Archive for the 'school' Category

For a title, see May 26, 2005. Yes, this is the second time I’ve done this.

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on April 15, 2008 @ 9:02 am
in Glen Burnie, Mrs. ACW, food, movies, people are idiots, potty humor, school and suhmuhmuh bitch
. 21 Comments

Let’s see, what else did I do this weekend? Oh yeah, I threw out some of my clothes. Sounds boring, right? Not the way I tell it.

Mrs. ACW and I live the life many people dream about. We get home at about 5pm on Friday, cook turkey burgers and asparagus, eat them, and then do homework. Yes, many people are out, spending heaps of disposable income on drinks, food, drugs, and whatever genitalia makes their upper lip sweat and quiver (hey, I’m not here to judge; whatever tickles your pickle or frosts your cookie is fine by me), but none of them have the wrist-slitting joy of staying home and doing homework for four hours at the start of the weekend while not drinking or seeing any genitalia or putting any coke up our noses.

And the cherry on top of all of it? Mrs. ACW is on a diet, so she’s not eating any sugar, and since we don’t have any sugar free candy in the house, we had to go out the grocery store to insert ourselves amongst the other social superstars that can be found wandering the grocery aisles at 9pm on a Friday; frozen pizza in one hand, pint of ice cream in the other, bunny slippers on the feet and a loosely tied robe that leaves so little to the imagination that I may as well have his lumpy, asymmetrical baby-maker tattooed on the inside of my eyelids.

Less than thirty minutes later we’re home, have given up on homework, and are each a few pieces of sugar free candy deep into Hot Fuzz. An amusing hour and thirty minutes passes with nary to mar the occasion except a sudden onset of gas on my part that’s so violently offensive that I think I can feel hairs being singed off of my dangerous but exquisite backside.

After one particularly boisterous expulsion Mrs. ACW remarked that it sounded “hearty” or something along those lines. I had to agree. It was if I’d been grabbed around the torso and squeezed by the hand of a giant. It was as if I was completely out of control of my own body and it was venting pressure of its own accord. I learned a few seconds later what little control I actually had.

After a mad dash to the bathroom to learn that yes, I had in fact shat myself, I realized I was a twenty-seven year old man with no apparent control of his bowels. I immediately threw away my underwear and shorts, much to the bewilderment of everyone who has already heard this story.

“Why didn’t you just wash the clothes?” they ask, puzzlement clouding their faces.

Look, if I ever become so cavalier and casual with shit that I can look upon a beshatted object and think, “Hey, it’s just poop I guess,” please kill me, because I don’t want to live a life so well acquainted with the substance that our bodies forcibly eject on a daily basis.

I also jumped in the shower and gave the entire lower half of my body a complete surgical scrub down, because, once again, shit is gross.

Then I spent the rest of the weekend completely gun-shy because I didn’t want to fart and have to check and make sure my socks were still dry, so every time I felt a little pressure I had to get up, go to the bathroom, and make sure that the “football” didn’t make it into the “end zone” on a “quarterback sneak”, if you may allow me a football metaphor.

Lesson learned: not only does beef wreck me, but so does sugar free candy.

I’m certainly not fucking him, but I am his biggest fan

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on April 14, 2008 @ 10:27 am
in Mrs. ACW, beer, food, movies, music, people are idiots, potty humor and school
. 9 Comments

1) This Sunday morning Mrs. ACW and I woke up not quite hung-over, but not quite able to fully function with the rest of society. Though actually, now that I think about it, we were still superior mentally to the majority of the unwashed masses in our area. That’s funny, I never realized that for me to live as a normal, layabout, fast-food-eating, Norbit-watching, lottery-ticket-buying, Thomas-Kinkade-loving, Creed-listening mental-midget, I have to get completely shit-tanked out of my gourd to the point where my functional mental abilities are less than 50%. Jesus that’s depressing.

Anyway, yeah, because we were feeling a little bit stupid and completely lazy, we decided to meet our bodies halfway and give them exactly what they needed. For Mrs. ACW that was a double-cheeseburger from McDonalds (or as I like to call it, the master key to my personal flume ride of feces), and for me that was a McFlurry from McDonalds… coupled with two brainless movies from the old Redbox.

