"there were no words back then for what she could do"

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

here comes the revolution

my housemate jon and I hit the dirt mall this morning.

pistol

price: $4.99 + tax
model: double eagle
style: single action
clip capacity: 8 rounds + 1
muzzle velocity: stings
accuracy: surprisingly high
housemates: time for retribution

now i am the master

when your time comes, will you be remembered by your creations?

dudley street, bitch, ain't a good place to wind up dead

i was reminiscing with my housemate jon about the wonderful geekiness of the TI-85 and it's psuedo-fortran programming language... so simple, so powerful and yet so intuitive. it reminded me of the time in 9th grade when stos and i wrote a program that would allow the user to "interact" with everyone's favorite violent anarchist, Mikail Bakunin. basically it would ask simply yes/no questions like "is the man oppressing you" and "have you killed a government agent today" and then recommend a course of action that would lead to a simpler, more pure existence. the point of this story follows: though you think fundamental russian anarchy is dead, it actually lives on forever in the hearts and minds of the school children.

speaking of the memory fountain, later that day, i was remembering a more recent event. some local high school chick that lives near my house told holly's mom (mother == teacher to the girl in question) "yeah, i think i've partied with that guy" in reference to me. (i'm still not sure how this conversation come up)

and now you know how i got my nick name.

-statutory Curt

i'm about to go coo coo and taste your cocoa puffs

tonight i saw million dollar baby with Clint "make my day" Eastwood. it was a damn fine flick. i can't get into the details without spoiling it, but boxing really has very little to do with the themes and ideas it explores. Morgan Freeman does a hell of a job and so does Clint (even if he isn't sporting a revolver of unimaginable calibor). this is one of those rear movies that begs you to explore the characters further while walking back the parking lot. i would recommend checking it out and try to avoid learning too much about the plot before hand. (be weary of spoilers in the ensuing comments page).

26 inch pythons

not that i feel i need to justify the hulkamania that ran wild on this page last night, but perhaps i can put it into context. a few nights back, holly and i hung out with some of her friends from high school at the local drinkery. now these three dudes were freshmen when she was a senior, so after consulting the internal book of preconceptions, i knew these fools would be know-nothing jaboni's. shit, how could they even be old enough to drink? next thing i know, these fools are running off at the mouth about the hulkster (the real one, not my brother), "hulking up" and doing bad arnold impersonations that simply consist of a generic eastern european accent repeating the tired phrase "get to the chopper..."

get to the chopper? those doppelganger bastards...

watch your backs, folks. the pod people are everywhere.

be a part of a winning team!

Did you know the Hulkster was the first wrestler to have music playing as he approached the ring?

(be sure to scroll ALL the way down)



you wanted the best.
you got the best.

speaking of boobs...

Holly gave me this card for Valentine's Day. (yes, folks, she's quite wonderful and quite taken so keep your damn hands to yourself) But It brings up an interesting point... why is it that boobs are like nature's "mind taker?" i can't help my unhealthy fixation... i'm surprised anything gets done around here at all. in fact, how is it that man, through-out all time has ever managed to accomplish anything with breasts just hanging about the place? i'm pretty sure they don't serve any purpose in the long-term survival of the species... but then again, neither does NASCAR. (no wonder i did so well in college) And, i guess like NASCAR, they just get the stupid folks into trouble. i don;t even know what that means. this whole rant is degrading fast... too many distractions.

must go... now

email your comments to boobies@inmymouth.com

ugh

[stares at blank text box for several minutes]

i'm never gonna drink again

that is all

this video makes me happy

remember becky?

got this in the mail today from becky. remember when i went to tech and lived with like 20 chicks? and then they'd get into pillow fights? naked? ...'member?

(judge this for yourself. i laughed at least once)

Twas the Night Before Carnival
By Aaron (Monkey) Richard

'Twas the night before Carnival, and all through the land
Not a student was smiling, no snow was at hand.
The grand month long statues all mighty and tall
Were all shrunk by the sun and looked stupid and small.

A lone senior looked on, a tear in his eye,
his Carnival looked lost, it would just pass him by
The snow was all melting, awash in the streets
Like a winters wet dream, absorbed by the sheets.

When from down 41 there arose such a clatter,
Like a big heavy log truck, but louder and madder.
"To Jim's" some one yelled and they all made a dash,
Leaving everything behind, except I.D.s and cash.

As the first student came, he shouted "What luck!"
For no one was parked there, but a red and white truck.
When up from the masses came a deafening cheer,
for this truck was special, this truck brought them beer.

The driver was not Santa, or a cute Easter Bunny,
Not even Curt Tompkins, though that would be funny.
Yes out stepped the driver, with a wink of his eye,
For everyone knew him, t'was the Budweiser Guy!!

Our Hero got out and he unlocked the locks;
for the cargo was beer and wine in a box.
In clear or dark bottles and in big kegs it came,
And as it rolled off the truck he called them by name.

Drink Molson, Drink Blatz, Drink sweet Lebatt Blue
Drink Killians, Drink Rolling Rock, drink all the best brew!
Take it back to your fraternities, take it back to your houses,
Take wine for the girls, to get your hands up their blouses!

The students drank hard all through the night;
Their speech was now slurred, they soon lost their sight.
They drank like huge rock stars with no bill to be paid;
The freshmen passed out, the coeds got laid.

This Carnival was awesome, it was way above par.
The students held down Jack Daniels, they held down PBR.
From distillers down in Dixie to brewers of the West;
This Carnival with no snow, this Carnival was best.

Our champion in his truck, lays down on the horn;
He's back on the road, just him, No-Doze and porn.
You could hear him exclaim, now that Carnival was over,
"Best wishes to all, and good luck getting sober!"

oh yeah...

apparently Holly spoke with Mr. T's voice mail today and it didn't have the words "pity" or "Fool" mentioned anywhere.

WHAT THE FUCK, T?

DIE PLASTIC FAT MAN!

the large garbage cans at my house love to fill up with water and become immobilized with mass. tonight, under the cover of fog and darkness, i plunged a rusty screw driver into that fuckin can again and again freeing the foul water, which streamed from it's innards like milk from the teat.

that single act was more satisfying than my entire day up to that point.

speaking of trash, why do some fuckers choose to take the form of another as soon as they claim a mate? i've known these jabronis longer than i haven't; i know the real you, you fool! are you kidding her? or yourself? some of these fools turn it on and off like a switch with each relationship, presumably until the inevitable wedding when the light burns out forever. on the list of the great tests (which is arbitrarily defined by me, based on the nights alcohol level) it ranks high to have a women that will not expect you to become a watered down version of yourself, or better yet, calls you out when you do.


Giddy Up

it's quiet. a little too quiet.

GIZOOGLE bitches! it's a novelty that will last at LEAST 10 minutes...

i hate my job, i hate my job, i hate my job, i hate this town.
i need a gun, I need a knife, I need a stick, it makes me frown.
i hate my job, i hear a noise, who's that lurking out of site?

what the?

oh NO!

the end?