Wanna Go Bowling?

With such kind words from my buddy Joe in regards to the Fraternity stuff, I thought I'd tell a few more stories. However, and I know Joe hates this, there is a fine line of secrecy still needed to be kept with Fraternity stories, or "Secret Boy Stuff" as I referred to it as in college. Basically, there are only so many of the stories I can tell, the best ones I cannot due to either Ritual Violation, or could possibly implicate my house in something they shouldn't have been involved in. Being a former fraternity president and spending every Wednesday morning in Student Conduct, trying to keep my house on triple-secret-probation instead of getting the Death Sentence.
-Side's note: Death sentence is no letters, no house for 5 years. The theory is that after 5 years, everyone associated with the house will be gone, which then the Fraternity can reapply for recognition. Now, when they get re-recognized, the university and National (the fraternity's national representives) will have their hands in every move the house makes. Everything from parties, chapter meetings and pledging semester will be in full view by and adhere to National's bylaws. What does this mean? Basically, your houase will be an Insta-Bro establishment (as soon as you are a pledge, you are a bro) with no credit in anyone’s eyes. You will rock less than the Architecture fraternity, have no bond with each other and alas no good bro-stories. But at least you'll be able to wear sweaters with PIKE or Sigma Chi on them, friggin birds.
I know that USC will never let bygones by bygones, and I wouldn't put it past the evil empire known as Student Affairs of using even my blog as evidence against my house. So, I don't get to tell you about "Pardeep, there is shit on my chapter room floor" or "Puke on ME!", but some other things I can disclose.
As i mentioned earlier, we had this sport we played called Bro-Bowling. Now, each night f the week, there was some sort of excuse to drink. Monday, you had chapter meetings, so usually after chapter, we would want to have a bonding thing, so most of us would get bombed, go to the 9-0, some shit like that. Tuesday night was pint night. Wednesday I had accounting till 6, so afterward I would go to Traditions (aka Tratty's) USC's on-campus bar, where you can buy drinks with your USC card. My bro Beck would usually be in attendance, and since he knew the head bartender (usually a Beta, passed on like heritage) we could get a few free drinks. You know how we roll when we go to Beaches? As soon as we walk in Mind erasers, surfer on acid and BL. Well, I learned that from Beck. but it was usually, a BL to start with 3 or 4 mind erasers in the span of 20 minutes, followed by a mind probe and a few more beers. the bike ride home was always fun, especially if "jousting" or "chicken" was involved. But usually it was extremely fun because we ended up just slamming into each other at full speed, falling on the concrete/grass. And I always wondered why i needed a new bike every semester. Ok, Thursday was Thursday. Friday was Friday blah blah blah. Right? Ok, but sometimes Wednesdays were mellow, and Swiss Cheevens and Gabe (i think gabe) started doing Wine and Cheese night. Pretty self explanatory. What does this have to do with bowling, you may ask? I'm getting there. Ok, at the end of the night, you might have like 9 bottles of wine or so. Well, we lived in the dirtiest fraternity house imaginable, as mentioned with the 2 bathroom reference. So dirty that the hallways were not carpeted, not hardwood floored, not even tile. We had BRICK hallways. That's right, our hallways were one step above concrete. For some reason, ‘Mo had this bowling ball in his room. I think tha ball was passed on from his Big Bro, or something, I can’t quite remember. I think if you go back there, room 20 might still have it, but I could be wrong. Well, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out where this is going. You basically turn the upstairs hallway into a bowling lane. You close the stairway door, at the back entrance end, set up a few empty bottles, go to the other end, and chuck the bowling ball down the hallway. The great part is, since it’s a hallway, it’s kinda like having bumper lanes. I’m not sure if you’ve ever been privy to hearing a bowling ball bounce down a brick hallway at 2am, crashing into a configuration of wine bottles… but it’s pretty sweet.

