I think this finally needs to be addressed: http://www.facebook.com/#!/group.php?gid=24094450815

A Facebook group, two years old mind you, that brings to the attention of friends and followers of my obsession with Just for Men Dark Brown Beard Dye. At one point of its existence, it had almost 100 members – all addressing to me publicly their views on why I should let the natural color of my facial hair remain, and discontinue my use of Just for Men Facial Hair products. Though the group grew tiresome, and only 19 members still exist – I saw that I never truly gave any rebuttal on the matter, and kind of let those whom ridicule say their piece

But why now? Why two years after the ridicule, the embarrassment, the harassment – do I finally bring this to the attention of all of you whom read this? Why do I bring to you my story of matching my beard to the hair that lays on top my head? The answer is simple my friends, almost too simple. But, before I address this secret, the answer to this tale – I must first bring to you visual evidence of my facial hair coloring process, to prove of its long standing existence (circa early 2008).

Just look at this image. We shall call this Exhibit A. This was taken with the actual creator of the aforementioned group, coincidence? Hardly. Though my strongest intention of this persuasive literature is to completely change the mind of that smaller, more squirrely individual in the picture – I have this increasing want to bring about not only the absurd awesomeness of my beard dying, but the everlasting and iconic reign of existence it has had. Most assumed I would quit after the ridicule, after the jokes, after the initial laughter – nay. Nay indeed. The Beard only became darker, it only became bigger and it only became that more impactfull in everybody’s lives. Yes Sir.

Anyway, before most of the world gets a hard-on at that sheer description of my beard, it’s time for the proper critique.  Ok, Exhibit A. I do not, and will never have the incredible mahogany leather skin of Hulk Hogan. To be completely honest, it is highly likely that most Northern Ireland-ers, can tan far better than myself. I can’t change it, if I could use Dye to solve the solution, you know I would – but I can’t. Because of my inability to become partially Mexican, for at least the Summer – really worsens the realization that my beard naturally comes in – red. And not awesome, kind of brownish – burnt red (which is mysterious, but sexy) – but an incredibly disgusting red. Almost orange. It’s like if you mashed up baby carrots and radishes. That kind of red/orange.

I will not have that. You can barely see the outline of the beard, because the baby carrot red orange tint blends in perfectly with my Michael Jackson post 1995 skin pigment. Why accept the ability to grow hair on the face in such a distinctively sexy pattern, if it cannot even be enjoyed to the highest extent? Every memorable beard, has been dark brown or black – maybe a distinguished Grey. A change was necessary. Yes I know I have eyes comparable to John Stamos, that is awesome. And I know when I wear MLB hats backwards, people truly do wonder if I am a white David Ortiz – this I realize. But without a creative and distinctive way to outline my face with hair follicles – than none of that means anything to me. Absolutely nothing.

So, I bring you fine men and women Exhibit B.

Now that is a beard that is recognized. A beard that is distinguished. A beard that can not only be celebrated, but enjoyed by women, men, anything or anyone. I would have sex with that beard, and that is not a lie. Nobody said anything to that thing from The Hills Have Eyes or whatever, that Heidi chick. So Heidi knew she was pretty awesome, she had a movie (The Hills Have Eyes and The Hills Have Eyes 2), and blond hair. Awesome, right? But what makes a girl with a movie and blond hair even more awesome? Yes Sir. Bigger Tits. Nobody said anything to Heidi when she made her Tits bigger, it just made her more awesome. And what is wrong with trying to increase awesome? Yes. Dying Beard Hair is the equivalent to men with red facial hair as it is to Heidi and her bust increase.  It isn’t always socially accepted. It isn’t always socially appreciated. But it makes us feel good. It’s an addiction, really.

Can you blame us? We are sorry that we are addicts. We are sorry that this is a necessity to only increase our abilities to be that more distinctive and spectacular.  I can speak for Heidi when I say that I wish this addiction for everyone.
.

Don’t be mad at her for being addicted to what makes her happy. Don’t be mad at me for being addicted to the swarms of voice-mails and Twitter messages, that literally beg me to do something incredible with my beard. “Jantz, the latest beard trim is fantastic, it could be a littler darker – but I’m sure you won’t let me down” -“Love the new dye job! It really brings out your skin tone. You look more tan!”. These are true testimonials, from true beard admirers. Why don’t you put THAT on your silly little facebook group.

Ok, so if that girl from The Hills Have Eyes and her addiction to bigger boobs doesn’t legitimize the aura and absolute incredible strength of my dyed beard – then what would? Though she makes the decision harder, (haha), there is something far more significant – something that truly validates the amazingness of my beard dying addiction. Something that makes me an icon in the eyes of those in charge of “Just for Men Beard Dye” and those in the “Beard Club of America”. And that is something very recent, very new. But it is also something very incredible. Something that is idolized. Something that is legitimized.

