesto's Discography (plus a little bit of BOTAR):
I'd be lying if I said that I had a true, clear-cut knowledge of everything behind Tomas Kalnolky's songwriting, but I do think I have a few good theories.
Let's start by evaluating the albums as wholes, before I delve into the intricacies of specific songs and lyrics. I think it's no mystery to anyone that Kalnolky's songwriting is always occupied by some air of death. There's a lot of lines about war and dying, which is the first connection I think everyone develops in thinking about the themes of Streetlight Manifesto's music.
That being said, I think that Streetlight's albums are an allegorical portrayal of Death. The "story" begins with Keasbey Nights, though the title by itself is unincriminating, taken with the other albums, it seems to be a metaphor for the last days of a dying man... the dawn of a life, if you will. Next up is Everything Went Numb... uh... if you can't see how that symbolizes Death, than you are most definitely something that rhymes with "numb," but then I wouldn't expect you to understand anything more complex than a nursery rhyme. Anyways, Somewhere in the Between in every aspect SCREAMS afterlife. The very first line on the album is "I once knew a guy obsessed with the afterlife." Dhurp. The cover art... the brown circles seem to represent the earth, then red fire beneath that (hell) and white/blue swirls that seem to be clouds (heaven) beneath the fire. Youmight be asking yourself "Yo Prime, why would Hell be above heaven?" Good question... NOT. It's obvious. While Kalnolky seems almost fascinated with the afterlife, it seems pretty obvious that he doesn't really believe in it. Take the second line from SitB, for example "Oh what a terrible day that was he realized he wasted all his time." There you have it. The afterlife is a waste of time.
Ummm... There's more... but I'll save it for a later date, because - as I'm sure youcan tell - my writing is a little unfocused and disjointed right now.

Autobots... ROLL OUT!

The moment you'fce all been waiting for!

I/mt drunk again! and in y computer, There's not much to say about tonight aexcrept yhat my roommate's girlfriend was trying to come on to me. iI fdid my besst to deny her advances, and i avoidd puttin gmy penis in or around her. As per usuall i was a self-depricatory motherfucker, opting to instedda make ymself loik like a douhce to randokm girls that might hav otherwise bene fonfd of mel.,


Fuck youre sbhit!
-0 optikmusik pormin,e.

Fat chicks: Maybe good for something after all?

On Friday, I went to a party. Well actually I went to the end of a party... Long story, but basically I didn't get a ride until 1-ish so... yeah: end of a party. However, there was still a sufficient amount of beer and spirits to be consumed by myself, so I can't really complain. There was also a sufficient amount of people, one of whom was my friend HockeyStar.
There's not a lot of great stories from that night, except to tell you that I - quite literally - pulled a fat chick off of HockeyStar. I made him buy me cigarettes, as a cover, but really I just wanted to make sure that he wouldn't stick his drunk tool in her lard-hole. I'm a good guy, honestly.
Anyways, cut to an hour-or-so later, and we find our anti-hero (Optimus Prime) standing outside conversing with two rather attractive and friendly ladies. One drops mention of a fat chick, and I proceed to tell them the story of how I pulled FatChick off of HockeyStar, and was met by many laughs - the kind that precede dickings. The best part, though, was when I turned around at that moment to find none other than FatChick standing just behind me:
FatChick: "You're a terrible person."
OptimusPrime: "That's her!"

The hot girls laughed more, and I guess the fat one got the point and complained to some guy who pretended to care.

FIN

Adventures in drunken laundering.

They're not so much adventures as they are me peeing in a washing machine.

Twice.

I have a feeling this might turn into something of a saga...

Alright. This is a long one. But good. Trust me. It starts with TheRoommate's ex-girlfriend, who is supposed to come up to visit RIT for a hockey game this weekend. I have heard a couple of stories about her, and most of them paint her to be a bitch. To quote TheRoommate, "The more I talk to her, the more glad I am we broke up." Now, I don't know her very well (read: at all) but TheRoommate's pretty much my best friend at this school, so I'll take his word for it. Besides, he's too nice to rip her a new one when she OBVIOUSLY needs it.
The final straw (in my opinion) came with this correspondence between TheRoommate, and his ex-, who we'll call TheEx. In short, he was asking her to go out partying (read: drinking) with us before the hockey game.

"Hey, there are a couple options for the hockey game. I could come pick you and [TheExFriend] up and we could go, i could pick you up and we could go pregame (as in drink alcohol) at [Sailor]'s house and then walk to blue cross (he lives on park ave), or i could pregame and take the bus then meet you there. Whatever you would like to do is what we'll do. I'm going to be going to halloween a party on saturday night for sure, and probably friday night (unless i venture to suny albany with [HockeyStar]). You are welcome to come to either or both but the parties will probably cost 5 dollars for as much beer and possibly jungle juice as you can drink. A good deal for me and probably a bad deal for you. If you byob to the friday party i could get you in for free but I'm not sure about the saturday party. Anyways message me back and tell me what you'd like to do.


TheRoommate."

A reasonable request, no? Well, apparently not according to TheEx.

"haha umm...i dunno if drinking beforehand is really a good idea. i'd rather the three of us just went together. we can discuss further. i still have to ask [TheExFriend] if she even wants to go. plus if we drink, how am i going to get back to my campus? if you brought the car with you when you came, i could drive myself and [TheExFriend] around and keep the car here for the weekend, but that is pretty complicated. i dunno what im doing friday and sat. night. when is the hockey game anyway?? i would like to go to a party with you. i think we should talk about all of this on the phone b/c im kind of confused about the schedule right now. so ill call u sometime before friday , or you can call me.

TheEx"

What a bitch, right? Well, Optimus Prime is having NONE OF THIS (sobriety? PSHAW!), so when TheRoommate read to me, I was filled with sudden resolve to put this broad IN HER PLACE. Here is the letter I wrote to her in response - keep in mind that she has never heard of me, so I might've gone a bit "too far" but... fuck her:

"Dear Bitch,
You are woman, and as such, your opinion in the matters of men - such as my roommate, TheRoommate, and I - is NIL. Whether you like it or not, we are going to get rip-faced drunk before the hockey game, and you will be lucky if we are able to walk in without getting arrested, let alone drive you're bitchy PMS-ass home. I say these things not only because they're true, but because you seriously need to learn your place, you dumb bitch. Which is in the kitchen.
Maybe next time before you say what TheRoommate can or cannot do, maybe you'll consider that TheRoommate is a grown-ass man, and he does what he wants, when he wants, especially if it involves it involves me getting drunk. And no woman can say otherwise.

- OptimusPrime.

P.S. I hope you learned your lesson: DON'T FUCK WITH TheRoommate BECAUSE YOU FUCK WITH ME TOO.

P.P.S. TheRoommate was probably always too good for you.

P.P.P.S. TheRoommate's new girlfriend is hotter than you ever could be."

Here's the letter which I SENT to her... Apparently, TheRoommate did think the original was a little too harsh:

"Dear TheEx,
You are woman, and as such, your opinion in the matters of men - such as my roommate, TheRoommate, and I - is NIL. Whether you like it or not, we are going to get rip-faced drunk before the hockey game, and you will be lucky if we are able to walk in without getting arrested, let alone drive you home. I say these things not only because they're true, but because you seriously need to learn your place. Which is in the kitchen.
Maybe next time before you say what TheRoommate can or cannot do, maybe you'll consider that TheRoommate is a grown-ass man, and he does what he wants, when he wants, especially if it involves it involves me getting drunk. And no woman can say otherwise.

- Optimus Prime

P.S. I hope you learned your lesson: DON'T FUCK WITH TheRoommate BECAUSE YOU FUCK WITH ME TOO.

P.P.S. TheRoommate was probably always too good for you."

I eagerly await her reply.


UPDATE: Exacty one hour and twenty minutes after I sent my response, I get this:

You are an idiot. Seriously. You have a problem--probably many, so, I would suggest getting some help. I don't care what you think (I don't generally take life advice from those who do not have lives of their own--which you obviously don't, judging by your comments to me).

Honestly, do you realize that if anybody reads what you just wrote (which, I promise you, many people will because I'm not one to "learn my place") they will think you are a grade A basket case? I certainly do. TheRoommate is one of my very good friends and I daresay I know him better than you ever will, so don't you DARE tell me what to do when it comes to our friendship.

Besides, if you must know, I am looking out for his best interests. I am still going to say and do what I want. I hope you know that nothing you say has any bearing on me. What you just wrote to me is basically harrassment, and if you don't learn YOUR place, I will do something about it. Don't think I'm kidding, because you don't intimidate me.

