HERE I GO AGAIN (ON MY OWN)

awww shit, the new issue of H-bomb came out this month and, following my long standing tradition of anti-traditionalism, i will now, once again, fuck with harvard. (what has harvard done to deserve my wrath and spiteful tongue you ask? well, quite honestly, those fuckers do NOT respect the 'don't walk' hand on mt. auburn street, and that simply will not stand with me, friends... this aggression will not stand, man).

and let me tell you right off the back i do not discourage the dissemination of quality pornography to the willing and eager public (and you can't very well spell 'dissemination' without 'semination,' which i'm pretty sure has something to do with sperm, but I didn't go to an ivy league school, so how the fuck should i know?). i could probably live quite comfortably as a porn archivist in the blessed libraries of San Fernando then retire in gracious luxury to the summary hills of patagonia, so do not confuse me with one of the american taliban (that's right, fuckers, i said it) on god's mission to end this shameful exhibition of our bodies. fuck that.

on the other hand, i really can't stand h-bomb's pretention... their blatant attempt to portray their students as hip, brithawked, dispossessed copies of their heroin-chic-but-this-time-with-actual-heroin west coast version is pretty funny when you consider the environment in which those pictures were taken. women's' eyes are darkly painted, and they slink around weakly as if to say 'oooooo, look! i can't even afford to eat!" to which i reply, "ummmmmm, don't you pay, like, 10k a year to eat in one of harvard's many dining halls?"

and i am confused....

i have some advice for you, harvard, forget the poverty, the grit, the recreational realism, and embrace the fact that you charge well over 30k a year for entry into a themepark known best for grade inflation, specifically within the art and literature departments (ironic, don't you think?). go ahead and make your models look like a jay-z video. you've got the bling, so bling on, bitches, bling on.

if paris hilton has taught me anything (gasp!), it's that our culture has long given up on fucking someone's brains out; we'd much rather fuck the spoiled little rich girl out of our pretty, pretty princess power elite. i'm sort of ok with that... at least it draws negativity away from intellect and places the stigma square on the shoulders of the snooty. snooty? snotty.

and not that i don't have a fucking subscription to that goddamn magazine anyway....

all's i'm sayin' is i'd much rather see one of those girls in 3ct. diamond earrings eating beluga caviar off another girl's ass just as long as she doesn't use metal.... you should never let caviar touch metal, and i'm a stickler for authenticity.

and they should fucking know better for god's sake... it is fucking harvard we're talking about here...

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HELLRAISIN'

last week i made a conscious effort to eliminate sleep from my diet. simulatneously, i opened up a new door in legal drug abuse; coffee all day, the nasty, nasty devil chew in the evening, painkillers throughout the afternoon, and good old fashioned firewater all night long.

reckless was in town endearing my heart to late nights of fuckaround and bullshit (as always, thank you), until his freebird ass took off for a stint in london, his mecca london.... a confusing pilgrimage for someone often confused for arab, but i think it makes sense in context. interesting, don't you think?

i, on the other hand, hacked my way through a violent week of work and woke up from that nightmare friday morning. oy, but what an awakening... got to see the sox drop the angels 7-4 with a niiiiiice 2 RBI double from my number one guy JD on friday. i love that guy....

interesting story, though: had drinks with some old friends on thursday, asked my buddy's girl why she knew so much about me, and she replied plainly, "well... you DID used to do my roommate." reasonable enough.

ahhh, the circle of life....

alas, so i've committed to ride a cresting wave of insanity until my departure from bean town. i shall miss you, boston, i do love that dirty water. hopefully my body will hold together until then, but if not, please bury me with a life-sized cut-out of teri polo.... either the 'aspen extreme' teri polo or 'meet the parents' teri polo... either way i'm happy.

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