Recognize this man? You should. Instantly. 2010 World Series Champion, and future winner of American Beard of the Year 2010, San Fransisco Giants Closing Pitcher, Brian Wilson. A simple you-tube search of his name (click the word name jackknobs), will show you arguably the funniest and most entertaining man in Professional Sports, ever. So why do I bring this up to you, in the midst of this extensive outcry to how important my beard is to not only those who are close to me, but to America? It’s simple. Brian Wilson grew his beard 4 months ago. Brian Wilson dyes his beard.

I started a trend that has made itself to the World Series, do you realize how awesome that is? My beard, through Brian Wilson, has made it to icon status – helping me once again realize the reason I am here on this Earth. It is my job, my duty, my passion to spread the ability for a man (or woman) to do whatever they please to their facial hair, to ensure that it becomes the best it possibly can become. To strengthen the knowledge and the admiration of the nation’s youth, and help them pursue their most perfect, wonderful beard fantasies.  Considering I am probably the only person (besides Brian Wilson) that dies his beard, and considering I have been strongly addicted to it since 2008 – it is only realistic that I have started what will probably the newest fad in 2011.

This seems to happen a lot – it seems that after I coined the term “Boom”, Nike found it fitting to put it in commercials. Yeah, real hilarious Nike. Fucking thief.

Quick Jantz, name ten of the greatest beards ever, in no specific order. Easy. Brian Wilson, Mine, Jesus, Billy Mays, The Most Interesting Man In The World, Aristotle, Zack Galifinakus, Turtle from Entourage, Castro. Almost too easy. But guess what – of all those mentioned beards – though they are different strokes, styles, shapes, sizes, and feels – they have one ultimate thing in common. None of them are red. And one of them, will ever be. BOOM!!

Anyways, while I answered questions like – “Name the top five relaxation ideas for men” (by the way, “banging” counts as Sex – Family Feud, you didn’t need to give me an “X” for that one) – it occurred to me, that no matter what happens, what I do or watch, my lack of research will continue to weigh heavy on me.

I tried watching Family Matters, but of course it was the seasons where Lisa actually looked like a woman (why she cut her hair like Ellen, I have no idea).  I went outside and had thrown wet pieces of bread on cars parked behind my backyard, but, using bread your roommate purchased isn’t the best for household morale.  I then tried writing a blog that would bring mass support to my triumphant return to the Blogging-Industry (oh yes, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? Hello.) When I couldn’t form complete sentences without using words that would offend Lindsey Lohan, I knew it was time for the absolute last resort.  I went to the Western Illinois University’s Recreation Center.

I figured it would be a brilliant idea – I was in a competition with a dear friend, and while he is biking – I was eating grilled chicken and walking stairs instead of taking elevators (it’s a start Slumdog).  I grabbed at my blackberry, a pair of headphones that I stole from my sister and drove away from my lovely home. At this time I knew it would have benefited me more to “walk” there – as I said before, shut your mouth. I’m already going to be exercising; you don’t want me to have an asthma attack do you? So there I was – me, my blackberry, headphones I had stolen from my sister, my roommate’s car keys and an Elliptical. Yeah. This was happening.

It was then, as I poured sweat from my forehead and felt a shaking pain in my ankles, that I felt – a sense of enlightenment, a sense of comfort. I then looked down to see how long I had been on this hell machine, as I stared at clock that read 2 minutes and 36 seconds, that low feeling of wonderment struck again. But as if it were an angel had kissed and nibbled on my ear, she spoke the words that brought me back to the highest of all spirits.

“Sun-kissed skin, so hot, we’ll melt your Popsicle”

Now I realize that this entire time you thought I was honestly writing my first blog in over 6 months about masturbating. Grow up people. I just know that there are thousands, if not millions of men out there that are constantly wanting to get their girlfriend/wife/friend that they have sex with, to loosen up and learn some new bedroom talents via the ol’ PornTube.  When I had that feeling of sickness towards one of the scenes I had previously done research on – I felt an empty feeling of hopelessness for the millions of men out there that still had faith.  It kept replaying in my head - “why did she look like she was crying, why was there a raccoon in the background, did she really need to punch him in the stomach” - it just didn’t seem plausible that I could find a way to appease the hopes and aspirations of these people. Until she sang to me. It was clear, it was simple.

Whatever you are doing, whatever you are watching, whatever you are looking at or focusing on – when listening to Katy Perry’s “California Gurls” – life is like a music video. This isn’t a joke. This is what the porn-industry is missing out on. Keep the original scenes, of course – but edit them with this song playing in the background – and it it could be aired on FX, I promise. No matter what is going on there is something subliminal in this song that makes men and women just picture flying fish and poodles dancing. It traps you. You think that you won’t be paying attention to what’s going on while the song is playing – but you are. You are so embarked in the journey that is quirky yet sexy lyrics and the boom-bastic background beat, that it captivates and enhances everything. It’s like legal Marijuana – in the form of a huge breasted woman singing a Beach Boys cover.

What you are looking at right now is my Top-Most Played Song of….8/26/2010, and deserving so. Listening to this song puts me in a situation I can only find myself in every perfect dream. You know the one. The one where you are wearing a blue and lime green jumpsuit, a pair of white sunglasses and Rebook sneakers. The one where you are on a trampoline with fourteen midgets (little people, to be politically correct) and are throwing water balloons at people dressed in panda outfits. And obviously, this song puts anything and everything in High Definition. You will see colors you have never imagined. PuRed. Yeah, you see a combination of Purple and Red – it’s fucking gorgeous.

