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Cuda_detat
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Name: Michael
Country: United States
State: Texas
Metro: Austin
Birthday: 4/21/1984
Gender: Male
Interests: Music, golf, watching CSI, drinking beer, and as always...Reading Guns & Ammo while masturbating in my own feces
Expertise: Getting not dates. I've never failed
Occupation: Student
Message: message meEmail: email me
AIM:  JonLeePedimore3
Member Since:
5/31/2005
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| It's been so long since I last posted that I had to re-read my last entry to try to regain some momentum. With that in mind, Anna Nicole Smith has now been dead for 11 months and 9 days and I STILL don't miss her.
I was on my way back to Texas to start the new semester when, after passing through a third different city with a Martin Luther King Jr. Dr/Blvd/etc, I began to wonder why the good Doctor K. is so much more important than any other heroic historical figure as to have his own street in every town in America. Now I'm not knocking MLK, or even saying that he shouldn't have all these roads, but can some other brothas get some love, too? What about Rosa Parks? She actually protested through the transportation system. Doesn't it make sense then that she should have some streets? We could call it the Rosa Parksway. It could run through campus as part of some "I'm not moving to the back of the" Bus Routes.
Here in Texas you could honor Davy Crockett. He died for your freedom, Texans. Yet I don't see any "Thanks, Tennessee, for giving us so many volunteers who we got killed all so we wouldn't be Mexicans any more only to later become the cockiest state in the union as if we were our own country so we contrive the most fucked up constitution imaginable and build a highway system with absurdly complicated access roads to confuse the hell out of visitors from other states" Avenue. In case you couldn't tell, I'm a little fed up with things like a pledge to the Texas flag and "national beer of Texas."
Hey that reminds me: HOW BOUT DEM COWBOYS!
While I'm talking about football, I'd like to honor the man who I consider to be the greatest member of the NFL ever. He's not a quarterback. He's never scored a touchdown. He's neither coach nor owner. He's Ed Hoculi, greatest referee in the history of sports. Ed Hoculi is simultaneously the most intelligent, well-spoken, mistake-free official in the game, and an incredibly ripped badass mother fucker who could crush your chest with a single illegal block in the back signal. In a game a few weeks ago, a player got too close to Ed while he was pointing to indicate which team had committed a penalty, and Ed inadvertently hit the player. Ed could have snapped the behemoth in two with is pinky toes, but because Ed is a first class, fair-minded guy, he simply cast a disapproving stair in the player's direction (at which time he probably used his eyes to suck out that player's soul). You might be thinking "could a referee really be the best persona the NFL has to offer?" YES, BITCH! Let's compare him to the competition, and you will see that the evidence speaks for itself.
There's Tom Brady. Unlike Tom, Ed Hoculi is not a pretty boy punk who has Sean Salisbury of ESPN (a colossal dumbass) sucking his dick every night. If you don't agree with me about Tom, ask the son he abandoned what he thinks of his dad for knocking up his mom then running away to bang a far less attractive model.
Next let's consider Tom's coach Bill Belichick. Dirty cheating mother fucker. Has Ed Hoculi ever been involved with cheating in the NFL? No. Ed Hoculi never broke the law, HE IS THE LAW! Seriously, he's a partner in a law firm.
What about Michael Vick? The most exciting player in football. Oh, and let's not forget killer of dogs. Ed Hoculi doesn't have to train pit bulls to kill each other; Ed Hoculi could take on a pit bull with his bare hands, rip off its nuts, and shove them up its tailless ass. But he would never actually do that. Ed Hoculi loves animals. After all, he nailed your mom, and she's a cow.
And of course Chad Johnson. Chad likes to call himself the Ocho Cinco. Chad...please. The peroxide you used to bleach your mohawk must have seriously impaired your judgment if you are worthy of wearing the same number as Mr. Hoculi. Now shut up and go race a Shetland Pony.
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| Good news, my nutsack isn't burning any more. I know you've all been very worried about me in the month since I last posted about my firey balls. Here's the scoop on that. I managed to strain a muscle in my thigh one day, and put some knock off brand ben-gay on my thigh to relieve the pain. It resulted in the tingling burning sensation. This feeling slowly spread up my leg and across my scrot. But that all got better within a day. So no worries.
