Saturday, June 26th

::The Brak Blog::

Holding Out For A Hero

I'm a slacker, I don't post enough, blah blah blah.
School's done, so I once again have more time than usual on my hands to sit around and do absolutly nothing.

A few weeks ago after school we were at Double Dragon off Main for some chinese buffet. I grabbed a pair of chopsticks because I'm hardcore and know how to use them. After eating my meal of happy and deliciously fatty asian food, I sat back, content, and began to examine the small packaging the chopsticks had come in. On it was written (with exact formatting):

Welcome to Chinese Restaurant.
please try your Nice Chinese Food With Chopsticks
the traditional and typical of Chinese
glorious history
and cultural

I really love poor translations. I also love diversity, not only because it keeps things from being monotonous, but if for nothing else because it serves for humorous mishaps. For a similar example: [Take Off Every Zig].

A week and one day ago I got my driver's license. I went to the first place and took the test (passed with a 92%, bitches) and then down to the department of revenue, which was hoppin' as always. My picture looks like shit, but then again that probably has to do with the fact that I look like shit. But whatever, it's all good.

A week or so ago April Bauman got this post-it note on her car that reads as follows:

Summer Cash
If you have an extra 8-12 hours per week and desire to earn an extra $800-$1,000 a month,
Contact: Tracy At: 913-381-6585
Flexible Hours- No Experiance Necessary-- Will Train

*cough*prostitution-ring*cough* I mean come on. Tracy?! I'm suprised that number doesn't forward you to "Dollar Bill's Bitches and Hoes- Escort Service". How do I know it doesn't? Because we got Matt Lanning to call it. Repeatedly. For the first 3 or 4 days we just left obnoxious messages on her machine. Then one day this guy actually started picking up the phone. Matt got all indignant and chewed the guy out about not returning his calls and so on and so forth.

They stopped answering the phone after about 4 or 5 calls from different phones, all requesting to talk to Tracy. We never did reach Tracy though. How dissappointing. Feel free to call her though, and give her my best regards.

Lizz and I bought a tabloid the other day. god damnit are those a lot of fun. Anything with the title "Bigfoot Baby Found Outside Neverland Ranch" is fine in my book. Between that, the vaguest crossword puzzles ever, and the random photoshoping of celebrities into strange photographs (Bush as a ballerina, the Pope as Spider-Man), tabloids yield endless amounts of fun. I'd addopt the bigfood baby, wouldn't you?

The other day I was out and about, and I saw an Orange El Camino. It was some kind of act of god. Those cars are so incredibly stupid/ugly, but the fact that it was orange makes it almost as bitchin' as Sean Bucklew's trashed-out-non-painted one.

In a spontaneious adventure to Oak Park Mall *gag* with Brgid, Caitlin, Mindy, Pat, Paul, and Lizz, we were sitting around eating at the food court. Actually everyone else was eating, (I was doing my part to enforce the stereotype that everyone from Missouri is too poor to eat lunch), and I was just sitting there making fun of random passers by, like usual. Anyway, I started to bash on this girl that looked like Nichole Garrison (psycho-hose-beast from my 1st semester religion class), when to my horror she was Nichole Garrison! Ahhhhhhhhhh *screams forever*

Mindy, Caitlin, Brigid, Lizz, and Paul all recoil in horror, because they went to gradeschool with her. Pat just sits there with this dumb look on his face as he continues to eat his pizza. To our relief she puts on an apron and takes up her post at the prestegious Pretzel Time, so at least that way if she saw us, all she could do was wave. Somehow though, Brigid was convinced if we got up and ran, that Nichole would chase us. Lizz then expressed her concern because she can't run very fast. I said that we'd simply leave her behind as an obstacle, and Nichole would just eat her.

At this point Pat starts spazzing out and does a spit-take of some pepsi-product all over his shit-brown-plastic-lunch tray in a fit of laughter. The thing being, what I'd said initially wasn't terribly funny at all, but the fact that it made Pat vomit to some degree was hilarious. I can totally dig humor at other people's expense.

