If I have to play Angels We Have Heard on High ONE more time...

Obligatory apology for not updating the blog: blah blah sorry busy blah blah everybody does this part so blah blah blah

Anyways, so this past few weeks I find myself back in my home, the Rio Grande Valley. Don't worry though, it's only been partially relaxing.

Coming home presents me with a situation that I feel most people will not be able to relate to, but it's my blog so I'm writing about it, hah. Upon arriving back into the valley, my mom lets it be known that my break is not starting quite yet. Oh hoh hoh no, not for a church keyboard player at Christmas time.

So here's the thing about the Valley: it's real Mexican. I mean real Mexican. It's hard to really get that point across, so just imagine your typical American city, but then tint the skin colours brown, take their money and use it to buy beer and Tejano records, give everybody diabetes, and you're golden. And as anybody will tell you, especially if they're as racist as me, is that Mexicans tend to be Catholic. You don't see Buddha, Zeus, or Richard Dawkins painted on the hoods of El Caminos, do you?

So on top of the regular quincineras (that's a sweet sixteen, except our girls are ready to go at 15, since 16 is usually the baby shower), weddings, rosaries, and funerals, I also have to play Christmas carols at the Christmas mass, the Midnight mass, the New Years Day mass, the Feast of Holy-Shit-I'm-So-Hungover mass, and everything in between. Now don't get me wrong, I realize that the Christmas season is about Jesus and his birthday and that church is important, but I had to go to a whole lot of church. Hearing the priest talk about how his panini-maker relates to the gifts of the Holy Spirit once is uplifting, hearing him repeat the story kind of detracts from the magic of the moment.

Not to mention God likes to hold church really early, like before I would naturally wake up. During a break I like to stay up until unnaturally late hours of the night, playing video games and talking to all the other people who share this hobby of mine. This conflicts with the fact that church usually runs at unnaturally early hours, which in my case, means anything before like, 5pm. Did you know that there are hours between 5am and 7am? Was a pretty shocking discovery for me, too.

But all good things must come to an end, and finally the Christmas season was over. Since then, my break has been alright. Been hanging out with lots of old friends from around here, and been enjoying myself enough. Finally been able to do what I really came down here to do: absolutely nothing. Am looking forward to next semester, and all the shenanigans it will bring!

First Coolege post

"This is awesome! Awesome?! THIS IS CAWLEDGE!!!!!11!!"

Right. Well, welcome to my first blog post in a long while, the Jesus-blog college edition. Tap the keg, blare some music and make terrible decisions: get into that college spirit. It's been a damn long time since i wrote anything on this website, for various reasons.

First of all, i just totally forgot. In between all the studying, classes, meetings and review sessions (read: drinking, video games, partying and ceiling-staring), i haven't had much time to sit down and write or think about a blog. So, i decided the best time for this would be the day before my first semester's finals, when procrastination is at an all time high, and the amount of knowledge i gain during this time period is so small i might as well be sleeping, or attending an ethics seminar taught by O.J. Simpson.

Second of all, i can't even begin to realize how annoying it would be to read about every time something FUN happens in my life. You don't read this blog because you want to see how badass my life has been. You read this because you like to see snide, parenthetic comments (like this), sarcastic lists (like this), and paragraphs ending in cute metaphors/similes that, if they elicit but a small chuckle from you, have served their purpose... Not this time, jerk.

Anyway, so far college has definitely been a blast. The workload here at Rice is pretty heavy, but it's not too much where i'm going to be jumping out of any windows anytime soon; i leave that job to MIT undergrads. I keep hearing of people who go to certain, unspecified universities (Starts with U, ends with TPA) complaining of class being way too easy. At first, this notion kind of confused me, as I would gladly take less work over more work any day of the week. I guess it makes some sense though; these people are paying money to learn, not to sit in big rooms and have A's thrown at them. It's basically being a typical San Benito High School student, except you're paying for tuition rather than for diapers for each your God-knows-how-many-children.

Anyways, i'm going to take off to actually study some learnings for my finals. If you're one of my old Sci Tech friends, i'll be hopefully seeing you over this winter break. Be prepared to give me sweet presents in exchange for sweet stories. If you're from Rice, this is probably the first blog of mine you'll be reading, so Welcome. If you're neither of these, Mom, stop reading my blog. It's weird.

I'm just a Whore, and Fatheree is my Pimp

Life on the streets isn't for the weak of heart.