I'm sure you're all very curious as to what the hell's been going on in the world the past several months since I last posted anything substantial. First, let me apologize for such a long absence. I've had so many wonderful topics to discuss, yet I never got around to it and I surely won't be able to remember it all now. But I'm going to try my best starting...NOW!
Anna Nicole Smith has been dead for one month and two days...and I still don't miss her. Will someone please tell me why tv guide channel is still running up to date news about the latest in this horrible tragedy. And by horrible tragedy I mean completely irrelevant occurrence. Anna Nicole Smith brought nothing to this world. I'm not saying I hated her. I had absolutely no opinion. And I don't want to know who's winning the battle for custody of her remains...as long as that winner is not me.
I would be remiss not to mention that Julie is now my neighbor. It's pretty awesome. She's always there to lend a cup of sugar when I need it to bake a cake. We gossip about boys and braid each other's hair. Later this week we're going to get pedicures together. Alas...I fear it is soon coming to an end. I thought we were totally bff, but I guess she doesn't like being my neighbor because she has decided to move to Seattle. It hurts when someone trades you in for a cup of coffee and a Space Needle.
I just now saw on tv that there is a girl how cannot stop sneezing. She has been hospitalized and is begging America for a cure to her rampant ah-chus. She reminds me a lot of Butters in the episode of South Park where he goes on talk shows as Boy with Balls on Chin. Somebody just stick your finger under this girl's nose. It always works in the cartoons.
There's a guy on the new season of The Real World who has a boyfriend but he can't stop making out with girls. This is just not fair. He gets girls to like him by being gay, then gets to make out with them by claiming to still be confused, then afterward there are no strings because he can just go back to being gay and the girls love him again. This brings to mind a plan I've had for a long time that I've never instituted. I'm going to "come out of the closet" wait for some girl to fall in love with me a la Will and Grace, then let her "convert" me. It's foolproof.
Several months ago I got one of the worst hair cuts since Pete finally engaged his barber in conversation on the final episode of Pete and Pete. This woman was a brilliant saboteur. She initiated the event by asking me which way I comb my hair, saying it was important for her to know for proper layering. She further impressed me by saying that by leaving the hair surrounding my bald spot a little longer it would minimize the appearance of baldliness. But then I soon realized that this was all a rouse. She succeeded in cutting the hair along my hair line far to short, as she interpreted my decision to comb my hair forward as a preclusion to the Caesar cut. She then cut of my entire left side burn and then asked me if that was how short I wanted it. I was left with no choice but to have her sacrifice the other. She concluded by asking me if I wanted in product or if I prefer to let my hair fall naturally, as if this abomination of a hair cut could ever pass for natural. When I said I wanted no product, she immediately doused my head in hairspray. How such incompetence could ever make its way into a Wal-Mart Salon is beyond me.
Golden Boy Brady Quinn totally sucked ass in every big game of Notre Dame's season. He choked harder than Charlie Weiss on a chicken bone. Nothing really more to say about that. It's just awesome. Way to wake those echoes.
Chad and Jason are coming to Austin on Tuesday. Plans for their stay include scaling the Frost building to see if it's real ice at the top. If it is, we'll chip some off to have cocktails. I also have to introduce them to the many great things one can only do in Texas: cow tipping, taking precise measurements of our dicks to see if in fact everything is bigger in Texas, and peeing on the Alamo...and then yelling at the cops who arrest us and tell them that if we hadn't given them Davy Crockett that this would all still be part of Mexico.
I took a midterm on Wednesday in a class for which I never take notes, do not own the book, and have skipped multiple times. I got a B. Just remember that every hour you studied, I spent knowing I'm smarter than you.
Update: I still don't miss Anna Nicole Smith.
