Saturday, October 29, 2005

You know what I hate?

When someone is all " Oh my god, I love New York! I went once and it was like so totally cool!". Okay, I get it; you can travel. Seriously, people do it every day. In fact some people actually live in New York, and to believe it or not you are not the only person in the world to be privy to it's supposed "awesomeness". So let's both just face the facts that chances are not only will you more than likely never get to go back to your beloved New York, but you'll also probably die alone.

Friday, October 28, 2005

I showed you mine, now show me yours

If you're reading this, which of course you must be if you can see these words; I want you to do me a favor. Look below and search for that little button that says "comment", now once you open all that up, I want you to type the title and artist of the one song that makes you want to rip off all your clothes, quit your job, drop out of school, and become a stripper for a living. And be honest with me, I want to, I need to know.

Just for the record mine is: "I'm A Slave 4 u" by Britney Spears.

Did you know that:

People in California have been reading my site? And also someone from Sulphur, and someone who goes to Louisiana State University as well. Well if you'll all just do me a favor, and not tell any of my actual friends or my parents about this that would be just great. Thanks.

Also mad props to Site Meter.

Also person who found this site while searching for "tampax", I think we need to get together for some discussion.

Wednesday, October 26, 2005

From now on, I'm no longer giving out my email address.

I was originally going to write something about karma, and how it loves to screw me over in the most new inventive ways. But instead I'm going to write about chain letters. I fucking hate them. That's all. So if you ever have the urge to send me an email about any of the following things including but not limited to: dead babies, serial killers, urban legends, send it to ten million people if you love Jesus, or my personal favorite subgenre the " if you don't send this back you'll either die, become sterile, or shit bricks for the rest of your life" chain letter; do me a favor and don't.


The Stages

Happiness is:

A full tank of gas, and an open road.

Fustration is:

A full tank of gas, and nothing but traffic.

Sadness is:

A full tank of gas, but no license to drive, car, or friends to share the moment with.

Monday, October 24, 2005

A haiku of desperation:

Brown hair and blue eyes
Can sing, write, and speak English
Still available

Thursday, October 20, 2005

We don't want any:

I've been up for a full day and a half, and the only comments I've recieved are advertisments.

That's no fun.

Just trying out this whole blogging through email thing

So, are we on the air?

I'm sure you could cover up that extra head with a hat or something

Last night as my father was flipping through the six hundred channels on the television in the living room he came upon something that both amused and disgusted me at the same time. In case you didn't happen to catch it on the Discovery Channel there was a lovely broadcast entitled: "Born with two heads". The true story of a possibly German girl (the language was quite ambiguous) being born with two heads. Not quite Siamese territory, but not quite human either. Like seriously it was this perfectly normal baby girl, with an extra head growing from her cranium, no other body or anything, just a head and some odd flesh colored leftovers. And get this, they survived!

Well at least they lived until I stopped watching at the commercial break, whether or not they survived after the advertisement for Tampax Pearl or not is beyond my knowledge. Though, that's all really besides the point. This got me thinking, if I had to be born with someone else's head attached to my own, who's would it be? Not that you usually get a choice in this kind of matters, but I'm going to pretend for a moment that I have some kind of cosmic connection that can help me out here.

I'm thinking the best kind of head to be attached to would be an annorexic one. Don't get me wrong, I'm totally not trying to glorify eating disorders here, but if you had an extra head attached to yours, I'm sure you wouldn't want it to be eating twinkies until your weight balloons to the upper hundred range. Oh! Even better, if you could somehow have an animal head instead of another humans. I'm thinking baby elephant head. I mean really, who couldn't get behind something like that? I certainly could. Don't lie, you could too.

Postarita: Defined

3 Entries found for Postarita

Postarita (N) Poe-stah-ree-tah

1. A blog to discuss the funny and thoughts of a ninteen year old boy.
2. Post as in post hurricane Rita that completely uprooted said boy for nearly two months, and nearly destroyed his home town.
3. Postarita as in if you switch it out for "Senorita" in the Justin Timberlake song of the same name, you have a catchy pop diddy.

I'm not going to lie to you, this is not my first blog. Chances are this won't even be my last blog. Though, I'm hoping beyond all hope that this is the blog that actually sticks. So, if you can excuse my incorrect use of commas, and attempts to be witty, I promise that I'll be entertaining at least forty percent of the time. Or at least I'll try. So stick with me baby, you know I love ya.