-TheEx

To which I replied:

Hahahahahahahahaha.
Hahaha.
If you must know, I wrote that with the sole intention of upsetting TheRoommate. If I had known that you'd be so ill-equipped to take and appreciate a joke, I probably wouldn't have wasted my time writing it in the first place, and I'm beginning to feel sorry that I did. Actually, I probably still would have, seeing as the look on his face as I read the (initially) fake letter as I typed it was a - hilarious - mixture of shock and awe; if he hadn't assured me that you'd "probably just laugh" - like he did - I definitely wouldn't have bothered. I must say, I'm a little disappointed.

In your defense, it might've been a little harsh in some places, but just think of me as an insult-comic protected by the anonymity of the internet.

- Optimus Prime.

Yeah. Threw her for a loop.

How to tell if your life is pathetic (part 2):

Your life MIGHT be pathetic if:

1. You spend most of your time at parties hustling people to the back of the house because they're drunk and rowdy, AND/OR splitting up drunken Peruvian fights because you passed Spanish 4.
2. You convince a really hot girl to make-out with you, only to willingly give her up to your roommate so that he can partake in a three-way make-out session for no other reason than the fact that you apparently hate yourself and are some sort of make-out-masochist.
3. You stabbed someone with a plastic fork not because you were drunk, but because you probably need medication and aren't on it.
4. You pride yourself on touching unwitting girls' bottoms, but when a girl literally attaches herself to you for no other reason than "she wants to follow you," you shrug her off for no other reason than because you apparently hate yourself and are some sort of sex-masochist.
5. You might actually be considered a smoker, now, considering that you have a favorite brand, can tell the difference between menthols and regular, and you know what kind of cigarettes are for bitches and which are for men.
6. After all that, you still look forward to doing the same thing next Friday, because your life doesn't get much better than that.

California: Less Shitty Than I Give It Credit For.

• I miss Mexican food, and so help me god if one more of you fuckers tell me there's a Taco Bell in Rochester, I will dropkick your face.
• I think it's amazing that I'm regarded as a god simply because of my "profound" use of a towel... that is, being able to wrap it around myself without having it fall down; being able to put on clothes while still wearing said towel AND without revealing myself. Really, it's not that spectacular... I thought everyone knew how to do it.
• I kind of prefer "rad" to "wicked". Rad's really only got one connotation, but the same cannot be said for wicked. I feel weird being the only one who says rad.
• I miss shows. There's been shows pretty much every weekend here, but they're actually all in buffalo, which is like an hour away. Shit, i went to more shows in a week in San Diego than I've been to in my 2 months here. That is to say: one. I miss Soma, and I kind of even miss the House of Blues.
• I miss Lazer and Mander, AND NO ONE ELSE.
• And that's really it.

"Holy shit holyshit holy shit holy shit... TWO!!! TWO TWO TWO STREETLIGHT MANIFESTO TRACKS LEAKED AND I GOT THEM AND ITS THE MOST AMAZING FEELING!!!!"

(Transcribed from a text message to Lazer)

"Oh my god... I vastly underestimated how amazing these tracks would make me feel... seriously, you wont [sic] know what pleasure feels like til [sic] you blast these fuckers at 100 percent. My heart skipped not one but several dozen beats. In a row. Imagine the greatest orgasm you will ever have and mltiply [sic] it by three, except that it lasts at least 10 minutes unless you have the tracks on repeat [in which case it would last longer]. I honestly used to think that I loved Socialism and Camus, but those emotions are mere hiccups in comparison to how good this music makes me feel. I Wuld kill 100 thousand baby kittens to listen to these tracks if someone told me that I had to. I would sell my wife and children into slavery for these songs... SHIT... Now combine all of the above metaphors, and you get a small fraction of how these songs really make me feel..."

I couldn't put it more eloquently if I tried...

Too drunk?

If it exists (I don't think so) I attained it - Beervana, if you will - on Friday. I say this simply because I know I had one hell of a great time, but I remember exactly NONE of it. How do I know I had a great time, you might ask? Well, simply put: photographic evidence. I've never seen a happier picture of myself. Don't let the vomit-caked glasses or disgusting scowl fool you, that's just the face I make when I'm having a good time.
But, since I feel a little guilty about not remembering anything exciting, I can tell you what i had to drink, because that's all I remember.
First, Roommate, [HockeyStar] and I were pre-gaming with Rum & Root Beer (there was no Coke), but not to any great extent. After we got to the party, Roommate and I lost Beer Pong, so I had two beers, and a free shot of vodka someone gave to me. I remember a kid from my floor giving me another shot, something called a Blue Beast (according to the bartender, it's "a little bit of everything and it's blue"). The next thing I remember was a sort of chugging contest (which I won hands-down) in which I downed - quite literally - a quarter of Jack Daniels. I think I lost at Beer Pong again after that, and that's about where I blacked out... I'm sure I drank more, but that's all that I remember.
So... no great blog for today... I swear that next time I'll drink less so I can remember great tales of my antics. PROMISE!

P.S. MASSIVE Lolz at those of you who actually thought I killed myself after reading my last post. Thanks for caring, though.
Dumbasses.

Why I killed myself (posted posthumously)

In the hours before my untimely suicide, I found God. I found him, and he hates me.
You see, it all started a couple of weeks ago, when I got a fail notice from one of my teachers, saying that I was shitty at his class (in my defense, the class is shitty in itself, so all that really says about me is that I'm shitty at being shitty) and that I was likely to fail the class at the end of the quarter, UNLESS I busted my ass and banged out a sick project. He gave me the option of withdrawing or trying to bust out said project, and being ever a trooper (for God knows what reasons) I said [to myself] "Self, let's show this piece of shit class what a real man's project looks like!" and proceeded to break my balls coming up with shitty ideas for this shitty class.
Along the way I stopped to do unshitty in my classes that were likewise unshitty. I also took time to go to the bookstore and buy myself a copy of Camus's The Stranger because it's the best fucking book ever, and it always makes me feel less shitty, and my copy was still with Lazer. Unfortunately, the school bookstore didn't have a copy of it (and only 1 of 3 people working there had even heard of it) so I made this one guy order a copy for me. The trip wasn't an utter failure, though, as I bought myself a copy of the Communist Manifesto, and the last copy of this wicked comic graphic novel called Red Son (Soviet Superman... great read, by the way). Also, I stopped my slaving occasionally to eat.
On one of these little lunch breaks (if 10 p.m. counts as lunch - and it does) I happened to forget my check card at the counter. Obviously, I didn't know it at the time, and it wouldn't really prove to be a problem because one of my roommate's friends told him that she had it. Anyways, back to the matter at hand: Yes, I slaved my eyes out on this shitty project, and I failed. The teacher told me to withdraw, so I threw the shitty project in the garbage and left. That's the end of that class. I left straight away, though, because I wanted to look for my card. I went home and had my roommate call the girl who supposedly had it, and that's when she told him that she in fact DID NOT have it, and that she left it at the store and that they were holding it.
That, too, is not really a big deal, but I did walk to said store and asked around for the card. After being talked down to like a child by the manager - who is obviously pathetic because he was at least forty and still in charge of a sandwich shop in the basement of a college - and having to stand around for 15 minutes or so, they tell me they don't have my card. They said that it would be with campus safety, and so I go to campus safety. That is also not really a big deal, except that it's out of the way, and it's late and cold, and I should have had my card back by now. Anyways, I get to campus safety, get treated more like an adult, but to not much avail, because they don't have my card, either.
Real fucking great, I know. I failed out of a shitty class and lost my only source of money in the course of two days. As far as I know, I've got $20 for the rest of the week[/quarter/year?]. And it doesn't get better.
Of course, I call the bank, make sure there were no fraudulent charges made, cancel my card, and order a new one, which should come in 5-7 business days. Next day, after one of my classes, I stop into one of the computer labs to withdraw from the class (I chose to stop in the computer lab just because it was on the way) and at the end of the relatively short process, I get a little message saying that I should receive a notification in my e-mail. Just for poops and giggles, I check the account that I use primarily for school and have 3 unread messages. Unsurprisingly, the first is a notification that I've withdrawn from [Shitty Class]. The next TWO (yes, not one, but TWO) were from none other than the ALMIGHTY LORD GOD HIMSELF that read: "I HATE YOU, AND HOPE THAT YOUR LIFE IS A SHORT AND MISERABLE ONE! I REGRET EVER HAVING CREATED YOU, AND IT TORMENTS MY EVERY WAKING THOUGHT TO KNOW THAT YOU EVER EXISTED."
Honest.
That's fucking VERBATIM. Capslock and everything.

Actually, the first one says something along the lines of "Lost Property of Yours Was Turned in to Public Safety"
I don't even need to open that one to know it's my card. Yeah... the one I canceled not 12 hours prior. FUCKING USELESS.
And here's the real clincher:
E-Mail #3 reads something like: "The Book You Ordered has Arrived at the Bookstore."
Again, I don't even need to open it to know that it's taking about The Stranger.

