Shopping fun

Just as a preface... the picture to the left is a visual supplement for the residents of Southern Indiana/Northern Kentucky, better known as "Kentuckiana." Keep that in mind.


Yeahhhhhh. On my last day at home, I decided to go shopping with Jen. Not only because it'll be my last day with my family for a while, but I literally have no clothing. The extra 60 dollars I had was burning a hole in my pocket, so I just needed to spend it. We made our way to Taco Bell first. Man, I get the exact same thing every single time, which is bizarre. For some reason, I assume it's going to taste horrible sometime, but come on. How the fuck can you mess up a quesadilla?

After spending fifteen minutes in the bathroom praying to the porcelain God, we scampered over to Old Navy. Every time I come home and see the Kentuckiana regulars, I always feel better about myself. Don't get me wrong, I find myself to be a pretty good looking guy, but I still notice myself struggling with the occasional "self-conscious about my look" battle.

Well God damn, I sure feel a whole lot better. I simply can't quantify how many fat, overweight, inbred looking mother fuckers I saw while Jen and I were out. Crooked faces, droopy eyes, thirteen chins, revolting teeth that looked like some asshole kid ran through a graveyard and kicked over a series of tombstones. Plus, some of the most revolting haircuts known in existence: reverse mullets, long, flowing rat tails, butt cuts... I could go on for days. I'd pay thousands of dollars to see any of these people fornicate. There'd be enough friction and grease to power the main strip of Vegas for a week! Not to mention some pretty bad ass squishy noises.

Just like Campbell's, coming home is MMMMM, MMMMM Good.
...in the trousers.

Off topic, but another amazing quote from being home:

"OWW! Damn it, your sloth toenails just cut my foot!"
-Mom yelling at Dad's attempt to be romantic

Pomp and Circumcision

So Jen graduated today.

It was mother fucking hotter then Hell in that gymnasium. Complete and total garbage. But man, it made me really, really sad. Thought a lot about my graduation in 2004. Grandpa was there, probably one of the last times I saw him truly healthy. It was hilarious seeing him climb under a desk and act like a maniac, just like I always remembered Grandpa. Oh, did I mention Grandpa was under a mother fucking desk? Yeah, that's because we had a FUCKING TORNADO, so it took a whopping five hours to graduate. Oh, and it was totally worth it.

However, the highlight of the day wasn't watching my little sister walk up onto the stage and accept her Academic Honors diploma. In actuality, I was totally pumped about me and my cousin Bob blast out gem after gem as we watched various idiots graduate, or hear their families scream like they won the fucking lottery when their name was called. Pure and total white trash.


"God, it looks like that kid got face fucked by John Goodman."
-Me

Bob: "Oh man, that is easily the HEALTHIEST woman I have ever seen. "
Me: "Yeah, it's about time for me to fuck her oxygen tank."


"That kid is the anti-Christ."
-Bob

"I seriously cannot believe that kid's muscle tone. Good lord, his body reminds me of a dry sea sponge getting shoved into Hugh Grant's anus."
-Me


Those are just the one's I can remember off the top of my head. So there are people filing into my house for Jen's party. I am literally going to stuff my face full of greasy burgers, beer, and strawberries. What an American diet.

So the Indy 500. Seriously, it needs to restart. I'm fucking furious. Tony Kanaan is winning, and I picked him to win. And man, what a shocker! Four of the top five racers are from Andretti Green racing. Nothing but animals.

None of these are related, but who cares?! Maybe I'll have a more profound update later.

Jen

My sister graduates from high school on Sunday. In all honesty, I think I'm more excited about her graduating then I was when it was my turn to do so three years ago. I slacked off a lot in high school. My grades weren't bad or anything, but it's safe to say I flat out did not care about high school. Besides journalism, I couldn't have cared any less if I passed the class with an A or D-. Each day was nothing but fart jokes, talking with my friends about video games, and preparing myself for another miserable night at work.

