Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Welcome back (I know you like dat)
Welcome back to the Frat Italy blog...you should notice some changes...mainly since I'm back, it is no longer a running diary of my experiences in Florence, but more of random thoughts on life. The previous two posts are more of what can be expected from this blog...the old stuff is there because I lacked the ambition to archive it somewhere. I hope you enjoy, and I hope I don't get tossed from the University due to vial content. I look forward to seeing you all in a couple weeks, and until then enjoy.
Much Ado about something
It’s a beautiful August afternoon in Indianapolis, Indiana. So I, like every other American, settle down on my comfy couch with my overweight cat to do some serious surfing. Now as you can imagine it is the middle of the day so nothing of substance can be on any standard channels, so I cruise over to the bizarre combination of HBO/Starz that we have chosen to subscribe to and prepare myself for the worst.
I am shocked as my worst nightmare is avoided yet realized at the same time. See, the only thing worse than finding nothing but shitty movies on, is finding an abundance of flicks that peak your interest. Since I am a self-loathing megalomaniac I am miserable at making decisions and I would rank “choices” just under “terrorism” on the list of things I hate.
This was the intriguing line-up with which I was presented:
Bridge to Terabithia- I fucking love this movie. I have Peter Pan syndrome and the only thing I find more terrifying that growing up, is perhaps the thought of Rosie O’Donnell in the nude. This movie makes me feel like a little kid and I totally buy into the bullshit imagination because I used to do that same thing (still do really), only my best friend didn’t die while I was out trying to tame the fly ass teacher that is Zooey Deschenall…Oh wait did I just ruin the ending?
The Painted Veil- Everything about this movie seems boring. But then again, it is Edward Norton with a British accent, and I have a feeling that the slow pace is going to blow up in my face like a French land mine and I will probably leave the credits with tears or an erection.
I Know Who Killed Me- This movie definitely sucks, but I do still have a little “thing” for Lindsay Lohan, and the description read (GV,L,N) That N has me interested, so either I am going to see that Ginger’s tits or I will watch some crazed killer brutally slaughter her…both equally satisfying.
The Ballad of Jack and Rose- Hm, Daniel Day-Lewis, it must be good. Unfortunately I’ve already watched a movie about Jack and Rose that grossed 600 Million dollars, featured a hot sex scene, and ended with one of the biggest on screen lies ever told…”I’ll never let go?” Ya fucking right…
Far and Away- Non-weird Tom Cruise+ still hot at the time Nicole Kidman+ Irish accents+ badass boxing+ America= guaranteed winner.
Nine Months- If you are a male and don’t think that Hugh Grant is the man you are a fucking moron. The man gets paid 20 million dollars a movie to act like a self-loathing everyman and fuck really hot chicks. Not to mention, he had Elizabeth Hurley as his main squeeze for a while and then started getting hookers just because he is a total bad ass and does what he wants.
With staunch competition I decided that my only logical course of action was to blow off all the movies, write about my frustration, and then look up more pictures of Sara Boberg. Enchanted starts at 9, so I guess I’ll just go ahead and wait until then (inside, god forbid I go enjoy the day) Maybe I’ll read some of my old work and celebrate my cleverness with a Barlett and James fuzzy navel while I listen to Jock Jams volume 3.
I am shocked as my worst nightmare is avoided yet realized at the same time. See, the only thing worse than finding nothing but shitty movies on, is finding an abundance of flicks that peak your interest. Since I am a self-loathing megalomaniac I am miserable at making decisions and I would rank “choices” just under “terrorism” on the list of things I hate.
This was the intriguing line-up with which I was presented:
Bridge to Terabithia- I fucking love this movie. I have Peter Pan syndrome and the only thing I find more terrifying that growing up, is perhaps the thought of Rosie O’Donnell in the nude. This movie makes me feel like a little kid and I totally buy into the bullshit imagination because I used to do that same thing (still do really), only my best friend didn’t die while I was out trying to tame the fly ass teacher that is Zooey Deschenall…Oh wait did I just ruin the ending?
The Painted Veil- Everything about this movie seems boring. But then again, it is Edward Norton with a British accent, and I have a feeling that the slow pace is going to blow up in my face like a French land mine and I will probably leave the credits with tears or an erection.
I Know Who Killed Me- This movie definitely sucks, but I do still have a little “thing” for Lindsay Lohan, and the description read (GV,L,N) That N has me interested, so either I am going to see that Ginger’s tits or I will watch some crazed killer brutally slaughter her…both equally satisfying.
The Ballad of Jack and Rose- Hm, Daniel Day-Lewis, it must be good. Unfortunately I’ve already watched a movie about Jack and Rose that grossed 600 Million dollars, featured a hot sex scene, and ended with one of the biggest on screen lies ever told…”I’ll never let go?” Ya fucking right…
Far and Away- Non-weird Tom Cruise+ still hot at the time Nicole Kidman+ Irish accents+ badass boxing+ America= guaranteed winner.
Nine Months- If you are a male and don’t think that Hugh Grant is the man you are a fucking moron. The man gets paid 20 million dollars a movie to act like a self-loathing everyman and fuck really hot chicks. Not to mention, he had Elizabeth Hurley as his main squeeze for a while and then started getting hookers just because he is a total bad ass and does what he wants.
