Maybe. If you are into that kind of thing, you should check out my brother’s new album, Romantic Shark Attack. Currently No. 13 on AimeStreet’s Top 25, ahead of Bare Naked Ladies, but below Mandy Moore at the time being. Here’s the link to the album: Romantic Shark Attack
Everybody says or does stupid things that they regret. It is the nature of the human. So why do writer’s set their stupidity in stone?
This blog for example is just stupidness upon stupidness, and as a result the people who read it just get stupider, and I feel stupid for saying such stupid things so everyone can read my stupidity over and over whenever they feel like reminding themselves of how stupid I am.
This guy is abnormal looking.
I look back at some of the things I’ve written, and it leaves me baffled. How am I supposed to continue writing when I know that one day I will look back at this very post and be infuriated with how garbagey it is?
There’s two possible reasons why I feel this way when I go back and read stuff I had written: The first possibility is that it really does just suck – the content, the structure, the speling, the grammer, and in many cases, even the photo. For example, look at the photo in this blog. It doesn’t even remotely relate to the topic.
The second possible reason is that…no. Nope, there is no other reason. This just sucks. And it will be out in the Internet world for people to look at, read and re-read as much as they want, not to mention, print out to pin up on their bulletin board at work. Now I can never apply for a job at your office, where this thing hangs on the board next to the water cooler because the person interviewing me will recognize me as the guy who wrote a blog about how much writing sucks and included a completely unrelated photo of a weird looking bearded he-she, and the beard isn’t even on the things chin!
If you’ll excuse me, I have to go shave my upper torso and swap out my earrings. These hoops always get caught on my beard!
This may be the first time you’re hearing about Daniel Davis, but it defintely won’t be the last. This 20-year old Winthrop University student plays the violin better than the guy in Pinochio and he’s got more swagger than McJagger (line courtesy: Kanye West).
Mark my word, Daniel D., who fuses hip-hop, jazz, country music, etc. is going to be big. He is the complete package. His marketing is only so-so, but once the industry sharks sink their jaw into him, he is going to get more than enough help with that. His Youtube videos are well done, good sound and good lighting. Here’s a good example of his style.
Top o’ the mornin’ to ya! Sorry, I just had to lead with that line.
St. Patrick’s Day is great day of pride for Irish people. For that reason, a large percentage of people are generally in great moods on March 17. How can you not be happy when everybody around you is wearing green and drinking a beer?
Well, here’s my problem with St. Patty’s Day. I am not even a single percent Irish, despite the fact that my mother has always told my siblings and I that we are half Irish. It wasn’t for quite some time when we realized that she was just telling us that because she wanted to be Irish, not because she was. She was/is what is known as an Irish wannabe. Imagine going from celebrating St. Patrick’s Day as someone with rich Irish heritage, to celebrating it as someone without any?
Well, I think St. Patrick’s Day is to blame for that, mainly because people of ethnic backgrounds other than Irish or Mexican (Cinco de Mayo) don’t have a day to celebrate their nationality, and therefore everybody wants to celebrate one of these other holidays.
I like and respect Ireland and all of my Irish friends, so nothing personal against them celebrating the holiday, but I’m not Irish, therefore it makes me a bit uncomfortable celebrating being Irish. I’m just saying, you generally won’t find a black guy burning anything at a KKK convention. Okay, I probably definetely went too far with that, but you get the point.
For that reason, I never feel like I can fully celebrate either holiday, and particularly St. Patrick’s Day. I know, I know, everyone can celebrate St. Patty’s Day. It’s an excuse to drink and be festive! I’m sorry, but I’m not into it, no matter how tall the green top hat I purchased at the dollar store is. I also have a condition known as publijigstrophobia. That is, a fear of doing the Irish Jig in public.
I am not jealous of the Irish or Mexicans for having an official day when they are able to celebrate their heritage, and I don’t think the reason I don’t get into it has anything to do with a fear of being mistaken for a leprachaun (though that would likely be a factor if I were into it), but you can be assured of this: when St. Patrick’s Day rolls around this year, you won’t find me singing on top of the bar.