Of course, by "life on the streets," im talking about my career, if you'll call it that, in the UIL circuit.

So as the few people who read this may or may not know, i participate in the "Ready Writing" event at the local UIL meets. What is Ready Writing you might ask? Well, like most things literature related, it's essentially a bullshit contest. You are given two quotes, from people who have proven themselves to be what i like to call Cadillacs of men, providing the human race with almost unmatchable amounts of knowledge (i.e. Maya Angelou. Not Joking, wish I was.)

Anyways, you get these two quotes, read them, comprehend them, draw a silly picture on your pre-writing sheet, and get into the bullshitting, using the quote as a "springboard" for your essay.

So last year i went to the UIL district competition, and apparently kicked ass. Moved on to regionals and everything. Why does this matter? It doesn't, really. As far as im concerned, anything that gets me out of a day of school is worth wasting a Saturday for.

But this year, i've found that the judges just... don't appreciate my writing.

I wouldn't really care about not placing lately, if it wasn't for being constantly told about it. To be completely honest, if I don't place in a UIL competition, it doesn't really affect me. At least i got to check out the shitty high school, and laugh about the kinds of signs you will find on the walls there. (For example, one of the projects involved students writing 9 of their "loves" in little boxes on the wall. One student's response had the following items: WEED, MY HOMEGURLZ, and CRACK. And this is displayed on the WALL. Priceless.)

But lately, i've had people coming up to me, ASKING me why i haven't placed lately. Honestly, what do you expect me to say? I have NO IDEA why i didn't place. The judge didn't like my handwriting? I accidently wrote in Spanish? My essay sucked? Who the hell knows? Somebody actually came up to me, while i was sitting peacefully in the hallway, and asked "how come you can't win anything anymore?"

Well isn't that the fucking question of the year.

It's for this reason that i honestly feel like a failed hooker, except without the illicit drugs (although maybe in this category, it would actually help. At least to get the ideas flowing). But seriously, I feel like a whore who hasn't laid enough lonely men to fill her quota, and now "Big Daddy" is all over my ass,trying to squeeze every dollar out of me.

Well you guys, all I can say is i'm not really doing anything different. I kind of feel like writing my essay in the style of this blog next time. Like go all out, yelling FUCK and SHIT and placing spaces after every 2 sentences. Would i be disqualified? Maybe. But it would be kinda fun.

Whatever. If they don't like my writing, at least i know the people who read this blog do. For a price, that is. These rocks aren't going to pay for themselves, after all.

Listen to Track 01 for a Good Time.

So apparently a new "craze" has hit our beloved Sci-tech.

Crazy fads hit our school all the time, and most of these, although strange, i can accept.

The Unicycles? Nerdy as shit, but at least that requires some skill to operate.
The Rubik's Cubes? Fine, although even nerdier than the Unicycles.
The 30 minute long audio tracks that simulate the effects of illegal drugs in the minds of those who have the time/patience/lack-of-importance to sit through and listen to them?

Okay, the line should be drawn somewhere.

If you haven't heard of it, I'm talking about I-doser. Like i just mentioned, I-doser is essentially a series of annoying as hell beeps, hums, and white noise that is supposed to go into your mind and make you see all kinds of crazy shit. There's apparently some science involved, involving cool sounding brain waves (Alpha waves... Theta waves... oh man that shit sounds science-y) and things called "binaural beats" (annoying noises in your head).

These i-dosers piss me off mainly for 2 reasons.

1) They can make people who would have ordinarily been too scared to try real drugs think that they are suddenly the most amazing and daring badass in the universe, because he or she had the bravery and "strong willed mental constitution" to lay in bed and stare at the ceiling for an hour.


2) This shit didnt work on me.

I really did try the i-dosers, honestly. The first one i tried was supposed to make me feel drunk. I laid there in my bed, eyes closed and annoyed as hell while the noises rang in my ears.

I think i burped once, if that means anything.

After my "dose" was completed, Nothing was different. If ANYTHING, i felt like a total retard for laying in my bed for 30 minutes that i could have spent doing much more productive things, such as homework, game-playing, solving world hunger, or jerking off.

So yea, i'm not knocking anybody just for using the program. Hell, anybody would be curious to see if the shit works. In the name of science.

But if you're one of those I-druggies who spends extended periods of time laying in bed listening to "Peyote" because its the "most fucked up shit in the universe"...

Well, i can only hope they release an i-doser file that simulates "Life" for you. You know, so you can find out how it feels.

