Something's Wrong in Kidney Town

Dear Abby,
Other than sticking a vodka soaked tampon up me anus (which I won't do because I'm a pads kind of guy - now with wings!), I don't know how to get drunk or even tipsy. For three back to back to back nights, I've boozed myself to the doldrums. Have I offended Intoxor, the god of the drunks, somehow? This is serious. How am I going to write emotionally sappy and maudlin posts without a touchy-feely mindset and fingers? It's not me that I'm concerned about, it's all those hangley, tense necks that need a rubbin'. This is quite serious.

Maybe I should try a beer bong. It's like an enema for the mouth.

Sincerely,
Sober at Octoberfest

Late Night Overtired Bad Poetry Shuffle

To see the perfect smile on your lips
The glow in your eyes
To feel the softness of your cheeks
And your gaze on me
I would give it all
To feel it forever

Beating the Horse to Death

I'm only posting because matchgame said he was going to post and I wanted to beat him to it.

i tell you he was ten feet if he was an inch

Like a big limosine that caught my eye, I saw Dan Bartlet tonight. At second glace he was within feet of me. Blinked again and this trinity - the man, the myth, the legend - is shaking my hand with minimal chalance. Long story short, I'm not sleeping dry tonight.

What's your most recent, or near most recent, Dan story?

Andy update!

Talked with the monster for a short short time today. He is as disgusted as I am that the utilities once again are in danger of disconnection. He will be out for at least another week and a half. He sends his best regards(Insert appropriate photo of Andy making a rude gesture. I would but the bastard took his camera with him.)

Me Fail English, OBO

There is gonna be a special election October 11 concerning an initiative on the school district and your parents' property taxes. Taxes are a very impopular idea. I'd prefer to see the problem fixed - SOLVED 4--> and ever - with local currency. Pipe Dream Pipe Dream. Anyhoot, I'm selling my vote for a cup of coffee, OBO.

I just have this funny feeling, like I'm not gonna see her again

The inevitable has happened. My relationship has gone long-distance. I've never done this sort of thing before. Madison is not really that far, when you think about it, but the separation still hurts. It hurts bad. I know there will be changes. Can I endure these changes? That is the question. I will wait for her, will she do the same? Am I really better for her than anybody who will attend that school in the next 4 years, literally thousands? I really think she's the one for me. I hope she does too, and she doesn't change her mind.

The Old Ways Resurface

Today's shopping trip will result in hordes and hordes of video games. Why video games? One simple reason: boredom. Any suggestions as to good titles for PC?

I Want to Break Free

I've been influenced by American Cinema. I think I lived out my mid-life crisis while watching Easy Rider. To complete the crisis I need to buy a motorcycle, get a bald spot, leave the kids behind and break free. The chopper I'm gonna look at is on Greenbay and Beach. It's the green one. It's a single seat. Cuba and the Children of the Revolution may be pushed back furthur into 2006. Castro is gonna have my easy riding ass for dipping into the quarter jar. Also, I'm not going out to eat out anymore to save up for my bitchin' hog. No one need point out that work is a pre requisite for a mid-life crisis.
The main concern holding me back from being 100 per cent gung ho about this is that I won't be able to listen to NPR on the bike. I don't know what it says that I used a Glam Rock song title in connection with Easy Rider.

Abandonment and bridges burnt; struggling to escape the past

It occured to me tonight. Once I end up getting a proper house, I will have almost no mementos and trinkets of the past to fill it with. Since the dawn of my 15th year I have done my utmost to destroy my own past. Going through my old things at my mother's house the other day, I threw away the old me, bit by bit. Perhaps I am filled with shame at what I was, who I was. Maybe I don't want to be reminded of my mistakes. If I bury it all deep enough it will never come back. Up until quite recently, I took great pains to never be photographed. I wanted to prevent the memories from being created in the first place. I really did hate myself that much. And I must still hate who I was then, because I am slowly and systematically eliminating the records of that time. Does any of this sound healthy? I ask of you who knew me then: Am I right to erase the record of my youth? I ask of you who never knew me then: If you did know my past self, would you feel the same way?(based solely off of what I have told you) I guess it's all just just a show. I try to destroy the past to prove it doesn't have a hold on me. We all know it does though, and if any thing my actions serve to prove that fact. I'm just running from my problems. Not unlike my father. Bah. I'm tired of thinking and just plain tired. Good night.