BUT WAIT, THERE'S STILL FUCKING MORE.
Oh yes.
Much more.
You don't really think that I'd kill myself over that little shit, do you?
Yes. Although I did slit both my wrists in that computer lab, I still dragged myself back to my room and booted up the computer. There have been two pages in my bookmarks that I've checked pretty much daily (if not more) for the last couple of weeks. The first being a Fandango page for Across the Universe, so I can buy tickets as soon as it comes to the theater in Rochester. Not only does the movie look visually stunning, but it sounds pretty epic, like story-wise, too. And my interests in seeing it, I admit, were not entirely altruistic... but that's another story. One you're not going to read any time soon. The other was a Streetlight Manifesto-Suburban Legends show in Buffalo on November 7.
Well guess the fuck what?
BOTH went on sale that very night.

And THAT, my friends, is the exact moment in time when I - quite literally - ripped my own head from my shoulders, and threw it against a wall until it was an indistinguishable mass of bloody pulp.

So, yeah. I'm writing this from Hell. They got a SHIT load of computers down here, too, and decent wireless. I've noticed that all the computers are Macs, though... Not because they're terrible, but instead because it seems that a large majority of the occupants of this inferno were employees of Microsoft at one time or another... Coincidence, says I. Also, it seems like some sort of - pun intended - hellish web-blocker has been put on that only allows users to access shitty blogs and angsty LiveJournals. I can imagine that it sucks pretty bad, but it works out well for me, since my bank account is still accruing mondo bucks every time you click one of those Google-Sponsored links.

What???

I just got back from a party, and as you can obviously tell, my typing is not gratuitously impaired.
Yeah, this is a depressing trend. I had a fair few beers (Roommate and I went like 5-0 at beer pong) and a couple of shots (vodka and JD - my first JD since I've left San Diego!) but the party was relatively uneventful. Except for two events:

1) Running up the stairs from the basement, I stubbed my toe pretty fierce. Long story short, there's blood stains on my sock.

2) I played bartender. I poured shots and dished out beers for a good number of people, just because I appointed myself bartender on a whim.

I did meet a few good people, but I've sadly got no OPID-worthy stories.


I don't really mean o sound enigmatic, but there's been something recently that's been putting a damper on my ability to let loose. More details later?
No.
Probably not. Sorry.
(Not really.)

I'm going to name my penis...

I figure it's about time. It's not an uncommon practice, if I am to believe everything I learn from sitcoms.
Now, it's OBVIOUS that there's only one name epic enough to fulfill such a position;
"Is it Thor?"
Shit that, some hammers are just too powerful for even this admittedly badass motha' fucker.
"Speaking of 'motha fuckaz' is it Samuel L. Jackson?"
While it has been said that the only thing black about me is my dick [and liver], no, I am not going to name my schlong after the Baron of Badass.
"Well how about Superman; you can't get much more epic than that."
Oh, I beg to differ. Besides, I'd name my cock Red Son long before I'd name it after a dopey news reporter with poor eyesight. Alright, enough ado, drum roll please.
After much deliberation, I, Optimus Prime, have decided to name my gigantic member Dragonforce.


If you don't know what Dragonforce is, you don't deserve to, but I'll tell you to Google it, anyways, because that amount of epicness will probably kill you and your feeble soul, anyways.

I love my school...

I walked into the school bookstore today, with no particular objective in mind. As I walked past the front desk, intending to head to the art supply section (where I seem to be spending more and more of my days) I stopped. I did a double-take, checking the "Featured" rack that stood just to the side of the front desk. Turning on a heel, a took a closer look, and much to my great surprise and pleasure, there sat two copies of I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell.

My school is great.

Buying things is great.

I love buying stuff.
Today I bought Catch 22 Live, Washed Up and Through the Ringer, and Keasbey Nights vol. 1. That's right, I completed my Catch 22 collection via Amazon.Com for less than $20, all told.

In the past month I have bought:

I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell by Tucker Max
The Alphabet of Manliness by Maddox
The Gospel of the Flying Spaghetti Monster by Bobby Henderson
A 3-foot long Nerf gun, complete with scope, 2 reloadable clips of 6 dart clips, bipedal stand for better accuracy, and not to mention it breaks into 2 smaller guns for those tight situations.
20 darts for aforementioned 3-foot long Nerf gun (the Longshot CS-6, for you fanatics)
110 darts for my old nerf gun (a maverick, one of the old ones, blue & yellow)
A White Ninja T-Shirt (white ninja is a crazy cat lady)
A Tree-Brains t-shirt (it's the theoretical rock band I'm in... see TheSneeze for more info)
4 8x10 art prints: 1 of the droogs sipping milkplus (from A Clockwork Orange); 1 of Tyler Durden holding a bar of soap (from Fight Club); a Warhol print of two revolvers; an old French Ad for absinthe
A magnum .45 belt buckle
Annnnddd... assorted school supplies.

Money is great. I love having a bank card...

Words of wisdom from TheKing

He's been alluded to in at least one previous post, but TheKing is definitely the kind of friend that needs a post devoted entirely to him. So, here you go. Some choice snippets from the conversations of OP and TheKing. (Note: These are not verbatim, as i unfortunately did not have the forethought to record/save them. They're a loose generalization, just so you can get a basic idea.)

Optimus: "'Kay. See ya."
TheKing: "Peace. And say hi to all the girls in New York from TheKing. They'll know what you're talking about."
Optimus (sarcastically): "Alright."
TheKing: "Fuck you. Don't doubt me man, look what happened the last time New York fucked with an Afghan."

and

TheKing: "'Ight. I gotta go buy a new chain. It's gonna BLIND people."
Optimus: "Haha... you so black."
TheKing: "No, man. I aint black. My neck just likes to show off."

The Best Pick-up Line ever?

I don't know why I just remembered this, but this is one from the night when I saw the two naked girls (Optimus Prime visits more college parties).
Let the record show that I was officially fuck-the-wall drunk (that has no meaning, I just thought it sounds cool), and as anyone who knows me very well will tell you, I become a smoker when highly intoxicated.

Girl: "Does anyone have a cigarette?"
Optimus Prime, without hesitation: "No, but I smoked one, like 5 minutes ago. I'm sure there's still some nicotine on my lips..."
Girl: "Thanks for the porpo... propro... proposition, but no thanks."

I guess that's probably why I didn't remember it. Fuck her, though. If she can't recognize my brilliance at the ability to allude to Shakespeare, even in my inebriated state, she is obviously unworthy.

Also, let it be noted that I was probably too drunk to have gotten an erection, so... yeah... useless.

Tags

As of now, the most used tags are "drunk" (7) and "party" (5).

Considering that there are exactly 30 posts, that means only about 22% of all OPID blogs actually involve being drunk.
There's a problem with this.
The problem being that there're not enough hours in the week for me to achieve maximum inebriation.

Anyways, in unrelated news, I saw Russia in the elevator today. I didn't say anything, because I didn't want to call him out in front of all those strangers, one of whom was probably a teacher.
Also, he got off of the elevator right when I got on. So... yeah. There's that.

I still made everyone in the elevator drink to my health, though. Just for good measure.

I am a fucking genius

Phone conversation with Mander:

Mander: So what's up?

Me: Eh, just at CostCo.

Mander: Reading Kafka? That's pretty cool.


That's right. My intellectual capacity is so amazing that not only was he not surprised to find I was reading a great Bohemian author, he didn't even assume it was for a class.

Fucking member of the academia all up in here.

Assholery? Don't mind if I do!

Hypothesis: Girls love assholes.

I've long heard this little truism, and I understood the theory behind it (strong alpha males) but it wasn't until recently I saw proof with my own eyes.

Exposition: Lazer is delivering two bags full of delicious candy. A group of dumb Mexican girls are walking towards him.

Tall Bitch: Oooooohh! Candy! Can we have some?!

Lazer: (Without even batting an eye) You're not pretty enough. (He keeps walking)

2 seconds pass

Short Bitch: Ooh, you're mean...

Bitch Bitch: Fuck you.

The rest of my delivery run was pretty uneventful, unless you count being followed by hungry eyes (Read: Fat people's eyes) an event.

And then...

Lazer: (Working the store) What do you want?

Bitches: *Giggle giggle* *Shuffle away*

Needless to say they were putty at the tip of my penis.



Too bad they weren't pretty enough.

Optimus Prime's Brain Attack!