I'll think of a Title Tomorrow...

I'm a lazy bitch.

That's the only way i can accurately state how i've been for the past however-long-it's-been-since-this-school-year-started.

I'm a lazy bitch.

I can't be the only person who feels this way, can I? Seriously. I get home, and even the most trivial and basic of tasks seems like a marathon run to me nowadays. Want to play videogames, but can't find the remote? Too bad asshole, you're surfing the internet. Can't reach the backpack because its too far away? Too bad asshole, you're doing your homework during tutorial. Can't do ANYTHING because it requires DOING? Too bad asshole, you're going to sleep.

I'm a laaaazy bitch.

My typical schedule has been over-run by periods of wasted time that i will literally spend staring at the ceiling. You know when they show images of people in a vegetative state on the news? It's like that, but even more pathetic. Mostly because the only thing that's keeping me from doing something productive is my own damn self.

Not to mention, as i'm sure you can tell, i've become terrrribly behind on the updating of this old blog here. You gotta understand though: I can't just pop out blogs like an underprivileged family pops out children. No; the will to write a blog comes to me randomly, when i least expect it. Actually it's not a completely random process. I find it usually comes to me when i actually have shit to do, so i can find a way out of doing it. Amazing, how that works. For example, right now i have calculus homework to finish up, as well as a government test tomorrow.

Have I started calculus homework?
Technically, the book IS open.
Have I studied for government at all?
HELL no.

So what DO i find time for in my busy, productive life?
I write a damn blog. Oh well, at least its easier than reaching for my backpack. Soooo far awaaaaaay.

Lil' Ceez.

Coming home on the bus today, I noticed that something was awry.

Did I forget something at school? probably.
Nothing out of the ordinary there.

Was my zipper down? Nope, all's quiet on the southern front.

oh yea! I know!

I was fucking hungry.

So on the way to my house, we stopped by a Little Caesars. Yknow, 5 dollar Hot and Ready! ohh man, can't wait to eat me some meeeeediocre pizza at such a great price!

This was no ordinary Little Caesars.

Just pulling into parking lot, I was getting stares from all kinda of shady individuals. They were all leaning against their cars, as if they had nothing else in the world to do but wait for nerds to pull into the parking lot, so they can proceed to beat said nerd senseless with chains, knives, and for all i know, complicated atomic weapons. Ay yae yae.

After a brisk walk from the car to the door of the building, during which i'm sure i must have inadvertently dodged at least 50 bullets, i found myself in the midst of the most hardcore motherfuckers this side of Compton. Seeing as how far away Compton is from here, that means Serious Business.

These guys could smell the bitch on me, a skill that those who live in "da streets" learn well. Let's face it, im not very good at looking tough and/or not nerdy. I wear glasses, play online games, and have long, bushy hair. I make Steve Urkel look like fucking DMX on PCP. There was a guy standing in line right in front of me, and he was HUGE. i dont mean like, muscle huge, i mean like FAT XBOX HUEG. I know for a fact his ghetto name must have been either "Fat Joe", "Slim", or "Sir Fuckyouupalot."(i've never actually heard of this one, but if i ever end up in the ghetto... Shotgun.)

On the way to the counter, i noticed a case of some "butter garlic" dipping sauce. I'd never tried that before, and felt like testing out how efficiently this dipping sauce would clog my arteries.

But when i got to the counter, the conversation went something like this:

Me: Hi, i'll have a hot-n-ready pizza, and one of your butter garlic dipping sauces.
Snoopdogg: We are out of garlic dipping sauces.

At this point, i glanced to the left, and saw a whooole stack of butter garlic dipping sauce containers just chilling there on the counter. So i asked the cashier again, in case he hadn't seen them or something.

Me: are you sure you don't have garlic dipping sauce?(eyes glance to the delicious looking stack)
Snoopdogg:No. we Don't.
Me: b..er...Okay.

The last thing i wanted to do today was to die over a dispute over butter fucking garlic dipping sauce. Can just imagine the epitaph:

Jesus: He was a Fatass to the End.

Besides, maybe the cashier knew something i didnt. For all i know, THOSE containers were the ones they used to smuggle in all the crack/weed that were sold at that store.

Anyway, i got my pizza, and got the fuck out of that place. I gotta say, next time i wanna buy a box of pizza, i'll seriously reconsider. Next time i need to hire a drive by or something on somebody, though, i'll know exactly where to look.

Big Brother is Watching...Along with Everybody Else.