Roof swings are not so much a sport, but just plain entertainment. We have a flag pole in the courtyard that goes almost right up alongside our chapter room. What you do is, you climb onto the roof of our chapter room, and grab the flag cable you use to raise up the flag. You wrap that cable around the length of your forearm, like you are winding up an extension chord. You star running in a arc around the flag pole, towards the edge of the roof, into the courtyard. Imagine something like a tether ball, only you are the tetherball. You then run full speed and jump off the roof. If you do it right, you will swing around the flag pole, over the courtyard and land back on the roof on the way around. This is pretty damn fun, if you ask me. It’s like paragliding, only different. Night time is the most dangerous, usually because you are super bombed, and it’s dark. If you jump too wide, well you’re an idiot and you fall into the courtyard. If you jump too narrow, you’ll arc back into the flag pole, which isn’t very fun, seeing that Christian did that and slid down the pole, which is no problem. Yet, he was unable to see the sharp tie-box (made of steel or some other strong metal) that abruptly caught him along his side, giving him a nice gash. Don’t worry though, we all learned from his mistake. If you don’t have enough slack, you wont be able to run on the roof when you land, and you’ll just dangle, eventually falling on the gravel roof once you let go. If you have too much slack, you end up slamming into the chapter room, like a moron, not keeping your height high enough to make it back to the roof. The trick really was to have just a little too much slack, but pulling yourself up while in the air. Then once you have made it back to the roof, you let it down so you can run. Imagine jumping out of a moving car, landing is kind of like that.
Oh, which reminds me…Two weeks ago we heard witness to Chi being pushed down Manhattan Beach Blvd in a shopping cart. Funny thing is, that’s been done so many times before. Once by this guy in my house, but the person(s) pushing him weren’t his Chi-hoes.Nope it was a homeless dude he had given 5 bucks to, to push him home since he was too bombed to walk the rest of the way.

Lightning Bolt

All i have to say to THIS is: Lightning Bolt...Lightning Bolt...Lightning Bolt...Lightning Bolt...Lightning Bolt...Lightning Bolt...Lightning Bolt...Lightning Bolt

Thanks Walter Cash!

State My Creed

To bind men together in a brotherhood, based upon eternal and immutable principles. With a bond as strong as right itself, and as lasting as humanity. To know no north, no south, no east, no west, but to know man as man. To teach that true men the world over, should stand together and contend for the supremacy of good over evil. To teach not politics but morals. To foster not partisanship, but the recognition of true merit wherever found. To have no narrower limits within which to work together for the elvation of man, than that outlines of the world. These were the thoughts and hopes uppermost in the minds of the founders of the Alpha Tao Omega fraternity.
-Otis Allan Glazebrook, 1880

Yes Cash, that is what you think it is.
Yes Cash, I can still recite it verbatim on any given notice, regardless of the state of intoxication I am in, without missing a single word or stopping at any point.
No, I am not sure how I feel about it, either.

Not really sure why I gave this to you, but it just came to me last night in a cab ride home, and I decided to share it with the world.
I wish everyone could experience at least one semester of what it is like to live in a fraternity house, a real one. ASU has these dorms, and some school have like an apartment complex that by bylaws is considered a "house". But by no means is/was/ or ever will be remotely close the life experiences gained by living in a house with 50 dudes, two bathrooms, 2 pissers and 4 shitters and 8 showers. You do the math on this works. Oh, and during parties, the upstairs might or might not be for alcohol attainment devices while the downstairs is designated to "women’s" status. I do question the sanity and sanity of any girl willing to "go" in one of our bathrooms. But, the funniest aspect, was by a landslide the showering situation. First, let me preface by saying, due to cost restrains, the people who loved in during the summer, did not have the luxury of hot water. I probably showered 40 times in the house one summer, with a total time of showering, under 10 minutes. Now, the opposite is true during the semester. Not only is hot water provided for you, but at the great coincidence that you would be showering the same time someone uses the toilet, anytime someone flushes, you are literally showered with burning hot water. There are many a brother with scars on, hopefully their backs not their “woo-hoos”, from someone not yelling “flush”. The mental scarring that occurred, most definitely carried over to life outside of the Fraternity House, because I remember taking a shower at my parent’s house one Christmas break, and there was an ever-so-slight change in water pressure. I almost knocked myself out slamming into the shower wall trying to avoid the, what I thought was inevitable, shower of lava-water. To my gleeful surprise, such a burning did not occur. Thank you, mom and dad for investing in half-way decent plumbing. May God have mercy on their souls, who did not yell flush went finishing their “business”, mainly it was “stupid-chicks” who either had not been around a fraternity house enough to know the proper etiquette (on a side note, it just took me 3 minutes to find out how to spell “etiquette”, gosh I’m a moron), or were just plain stupid. Sometimes there were flush wars. These were like Mexican standoffs. You remembered a “bro” not yelling flush, so you waited in the shadows for him to shower, so you could, “flush” him. On and on it went, until one of you…well I’m not sure how they ended, they just did.
The point of these individual things is not that important, but what was, was a certain saying that went around, “Welcome to the Fraternity House”. It was used, somewhat like how our parents referred to “Murphy’s Law”, in the sense that whenever something bad happened, was happening or about to happen, that you could not or were not allowed to control, someone would shrug their shoulders and mutter, “Welcome to the Fraternity House”, and be done with it. Someone is blaring their music at 3 am on a Tuesday night, you have a midterm in 5 hours, and they wont shut it off? “Welcome to the Fraternity House”. Someone broke into your room, literally, breaking your lock, shattering the only security you had separating your room from the rest of the savages, now all you have left are shards of wood that resemble what was your door, just to borrow “World Cup Soccer” and or “Dazed and Confused”? “Welcome to the Fraternity House”. Dylon decides to piss in the middle of your room, while you are taking a shower, because you put a piece of trash in his? “Welcome to the Fraternity House”. Glass embedded in your carpet, causing you to have about a million slivers in your foot, due to bros “bowling” last night in the hallway? “Welcome to the Fraternity House”. (Side note: Please remind me to list the greatest sports/activities we came up with on random nights, “bro bowling” and “roof swings” being my two favorites that didn’t include pledges. Duck Hunt however, did include pledges). This type of disregard to someone’s plight, only because they live in a fraternity house, while however angry it made me at the time, is now brilliant in it’s simplicity. It is similar to Tao of Dell’s “it is a joke” or my previous, “oh well, get over it”. Welcome to the Fraternity House called life, boys and girls. While we might not get sweet sweaters, or Monday night deliveries, our day to day misfortunes are very similar.

