Just thought I would post this in response to you Rick

If I’m just gonna post long textual rants, I’m gonna do it on a blog. This site has tools that I have no use for.

squeakyguy.blogspot.com

I’m gonna talk a minute about some people I really like: badasses.

They are mostly men, and mostly famous and really buff, but let’s consider a few exceptions that should be noted for their badassery:

NUMBER ONE (1)- Vin Carretta. He is my 18th century lit professor. He is a man, only particularly well-known within his field of study, specializing in 18th century British writers, particularly of African descent, but he is incredibly buff. He has a deep voice, a petrifying gaze, and 2 dinner plates on his chest. I sent him an e-mail telling him how cool I think his class will be because I might just want to become his mentee a la JD and Dr. Percival Ulysses Cox.

NUMBER TWO (2)- Jesse. I don’t know his last name. He is a classmate of mine in Java I. He has great hair, a cool earring, is pretty buff, dresses well, and smokes marlboros. I don’t know for now, but he is a sexual mastiff and will fuck tons of babes in his lifetime. Hats off to you, Jesse.

NUMBER THREE (3)- Chelsea Handler. I don’t know how you can have a TV show when you’re so rude to everyone of your guests, but hers is awesome and successful. And you know how women aren’t generally successful as comedians because they’re not funny? She is absolutely hilarious. Like, hands and feet to face superlative at what she does. Also, she is the sexiest woman in Hollywood, but doesn’t exploit it.

Others on the list: Arnold Schwarzenegger, Cal Ripken, Jr., Bill Gates. I need to get all of these out of the way so my blog doesn’t evolve into “who I like and why.”

I mean, let’s be honest here. I know a decently large amount of people, a good amount of people might think I’m funny, or like hanging out with me, but I really don’t have a vast social circle where I’m overflowing with parties and trips and concerts and other types of invites. Most of the things I’m doing, I’m doing with my main dudes, and we don’t really extend our reach too much. It can be frustrating at times to get bored doing the same things with the same bros, but I’m a man of my own circumstances.

I’ve had pretty large social opportunities in my life. I made good friends with certain people in high school who I still could see regularly, I just don’t. The texts don’t happen. When I see them, I like it, but I don’t seek it out. There are people who I’ve connected with through college: roommates, dormmates, classmates, and other people who I like to hang out with when the opportunity arises. But there are a number of reasons that I don’t think it happens too often.

I’ll be focusing on one. I’m a pretty mean guy. People tend to glorify it about themselves when they’re honest, a straight-shooter, and by God I am all of those things, but it’s very difficult for me to make new friends when I’m telling rude jokes and being myself and people don’t know how to respond. Not only that, but it’s really tough for the friends I already know to invite me to things, because it forces them into the quandary “do I choose Mike or my other friends.” I make my friends look bad if they invite people to parties who don’t know me, because those people will then become uncomfortable around me, and thus, they’ll feel uncomfortable around my friends, the hosts. I’m a bad party guest, because I call people fat, stupid, boring, and a multitude of other social no-no’s that keep me out.

People like me after several months or years or so, as evidenced from being generally misunderstood and disliked all throughout high school until suddenly in senior year girls liked me and thought I was funny and I was voted class clown. I mean, that whole senior superlative bullshit was so fucking political it’s not even funny, but there I was, standing in a row mostly occupied by all the jocks and high-school popular fools.

Thing is, though, I could nurture the connections I make with people after seemingly long periods of “getting to know me.” But I don’t. I just don’t have the energy. Nor do I care too much. I don’t like stepping out of my comfort zone, and it demonstrates its own consequences readily. I thought for the longest time that I would only need to know the people who I already knew, and while that may be a way to live, my corollary to that theory was wrong: you can’t only respect the people you know, because they know other people, and if you disrespect them, you’ll find yourself with a smaller contacts list every day.

People tell stupid stories all the fucking time. They waste your life repeating their workplace gossip that you don’t even know anybody in the story nor would you care about their personal lives because you openly hate them. Luckily, my friends and I are always equipped with a new solution to preventing this kind of damage to your psyche. Be an asshole.