I worked between 30 and 40 hours a week in high school at Dairy Queen. While it was miserable at the time, and I hated myself every single day when I walked in there, I seriously think it was better for me that I worked as much as I did. It prepared me more for college than any piece of shit AP class could do. And I didn't have to take some stupid placement test that cost me ninety dollars. I worked with ridiculous low life adults who'd been through a marriage carousel fifteen times, or kids my age that had already been in jail enough to have a reality show based around them. At work, I was the loud kid who played baseball, skateboarded, and made fun of every customer that walked through the door. Really funny to think that I was being the one chastised and stereotyped. It's not the like work is going to directly follow me through the rest of my career. What it did was make me deal with people. Regardless of how worthless the people were, I had to coexist with them and make the restaurant work.

On the other hand, it's guaranteed that Jen has worked a lot harder then I have. Luckily she got to be the second kid put through college. My parents and I were clueless when I was filling out applications, scholarships, and the FAFSA form. Same goes for my high school counselors AKA, the most worthless, irrelevant people on the planet. Jen did well in school. I got the Core 40 diploma, she got academic honors. She got into several schools and was lucky enough to have her choice. I couldn't get into Indiana University or Indiana State, and had to settle for my third choice, Ball State (which turned out to be the best thing that could've happened to me.) She also got into the honors journalism program and got a journalism scholarship.

I guess it's just really exciting getting to be a spectator (albeit a distant spectator) this time around. Getting through college sucks, it's totally fucking gay. I'm really happy for Jen and I'm proud to say that I'm her brother. She worked her fucking ass off for four years, and has really prepared herself to do well when she comes up to Ball State next year for her freshman year. Something I can say I didn't do in high school. I was extremely lucky that I got into Ball State, and I have made the best of it since I've been up here. My GPA has steadily hovered around 3.3 and I'm one of the 0.0000001% of students that is actually going to graduate in four years.
This is probably one of the only times I actually wish she does the same.

Plus, she's gonna love her graduation present.

You might be a Dubber if....

Saw this on the VWVortex. As a hardcore Dubber, thought some of these were pretty damn funny.

You Might Be a Dubber If...

• you have an abundance of zip ties and duct tape in your tool box
• you have more than 1 VW because you like them that much and just in case one doesn't start, you can try another one
• when you can hear the sound of a VR6 from a mile away
• you go out of your way to park next to another modded Volkswagen or Audi
• you'd rather listen to the engine hit five grand instead of the radio
• the VWVortex is set as your homepage
• you slow down to see the reflextion of yourself driving your VW
• a stock Rabbit or Fox makes you scream like a woman
• if you talk so much about your car at work that fellow co-workers are now concerned about the state of your car
• in an MKIII, only you can put the car in reverse or open the hatch (that's me!)
• you can tell the differences between any OBD-I or OBD-II by its physical characteristics
• if everytime you shift into 5th the gearshift wacks your girlfriend, and then you get yelled at for hitting her

HA! God I love Volkswagens <3

Talking with Dad

Man, nothing cheers me up more then a phone conversation with Dad. You know, especially when we're talking about baseball, and he refers to Jose Contreras and Carlos Zambrano as "Two worthless Spics with control issues."

Oh Dad, I love you.

So, I saw Spiderman 3 today. While I wasn't totally pissed off and thought the movie was garbage like the overwhelming popular opinion, I did find the end of the movie a little.... meh. Trust me, I'll keep this spoiler-free, in case you haven't seen the movie. Essentially, the first 90 minutes or so was what everyone wanted to see. Tons of action with some of the mushy love bull shit that should be reserved for a Mandy Moore movie mixed in sparingly. Heads were rolling, faces melted, groins popped like boiling water, PLUS... Bruce Campbell was in it, which increased the actual ticket value to $49.99.

The last 45 minutes or so.... complete and total rash. Like.... sure, there were some hi-octane action sequences, and even some explosions, which are a necessity to any movie, but most of it was Kirstin Dunst's character making out with Spiderman's butt-hole, while simultaneously creating some ridiculous love triangle/paradox.

Gay.