Welcome to the Fraternity House, Bitches!

Come On Dell

This will mainly be a rebuttal of Dell's Rethinking Assassination , with maybe a joke at the end, if I can think of one. PLease read the aforementioned piece before moving on or else this wont really makes sense. Well, it will make sense, but you wont know why I would even bother writing this unless you spent the last minute or two reading THIS .

The question of the day was "How important does a person have to be before they are considered assassinated instead of just murdered?” The answer simply is that it has nothing to do with your importance to everyone else, per se, but more to do with the importance of the result of your assassination. Let me explain. An Assassination, by definition, is for political gain. A person murders someone out of rage or passion. A person may slay someone out of hatred or lop off their domes even though the glove doesn't fit, out of jealousy. But, and assassination is to have some direct political gain for your death. The act of the assassination is planned out, with the result being that their political aspirations, whatever they may be, will be the better off. They will have a direct gain in political sense, from the fact that you are no longer alive to meddle in their affairs or blockade their goals. So, in retrospect, the person is insignificant really. It is the importance of the gate to which will be opened that is the question.

Therefore, Governor Arnold of a few years ago would have been “murdered”. Today, if he is killed, it can be viewed as an assassination (however unlikely it is that Arnold could even be killed. I mean, HAVE YOU SEEN Commando? The dude dodged like a billion bullets). But to answer the final question, can you ever fall back down to "murder status"? Yes, as soon as there is no more political gain for your murder, as in you are no longer in a position of political stature, then you will fall back into "murder status".
I think this concept is pretty straight forward, my friends. I am even a bit discouraged that I took the last 10 minutes to type this. I might not know what the hell a 'replica' jersey is, but I sure as hell know about Assassinations.

I half promised a joke, so here one is. Stop me (as in stop reading, moron) if you’ve heard (read) it before:

There are only eleven times in history where the "F" word (FUCK) has
been considered acceptable for use.

They are as follows:

11. "What the @#$% do you mean, we are sinking?"
-- Capt. E.J. Smith of RMS Titanic, 1912

10. "What the @#$% was that?"
-- Mayor Of Hiroshima , 1945

9. "Where did all those @#$%ing Indians come from?"
-- Custer, 1877

8. "Any @#$%ing idiot could understand that."
-- Einstein, 1938

7. "It does so @#$%ing look like her!"
-- Picasso, 1926

6. "How the @#$% did you work that out?"
-- Pythagoras, 126 BC

5. "You want WHAT on the @#$%ing ceiling?"
-- Michelangelo, 1566

4. "Where the @#$% are we?"
-- Amelia Earhart, 1937

3. "Scattered @#$%ing showers, My ass!"
-- Noah, 4314 BC

2. "Aw c'mon. Who the @#$% is going to find out?"
-- Bill Clinton, 1998

and a drum roll please............!

