Intelligent Design.

I decided to partake in the art of Kara- Oke on Tuesday night as the nights drag onward and I feel little sympathy for those around me. In an attempt to empathize with the terrible voices of counterparts, acquaintances and locals, I bought a drink. Let me tell you, if your friends tell you how awesome karaoke is, I hope they are drunk. The night's penultimate singers were a duo of twenty year old women and a gay asian man. I mean don't get me wrong I'm not prejudiced, please don't call the amber lamps. But their voices while hopefully distilled into the essence of angel were simply not to be. Additionally, the song they sang, material girl. I did the math, this means that they weren't alive when that song was conceived. So where then did they receive the knowledge of its existence. The internet! Holy shit.

The internet is big. How big? Bigger than a car smaller than a bus. However, the point of the internet isn't to create vast immaculate real time depictions of how big Justin Bieber's cock is today, it is meant to inform and relate information to the entire globe. Hopefully this information is important. Today I twittered for the 40th time. It's not important, I just thought I should make mention. I referenced sex and the city. Back to Karaoke. There happened to be some men, Portuguese men apparently as was outlined by themselves over the microphone. Probably around nine-teen or twenty in age. At most middle-twenties. They told us (the group of students) that they destroy buildings and that even though we are almighty brilliant architects with "95 averages" that we should pay the men some attention. Congratulations Cambridge, you've managed to fabricate everything in a fantasy of surrealist encounter facilitated by alcohol. Racism, ignorance, idiocy. I love being here, it makes me feel as though I am the smartest man alive. Sadly, this cannot be. That man is Macgyver. The reason women don't hit on drunk Portuguese construction workers is not because they are drunk, or portuguese, or construction workers. It is because they for whatever reason decide to be complacent with their level of intelligence. "I'm a construction worker so I don't need to get any smarter." Well construction worker, I would like to introduce you to the internet, where you can track MMA fight statuses, prepare the most awesome Jager-Bomb Ever! or just simply read up on world politics and business. Who knows you might learn something. Now take off that fucking billabong hat, enyce hoodie and ugz boots, your level of contradiction is right off the ad hominem scale. Bitches.

Rock Out Like You're Fucking Jesus

Merry Christmas. Don't Fuck Jesus.

qotd: "You look good. You look like a sears model."

Tales From Space

Speaking of gravity. Tales from spaaaaace. New proposal for a comic collaboration.

The premise is simple. Three people are traveling through space, Frank, Jim and Susan. This is their experience. However, it is described through a series of collaborative efforts generated by peers and friends and compiled into a book. The graphic style and humor will change, but the plot shall remain continuous and self propagating.

Some ideas:

Text message breakup... in space.

Bicurious Jim... in space.

Or in this instance donated by Reggie Macintosh. We have milk deprived jim, asking for, well... milk.

You get the context.

qotd: "Excuse me, can I smell your cunt?"

"No you may not!"

"Well it must be your feet then."

Christmas Band

We must be in the jungle 'cause you is a lion to me.

On the verge of so many 'my dick is so wet jokes.'

We started with "my dick is so wet when I make rice I use one cup of rice and two cups of my dick."

But now there are many. Don't worry, there will be more.

qotd: "I think I'm gonna take the cash train to tuna town."

We gotta get out of here, there is a film crew taping us.

The weekend. Part 1.

I used to think that bad things only happened to good people. Then I realized that bad things happen to everyone, it just makes it worse if you happen to be a good person. No one gives a shit about bad people, in fact generally they mock them when bad things happen to them. "He deserved to die, he was an asshole," but they whenever someone good dies they say, "Patrick Swayze was a good person, why did he have to die?" I never really understood how these to things interrelate. How does whether or not you are a good person contribute to your mortality? I punched a child. I'm not dead yet.