As we were walking through the labryinth that is Oak Park Mall, we noticed these creepy pseudo-punk kids waving to us from across the 2nd floor. Judging by my company, I figured I'd be the only one who would possibly know pseudo-punks, and went to go see who it was. Turns out none of us knew those people and they just snickered and walked away.

Nobody owns me like that. Nobody. I doned sunglasses and was about to go and do something equally random (I had planned to just yell "peen!" because I'd have thrown them off), but Pat stopped me. He pointed out to me that the pseudo-punks were all bigger than he, I and Paul, and that pseudo-punks are also liable to have short tempers; the end result being me getting beat up.

I really wanted to own them back, but for Pat's sake, I let them go. This once. Mark my words though, I'll have my revenge.

I was sitting in the mall at some other point during the fucking day we spent in there, and I got to thinking: if there were a Nuclear Holocaust tomorrow, where would I want to be. Initially I was tempted to say "Oak Park Mall" because of the numerous supplies, but then I realized that I'd be stuck with all the Oak Park Mall Crowd as well. I was then envisioning the mad riots of people raiding abercrombie stores, and then the sick realization they'd get when they finally figure out that NO ONE GIVES A FLYING FUCK AND ANYONE WHO DOES DESERVES RADIATION POISIONING.

Me: Why don't you go out and see if it's safe yet?
A.Fitch: But shouldn't I like be wearing like some kind of like protective gear or like something? Like?
Me: Nah! Don't worry about it. You paid 45 bucks for that t-shirt, I'd swear that it comes with build-in radiation shielding!
A.Fitch: I don't know...
Me: *magnum* Your clothing cost 10 times that of mine, but you bleed just as fast, you selloutpieceofshit!

On second though, being stuck in a mall full of mall people wouldn't be that bad. I'd round up all the witty/edgy people and we'd simply go on massive owning sprees with all the lameass mall kids.

Random dispelling of urban legend:
blondmoments116: did you know that when you sneeze, junk flies out of your nose faster than 630 MPH?
Daemon1330: if it was actually moving that fact it would blow a snot-shaped hole in your hand.

Think about it you morons: Baseballs going 70 will knock a grown man unconscious. Snot moving 9 times that fast would definatly fuck you up to some degree.

Hank's birthday party was the other night. Lizz and I pooled money to get him The Big Lebowski, AKA The Dude, which was pretty cool. He also got Gacy... speaking of which: John Wayne Gacy was executed on my birthday, how odd is that? Anyhow, we just sat there and listened to Tim Dixon play random tunes on guitar, and Hank punch out familiar melodies to dance tunes on the keyboard.

During the course of all this, Brian Gutek busts out the strike-anywhere matches and we decide to burn random shit. That's all fine and good, but then we found some bricks and built up this little furnace thing. One powerpoint presentation and an issue or rollingstone later, we were all smoke-smitten and had managed to incinerate a couple of sticks, so that was fun.

Midway through the experiance, Brian determined that we needed more wood to burn. Hank's brother Peter's friend was standing there, so Brian addressed him as Wood Boy and told him to go get us more fuel. The kid just stands there and disgustedly says:

Kid: Don't call me 'Wood-Boy'
Gutek: What would you rather be then?! 'Erection Boy'!?
-span of silence-
Kid: *excitedly* Yeah!
Gutek: *shakes head in disbelief*

And that's how someone gets the nickname 'Erection Boy'. The moral being, don't fuck with Brian Gutek, lest he have to go Gacy on you.

Sean came over here a night or so ago, and we watched Ghost in the Shell. I felt bad because I kept drifting off during lengthy dialogue sequences, and subsequently the plot was lost on me early into the film, but it was still fun. Made in 1995, this movie basically inspired the Matrix, and features a unique duality: Just enough nude parts to attract the perverts, and a plot just confusing enough to attract the geeky cult followings. Anime is evil on so many different levels...