Eh, but whatever, it was a matinée, and the first time I had gotten a chance to see a movie in the theaters since the Aqua Teen movie AKA "Best 90 minutes of my life."

"That's a direct order from the Commander-In-Fun!"

Should still be sleeping

So... I wake up this morning to find out that Steve, a local guy from my Volkswagen club in Louisville, has sold the 81' Rabbit convertible I had my eye on for a week or so. Seriously.... $400 bucks for a STRONG RUNNING Bunny drop-top that needed one day's worth of work to make it a daily driver. Seriously... this is like the third potential project car I haven't been able to capitalize on. Total bull shit. I really, really wanted to drive around Muncie in a slammed Bunny and throw the shocker at nerds walking to summer class. Did I mention that it's Jasmine yellow? Oh, I didn't. Okay.... IT'S FUCKING JASMINE YELLOW.... WITH BLACK DOORS. I'd be driving a mother fucking bumble bee.

*sigh*

I hope this upcoming week goes by fast. My sister graduates from high school on the 27th, which is FRIGGIN' AWESOME. Except, you know... the fact that I have to watch her open a jillion bad ass presents and probably get a new car... while I work like a plantation slave in order to pay my rent and bills and end up with 65 extra dollars at the end of every month. I keep telling myself it's going to be worth it when I finally ride off into the sunset in my 2007 GTi/2001-2003 Audi S4, but until then, somebody needs to dangle a mother fucking carrot in front of my face.

"I enjoying flushing toilets."

If you could open my head and look inside of it, it'd be filled with shit. Literal feces. It'd be a mother fucking toilet that some asshole shat in, wiped with a moderate amount of toilet paper, and neglected to flush because he was missing the new episode of Myth Busters and had to bust ass into the kitchen just in case his Ham and Cheese Lean Pocket started over heating.

It's pretty gay, but honestly... the only thing I'm sure about right now is how bad ass my cat is. Seriously, no matter how gay and ridiculous things have gotten, no matter how many times people in my life have to shove their collective genitalia into my mouth... I know at the end of the day, when I come home from a miserable eight hour shift at work, Juice will be sitting there on the brown chair in the living room, watching the light on the wireless router tick and flicker in a candy apple green pulse of light. Regardless of how late I come home, or how bad the apartment smells because nobody ever wants to fucking clean everything... Juice is always relaxing in one of her hiding spots, waiting for me to play with her. Even though she usually lets me hold her for a few seconds, they always make me happy. She lets me scratch her chin, then I get to fill up her food bowl and give her water. I know Juice can't say "Thank you," but I feel her saying it sometimes, because during her breaks between naps, she needs to have fun, and because I'm usually so busy with shit, I don't always get to pay enough attention to Juice that she deserves.

Honestly, right now.... I think I'd rather have two cats than two kids. Don't have to put cats through school, never have to buy them clothes. All you do is play with them, watch them take massive dumps, and swear vigorously at them when the knock shit off the counter. Juice really is a best friend for me. Even though she won't let me comb the knots out of her beard because she's so God damn stubborn, she's still my hero, and 100% of a person, without the thumbs or voice box.

Her birthday is coming up and I can't fucking wait. Seriously, Juice's first birthday is going to be great. She's going to get plenty of cat nip, some new toys, maybe even a birthday hat, if she'll let me put one on her and Hell... maybe she'll actually play with the mouse I already bought her. I don't know what more she could want, it fucking squeaks and shit when you bat it around, but I'm certain she'd rather pull shit out of the wall or chew up rolls of toilet paper then play with expensive toys.

I know she's a cat, but I love Juice to death. I still can't believe she's almost a year old. She's grown up to be my best friend. Seriously... never would've figured that my tiny kitten with the half and half face that couldn't meow would turn into an eight pound total bad ass that could roundhouse Chuck Norris into 1987.

I love you Juice.