You weren't much of a muse, but then I wasn't much of a poet

The 106th Annual National Hobo Convention was a rousing success. Everyone got together and sang the old songs around the campfire. Because it was also the 100th anniversary of the founding of the IWW, special emphasis was placed this year on the importance of hoboes to the IWW, and vice-versa. The IWW's origins are closely tied with the hoboes, migrant laborers who first began fighting against the bosses in the early half of the 20th century. Many of the songs the hoboes sang at the convention even came from the IWW songbook, including the ever popular "Halleluyah, I'm a bum." I was priviledged to hear some of these wobbly songs performed on the pipe organ of a 19th-century church before sunday mass, by an astonishing performer called Luther the Jet. I took home an autographed CD of his. All in all, the convention was an awesome time, a time when you can watch a nearly-forgotten but very important part of history come to life. I will soon be the proud member of 3 unions, the UFCW, the IWW, and Tourist Union #63.

El hombre esta cayendo!

I started learning Spanish. Here's my plan: in September I'm going to initiate Waukegan's local currency. At lest I plan on doing so. It'll be a bilingual currency. I want to use this as the launching pad to export the idea to the Chiapas, the francs-tireurs of southern Mexico. You may say I'm a dreamer, but it doesn't necessarily have to be that way. As I try to abolish the wage system before I die - and I'm trying, I'm trying - I'll start local ones.

The title is the closest I could come to saying Take down the Man.

Happy Birthday

So the other day I realized my birthday was coming up in about 2 or 3 days... suddenly it hit me like an 18-wheeler filled with depression. I don't know why but that wave of retarded emotion triggered me to write an interesting poem... as follows:

Happy Birthday
Another year gone, I blinked,
It passed me by
Emotional disturbance and kinks
All while unable to think
I live a lie.

The day of my birth, on high
Somber days and evenings
The shadows fade the light
Alone and cold through the night
Tears gleaming.

The blood from my heart streaming
Into a vast emptiness
Paths that nowhere are leading
Lonliness that keeps repeating
A bank that's penniless.

Capable of so much, but hopeless
With no one to soften pain
As I wander the night, endless
With feelings I detest
Again.

-Nesbitt '05

It would appear that my habits caught up with me.

Goodnight internets.

You were everything to me.

It ain't florida, but it's a weekend off

This weekend is the National Hobo Convention 2005. I plan an attending along with my girlfriend. It should be at least as awesome as '04 was. Hopefully moreso. Look for another post chronicling the events of the convention on sunday. Until then......

I can't go a day without listening to Daler Mehndi.

Looks like Friday I depart for Florida (which means purgatory in Spanish). While I'm not exactly keen on the idea of a strange family vacation with people who aren't my family, I will have to let it go in the sake of making a bunch of money I will later squander on hard drugs I can now afford. Nothing against my boss or his family, but I would rather spend my time away from work drunk and eating sandwiches instead of spending time with anyone's family including my own. The whole family (the boss' not mine (who knows how the fuck they are faring)) is fairly excited at the notion of going to Disneyland. Maybe they just don't know how good it feels to be drunk eating sandwiches. Allow me to digress; the real reason I don't want to go to Florida is that I will have the nation's elite forced on me.