I was really hoping to watch Transformers, because I couldn’t think of anything dumber that might also be entertaining, but for the first time ever, they didn’t have it. So I scrolled through the dreck to see what else was available, trying to figure out if I wanted to rot my brain with an action movie or with a comedy, and also trying to figure out if I wanted to pay a dollar to rent any of these movies. Further, I had to pick movies that I knew Mrs. ACW didn’t want to see, because there’s no way she would let me lay on the couch watching movies she also wanted to watch while she was upstairs doing a mountain of homework. That would have pretty much been an instant crotch-punching, and I was in no mood to sustain a trouser-bashing to the old beanbag, so I went through the movies again.

I finally settled on The Bourne Ultimatum and Ocean’s 13, and those of you who are cleverer than I was that afternoon will figure out quickly how Mrs. ACW chose to make fun of me for the rest of the day.

Figure it out yet? No? Okay, let’s go to the conversation in the car a few moments after I got both movies.

“Yeah, I rented The Bourne Ultimatum and Ocean’s 13.”
“Isn’t Matt Damon in both of those?”
“Uh, yeah, I guess he is.”
“And?”
“And I guess I’m gay for Matt Damon.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t leave you alone while you’re watching those movies.”
“Why, because I apparently have a totally unconscious gay boner for Matt Damon’s chiseled features and sexy body?”
“Exactly.”

And so for the rest of the evening Mrs. ACW would wander downstairs to get something, check on me, and with a knowing look say, “Uh-huh. Just what I thought” and then walk away.

Semi-related video: I’m Fucking Matt Damon

Shaking out the cobwebs

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on March 24, 2008 @ 9:17 am
in Mrs. ACW, POS Tercel, meta blogging, money, school, suhmuhmuh bitch and the worldwide information super-tubeterwebs
. 13 Comments

Things are busy around here, so I don’t really have a lot of “teh funny” that you’ve come to expect from other websites, or “teh mediocrity” that you’ve come to expect from mine. I should really look into what it means when my goal is mediocrity and I am still constantly under-performing. Eh, maybe some other time.

Anyway, the three big things holding me up right now are:

1) Schoolwork. I’ve added a thesis-level paper to my workload for the the semester, because I have to complete it before I graduate, and the work I already had for this semester was pretty light so I figured, “What the heck?” The heck is, school work now owns my free time.

2) Sherlock has some sort of urinary tract infection or constipation or something. He’s in and out of the litterbox all the time. Mrs. ACW is taking him to the vet today to see if we can’t uncork the bits that ironically make him so irritating in the first place.

3) My car. I’m buying my grandfather’s car so I need to sell my old car to cover some of the cost. I haven’t been able to find anyone within my extended family that seems to need a car, so I’m turning to you, the unwashed masses of the internet. Run, don’t walk, to the nearest ATM, checkbook, or money order location and try for a chance at owning a prime piece of ACW memorabilia! Seriously though, if you know someone who has a teen that needs an extremely dependable but not-at-all flashy starter car, or if someone needs an around-town car that gets great mileage, please email me and let me know and I can give you the specifics. I’d apologize for essentially putting an ad for a used car on my blog, but it’s my blog, and if you don’t like it, you can eat a bag of dicks. Also, please buy my car.

Flights of the not-so-Fancy

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Anonymous Coworker
on December 7, 2007 @ 8:51 am
in Mrs. ACW, beer, devil cat and school
. 26 Comments

Over Thanksgiving weekend Mrs. ACW and I decided that since there was so much to do around the house and for our respective courses, that we should instead do nothing. So we got a plan in our head to head on down to the libary to rent us up some movies.

On the way we managed to persuade Mokie to join us, but it wasn’t really hard because he generally spends his time sitting around doing nothing anyway.

