I'm crazy...crazy for feelin'...so oh shit I gotta go to work

oh shit i gotta go to work!

Like Having a Gun To My Head....Well, not really anything like that.

Holy Industrial Soaps Batman!
I slipped really badly at work today on a puddle of water and soap that spilled out of my mop bucket.
Mop Bucket. Say that a few times to yourself. It's delightful. Don't forget to annunciate now. Diction is key.

UGH, Carter is making me post this nonsense blog post. So with nothing to say, no stories of Shrimp Shackdom with which to regale you, my loving audience, I will speculate.

And speculate he did, for about 10 minutes, to no avail.

There's a bug in the bed. Holy Fuck. It was just in my hair. Holy fucking... oh shit where did it go. UhhHHHHH. I hate this. This was worse than the battic. Ah, the battic. Let me tell you a story.

For a little over a month, I squatted in my Lena and Lucas' house. Living in the attic and not paying rent. The deal was that I pack it up, which I did (but not as much as lucas) and that I coexist peacefully with the bat that lived in the attic.

Funny story, the bat didn't agree. I spent the next month living in complete fear of getting into bed at night. I would creep up the stairs and go to my room. it was dark and there was only one bare bulb in the room, which I would turn on once I got into the room. I covered it eventually with a lampshade which cast the most sinister orange-red glow everywhere. Then I would freak out when I turned around and saw an enormous poster of Peter Pan leering at me. I can't find a picture of this poster but it was about 6'x'5' and had Peter Pan with a candle light shadow and a little grin on his face. ugh i can' t really even think about it now. That shit freaked me out. So after jumping like a strung out Cap'n Hook at the sight of Pan, I would move to the bed to try and get it. I say try because on occasion it would take me many attempts. Imagine for yourself. You're crawling into bed. And the covers are at the bottom of the bed. So you sit at the top and proceed to put your legs under the covers at the bottom of the bed. All rumpled up. Dark. Can't see what's under it. Feeling around with your feet. Could be a BAT! OH MY GOD GO GET OUT OH OHSHIT OH ok.. no bat. I can sleep tonight.

Now imagine going through that, every night. At one point I threw "good ol' Peter" down the fucking stairs.. served him right.

This story has a happy ending. The bat and I eventually became friends. He would come downstairs and fly around the house during parties. Which, by the way, was awesome. A room full of drunk kids don't really expect, dare I say know how to deal with a bat flying at face level in circles through the dining room. Endless fun. Soon we learned how, through the use of brooms and my limited experience as a lacrosse goalie, how to get him back in the battic. Where he and I would peacefully sleep next door to each other. Waiting to hear which one would masturbate first.

And that kids, is the story of the battic.

And now, this bear wants to know a few things. And you'd better have some answers. Oh yes, you better.

Givin' The Peeps What They Want. Shrimpa-limp Shacky.

I work in 2 hours. I work 15 minutes away in nearby BALLSton Spa. There, I make shrimp. I put sauces into small containers with lids called...wait for it....liddles. Tartar, Cocktail, Chili, Honey Mustard. That's what I do all day. I sling shrimp. I push prawns. I - nevermind. There may be more alliterative pairings for selling seafood but I don't want to go into it. Turning tuna. *snicker* oh i gotta write that one down.

I work in 2 hours. Fuck. Dammit. I don't dislike my job, don't get me wrong. But fuckonyourface I don't want to go right now. I'm hungry. I don't want shrimp. I don't care that it's fresh. Fuck. I want an egg.

A Response to One "Carter": The blog war is indeed on. We have gone steel to steel, keyboard to keyboard. It seems as though you have emerged the victor. That could be because you know HTML. That could be because you have your own host. That could be because you can make a website in under 2 hours. That could be because you're funnier than I am. That could be because I spend too much time drunk. That could be because I spend way too much time drunk. I'm drunk right now. That could be because I have a problem and the first step towards recovery is admitting you have a problem. That could be because you have prettier fonts and now that I think of it, the ability to change and manipulate font at all. That could be because I'm typing in a little box that I could have made in Java class. Dammit blogger.

\But I will not be defeated so easily. Like any good fascist, ahem sorry, freedom fighter, I will hole myself up in a bunker. Like Hitler, Hussein or that Guy with the turban, I will disappear underground...MY MYSTERIOUSNESS WILL THRIVE!!


you cannot defeat me. I am a legend.

What Happens If You Go Straight Through The Brush Instead Of Around It? or If I Leave My Shoes In The Woods In The Dark Will I Ever Find Them Again?