1. "Geez, I didn't think they'd get this @%#*^ing mad."
-- Saddam Hussein, 2003

Season On The Brink

(Just to preface this, I am extremely hung over right now and it is 5pm. In the evening. )

Ok, for the now three of you reading this (three as in total sum of people reading, not meaning three simultaneously. Although that could be possible, just very very unlikely), i want to write a little about WIS. Usually the WIS (What If Sports) conversational rantings are reserved for the Rockhampalace Message Board, but since my antics have gotten lengthier, I will use this forum instead.
On a sidenote (literally), the Judges' writing style that our Law School buddy must read, the ones with lots of commas and such, are eerily similar to how I write. I know I could never be a journalist since I don't know how to use these: or these; and almost all of my sentences are runons.
A quick recap of my What If Sports career. I am in my 4th season at Cal Tech, and was passed over for 3 coaching jobs last season, one of which was outmatched by some terrible guy who is now my nemesis, even if he has no idea who or what I am. I was contemplating both opening up a new account and taking over Pamona (which would have kinda been like hooking up with someone's, in this case Josh's, ex-girlfriend) or just plain quitting. But, I had 5 Scholarships to fill and worked my butt off in recruiting. I am happy to say that I am entering my most anticipated season ever, thanks to two words: David Ortega and I got two more words for you: Yeah Baby. I would be lying if I said I wasn't not not extremely excited for this upcoming year. Season 4 is my season. It is the magic number, just look at this. I have 4 starting Freshman. 4 players starting for 4 years. 4 of my starters last names start with the letter B. B is the second letter in the alphabet and last names appear second on the screen, 2 X 2 = 4. This is my 4th season. My conference has a 4 letter monogram SCIA. It's over. I win!
Back to Ortega, this kid is AWESOME! I don't know how I got him, but he is a godsend. Right now, he is almost identical to the preseason all American senior PG in all ratings, except speed. He could possibly be a 3 year All American and be the conference player of the year as a Freshman. I am absolutely GEEKED.
But here is the conundrum. Do I stay with these kids the next 4 years and try to win a championship, or bolt at my first D2 job offer? I think this last season I finally figured recruiting out. I now have a better grasp of playing time woes (as that bit me in the ass last season) and I constantly monitor practice allocations. I heart What-if. The conference I am in, the message board is always buzzing, which wasn't prevalent in The Two last season.
(Dimes, seriously consider joining back up. You can spend 10 minutes a day before you go to bed, making your roster moves, and it is sooooo worth it.)

Ok, I'm off to finish the epilogue of Buster Olney's "The Last Yankee Dynasty". More on that topic tomorrow. Great read.