I was thinking earlier today (since I've been on a real big blog kick today) about doing maybe some reoccurring pieces that don't involve me typing drunk, and I came up with this. The "OPBA" is going to be a little place where I can put that big fleshy-lobe-thing in my skull to some use and make some enlightened-ish observations on whatever I damn well please.
This edition of OPBA is about console wars and their 3rd cousin, the Blu-Ray/HDDVD conflict.
Okay, so I don't really know anything about all the consoles - yes, I have an xBox 369, yes I've played a Wii, yes I've been in the same room as a PS3 - this isn't so much a "brain attack" as it is.... well, it's really just me complaining, so here goes.
XBOX 360 will "pwn" all other consoles and their mothers. The Wii, fun and innovative as it may be, is seriously lacking in games that have the level of intensity that I desire. Riding cows and poorly simulated sports are only entertaining for so long before I want to blow some shit up. Not to mention the Wii is seriously lacking in the DVD realm.
The PS3 is an over-priced, over-sized BEAST, and I can't really sum it up much better than that, except to say that if a next-gen console, almost a year after it's release date, is still selling less games than it's predecessor, it is undeniably a failure. The PS3 is a prime example for this. The only reason anyone ever bought the PS3 was to sell it to buy a Wii or to play Blu-Ray discs, because the console was still cheaper than a Blu-ray player.
The XBox 360, on the other hand, has some of the best games around. Guitar Hero 2 (admittedly, the only video game that I've ever played all the way through) alone is enough to cement this system in the #1 position. Yes, I'm aware that GH1 and GHE:RT80s were both exclusively for the PS2, but that's a previous generation console so fuck you. And, besides, the X-Plorer is a much more manageable controller (the neck is nice and slender) and the XBox version of GH 2 had more, better songs. Not to mention XBox live is supposed to be really great, although I've never connected, so that's not for me to say. And then there's this Halo thing. I've never played it, but from what I've seen, it's pretty hardcore, bone-a-rific, etc., etc., so fuck you, other consoles. Lastly, HDDDVD. XBOX 360 plays HDDVD, which means that it's the best.
Which brings me to my next topic: Blu-ray vs. HDDVD.
HDDVD will win, plain and simple. Why? Porn. Yeah. Porn is a $10 billion/year industry, but the folks over at Blu-ray are too self-righteous to reap the benefits of the skeezy fapping masses. Now, I'm not saying that I condone such gratuitous corporate greed-mongering, but I do support freedom of speech. The kind of freedom that lets me go out and by an HDDVD for my XBOX 360 and watch an 18-year-old girl nearly torn asunder by a teeming throng of priapism-sufferers. I'd apologize for the graphic description, except that I'm too busy being disgusted by the prospect of the Blu-ray manufacturers so blatantly censoring what is an undeniably large percentage of American (World?) culture. Not to mention HDDVD has brand-name recognition on its side. We're coming out of the DVD-era, and the next logical step, what with all the HD-TVs and HD-cable, etc., is to buy HDDVDs. Now, if we had spent the last decade or so buying Magenta-ray discs or something like that, it might be different. I will say this, though: If the Blu-ray has any chance for success, it lies in Wal-Mart. Yes, the place that ONLY sells clean versions of CDs. That doesn't hold much potential, though, because 1), the general population that shop solely at Wal-Mart are too inbred and poor to ever afford the over-priced Blu-ray discs (as far as I can tell, the price ratio of Blu-ray to HDDVD is like 3:2), let alone the player; and 2) even still, a lot of those people will still be desiring porn, and I think lust is the one thing that can drive even the most frugal Wal-Mart junkie to the nearest Target, Best Buy, or skeezy Adult Video Store.

This has been the OPBA for today!

5 posts in one day...

Don't expect anymore 'til Christmas.


Just kidding.

I have nothing better to do.

Anyways, I've come to a decision:
I don't think I'm going to go to anymore indie-kid parties. All the girls are too pretentious/self-righteous, and all the guys are too girly.
Last time I went to one I got bitched out because the girl whose shoes I had to put on for her [because she was too drunk to see] were a pain in the ass, and there was a guy in the bathroom crying about how his girlfriend broke up with him.

You think I'm joking, but really... this happened.


oh, also, I'm pretty sure I kicked down someone's door or something, so I think all the indie kids on campus hate me now, too. In my defense, I was too drunk to even remember if I did it (I just remember someone accusing me and me denying it), but i distinctly remember that they DID ask me to help open it. If you're going to ask Optimus prime to help with something, you better be prepared to accept the full consequences of such a request.

So yeah, no more indie friends for me.

Arnold Hammer

This is my alcoholic twist on an Arnold Palmer (one of my favorite beverages) that I actually stumbled upon out of a mix of desperation, frustration, and experimentation. I was at a party that had Red Dog (shittiest beer ever? Yes) and cheap, shitty vodka. Now, if either the beer or the vodka had been of high grade, I would have consumed one or the other, straight. But they were both shitty (as elucidated previously), so me and [Egypt] experimented with what there was in the house: lemonade mix, Arizona Iced Tea, and water.
This is the recipe, as far as i remember it:

1.5 parts Vodka
1 pt. Lemonade (from mix, pre-made, or fresh - if you're so inclined - it doesn't fucking matter)
1 pt. Iced tea.
Lemon Wedge

Shaken or stirred (does it look like I give a fuck?), and pour into a cup. Any kind of cup, and I guess you can put ice in it if you want, but I just don't care.
We used kiwi strawberry iced tea (simply because that was what was available) but it should work with any SWEET tea. I mean, if you like unsweetened iced tea, you know... to each his own, but I think the shit's gross.
Also, let it be noted that I didn't actually have any lemon wedges, but I'm willing to bet that it would've been even better with one.

Anyways, you can add extra lemon juice (if you want it a little more bitter) or a couple of scoops of sugar (if you want it sweeter).

If this already exists, well fuck whoever invented it, my version's probably better anyways.

I love you like a jew loves money...

... beer.
But when people give me shitty beer, it's as if Juliet turns out to be a man. I want to find out that Juliet has a penis as much as I want to drink Genny, Keystone, Natural Ice, or (God forbid) Red Dog.

WHAT.
THE.
FUCK?
Seriously, what the fuck, college kids? I know that good beer costs more, but it makes me not want to be your friend if you can't have the insight to at least get some Miller or Bud or something that isn't so shitty that it's been quarantined. Well, at least I think that's why I never heard of any of this shit until I got to Rochester. Not that I'm complaining, it's just that I'm of the belief that beer should only taste like watery and/or bitter piss AFTER it's gone through my urinary system.

The same goes for you, vodka. I know that people complain about you tasting like rubbing alcohol a lot, but that's just because they're too cheap to buy the good shit. I could probably down an entire bottle of Skyy or Grey Goose without a chaser, but give me some Taaka or some shit like that and I'll gag after two shots.

My Mac crashed.

It's been down for a while, but I'm going to write it here because I've been living in denial for far too long.
I know that I say stuff like "out of principle, I refuse to be either a 'PC-person' or a 'Mac-person,'" but dammit, my MacBook is soooooo fucking good. If computers were candy, macBooks would be chocolate bars, and all of them would have golden tickets. And the golden ticket would be Comic Life.

Long story short, OPID is without any TYC* because my mac crashed. Thanks a lot, Steve Jobs and that other Steve no-one cares about.**

* TYC: "Two 'Y' Chromosomes," a webcomic authored by Lazer and illustrated by myself that has been put on hiatus by the non-functional state of my Mac.

** Just kidding, Steve WOZNIAC. I care about you.
Alright, I lied, I don't care about you, I just know your name because you're one of the speakers who is coming to my college for homecoming. You and Howie Mandell.
BRICK CITY!!! WOOOOO!!! (this is where I roll my eyes)





(and about here is where I apologize for being a terrible writer)



(and about here I unapologize, and tell all of you to fuck off.)

How to tell if your life is pathetic:

1. If you are me. That's just sad.
2. If you spend so much of your time drunk and miserable that you'd rather clean vomit in people's apartments than leave, just because there's still a few people in the apartment. (see: If you are me)
3. If you write blogs about how pathetic your life is, and you're not entirely sure that the people reading it will understand that it's a joke (see: #1 & #2)
4. If you just read this.
5. If you just read this AND it's a pretty accurate description of your life.
   

Dancing, drinking, and something else that starts with D.

Mander, Chiodo, Ash, Zabe, and I are leaving an after party of a film festival. We decide to go to the beach. As we approach these two girls pass us muttering about how they're going to kick Anthony's ass. Soon after that some sketchy old guy on his cell phone passes us and walks a few yards and stops.

A couple minutes later these two drunks come up to us, our conversation is as follows:

Black Guy: Have you guys seen two girls pass by here?

Me: Yeah, they said something about kicking some Anthony guy's ass.

Black Guy: Oh shit, oh shit! I'M Anthony!

Me: Well, she wants to kick your ass.

Anthony's Friend: Dude! She wants to lick your ass!