The weekend. The bad things that happen are typically not great. This past friday I had the misfortune of awakening to the utmost ridiculous of conversations. Beginning with an ineffable shout, I was startled into consciousness by, "What the fuck dude, I don't even know you, get the fuck out of my room. Dude, dude! Get the fuck out." This was not directed at me, I was comfortably resting on a couch in the living room. As I looked around the room in this unfamiliar place I came under the realization of that person to which it is was directed. I will not use the names of the parties involved in the incident and their names will be replaced. The second yelling fit came about with the party in question, Mikhail Danacci citing that he didn't know, "what's going on? What did I do? Where am I?" I, Nike Tailleur lay still on the couch in the living room hoping with all his might that was had occurred was not the worst instance of human behaviour. I looked over at Byron Tarrançez, but hesitated to wake my counterpart. In what seemed instantaneous, a flight of stairs turned into a slide of injury and Danacci could be heard thumping down each riser and with each shuddering shake and bump he began collecting his consciousness.

The first words I heard directed at me were as surreal as the situation in which I found myself. "Nike, what is going on? There is a film crew, they are taping us, hide your identification, we gotta get out of here." I, relaxed and annoyed stated, "Go to sleep, nothing happened, there is no film crew." Danacci is not typically paranoid, but this was stupid. Why would a film crew want to be in this place? It was probably better he didn't realize what was going on at the time, as a piss-stained bookshelf upstairs and confused roommate looked on in disgust at the individual who had just desecrated the sacred learning tomes of contemporary economic students. What confused me the most, was why Danacci ended up in the 'other' roommates closet, asleep and arms crossed. Or how he got upstairs in the first place. The moral of this story is don't let sleep-walking piss takers sleep at your house, and two, use names that are better camouflaged.

What did the deaf, dumb and blind kid get for Christmas?

Cancer.

Bet you thought I was going to say a miracle.

qotd: "If the apartment smells like puke don't worry about it."

My Little Friend

As you can see, my little friend has made an appearance.

http://www.awkwardboners.com/

BT has just made his first ever blog post. I don't know what this means. Hopefully it means that he will do something other than nothing for the last year this thing has been running. I doubt that will happen, but who knows, I've seen stranger things. Strange like watching Being John Malkovich after swallowing four caps.

I don't actually remember the last time I had an awkward boner, maybe it was a long time ago, or on a bus. I hate buses for this reason, all that bumping and grinding getting me all excited. A wham, bam thank you ma'am, for driving so poorly. If you fixed your god damn suspension maybe my erect member would relax enough to just be a flaccid phallus of phenomenal unfeeling, because that's what it should be on a bus. People love to drive buses, and always look so creepy when they are, maybe they like the vibrational effects from the fantastic machine.

qotd: "Up yours Miriam!"

Sept. 23- Miike Snow and Jack Penate at Wrongbar

Disco Dick

Hey, it's me.

T-Shirt Compeition

The most amazing thing about holding a t-shirt competition is how many t-shirts you have to design yourself before any of the assholes in your class decide they can do one too. It's really not that hard, and it really is really easy. We all know photoshop, we all know illustrator, we are not inept four year olds who don't realize the importance that 'L' makes in the spelling of public. We are mercenaries of design. Hired for our knowledge of awesome and expertise in making things, for a lack of a better expression, look pimp. So here I am, with all these pimped out t-shirt designs, as a judge, ready to judge ANY other entries that take place, and low and behold, the citizens that make up tomorrow's best and brightest are working on some trivial task such as placing the locations of all the soccer stadiums in Argentina. How is this important? I'm sure it is. Somehow. Now I will know where the best places to buy a four dollar ticket to watch idiots kick around a rolled up cow bladder take place.

So the song. I have not worked on it that much, but I will reveal its contents. The title: Let's get fat together.

Refrain:

Your soft velvety skin that I've been admirin',

Has got me wonderin' If gluttony's a sin.

Them cream filled donuts you eat may be increasing your seat,

You're my tasty choc-late treat and some day our curves will meet.

Get fat for me woman and I'll stay forever true.

Let's get fat together and I'll make sweet love to you.

Through the thick and the thin I hope you'll be able to see,

I'll be there for you holding a bucket of KFC.

YES.

qotd:

" You know what's weird? I'm standing right behind you."