I hate Pat Tillman

So, I'm sitting here, using every bit of energy I have left holding back the tears as I watch the seconds tick away on the Bulls' season. I really have to thank the Bulls for putting together an outstanding season that truly makes me proud to be a lifetime fan. Our team is young with a great nucleus in Deng, Gordon and Hinrich. Tyrus Thomas is quickly maturing and showing some promise with some insane athletic ability. We've also got the Knicks' first round pick, which is not only a lottery pick, but has the potential to being Kevin Durant or Greg Oden, which would systematically cause my heart to stop if that premise presents itself. Chicago is loaded for the next few seasons, and with a few decent moves and draft selections (how about some post scoring and another rebounding presence?), we could be knocking on the door for a title.

47 seconds left.... it feels like I'm about to die... and of course, on ESPN's website, they're still talking Pat Tillman. Pat mother fucking Tillman. Here's the lowdown on Pat Tillman for those of you who are left in the dark. Tillman is a former defensive back for the Arizona Cardinals. After a few seasons of playing, he turned down a large contract in order to pursue a career in the military. While overseas, Tillman was killed by friendly fire. Since his passing, the stupid military has spent jillions of dollars on this stupid moron who was potentially killed by friendly fire.

Seriously, who fucking cares? We've had THOUSANDS of soldiers who've gave their life in the line of duty protecting our country. Just because this asshole gave up a comfortable life because he felt obligated to do so, we need to spend all of this god damn money and resources on him? Give me a fucking break. Why not investigate all of the other questionable deaths? Just because they're "average" citizens, they aren't worth our time. Fuck that. It's disgusting. Tillman's dead. Losing his life was NO more valuable then any of the other men and women who died. Get over it, he's dead. Not coming back.

So here's a visual summary of tonight.





I need to sleep. God damn it.

Snacks...

So my friend Brianne decided to be a princess and buy me a box of Fruit Roll-Ups, a-la Carl in Aqua Teen, in hopes to cheer me up/feel better. On one note, they totally did. There's nothing like the succulent taste of a strawberry flavored sheet of sugar. But... while under the influence of "marijuana," I was examining the box, and for some reason, I thought there were only like... six snacks left in the box, mainly because every fucking snack box always has six snacks/cakes/velvety loves in it, which is a TOTAL cop out.

Seriously, six fucking snacks? What is that shit? I mean, think of that fat little six-year-old gnome waiting for his mom to go get the mail so he can shove three Swiss Cake rolls down his throat before Mom comes back inside. I'm no hefty heifer, but sometimes, I'd like to have more then one fucking snack without worrying about the box being gone. But again, off the tangent and back onto the glorious road... on the right hand corner of the box, I saw that this box of Fruit Roll-Ups sported 10! That's right.... 10 fucking snacks.

Holy shit... are we serious?

Ten mother fucking snacks. I almost wept. Then, I remembered that a Fruit Roll-Up is roughly the size of a piece of toilet paper. God damn you, Betty Crocker. You and penny pinching snack making ways.

Title Colon Phrase

This summer's been.... interesting, to say the least. I'm flat out fucking tired, all the time. It's starting to get annoying. I know I'm not like, physically ill. It's not my job wearing me down. I'm just always tired, regardless of how much I sleep.

My roommates are leaving intermittently. It's nice having silence when I come home and I can just sit around and relax, not do anything. Not have to co-exist with people. I can just loaf. Fuck, as long as the bills and rent are paid, I could fucking care less if I'm here alone 90% of the time.

On a completely different note. Dirk Nowitzki was announced as the 2006-2007 NBA MVP today, which, yeah, is complete and utter bull shit. Not only was Dirk not the MVP of the league, he wasn't the MVP in his conference OR even his division. Christ almighty, the past three awards have been given to the best player on the NBA's best team. So obviously, David Stern needs to change the awards name to "The Best Player on the Best Regular Season Team" award.

Kobe Bryant was clearly the most valuable player this year. The Lakers are a 25 win team, AT BEST, without the Rape Master on their roster. Hell, Carlos Boozer, Lebron James and even my arch rival Steve Nash were all more deserving of the award then Dirk. Don't get me wrong, Dirks is a great player, and easily one of the most impressive in the league, but he certainly wasn't the most "valuable." His team is loaded with stars, and if Dirk was somewhere else, I would bet a large sum of money that the Mavs would still win 50 games. The same can't be said for any of the other players I mentioned.