Now if you honestly think that my point of this article was to let you know how adorable and gorgeous Katy Perry is, and how her song “California Gurls” gives couples around the world the ability to enjoy a little naked T.V. action, than you need to be ashamed of yourself. At this time I want you to start playing California Gurls, and re-read everything. Find yourself laughing more, smiling more – enjoying life more. At first I just thought this song made me hornier than a 13 year old at a pool-party. Nope. That is why I have returned with one of Jantz’s famous – TOP FIVE list. Yes my friends, it’s happening.

TOP 5 THINGS TO DO WHILE LISTENING TO KATY PERRY’S “CALIFORNIA GURLS”

#5. Watch Sportscenter

In an era where we are everyday force-fed LeBron James and Bret Favre there needs to be something that saves us from the beautiful foundation Chris Berman laid for us years ago. Sportscenter has brought this new notion to ESPN – and they are following the “sex-sells” routine. Well, I don’t find myself wanting to bang Sage Steele, Sportscenter. Sometimes, it’s been almost unbearable to watch my one time favorite show. But as ESPN was talking yesterday about the Top 750 LeBron James handshakes, I found myself not wanting to punch him in his over sized nose.  Even though, for the past two months, I have visioned myself framing LeBron James for arson – or even spreading rumors that he Ben Roethlisburgered me at a Kansas City night club – on this day, I had no hard feelings for the Prince of Pussies.

I couldn’t believe it. What happened to me? I had hopes of naming my kids, Way Cooler and Better Than LeBron James Spalding.  But I was fine. Why, you ask? I still had my blackberry, sister’s headphones I had stolen, my roomates keys – and of course, a huge chested woman singing beautiful choruses over the smooth and sweet rhythm of hip-hop legend Snoopie Doggie Dogg.

Sage Steele looked prettier, Scot Van Pelt had more hair, LeBron James was riding a Dolphin. Brett Favre was doing a kegstand in the background. The Blue Man Group was performing the theme song. It was then I knew the true power of this tune.

#4 – Drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon

At one time, my most hated brew. Well this changed faster than Britney Spear’s virginity after the “Hit Me” video. As I drank this fine concoction of hops, barley and magic – I once again found myself grooving to the soulful squeals coming from the woman with breasts of a champion, and the smile of a princess. Every sip was like a dream. Though I was alone in my room, staring at my poster of Donald Trump, I knew I was safe. I wanted to call everyone I knew to invite them to the party – but why would I waste such a delicious can of California on others. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. I shouldn’t. This moment was perfect.

#3 – Watching “Nacho Libre”

This movie was so bad. It was the perfect blend of usually bad Jack Black acting, and regular American stereotypes of Mexicans. Listen Hollywood, my roommate is of the Mexican heritage – and the stereotypes you put in the media are not at all relevant. My roommate loves three things. Busch Light, Bad Music and saying words like “Salsa, Modelo and Guacamole” in a really, really cool way. So get it right.

Anyways, I was on listen #76 for the day and was flipping through the television to see that TNT was playing Nacho Libre. Go figure, it’s a dying station. And when I usually would be disgusted by Jack Black’s play-dough like figure stuffed in spandex running around in a bed sheet – I found myself smiling. Somehow, someway, the Woman of Wigs, The Breasted Beauty – Katy, my lady – had made the worse movie of all time a bearable music video. I chuckled as Jack Black ran around fields of High Definition green pasture with small Mexican children actors. I laughed as he kicked corn from people’s hands and performed the worse acting in modern American cinema. I watched five whole minutes of the movie – honestly. It was one of the best fucking five minutes I had ever had. I only stopped because I had to repeat the song and go on to listen #77.

At this time, I still want to say that I think Jack Black is an atrocious actor.

#2 – Listening to Nickleback

I can’t stand Nickleback. I honestly think they are the worse thing for music since Adolph Hitler. I’d rather listen to Kathy Bates pleasure herself for a day than have to sit through a Nickleback song. If I was ever surrounded by Nickleback fans, I would honestly eat my way through the crowd. Those people aren’t real and they do not exist. But I was in a good mood. I was about 12 PBR’s deep, I had already pissed on my LeBron James poster and was on listen #123. So as I continued to blare her Viscous Vocals over my stolen sister’s headphones – I put on a Nickleback song. We have On Demand, so it was easy to access. I watched the video, and I didn’t want to vomit. I watched the entire video and I didn’t envision myself throwing anthrax onto their stage. It was weird. I was actually captivated by them. Listening to Katy Perry’s “California Gurls”, while listening to Nickleback was perfect. They sounded the exact same as the song that had captured my life and my heart.

#1 – Masturbating.

You honestly read this, and didn’t think that after talking about porn for 3 paragraphs and listening to Katy Perry for an entire day that this wouldn’t be an option. Hah. Fooled you.