" Yeah, that's kind of weird. You know what's really weird? This guy is taking a shit right beside me."

Conjugate This Bowel

Because people don't recognize these are drugs. Put your heart on a platter.

The sacrifices people suffer for vanity makes my mind meander into methods of emaciation. The first goal seems to be to lose weight. Weight is a designation of our mass times the gravity affecting it. Weight is just a number. You weigh less on the moon. People obsess with a representation of a number. Just like age. Our perception of that number fuels our thoughts of weight loss. How does one lose "weight" How about cutting off a limb? I always think a better question is: "Do you feel healthy?"

Then there is the inevitable "Nothing tastes as good as being thin feels," which is just as ridiculous as the first time I read it. You cannot compare a feeling to a sense, they are disparate things, a feeling is generated from a sense. It's like saying it smells better than I feel. Veins are meant to help guide conversation, not confuse you, or slash open, letting the red pour out hoping desperately that it clots.

For those of you who don't know. CLA, or conjugated linoleic acid, is a supposed weight loss drug marketed by Jamieson Laboratories as a supplement. It affects insulin resistance and increases the chance of diabetes. Apple cider vinegar acts as a diuretic, giving into dehydration and the appearance of thin. Green tea extract contains anti-oxidants alongside caffeine, a psychoactive stimulant, diuretic, laxative. Guarana, similar situation to caffeine. The inescapable question as I sit here drinking this green tea and eating my ricotta danish becomes, "Is it worth it?"

We have a new song coming up. It's self written, just to change it up. We are calling it, "Let's get fat together."

qotd: "I eat meat because if I didn't people would think I was gay."

This is Murder

This is Murder.

I was reading an article on murder the other day, and it got me thinking. What compels me not to murder you? I should hope something does, otherwise I'd have killed many. There are a myriad of things that I feel prevent us from murdering one another, a sort of agglomeration of non-murdering rules. Life sans homicide is invariably tied to three systems:

First, law, we know that if we kill someone, we go to jail. Oooooooh, jail. Jail is that kind of place that you go when you run out of money to buy things. Like a giant hotel full of free food, beds, and toilet paper. It is but a place of constraint, and people dislike being constrained, but mortgages are constraint, and prisoners don't have mortgages. I would rather work for food then be in constant fear of losing my house.

Second, religion, because this doesn't really affect me at all, I think that people who use this as a reason are silly. How does this type of reciprocity work? Plus if I was catholic I could just ask forgiveness. Oh shit, I just shot that fucker and now he's dead. Forgive me. Done. Easy like Monday morning. Nevertheless, these two forgone, I am left with the last reason.

Sickness. It is just that murder makes me feel ill. To close the throat and squeeze hard, to crush the windpipe and leech the last breaths of life with my fist. To pull a trigger with that finger of the same name, an index of death popping one right through your skull, through the mouth an exit wound. But for some reason, I hesitate, the idea of killing someone makes me feel sick. Anthony Burgess sick.

So here is my conclusion. We have forgotten how to kill one another (or anything except pesky annoyances). I suppose this is good. The bodies would start piling up otherwise, and where would we put them? We used to have to kill for food. Not that we are cannibals, but you do realize that meat is but dead animal. If we hunt, we are more likely to feel less sick when killing. I have never hunted anything in my life except mosquitoes. Those bastards spill blood like a stuck pig, but it is my blood. I should just hunt vampires.

I am going to montreal next week. I am turning into a locavore. Totes.

qotd: "He's like eminem, except he is from the 90's. Oh, and he's black."

Oink

LMFAO.

Ever wonder what a pig sounds like in mandarin? I do. But I know that it will taste just as delicious no matter what noise it makes. Second round, same as the first, bet y'all didn't know I rehearsed. Meat has been named the second most popular condiment in the united states. How this happens, I have no idea. I would imagine the baconator, filet mignon, bacon in caesar salad, back-bacon on pizza, bacon on pizza, pepperoni on pizza, but these are all pork products. Who says pork barrel products aren't good for the economy? I love pork, but not on all of my food, only some of it.