Unless, of course, I get too drunk.
Many men will read this and assume that I am just a lame guy trying to get laid by writing this blog entry about how amazing women are. Trust me, I am not that tactless. I am not the guy that learns how to play guitar online to write a cheesy love song, complete with an off-key voice, for a female that I met randomly, like fate, hoping that one day we will ride off into the sunset with the intention of sharing a life of passionate kissing, frolicking in the fields, and lots of chocolate fondue. Though, I will confess, that does sound pretty ideal.
Think about how much more shit women have to go through than men, and then try to answer why it is that men think that they have it tough in comparison. If I couldn’t pee standing up, got menstrual cramps every single month of my life, and I couldn’t play sports shirtless as freely as I can now, I would not be pleased in the least. I can’t even enjoy life as is, knowing that I have to go through with tasks such as laundry and haircuts once every few months.
Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Women, not men, are the ones that bear children. My fellow men, imagine having a human come out of you. Now consider the fact that many women go through that more than once in their life. I can’t even bear the pain of dropping a duece after polishing off a pound of fettuccine alfredo, never mind having something the size of a sack-of-potatoes pop out me.
Now factor in problems such as salary discrepancies, high rates of physical and psychological abuse, and an insane amount of societal expectations for a woman to do things such as scrub the floors and change the diapers. No wonder feminists are upset. It’s a shock that more women aren’t straight up pissed off.
That being said, I am quite pleased to report that I am a man.
1. I once overdosed on brown sugar, and I am not ruling out the possibility of it happening again.
2. I cried for hours when my little goldfish, “Goldie,” died. I never should have cut it into tiny little pieces with scissors.
3. My first kiss was with my dog - it was by accident - and it didn’t end for a good 30 seconds.
4. I used to wear pajamas to bed, before I started wetting my pajamas.
5. OMG!!! I can’t believe how hard it is to think of 25 things GRRRR!!!! :/
6. I used to beat my animals severely. With a metal pipe.
7. I steal money from children and purchase insane amounts of JujuBees with it. Man if you think about it, that’s tragic irony.
8. I posed naked for the FBI’s Most Wanted list one time.
9. I have never told anyone this, but I have a fetish for uncooked leg of lamb.
10. I cheated on my driver’s test while the cop wasn’t looking.
11. Don’t worry, I can make fun of Chinese people. I go to the Peking Wok buffet every week.
12. I used to lick the mirror whenever I splashed toothpaste on it.
13. I have nibbled on dog hairs before. They tasted like dust mixed with old sock. I know I didn’t think it would be good either, but you have to give it a chance.
14. I am scared of carved pumpkins with sharp teeth. But I am not afraid to punch their face in if they look at me.
15. I’m embarrassed to say that I was on a hop scotch team when I was younger, but I was really good, so at the same time, I’m also kind of proud to admit it.
16. I steal my neighbors mail from time to time, but only when it is a flyer from Luke’s Pizza with the 2 for 1 sub special.
17. I dream of one day being the best pornography film director in America.
18. I want to have 7 children. All boys. All Frisbee players.
19. I go fishing in my parents koi pond from time to time.
20. I am timid when it comes to eating baby carrots. If anything, I occasionally nibble.
21. My pregame ritual music is the YMCA song.
22. To kill some time in the doctor’s office, I whistle the theme to The Wizard of Oz in my head over and over.
23. I wear lipstick when I shower to make sure that I clean myself thoroughly.
24. I am scared of calm, quiet cats. There is something I don’t trust about them.
25. I am so glad I have so many close friends. I will share my 25 things with them at bedtime, if they come out from my coloring book tonight.
This is not a blog about that YouTube New Jersey-ite who is in the f****** zone. This is literally a post about my new haircut, so knowing that millions of people thouroughly enjoyed that video, I’m sorry to disappoint you in that this is in no way related, other than this extremely excessive and unnecessary diatribe to begin the post.