I could bore everybody with a day-to-day calendar of what I’ve done since my last post (27 days ago) – but ultimately I would just be pissed at myself for the incredible amount of time/money/life I have wasted since then. I figured I’d come up with some story about how I gave my time helping the community of Macomb, IL to get over the Tiger Woods fiasco (believe me, there are several thousand white girls on this campus wanting to use Tigers’ shaft – haha, golf joke.) Believe me, I’ve tried writing a blog in that period of time – but with my mind elsewhere, nothing really struck. I had one ready for posting last week – “Smell-Like-Ass Wednesday”. I’m not one to bash Catholicism, well – in front of you – but why put your Holliday right after New Orleans’ – doesn’t that seem rather selfish? I really cannot wait to read the emails from the “devoted Catholics” that can’t catch sarcasm.

So with that in mind, we can now take a look at Exhibit A – the picture above. I never really got the whole “writer’s block” thing. I just figured that my life was to full of excitement to consistently guide you Spalda-Holics with my words of wisdom. But then it hit me, yesterday afternoon while I was drawing pictures of Tom Hanks on Microsoft Paint – that my life in Macomb, IL was as useful right now as make-up on Snooki. Now don’t get me wrong, it’s not me – it’s this town. We have a Wal-Mart. Spec-fucking-tacular. I can get a haircut, a box of Cap’N Crunch – and a new Route 34 Sweater for all under $40.00. Kiss my ass, Macomb. So after I got off of my excruciating 3 hour shift at my 9 hour a week job – I decided, no I’m not going to put off homework and color in the picture of Denzel Washington I drew on Microsoft Paint today – I’m going to put off homework and get rid of this fucking writers block.

By the way – sometimes I color Denzel Washington Caucassian or Mexican-Brown just to see if he appears to be the same untouchable bad-ass self that he is in real life. I’d suggest not doing it.

So after turning off “Cats” – I decided to just write words that came to my mind, in complete silence. I figured this would ultimately stem sort of genius idea that would create the world’s next biggest blog (or at least get me 1,000 pity views). So if you look back at Exhibit A (do it later, keep reading clown) – here are some examples of phrases you might see:

• Would I have sex with Chyna?
• Big Eyed-People scare me
• End of the World > Gwen Stefani
• Shirts that don’t fit anymore

I agree. Those are some fantastic ideas – but, none were helping out my writers block. But you will notice the one thing that did. My Bucket List. I was floored. I couldn’t believe that I have yet to write a Bucket List, let alone not even THINK about writing a Bucket List.  Let me tell you something friends, it was time. It wasn’t even that hard (see: Whiskey-Dick). So many ideas came to me, instantly – but then a crucial, CRUCIAL – fact hit me. The world is going to blow up and cease to exist in 2012, duh. I mean come on, the Mayans told us. Idiots. But this worked to my advantage. I don’t have much money. That’s fine. I don’t have much time. That’s fine. Your life can only be critiqued on how often you accomplished your goals. So if I set goals, and reached them – I’d get what, an A….A minus? I’ll take it.

So I did it. Exhibit B below, will show you the Top 5 items on my Bucket List that I WILL accomplish before I disintegrate in 2012.

(Disclaimer): Don’t get all offended about this end of the world stuff. If I really thought it was going to happen, I wouldn’t make fun of it (this is a lie). So before you get all irritated in your crotch area, and start bitching to me on facebook message – realize that you are in turn screwing up my dreams. Don’t screw up my dreams, douchers.

  #5 – Have a roast/intervention

I’m assuming it’s the same for your group of best friends – but all we do when we are together is point out obvious flaws about each other while bringing up horrifying memories from the past. It’s love. But I want that Bob Sagget treatment on a whole ‘nother level. I want suits, and drinks in rocks glasses. I want some random asian guy to make jokes that NOBODY thinks are funny. I don’t care if it’s about me – if it’s about Chris Farley’s mini-me Cory Cox (quoted: Ricardo Marin, 2010) – or if it’s about some stray-strangers roaming the streets of Peru, IL. As long as well-dressed, drunk and mean people are involved – it could be nothing but succesfull.

In the same realm, I think it would be absolutely spectacular to host an intervention for someone – for something absolutely absurd. Chronic masturbation would be the obvious choice for a man-made episode of Intervention. But, I compiled a list of several things that would be a sure hit for an Intervention.

• Making out in public places
• Watching Jersey Shore
• Listening to Buckcherry/Nickleback/Gwen Stefani
• Anything involving Twilight

If you fall into the above mentioned categories – please contact me at: JM-Spalding@wiu.edu, or call your local confidential hotline. You need help, now.

#4 – Do A Pull-Up

Yea, bring on the fat jokes – I dare you. The thing is, even when I wasn’t carrying this keg that I didn’t have from K-12 – I could never do a freaking pull-up, ever. I think I’m just waiting for the right time, and the right place. Bon-Jovi behind me singing that one song, “Woaaaaaaa you’re half way thereeeee, woahhhhhhhh oahhhhhh something something prayeeeeeer” – some people cheering, some women crying and children clapping and dancing. Yeah. It’s only a matter of time.