If one pig tries to blow down my house, I will gut its neck and spill its blood then put it on my hamburger, because that is what grandma would have done.

We went to montreal this weekend for one night only. It rained and I will never go back.

Grandma Punch

"What you have to understand is that the world is full of lazy, retarded assholes who make up the slippery, mushy foundation of ambitious, talented individuals."

This is your life. This is your passport. This is your genetic structure. This is your death. This is your gift.

My grandmother had a famous quote which I commonly refer to as the grandmother quote. It goes something like this: "When dealing with people who are cunts, try your best not to slap them because all you will end up with is a sore hand, and a red-faced bloody cunt." My grandmother did not fare well when it came to defending herself, but in situations where she could act as an antagonistic bitch, she could slap her way in and out of any situation. Montreal has jazzfest this weekend, the mother of all jazzfests... in Canada.

Get your fingers out of there.

Billy Mays Is Dead

sex video.

I have no idea where these guys are from. First guess Montreal.

As always, my first guess is right.

Let's try guessing other things:

1. Offer Schlomi will finally replace Billy Mays.

2. Michael Jackson will not leave any inheritance.

3. Farrah Fawcett will not get as much death recognition as Michael Jackson.

4. Michael Jackson did not actually have any children.

5. Oxiclean will have a comeback special called best of Billy.

6. Ed McMahon will beat the shit out of Vince when he gets there.

you are not alone.

Quote of the day.

"What are you, a fucking thirteen year old?"

Discovery of Discovery

Everyone seemed to love vampire weekend. Some bands just name themselves without care. What is a vampire weekend? A weekend full of vampires? That doesn't sound like something I want to be part of at all. They now have a side project called discovery comprised of Rostam Batmanglij and Ra Ra Riot singer Wes Miles. All I can say is that the songs are great. We will see how they fare.

Osaka Loop Line - Discovery

The very Best - Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa

Peter Gabriel and Hot Chip - Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa

Cover bands seem to be getting more and more popular. Eh guys? Youtube cover bands especially so.

Jackson 5 cover:

I want you back

Cows Are Not The Enemy.

Let it ride. Not easily offended.

Try to let it go.

This anecdote is derived from a story generated by another:

When we were driving to the beach one day we came upon a field of cows. Cows with their different colours, patterns and sizes are appropriately stereotyped into one genetic condition. White with spots. Like a dalmatian only more useful when there are one hundred and one. After all, one cannot milk a dalmatian with the same vigor as the machine which drains the mammary gland connected teat of the female dairy bovine. I think if I was to compare my daily life to that of a female dairy cow, you would find one of us is more useful to society. But I digress.

The cows in their respective pasture once sombre and still began to move in the essence of the slow clap. Within seconds the entire herd could be seen running in one direction to the other side of the field and all I could think is, "are they late for something?" Perhaps one cow wanted to start a foot race to see who was fastest. Many people say things to me such as, "you are but a sheep in the flock" and my rhyming rhythmic response in untimely fashion is, "and in that sheep goes your quick cock." If there's one thing I hate more than hipsters, it's people who use proverbs.

Confucius says, "S my D before I B an L on your T's."

Burn it all down.

Rick.

You let me down... brain bone. Thank god for the eyes.

Thank god for Allan. Let's go back in time.

Quote of the Day. Starting today:

"I pee more so I cry less."

Buzz

Just can't get enough of that summer lovin'. Let's go in for the kill.

Person 1: "Hey man, is that bee sitting on the ground?"

Person 2: "No, that is a dead bee."

Person 1: "But doesn't it look like he's sitting down?"

Person 3: "Yeah, sure, but he's dead, and also a bee. It's not like he can just lounge around."

Person 1: "But look at how he is perched. Do you think he died sitting down?"

Person 2: "Bees do not have the ability to sit down."

Person 3: "Do you think Giraffes can sit down?"

Person 2: "You guys are so stupid."

Person 3: "Do you think that if they made newspapers small enough bees would read them?"

Person 2: "I'm going home."

The daily experience that is my life. What a ridiculous existence. FML.