At some point while we were trying to decide what movies to watch (Mallrats and Mean Girls, by the way. Mallrats is a classic, of course. And Mean Girls was actually really funny, and caught Lindsay Lohan at her peak, just before she lost all the weight that made her attractive in the first place, and just before she became a swirling Charybdis of coke-fueled STDs.) I decided that we should drink a flight of beers and do a beer tasting. We had all day, so there’s no reason why we shouldn’t.

So we went to the liquor store to pick up some beers, when I got an even AWESOMER idea: we should do a beer tasting of a flight of shitty beers. The idea was proposed to the group, sent to the Ways and Means committee to determine if funds and livers were in good enough shape to support this endeavor, returned for a vote with a rider attached suggesting that we should also buy a bag of Doritos, and then passed with a unanimous vote of 3 yeas and 0 nays.

In case you can’t tell, that’s Corona, Miller Lite, Becks, Budweiser, MGD, and Colt 45 surrounding Wookie, who is occupying the place in the box that was previously occupied by a 6 of Guinness. Hey, we had to buy SOMETHING that was actually worth drinking.

Through a complicated system of pouring beers so that no one knew what they were drinking, we eventually got all the beers into glasses, ready to be consumed.

In case you can’t tell, that last one says, “URINE SPECIMEN BOTTLE”. It’s okay though, it’s sterilized. Yes, I’m sure. I’m absolutely sure. I own an autoclave, okay? Don’t ask.

I think we’ve since lost the list that says exactly who guessed correctly or incorrectly about which beer was which, but I do remember a few things:

-Becks tastes like a skunk took a dump in a bucket of piss

-Mokie and Mrs. ACW are apparently incapable of distinguishing Colt 45 from Miller Lite

-All shitty beers have the same color and consistency

-I guessed all the beers correctly! I am the king of shitty beer!

Back after these messages

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Anonymous Coworker
on December 4, 2007 @ 9:12 am
in i am so fucking awesome and school
. 12 Comments

Working on my final paper for my class, so I’ll leave you with this until Thursday:

I am awesome. You are a bitch.

Discuss.

My absurdly boring life as haiku

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Anonymous Coworker
on October 26, 2007 @ 10:10 am
in house, nerd stuff, school, suhmuhmuh bitch and word nerd
. 16 Comments

Winter is coming
I can tell by less cat hair
Bunched in the Roomba

Swish flop swish flop swish
Windshield wiper is broken
Swish flop swish flop swish

Car starting is a fight
One hundred dollars: new starter
Real problem? Battery

Homework all the time
Never any time for fun
Free time is extinct

Staining a deck sucks
Hurts my back, smell is horrid
Deck stink still lingers

Cinemax has been reading my blog

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Anonymous Coworker
on October 25, 2007 @ 11:00 am
in Mrs. ACW, bitches, meta blogging, movies, nerd stuff, people are idiots, school, sex and work
. 14 Comments

Last week I mentioned my Wednesday night tradition. You didn’t click that link, did you? You bunch of lazy fuckers. I swear, if this were a restaurant you’d all be sitting around complaining about how I hadn’t chewed the food enough for you. “I have to click on a link and open a whole new page and then read a bunch of whole new words to find out the context of what’s going on? Really? Maybe I’ll just go back to MySpace where everyone is as dumb and as lazy as I am.” You twats.

Anyway, since none of you clicked on that link, here’s the important bit:

I have class on Wednesday nights, and since school is so much closer to Mokie’s house than it is to my house, and since Mrs. ACW’s class starts as soon as my class lets out, I usually head over to Mokie’s for dinner. That is, as long as there’s nothing good on TV. See, I get HBO and Cinemax, whereas Mokie gets nothing, so before I go over to his house I call to get him to check TV Guide to see what movies might be showing. Most of the time it’s crap like Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift (which I’ve now seen about 5 times), or something like Fried Green Steel Magnolias Under the Tuscan Runaway Bride, so I opt to have some dinner with my brother. But he knows that if something badass comes on, like Bloodsport, or Timecop, or Street Fighter, then I’ll have to go home and watch that instead of coming to dinner.