Mander: No, she wants to kick his ass.

Anthony's Friend looks at Mander for a full 5 seconds with a "I have no fucking idea what the hell you just said" look and proceeds to dance.

That's right, he just breaks it down, while staring at Mander. Now you must imagine the rest of the conversation with Mander in a staring contest with a dancing drunk.

Anthony: Ok ok, everyone listen (does the huddle up motion but to no avail) the reason they want to kick my ass is because you see that guy over there? (Points to sketchy guy on cell phone) He was, like, stalking them, so I go up to him and tell him that one is a lesbian and one has a boyfriend.

Me: (Humoring him) That sounds reasonable, you want to protect them.

Anthony: Yeah, but they got pissed at me and left. You see, we were supposed to take care of any trouble that went down, I'm strong and he's just fast and strong, but I'm just strong.

It's at this point Anthony's Friend stops dancing and punches Anthony in the side, and then holds his fist up to me, ready to prove how fast he is.

Logically I take a step back.

Anthony: Yo! Sir Dance-a-lot, that doesn't mean hit me!

Sir Dance-a-lot looks at him, with the same "I might as well be a deaf-retarded guy from how much I understood you" look, and I try to help him out by saying:

Me: You DO dance a lot...

He then WHIPS his head around to look at me, and the only look on his face now is one of sheer TERROR.

Sir Dance-A-Lot: You KNOW me?!

Mander: He means from what we've seen of you.

Me: Uhm, whatever, I mean there's a party over there with a bunch of people so I'm pretty sure your friends are safe.

Mander: Yeah, it's just a whole mess of old white people. They're even playing jazz.

Sir Dance-a-lot: I LOVE jazz! (proceeds to dance again)

Zabe (only source of estrogen in our group): Well, if I was your friends I would want you guys to come get me...

Anthony and Sir Dance-a-lot: Oh shit, you're right! See ya!

Me: Good luck!

Ash: That was fucking trippy as shit.

Chiodo: I thought we were going to get our asses kicked.

And then God said "Let the world know of the greatness that is Optimus Prime," and thus it was that OP moved to Blogspot.

Anyways, I did party last night. It wasn't a great party, and I only had like... 3 beers and a Jell-O shot, so there's not really anything exciting to tell. My roommate, on the other hand, went to visit a friend of his at SUNY Geneseo. It's like half an hour away, and he had a pretty good time as far as I can discern. He called me at one point in the night, and was telling me how I was going to go with him next time because there was so much vodka. He also accused me of being Mexican, although I guess it was alright in context:
Roommate: "Optimus, I don't care if you're socialist, I still think you're cool."
Optimus: (barely containing my laughter) "Okay"
Roommate: "I don't care if you're Mexican, I still think you're cool. Optimus is Mexican."
Optimus: (laughing blatantly now) "I'm not fucking mexican!"
Roommate: "Optimus isn't Mexican. Optimus, what are you?"
Optimus: "I'm fucking... black and gypsy!"
Roommate: "He's black and gypsy. Optimus, you're fucking Mexican!"

Anyways, at some point in the conversation, the phone got passed to this girl who he was with. Being ever the great pick-up artist I am (sometimes) we talked for a while, and according to [Geneseo] I sound "attractive," "nice," and "confident." Score.
Alright, she was pretty trashed, but still... I've already laid the groundwork, and as far as I can tell, she's coming to RIT sometime in the next month.
Anyways, that's not even the highlight of our convo. Apparently, at some time when we were on the phone, Roommate decided to break into the neighbor's house.
Geneseo: "Oh no. Now Roommate's breaking and entering. He just opened someone's screen and walked into their house"
Optimus: "You should probably go stop him."
Geneseo: "Yes, I should. Wait. Now he's in the kitchen. Oh, he's looking in the fridge, he found a bottle. He's drinking it."
Optimus: (laughing)
Geneseo: "He's out now."
Optimus: "Good, good."

Yes. My roommate broke into someone's house for the sole purpose of drinking their liquor. If I haven't said it before, I'm pretty sure that my roommate and I are like a perfect match.

Optimus Prime likes girls; nothing good comes of it.

Girls, girls, girls.

... That's supposed to be like "shaking my head in disbelief" sorta thing not an homage to Motley Crue, although, they do rock. At everything.

Anyways... Girls.
Gah, I just don't know what to say.

Maybe I'll come back to this one.

(P.S. I'm not coming back to this one)

Optimus rereads drunken blog

Again, I will chose to not censor myself, but instead make a new post with the juicy bits I forgot. For example:
At Party 1, there was a Russian kid. I said "hey you're from Russia, aren't you?"
And the conversation went as follows:
"Yes, I am from Russia and I know that if anyone comes up to me and talks about a random subject I can tell from that conversation the history of mankind."
Yeah, it was pretty intense.
The greatest part about [Russia] was when he couldn't open this beer he was holding. It wasn't a twist off, but if it was, he still probably wouldn't have been able to get it open. Anyways, he tried to give it to a woman to open.
Optimus: "Nigga, please. That's a fucking man's job," and I snatched it from the bitch and opened it with my teeth. There was weird foil around the cap, but I just bit through that, too. Vietnamese people wrap their beers weird. He and the broad and the dude the the broad was with were all sufficiently impressed. I don't know who said it (it might've been me) but the word "hardcore" was definitely mentioned.
[Russia]: "I will make these people drink to your health!"
Optimus: "Yeah, drink to my health!"
Then they did. Even the woman, who was the designated driver* drank to my health.

Then, I can't recall if I mentioned this,but that party was busted up by the 5-0. nothing serious, we just had to leave, and my feel-copping was cut short.

But, I guess if it hadn't been busted up, we would've missed the hot naked chicks... so that's good.

Also, they had a bar at the next party, so I didn't have to sip the disgusting beer they had (Natural Ice, Genny light, queer shit like that) but instead I could drink mixed beverages like a man.
Well, I started with a Cosmo, which is only really manly if I get to make it myself.
But then I had a gin and tonic, because I knew it would fuck me in half.
And then I did a shot of vodka without a chaser because I'm hardcore. Well, actually, that's sorta run of the mill for me and most of my drinking friends from So-Cal, but... like I said... I'm probably the most hardcore person in the state of New York. IT went like this:
[Shooter]: "I'm doing shots! Who wants to do shots?" (points at Optimus) "Do you want to do shots?"
Optimus: "Are they free?"
Shooter: "Sorry man, they're a dollar.'
Optimus: "Fuck that, I've only got a dollar left."
Shooter: "Then do a shot!"
Optimus: "...Fine. What're we doing?"
Shooter: "Anything you want! I'm doing a lemon drop."
Optimus: "Sounds gay."
Shooter: "Do you even know what it is?"
Optimus: "Yeah, isn't it a shot of vodka with a lemon wedge afterwards?"
Shooter: "Hell yeah-"
Optimus "Fuck that, I'll do a straight shot of vodka."
Shooter: "Oh dayum! I want to see this."
And then I did it. No biggie.
Shooter: "Oh shit, dude. That was hardcore."
Optimus: "That was nothing."
High-fives all around for Optimus!! Even the 'bartender' gave me a high-five.
I'm awesome.

The only other noteworthy thing was that I apparently posted a comment on my ex-girlfriends page saying something exactly like:
"Let's fuck and make babies.

Seriously.


... So there's that.

Oh... 1 more thing. Ihe kid I went out with (initially) got too drunk and puked in the sink.
I showered upstairs today.

Optimus Prime visits more college parties

If ythey invented a number that was higher than infinity, thatwould be how many butts on which i copped a feel tnigh at party 1. also, there wasa russian kid, with whom i talked; he said "I know that any subject anoyone talks abouti cantellthe futriure of human kind from that discussion,. then ii opened his beer with my teeth, and he made everyobne toast to my health.

arty 2 i fetlsomeasses,drank a c osmo,a shot o vodka, and ag in and toonic,i'm fucked up.
I chilled with pobably the chi,lest niggazon campus. I'm Black now!!!

they call me Cali.
It'ssicel.


oh. in between parties, wesaw two girls streak buttass naked.
I toucched their breasts.

CD review: River City Rebels - "Keepsake of Luck"

Keepsake of Luck is superb. If you're looking for something to listen to on repeat in anticipation of Somewhere in the Between, I recommend this one HIGHLY. Granted, it's not ska, but it is of a similar musical caliber. This album shows a new side of RCR that was only present in their previous album (Hate to Be Loved) in small amounts; with largely acoustic songs, Keepsake of Luck is like if the New York Dolls had crazy sex and babies with Johnny Cash or something else cool like that. Keepsake of Luck is like if Ben Folds got hypnotized into thinking that he was Johnny Thunders. I actually don't know who Ben Folds is, but I've heard he plays a lot of acoustic music.
Fuck this, I don't think I'm really getting the point across. Let me explain this in simple math terms:

1 part glam rock + 2 part acoustic guitar + 3 parts crooning + 1/2 melancholy and 1/2 upbeat hopefulness + occasional softness = Keepsake of Luck.