The Lone Giraffe

When I get back from space, don't let me take your heart.

We have lost a follower. So, to amp up sale-ability we are going full speed ahead with another anecdote: The Lone Giraffe.

After long deliberation we have determined that the Albatross is the best animal created anywhere, at any time throughout history. They have the most amazing wingspan, not to mention the ability to glide ridiculous distances and the capacity to circle the globe. You know who can't do all these fantastic feats of mammalian miracle? The giraffe. The giraffe is by far the most useless animal I can imagine. Even the sloth has an amazing metabolism and cool claws. A giraffe just stands around, doesn't really make any noise, and maintains an overall uselessness comparable only to Panacci's ability as a soccer captain.

If I was to think of an example involving a petting zoo full of wild animals, I would imagine all the other animals would hate the giraffe. Not because he wasn't fun, or that he looked ridiculous, but because he is a downright useless individual. Good for ring toss. I envision the lone giraffe sitting by the tree, not a soul around. He would ask the hippos, "Hey Frank want to come hang out," but Frank would say, "Nah man, you're a useless fucking giraffe." Days would pass and the lone giraffe would grow more and more depressed. He would slip slowly down and down into a great sadness as the animals around him mocked and teased. Soon the day would come when he would rope himself up with a noose in an attempt to commit suicide. But when he kicked the stool away, the rope barely moved, it just kind of did nothing but slid a foot up his stupid neck. In shame, the almost-hanged giraffe would attempt to find a better killing device. Maybe a forty-foot door frame, or the skydome girders.

In conclusion, I hate giraffes and love the Albatross. So if you are either of these things, I think it is amazing that you can read. SPACESHIP.

Cheetos

Until you came into my life. Cheetos. Secondly, flying buttresses.

Tunes: Bag Raiders, The Twelves, Russ Chimes, 80kidz, Adeyhawke, Futurecop!, Tiga, Stardust, Hey Champ and Lifelike.

I recently envisioned a comedy based on the inner workings of social encounters. It is predisposed to the idea that individuals commonly mistake themselves as humorous, who are in fact not. How else would we be able to point out horrible jokes if we weren't funny? The television show becomes integral to other people's inherently stupid humor. Jokes like, "oh that pizza, I dropped it on the ground," seems unfunny to people who don't understand the context. But when one understands that the context is that the pizza is late to the party, it would seem sarcastic to say that one dropped it on the ground. Nonetheless, this joke is stupid. By pointing out the stupidity of the situation (after the initial party has vacated), we can joke about the inane mockery that we had just witnessed. So we become the jokers of the joke. An extension of the sarcastic nature of this situation. It isn't even that we are the originators of the idea, yet by some realization we have conquered the realm of humor by dryly stating, "why would she say that, this is a restaurant," or perhaps, "well I'm never eating here again," as our sarcastic injections of dry mundane hilarity ensues.

Never scare black people.

Tiga is at Circa tomorrow.

The Inefficiency of Existence

Its time to crank that... or dat.

transmogrification. change. replacing representation.

More specifically, this article deals with death, the manifestation of death, and representation of the dead.

We preserve our dead for as long as possible. Why this happens I have no idea. I am currently struggling with the idea of preserved physical existence. No matter how much formaldehyde we pump into our dead bodies, one cannot retain heat or life. It is as if we are simply salted meat. A residue of life without consciousness. A summation of shit, piss, vomit and skin, coalesced into a whole formed from the accretions of each. Of course, just as the tidy room is realized through a made bed, so must our preserved bodies be cleaned thoroughly and suited up accordingly as if we were attending our own funeral. It must be realized that we celebrate death through the image of life. A representation of the living. It is fallacy which generates provocation. Further to this is the representation of the dead through the institution of the head stone. A marker of previous life. We have gone from life, to death, to dead body, to stone. Stones do not decompose. Flesh does. The stone becomes a manifestation of memory dedicated to the body. As a layer above this, I contemplate the picture of the tombstone. A representation of a representation. If one is to photograph a tombstone, what is the essence of memory inherent to the original body? Is the connection to the body or to the image of the stone.