Speaking of weird movies that I've seen, today Lizz and I watched 2001: A Space Odyessy. I must say, this is one totally awesome film. It's one of the few that accuratly portrays what space would really be like, and the soundtrack totally kicks. Plus the conclusion is totally gripping... I highly recomend. If you've seen this movie before, leave a comment, we need to talk.

On a final movie comment, what the fuck is up with 'Sleepover'. Hollywood is officially out of ideas... I knew B Actor Ronnie Regan biting the dust was a bad sign... I mean seriously. The theatrical poster has 3 separate pictures of the protagonists, their love interests, and the conflicting female pack. They're labled "The Friends", "The Guys", and "The Rivals" respectively. Does it get any more generic?

Group of friends with high-standing moral qualities about friendship and religion are looking for love. Their saught-after pride: A group of arrogant and misinformed, shallow pseudo-athletes. Their competition: A pack of girls who are also after The Guys, and who just all happend to have superior bust lines and wear more makeup.

Come on. It's a classic hero-villan setup, except without swords, blood, explosions, dragons, or gratuitous sex scenes; the only things that save face for the hero-villan template-genre of movies! I decided to make my own [Poster For Sleepover].

If only Sleepover was a foreign film, the translation errors would be funny to maximum!
If there were a Nuclear Holocaut, I'd want to be in the company of cowboys.
Only with their powers could the world be rebuilt to a newer state of awesome.

As was prophesized by Tom at 12:04 AM CST
[Unique Link]

Tuesday, June 15th

::The Brak Blog::

Through the Night

Greetings peoples. Today's entry will ether be of typical quality and shorter length, or of equal length (to past entries) and of lower quality. Why? Not a lot has been happening in this past week, so to fill the time I've put myself on steady diet of Tap Water, goldfish crackers, and bootleg-ed anime.

It's the travesty of my typical lifestyle.
I mean tragedy.

We have a new friend onboard here at Hank Eddins is now up and running with his subdirectory [Hankasaurus]. Visit and enjoy. The art is very choice, and Hank's a good guy in general.

I've also cooked up a new batch of banners for the front page. Not like anyone pays attention to that kind of stuff, but whatever. Those should be up within half an hour or so of this posting. Eventually I'll get the descriptions of the old ones on .brak//SIGN.

I got paid for a job the other day. 40 bucks. (Not that kind of job...) Good money though. I made the mistake of carying it with me as I went in to get my sister's birthday present. Before I even found her movie though, I somehow managed to have Wayne's World 1 & 2 [The Complete Epic] and Troll 1/2 [The Complete Tragedy] in my hands as well.

*foom* Off goes the 40 dollars. Sad... I know. But I did end up with 4 movies, 2 of which I knew were awesome (Wayne's World and Troll II), one of whcih was to be assumed as awesome (Wayen's World 2) and one that was still up in the air. Troll. Hmmm... I'd heard that this movie was good, and I heard that it was bad, but I'd never really seen it myself, so I set out to rectify that situation.

In the deathmatch of the century, let's face off Troll against it's decendant, Troll 2:

Troll 1's:
Cinematography is better.
Effects don't suck.
Acting is better.
Directing is better.
Plot is existant (as opposed to the innovated No-Plot tactic, which failed miserably with Troll 2)

Which means as a standalone film, Troll 1 kicks the royal crap out of Troll 2. However, it is the fact that it was made so poorly that makes Troll 2 so appealing. To compare them against one another is folly. Troll was supposed to be an actual fantasy movie. Troll 2 had to have been some sort of cosmic joke. They both succeeded in their own separate, individual ventures.

The other day, a day on which nothing particular was supposed to happen, but then lots of interesting things ended up taking place, Lizz and I were sitting around watching the movie Speed. Great flick. Keanu Reeves can not act, but that's what makes him such a relateable protagonist. Anyhow, the movie ends, and we're sitting there, watching the credits, whatever, when suddenly I hear this screaming.