So it's come to my attention that many of the people that read my blog are not in the demographic that I intended to go for. In other words: lots of old people read this damn thing.

Now i know by writing a blog that gets posted on the internet, anything i write could technically be read by anyone. For all i know, my blog is visited by 20 child molesters daily, who are sitting in their child mole-stations, tracking me down so they can one day hone in for the kill. Note: 20 child molesters per day (or CM/d, as we call it here on the interbutts) is nothing impressive, really. The average teenage girls myspace page must get at least 80-90 CM/d, and thats not even on an especially good day.

Still, i can't get used to the fact that i have uncles, parents, cousins, even teachers reading this blog. In fact, i think i am even less freaked out by the child molesters, seeing as they have no effect on whether i can or can not go out on a saturday night, stay up late, or pass Computer Science 2. It's not that i mind these adults reading my blog; far from it! The way i see it, the fact that I can get a 40 year old man to laugh at my blog makes me feel kinda nice. Just this afternoon my uncle came up to me and asked if i've been to a Victoria' Secret lately. It's pretty cool having the shit you wrote be referenced to in conversation, I gotta say.

So yea, if you're one of the older folks visiting my blog, Welcome! Enjoy the gayjokes, and ignore the liberal use of "language enhancers. If you are visiting this site from work, at least make sure that nobody is around while you do so. Chances are, you don't want your boss knowing you read an online website where a 17 year old talks about tickling pickles.

We leave those scandals to the Congressmen.

Senior Sci-techian at last.

First day of school. Y'know, I've been pretty eager for this to go down for quite a while now. Really. A man can only take so much sitting on his ass, eating rice krispies cereal and waiting wide-eyed for Scrubs to come on.

This whole Senior thing is really... weird. It's quite strange sharing the halls with 7 year olds. (I say 7 year olds, because that's about the year I stopped counting my cousin's birthdays, who is apparently a freshman now.) And they keep getting younger and younger. I remember as a sophomore, thinking "Oh Hey! People about my age, comin on into the school. Allright." Then as a Junior, these even smaller kids came in, looking like they belonged in an elementary school. Right. And finally this year as Seniors, every single freshman I see looks freshly emerged from the womb. I wouldn't be surprised if pregnant women just walked on campus, squeezed out a fully clothed child, armed it with a backpack and sent it on in.

The bus ride over to Scitech is also suckin somethin fierce this year. Not a SINGLE student I actually know rides the bus, besides my two cousins. It's a twisted inverse of MY freshman year bus rides, save getting fondled by Richard. Instead of being the only freshman in a sea of bloodthirsty upperclassmen, I'm the only upperclassman in an ocean of screaming, shouting children. Coincidentally, my mp3 player's volume has found itself being risen to volume levels that rival that of a rocket being launched from an erupting Krakatoa.

Damn you School: Just 1 day in, and I can't wait for summer.

The Moral Decision of a Lifetime.

We all have to make difficult choices sometimes. These choices may seem unimportant, but they could completely alter the course of our entire lives. For example, if I were to go out and buy, i dunno, a bad-ass computer, that could change my life from one day dying alone, to one day dying alone with a bad-ass computer. Important stuff like that.

I made one of these choices today.

I was at the mall today, the shitty one. (Anybody from the valley instantly knows i'm talking about Valle Vista here.) I was on my way from Waldenbooks to Babbages. Did you know the Harry Potter book is like, 25+ bucks? No Way i'm gonna waste that much money on A BOOK, when i could waste even MORE money on a video game. Bullshit.

On my way, i noticed a Victoria's Secret coming up on my right.

A guy walking by a Victoria's Secret shop presents one of the most awkward situations i can imagine. And that's cause i can imagine some pretty awkward situations. In fact, i can't even write the awkward situations i'm imagining right now, for fear of losing all respect you may or may not have for me at the moment. Just know that most of them involve inanimate objects, and your mother, crying.

Anyways, when walking by a Victoria's Secret, you have to ask yourself: do i want to be a) gay or b) a pervert? Let's explore... err, the options i mean.

Option a) Gay.
I walk by the Victoria's Secret, with my head turned 90° to the left, so that not a single ATOM of the store ends up in my peripheral vision. All right, so i managed to walk by the Victoria's secret, and avoid all awkward looks from the women inside. But what does this 90° head turn leave me looking at?

Fucking Express for Men.