So, while you are taking a shit, vomiting, pissing or shedding that skin, those fumes are the waste that our inefficiencies profess. I've been to death and back, the trip was long and the t-shirts too small, but the ineffable truths are as vague and irrepresentable as I ever could have imagined. Also, Ian Huff is not a fuckass.

Enjoy!

I shouldn't be advocating an event on June 5th (because there is a massively awesome party starting), but Miike Snow will be in concert at the supermarket in Toronto.

The Clan

Shot through the heart, and you're too late, darling you give love a bad name.

So androgyny is big these days. I was thinking about Bowie, then labyrinth, then Jorge Luis Borges, and I realized everything is connected. I missed method man red man featuring raekwon and ghostface. I never understood the appeal of Wu-Tang Clan, or even why a fully black cast of rappers would want to be associated with a clan ideal. It seems ridiculous. Then I turned fourteen, and I realized, hey, I want to go to the gravel pit, where can I find a song that could best represent my interest. Low and behold I found the tongue-in-cheek rappers whose best album I will maintain is Enter the Wu-Tang : 36 Chambers, however they did garner some acclaim for their smash hit "gravel pit", which as best I can tell is just a euphemism for sex. Right? Maybe it is a euphemism for meat wallet, which is a synonym for vertical lips (thanks Panacci). Or maybe I'm completely off. The video has the group hanging out in a gravel pit talking about smoking dope... and there are diamonds and dinosaurs. I don't know why he told me to put my guns down, I don't have any. Although there are so many things I want to shoot. Bang! Also, why would prehistoric stone age era individuals own guns? They just need sharpened sticks or rocks... I said rocks, not rock. And now there are ninjas, I expected that.

Why did I like these guys, because they are awesome.

Rock Hard

You are getting me... rock hard. We are rockstars.

The swine flu is not getting me rock hard at all, in fact it has me as flaccid as bt in front of a fully nude Rosie O'Donnell. There was an article posted yesterday that people have been posting misinformation about the swine flu, and I have to say that I know all the facts:

1. Eating Bacon gives you swine flu.

2. If you are black, you cannot contract swine flu.

3. If you have sex with a pig, you will not be affected by swine flu.

4. Watching Heidi Montag get married will give you swine flu.

5. Supporting Felipe Calderon will give you swine flu.

6. Listening to any music provided by btmt will give you immunity to swine flu.

Personally, I like to mix the rules up. It's a game I made up.

1. Eating Heidi Montag will give you immunity to swine flu.

2. Listening to Bacon get married will give you swine flu.

3. If you are black, supporting any music provided by btmt will give you swine flu.

4. If you have sex with Felipe Calderon, you cannot contract swine flu.

5. You will not be affected by swine flu watching a pig.

6. Gives you Swine Flu.

Also, I hate Margaret Atwood.

Hipsters

I really fucking hate hipsters. I really fucking hate religion.

Who honestly likes the taste of PBR. Its like garbage mixed with north korean waste water. I'll tell you who likes it. Those cheap ass tight pants fitting, shutter sunglass wearing, ironic t-shirt, environmentalists. I'm sure those glasses protect your eyes from the sun as much as I enjoy listening to you ramble on about cliches... or how cliche it is to talk about cliches... fuck I hate hipsters. Whenever I talk to a hipster I generally try to ignore the god damn nonsensical garbage spewing from their mouths and try to focus on whatever non-revolting piece of vintage clothing they are wearing and make comments like... oh my god, I love that. Then they stop talking about cliches... or how cliche it is to talk about cliches, and talk about some bullshit about consumerism in the 21st century and how China owns the world. If only they had eidetic memories they could recall that article in Vice magazine and give the reference of some other bullshit hipster that told them said information. Check it out. You buy something, you are a consumer. If you get wasted at a party and steal pizza, you are still consuming, it just costs less. "This is not a t-shirt" t-shirts? My favourite ironic hipster t-shirt. I'm guessing you don't even understand the irony of this statement, because no one actually knows what irony means anymore. In my mind an example of irony would be showing up to church on a monday. It's ironic because normally people would expect to show up on sunday, AND I'm an atheist so what the fuck am I doing in church. Wearing a t-shirt does not make you ironic, stealing pizza does not make you ironic, the fact that you don't have a degree and your mom pays your rent... is fucking hilarious, but still not ironic, because I expected it. Continue to quote Vice magazine as a source of information and style choices and I will punch you in the throat.