My sister is yelling at the top of her lungs, and the way she was going on with it, you'd think she's just been bitten by a rabid monkey or something. I lumber up the stairs, and give her a "What the Fuck?!" look. She explains to me that there's a flying cockroach this big *indicates 5 inches with her fingers* in my mom and dad's room.

Mom and Dad aren't home, so the task falls to me to vanquish this oh-so-disguting excuse of an advesary (It was really hardly even an inch long; my sister can be kind of a gimp). I grab my metal stick, and a plastic cup, and go in to investigate. It took me a little while the find the son of a bitch, I just kept hitting stuff with the stick in the hopes that I'd kill it or scare it into the open.

Eventually it turned up, and before I could put the cup over it... it crawled into my mom's new purse-backpack thing. Lizz came over, zipped it up, and we grabbed the backpack and went outside. We get out there. Backpack gets unzipped. *shake* No bug. *shake* still no bug. *vapid cursing and vigorous shaking* No dice. *last desperate shake* BUG! I dropped the backpack thing, recoiling in horror (I'm not really a bug person), regained my nerve, grabbed the packpack, and ordered everyone back inside. We'd returned the flying cockroach to it's native outsideland, where I hope it was killed by a native preditor.

Creepy thing being, the next morning I woke up and every small, black, oblong shaped object looked like a flying cockroach. Plus we didn't tell my mom that it was in her purse. Creepyweirdgross. Moving on...

I went to church the other day for a first time in a long time. I hate going to church mostly because I have issues with religion. Spirituality is all fine and well, whatever floats your boat, but organized religion is one of those things that just mandates vomiting from the radiskull. Anyway, it was my first time in the new church. Everyone around me was all oohing and ahhing and I was NotGivingAFucking. Seriously. The entire thing is totally over the top.

They managed to make everything as ornate, flashy, tacky, and religiousy as possible. Those things separately in small doses are not typically an issue, but together, and to the extent that Visitation took it, they're sickening. On top of it all, they invited us all to kiss the alter in the middle of mass. Yes... kiss the fscking alter.

I turn to my father, the only one at the service with me, and whisper "I've gotta pass on this one. There's major violation of sanitary code here." At least that's what I meant to say. It came out more like "I've gotta pass on this one. There's major violation of sanity code here." Germs. Saneness. It's all the same. Regardless, I'm watching everyone go up there, kiss the marble-topped ornate piece of wood, and the sheer gross factor came to mind.

Let's all put our mouths on the table, in the same place. Then, as if having 200 mouths touching this thing wasn't enough, lets eat food off of it.

Reason number 4589 why Catholicisim is fucked up the ass. [No offense kids, but look at it objectively, it's disgusting.] It made it even worse, because my mom was telling me that 3 days prior at the dedication mass the bishop had rubbed the alter down with oil. So everyone was kissing a greasy piece of marble that some old man had touched in a semi-erotic way. And then we're eating food off of it. Blehhh.

The only thing that made this better was that later on, my sister corners me, and asks me if we did alter-kissing at my mass. I told here that everybody but me did. She said she went up there, and meant to, but then had a last minute germ-freakout-crisis, and just pretended to. I went sans alter-kiss because I think religion is BS, with sanitary issues as an excuse. She went up there in the name of religion, and chickened out on account of germs. I couldn't stop laughing.

Now that we have pews again, that means we have kneelers. I forgot how much bullshit kneeling is. I mean come on. (The word itself is shifty... that K, just sitting there out front, so silent, and yet to very swift and deadly.) Maybe it's just because I have authority issues or something, but the concept of lowering myself to anyone is rather sickening. So I didn't. Everyone else knelt, I sat on my fat lack-of-an-ass. Even the Almighty could be a little understanding in that regard...