Choosing to look at an Express instead of into a Victoria's Secret is just the first step towards my transformation into a gay-man. The first time, sure, maybe i'll get by unscathed. But what about the times after that? One day, i might notice a SALE at Express. A Sale? Hmmm... maybe i should go check it out! At that point, i'm already a Metrosexual. The next time, i may hop and skip towards the store and begin tearing through the shelves, in a raging rainbow fury, buying the tightest shirts i can find, all priced at the mininum, "fashionable" price of $200. Then i'll be poor, AND gay. Shitsucks.


Option b) Pervert
I give in to my curiosity, and walk by the store, while glancing inside. I'll definitely get some angry looks from women who are shopping around inside, who can't BELIEVE how inconsiderate it is of me to look into a store that innocently sells lingerie that consists of nothing more than 2 pieces of string tied to a cloth flap, and chooses to subtly advertise by putting up enough pink to build Barbie a Malibu Universe. I'll be a pervert, but at least I will have retained my manly man-ness.

Faced with this decision, i went with Option B.

It's not that i don't like gay people. Gay people are great! SOMEBODY has to tell fat, ugly people that they look like shit on TLC. It's just that, I don't feel like that is the life choice for me. Being gay just doesn't tickle my pickle. Being gay gets some guys pickle tickled, but i'm not the kinda guy that would want to RETURN said tickle.

So yea, I guess i'm a pervert. Oh well, that's being a guy for you. I walked past that Victoria's Secret with my little spying eye, and saw all the Secrets, laid out before me. With a mind full of dirty thoughts, and a pocket full of dreams, i kept on my way towards Babbages. I heard there was gonna be a used game sale, and OH, my GOD! I SOOOOoooo Totally had to be there!!!

Spiderpig wasn't THAT funny.

Went to the movies with Michelle today, good fun :3. Went to see the Simpsons movie, it was pretty funny, I laffed. Sometimes.

There was just one thing that really bothered me.

On the left side of the theatre, there was this one group of girls watching the movie. But they like, REALLY liked it.

Way too much.

Like, everytime ANY character would do just about anything, a SHRIEK would go up to my left.

OH MY GOD BWAHAHAHAHAHA
HARHARHARHAR SPIDER PIG HARHARAHR
OMG DID YOU SEE THAT?! HE BWAHAHAHHAHA

There was just no way to ignore those girls! Like, the fact that they were laughing so much at some parts, actually made me NOT want to laugh. I didn't want to have anything in common with these girls, didn't even want to share a laugh with them. I was even pissed about having to share the air in that theatre with them.

They even tried to start an applause for the movie at the end. Take note: I HAAAAAAAATE when people do that. What do they want the people in the movie to do? Come out and take a bow? Do they think the person who pushed the "on" switch on the projector is gonna show an encore? Was the popcorn extra delicious or something? Luckily their applause was fruitless, and died on its own, the way it should.

Shitsucks.

Go-Kart Crusaaayderss.

Where there is injustice, you will find us.

Where evil walks unchallenged, you will find us.

Where there are old white people, who just want to spend their afternoon relaxing at the beach, you will find us.

I'm talking of course, about the Go-Kart Crusaders.

This valiant group, comprised of me, Justincrites, Tony, and Matt, travel the beaches of South Padre Island, conquering evil and righting wrongs wherever we go.

By conquering evil, I mean riding golf carts on sand dunes, and by righting wrongs, i of course mean yelling "GO KART CRUSADER!!!" at previously mentioned white people.


So I was just expecting a normal day on the beach. Scouting for chicks, eating burgers, looking for girls, playing video games, searching for females, etc. Typical South Padre Island stuff. Unless of course its spring break, when all South Padre activities are replaced by sex and drinking. But anyways, we got to Tony's go kart shop, and started heading towards the beach, to go "sand duning"

Little Timmy:
"But Jesus!? What's Sand Duning?!"

Well Timmy, Sand Duning is of course, taking shitty golf carts with little to no traction or stability, which could probably be toppled by a weak gust of wind or the tremors created by De Leon's footsteps, and driving them by the side of the beach, through sand dunes and shit.


What Tony forgot to tell us was the insane amount of bumps that sand dunes create for golf karts (bumps? on a SAND DUNE?! i know, crazy!), and how we planned to drive over Every. Single. One of them.

My ass still hasn't forgiven me.

Every second of the ride was just

bumpbumpbumpbumpBUMP("SHIT!!")
bumpbumpbumpBUMP("GODAMN!!")
bumpbumpbumpBUMP("FUUUUUUUCKK!")