With staunch competition I decided that my only logical course of action was to blow off all the movies, write about my frustration, and then look up more pictures of Sara Boberg. Enchanted starts at 9, so I guess I’ll just go ahead and wait until then (inside, god forbid I go enjoy the day) Maybe I’ll read some of my old work and celebrate my cleverness with a Barlett and James fuzzy navel while I listen to Jock Jams volume 3.
What ever happened to the Alpha Male?
I awoke today feeling like absolute dogshit* as I usually do after watching an entire season of a Showtime comedy and sleeping on the couch. Then I did the worst thing ever which is moving out. Seriously I would rather take a bullet to a non-vital or have a shard of titanium wedged up my big toenail than move out.
*This phrase doesn’t completely make sense, no one has ever interviewed dog shit and found out that he was not feeling 100 hundred percent. In fact other than the fact that he occasionally gets stepped on, most of the time he just lays around in the sun and chills…and that isn’t half bad.
So needless to say on my 4 hour drive home without power steering I did what anyone else would do: blasted American top 40 and pretended that I was the protagonist of the upcoming film Death Race. I must have taken out like 12 bogeys with my mini-gun alone in between Chicago and Lafayette. But since it is Olympics season and I was feeling most patriotic, I started targeting only foreign made cars, especially those of the Asian flavor. This one particular jet black Civic Si trailed me for nearly 11 exits and had nearly rammed off my bumper before I finally did him in with a well timed oil slick and one of Tony Stark’s Jericho missles.
But speaking of the Olympics, how boring is Michael Phelps? The guy makes Tiger Woods look exciting. I couldn’t help but be incredibly disappointed by his last two interviews, all the guy could say was “Wow, I’m at a loss for words.” Loss for words? You just won eight fucking gold medals in one Olympics and smashed every athletic achievement to date! How in the hell can you be at a loss for words? So obviously I started thinking about exactly how I would have answered this friendly inquiry…
Mr. Phelps, how does it feel to win your 8th gold medal of the 2008 games?
“Well. Needless to say I feel like the fucking man! I mean did you see that shit? I just went 8 for 8 on gold medals and I managed to also set a handful of world records, I’m really fucking sweet. I’m just glad that balding old man we call an anchor didn’t fuck up at the end or I would have had to shove his Viagra bottle up his ass and burn off the little remaining hair he has.”
Wow. Strong words Michael, what are you going to do now?
“Well as for the immediate future, I am going to go to Olympic village and wax at least two female athletes from the entire European Union and a few Chinese bitches too. But first I am going to have 7 of my medals melted down to craft a golden crown that I will wear for the rest of the games. I’ll wear my 8th around my neck while I’m pwning my victim. She will get to wear one of my old silvers, just to remind her that she is my submissive.”
What can we expect for the 2012 games in London Michael?
“Aside from breaking all of my own records and learning to fly, I think I’m going to take gold in the trampoline jumping event. I mean trampoline jumping? Are you fucking kidding me pal? I used to spend some time on trampolines in junior high when I was getting my pubes stuck in girls’ braces who were sucking their first dick! Here’s the routine. I will lay on the trampoline while two twin Scandanavian bomb shells take turns blowing my cock. Degree of difficulty zero! I’m fucking Michael Phelps.”
Any parting words Michael?
“Ya, to all the assholes that made fun of me for my lisp and for having ADD before it was cool, just sleep easy knowing that I am going to hunt down each and every one of your little sisters and improve my back stroke. PEACE Beijing Ching Chang Chong I’m OUT!”
…Now wouldn’t that be a giant improvement over…”loss for words?”
Don’t get me wrong I’m very impressed by Phelps’s athletic achievement, but what I’ll probably remember four years from now is how washed up that poolside reporter has become and how Baltimore Mike’s interview skills are right on par with the strength of that Serbian weightlifter’s elbow tendons.
On the flip side, someone who really proved a winner in the Beijing games was Sara Boberg, the incredibly average Swedish archer who appeared nude on the internet earlier this week. Now here is some one I would never have even come close to remembering or even hearing about in the first place, but now she will forever go down in my mind as three of the most satisfying masturbation sessions of my life. I’d like to put a nice gold medal right in between those perky tits and puffy nipples to do a little target practice of my own. Good work Sara!
And finally, how can I neglect to mention the Chad Johnson of Track and Field, Mr. Usain Bolt! Talk about a rockstar! The kid goes out and destroys the world record in the 100 meter dash and stops trying three quarters of the way down so he can showboat the last 20 or so meters. In his post race interview when asked how fast could he have run the 100 meters he dodged the question with something like I’m just glad I won the gold medal. But what he meant to say is?
“Who gives a shit? Next Olympics I’ll run it in 5 seconds and then bust out cardboard wings and cross the English Channel. Now someone give me a sack full of condums and the key to Sara Boberg’s room. I’ve got some more records to break.”