Yeah...What Are You Gonna Do

There has been much talk recently about this 'taking life seriously' or not taking it for that matter, going around and I felt the urge to chime in. Before I dive into my own philosophy, if one could even call it that, I want to extend a thanks to my very dear friend Scotty. Those kinds words you wrote, I cannot fully express what they meant to me. I'm glad you see some sort of purpose in our relationship and I really do cherish all of the moments we spent together, both in the recent and in the past. I will sincerely miss sharing a house with you, most of which are the little 6 minute-times like when I would come listen to you rant about the grammatically inept girl’s’ basketball coaches’ writing styles. Or the constant barraging of ‘Dude, pick up Josh Henderson’ I could always throw at you when you play those soccer games. I am sure you have/will miss waking up on Sunday morning to the Fight Club DVD menu loop blaring from my TV. All I can say is, thanks for the props, the fun times and constant inspirations. And No, Scott and I are not gay, we just play them on TV.
On to my “Eh, Oh Well” philosophy on life. I’m not sure where it came from, or when I got it and certainly I haven’t always had it, I don’t think. I think to understand the root of it, you have to take this type if scenario, which happened to me and my ex-girlfriend this last October, exemplifying my feelings towards more things then just life in general. Simply stated, your purse or wallet (or fanny pack Michael John) get stolen. Flat out stolen. The next few hours can be handled thousands of different ways. You can get angry, pissed off steaming mad. You can sit their and cry, blaming yourself for leaving on the back of you chair, in your coat packet, on the counter, where-the-fuck. You can kill yourself (figuratively), playing the scenario over and over and over in your head, about what an idiot you were. Or, you can shrug your shoulders, say ‘oh well, that sucks’, make a list of what you have to replace (credit cards, cash, ASB ID, Driver’s License), make some phone calls and move on. The thing is, you have to eventually do all of these things anyways, why put yourself through the anguish. Yeah, you might have been stupid for leaving it out in the open, but YOU didn’t steal it. And even you dropped it into the ocean or something, beating yourself up over it is not going to bring your wallet back. It doesn’t do you ANY good so get over it. Just say ‘fuck it’ and move on. If you haven’t read Tuesdays With Morrie, you should. What I took away from it wasn’t any of the religious ideas but one small simple portion that I tried to expand to all facets. Morrie knew he was going to die of suffocation, from coughing, not being able to breath. So when he had smaller attacks, wondering if this was the one that was going to kill him, you could feel that initial FEAR taking over. But once he realized the fear, truly recognizing the fear, he could remove himself from it. He could actually step back and say, ‘this is fear. Ok, I am not going to be afraid anymore’ and move on. I tried to adapt that to everything, especially the Friday Night scenario. It’s Friday night, you just get home from work, and you are very tired, contemplating not going out. But, everyone knows that if you don’t go out on Friday you will then be regretful on Saturday, so you go absolutely HUGE on Saturday Night. Then you are so hungover that you ruin your whole Sunday. That could have been avoided had you just muscled up and gone out Friday. So when you get home on Friday night, just talk yourself through it, ‘Ok, I know I am tired, but it’s friggin Friday and I am going out’, get yourself fired up and do it. I know this last explanation doesn’t do it justice, but in practice it makes more sense. The same type of philosophy should be used towards chicks. Your lady breaks up with you/doesn’t call you back anymore. Yeah, that sucks, but get over it. Dwelling on it, isn’t going to get you anywhere. It is not going to bring her back, it will actually do the exact opposite, so sack up, go out and hook-up with some other chick. Don’t be a pussy about it, trying to have a pitty-party, just move on. Life is hard, yes. Life is short, very very short, so why waste it being depressed over some lame broad. Chicks are stupid, crazy and fucking annoying, why let them get to you? Just move on. You have to be able to shrug your shoulders, say ‘that sucks’ and move on, seriously (seriously as in I am serious when I say this, not moving on in a serious manner). Work sucks sometimes (working in general just plane sucks) but we have to do it for another 40 years, so why let it get to you. Traffic sucks, but everyone around you is in it too, not just you, so get over it. Turn the station to something good, make a phone call or something, but don’t get pissed off by it. The guy in front of you cut you off, oh well, move on.
Wow, actually I think I just found out when I discovered this. During my senior year, Coach Hoffman had us try this new thing about visualizing a shot going in before you shoot it, then shoot it. If it goes in, remember that feeling, but if you miss, just say ‘clear’ and shoot the next one. Some of my teammates will remember me yelling ‘clear’ about a million times during this drill. But that is what you have to do. The good times, dwell on those, cherish those. But the bad times, just fucking yell, ‘CLEAR’ and move on.
The other half is this, (if I forgot to tell you there were two parts, sorry, get over that too) you have to be able to laugh at life. You have to be able to laugh at yourself, which I do constantly. Take my last weekend for example. Dellers and I had our Remy Martin night, where the two of killed a bottle Remy in about an hour while playing Halo. I guess we went to Beaches, but I couldn’t be certain because I blacked out before we left. Rumor has it I got kicked out of Beaches for being too bombed, later I found out it was because I poured a cup of water on my head in front of the Fat Bouncer. Did I avoid beaches the next night? Nope. I just went on with life. I told the bartenders, ‘yeah, I was bombed…it happens’ and went along my merry way. That next night, did the bartenders inform me that an ex-girlfriend of mine, who had the uncanny ability to always run into me at beaches, was there? Yes. Did I leave? No. Why would I? I just said, ‘oh well, that sucks but I’m over it’ and I stayed and had a great time.
Here’s life in a nutshell. Life is hard, yes, but there is no reason to make it harder. Sometimes you just have to say ,’what the fuck’ and move on. I probably dropped too many F-bombs this post, but I think it helped my point, as that is basically how I live my life.
We live in a world where others have it much worse then us. If my biggest problem is that my PS2 is broken and Joe is not farther in GTA than me, great. It is Friday Night, it is snowing here in Shanghai, I am going out anyways. See ya on the flip-SIDE!

TGI shut the hell up

It's Friday evening, about 6pm. Usually I would be excited because I am in the tip of the weekend, but pissed that I am still at work. Only today is quite different. See it is friday, yes...but is not FRIDAY!!! because I have to work Saturday, Sunday and half of a day on Monday. So in essence, Thursday was like Humpday. But even Friday is not like a Thursday. This Friday is like Thursday morning since it comes after a Humpday, but I cannot even be excited like I am on Thursday mornings. See on Thursday, you are very close to Friday, all you have to do is get through to lunch and you are home free. But not today, nope not today. In reality, This Friday is like a Tuesday, only a Tuesday when you had no weekend. This friggin blows. I cannot begin to explain the frustration I have right at this very moment.

