Last night I wrote a song about having sex...underground. Literally under the earth. I think my skills as a song writer need a bit of work.

I think bryan's getting a hammer.

Bryan: Are you unhappy that you spent the night?
Matt: No.
Bryan: Good, because I'm slowly falling in love with you.
Matt: No you aren't.
Bryan: Yes I am, you'll see when I rape you.

Spent the night with a seedy bunch of rapscallions meandering about Hillcrest. Fascinating place, especially the tatoo parlor that was willing to answer our questions, being mostly about genital piercings and the displayed pattern of two she-devils going down on each other. Sitting now in Bryan's room waiting for him to curteously wake the hell up so we can go to Science Olympiad and I can undo the turmoil he caused last time; he signed me up for a genetics event that requires hard knowledge of...well...genetics. Hard knowledge which I don't have and don't have the tenacity to attain. Oop...wait..he just rolled over and made a snorting/farty sound at me. No...no, no luck. Next comes the systematic beating with a copy of Big Mama's House I found in his room.

On a separate note.

School is implementing a "stuffed animal drive" for "lonely elderly people." "so they can have a companion for when they have no one to talk to." I cannot think of anything more patronizing or offensive as saying "Oh, well we don't care enough to ACTUALLY keep you company or lend a hand, so here's this inanimate, much drooled-upon rag for you to clutch in your senility." They're old. They're not fucking children and they certainly aren't stupid. If you want to help, volunteer at a nursing home.

Before I leave for the weekend...again...I wanted to part with a few words of wisdom. After school, while washing my hands I had this moment of sudden brilliance. Just, pop, hey I'm smart.

While soundwaves are traveling through the air, they disrupt air molecules, jumbling them. Although the soundwaves are making them jump up and down and side to side, there's another force affecting them, gravity. So while a molecule may get bumped up, gravity is pulling it down, changing the sequence the air molecules hit one another and therefore warping the sound. So does gravity effect sound? This all takes place so quickly I doubt gravity has much pull in the matter. But still, interesting concept.

http://babelfish.altavista.com/tr

Round one of the chronic mistranslation game!


Soy la grapadora del bote de basura de las montañas

Realmente quisiera morder su escritorio.

Exprima mi pelo.

El mundo de Wayne, mundo de los wayne, tiempo del partido, hola mi nombre es Raul. Soy de Nicaragua.  
 
¿Usted tiene gusto de tocar el refridgerator? Quisiera tocarle.

Por favor fracaso ahora.

Fabio robó mis llaves del coche.

Azote la enfermera secreta.

Mi fondo tiene gusto de acariciarle.

Well, what can I say? Spent the last three days in introspection trying to discern my romanticism. Choices choices and my head's tired. A weekend fly fishing in the Sierras was not enough to absolve the clutter circulating around my mind. Thought about just taking a break for a while but I know how much my mood fluctuates in this sense.

Oh woe is me, have pity, cry for me, I'm so dramatic. Christ.

No no, oh no, it'd be too much to ask for happiness, wouldn't it. Simplicity? Even worse. Great. The new love interest rejected me. Doesn't know me well enough. Great. Now I have to wake up tomorrow. What a joy that's going to be.

I can see by your vacant stare and lax jaws that you either need entertainment or a smack in the face, depending on your gender. This smooth operation goes out to vaginas everywhere.

How have I been, you ask? Quite well, given that my sense of humor is on the wax. Between bouts of staring at a screen and smelling my clothes to see if they're dirty, I've been staring at my homework and calling it filthy.

Just now someone said the phrase "rapanese" for the first time in memory, so I went into a little dribble about all the plays on words that have probably been used overkill. my favorites are "Lapanese: Japanese exotic dancing," and "Tapanese: Japanese Riverdance."

More updates on Senora Trott. Recently the class unilaterally requested to close all the windows given that our balls had turned to ice. In response she stood in that little superior posture of hers, lost in deep thought. Right away, I'm pissed. So she "makes a compromise with us." (what the bloody fuck.) She agrees to close every other window and leave the door open. Oh gee sparky, that's a real help. "And oh yeah, you have to ask in spanish you inbred little monkeys." I think it would take an apocalyptic rain of razor-tipped-killer-bee-shooting locusts pouring in through the windows to get her to take appropriate action. Even then, she'd probably die praying to god in spanish. "Hola. Me llamo Senora Trott. Cual es tu telefono?"

After this little fiasco she started telling us how much she loves "Novellas Romanticas." Ooooh jesus why.

Note to everyone: girls like poetry. A lot.

Today I had one of those surreal, startling moments that stick with you for a week after they occur. I was in the back of my parents' van riding past Hotel Circle, looking out the window when I spotted a bizarre church with oblong, sixties-esque architecture that looked like a strange spaceship emerging from the hillside. Suddenly a mural of a man hacking at dead meat with a six-inch blade while giving the passing cars a tight, sadistic grin swirled into view. My dad's jerky driving jarred me around and when I looked out the window again my vision fell directly onto a marquee with the words "Open hearts" on it. I immediately correlated the phrase with the eerie butcher, bringing to mind images of a cold, lifeless heart sitting on his bloody table. The marquee was for the church.

The whole event happened in seconds and left me jarred and disoriented. My breathing returned to normal but my mind was more reluctant to stop running.

At my school today there was a tech faire (code for a schoolwide corporate backdoor deal) where all the cute little tools who design technology for the marines to use to kill people more effectively bribe us with free shiny things. One of the handouts was a pair of purple latex gloves that were actually pretty nifty. When I got tired of wearing the one glove Michael-Jackson style, I snapped it off. Somehow in the removal process all of the glove's fingers got mashed into the index finger. The result was something that looked just like a purple condom with the ability to be worn on one's finger.