Did you catch that? Three Van Damme movies mentioned at the end. Three. Because he’s the ass-kickingest Frenchman you’ve ever had a homo-erotic sex-fantasy about, and last night, to my surprise, Cinemax was showing Universal Soldier: The Return. Again, I realize you’re lazier than a morbidly obese Matthew Sweet in a sedentary showdown with an old jar of mayonnaise, so you probably won’t click that link, so I’ll elucidate the important details here:

Universal Soldier: The Return was released to lobotomized audiences across the US in 1999, and though it didn’t win any prizes or acclaim, it WAS directed by Some Douchebag. Though I never saw any of the other Universal Soldier movies, I remained confident that I’d be able to keep up.

The tagline was, “Prepare to become obsolete” but it probably should have been, “Prepare to become stupider”.

Here’s a plot outline from IMDB: “Universal Soldier II [wtf? This is Universal Solider: The Return, or at least Universal Soldier IV. People are idiots. - ACW] continues the story of Luc Deveraux, who has survived his experiences as a Universal Soldier, recovered, and is now working as a technical expert on a government project to revive and improve the Universal Soldier training program. When S.E.T.H., the supercomputer controlling the Soldiers, goes haywire and takes over, Luc is the only one who can battle this elite team of deadly, near-perfect warriors.”

That really doesn’t give you the full flavor of the movie though. If I were to write a plot outline, it would go like this:

Boy meets girl. Boy runs away from genetically engineered super-army with girl… on jet skis. Boy fights former WCW wrestler Goldberg. AI computer tries to kill everyone and take over the world. Girl goes away for some reason. Boy meets another girl. Boy has to go to a nearby strip club to access the internet to hack the AI computer to find out who is also hacking the AI computer at the same time so he can stop the other hacker from continuing to hack. 30 minutes of tits. 5 minute overwrought high-school-drama-department monologue by AI computer after having his “portable brain matrix” implanted in a genetically engineered super-soldier. Boy goes back to fight genetically engineered super-army with girl. Guns and explosions and hand to hand combat. Bad pun. Bad pun. Explosion. Bad pun. Plot hole. Plot hole. Bad pun. Explosion. Plot hole. Bad pun. Plot hole. Explosion. Plot hole. Bad pun. Ironic bad-guy comeuppance. Explosion. The end.

I wasn’t really paying attention to the movie, and I kept switching back and forth between that mindless pap and Mythbusters, so I might have missed some extremely important plot points, but I’m pretty sure that the directorial debut of a stuntman with a script written by the douche who also wrote Darkness Falls doesn’t really require that you watch the whole movie. In fact, I’d be shocked if the 30 minute strip club scene didn’t come about because they were at a strip club trying to figure out what to put in the second act.

“Let’s see, the first act is our introduction to the Universal Soldiers, so there’s lots of fighting and explosions.”

“Yeah, and the third act is the final battle and everything that leads up to it, so there’s lots of fighting and explosions.”

“So what to do about the second act?”

They look around, then at each other, then say simultaneously:

“A bar brawl at a strip club!”

Then they high-fived each other and ordered a round of lap dances to celebrate.

Stuffed Shells, Sex Perverts, and My Parents

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on October 11, 2007 @ 11:13 am
in Mrs. ACW, food, movies, potty humor, school and sex
. 28 Comments

Last night my life took a turn for the bizarre, if only momentarily.

I have class on Wednesday nights, and since school is so much closer to Mokie’s house than it is to my house, and since Mrs. ACW’s class starts as soon as my class lets out, I usually head over to Mokie’s for dinner. That is, as long as there’s nothing good on TV. See, I get HBO and Cinemax, whereas Mokie gets nothing, so before I go over to his house I call to gt him to check TV Guide to see what movies might be showing. Most of the time it’s crap like Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift (which I’ve now seen about 5 times), or something like Fried Green Steel Magnolias Under the Tuscan Runaway Bride, so I opt to have some dinner with my brother. But he knows that if something badass comes on, like Bloodsport, or Timecop, or Street Fighter, then I’ll have to go home and watch that instead of coming to dinner.