When your sister or best friend or their little brother starts a rant about something you couldn’t give two shits about, let them know in the most creative way possible. Here’s one off the top of my head: “If I have to force another laugh, you’re paying for my fucking chiropractor.” Use a severe tone and a little bit of profanity, so they don’t think you’re joking. Otherwise, they might keep talking, which is the opposite of what I’m trying to teach you.

“When you speak, I’m literally staring at the other people around us trying to imagine their sorry ass stories.”

Political correctness never asked us to stop applying liberal hate where it’s needed the most. There are some ridiculously fucked up people out there in the world, on the internet professing their love for minor video game characters and the like. This didn’t happen 50 years ago because fathers verbally abused their children. Now, men in our society have been neutered to the point that everything about kids has to be tolerated. But if you don’t stop the fucking kids, their bodies mature into adults, and normal people are expected to put up with these idiots.

Verify my claim: look up midnafanforum.com. Look at the category “We Love Midna.”

Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for people with different interests and appreciating art, but these kids need some fuckin’ help, and if their friends were doing their job, they wouldn’t have chosen to leave the realm of reality. 

When I fell for some broad, I thought my life was over. I just complained to anybody with ears (read: everybody) about how it coulda been so perfect but she doesn’t like me and QQ blah blah fuck. Everyone sometimes has moments where they lose perspective and leave reality. But if you just keep letting them run their mouth and be an “active listener” they think that their problems actually matter. My best friend who really stepped up to the plate at the time just told me how much of a bitch I sounded like. He would let me talk for about 30 seconds, then kick me out of his room if I didn’t stop. It forced me to face reality, the facts, and acknowledge how little it all mattered. And that’s the only way I could crawl back into the realm of the sane.

It also helped me realize that even assholes have big fuzzy hearts in their chests, too. They just go about things more quickly.

If you’re still reading this, you missed the point.

Wow. The perfect game. In the 135-year history of Major League Baseball, there have been 20 perfect games by the definition agreed upon in 1991. In short, one pitcher and his defensive team prevent any runners on the opposing side from reaching the bases. 27 up, 27 down. The game must last at least 9 innings, and if it reaches into extra innings, those must also be perfect. No pitcher has pitched 2 perfect games, and Don Larsen’s only post-season perfect game in game 5 of the 1956 World Series is attached to baseball’s most famous photograph, depicting catcher Yogi Berra leaping into Larsen’s arms. More men have orbited the moon than have pitched a perfect game.

Catfish Hunter had his cake and ate it, too.

On May 8,1968, Hunter pitched the first perfect game since 1922. That’s the impressive part. What sets his game apart though, is that he would also bat 3 for 4 with a double and 3 RBIs, driving in his team’s first (and thus, winning) run. So, not only does this man express absolute dominance from the mound and completely shut out the Minnesota Twins, but in the same game, he earned his team’s most hits and RBIs. In the team sport of baseball, he single-handedly won. He had an incredible mustache. As a kid, he had a hunting accident which left him with shotgun pellets lodged in his foot for the rest of his life. His nickname was Catfish, for crying out loud!

As far as his other accolades go, he led the league in wins 4 straight seasons in 2 different streaks (‘70-‘73 and ‘75-‘78), he won the AL Cy Young award in ‘74, won 5 World Series, was selected for 8 All-Star teams, and the Oakland Athletics retired the number 27 in his honor. When he was inducted into the National Baseball Hall of Fame in 1987, players were still able to select which team emblem adorned their cap for their plaque, and he was so pleased with his experiences with both the Athletics and the Yankees that he refused to select one team’s emblem over the other; thus, his cap on his hall of fame plaque does not have any team’s emblem.

He died at his home in North Carolina at the age of 53, but that won’t stop anyone from taking time and reflecting on his truly inspiring career story from America’s favorite past-time. Stories like this fill kids’ heads when they’re young and at play, and though I only learned about this one by skipping around Wikipedia late at night, reading it reminded me of when I was young, and dreamed of being the next great American hero.

I suppose I could go off about how annoying the press was surrounding Tiger Woods’ recent sex scandals. He’s just a stupid athlete putting his dick where he ain’t supposed to, so why does anyone care? It doesn’t remotely affect my life in the slightest what he does, so I felt that his story wasted valuable news time (read: life time) telling me stuff I don’t need to know.

My, how wrong I was for dismissing that man.

