Thursday, September 30, 2010

Dreadful Movie Night: Part I

So I'm in college, see? And in this college, believe it or not, I have friends. Ruggedly handsome friends.

But that's not the point.

The point is, every now and then, we get together, smoke a few cigars, pass around the rum/beer/antifreeze bottle, and sit down to watch a terrible movie. This "bad movie night," as we so creatively call it, has become somewhat of a tradition amongst us young 'uns. So much so that we're running out of ideas as to films to see. So I ask you, dear readers, to give me some suggestions on movies so foul, so terrible, so drastically dreary that they actually turn the corner and become good again. To give you an impression of our favored oevre, here's a clip from our latest showing - Megashark vs. Giant Octopus:

 So yeah. Give me some bad movies people!

The End of History

I can imagine the only thing more satisfying than drinking this beer is the look on the faces of PETA members when they see you doing it. God I love Germany.

Wednesday, September 29, 2010


This is a little flash fiction piece I wrote a while ago...I thought it would be a decent little filler piece until I actually came up with some decent content. Because that requires, like, thought and other, like, stuff. Right. Here goes.

I am only seven, and I am usurping a king.

I know this as I stare into his eyes, my glare echoing the steely eyes of a hardened general. Pawn to A5. The wrinkle in his face winks at me as he reaches for hisKnight, then rears back again. His right eye twitches, the same twitch I see during cricket matches against Australia or when Michael asks for more pocket money. He eventually castles and smiles glibly.

“You are getting better at this, you know.”

I know. Bishop to D7.

The voice on the living room television changes from advertising patter to rugby commentary, the harshness of the Afrikaans accent hacking through the sound of thestewbubbling in the kitchen pot. The voice is listing the names of the forwards now; it won’t be long until the game starts.

Suddenly, he makes an implausibly easy move. A lone pawn, moving from the ranks, abandoning his post. I pounce on his mistake. Queen to C5.

“Checkmate!” I squeal.

With a wan smile he shakes my hand and sits on the couch. The game is starting, the oval ball arcing into the air.

I am almost eight, and I usurped a king.

A Brief Introduction

Hello, to whoever you are.

I'm aware you're probably some fat guy in his mother's basement. Who knows, maybe you've stumbled drunk to your computer, typed in a random assortment of letters and found yourself here, staring at these words. You may be a promiscuous lady-person who googled "herpes" after a one-night stand. In the case of the latter, my number is 443-545-8993. Call me.

Anyway, it doesn't matter. What matters is that you're here now. Here to marinate in my mediocre ramblings, to entertain my loftily impossible dreams of becoming an international writing sensation and retiring to a small woodland cottage where I will train bears to do my menial labor. Well, we can all have a dream, can't we?

Look, I'm tired, and the dead prostitute under my bead is beginning to smell, so I'm gonna leave you here. Just...try and have a good time, okay? Make yourself at home. Just wipe your feet on the way in.