So I assumed the alter ego "Captain Condom" and poked people in the ear with it to be chased around the gym with disgusted screams. My history teacher was quite amused when I made it dance at her. She actually stopped in mid-sentence and gaped. After she corrected her "hell" remark with a gentler "heck" I told her, "Y'know, you probably don't need to use euphamisms when you're talking to someone with a condom on their finger."

This is so precious.

Ah, finally, a web test worthy of my time. Tell your friends.

http://www.philosophers.co.uk/games/god.htm

My results:

Congratulations!

You have been awarded the TPM medal of distinction! This is our second highest award for outstanding service on the intellectual battleground.
The fact that you progressed through this activity without being hit and biting very few bullets suggests that your beliefs about God are internally consistent and well thought out.


A direct hit would have occurred had you answered in a way that implied a logical contradiction. The bitten bullets occurred because you responded in ways that required that you held views that most people would have found strange, incredible or unpalatable. However, because you bit only two bullets and avoided direct hits completely you still qualify for our second highest award. A good achievement!

I'm surprised there isn't more of a competitive spirit between the local 'blogs, at least the ones I know of. Seems like, although most of our views coincide, Valentin, Bryan and I should be sparring for readers. More the merrier though, seeing as Bryan now has six staff writers (http://healthyfrowns.blogspot.com).

As for myself it's still a solo thing, as I doubt anyone else could tell you about the workings of my inner psyche. The little prick keeps popping things into my head at the least opportune times. Why is it that I always think about philosophy when I'm running the mile and in the dentist's chair, not while interacting with intelligent people?

I've been thinking recently about how youth "culture" has lost it's will to fight. I saw the conversion to yuppie mentality as a weak and defeatist way of living in ignorance, and in many ways it is. But I suppose that on some level young'ns are biologically driven to pry themselves away from the institution and their families, and closer to their friends. With the new wave of advertising techniques, fads and market trends, we've been exposed to so many images of uniformly dressed "wild n' crazy kids" having fun and rebelling with their cell phones/unkempt hair that it's become a reality in everyone's mind. They live under the impression that those ads are just reflections on the way modern society works so they accept it.

So in their own right, walking around the desert with a pack of your friends while drinking Starbucks is indeed a form of horribly mutated, warped, bizzare rebellion. They see it as their only means of escape from social pressures or parents. Teen spirit packaged, freeze-dried, sorted and shipped to you through the friendly people at Nokia.

http://www.daydreamings.com/gamma/

This quiz was supposedly taken directly from a Newsweek. Now correct me if I'm wrong, but stereotyping the girls of America to be shallow, snively, materialistic corporate tools shouldn't have a home in a news magazine. I like my crappy nonsense separated into distinct categories for easier chastizing, and when corporate bullshit intermingles with corporate bullshit it makes me uppity.

This kind of thing (the quiz) is what is slowly brainwashing our youth into vapid, driveling Mc Music lovers; the kind who mock the cell phone my parents forced on me that's half an inch thicker than theirs. "Geez fag, living in the stone age?"

You girlfolk shouldn't be contented to sit in a mall and try to look like you're twenty. Go express yourself. You don't need starbucks, hundred dollar sunglasses, a designer purse, and a cell phone to seem mature. In fact, lack of these things will now set you apart from the horde. You will get more attention if you dress differently. People will be inclined to talk to you.

There's a person under all that makeup and I'm sure they don't enjoy being suffocated.

I have confessed my greatest sins to the omnipotent oracle of the internet "Heaven/Hell" test and it has judged me rigorously and truthfully. Now all I can do is trust in its immortal wisdom and give all the money I can to my lord the webmaster of ircx.nu .

I only have a 32% compatability rating with heaven, and will surely burn for all eternity for not owning a bible and accepting gays as human beings. What have you, I grovel before whoever wrote this with tears in my eyes and my ass thrust bare for branding and painful torture.

http://ircx.nu/tests/test.php?testname=heaven

I took a "which Disney princess are you" test and these are the results:

You are Ariel from The Little Mermaid. You have the heart of a rebellious teenage girl. In your struggle to assert your independence, don't forget all your family does for you. You might have materialistic tendencies. It wouldn't hurt to take stock of your possessions and give all the things you no longer use to Goodwill. Everyone finds your youthful, innocent good looks attractive, but remember that you have a mind (or at least a voice), too. You are totally in love with the sea and would do well with a man who also loves the outdoors.

(Just for the record, I'm male.)

http://www.daydreamings.com/disney/

Ways to support Phobitopia:
-Give me money
-Give me CD's to keep my creative influx constant
-Manufacture Phobitopia T-shirts with memorable (and marketable) catchphrases on them
-Procure a small Texan cult for me to manipulate, and then release to intermingle with members of normal society
-Invite me to parties. I do tricks.
-Don't watch TV
-Don't wear yellow, it's the color of the devil and you'll be damned to hell.
-Kick shivery, hairless chiuahuas
-Get big-name celebrities to endorse my page, preferably not anyone affiliated with Geico commercials.
-Bomb your local Starbucks
-Sneak into movies
-Confuse your PE teachers with the word "ineffable"
-Put down the lipgloss. Please.
-Tell the clouds you love them
-Write poetry, not about how broken you are.
-Be liberal.
-Be happy.
-Make sweet, passionate, unbridled jungle love to me.

Anyone have any Wall of Voodoo CD's I can copy? Considering buying Call of the West but...money. Hey, free trade, free speech, free...love? Please?