Update: Also, the Phenomenauts helped record some of this album. Two of my favorite bands collaborating on a piece? No wonder I like this CD so much...


Alright, you know what, I'm pretty much running on fumes here, so go buy the fucking CD and find out for your goddamn self. All i can say for sure is that it's really fantastic.

Woman-afari

Today in my Rastor imaging class (which is a misnomer; it should be called Photoshop for Baby Monkeys with Down's Syndrome) I got bored, so I started taking pictures of the cute girls around me.

I got three.

Also: ... International copyright laws be damned, from now on my name is Optimus Prime. You Can call me Optimus Prime, Optimus, Prime, or even OP, but no more of this '[Legal Birth Name]' bullshit.
That is all.

- Optimus Prime

Dancing: Is there anything it CAN'T do?

There was a show on campus the other night called Skafest. It was $1.
Needless to say, I was in attendance.
The highlight of the evening, probably, was when I was skanking (for you more ignorant reader, that's what you call dancing to ska music. It has nothing to do with my man-whorish tendencies) behind this pretty cute girl (I'd say 3 1/2 stars) who was wearing a tight dress and some tights. Anyways, she had a nice butt, and in keeping up with my manly status of... well, Me (yes, Optimus Prime is a status now. It's somewhere above Jesus, but slightly below James Bond) I decided to practice my "C" from Maddox's Alphabet of Manliness.
A quick aside: for those of you who don't know, the C in the Alphabet of Manliness is for "Copping a Feel". If you don't know what the Alphabet of Manliness is, Google it, then fuck off and die.

Long story short, I grabbed her butt. It was nice.

Addenda (addendum?) to my Saturday post:

While i have decided NOT to edit my wonderfully drunk post from last Saturday evening/ Sunday morning, there are a few things that either 1) I remembered only afterwards, when I was sober, or 2) that happened after the post, yet are still post-worthy. So, without further adoooooo:

First I'd like to say that all the events of last Saturday night's partying required me to be intoxicated by only 8 beers and a shot of coffee liqueur. Before you all say shit like "omgzorz Optimus, did you live your liver in San Diego lolz" I must let the record show that Saturday was also the last day of the I Phelta Thi (or whatever sorority) Red Cross blood drive. So, with the information that I was short a sack or two of blood only makes the fact that I remember in almost perfect lucidity the happenings of that evening even greater testament to my ginormous manhood. I make a CERTAIN physics teacher (whom I don't want to incriminate because he's probably tied for the position of number 1 teacher at my high school) proud.

2) What is likely the highlight of my evening was one of the things that happened latest in the night. As we stood outside the last party waiting for our ride or whatever, my roommate, TheRoommate, was macking with his lady companion of the evening. He announced at some point that he was going to go back to her room, and the conversation proceeded as follows:
TheRoommate "I'm going back to [Girl]'s room, so, uh, I'll see you in the morning."
Optimus "Ooohh... sex."
The Roommate "Haha, yeah we're going to snuggle."
Optimus (obscene hand gesture)
TheRoommate (laughs)
[Girl] "Oh my god that's so gross!"
TheRoommate "Haha, you're drunk."
[Girl] "Haha, yeah..."
They start to kiss again.
Optimus "Remember, TheRoommate... Date rape is illegal."
The Roommate(laughs)
[Girl] (blank stare)

3) Another note-worthy event (the hilarity of that pun will get you in a couple of lines) was what happened just after I posted the initial blog.
My initial plan was just to sleep on the floor. The dorms here at RIT all have bunk beds, and... well, I just didn't see that fairing well. Note: I live in upstate New York now (dhur) so it's cold as shit. And TheRoommate had left his window open all day and night, meaning that at the time I decided to finally pass out, it was probably close on 40 degrees in our room.
Since it was cold as shit, I grabbed the nearest thing to me, using it as a blanket. Ahh, beauticious. Seconds away from unconsciousness, I realize that I'm probably a bit of a spectacle there, lying in the middle of the floor, wrapped in my bath towel, and that the logical thing to do would be to leave a note for my roommate when he happens upon me in the morning. So I clumsily rise, grab a sheet of printer paper and scrawl on it in Sharpie: (note: this is verbatim)
"Dear TheRoommate:
Just kick me in the face. I probably deserve it.
Fuck your Shit
- Optimus."
I lay back down and, not wanting to display this proudly on the door for my RA (who lives in the room next door) to discover. Did I mention that I live in the substance free dorm? Because I do.
Anyways, there I am, lying on the ground, under my towel, with this note placed delicately on top of it all. And after all that effort, I realize that it's unavoidable that my RA will use his master key to come into my room and discover me like this so he can document me. Drunk-logic is amazing, isn't it? Not only is that totally against the rules, but my RA just isn't that intrusive or mean. Anyways, I toss the note, hang up my towel, and crawl clumsily into the shaky bed to crash (only figuratively, fortunately) and wake up at noon the following day.
Good times.

4) Last, and also probably least; I wore a pretty generic "Oh shit it's cold and I'm in a bitchy mood and about to get drunk outfit": my normal clothes topped with a black hoodie and my skeleton-hand gloves. It was at the last party that some relatively drunk dude asked me, seemingly out of nowhere what kind of music I'm into.
Optimus (at the top of my lungs) "SKA!!"
[Dude] "Haha, cool. I was kinda worried that you were like, emo or something."
Optimus "FUCK THAT SHIT."
Anyways, I guess that this guy overheard me. Hes all like
"DUDE I LOVE SKA!! YOU HAVE TO LET ME KNOW WHEN THERE ARE SKA SHOWS IN ROCHESTER!!"
So I get his name and number, and tell him about how he missed the $1 ska show he missed on campus the night before.
He nearly threw a pissy fit. But he was one of those drunks that never stops smiling. ... Fuck you, you had to be there. I thought it was hilarious, and so did TheRoommate.
Oh, also, there was a guy that was wearing a Rancid sweater at the same party. I commented on it, we started talking about which albums we liked, and seemingly out of nowhere, he asked if I like the Aquabats. I unzip my shirt to reveal my Aquacadets shirt, and he unzips his sweater to reveal an MCBC shirt. It was sick, AND unexpected.

They're delcious AND nutritious.

Sometime earlier tonight my roommate calls me out into the hallway to see a sculpture he has made outside of someone's door.
It is a crude penis entering an even cruder vagina, each made of a couple of assorted Airheads. What he failed to mention was that there was an entire box filled with Airheads outside said door.


They are now mine.

Airheads rock.
I ate 3, and already I can feel my internal organs being coated by a protective and delicious layer of sugar and preservatives.

Preemptive CD reviesw: Streetlight Manifesto - "Somewhere in the Between"

Somewhere in the Between is bound to hit shelves November 13th.
After years of chronic blue-balling since Everything Goes Numb came out (yes, I'm purposefully omitting Keasbey Nights because... well, frankly, I'd heard all those songs before) I can honestly say that, based on my continuous listening of the 31 seconds of sample clips posted on their webpage - given in the form of :12 of We Will Fall Together, :07 of Down, Down to Mephisto's Cafe, and :12 of Would You Be Impressed? - that this album will be the most explosive unanimous eargasm of Kalnoky fan-boys possible. There'll be checkered musical splooge coating the entire continental United States, as well as parts of Canada and Mexico for WEEKS after its eventual release.
This album is going to fuck our ear pussies so hard that even the most hard-hearted cynic will forget the angsty anticipation in which we waited so anxiously, intermittent with delays, excuses, and general ass-hattery on Streetlight's part.

Yes, this album is going to be great.
I maybe the world's biggest dick (read: I am the world's biggest dick) but I can truthfully say that the 12 seconds of crooning and horn riffs of We Will Fall Together is, by itself, enough to warm my heart. I may yet love again.

But, if I do, I'll love Tomas Kalnoky.

Sorry ladies, guess I'm gay now.

But I digress... seriously, go buy this fucking album. Pre-order it as soon as you can. If you can't... start walking to the nearest record store. Trust me. You DO NOT want to miss this.

- Optimus Prime

Note: You, too, can preview this album at Streetlight Manifesto's web-page, http://www.streetlightmanifesto.com
Although, do so at your own risk. If you listen to the short clips, you too may be possessed by the desire. It's literally eating away at my mind. I have dementia now because I literally CANNOT WAIT any longer for this CD.

Optimus Prime visits his first-ever college party; types drunk.

