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.