But aside from just driving over sand dunes, we created our organization, the Go-Kart Crusaders. I don't know exactly how it got started. I think Tony, when he was in ITALIANSTALION SAND DUNE CONQUER MODE just started yelling it. It sounded extremely awesome, so everybody else would yell it as well.

Especially when passing the white people at the beach. And when i say white people, i don't just mean people with light skin. I mean like, rreedddnecks. I think we saw a truck that had like, the huge longhorn-horns on the front. Every time I see one of those, I kinda wish they would just finish it off and put the rest of the cow on the backside >.>;

But yea, we would speed past these people, and yell GOKART CRUSADERRSSS as loud as we could, although we were bouncing up and down at the time, so it usually came out as a weak sounding "GoKKrart CrusSsAAddeERssSsSS (FUUUCKKK!)"

So keep your eyes peeled next time you are on the beach. You may just hear the faint roar of a golf kart engine. And then, you will know.

The Go-Kart Crusaders are at it again.

Good times.

Lack of Bloggitude.

A lot of you have been saying that I need to update my blog some more. (By a lot, I mean most. By most, I mean some. By some, I mean a few. By a few, I mean Michelle. Maybe Justin. maybe. ) I agree, updating this blog with random shit that pops into my head is pretty fun! The only problem is... I don't have anything to write about.

Now, I could write about the emo shit that goes on, but I promised you that this would be 100% emo free, and I would hate to disappoint :\. Instead, my subject matter usually has to do with places/shit I've been/seen/smelt. That's why its up to you, the Viewer, to help me with my quest for shit to write about.

You make the blog happen.

What do I mean by this? I mean you guys should give me something to write about. Invite me over to your house, invite me to a party, leave me stranded in a third world country. Anything that will guarantee an eventful day. My prediction about summer life pretty much being sitting around playing video games is more accurate than I was hoping. Even send me an idea, kind of like one of those conversation cards.

(ex. What do you think of smelly cheese?
Blog:
Smelly Cheese is smelly.)


Etc, etc. So yea, go for it.

A Recent Study...

...was conducted on myself, which measured the effects of sleep deprivation and social interaction. The results were, astounding.




Yea, I've noticed lately that as it gets later and later, I just start running my mouth like a leaky faucet, except one that says stupid shit all the time. So yea, if you really want to talk to dumbass-icity, IM me late at night. You'll get what you want.

Also, first post of August. Hee~

We are X-box-Kids! (Ten million strong....and growing!)

Today, I decided to use the internet for its noblest purpose; that is, to engage in intellectual discussion with my peers. (Noble = anything that isn't porn.) My mistake?

I used XboxLive to do it.

I don't think such an immense gathering of 12 year olds exists anywhere else, apart from Saturday at Neverland Ranch.

Seriously, aren't 12 year olds supposed to be playing with Barbie dolls, eating boogers, and learning to tie their shoes or something? What are they doing playing M rated games online so late at night? And why are they such assholes?!

These 12 year old pricks already have a limited vocabulary, but they have been able to somehow learn, and utilize, every cussword imaginable. Like a pint sized sailor. I don't even cuss as much as these kids, and thats cause I do a shitload of cussing. A typical conversation was as follows:

Elem08: "Hey, let me ride backseat in that car."

xXN°0()O°BSL@Y3R0IXx: "GET YOUR OWN FUCKING CAR FUCKING FUCK!"

This introduces a very interesting dilemma. Now, I can react one of two ways. I could go out and pull out my own arsenal of cuss words, call the kid a "shitmongling scrotalgnome", and all other kinds of gems, but what does that accomplish? For one thing, I would have just cussed at a 12 year old. There's really is no way to justify that kind of behavior, even for me. That would provide no personal gratification and make me feel like an idiot. So I just state the obvious.

Elem08: "You're 12. I've already won this argument."

xXN°0()O°BSL@Y3RB0IXx: "YOUR FUCKING STUPID IM 13 IN 2 MONTHS YOUR JUST FUCKING JEALOUS CAUSE I AM THE BEST N00BSLAYER IN THE DAMN UNIVERSE!!"

Elem08: "Hey, remember that time I drove? You know, in real life? Or that time I bought, uh, this game without having to have Mommy or Daddy with me? I'm still winning, and I've got more."

xXN°0()O°BSL@Y3RB0IXx: (Unintelligible shouting, possibly English, most likely an urgent cry for more chocolate milk)

Yup.