Mr. Phelps could take a lesson from Mr. Bolt when it comes to charisma and gamesmanship. But for now the autistic swimming savant with the shit eating grin can enjoy his billion dollar endorsement that he is sure to receive from Nike. And I know if I were him I would settle down with a coca cola (I loved the “Go World” campaign) and make a list of every celebrity I have ever fantasized about while pounding a below average sorority girl on a Wednesday night. Then I’d start off by calling number one and saying…”Hello, this is Michael Phelps…” Degree of difficulty, Zero.
*This phrase doesn’t completely make sense, no one has ever interviewed dog shit and found out that he was not feeling 100 hundred percent. In fact other than the fact that he occasionally gets stepped on, most of the time he just lays around in the sun and chills…and that isn’t half bad.
So needless to say on my 4 hour drive home without power steering I did what anyone else would do: blasted American top 40 and pretended that I was the protagonist of the upcoming film Death Race. I must have taken out like 12 bogeys with my mini-gun alone in between Chicago and Lafayette. But since it is Olympics season and I was feeling most patriotic, I started targeting only foreign made cars, especially those of the Asian flavor. This one particular jet black Civic Si trailed me for nearly 11 exits and had nearly rammed off my bumper before I finally did him in with a well timed oil slick and one of Tony Stark’s Jericho missles.
But speaking of the Olympics, how boring is Michael Phelps? The guy makes Tiger Woods look exciting. I couldn’t help but be incredibly disappointed by his last two interviews, all the guy could say was “Wow, I’m at a loss for words.” Loss for words? You just won eight fucking gold medals in one Olympics and smashed every athletic achievement to date! How in the hell can you be at a loss for words? So obviously I started thinking about exactly how I would have answered this friendly inquiry…
Mr. Phelps, how does it feel to win your 8th gold medal of the 2008 games?
“Well. Needless to say I feel like the fucking man! I mean did you see that shit? I just went 8 for 8 on gold medals and I managed to also set a handful of world records, I’m really fucking sweet. I’m just glad that balding old man we call an anchor didn’t fuck up at the end or I would have had to shove his Viagra bottle up his ass and burn off the little remaining hair he has.”
Wow. Strong words Michael, what are you going to do now?
“Well as for the immediate future, I am going to go to Olympic village and wax at least two female athletes from the entire European Union and a few Chinese bitches too. But first I am going to have 7 of my medals melted down to craft a golden crown that I will wear for the rest of the games. I’ll wear my 8th around my neck while I’m pwning my victim. She will get to wear one of my old silvers, just to remind her that she is my submissive.”
What can we expect for the 2012 games in London Michael?
“Aside from breaking all of my own records and learning to fly, I think I’m going to take gold in the trampoline jumping event. I mean trampoline jumping? Are you fucking kidding me pal? I used to spend some time on trampolines in junior high when I was getting my pubes stuck in girls’ braces who were sucking their first dick! Here’s the routine. I will lay on the trampoline while two twin Scandanavian bomb shells take turns blowing my cock. Degree of difficulty zero! I’m fucking Michael Phelps.”
Any parting words Michael?
“Ya, to all the assholes that made fun of me for my lisp and for having ADD before it was cool, just sleep easy knowing that I am going to hunt down each and every one of your little sisters and improve my back stroke. PEACE Beijing Ching Chang Chong I’m OUT!”
…Now wouldn’t that be a giant improvement over…”loss for words?”
Don’t get me wrong I’m very impressed by Phelps’s athletic achievement, but what I’ll probably remember four years from now is how washed up that poolside reporter has become and how Baltimore Mike’s interview skills are right on par with the strength of that Serbian weightlifter’s elbow tendons.
On the flip side, someone who really proved a winner in the Beijing games was Sara Boberg, the incredibly average Swedish archer who appeared nude on the internet earlier this week. Now here is some one I would never have even come close to remembering or even hearing about in the first place, but now she will forever go down in my mind as three of the most satisfying masturbation sessions of my life. I’d like to put a nice gold medal right in between those perky tits and puffy nipples to do a little target practice of my own. Good work Sara!
And finally, how can I neglect to mention the Chad Johnson of Track and Field, Mr. Usain Bolt! Talk about a rockstar! The kid goes out and destroys the world record in the 100 meter dash and stops trying three quarters of the way down so he can showboat the last 20 or so meters. In his post race interview when asked how fast could he have run the 100 meters he dodged the question with something like I’m just glad I won the gold medal. But what he meant to say is?
“Who gives a shit? Next Olympics I’ll run it in 5 seconds and then bust out cardboard wings and cross the English Channel. Now someone give me a sack full of condums and the key to Sara Boberg’s room. I’ve got some more records to break.”
Mr. Phelps could take a lesson from Mr. Bolt when it comes to charisma and gamesmanship. But for now the autistic swimming savant with the shit eating grin can enjoy his billion dollar endorsement that he is sure to receive from Nike. And I know if I were him I would settle down with a coca cola (I loved the “Go World” campaign) and make a list of every celebrity I have ever fantasized about while pounding a below average sorority girl on a Wednesday night. Then I’d start off by calling number one and saying…”Hello, this is Michael Phelps…” Degree of difficulty, Zero.
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