#3 – Go to “Twilight 3″ Dressed as a Vampire and Hit On Women: Ultimately Proving That Vampires Aren’t Sexy, They’re Scary

What else can I say, other then vent my absolute confusion over this vampire craze in America? The funny thing is I guarentee I will get far stronger hate-mail from the “Twi-Hards”, then I do from the Catholics I offended earlier. Look at me over there. I look like Snooki. How does anybody find that attractive? Vampires kill people because they enjoy blood. They don’t have feelings, and they don’t fall in love with semi-attractive B-list actresses, that is a fact.

To make a long story short America – if you were one on one with a Vampire, and he looked at you with his stupid vampire eyes, and he had stupid human blood coming out of his stupid vampire mouth – you would not get all excited in the pants like you do when you watch Twilight. You would be scared out of your mind. It’s like going one on one with a Lion. Would you put up a poster of a Lion doing sexual positions on your Dorm-Room wall? No, you wouldn’t. Why? Because Lions eat the shit out of human flesh, and so do Vampires.

#2 – Go To Oprah’s Last Show and LOL at Everything She Says

What could I say about this? How could this not turn out amazing? This would just be spectacular. Really, there is no substance to this – no political outcry. I just want to do this. Really.

#1 – Survive A Mayan Predicted Disaster

I have to complete the Bucket List, don’t I? The World will still need a great blogger.

I’ve received quite a welcoming response from most since the birth of this lovely site, and it’s been a very humbling experience – but I am obviously ready for the fame, the riches and the celebrity status-quo that comes from being a blogger. Now don’t worry, it’s not like I am quitting school because of my new-found love for blogging and the large lump sums of cash and groups of women that have suddenly come my way. I’m quitting school because I hate going to class hung-over.

Waiting for the call from my parents after that last paragraph. Ok.

I’m ready for it. I’m ready for the autograph signings, I’m ready for the pictures to be taken with random people because, “they loved my article on how to fist”. Hell, I was at the gas-station yesterday and the attendant randomly bought me a 40 oz. King Cobra because she thought my blog was “quirky”. I declined for two reasons.

(1.) I’m a professional blogger now; I don’t drink that garbage unless it’s a Holliday.
(2.) She said the word quirky. I don’t like the word quirky.

It was then I received the text message from the local club around Macomb that said, “Free-Cover” before 11:30 – I knew that I was in. I knew that people knew me. I mean come on, who gets text from the bar saying they’ll pay your cover. I’m just mad the douche-artist didn’t know who I was when I asked him if he wanted a picture. Read my blog yuppie.

It was then, as I sat there with my entourage, drinking from a glass (don’t ever try to give me a plastic cup again, hoe) – I knew that I had to prepare for the big city life. So what better way to prepare then to share my new found secrets with everyone that has helped shape me as the world-class wordsmith and story-teller that I am today? I don’t care about those “shows’ you see on your televisions, they are wrong. I’m going to show you how to prepare to be a celebrity.

THREE EASY TO REMEMBER WAYS TO PREPARE FOR STARDOM

Now I know what you’re thinking. Jantz, when I start blogging and become known by the world like you, am I going to start having sex with cocaine addicts and mom’s like they do in Niptuck? No. Sex like that doesn’t exist in the real-world. It’s not possible, the movements are to fluent and imposible to pull off – or out. Just because your a celebrity doesn’t mean you leave your friends for richer friends or begin to have sex with blondes that don’t know how to properly use were, we’re or where in a sentence. If your looking for better sex tips, don’t ask me – and quit reading.

#3 -Smile

What’s better? Robert Downey Jr. or Robert Downey Jr. when he was a crackhead. Trick question. Both. People love celebrities because they look better than them even when they have a needle stuck in their arm, Show your confidence. Know that you are better than that person and laugh with them, not at them – well, you can in some scenarios. Constant smiling and laughing in good times and times of agony will bump your celebrity status instantly. If people know, people will remember. Let’s just check out example 1 below:

It’s a mugshot, yes – but he still looks like he should play in Iron-Man. That’s the difference between people like Robert Downey Jr. and people like Gary Busey. He knows he rocks. Now obviously I’m not suggesting that you go out and “trip balls” on some mushroom your buddy Gary got from his friend down at SIU – if you’re going to, and you’re a celebrity….smile.  It paid off for druglord over there.

#2 – Go Places You Usually Don’t Go To While Wearing A Full Suit (Or Dress)

I don’t know this guy, but I remember this guy. The guy is on a bike, and he is dressed up. Why? Because he doesn’t care about the normal people around him. I’m suprised the guy can stay on his bike, the person taking the picture was able to get a rare shot of the guy not surrounded by flocks of huge-breasted men and women. This guy makes that bike look cool – why? Because he’s a celebrity, and he knows it.

There are so many places you can go where normal people look like fools when you walk into the door dressed in your finest suit from Sears or Kohls. KMart, WalMart, the dog shelter, a random hot dog stand, Applebees, a Will Ferrel movie, Ottawa’s Riverfest, the state of Rhode Island – all of those are very acceptable choices. The point is, to continue your celebrity-status, always dress up. Always.