As 9i type tyhis, i'm smashed off my face. Not quite smashed offmy ass, so i guess on the tucker max scale that means i'm pretty much fucked in half. Anyaways, tponight i went o my fitrst college party.Well, actually, first 3 college parties. so i guess i'll recant those to you.

Party one: i got a ride from a broad in a ford focus. we had 6 peopleand 4 seats/ My roommate was hooking up with the one girl on campus for whom i'd cut mu dick off to have sex qith. That's pleasant, so i mumble about how id like to kill everyon uner my breath. When we get to the party, i down a beer, and then proceed to play a drinking game involving cards called Mr. Dickhead. Obviously, i win, and down 3 beerz during the course of the game. Some dick tries to coax us out of our money to ;'buy more beer' and i bitch,
we get our money back, and as we're kleaving, i pee in his bathroom sink. Take that, Fucker!
[
partyuc2: nothing. we leave, and i'm the only one with more liquor in his system: io chug some cofee liquuerr. GROSS, but alcoholic.

Pary 3: we drove around a boit to find it, but we did, eventually. Turns out, this one's on campus. Anyways, i drink acouple [dozen]more nbeeers and get fucked in half. Undoubtedly, i curse out some bitches, kick some stuff (tiurns out the bike chained to the front porch belongs to one of the kids throwing the party;... ooops.); anyways, eventually i'm so drunk that i hate everything more than before. That's usually a bad sign. I moke too sgharettes, without takingeither ut of my mout.. I bet i look cool when i do it. In my defense, at least i fijnsidhed the,.. WWehn the bitch (tyyeah, she was a women fdriver, but atl lesast sehw was sober...) drives me home, i get out befroe the car stops, and i sahout "Thanks, fat bithc," bedfore storming to my room to type this. Ih vane;t looked at the screen since i typedthis, mostly for comedic affet. So.... enjoy. I'll probably post another versioj tommoroow morning when i'm sober so that yuo can actually undersand what i'm tyuping. Bitches.

If God exists, he probably thinks I'm a dick too.

I don't mean to sound like a jerk (well... that's up for debate) but seriously people....

Talking to your imaginary friend never makes anything better. I guess I can see how it's a bummer that those people died (not really, I'm just pretending, since i wasn't one of them) but really... How does this really affect us? You all talk about 'remember 9/11' which makes it impossibly hard to forget it. And that's just what we need to do. If we took this much time being butt-hurt about what is really an insignificant event every time, we'd still be crying about that ice-cream cone I dropped last week. But we don't, we get over it, because it changes nothing. The world is still turning, life still goes on, America is still over-populated, fat, disgustingly greedy and proud, and I don't see that changing as long as you mopey mother are caught up in the past.
Don't get me wrong, it's cool with me if you pray and stuff, but... don't you think you should be a little more proactive? Use your big brain for stuff; things can be prevented or at least easily fixed if you just use your noggin. Maybe God's answer to all of your prayers for the victims of the attack was presented in the form of a national democratic election just 3 years later. Maybe if you hadn't prayed so hard, Bush would've declared a state of emergency right after the attacks when his approval rating was at an all-time high and declared himself dictator. But he didn't, and yet somehow everyone STILL missed their queue come November '04. The man's a dumb-ass, face it.

I'll forgive you, but really, if you want to do something that REALLY means something FOR the victims of the attack (as well as everyone else who has suffered as a result, American and non-American, citizen and soldier alike) vote for someone to end the war. Be it Clinton, Obama, even Ron Paul, I just don't give a fuck.

But stop making yourselves stupid and be a little proactive, you freeloading jerks.

And remember, there's always the chance that God doesn't exist, so you'd be smart to at least set up a back-up plan for yourselves... you know... just in case all your prayers don't all come through.

Why I shouldn't be allowed to talk to people, ever.

I've noticed that my stories seem to have a common theme.
No, not being drunk.
The theme is more along the lines of "wow, Optimus really is good at fucking up a sure thing."

Let me explain briefly:

For those of you that live under a rock, July 24-29 was Comic Con. I was there. The most notable and quite possibly dumbest thing that I did while there was to be so fucking sexy.
Here's how it happened - I was with my friends (Lazer McSanchez, Mander, Ash, Zabe, Chiodo, The King, and Cuz) at the Pokemon booth playing the new pokemon game. I noticed, being as observant as I am, two girls who had walked by the booth several times, each time checking me out. Seriously, you could see their hearts flutter every time they walked past and i smiled at them. I told Lazer, with whom I had been playing the Pokemon game, although he seemed positive that they were checking out the Pokemon, not me. I didn't believe him.
After a not-too-long while, we are forced to stop playing because we're too cool or something, so we walk to the case where the Pokemon toys are displayed. I was in the middle of explaining the two girls to Mander and Cuz when one of them walked up to me. Here's what she said - VERBATIM:
"You're the most attractive person I've ever met, and I was wondering if you would marry me." Take that, Lazer.
But that's not the end of it. Because, apparently my response was enough to invoke a walking-away-from. I still don't get it, really... what part of "I get that a lot," is upsetting?? I was pretty much thanking her for the flattery! If she'd stuck around longer, I would've said yes, but... fuck that.
Anyways, yeah, I suck at talking to people, because it always turns into how I'm better than everyone at everything.
Somehow.

Optimus Prime is Deceived.

It started a while back, on the Wednesday afternoon that I first decided to try gin, and consequently blacked out behind a local grocery story at four o'clock in the afternoon, lost my best hat, and had my description phoned into the police. But that's not really the important part of this story. The important part is that I was with a couple of people, one of whom was a semi-attractive (maybe a high 3) girl - from here-on-out we'll call her TheDecepticon - who found my antics endearing, and I guess that I got her phone number.

Well, I decided to finally take TheDecepticon up on her offer to hang out again sometime last week (it's summer break, I couldn't remember the day of the week for the life of me) with the impression that this was... you know, a sure thing. If you found anyone that wouldn't mistake what she was doing for begging to be sexed, I'll eat my own hat. So, I skateboard down to the beach, and we're hanging out, innocent chatting, and what I still would swear was massive amounts of flirting from her. At some point one of TheDecepticon's homeless friends (we were hanging out with a bunch of them, that should've been the first omen I observed) obtained a space bag (i.e. plastic sack filled with cheap wine), a bottle of Jim Beam, and one of those cheap-ass 3-litres of cola. We start to drinking, and nothing happens for a while. At one point four of us (me and the girl included) go back to the store and buy 3 40s, one for me, and one for each of the other two guys. We get back to the beach and the drinking continues.

(Skipping to the good part...) So, I guess I finish my forty, get ripped off, but buy another can of Budweiser from a douche bag, and am too drunk to notice that I'm sucking on an empty hash pipe when I decide to pee. That in itself was a relatively unexciting venture, except that, where we are on the beach is essentially a little cave, and I travel to the back of the cave to pee, only to be surprised by a tourist walking through the other side (i.e. from the back to the front) of the cave to discover me peeing in what would have otherwise been an ideal Kodak spot. It was about this time I offered to punch a girl in the face for saying that she didn't like alcohol, and I told another girl (call her Sandwich) to make me a fucking sandwich - loudly. And repeatedly. Also, I don't remember if this was a personal thought or an outside voice kinda thing, but I think I mentioned the word nigger when a black girl showed up. And it was this point that I realised that TheDecepticon is gone. Apparently to fetch her cell phone, but still.

By the time I worked up the resolve to go find her, she's back, and making out with Sandwich.

This will not do. They may be the only people making out, but if there's anyone being the only one being macked on at a party, it should be me. I deserve it for being... Well... Great. So I unsubtly drop a line like "Hey... You wanna make out with me, too?" and Sandwich even comes back with, "Yeah, why don't you make out with him?" I think I'm in, I'm drunk, happy, and with a girl that's been nearly begging to see me for weeks. But get this: TheDecepticon says "I don't want to!" What the fuck? No-one just doesn't want to make out with Optimus P. so obviously the broad's got brain damage, which is a total turn-off. But still, my sure-thing just plummeted to retarded prude in less than a second. You've all heard about my reverse beer goggles (girls get less attractive the more I drink), well, this high 3 just gained about 150 lbs and the ground shakes as she walks away from me. I'm also assuming that all of you know about what happens when Optimus gets drunk and angry.

Sure, it starts innocent enough, throwing around empty bottles of beer at the rocks near people's heads, cussing out the pussies that "don't wanna walk on broken glass," kicking sand on people who are sitting down and their barbecues. But I can go from 0 to raging asshole in the time it takes for Richard Gere to make a woman orgasm. That is, REALLY FUCKING QUICKLY. I somehow managed to climb out of the cave, find more beer, open them WITH MY TEETH (a skill I developed that very night, possible the only positive consequence of my self-destructive alcoholic behavior), drain them, and throw them at more people.