On to the matter: I’ve had some bad haircuts in my day. I’ll start with the time my then step-mother, Carol, buzzed a 3-inch path around my entire skull before realizing that she had forgot to put a guard on the buzzer. My defunct corn row (singular) left me looking like Snoop Dogg on crack, which is pretty bad considering that Snoop already looks like he’s on crack. The unfortunate lack of concentration, and incredible amount of unawareness displayed by Carol, resulted in me having to wake up early before school to afford me the opportunity of applying a coat of Sharpie thick enough to last me until lunch time, when the patch would inevitably fade to dark shade of purple more obvious than the pale white skin that sat beneath.
I hear ya kid. Don’t worry, things will get better.
Judging from my middle school class photos, there were plenty of bad haircuts even prior to that incident. There was the alfalfa shot in fourth grade, when my hair was divided by a tuft that was so pointy, it couldn’t have been an accident. There was the fifth grade photo where my hair, which is as afro-esque as a white person can possibly have, was parted right down the middle. Generally, when hair puffs, barbers and hair stylists should know to shy from a part down the middle, no matter how old the carrier of the scissors really is. And finally, there was the sixth grade photo, where my hair was as frizzy as a tennis ball, but not as cool looking because it wasn’t green. In fact, I must’ve carried that look for a while, judging by one of my college nicknames: tennis ball head.
Which brings me to today. I am not too cheap to pay a professional haircutter to chop away at my scalp, I just hate spending the time on the ridculously lengthy process. Instead, I grab some buzzers every few weeks, and do some shaping before hopping in the shower. While it is a benefit that the haircut costs nothing, I somehow managed to not get my money’s worth after my last one:
Remember how I described my hair as afro-esque? Now imagine that same head of dark brown lo-mein with a bowl cut, which is supposed to make ones hair look as if an actual bowl sits on top of that same individuals head. It is also known as a mushroom cut, as the shadow it casts resembles Mario viagra. Now, take that upside down bowl, and give it some puffy horns, then drive to work, not realizing that the fade job you gave yourself didn’t blend as well as you had thought. That is my new haircut.
Who’s worse: bouncers, or people that know bouncers?
Why are all people that drive cars that look like police cars, creeps?
How are cheese puffs still making it in the market, especially with the weakened economy?
If a badass bouncer kicked you out of a club and used the expression “andddd stay out!”, would you keep a straight face?
Fact: Did you know that many pyromaniacs and serial killers are bed wetters?
Does ones physical shape determine that individuals career choices?
Would you rather be seen with a wad of snot hanging from your nose or a piece of toilet paper hanging from your pants?
If you were a waitress, would you rather get a $5 tip or a $10 scratch ticket?
Years of baseball, and a life spent in snowy Western, Mass. only means one thing: Badass snowball fighter. Right?
Wrong.
Snowball fighting expectations are always way too high for baseball players, like when the former college basketball player in your office tries to shoot a ball of paper in a waste basket, and misses by an embarrassing margin.
Baseball players suck at snowball fights.
Observers would think it laughable that a basketball player can miss the trash barrel by such a large degree, not understanding the vast differences between a perfectly round, smooth, leather basketball and a crumpled slice of Dunder Mifflin.
And while snowballs can be sculpted into something the semblance of a baseball if nothing more than in color and in relative roundness, it is important for non-baseball players to realize that we are dealing with a much different beast here; one without seams, one that heavily affects the amount of numbing in a throwers hand, and one that just doesn’t have nearly the same feel that a baseball player has spent years growing accustomed to, thus making it more difficult for a baseball player to throw a snowball.
Does that mean that the average schmuck can compete with a baseball player in a snowball fight? To a degree. It is very likely that a non-baseball player can throw a snowball with similar accuracy than one that plays baseball. Especially given the fact that a baseball player normally struggles throwing the ball in cold weather. That’s always been a huge factor for baseball players. We need to stretch, to warm up, to play in temperatures that aren’t cold enough to make our fingers melt into what we are throwing.
So next time you laugh at the hoops player who hits your boss instead of the basket, or the baseball player that tosses a snowball that lands right in front of their feet, just remember, it ain’t as easy as it looks rookie.