#1 – Make Up Hillarious Catch Phrases or Insulting Names With Funny Adjectives – In Front Of Large Groups Of People.

This is when people finally realize that you have officially, “made it”. You are wearing your suit that you just bought on your Kohl’s Credit Card (save that 20% when you can, morons) – you are drinking some draft beer out of a rocks glass, and you are smiling at all of the annoying white haired broads trying to sleep with you (even though you have a girlfriend and want nothing to do with them because they smell like bad sex). That’s when it hits you. You want to punt that gingered-hair crotchless clown on the dance floor. So what do you do? Like any true celebrity you turn to the one person in your group that you like the most, and you look at only him – yet saying as loudly as you possibly can so everybody can here, “You see that slumdog jackass over there? His birth certificate is an apology from the condom factory.”

Everybody laughs. People buy you drinks, random people are jumping around screaming – “Dude you are insane”. And all you can do is smile. That guy did nothing, but you thought of a hillarious catch phrase and insult in your head, so you had to tell somebody. Then your not so well-dressed friend that came with you says, “Bet you he likes Harry Potter. What a Dumble-Dork”. Yeah. He’s not a celebrity. It’s not funny.

I guess we all can’t be professional bloggers.

(yes we can)

Hand-shake type things suck, and should never EVER be performed, ok. Yeah, I went for it. Kept the eye to eye contact and went for the hand-clap shake thing – but connected in a fashion that was more awkward then wearing a rainbow Clay Aiken T-Shirt to a biker rally. And I’m talking about those bad-ass bikers, not the ass-less chap bikers.

Nobody laughed, but they wanted to laugh. They needed to laugh. I got not one ounce of recognition. I received zero respect. My professor changed my last semester grade to a “D” just because of the sheer embarrassment my emotionless and soft handshake had caused her. So I continued to walk. Ok, – so I continued to go to an elevator. I just wanted out of there. But that’s when I heard it. The sweetest words at 2:07 this afternoon.

“Pound it, bro”

How many times have you heard that in the past five years? Hell, I’ve pounded more people (men and women) then Ron Jeremy. The “Fist Pound”, “Fist Bump” and its partner, “EXPLODE!” – has become more of a fad than Glen Beck and Twilight combined. The only difference is I don’t want the “Fist Pound” to develop a flesh eating disorder and evaporate from the face of the earth. Suck it, Twilight.

The bumping of knuckles has reached such a popular peak that it has even been added to the list of possible ways to avoid that, “ever-so-scary”, H1N1 virus. Don’t believe me, ask the dean of medicine Tomas Feasby at the University of Calgary. Yeah, people from Canada don’t die. This guy knows EXACTLY, what he is talking about.

It’s easy to handle and can be perfectly executed. Unless you’re completed bombed off your mind from seven Smirnoff Ice’s or have those tiny hands like the douche from the Burger King commercial – you can execute a well timed and effective fist pound. Plus, you look like the absolute greatest person in the world when you get a fist pound from your friend (I recommend doing it on a bus or right in front of a large group of people walking behind you). Whoever invented the fist pound was an absolute genius. So, I thought I’d do a little research – and find out exactly who I should thank for the salute of champions.

I guess those rookie writers over at some publication called, “Time Magazine” – did an article about the fist pound. Don’t read it, it’s not that good. But they gave me some clues as to where I should begin my search for the Holy Grail of hand on hand contact.

Pictured above you can find what most “historians” in the field of pounding, feel to be the first recorded fist pound in recorded history. This perfectly executed knuckle-bump is being performed by a group known only as “The Wonder Twins” – a rather ambiguous group from the 1970’s cartoon sitcom – “The Super Friends”. Though these aren’t exactly the awesome and ideal fist pounders that we are usually accustomed to – the sheer thought that they had created such a beautiful performance of fist-love (not to be confused with other forms of fist-love) puts them above most in my book.

The fist pound had seemingly dropped off the face of the earth during the early 1980’s. Glad I didn’t have to go through that hell. But, was restored in the late 1980’s – coincidentally when this fist-pounding fanatic was brought into the world. So we thank the next generation of fist pounders – Major League Baseball players. Joe Carter used it as an advancement mechanism in the the late 1980’s that eventually brought a World Series to the Toronto Blue Jays. Baseball carried this tradition with the likes of Derek Jeter and Manny Ramirez. All good at fisting, and all World Series champions. Fist bumps = championships. It’s as simple as that.

So we have heroes and we have baseball players that are the true historians of this gorgeous exhibit of freestyle and confident fist on fist action. Hell it was even executed by the President of our Nation. The man pounded his wife on National Television. And boy, did he pound her good.

So thank you to those who have created a mechanism that could further advance your respect status between yourself and your peers. Ask any man, ask any woman. There is nothing better than a beautiful, well-timed, and perfectly executed pounding. Nothing.

Bye.

Later.

I bit the absolute shit out of that fall. I felt it instantly – my hands flailing through the air – bouncing off each step as if my 265 lbs. had the consistency of rubber. I’m still searching on YouTube, because that fall was beyond epic. And the laughter – the laughter still haunts me. Laughter from the front, laughter from the back – it was like one of those bad dreams – where everybody was pointing at me, telling me things I don’t want to hear.