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| The right side of my nut sack is tingling and burning. And now the sensation is spreading to my left nut. An explanation of this phenomenon along with so much more is coming soon to the Gospel to make up for my extended absence. At this time I must begin preparations for Peyton Manning to win the Superbowl over those herpes-ridden Florida Gators Rex Grossman and Alex Brown. So for now I've told you all I have time to tell...my nut sack burns.
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| I have been faced with many things in the past day or so that really bother me. They are quite unsettling and a little hard to talk about, but I don't think they'll get any better if I don't let other people know they are such a problem in my life.
The first thing I need to discuss has actually been a problem for me for most of the time I've been in Austin. When I first got here this was a bigger problem than it is now. I guess it should be expected that at first it would be difficult to adapt to this place. But even now it feels like I encounter this problem a lot, and it just leaves me feeling lost. I've talked to a few people about it already. IT'S IMPOSSIBLE TO FIND A STREET IN THIS TOWN!!! Either the street you're looking for doesn't have a street sign at all, it has a sign but there is a large tree branch overhanging blocking any view of the sign, or the sign is set back from the road and away from any light source that would make it possible to read the sign. Just one of many problems with driving around the fucking roads in Austin.
I came face to face with another problem last night. I realize that there is a huge obstacle in my way of really being able to express myself to others. The status section of facebook won't let me use any first person pronouns! I wanted to tell the facebook community what "I" have been doing with "myself," but fucking facebook changed all first person pronouns to third person pronouns. I makes me feel so inhibited.
The biggest problem I've encountered yesterday came to my attention during the day as I was watching the college football shows on ESPN and ABC. I thought maybe I could get away from it for a little while when I went to the Texas v. OSU game, but it thrust itself in my face again on that enormous LCD screen. Girls should not paint letters on their chests to spell words when they stand next to each other like guys do. I appreciate the spirit you're bringing to the stands, but you're just such a tease. Whenever I see people with letters on their chests I immediately think that these people are not wearing shirts. With guys it's always the case. But girls wear those flesh-colored tank tops and paint letters on them. I see the girls and think "HOLY SHIT THOSE GIRLS ARE TOPLE...nope their wearing those Goddamn tank tops." FUCKING TEASES!!!
In other sad news, as we are all aware by now, The Crocodile Hunter was killed a few days ago by a sting ray. I'm not necessarily sad about Irwin himself, but moreso for the crocodiles of the world. All the times that dumbass stuck his head in their mouths, and a fucking sting ray robbed them of the glory of finally ripping his body limb from limb themselves. I can just hear them saying "that bastard was supposed to be ours!"
Ok, that's a little mean, it is sad that he's gone and of course I have sympathy...or is it empathy...for his family. But come on, we all knew it was only a matter of time for this guy.
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| So a few days ago I was very upset by the simultaneous combination of having to get my car back from the bastards that towed it FROM MY OWN APARTMENT COMPLEX WHERE PARKING IS RESERVED FOR RESIDENTS AND GUESTS, OF WHICH I AM THE FORMER! and the sudden reversal of fortune to which I alluded in my previous post. I am not sure if I can divulge the full story here, but let's just say on Wednesday I received an incredible opportunity, and on Thursday I lost it.
But since then something incredible has happened that has changed my life. I cannot be upset anymore-which considering why I was upset is quite remarkable-because of the awesomeness that was unleashed upon the world this past weekend. Snakes on a motherfuckin Plane is the greatest thing to happen to humanity since man discovered fire. I shit you not. Snakes on a Plane is the greatest movie ever made bar none. My life has new meaning now that I have been blessed by this wonderous miracle of film. Go see it. Many times. You may find it hard to believe that Snakes on a Plane is in fact that good a movie. But take my word for it. If you go see it and don't like it. I'll give you your money back. No, actually I won't, because if you in fact don't like Snakes on a Plane, then you don't deserve the money you spent on it. You don't even deserve the air you breathe. But if you do love Snakes on a Plane, then shout it from the rooftops. Let the world hear the battle cry: "I HAVE HAD IT WITH THESE MOTHERFUCKING SNAKES ON THIS MOTHERFUCKING PLANE!" Let every generation from now til the end of humanity know of the greatness of this masterpiece!
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