In our proud country's most inhabitable state the rich and elderly(read: the whitest of white people)go to avoid the inconvenience of snow and cold. Mother Nature takes this with particular chagrin and plays the karma card, meaning she rips the fucker down every summer with hurricanes and heavy rain. I have to end soon before I turn this into a novel of Florida hatred (between Carl Hiaasen and Dave Barry there are plenty already)

I need to say that Fight Club had the greatest and best fitting soundtrack ever. I think the Amadeus soundtrack was flawed and wrong in comparison.

if you're not eating off then you're beating off

When Tim Hart was talking smack about my crew, you know what I told him. I told him, "it's on." There's only one way to settle this - o.k. two if you count hoopin' - and that way is to glutton and delight ourselves on cheap, non bluebunny icecream at Meg's place Friday the 19. The crew I'm hoping to assemble is Gilimoror, The Good Gentleman, Chad, Ieeeandy, and myself. Hart's is looking like Hub City, Casey Darnell, and himself for right now. If any on my crew feel they can't make it, for Florifuck reasons or whatever (we planned around the Hobo Convention), let me know so I can find alternates.

matchgame's dynamic, debut webcomic.

What the oompa loompas taught me

Watching Charlie and the Chocolate Factory just made me long to see the original film. And believe me, not even Tim Burton and Johnny Depp could do it better. It's odd that the Burton film is actually not as dark as the 1971 film. In the new movie, Charlie has a father. That's just one of many more 'positive' spins they put into it. I guess sept. 11th is to blame. Whatever. But I digress. The point of this post was to say that oompa loompas belong in every business. I realized this when I shot down a customer at work because her complaints were unfounded. I got to thinking, "What if I had oompa loompas? What if I could summon them and they would sing a song and remove annoying customers like this one?" Well for the rest of the night I came up with my own oompa loompa songs for common customer complaints. If anyone would want to read them, I will post them if asked. But I'm not sure how many of you saw Willy Wonka, and of those who did, who would think a song like that would be funny. So yeah, oompa loompas belong in the service industry. Take note, all you midgets who aspire to something greater! This is an idea that could take off.

Lets make fun of people who are unable to defend themselves!

In an effort to be thought of as the creepiest dickhead to ever live to 22 I thought it would be great to alienate a friend when he comes back from China! WOO lets get this plagiarism party started!

necrophilio's sausage-link fingers, which at first had trouble positioning themselves into even the simplest of chords, slowly grew into long, pervert-like tentacles that can now not only easily move about the guitar, but are also perfect for inappropriately touching exotic dancers and unsuspecting passed-out drunk girls on the subway.
necrophilio's girlie wrist, which quickly grew tired of holding barre chords in place, would soon grow to be strong and competent, thanks to excessive (and clinically-diagnosed deviant) masturbation.

Take that guy 3,000 miles away.

A very special thanks.

This is what I get for a complete profile.

Whoever signed my e-mail up for a sexsearch.com account I congratulate you. You got me good, you motha'fucka'. Each day I get the appreciative response of 5-6 e-mails about various sexual acts to be performed on me by local women. Personally I can do without the sexual favors of people who were attracted to a sexsearch.com profile that read(this is a serious quote)"An ugly, drunk, quasi-homosexual who only wants to fuck to make babies."

I implore the rest of you, If you have your e-mail listed on your profile take that sonofabitch off now. Otherwise you might you might get people turning down 3-ways to model underwear for you(in private *wink*)(P.S. This is no shit, that was almost word for word the title of the most recent e-mail to me).

I wish I were pissed off at this whole ordeal, but I am not. I am strangely satisfied instead. Some may say emulation is the sincerest form of flattery, I believe a malicious prank is.

Thanks random-hero for giving me a little excitement. Even if it was in the form of transexuals craving a drunk ugmo.

I have a blister on my right index finger and I have no idea how I got it. My theory is I was pointing really really hard at somebody that pissed me off. Anybody else have any idea how this happened. I figure until I find out what caused this it's only going to happen again and again.

Nothing to see here. Move along.

I have nothing to post about. I have done nothing interesting or funny lately. I have been working a lot, which is fun and annoying at the same time. I love working there, but working 50+ hours a week anywhere, means your patience wears down and that internal fuse wears down to almost nothing. I work in a room with about ten other people. All men, all tech people, all funny in their own ways. It is the most juvenile environment I have ever witnessed. Today there had to have been fifty or more cracks about having sex with co-workers mothers, or grandmothers. I wish I was kidding. Again, I don't really have point to this post, just wanted to post I guess. I hate you all in my own special way.