Then came the petitions. EG: Shit We'd Like In Addition to This Million-Dollar-Waste-of-Money-Church. My all-time-favorite is the one praying that we all be thankful and accepting of diversity among our peers and neighbors and congregation. This struck a nerve with me; sarcastically, I think to myself "What Diversity." In my eternal pessimism, I searched for a minority to prove myself wrong. To my dual suprise-horror, I found none. Not a single one. A big group of whiteys praying for diversity.

It was hard to contain laughter at that point. They also ran out of communion bread when I got to the front of the line. Sign from god? At this point, I'd be willing to bet on it.

Paula and Kate abducted me the other night. It was quite the experiance. We started off by going to Barnes & Noble to listen to all their music. And buy nothing. Which I'm sure pissed them off, but whatever. After that, we went to Culvers, this burger joint on State Line. It was amazing, I can't believe there aren't more places like this. It's set up like a McDonals, with a counter and menu thing in the front, and then all the tables and stuff towards the back.

Except it's a lot nicer. They have carpeted floors and cushioned booths and stuff. And the food quality is on par with Winsteads/Chubbies. It's the ultimate hybrid of fast/real food restaurants. I've decided that I want to hang out there with random people all the time, ala Dead Like Me. It would also be a good place to study the [Numbers].

After that, we swung by the 7-11 at 63rd and Oak (where people are frequently shot. KCMO, wordup) and got sustinance. Then we just played around the park by Edgevale and Warnall, eventually Kate and Paula got too loud, and Rachel Swetnam came out (she lives across the street from the park) and told us that her mom was getting pissed. So they continued to be loud, then I had to come home.

I also thought I'd throw it out there that I'm going to try and make my film The Demon again. I spent all last summer writing it, and squandered the previous christmas break not making it, so we're gonna take another swing at it this summer. All interested parties, drop me a line.

With that said, I've got one anime series down, and two to go. Don't bother calling, I've stopped answer the phone. Unless you think you're special and want to take your chances, but I make no gaurentees.

Religion is bunk.
The Way of the Cowboy is the Way for Me.

As was prophesized by Tom at 07:56 PM CST
[Unique Link]

Tuesday, June 8th

::The Brak Blog::

Piano Man

I feel like an ass because I've been promising my presidential campaign for a few weeks now, and I've yet to deliver. Suprise, suprise, Tom is a lazy fuckhead. Let's just say I'm putting it on the back burner, and I'll finish it off as we get closer to November.

Lets roll back the clock now a little ways, back to Memorial Day. Becca Bryon and Katie Fritts's families were both going to be there, and so they called some other people to tag along. I bummed a ride off Lizz, and off we went. So we got to the Plaza, park in the lot attached to Crown Center, and set off through the LINK to get to Union Station where apparently there's all this ruckus.

Some minor problems occured: We took the wrong LINK, so we ended up in the Hyatt, and had to walk like 3 city blocks just to get back to where we were in the first place. We finally arrive across the street from Union Station and a little thought that'd been nagging me in the back of my mind was finally allowed to come forward.

We had not the slightest clue where to find Katie or Becca. I'm also then thinking "Well how bad can it be. I bet not that many-" and about there we rounded the corner, and saw the myriad of people who'd turned out for this event. So, that idea quickly came crashing down. We rebounded though by finding a roof to get onto, and we were going to watch the fireworks from there, but then the other little problem came about.

We're sitting there in the brisk night air, watching some huge storm cloud get all crazy-flashy with lightning, and then there's this explosion. Then another. And another, I'm frantically looking around for the source and not finding it. They're coming quicker, in bigger bursts. Oh god, I'm thinking, this is a terrorist attack, and they're blowing up the Liberty Memorial! Quick! To the BatCave!

Still looking around I noticed a muddled flash out of the corner of my eye. I watched the spot again, as the side of some big building was illuminated. *Blink* Fuck Tom, you are a dolt. Upon examinging the building, with its reflective windows, I realize that the sound was just fireworks, but they were exploding behind the building behind us. We lost in terms of spot-pickage.