But that’s all beside the point. Last night there was nothing on TV so I went over for a dinner of stuffed shells and joined my parents at my brother’s house. As after-dinner conversations usually do, ours turned to wetsuit/mechanical asphyxia fetishists. My parents were unfamiliar with the person or subject in question, so my brother and I elaborated delicately, initially leaving out the fact that the gentleman had a condom-covered dildo stuffed up his ass. I originally said something like, “They found a foreign object in a delicate location” and my mom belched out, “Don’t tell me he had a fish up there!” All the while my dad was still trying to figure out why someone would don two wetsuits, half a dozen belts, and rubber underpants.

“I guess that’s what got him off” we responded. They were both incredulous, so we had to explain to them that there was a continuum of sexual behaviors that ranged from “normal” to “abnormal” both of these terms being relatively meaningless, but provided for their benefit. More accurate labels would probably be “performed by many people in a population” to “performed by very few people in a population”. I think we got them to understand that the wetsuit thing was on the “abnormal” end, but I’m not sure they realized that as a continuum there are many different kinks between missionary position and wetsuits. So we, of course, jumped right into poop fetishes.

A moderately uncomfortable conversation followed where my brother and I argued for personal freedom from government intrusion into sexuality and with my dad saying that it’s because of crazy fetishes like these that he never wants to shake anyone’s hand (wtf?) and my mom throwing out the tired canard that if we let people have weird sex we have to let people have sex with children and animals. I immediately countered by saying that kids and animals can’t give consent, but I think by that point they were both suitably horrified and said that it was time for them to leave.

Sensing their discomfort my brother and I changed the subject and they settled down for another 15 minutes or so.

When I was leaving my dad gave me a hug, and being the thoughtful reassuring son that I am I asked him, “How can you be sure I’m not into putting fish in my butt?”

Just an FYI

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on August 13, 2007 @ 9:34 am
in meta blogging, school, the worldwide information super-tubeterwebs and work
. 1 Comment

Work is picking up again, which means that the blog will suffer, and in a few weeks I’ll be starting another graduate course, and then blogging will suffer more. Just wanted to give you all a heads up so you could spend some time looking for another place to burn brain cells online. I’ll continue to update when the planets align, and when whim and free-time strike simultaneously.

You put the Hot Pocket between the Pop Tarts then dip the whole thing in YooHoo

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Anonymous Coworker
on July 9, 2007 @ 9:48 am
in food, meta blogging, movies, nerd stuff, potty humor, school, sex, the worldwide information super-tubeterwebs, word nerd and work
. 15 Comments

Well, that was an exciting bunch of day off. Quite a few people (one) asked me if there was a particular reason I was taking some time off, and the reason was actually pretty simple: I was tired of the Internet.

“Tired of the Internet?!” you scream, elbow deep in a bag of Cheetos, corona of orange dust encircling your mouth and eerily highlighted by the glow of the monitor in your mother’s basement, “How could you be tired of the Internet?!” you bellow at the keyboard, smearing the keys a deeper hue of orange before stomping up to the kitchen to make yourself your seventh Pop Tart and Hot Pocket sandwich of the day which you’ll lazily dunk in a warm tumbler of YooHoo before drifting off, genitals in hand, in front of a Star Trek/Debbie Does Dallas mash-up on YouTube. I know YOU people will never tire of the Internet; but I did.

The class I was taking focused heavily on the social nature of the Internet, and after spending all day reading, writing, and researching the topics of communities, technology, Internet culture, etc., I had no interest in actually using the Internet. I was figuratively full of Internet. The tubes were stuffed up my ass and Ted Stevens was cramming them with even more Internet.

And my job pretty much requires that I hang out on the Internet all day, so something had to give, and the blog was cut loose. I didn’t really miss the blogging per se. What I missed was the opportunities blogging affords me. Opportunities to make a long, semi-nonsensical run-on sentence like the one in the second paragraph. Opportunities to find new and more disgusting ways to talk about poo poo, pee pee, wieners, vajayjays, and grundles. Opportunities to find new ways to swear. Anyone can say “fuck” but I like to think it takes a little talent to say “nut-juggling cock-monger”.

I missed those opportunities.

I can hear you now:

“I can’t believe I put on pants for this.”

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