Entries from September 2005 ↓

A few things I’ve absorbed from MySpace:

The number of “Friends” in a MySpace profile is a direct correlation to the number of hours logged on to the internet and inversely related to that person’s actual social skill.

The beacon enlightens me how unproductive we humans have become.

When my beacon is on, I feel like Frodo Baggins when he slips on his ring and he becomes visible to the Nazgûl , Wraiths of the Shadow World.

MySpace creator Tom must get laid every day.

The saddest MySpace moment is having an actual physical friend not accept you as a MySpace friend and you receive the message, “You already have a pending friend request for this person.”

To add insult to injury, you see that the motherfucker is and logs in and out everyday.

Friendster is the equivalent of a pager.

It’s about a busboy named Enrique who is blown by a waitress whose father is a chiropractor of a women who just bought an autographed DVD of Footloose off of eBay™ from a guy in Phoenix who was actually blown by Kevin Bacon.

№ 1 Can not play a dulcimer in the subway for money

№ 2 Lotto tickets should not be overflowing from wallet

№ 3 Should not be an expert dart or pool player

№ 4 Should not be fluent in Klingon or Elvish

№ 5 Must dislike Vin Diesel movies

№ 6 Can not be Vin Diesel

№ 7 Must not refer to reading as readin’

№ 8 Should not own a collection of bukkake DVDs

№ 9 Should not know how to obtain Roofies

№ 10 Must not be in a fraternity (see #9)

Ever since the Roe vs. Wade case, the topic of abortion has been a heated debate between two factions:

Pro-Life
opponents of the legalization of abortion

and

Pro Choice
advocates of the legalization of abortion.

Two new groups have developed recently:

Pro-Create
a group of Catholic missionaries living in Tahiti who are advocates of promiscuious breeding habits.

Pro-Pane
a small cult of petroleum workers outside of Houston, Texas who are advocates of illegal abortions.

It was horrible what happened 4 years ago on 9-11. People lost their lives and will always be remembered.

But what about me, I still exist. Somehow through this tragic event, I have been deleted from everyone’s mind. Erased. Eradicated. Brainwashed out of Man’s hard drive.

Nine, eleven…nine, eleven…nine, eleven

Anything missing?

What happened to “ten”!

I use to be a “somebody”. The world revolved around me.

The Ten Commandments, “She’s a perfect ten”, “Hang ten”, “ten little indians”…for Christ’s sake the majority of Earth’s civilizations use a base-10 numbering system.

Now I feel invisible. A shadow. I know what Ashlee Simpson feels like at Thanksgiving, or Tito at Christmas. What have I done to deserve this? Am I not easily divisible? Do I not make multiplying a simple task? What the fuck more do you want from me?

I could understand if I was irrational or a transcendental number. They’re enigmas.

Who knows their purpose? I don’t.

I ran with that pack in college.

π, Φ the Golden Ratio, e the Natural Number…they were all deadbeats out of they’re minds.

π was always tripping on acid and trying to convince me he was from outer space and that he helped everyone from the Egyptians build the pyramids to the Mayan temples. Give me a break.

The Golden Ratio was under the impression that he was the divine Renaissance number created by God himself. Φ was one self-righteous, ecclesiastical mother fucker.

The Natural Number e seemed normal, until you started to talk about money. Compound this, compound that…he would get this diabolical look in his eye when you mentioned interest rates. He’d sell his mother’s lung if he could profit from it.

I’m a rational number. A whole number.
God damn you all, it’s nine, TEN, eleven!