So we got off the roof and just sat on the sidewalk and watched, which was cool. What was not cool was trying to get out of the parking garage. There was some fucker in front of us who was letting everyone go. I can see being nice to one or two people, but after the 5th person it just isn't your right to keep the rest of us waiting. On top of that he got tired of waiting and cheated by using the up-ramp to go down. When I am King, violators of parkinglot etiquite will be the second against the wall, right after Nazis.

Speaking of Nazis, I got a letter from one the other day. It came to my email box in the "Blog" folder because it was submitted using an outdated version of the Nazi List. Apparently I forgot to close down the 'submit' page at LandingClouds, and random people have found it and keep submitting things. Two of which were from a 'Nazi Raus' and they went as follows:

Submition 1:
"Fight for somthing moral, fight for the earth, fight for your
friends, fight for your family. WE fight for you so you can go to college
and grow up and have a family, look at everything in this world, were
the light at the end of the tunnel, we only mean good in the end, Moral
superiority. I know im not right on everything, but im intelligent
enough to know what should be the underline basis for humans"

Um... ok. Weird. This guy's grammer is worse than mine, but those things aside, this is still weird as hell. He goes on and on about how they're fighting for what's right, but who are they fighting? The Media? The Government? Disney World (God knows, someone should)? I don't get it. He claims to be smart enough to know what's best for humanity, but when your really think about it, humanity doesn't even know what's best for it.

If humanity knew what was best for it, we'd only watch Cable in the Classroom, Football wouldn't be televised, the Internet would be free, and there'd be no Porn Industry (sad thought, I know). Now, if the Nazis are fighting for those things, whatever, but why do it under the same banner that preached the Genocide of the Jewish People and White Supremecy? It doesn't make a whole fuck of a lot of sense.

Submition 2:
"Sick of your peoples stereotypical bullshit, you think nazis are
bad because movies portray that, WE FUCKING FUCK FOR EVERYTHING MORAL
IN THIS WORLD, we fight for an honest living, were not dying because our
god says that a certain belive we should WE fucking belive that moral,
honest people should be our future, intelligence is what matters, grow
a fucking brain and shut the fuck up with the fucking stupid sterotypes
that were so damn evil, My best friend is jewish, and im a nazi, I
would die for him because he is a hardworking honest moral kid, Hate in
moderation, understand this concept and grow up"

I'm sorry Herr Raus, but you're too entertaining for words. Check out the part in caps. Notice the verb 'fuck', the adverbial phrase 'for everything', and finally the adjective 'moral'. I wanna know how your having sexual intercourse promotes morality. Seriously, if you bastards have that one figured out, share the secret...

Apparently Herr Raus has a Jewish friend that he loves very much because he's a good kid. Neat. That still doesn't change the fact that your doctrine was hijacked by Hitler for the sake of killing your jewish friend's ancestors. And maybe Nazis are stereotyped as millitant fuckers because of *gasp* millitant fuckers like yourself, Herr Raus. Just a thought... ["You Nazi shithead..." -Eddie Izzard]

In the name of promoting the greater good of the Blogging community, I'd like to give a special Brak Blog Salute to Rachel Klem, who has given the oh-so-deserved "Fuck You" to Xanga and switched to Blogger. To celebrate this, we give Rachel the majestic Offical Link of Mondo-Fan-Dom.

I freaked out the other day when I was drying myself off after my shower. (No, not because I was blinded by my own pasty whiteness) On my chest, right where your sternum is, I have a bump. And I don't mean some nasty-gross cancer pocket, it's just a bump. I've felt it before, and I used to just think it was because I was leaning to the side, and that's why it stuck out more, but to no avail. When I stand straight up there's this large bump on the left side (my left) of my sternum. Like a bone mis-growth. Totally weird.

The only reason this bothered me was because I'm all about the symetry, and now I myself and no longer symetrical. How depressing, you know? It's only further evidence that God doesn't like me, and never has.