Again, another tangent. Watching the Bulls game......

Ben Gordon, get on these nuts. Seriously. Complete and total rape factory. Are we gonna win the series? That still remains to be seen. BUTTTT, at least my boys are making it interesting.

Mish-Mash of Shit

Sorry for taking a few days off. Busy with tons of shit, busy with people. Relatively tired. Anyway, here's a random list of opinions/things that are going on.

• Just when you thought the Bulls couldn't have played any worse, and I was ready to burn my Luc Longley jersey out of sheer disappointment, they FINALLY won a game and saved their season, beating the Pistons 102-87. Luol Deng AKA "Hung in the Trousers" FINALLY went off, pouring in 25 points and snatched 13 rebounds. Ben Wallace also played like a man, grabbing 17 boards and also held Rasheed Wallace to 14 points. Oh yeah, Chris Weber.... SCORED ZERO. Oh, C-Web, you silly, silly individual. Eat a fucking dick. I thank you, Chicago Bulls. Quite frankly, I wasn't emotionally prepared to stare a playoff sweep in the face. I already had to deal with the Bears Super Bowl loss, which is a whole other story in itself.
• I'm tired of fucking staring at these in my room. They need to go on this. For those of you who are untrained to my unnecessarily obsessive Volkswagen fetish, those are BRAND NEW Corrado steelies, complete with center caps and lug covers, and that lovely white sex machine is Golfzilla, my whooptie. Being a poor college student, frivolous spending only comes once in a blue moon, like... you know, on wheels that I don't have tires for. So, I have extremely expensive paperweights, for now at least. Anyone want to do a nude scene together, for cash?
• I miss Jacob King, my roommate, to a level that is starting to make me physically ill and cause my gonads to systematically invert. The man is a flat-out animal. He went home for a week to unwind and spend time with his family, both he wholeheartedly deserves. He should be coming back tonight, which means one thing: LOLOLOLOL.
• Although I complain about my job daily, I really don't see myself quitting. Ever.
• Scratching the master disk... hilarious.

Well... That's a decent list of shit. Since I haven't plugged it yet, go to this website.
-I'm a co-writer/co-creative developer/sexual icon. It's great. Plus, it's a work in progress, and the summer is here, so there should be some semi-regular updating.

God almighty, somebody give me a face stretch.

Us Featuring C.R.

I spent last night with three of the greatest people on the face of the planet. Kris called me around 2 and let me know he'd be carting C.R. over to my house. They got here.... we played some Bomberman on the Wii. I won, which isn't much of a surprise. We partook in some good swearing, and my Dad got to laugh at the Hitler and Ru Paul Mii characters that were on my console.

After Kris and I played a round of Tiger Woods golf, we stopped at Taco Bell and stuffed our faces with quesadillas and other unofficial Mexican cuisine. It was one of those new fancy Taco Bells that's almost too clean to be considered fast food. Either way, the food was great and caused me to gain four pounds.

Next was the best part of our day: sitting around doing NOTHING. We did nothing, absolutely nothing. It was great, just like in high school. I should stress that we spent many a weekends playing Magic and spending countless hours getting our minds sucked out through the television over weekends, not to mention or fabled and now legendary "Unreal Tournament 2004" party, in which we played the game for three days straight and ate nothing but frozen pizza and A&W. We had fun watching TV, swearing, telling socially unacceptable jokes, and of course, several rounds with our good friend cannabis sativa.

Sometimes it kills me that I'm growing up, and these guys aren't a more focal point of my life anymore. It's been one of the hardest things about growing up, knowing that no matter how hard you try, gaining responsibility and just getting older might drive a wedge between you and your friends. I love days like yesterday, though. It was a blast. If it was up to me, I'd force Kris, Tenchi, and C.R. to move to Muncie.












"Us Featuring C.R." as seniors in high school,on top of
Tenchi's house. The house with the infinite amount of food.
Note that I had my afro, my glorious mountain of hair
(blue shirt on the right.)