My buddy Dell wrote this in his blog yesterday, “AND a pretty decent show on The News Corp Channel” only, it would have made me extremely happy if he had meant, “The New Corp’s Channel” instead of FOX. Who wouldn’t watch a channel dedicated to the Corps (not corpse but the Corpolongo brothers. )?

Some of you may know I have two older brothers, Doug and Shawn. Shawn owns a restaurant up in Morroy Bay, that if you have a chance, you should check it out. It’s called Shawn’s on Main, a tapas joint with prolly the best food you will ever eat, literally. I mean literally. Well, I tell you this for two reasons. 1) You should eat there and B) The sentence “Shawn, I run her adult bra” can be made using only and all of the letters in my full name, except for the comma.

Haha. It’s Friday Night and I am not going out, SAWEEEEEET!

Say it Ain't So

This might turn into a really long entry, or if you are lucky (or unlucky depending on how you look at it) you'll get a few smaller ones. It all is determined on how successful I am at segwaying various topics of no relative correlation, except they all interest or have to do with me. So there. I must first chime in about the recent and recurring news of Norm Chow’s eminent departure from USC’s family. First let me start by listing the recent jobs he was linked to, but did not receive; College: BYU, Stanford, Arizona, Syracuse and Kentucky; NFL: San Francisco, Baltimore, Arizona and now Tennessee. Is he the New York Yankees of free Agents to ADs and GMs of NFL teams? A free agent talks with the Yankees to get a market price or counter offer on his head going up, then following up with another team and signing for more than they normally would have, had the Yankees not been involved. Many times a FA has no intention of wearing Pinstripes, just wants more money from some other sucker team. In this case, Teams and Schools have no interest in Norm Chow taking over their system. They just drop the Norm Chow name, to create some buzz and some interest so they can get better candidates, lower salary whatever the case may be. Every team is a believable candidate for Norman, since he “desperately” wants to be a Head College coach so he can be the first “Asian-American” head football coach in DI (I do not refer to DI as ‘The One” as I do to DII being “The 2”, since the title of “The One” was taken by a high school senior in the class of 1997, some many years ago). So you ask, (actually you don’t ask because only my USC friends care about this topic or my opinion on it, so you might as well skip down to another topic, except Joey since Joe is a die-hard ‘SC fan) what is your take/feelings on it? Well, first let me say thanks for asking. Second, Norman “get the fuck out”, seriously and don’t let the slamming door hit you in your fat ass on the way out. Here’s how I really feel about it. This whole Norman Chow situation is like in college, when you had a hot girlfriend that keeps leaving you for some older guy with a real job (read: NFL or Head Coaching Position). Then when said "older guy with job" decides she's not what they want, or they were just trying to get their Ds wet or whatever, she comes back to you. She acts like she never meant to leave you, and that YOU are the one she always wanted. So you keep accepting her back because A) She's hot* (Great Offensive Coordinator) and B) the sex is great (You win Championships and Heisman Trophies). But you know that as soon as another "older guy" decides to talk sweet to her, she'll bolt quicker than Ty Law. So, my advice is this, you might as well find a new chick or else you'll be going through this same coming-and-going thing forever, and it sucks. Even if the new chick isn't quite as hot, or the sex isn't quite as good, hey at least you're getting' laid, right? And you won't have to keep worrying about where she is on Saturday nights when she wont answer her cell phone, that little tramp.

So that’s how I feel, rest easy tonight little girls. By the way, I am thinking of starting a recurring them in each of my blogs, like Dimes does with his song lyrics. Only, this is entirely dependent on the material being presented to me. I think it will be along the lines of, “Actual statements made by my friends to me over Instant Message”. While I hope the title does not end up that lengthy, you get the idea of where I am going here. For installment #1, come from (I’m at a crossroads here, do I keep it anonymous or not?). Ok, no names yet, but maybe in the future, and it’s not hard to figure out who this guy is.

“i got a replica gary payton white lakers jersey for 10 dollars at TJ Max today .” Replica, you say? Are you sure? You mean they don’t sell real, game worn GP jerseys at “The Max” anymore? Say it ain’t so!

*By the way, I don't think Norm Chow is hot, but after that shellacking of Oklahoma, I might** make out with him.

**probably not, but you never know***.

***Chris, I won't make out with Norm Chow, so stop asking me to, seriously.