Tiger Woods is the best fucking golfer our generation will ever see. He shot 8 birdies today in the U.S. Open. He was +4 starting the day and he was barely getting any camera time. Yet the day went on.

By the time I stopped watching, Tiger had just walked off the 18th green in 3rd place to a roaring crowd. I was on my fucking feet. His 2nd shot was lying in the fairway with a huge tree just sitting in the middle of the fairway between his ball and the green. He was 240 yards away. He was looking forward to a wimpy punch and trying to maybe 2-putt for par. So, he whips out his 3-wood (dick) and lines it up into the ocean (his wife) and nuts all over the ball, landing it 10 feet from the hole (Euro porn star hole). Comfortable 2-putt to finish the back 9 at 5 under 31. 

Watching him birdie 5 holes on the back side with no bogeys was the most intensely I’ve watched a sport in months. The Orioles are the worst team in baseball, the Redskins went hopelessly 4-12 last season, and the Caps got heartbreakingly knocked out of the playoffs by the Canadiens. Yet Tiger is surging from behind and I can’t wait to watch his round tomorrow and see if he can hunt down his 3rd U.S. Open.

He carries so much energy and focus into his golf game, it’s no wonder to me why the whole world cares what hole his ball goes into. The dead stare, the amazing shot he effortlessly makes, followed by his power fist pump is one of the most inspiring things you can catch on TV today. His demeanor, electricity, and fire revitalized a sport people find “boring” and is the reason I caddy and play golf today.

One of my friends complained to me that it’s tough to be a single girl when you are competing for male attention with porn stars. Men look at porn, and so it must be the case that since porn stars are hotter than girls, they are sexier and more attractive to men than girls.

Well let me tell you something.

Porn stars are actually robots. They serve a simple purpose, and perform a simple task. They are biologically modified to stimulate boners, then captured on video and in still images to enable masturbation. It feels good. We do it so we don’t go insane, and porn stars facilitate that when there isn’t a girl in our lives to help us out.

If I was to go on about what I found sexy, it isn’t the monstrous fake breasts, the 3 pounds of makeup, and the painting and airbrushing that makes my robot women good for masturbation. The sexiest women I know think they’re ugly because of weird features, funky feet, or greasy elbows or some random reasons.

What’s sexy about women though, is the confidence, passion, humor, and love that they share with the men in their lives. And robots aren’t smart enough to do that.

It was announced today or yesterday or something that Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time would be ported in 3D to Nintendo’s new handheld, the 3DS. This announcement brought back tons of childhood memories, and I decided to reflect on what will probably always be my favorite video game.

The Legend of Zelda hit at the perfect time. I was 9 years old, still captivated with the magic and possibility expressed in the fantastic world of video games. It came out in time for the holiday season, and that winter probably saw the least sledding I would ever do. It was the most excited I would ever be for the release of anything. To those who didn’t have a N64, I’m sorry if you don’t understand.

Z-targeting, Zelda’s lullaby, Epona, the Water Temple, the Gerudo Valley theme. Where would the world be without these things? My friends and I would talk in school about how far we were in the game, and how it was the best game, and how much we loved it, but we were a bit too young to understand the gravity of how important this game was in the history of game. Although I would come to understand it as games came and went, I decided to look up the Gamespot review for a past perspective. Here’s a choice tidbit:

“This game is the real thing. This is the masterpiece that people will still be talking about ten years down the road. This is the game that perfectly exhibits the “quality not quantity” mantra that Nintendo has been touting since the N64 was released. In a word, perfect. To call it anything else would be a bald-faced lie.” -Jeff Gerstmann, November 23, 1998

Well Jeff, it’s been almost 12 years, and this is still the game everyone is talking about.

I’ve been saying faggot a lot recently, too much for me to hang out in any sort of adult presence. I’ve gotta say, it’s been liberating. Rather than worrying about some sort of backlash from male homosexuals, I’ve been shouting about how everybody’s a faggot and people are engaging in so much faggotry and people are being faggy all the time. It reminds me of elementary school when I didn’t really know anything and I wasn’t scarred by the horrible history of how humans have treated male homosexuals. So say faggot all the time, because if everyone who’s annoying is a faggot, then nobody can really take offense to it. Unless you’re a faggot.