Roger Clemens: "Well, they came and got me out of Texas..."

So, I'm sitting here watching ESPN, and of course, the big story over the past day or so has been Roger Clemens announcing he'll return to the Yankees. While it certainly doesn't surprise me (you obviously know that his services would go to the highest bidder, and the Yankees payroll is all but infinite), the fact that it happened completely under the radar is still confusing me.


The fact that the Yankees are already pushing their proverbial panic button is bringing a smile to my face. Just in you didn't know prior to reading the blog, I hate the Yankees. Absolutely hate them. I don't like they way they conduct business, I don't like the way they present themselves to the media, and I don't like owner George Steinbrenner. He's such a fucking American. His idea to solve his teams problems always seems to be him throwing his wallet in its face: either hoping to scare the problem away, or entice them to join his dark side. I'm still clambering for reasons why Steinbrenner things throwing money away on aging stars past their prime is going to get him to his World Series ring, his "yearly goal." Maybe spend a few years grooming all of the young talent you trade away on guys like 16 million dollar man Bobby Abreau or 23 million dollar man Jason "Steroids" Giambi.

Now, let's change gears for a minute, mainly because I don't want to keep talking about Steinbrenner. Was getting Roger Clemens a good call? Definitely. Did they honestly need to do it? No. Sure, having the greatest pitcher of all-time (don't even think about disputing this, he's greater then Maddux, Koufax, Young, Gibson, Carlon, Ryan, etc.) on your roster is going to boost your rotation, no matter what time of the year it is. Even at 44 (45 in August), Clemens still delivers. He still hovers in the low 90s with his fastball. He can still get the ball up in the strikezone, and his splitter is still as ruthless as it was ten years ago. Plus, Clemens will actually have *gasp* run support! So, unlike last year, when he went 7-6 with a 2.30 ERA because his team could literally not score a run, even if you load the bases and place the ball on the tee and let Lance Berkman hack away, Clemens is going to get five to six runs a start. And he's still dominant enough to put his team in a position to win.

Sure, Clemens is going to get double digit wins. Sure, he's going to be Roger frickin' Clemens and get his job done and further assert himself as the greatest pitcher of all-time. But... are people still forgetting that after Clemens shows up, after Wang and Pettitte get to 100%, this team is still flaws. "The Sandman" is finally starting to show signs of aging, and beyond him, the bullpen is a series of giant question marks, suspect defense across the board and they have got an average of hovering around 30. They'll be good enough to hang around with the Red Sox all season because the rest of the division simply isn't on the same level, but when we get down to it, they aren't better then the Red Sox. They couldn't compete with the dominating pitching of the Angels, or the fire power youth of the Indians or Tigers.

New York fans, enjoy having Clemens. Just think, you only paid 28 million beans for him. And he's going to get you right back where you were last year... sitting at home when the end of October rolls around. Get used to this saying like I do, along with the rest of my White Sox fans: maybe next year.

The Delcine

So wow... I haven't had a blog in quite sometime. Decided I'd give it another go-around. It's mainly going to be me, yelling, swearing. It'll be my poetry, me complaining about sports, me talking about slow cars and fat idiots. It's what I do. I do it well. And I do it all, while looking dastardly. While the photo of me to the left isn't all that becoming, it is the face I'm making 85% of the time I'm awake, so just bare with me.

You're probably wondering who I am. Most of the time, I am too, since I'm a fucking chameleon, a-la David Bowie. Only, I'm not openly bisexual. Key word there, OPENLY.

Just kidding... Anyway, my name is Joey. My last name isn't important, mainly because you couldn't pronounce it. I'm a 20-year-old senior at Ball State University, English concentration. Originally born in Chicago, moved to Indiana. Pretty boring outline, but come on now! I couldn't spoil your appetite with too much run right out of the gate, could I? No, I'm not that nice.

Just stay tuned. Lots of poetry, some short fiction. My commentaries on awesome shit. Just you wait, people. Just you fucking wait.