I storm off, and start my trek to my grandma's house; shit-faced, pissed off, and alone. I blacked out before I could even make it to the street, but I'm guessing that I didn't get arrested. The only part of the story worth mentioning after that was that around 8:30 (i.e. after dark) I am close to my grandma's house, but not on a road that I recognize. Thanks to my extraordinary internal compass, I figured that I could get back on track by trodding through someone's yard.

FUCKER HAS A FENCE.

Alright, no big deal, toss my skateboard over, drunkenly clamber over, I'm good, right? WRONG. I'm in someone's VERY enclosed backyard, about 10 feet from the back door LIGHTS ON, FAMILY STARING AT ME FROM THE KITCHEN. No biggie, I just repeat the process, toss my skateboard over, drunkenly clamber over, I'm good, for real, right? WRONG AGAIN. Apparently, someone thought it would be fun to plant a bunch a cardboard strips in the ground, lash 'em together and call it a fence. That's about how stable that piece of crap was. Took me about 3 tries to get my drunk ass over, and in the end I ended up flat out falling. But, it was in the street, and I probably landed on my head because I blacked out again at that point, but I was over.

I regained consciousness as I neared my grandma's house, and slapped myself a few times to sober up, but I wasn't too worried, she's pretty much oblivious. The only thing worth mentioning about that was when I decided that should brush my now sweater-clad teeth, but she was already in the bathroom. Still too drunk to stand up straight, I popped a seat on the stool she had just outside the bathroom, in the kitchen (don't ask me why). When she exited she jumped a bit when she saw me and said "Jesus, Optimus, you startled me."

My reply: "No. The dog startled you."

Yeah, my dog was standing next to me, it seemed like the right thing to say. Blame the dog.

I'm still trying to figure out what relevance it had.

Anywho, it's about a week later now, and my hands and elbows are still pretty fucked up, presumably from when I fell over the fence. And whenever I peel of a scab and start bleeding and cussing, I blame the bitch who deceived me.

Fuckin' cow-ass prude.

Ima join a dating site.

just to ridicule that shit outta the fatties that have to resort to that kind of thing.

10 Mental illnesses of which I am likely to display symptoms

Believe it or not, I am NOT perfect. However, I'm - more likely than not - not going to do anything, even if it turns out that I'm right about one or more of these, just because... well... If it ain't broke, don't fix it. And I'm pretty damn good.

10. Schizophrenia: I blame fight club for this one... Sure, I talked to myself before seeing that movie, but I thought that it was normal. It wasn't till after I saw it that I remembered that I was the only one who talked to myself, at least as much as I do.

Symptoms of Schizophrenia I feel that I display:
-"Hallucinations...
-Disorganized behavior...
- 'Affective flattening': the reduction in the range of emotional expression...
- 'Avolition': difficulty to initiate and persist in goal-directed behavior...
- Poor Concentration...
- Difficulty expressing thoughts..."

9. Alcoholism: The longer I go without a drink, the more of my thoughts are solely on procuring one. Also, it's supposed to be PRETTY hereditary, and everyone in my family has had a history of substance abuse.

Symptoms of alcoholism I feel that I display:
-"Making excuses to drink...
-Excessive alcohol consumption...
-Tolerance to the effects of alcohol...
-Drinking first thing in the morning to avoid hangover...
-Showing aggressive behavior while under the influence of alcohol...
-Losing interest in social activities...
-Impaired memory...
-Eating disorders...
-Unnatural fears...
-Irritability..."

8. Paranoia: This is probably better classified as some other, less general type of psychosis, but whenever I'm left alone too long, just thinking about stuff, I almost always play out the worst-case-scenario. Whether it's when I'm in the car, imagining the ungodly angle at which my shoulder would be dislocated if we were to get into an accident at that time, to imagining a conversation in which the person I'm talking to points out all of my character flaws while I insult them, leading to a physical confrontation of which I am NEVER the victor, or imaging all the cruel things people are probably thinking about me as I walk past them. I think that's probably paranoia.

Symptoms of Paranoia I feel that I display:
- "Preoccupied with unsupported doubts about friends or associates...
- Suspicious...
- Perceives attacks on his reputation that are not clear to others...
- Reads negative meanings into innocuous remarks...
- Reluctant to confide in others due to a fear that information may be used against him..."

7. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder: I don't really consider it plausible that I have OCD (if you've seen my room, you'd know why), but it would explain a lot of the peculiar behaviors I have, and maybe even my hand sanitizer and my paranoia of people touching my stuff. But more likely than not, I am OCD-free.

Symptoms of OCD I feel that I display:
- "Feelings that objects are dirty or contaminated with germs...
- Unpleasant intrusive thoughts...
- Intense fear of making mistakes...
- Obsession with the ordering, arrangement, or symmetry of objects..."

6. Agoraphobia: Fuck your city bus bullshit. Oh, apparently, it's also inappropriate to freak out at school dances and - no joke - punch yourself in the nose repeatedly. I'm calling that one 'panic attack.'

Symptoms of Agoraphobia I feel that I display:
- "Fear of crowds...
- Fear of public transportation...
- Social isolation...
- Panic attacks..."

5. Anorexia Nervosa: It was only when [Biology Teacher] discussed anorexia in my class last year that I realized that I met a LOT of the conditions to be considered anorexic. And it was... uh... interesting to say the least when my friend - who has been hospitalized for anorexia - noticed that I had lost a lot of weight between the few months when we saw each other.

Symptoms of Anorexia I feel that I display:

-"Dramatic weight-loss...
-Basing self-worth on body image...
-Frequent skipping of meals, with excuses for not eating...
- Frequent looking in the mirror for flaws...
- Even when thin, complaining about being overweight...
- In males, decreased sexual desire...
- Irritable...
- Bad Memory...
- Anemia...
- Dry skin, gets cold easily...
- Dehydration..."

4. Attention Deficit Disorder: I know, I know, I've said it myself HUNDREDS of times: "Everyone's got ADD these days, and it's just their excuse or being inadequate." That being said, there's still a good chance that I have, I'm just not one to bitch about it or become a junkie for Ritalin.

Symptoms of ADD I feel that I display:

- "Makes careless mistakes...
- Difficulty sustaining attention when directly addressed...
- Difficulty finishing tasks...
- Appears forgetful, disorganized, distracted...
- Fidgety, squirmy...
- Difficulty staying seated...
- Physical restlessness; difficulty with quiet, sedentary activities...
- Problems working towards long-term goals...
- Poor judgment..."

3. Depression: This one isn't so much of an 'if' as it is a 'to what extent. For those of you who don't know, I guess this is the time when I tell you that I left [Jr. High] after 7th grade and also [High School] during 10th grade due to depression and related issues. And, for a while, it was like I said: "As soon as I started listening to ska, I stopped being depressed." And it's true, but there's just some levels of crazy that can't be defeated by ska, and I noticed this the other day as, when I was thinking about how happy I'd be at graduation this phrase - verbatim - flashed through my head: "I'd be so happy, I could just kill myself." WHAT THE FUCK?!?! That doesn't even make sense, and I'm the one who thought it. Anyways:

Symptoms of depression I feel that I display:
-"Loss of interest in normal daily activities...
- Sleep disturbances...
- Impaired concentration
- Changes in weight...
- Fatigue...
- Low self-esteem...
- Less interest in sex...
- Thoughts of death..."

2. Hypochondriasis: Just because I made this list.

Symptomsof Hypochndriasis I feel that I display:
- "Preoccupation with having serious illness...
- Misinterpretation of body symptoms...
- Persistent fear despite medical reassurance...
- Clinical distress or functional impairment..."

1. Narcicissistic Personality Disorder: I can't be certain what tipped me off that maybe I've got this one... maybe it was my seeming inability to draw anything that's not me, or the fact that I'll write 'Optimus Prime is the Best' on any paper that's in front of me for too long, or maybe it's just the fact that I truly, genuinely, don't give a shit about anything that isn't me or mine.

Symptoms of NPD I feel that I display:
- "A grandiose sense of self-importance...
- Preoccupied with fantasies of unlimited success, power, brilliance, beauty, or ideal love...
- Believes that he is "special" and unique and can only be understood by, or should associate with, other special or high-status people...
- Requires excessive admiration...
- Has a sense of entitlement...
- Is interpersonally exploitative...
- Lacks empathy...
- Believes that others are envious of him...
- Shows arrogant, haughty behaviours or attitudes..."

That being said, I hope you had as much fun reading that list as I did compiling it. And I also hope that you don't think any less of me as a person because of some of the semi-personal things I shared just now. And I also hope that you don't jump to the conclusion that I've got all (or even any) of these illnesses. Probably only about... 8... JUST KIDDING.