Alright. Alright All Right. shrimp shack.
tear tear tare.

It all began when I picked up about 11-13 heady friends of Shanks'. It was a motley crew to say the least and luckily I made Lucas drive his car behind me to accomodate the rest of the drunk roving band of hippies. They had all just seen some hippie band and now they needed hippie beer to go home to a hippie party. Among the cast of characters were Julia the rolling dready, Brian (Shanks' friend from Berkley), Joey (who I have no idea who he was but everyone kept talking about him), a group of people I will henceforth call the nameless headys and of course, my favorite, Mike. But we'll get to him in a minute.

So I pack my car full of a band of nameless hippies, half of whom I think were rolling, and enough beer to stock Cheers while all the main characters drink themselves to death and Frasier's like "Noooo my spin-off got canceled!". Dammit I just didn't like Cheers that much... but I digress. I leave Lucas to fend for himself. Point of Order: Lucas had been really reallllly funny all night. Like more so than I've ever seen him. Cracking jokes and laughing LOUDLY, doing practically the entire dance break from Thriller, so I was like wow Lucas is fun. Lucas was drunk Jamie, poor naive Jamie. Flash back to the present Lucas is standing in front of the Civic Center with about 8 screaming hippies and 3 cases of beer and open containers everywhere. *Bweep Bweep* The Cops roll up. The hippies at this point are still drinking on the street and screaming for Wheels. No one knows where Wheels is. No one I know knows who Wheels is. The police proceed to ask the hippies to take it off the street. The hippies comply to the best of their ability. They drop a 12 pack of beer into a storm drain and stumble into Lucas' car. Lucas meanwhile is trying his best to look sober. He doesn't have his license, he left it at the house because he didn't want to get caught drunk driving. The People v. Lucas' Sobriety, People's Exhibit A. I have no idea this is going on, I'm already back at the house. Lucas eventually makes it home. Wheels never showed.

It didn't all really begin when I picked up the hippies. We had had another party earlier that night with just a bunch of rando people who came over. Some of my ex-coworkers from Scallions Restaurant were there. One was a douche and Mackenzie and Lena made fun of the other one for being thin and asian. It was racist. It was funny. I felt awkward. A couple of our friends from a few years ago Jon Eick and Dibbes were up. So festivities were in full swing in this enormous decaying yellow victorian mansion. We threw some beer bottles around, cause we found out that being drunk and throwing glass bottles on a tile floor is just the right combination of risk, reward and tension to entertain not just those involved, but those watching as well. Beer Toss is, in fact, a spectator sport. The douchebag I worked with came into the room and said merely "This is so primitive." He is an idiot. He also told Mackenzie that she can "Work for him someday" in response to her telling him that she is getting her Ph.D. in Chemistry. Idiot. It was a good night. And just when we thought we were getting into the wee hours and it was time to go to bed, I called Shanks. I wanted to stay out late after working a reallly long day at the Shrimp Shack.


I didn't think at all about emerging from the forest at the edge of the property, covered from head to toe in mud, soaked to the waist, holding 3 cell phones, 2 wallets, 6 dollar bills and a pair of black monochrome Chucks. I didn't even know that it was morning .

to be continued....

Hot or Not?

I am currently listed on Hot or Not dot com. For those of you who didn't know. That's right, I myself and I am a member of the elite. The top tier if you will. The cream de la cream. Well, time for me to go check up on my rating...I'm expecting great things.




I'm a 5.3. Fuck. Fuck shit dammit. I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS BULLSHIT. A 5.3. I'm hotter than 48% of the men on this site. fucknits I fuck fuck fuck i don;t deserve this shit. I'm the hottest thing since a bun in the oven. but not like the preggers kind, like an actual bun in an oven. 350 degrees baby burnin up! A 5.3, must be a glitch in the system. Or a bunch of jealous busted chicks voted for me over and over again. Stupid busted chicks. Jealous of my shining hotness. Look at those eyes. Sumptuous. I'm looking sincere, and off into the distance, almost surveying my future. It lays out on the landscape before me. A man with a plan. But the face is soft enough to be tender and severe enough to know that I can protect the woman (or man, Brendon cough) on my arm.

I am majesty. Not majestic, adjectives do me no justice.



So, I just was trying my best to sabotage people's scores on hot or not dot com, and in the midst of realizing how childish and trivial it is, but more how I'm probably not making much of a dent, I ran into this winner. This, lady and 2 gentlemen who read my blog, is The Guy I Lost To Really Badly





A 7.4.

No....words...