Speaking of random crap that's wrong with me, I fell asleep on the couch again the other night, and for 3 days I couldn't pivot my head without lightning pains shooting through it. Does that suck or what?

A while ago when Rachel and Hope and some other people and I were hanging out at Crown Center, we were in this crayola cafe place. It's got neon dinosuars swirling around all rave-like. I stomped on one, and Hope took a picture. It looks kinda weird, and can be found at [Hope's Blog].

I walked away midway through this entry to get a drink from downstairs. In a pseudo-stoner moment I stopped and just thought about how weird walking is. Think about it, your entire body weight being pushed down only the minute (comparatively) surface area of your feet. It's a wonder people don't fall down more often than they do. It's even more crazy to look at what some people can do (dancing, martial arts etc.) while overcoming the natural order of falling down.

In these coming weeks I'll begin my war on the world via flyers. I've drafted a trial one that you can take a look at. I welcome any suggestions to layout, content, etc. Once I get it refined I'm going to print off a single high-res copy and then take it to the drugstore and photocopy the hell out of it.

[View The Ad]

Then I'm going down to the Plaza on a friday night and handing them to people. I think that's legal. I hope it is anyway. Then I'm going to leave a few piles at libraries, post a couple onto bullitan boards, put some under the winshield wipers of cars. I'm going to do all of this stuff once. If the masses approve, then everyone's happy. If no one seems to care, so be it, I can then be content with the audience that I have. I just feel obligated to expose the material to as many people as possible. (If anyone's interested in helping, let me know.)

I also have another fun little image laying around that didn't seem to belong anywhere else. [Planned Parenthood]. I still can't decide if that's crossing the line in the "Tom you're one suck fucker" category.

Here on my notepad I have jotted down "RUS/Gone MB". Initially, that was supposed to turn into a few paragraphs of content, but I've not the slightest clue what either of those mean, so lets just take a stab in the dark.

  • RUS could be my new friend from Europe (yes, Europe the country... morons) who is living in my attic and we keep on a steady diet of Keebler Club Crackers and Flat Soda Pop.

  • RUS could also be an allusion to some prophethetic dream I had about the Russians teaming up with the Africans in some crazy plan of world domination where in the end the Icelanders come out as the only victorious party.

  • Gone MB is a new game from Milton Bradley. In Gone you play a young, hip, with-it executive who has the world in the palm of his hand. Game pieces will be a Syringe, a Dime Bag, a Glock, and an un-used Condom. It'd be played like monopoly, except in reverse. You start out with everything, and you have to sell it all for drugs and excessive sex and you get arrested in the end.

Now that I think of it, that game would be funny as hell to watch.
Seriously though, if anyone knows what those mean, please share with me, because I can't remember. Even if you have no clue though, I'm daring anyone to come up with suggestions more outrageous than mine as to what they mean.

One final story, and it's kind of a downer, sorry. Lizz and I discovered a few weeks ago how to get onto the roof of the Crown Center parking garage. It's really high up and gives you a sweet view of downtown, so we went back there the other day because it was nice to just sit up there. We had fun waving to all the people in the elevators until tragedy struck.

Some fucker in a suit comes out and tells us to come around the back (towards the way we got up there). He gives us this little talking to about how we should know better than to have come out to a place with benches (obviously intended for people) and climb a ladder (also obviously intended for people) onto a roof with a bitchin view (should be intended for people), and made us promise never to come back.

As we're walking away he says "See you later then," and I retort: "Actually, I don't think you will," seeing as how we'd just spent the past 5 minutes on how we weren't supposed to be up there. I hope that man falls off his roof that he's hoarding to himself, and I hope whichever one of those elevator dicks that we waved to that ratted us out gets in another elevator.

Then cowboys will find that elevator
and cut the cable in a fit of rage
and justice will have been delivered.

As was prophesized by Tom at 05:13 PM CST
[Unique Link]