So religion... man I'm so exhausted from all that hipster bashing. They tire me out, they really do. Can't we just go back to the good old days of dandy's, thrashers, and skinheads. I miss that. On the way to school today I was approached by two young mormon individuals on the street. They said, "hello" I said, "hello," and he said some bullshit about being missionaries and I said, "no thanks I'm atheist", then he said "maybe we can change your mind" and I said, " I fucking doubt that." Then they walked away. I hate hipsters and mormons so much. Today I thought that I could combine jesus with PBR and make him a hipster. See the comparison in the image, its really amazing.




.... further to this post: http://www.theglobeandmail.com/servlet/story/RTGAM.20090430.wrussell30art1631/BNStory/Entertainment/home

Morse Code

I tell you for a long time I didn't think that architects really knew anything. But call me and we can go to Dalmer's and have a bite to eat. Viking Style. Stay tuned and I'll tell y'all about what that fucker Panacci missed on Saturday.

In the news this week. Dirty mexican flu. Pirate sentenced. Sam Morse's Birthday. btmt deejays. That's right. We have finally decided to push the band in the right direction. Sorry for all those that we forgot to inform prior to the party. Lets just say it was a pandemic of awesome. Everyone was infected and some of us got sick. Vomitting sick. As if we were in a sea of legend and motion sickness suddenly initiated some magical pirate morse code of vomit--vomit--stop--vomit. We sailed the high seas atop a crowd of onlookers who waited for awesome to come on as we started our set around four thirty. Alas, our powers of awesome were too great and the stereo could not handle the amazing music we were about to dole on to our unsuspecting audience, as the crunch of the transformer was felt, so too was our pride, and we walked away, solemnly wishing for our ethereal existence to vanish amidst a group of our peers. But we are not ghosts. Because they cannot play music or sing. And we can.

For those of you who would like a condensed version. Speakers blew. People threw up. Great party. btmt is not a ghost band.

Ndeur Graphic

Speaking of shoes. These shoes stay on my feet.

Round Two.

Here we go again. Changing perception is what the goal of my everyday seems to be as I grow in and out of maturity. Imagine yourself in my shoes, as I imagine myself in yours, a constant struggle of self-identification in a plethora of optional options, added additives and personality derivatives, inevitably forming from the bias of every person I've every been exposed to experientially, physically, and emotionally. How different would an experience of simulated homosexuality be different if not initially explaining the experiment four months ago to a group of my peers. The tease, the joke, the horrible nature and planning that goes into years of planned self-torture and social manipulation.

This is why I had chosen not to speak to anyone in the initial years of school, my massive loss of interest in life has caused the cessation of any real connection to any individual, with the exception of one. This cessation has allowed for the amazing potential to mess with the perception of any individual that I feel needs exposure to the strange phenomenon of post-modern conceptions of individualism and self-identification. I've come under scrutiny for my ability to blatantly lie and fabricate stories with sarcasm and backstory, you know, because people hate to be lied to. Unfortunately for all of us, I feel as though we all lie every day, and ad hominem I would say you cannot contradict me. As a corollary to the argument, I would like here to interject within my argument about the residual poser effect. A kind of "MPD" for non-schizoids who have lost the ability to identify their personalities in groups of their peers and are often separated from the individual ideals when introduced to a group who have differing opinions and ideas. You are your peers, as your peers are you.

I was reading more recently an article referring to the ENTP, and how one with this personality type caters only to himself garnering attention from others only interested in their part as an audience to the play that is his life. Welcome to the show.

Shout-out to Carolyn's friend Ndeur Graphic and his awesome shoes which I envy.