“You look like Kevin James, ahahahaha”  – “Denim Dan really wasn’t that good” – “Joe had sex with Karigan”.

Alright. It was worse than that. Kevin James is amazing, that’s a compliment, really.

The only thing worse than the laughter was the amount of time it took me to fall. People aren’t bullshiting you when they tell you that large falls like this happen in slow-motion. They really, really do. And I’ve heard stories about people having full conversations with themselves – thinking about their lives, thinking how this could affect them – thinking about how they are going to pay for the hospital bills. Yea, I had epiphanies – but nothing like your usual “Oh, Lord, what is to become of me” crap.  During the 15 second fall, which honestly felt as if it were 5 minutes – I for some reason didn’t think of being late for my first class of the year, I didn’t think of the penis-shaped bruise that I would eventually have – I didn’t even think of the horrifying laughter that was taking place from some girl who was obviously dressed for an Avril Lavigne concert (I’ll find you). So, I thought I’d take some time with you people to tell you exactly what went through my head during those intense, and crucial periods of…….the fall.

“I don’t know why people hate on Kanye so much, that Taylor Swift thing was genius”.

You may call me out on this one – but I actually think about this on a daily basis. I mean, can you blame me? People still talk about that, and well – I for one find that to be a very important mark in modern American history. I guess the only reason this went through my head was the fact that I was subconsciously telling myself, “Now I know this fall is good, and I’ma let myself finish – but that big black chick on YouTube had one of the greatest falls of all time.”

She really did too.

“I don’t know – I think that $.89 five-layer burritos at Taco Bell is kinda overrated”

People hype this so much. Even at this point, I wouldn’t take a free one from the doucher walking up the stairs laughing at me. Yeah jackknob, I saw your letters – Gamma Alpha Psi (Hah, that’s funny if you look it up.) But back to the point at hand – I just think there was far too much nacho cheese going on, and not enough of the four other layers. I mean come on, this is America – we like our AmeriMexican food in layers – you’re better than that Taco Bell.

“Man, I’m probably the oldest guy living in the dorms – ever.”

At this point – I completely understood the laughter. I laugh when old people fall, I laugh really hard when old people fall. To these people – I might as well be a teacher living with the students (see: Pete Carroll). Now it all makes sense why people were so fucking nice to me on Fathers’ Weekend. Alright, so I’m old, creepy – and have a red beard. It wasn’t the fall they were laughing at after all. See, this is why I write these blogs. I feel a thousand times better now. Nice.

So just be safe out there. It’s icy-er than hell. Yeah, that doesn’t make too much sense. So now – I leave you with this simple moment of remembrance. Enjoy!

It’s school.

Though it’s easy to walk two blocks to Sherman Avenue and hide myself in a bottle of Rikolov Vodka and a Papa John’s Box – I still know that as of 8:00 a.m. tommorow morning, I am once again the “bitch” of four older men/women that I haven’t even met before. It’s not only that I am their “bitch” – but I (by I – I mean “we”, really) pay nearly $8,000 to read books they think we should read. Yeah, I’m complaining today – I can – it’s my blog. Plus, I’m twenty-three, I’m old as balls.

So here we go ladies and gentlemen – even though it would be as easy as this girl:

There is just something in the back of my mind – saying, “Fuck you….you cannot enjoy this”. I want to forget it, but I can’t – there are just to many signs that school has officially begun:

#5: Beer Cans in Public Places

It is almost genius, in a sense – as if it is a giant “Screw You!” to the University for allowing such a crime to take place – how dare they make school start. It happens every year. I’ve been going to college for what – 9 years now? It happens. It’s next to the school’s lakes and shrubberies – it’s next to the library smoking areas – I promise you by the end of this week you will see it by the elevator in the building you have the most classes in. I guess it’s just one last – hoorah. Call me crazy, but the last place I want to be before I am in a building three times a week is that building. It of course was the usual Keystone Light can that I had found 8 times while walking today – so obivously it was some sophomore who was “shit-faced” after he dominated that 6′er yesterday.

I’m all for drinking in public places – yes, I am – don’t ask twice – but, it’s such a downer when looking at that, and then looking up to see a building that will literally fist me throughout the entire rest of the semester.

#4: I Have To Go To Work

Even though my dad won’t let me borrow $20, two times a week anymore – and though I still owe some gay postal worker $130.00 (true story), I didn’t work over Christmas Break – not once. I went from being academically suspended (see: .62 GPA and having my parents look at me as if I were a molester) to having a 3.75 GPA semester. That was work enough. So, there was nothing better than going to bed at 6 a.m. and waking up at 2 p.m. Now – it’s 5:00 and I have to go talk on a phone for three hours, just because I literally can’t borrow money from my dad, girlfriend – or the gay postal worker I still ower $130.00 to. So with that in mind – I now once again know that after that three hour shift is done – I have to wake up tommorow and be mind-banged by some 57 year old – wonderfull.