And not ALL kids are trying to be assholes. In fact, many are just new at the game, and trying to learn how to play.

This doesn't change the fact that they are annoying. as. fuck.


Yes, to win you have to shoot the other team.
No, the other team.

Yes, your microphone is working.

No, I don't want to hear you sing Avril Lavigne's new CD.
I said I didn't want to hear it.

Yes, your microphone is (unfortunately) still working.

Being the nice guy that I am, I answer all the questions that these kids have, and they always ask to add me to my friends list. That's right, at this point the majority of my friends list is probably still elementary school. Oh well, they are mostly harmless.

Mostly.

The Cry of an Attention-whore

The few people who have read this blog, seem to have liked it. You guys should like, tell other people you know about it, just so I can hopefully provide them with a couple of lulz here or there. It's quite easy really, to work it into conversation. Here, i'll even help you out!

(At water cooler)
You: Good morning, girlfriend/boyfriend!

Him/Her: I don't like the way our relationship is working out.

You: Oh, well thats cool. Have you ever been to elem08.blogspot.com?

Him/Her: I told you, I don't like the way our rela-

You: elem08.blogspot.com is the url. Jesus writes it, you know, that kid from school?

Him/Her: Why aren't you listening to me?! I want to brea-

You: elem08.blogspot.com

Him/Her: I love you.

You: I love you too. But not as much as we BOTH love Jesus.

Him/Her: You are right. Jesus is certainly amazing.

You: Let's both date Jesus.

Him/Her: Good idea.

Together: elem08.blogspot.com


(Enter midgets on cars, elephants balancing on balls, inflatable arm flailing tube man, etc.)



>:3

So many cousins. Soo little time.

The whole purpose of this voyage into the Land of the Barely-Visible-Due-to-Pollution Sun was to visit the scores and scores of family that i have living there.

And I mean scores and scores. And that's cause i don't even know exactly what scores mean, except that Abe Lincoln used it to mean "a shit load."

We went to this small village type place off some highway near a small city in Mexico named Salamanca. The houses were all really close together, and constructed out of tin foil / cardboard. My main problem with these humble dwelling is that they were obviously not designed for a Mexican of my... stature. I'm a big fuckin guy. Mexican's, in general, are not big fuckin people. Vertically, at least. Cause i've seen some with a diameter rivaling that of Jupiter (how else can you explain people that large being able to impregnate seemingly normal Mexican women? Gravitational fields, motherfucker, gravitational fields.) So i had to stand constantly hunched over, lest my head scrape against the nails on the ceiling that kept the roof down.

We found a seat in one of the shacks, right under the painting of the Virgin Mary. I realize that, if you've ever been into a truly authentic Mexican home, that description is as vague as saying "the part of the ocean that's wet." Every wall had a picture of the Virgin Mary, Jesus, or both. I even saw one painting that was evidentally drawn by the lady's son, that was Jesus, fucking RIPPED, holding a cross like a sword and standing in a crazyass battle pose. Godamn it was amazing.

Then my relatives started pouring in, trillllions of people that looked exactly like my grandma / grandpa. They were all very nice people, even if when conversation headed my way i had to employ the aforementioned jumping and hand waving to talk to them.

I met this one little girl must have been about 2 years old, cutest thing on the fucking planet. She was learning english in her school, so they sent her to talk to me. She started singing this damn adorable song about like, chickens being pollitos, apples being mansanas, welfare being facil-dinero, and all other kinds of english/spanish translations. Made me realize how much i totally want a kid one day. So if any of you ladies out there reading are up to making cute ass mexican babies, gimme a call! If that doesnt work out, i could always go with the gravitational field approach, anyway.

Mexico, a continu..a...o..dar...cion-ed.

I realize that not ALL of Mexico smells that bad. (most of it, yes.)

Mexico really did have some redeeming qualities. Really!

I mean, the money was all gold and bad-ass looking. And, it's not like I can't communicate with the gentle Mexican peoples. I speak Spanish, after all!

Kind of.

It's not like I'm compleeetely incapable of communicating with my brothas to the South. It's just that, I'm not very good at it.