#3: I Have None Of My Books – But Everyone Else Does

See: #4 (I Have To Go To Work). Except for the easy answer, that I am broke (suprise, suprise) – I think books are rediculous. I think if I know someone in the class, and they don’t let me borrow their textbook to make a copy of a chatper – then they are a piece of shit. So, I really can’t buy or copy the books, right now. So I do what I have done every year – wait and see if the professor had put it on reserve in the library. I swear on my life, if I have one more person ask/complain/tell me/make me look at/leave on their table – anything to do with their books, I will throat-jab them. It’s not because I can’t get the books, I just don’t want to right now – but the sheer knowledge that I need these books reminds me about how I have to get on a bus tommorow morning and see 19 year old girls, with hair brighter than Busta Rhyme’s teeth – complain about their “asshole professor who made them tell the class about themselves”.

I do not like 19 year old girls with white hair – it turns me off.

#2 – Facebook

See: My Desk

Do I have to say anything else?

And finally – here we……go.

#1: My Student Loans Haven’t Come In, Yet.

Do you really think that I care that the University hasn’t been paid yet? Hah! How about we go back, and re-trace are steps and find #4 – I have to work. I still haven’t got paid. This $13.76 in my bank account is not going to buy me Chix outside of the bar or a new robe to play Madden in. It just isn’t. Yeah, I need books to – but I left my robe at home, and I REALLY WANTED THE STUDENT LOANS TO COME IN. But, of course – it isn’t a brand new semester without stressing out about being 4 hours away from home, with enough money to buy a bag of Meow Mix and maybe a liter of Fanta. How else am I supposed to drink in public places without those student loans?

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I think we all learned a very valuable lesson today – or, maybe didn’t learn anything at all. I’ve experienced this, I’ve seen it happen – which is also maybe the reason I am still in college – but…even though I seem annoyed, and though I am not really that pumped to be sodomized (educationally, of course) by a curly headed ginger that reads from powerpoints – it’s almost done. Enjoy the school year everyone!

I got to go. First day, and I am already late for work.

4:1 Odds I am tommorow, too.

Today – I bring you not a matter of coincidence, not a matter of offense or ridicule – and not at all a matter that should be taken lightly. Over the years, as Americans – as Englishmen, as Asian(s) – as people of the world, we have taken it upon ourselves to find some way to initiate our own celebration and symbolic interactions into certain holidays and events. We created (please if your children are present, hide their eyes) a man that can travel the world in a night and made our children bake cookies for this imaginary being. We let a groundhog – a fucking groundhog, decide whether or not its going to snow, or if we can pick flowers in the next two weeks. So what you’re reading below is not just a corny celebration that shouldn’t be spoken of – no…it’s a celebration that needs to be spoken more of. Not as an offensive gesture, just as a matter of rememberance. Well…..hopefully you won’t remember much, if celebrated properly.

This day can now not only be remembered as Martin Luther King Day – but we can add our own Christmas Imagination to this beloved day off of school and work (and of course the rememberance of a dream). We can add the smooth and crisp taste of 80 ounces of delivious Anheuser-Busch Malt Liquor. That’s correct my friends, King – effing – Cobra.

Martin Luther King Cobra Day

It almost just rolls of the tounge, just as the bitter yet sensual drops of that golden champaign like beer rolls down your throat, as you – of course remember the man that spoke of joining a nation of people together, rather then joining them apart. So why not add this celebration in? What brings more people together then anything? Handicap porn? No. Division 1 AAA CO-Ed Recreational Kick Ball? No. Christianity? Not a chance.

Alcoholic beverages, and the comoradore of like-minded individuals. I don’t think Mr. King Jr. wanted his dream to pan out in any other direction. If he could be in the room, with two ice-cold King Cobras in his hands, with a fixture of duct tape firming his already strong grip even tighter – I think he would cry that day. Yes, Martin Luther King Jr. would cry tears of joy. But he can’t now, because Martin Luther King Junior died on April 4, 1968. So he can’t cry.

But he smiled down on the day of April 4, 1984. What a coincidence huh? No. From wherever Mr. King was that day 16 years after his death – Mr. King somehow summonded his dream-like powers and Anheusuer-Busch created and brought tot he market one of the most sought after malt liquors of our generation.

So Mr. King died on April 4th, and then 16 years later on that very day – a gorgeous mixture of barley, malt and corn produced the kind of all malts? I say this day we not only celebrate Mr. King as the man he was when he was alive, but we celebrate him for the angel he was after he wasn’t alive – for the creation of King Cobra, that would ultimately bring together the dream he had hope for. What a fuckin’ prophet.

So you can call this offensive. (Yeah, making a pink bunny to replace the resurection of a guy named Jesus Christ isn’t offensive to some, right?) Or you can take this for what it is, and celebrate the ever-living and gorgeous breasts that surround you during Martin Luther King Cobra Day. Whever there is a King, there of course will be breast. So wrap your hands tightly, and share some to the ground – just to remember him. Remember the dream he had, and remember how it has all finally come together.

Happy Martin Luther King Cobra Day EVERYONE!!!!!