I was waiting outside the public bathrooms, 5 pesos in hand, ready to pay the admission fee, (That's right, the gas stations charge you to use their shitter. I guess its no surprise why everybody seems to be apparently content with using the bushes nearby.) when some guy came up to me and asked if i was in the line to use the restroom. (I realize what he wanted to know only after extensive analysis of what he could have possibly wanted, and by asking my Mom.) But his Spanish was no ordinary Spanish. This was, SuperSpanish. Similar to the English that might come out of a drunken auctioneer. Really fast, and really slurred. So after this stream of words came out of his mouth, i was in complete shock. I stared at the guy for like, 10 seconds, then slowly pointed to the door and said, with my best spanish accent possible:

Baño.

So he asked again, " tueoaidoaiduroaieuaroaeroaoraebroieaeraeaberoereibreabano?" My response:

... Baño?

He asked a third time, and i realized that changing the punctuation of the same word wasn't cutting it for an answer. So this time, i realized the gift given to me by God that will enable me to communicate with people of any language, at the expense of my dignity.

Stupid movements.

I was like: "Yo(finger point) es en la linea (draw line in the air) porque yo(finger point) need to pee. (one arm flail, bouncing around, other arm grasping crotch) "

Apparently it worked, cause after that he just nodded and went away. I don't think he even wanted to use the restroom, probably just wanted to mess with Americans. But damnit, a beautiful thing happened at that moment. I had finally communicated with an actual Mexican citizen. Using my extensive point/flail technique, I was able to get across any idea that i wanted to, even if it resulted in spinning around with my arms outstretched, to resemble an airplane.

Deleon would be proud.

The Sights! The Sounds! The Smells... oh GOD THE SMELLS X_X!

Sometimes, I wish my senses came with an off switch.

Taking a sniff around, the delicious aromas began to fill my nostrils.

Cow? Nice.
...More cow? Godamn.
Shi...is that SHIT? THE FUCK?!

Welcome to Mexico.

That's right, I had el honor of spending the last weekend-ish south of the border. Blah blah culture, blah blah spanish, blah blah De Leon with a hard-on.

But seriously, the smells. Go-DAMN.

I mean, I've smelled some pretty nasty shit. I've gone days, even a week, without showering. I've gone to my Dad's ranch, with horses walking around, crapping all over the floor/ me. Sometimes, Rene even comes over. But all of these smells are nothing compared to the nasal assassins that reside in Mexico. The sewage pipes in some run-down sections of the city (and by some run-down sections, I mean everywhere) are just chillin on the side of the street, spewin out Mexi-crap for all the children to play in. It didn't help that it had just been raining hardcore over there, so the sewer water was everywhere.

Shitsucks.

Happy Birthday to me.

And now, back to your regularly scheduled Summer.

Yup, after a nice week or two of sitting on a California couch, playing games on a California HDTV, I'm back to sitting at my computer all day, home in El Valle (spanish for "The Shithole").

The trip home was pretty eventful, at least. The Oakland Airport got like, quarantined because somebody got past the security check point without first letting the cheerful homeland security guys stick their finger in his ass. Maybe the police were really looking for a potential terrorist, intent on blowing up the western hemisphere. Then again, maybe it was just a confused foreigner who couldn't read the "Line starts HERE" sign. Either way, there were shitloads of police guys running around the airport, with their uber bomb-detecting dogs using their keen sense of smell to look for threats to National Security (or finding their masters donuts and cookies.)

We were able to leave the airport in time thankfully, so it wasn't that big of a deal. Took the flight to Houston, then back to the Harlingen Airport, where we drove home.

Since I'm back to the day to day routine, i doubt i'll update the blog very often. You aren't missing much, trust me. In fact, I'll write out the blog that pretty much fits every day i spend at my house.

"July xx/ 2007~ Xth day in Ordinary Time.

Woke up this morning, took a hearty dump and had some tacos/cereal/water. Turned on my monitor, and started playing RO/Oblivion/Stepmania. Mom came home, brought some food. Went to bed at ~3 am."

Epic, I know.

Anyways, mah birthday is coming up on the 17th, so I'm sure the 3 people that might *possibly* read this are gonna get me something cool, eh? eh??! I accept donations in cash, video games, or sex. I'm not sure if im having a party or not, maybe after i come home from Mexico >.>

Oh yea! speaking of Mexico, thats the next thing comin up x_x. Starting July 18th... or 19th? i'll be in Mexico, getting held up by bandits and chased by Pancho Villa. I'll make sure not to drink the water, for sure. But hey, at least that'll gimme somethin to write about when i get back? Tsall good.

Anyways, gotta get back to the strict schedule. All done with my dump, and I got tacos just waiting to be devoured :O.